[oney3232]

I went into the bedroom and got a good luck at the room. It still smelled like a wh*r* house, but the room was a complete mess. Sheets were tossed aside, there was dried cum all over the bed, the mattress was half of the frame. There was puddles on the floor, and the trail of cum from her pussy stained her carpet. This must be what it looks like after a frat finishes with one of their house wh*r*s.

I heard her emerging from the bath, so I figured it wouldn't be long before she came out. I looked around to see if I should clean things up, but I wouldn't know where to begin. The mean streak in me wanted her to see what she was left with – part of me still couldn't believe she did what she did, and that she ,after the event, would see she did it.

She came out a few minutes later. It felt like an hours. She came out of the bathroom and once again, you would have never known she had just been in a gangbang. She had a towel around her head and towel around her mid section. She looked fresh, clean and cute – like the English teacher who loved Shakespeare and unlike the skank who crawled into the bathroom about a half hour ago with cum dripping down her legs.

She looked at me somewhat surprised and said, ‘What are you doing here?’ She said it such a way it sounded that she expected her customers to pay and go. I said I wanted to see how she was. She walked past me, whipped off her towel, and went to her drawer to put on panties. Now – when we were married, she never get undressed in front of me. I was guessing that she had lost that shyness after a group of men fucked her brains out.

I looked at her back as the towel came off, and her body really took a beating. Her ass was still red from the times the guys spanked her. She had bruises on her back from where people pushed on her, scratch marks on her back where she was grabbed. She turned around, and it looked the same. Her tits were twisted beyond recognition, her pussy lips were expanded and swollen, and her neck had red marks from bites and hand grabs. She had not had the money as a reminder of her gangbang, but her body bore the bruises to remind her as well. I kept on thinking she will need a lot of make up to hide all the marks from her students and fellow teachers the next day.

As she looked at me – coolly – she put on panties, grabbed a simple skirt and quickly followed with a sweatshirt over her upper body. She walked toward me, grabbed my hand, and took the wine in the other. I figured this was a good sign as she took me to her dining room – the first place we fucked about eight hours ago. She sat down, motioned to me to sit as well, and then finally spoke.

“Look, “ she said, “ I know I bring this on myself. I get going and then that sl*t really takes over. I started to speak, but she told me to interrupt. “ The things is, I don't do this unless I’m with you. The only way I get to these types of sex and situations are when you take me there. You’re not good for me.”

Well, I knew that. That’s why we got divorced. She continued, “ I try to keep that side of me under wraps. I’m a teacher and a Mom. But today was too far. You used me like some hooker you find on the street. I could have gotten fired today with the underwear stunt. I don't know how I’m going to explain tonight to anyone in the building!"

The reality and after effects of what we did were coming into very clear focus to her. “What if they heard the things I was saying? The noises of those guys! Do you know I didn't even know their names! I screwed complete strangers! You gave – no, sold me – you sold me! Sold me to men I don't know!? And what if those guys talk? I can't walk down an aisle in the store and have talk! Hey – you know who that is? That’s the English teacher who turns tricks!” and then there’s students – what if they hear? Look at my body - people will know i was in a gang bang!! You only wanted to see how far you could push me, to get your fantasy of selling me to really happen! I did – hope you got you jollies!!

Okay – that made me mad. She never did anything she didn't want to do. “ Hang on!, I yelled, “You wanted this! I heard you years ago say you wanted to be a paid for wh*r*. I heard you tonight! I gave you plenty of times to stop. Don’t put this all on me – you’re the one who got paid to be in a gang bang! You’re the call girl, not me!”

With that, she stood up, and simply said, “ That me be, but the only way that happens is you. So – leave. I don’t want to hear from you ever again.” I started to say something, but she interrupted, “ Go, leave, and don't every call me every again.” She walked to the door, opened and stood behind it so no one could see her. I looked stunned, but got up, left and didn't say a word.

I drove north toward Newark airport and really stating to fume. I though about calling her – I didn’t; I thought about calling Tony as I still had his number; I didn’t. I thought about turning around to see her – I didn’t. The only call I made was to a hotel near the airport to spend the night.

I went home to the Midwest and acted like nothing had happened. Still, I stewed about this for a few days. I started getting mad that she was blaming me for her being a sl*t. She was the one who had a gangbang, got paid for it, and I gave her every chance to stop it or get out. She didn’t have to go through with it. The fact was she did, and that made her more responsible than me. She was the paid for hooker, not me.

I got angrier and angrier as the week went on, and I would call her to see of we could talk. She blocked my number – she meant what she said. So I decided to be a little mean and like me, get the last word. I sent her a check for 250 dollars, with the phrase, “ For Services Rendered” in the memo section of the check. This way, she knew she was paid extra for being a hooker. I then put it in a note that simply said, “ To my favorite prostitute, From your favorite john”. I wanted it to be a reminder – a very formal reminder - of her new career

I mailed it and figured one of a few things would happen. She would get the check and immediately tear it up. The other option was she would cash it, but would take a week or two. She would battle i her mind that accepting a check for services rendered – even a few weeks later – would officially make her a prostitute.

Wrong on both counts. The check cleared into my account in less than 48 hours. She immediately cashed it as soon as it arrived. It was official – she was a working girl, a prostitute, someone who fucked men for money. I put her out of my mind, and decided she was a part of my very buried past.

And then a few months later, a letter came..