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  • Secret Party Slut

    “How did it go tonight?” I asked my wife as she returned home.

    “Okay.” She replied, trying to muster up a smile as she did so.

    Of course I knew how her night had went. I knew exactly where she had been and exactly what she had done, because I had watched her doing it. She had been fucked by at least seven different guys.

    I should have been livid, I should have packed my bags and left her, but I now knew that she had been a reluctant participant in the events I had witnessed. And I knew that she was doing it for us. Sounds strange, but it was true.

    The whole thing started a few months ago, really when she lost her job due to the economic downturn. We were struggling to pay the bills, even with the little extra I was making in over-time; when her friend Kelly suggested that she could make good money working with her as an events organizer. Initially Susan was enthusiastic, especially when Kelly told her how much she could make, but after one night when she went with Kelly to an event she decided that it wasn’t for her. I couldn’t draw her on what the problem was so I left it at that.

    A couple of months after that first event, Susan told me she was going to help Kelly with her next party, she seemed hesitant and again I asked her what the problem was, and again she was non-committal.

    The night of the event came along and I could sense that she was almost dreading going out to it, of course now I know why, but at the time it all seemed very odd, I put it down to first time nerves and a lack of confidence. She made £1000 that night and I was ecstatic.

    Looking back I can see it was then that things started to go sour between us. She lost her interest in sex, and she seemed to be more and more depressed. In the months that followed she helped Kelly at three more events and earned another £3000, but sank deeper into the gloom that had enveloped her.

    I eventually came to the conclusion that she was having an affair, stupid I know, but how could I have guessed that the problem really was that she was working as a high-class call girl.

    I came to the conclusion that the man she was seeing behind my back must work with her, so I decided to follow her to the next event and find out exactly what was going on.

    Kelly picked up my wife shortly before 8pm that Saturday night; I was already outside the house, waiting further down the street in a rented car, so when Kelly pulled onto the street and drove past me, I discreetly followed them. After about 30 minutes they pulled into the busy driveway of a large detached villa somewhere in the suburbs. The house was brightly lit and was surrounded by trees set back from a small lawn. The property was enclosed by a high wooden fence, but I scaled it easily enough and waited, hidden in the trees to see what I could make out from the outside.
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