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Sorry, Clay, but we simply must have your wife!

She was hurt and angry. I think this may have been the first time that I realized that I was willfully breaking her down. I realized that the sexual component of our relationship was really all that mattered, and that she was a toy to be used.

I could have reacted with compassion, simply holding her and realizing that she possibly didn't really want this lifestyle. I could have realized that she was only doing it to keep me happy since I had been the only guy to ever treat her well when we had first started dating.

But, I didn't. It actually bothered me that all the work I had put in to breaking her down and making her believe that she was a whore had been in vain. It was a game to her. It was a persona she had assumed, but was hurt when others thought it was who she was.

So, instead of comforting her, I used the opportunity to break her down more.

I held her close, standing there in the seas of new cars as other cars drove by down Kirkwood Highway and in the most comforting voice I could muster, I told her "But, you ARE a whore. You fuck guys for money. That's the definition of a whore. You fuck strangers. You fuck guys I tell you to. You are such a cheap whore, that you do it for free if there is no money involved. As long as you get fucked."

"I thought you LIKED being a whore. You love having your pussy pounded. By anyone. Why hide who you are."

I was relentless. She was sobbing, and the more I spoke the more she cried. We had gotten in the car, and her tears continued. I drove off, heading home with her crying uncontrollably in the passenger seat, barely uttering a word.

I kept talking. She had stopped crying, but was still sitting in silence. Only responding to me when I insisted on an answer. We got home, and immediately went to the sofa. I turned on some porn and held her. In a most comforting tone, I continued to call her a whore. I told her she was as good as any of the sluts on TV. I told her I loved her being fucked and used all the time. I told her that she would be the perfect whore when she was fucking and someone walked in, instead of embarrassment at being caught, that the new person would just be invited to fuck her with the rest of them. If we were watching football with some of the guys over, and someone wanted a blowjob, she would drop to her knees right there and accommodate them, and anyone else who wanted it.

I stroked her pussy while I was doing this. I kissed her, continuing to speak in a low, soothing voice. After a while, her pussy started getting wet.

As soon as her juices started to flow, I climbed on top of her, laying her head on the arm of the sofa, arching her head back slightly and presenting her delicate neck to me. I put my hand to her throat, and kept kissing her as I slowly and gently fucked her increasingly wet pussy.

"You are a whore, aren't you? You don't care who knows it. The more people that know, the more you can get fucked. You know I want to let all my friends fuck you. I love it when strangers in a bar know that they can fuck you. Girls call you a slut because they know you will fuck their boyfriends or their husbands. Guys call you a whore because you are suck a slut they don't want their friends to know that they really want to fuck you. But, you know they would at a moment's notice. And you WOULD fuck them, even if they told you no one could know, wouldn't you."

"Uh-huh". It was the first thing she had said. She had given in. She was broken.

I continued to fuck her, but stopped choking her and just pounded her mercilessly. She liked that, and became wetter and louder the longer it went.

When I came, I pulled out of her pussy, and told her to suck the cum off of my cock. She did. I sat there and watched as she began to finger her pussy until she came.

We both worked days the next day. I spent the day being productive. Work was slow, so I was texting. A lot.

I was texting every person we had ever fucked who was close by, hoping to find someone free to surpr

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