Things that happened while looking for a job

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

The Job Hunting:
Looking at the stacks of bank bills on my desk, my head was spinning. Two months had passed since my mortgage payment, two months since my car loan payment, and the phone and electricity companies had issued ultimatums—they'd cut off my electricity and service if I didn't pay soon. Where was I supposed to get the money in such a short time? There seemed to be no hope at all.
I'm a skilled carpenter, and I've never worried about finding work, but the problem now is, I can't work. A while ago, while working on a construction site, I accidentally fell from scaffolding and fractured two of my thighs. I've been resting for two months, and I'll probably need at least another six weeks before I can go back to work.
By then, my pickup truck and house might be foreclosed on. Ugh, this is a real headache.
My wife, Stasha, also has a job, but she's just a secretary at a small company, earning only enough to cover daily expenses, not enough to pay off so many loans. And besides, we don't have any relatives; no one can help us through this.
One evening, my coworker Paul came to see me after work, bringing me some food and supplies from his twelve fellow workers. He also told me about some recent events at the construction site. Finally, he pulled out a greeting card signed by all the workers and, to my surprise and embarrassment, took a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to me, saying, "This is some money the brothers chipped in for you. Use it in case of emergency."
"Oh, thank you so much! I'm so sorry. Please tell them this money is so timely, otherwise my electricity and phone would have been cut off. Thank you so much,"
I said gratefully.
"Well, that makes things a little better now, haha,"
Paul comforted me.
I pulled out a beer and, while drinking with him, told him about my family's current predicament. Paul, taking large gulps of his beer, nonchalantly said, "Things aren't as bad as you think. Look, Stasha's got a gold mine right under her nose. I'm telling you, my good brother, I'd pay $500 to get intimate with her. And I know I'm not the only one who thinks like that."
I knew he was joking, so I wasn't angry. Actually, we often joked like that when we were working. I told Paul I'd keep his words in mind, and if Stasha was willing to do this business, I'd definitely make him her first client.
We drank a few more beers, and then Paul said goodbye. Later, I gave the money Paul had given me to Stasha, telling her to pay the phone and electricity bills as soon as possible.
As the saying goes, misfortunes never come singly. Just when I couldn't go to work or take care of the housework, and Stasha had to do everything, she was also too busy with work to come home on time. That day, Stasha came home from work and told me that her boss wanted to expand the business further and asked if she could extend her working hours, including working Saturdays. Because of our current situation, she absolutely couldn't afford to lose her job, so she could only say yes.
For the next month and a half, Stasha worked four hours after her regular shift every day, and also worked eight and a half hours on Saturdays. However, with the extended working hours, her salary increased significantly, greatly improving our family's financial situation. We paid off all our debts and even deposited some money in the bank. The doctor checked my injuries and told me I could go back to work.
I've been back at work for a month now, and Stasha still works late two or three days a week, and also works one Saturday every other week. Now our financial situation is very good, and our savings are enough to cope with a similar predicament as before.
One day after work, one of my coworkers, Maddie, couldn't start his car. He asked if I could give him a ride into town. "I have a date with a girl, and I don't want to be late because she won't wait for me,"
he explained.
"Oh, where are you going?"
I asked.
"The Best Waistten Hotel on Sixth Avenue."
"Aren't you going home to change?"
"No, no need. This isn't a date with a girlfriend. I'll just take a shower before the deal."
"Haha, you mean you're going to meet a prostitute? Is she so arrogant that she won't wait for her clients?"
"Hehe, she's not that kind of prostitute. She's a decent girl, she needs to go home early after the job, so she can't wait."
I drove Maddie into town and dropped him off in the parking lot of a motel. Just as I was backing up to leave, I suddenly saw something familiar. I braked, reversed, and looked more closely. It was indeed something I recognized all too well—it was Stasha's car parked there.
There was no doubt about it, because I couldn't possibly mistake the license plate. Her workplace was far away, so why would she park here?
Curiosity drove me to find out, so I turned around and drove to Stasha's company. In the company parking lot, I only saw two cars parked there, and the company gate was locked. I knocked on the gate, and a security guard came over and asked me what I needed. I told him, "I just happened to be passing by and wanted to see if my wife was here. She's working overtime at the company today."
"Impossible, she's definitely not here. Nobody works overtime. I've worked here for four years and I've never heard of anyone working overtime,"
the security guard said.
I thanked him and sat in my pickup truck, thinking about what the security guard had just said. For the past three months, Stasha had been telling me that she had to work overtime after work, but the security guard said that no one had ever worked overtime in the past four years. Wasn't that obvious? The security guard certainly wouldn't lie, because he had no reason to lie to me. Although I don't have an MBA, I can still figure this out.
When Stasha got home, I was watching the Red Wings vs. Avalanche hockey game on TV.
"You must be exhausted today?"
I asked her.
"I'm almost dead. I've been moving desks and filing cabinets all day, I'm so tired. My legs hurt like they're broken, I need to take a bath and relax,"
Stasha said wearily.
Watching Stasha walk up the stairs, I wondered what she had been doing.
Two days ago, Stasha told me again that she would be working overtime and coming home later. She usually leaves at 5 p.m., and I leave at 6 p.m., so that afternoon I told my boss I would leave a little earlier because the doctor needed to go for a follow-up check on my injured leg. Around 4:45 p.m., I parked my car not far from Stasha's company and observed her movements. Her company didn't have a back door, so she could only come out through the front.
Around 5 p.m., Stasha came out of the company and drove towards the city. I quickly started my car and followed closely behind. She drove to the Marriott Hotel on Coleman Street, parked her car in the parking lot, and went into the hotel. I watched her walk into the lobby, wondering whether I should follow her. Finally, I decided to wait in the parking lot, keeping a close eye on St. Stasha's movements in the lobby.
About half an hour later, Paul met St. Stasha in the lobby, and they went into the hotel elevator together. The situation was clear: St. Stasha and Paul were having an affair. Seeing this, I turned around, started my car, and drove home.
On my way home, I suddenly felt something was wrong. If Stasha was just dating Paul and wasn't working overtime, then where did all that overtime pay come from? Paul couldn't possibly give her that much money.
Back home, sitting at the kitchen table, I drank beer and pondered what was wrong with my marriage. I love Stasha, and I always thought she loved me too, but now I think I was wrong. If she was dating another man, it meant she didn't care about me at all.
I don't know when it started.
Stasha loves sex, but after I broke my leg, I couldn't have sex with her for about a month and a half.
Did she start seeing other men around that time? Did she use Paul to satisfy her sexual urges when I was on sick leave? But how do I explain the overtime pay?
When Stasha came home, I was still sitting there drinking beer. She came into the kitchen, kissed me on the cheek, and told me she was too tired and was going upstairs to take a hot bath.
“I think you shouldn’t go for a bath yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because we need to have a serious talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“Talk about your job. In fact, at least your company’s security guards told me that your company has never had any overtime in the past four years. Also, we need to talk about why your car was parked in the Best Waistton Hotel parking lot? Why you and Paul went up the Marriott Hotel elevator together? And, since your company never has overtime, where does your overtime pay come from?”
Hearing my words, Stasha’s face turned pale.
“Let’s sit down first. Would you like something to drink? Tonight’s conversation is going to be very long,”
I continued.
After more than half an hour of coaxing, cajoling, and intimidation, Stasha finally told me the whole story.
That day, Paul brought me some money that the brothers had raised for me. During our conversation, Stasha heard the joke that he was willing to pay $500 to be intimate with her. She waited at my back door, and when Paul said goodbye and was about to drive home, she stopped him and asked him if he was serious.
Paul told her it was just a joke, but he'd be ecstatic if he ever had the chance. To Paul's surprise, St. Stephen asked him to arrange a date.
"Our finances were really bad at the time. When I found out Paul was willing to pay so much for something I also enjoyed doing, why wouldn't I? At least I found a way to keep our house from being foreclosed on. The next night, I met him, spent four hours with him, and got $500,"
St. Stephen said.
Afterwards, Paul asked when he could see her again, and St. Stephen told him anytime, but it had to be $500 each time. After three dates with St. Stephen, Paul couldn't afford the $500 fee anymore, so he turned her into a prostitute. Paul kept introducing St. Stephen to other men, and in return, he could have her for free every time he introduced her to three clients.
"That's what I did tonight, giving Paul a free meal,"
St. Stephen said.
"So, Paul is pimping for you?"
"Yes, you could say that."
"But all the debts were paid off months ago, why are you still doing this?"
"Do you want the truth?"
"Of course I want the truth."
"We need to save more money because winter is coming. Your job is less stable in winter, and our income drops significantly. I don't want to experience the panic of not being able to pay the mortgage and having the house repossessed again. And, secondly, I enjoy being a prostitute now." "
What? You enjoy being a prostitute?"
"Yes, because I enjoy sex. Money is important, but I love sex even more, especially with strange men."
"Aren't you afraid I'll find out?"
"I never thought you'd find out. I made Paul promise me that the men he brought wouldn't know you, wouldn't know I'm your wife. That way, no one would tell you what I'm doing. I never thought you'd find out by accident." "
So, the final answer is, you're a whore, and you enjoy being a whore."
"You could say that."
I sat there, stunned, staring at her silently, trying my best to understand how my wife had become a prostitute. But I just couldn't understand it. I wanted to believe she did it to save our house, and I was willing to forgive her for that. But the fact that she became a prostitute and then told me she liked being one made it impossible for me to forgive her.
As I thought about it, I suddenly laughed. Stasha looked at me strangely and asked, "Do you find it funny?"
"I'm laughing at what happened that night. Maddie's car wouldn't start, and he wanted me to give him a ride into town so he could get to his date on time. Actually, I was driving a man to fuck my wife without even realizing it. Isn't that ridiculous? My wife is a prostitute, and I'm transporting her clients. It's fucking unbelievable."
"Oh, you were the one who took Maddie to the Best Waistten Hotel that day?"
"Yes, I gave him to you, so you and he could cuckold me."
"Darling, don't say that. It doesn't mean anything. You're still the only man I love. I did this for our family, to save our house, to save your pickup truck, to get us out of this mountain of bills. I really didn't know I'd like to do this. It's just sex, just sex, sex without emotion, darling. I belong to you, and only to you."
“No, Stasha, you don’t belong to me alone. You belong to any man who will fuck you for money.”
We sat there, our four eyes staring at each other, speechless for a long time. Finally, Stasha asked, “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know, Stasha. I really don’t know.”
I stood up from the table and turned to go upstairs to the bedroom.
To my slight surprise, Stasha followed me upstairs, into the bedroom, and got into bed with me as if nothing had happened. She reached for my penis, and I pushed her away.
“Don’t do that, baby. I know you like having sex with me, and I like the way you do it, so don’t waste your energy.”
“I don’t want to follow in other men’s footsteps, and I don’t want to fuck the woman Paul just fucked.”
“Don’t worry, baby, I cleaned myself up before coming home. I won’t let you get any other man’s semen on you, baby. My vagina might be a little loose, but it’s definitely not dirty.”
As she spoke, she reached for my penis again.
I pushed her hand away again and yelled, "Don't move! Stasha! You fucking leave me alone for a minute!"
"No, I can't leave you alone, baby, I never will. I want you."
"But I don't want you. Knowing what you just did, I don't want to touch you at all right now."
I rolled over to get away from her, trying to fall asleep quickly. But sleeping was impossible. I lay there, tossing and turning, while St. Stasha kept stroking and rubbing me. After about an hour, I couldn't take it anymore, so I got out of bed and went to the guest room next door. Sleeping in the guest room wasn't comfortable, but at least I could escape St. Stasha's harassment. I finally managed to fall asleep around 3 a.m.
The next morning, I woke up at 6 a.m. and found St. Stasha and I in the same bed. Her hand was on my penis, licking it like an ice pop. I tried to get away from her, but she firmly stopped me. She tried to stimulate my penis, but it didn't seem to work.
“Don’t waste your time, St. Stasha, I’m not interested in fucking a whore.”
“Why not, baby? Everything Paul did last night was just a warm-up for you. He’s never made my heart flutter, and no other man has ever made my heart flutter. My heart only flutters for you. Come on, baby, let me prove to you that you are the only man I love. No man has ever made me scream like you have.”
She reached for my penis again, and I flinched away from her hand, saying, “Okay, I’m starting to believe you. You said you’re a whore and like being a whore, and now I’m willing to believe that you haven’t had an orgasm when they fucked you.”
“Yeah, really, I’m not lying to you. They all made me cum, but no one made me scream like you have.”
“That’s not the point, St. Stasha. It makes me uncomfortable that you’re fucking other men behind my back. Just thinking about it kills my excitement.”
"No way, baby? I used to see you get so hard every time you watched porn. Just imagine me having sex with other men in your favorite porn, and I'm the actress in it. Imagine me doing what she's doing. She does it for money, baby, just like me, except she's acting and I'm not. But my sluttyness is real because I like prostitution. Just imagine me having sex with other men in a porn movie, baby."
I tried my best to imagine Stasha having sex with other men as a scene from a porn movie, but I couldn't. Besides, my favorite porn movies are group sex, the kind where a woman is gang-raped by several men, with penises inserted into her mouth, vagina, and anus at the same time—Stasha knows that. Oh, does Stasha mean she also has group sex with men?
"Hey, what do you mean by imagining yourself as a porn star? What exactly did you do? I mean, what did you do while you were making that money?"
"I did everything, baby. As long as they didn't hurt me, they did whatever they wanted for four hours after paying $500." "
Everything?"
"Yes, darling, for those four hours, all my holes belonged to them, they could do whatever they wanted with me."
"You always told me you worked eight hours on Saturdays, what did you do all that time? How did they play with you?"
Stasha's face darkened. She replied, "I think you can guess, that was the worst part. On Saturdays, I was being fucked by several men all day long."
"Oh, always several men fucking you at the same time?"
"Yeah. You know what? Lots of men want to fuck me. Compared to professional prostitutes, they prefer decent women who do part-time work, especially those who can have group sex with them, like me. So, I always have a lot of clients. But that means I earn even more. On Saturdays, I often earn $5,000 or more a day."
"Oh my god, St. Stasha, how many men do you have sex with?" "
Usually seven or eight, sometimes a dozen or so. Anyway, as long as someone is willing to fuck me, I'll take them all, the more the merrier, as long as they pay me. Oh, what's wrong with you? You seem really excited to hear that I'm being fucked by so many dicks!"
St. Stasha pointed at my penis and chuckled.
I looked down at my crotch; my penis was already erect with a bright red glans. St. Stasha reached out and grasped my penis, which had never been so thick before, and gently stroked it. This time, I didn't push her hand away.
"Baby, you're so hard. Do you especially like group sex? Do you love watching all my holes filled with cocks, with so many men waiting to fuck me? God, my baby, your cock is harder than iron."
With that, Stasha straddled me, guiding my penis downwards, and her loose, dripping vagina immediately swallowed it completely.
"Lie down, baby, let me take good care of you. Oh, God, darling, it feels so good to have you inside me, that place is yours." "
Imagine a bunch of men stripping me naked and pinning me to the bed, each with a huge cock trying to take over every hole in my body. Imagine, baby, me lying naked on the bed, with a thick, iron-hard cock in my mouth, vagina, and anus, and them relentlessly pouring their filthy semen into all of your wife's holes."
"Imagine your little wife being fucked by so many big cocks until she floats to the sky like a leaf. She's so excited, so happy, so wanton. Every time a cock ejaculates and withdraws from her pussy, she immediately begs for another big cock to quickly occupy her empty cave. Just imagine, darling, a room full of men with thick cocks, lining up to fuck your lovely, charming wife—what an exciting scene that would be!"
As she described those lewd imaginings, she moved wildly on top of me, instantly drawing me into a state of chaotic and violent emotions. I grabbed her buttocks hard, thrusting my body upwards with all my might, violently raping her.
"Yes, yes, that's it, baby, fuck harder! Fuck your slutty wife who's been gang-raped by dozens of men harder, fuck this shameless bitch harder, fuck this filthy prostitute covered in filthy semen!"
"Fuck! You slutty bitch who's been fucked by thousands and ridden by tens of thousands!"
I screamed loudly, violently shooting my semen into her vagina.
St. Stasha laughed loudly. "Looks like you really enjoy this kind of fantasy, don't you, baby? You like your wife to be a prostitute being gang-raped by many men. Don't deny it, baby, I already know your little secret. I've found the secret button to activate your libido, and that's why you like me being gang-raped."
"How many men do you want me to have sex with at the same time, baby? 10? 30? You choose a number, and next time I'll definitely gang-rape that many men for you. Do you want to go too, baby? Do you want to watch me being gang-raped by a huge group of men? Do you want to watch me insert one cock after another into my three holes, and then beg for more cocks? Do you want to fuck my vagina filled with the semen of many men?"
At this moment, something strange happened. My penis, which had just ejaculated and was already limp, became erect again amidst her lewd words.
"Haha, God!"
St. Stasha felt my penis harden again inside her vagina and couldn't help but scream.
"Hmm, you really want to fuck my cunt that's been filled with semen by many men. Okay, I'll let you taste my slippery, sticky vagina. Many men earn twice the money just to fuck my cunt that's filled with semen, but you can get this opportunity for free, darling, you can get anything you want for free. Maybe you'd prefer me sitting on your face with my cunt full of semen, do you like that, darling? Do you like eating other men's semen from my cunt?"
"Once a man paid me $300 to rush to his house after I was gang-raped by many men so he could lick fresh semen from my cunt that's filled with semen. If you like that too, I can let you lick it for free, and give you more and fresher semen, as much as you want. Do you like that, my baby?"
Oh, I really like that. I screamed and ejaculated inside her vagina for the second time, imagining myself licking other men's semen from her cunt.
After my wife and I talked about this that night, Paul never had a free time with my wife again. St. Stasha told him she already had enough repeat customers and didn't need him to pimp her anymore.
But that wasn't the truth. The reality was that St. Stasha was tired of always serving the same old clients; she wanted more new dicks. So, I became her pimp, constantly finding her new clients.
Of course, the real reason Paul never got a free time with my wife again was because I asked St. Stasha to charge him. That damn guy always called himself my best friend, but he slept with my wife behind my back and acted as a pimp, taking her around to prostitute herself. I had to get revenge on him this way.
St. Stasha did group sex almost every other weekend, and I would watch and join in at the end. She was right; she had definitely found the secret button to trigger my lust.
None of the men in the group sex knew I was her husband, and no one noticed the excited yet embarrassed expression on my face when she was being gang-raped. It was strange; watching my wife being wantonly violated by so many strange men really excited me.
A couple of times before, I'd peeked at my wife entertaining a client from inside the closet, but it didn't excite me. Later, watching her being gang-raped by multiple men kept my penis hard all Saturday.
Now, we have a very large sum of money, and Stasha asked if I wanted her to quit being a prostitute. I told her that if she wanted, she didn't have to work overtime during the weekdays entertaining clients anymore, "but you're my group sex bitch, and you have to let me watch your group sex shows on weekends. I'll never allow you to stop this incredibly exciting way of having sex,"
I said domineeringly.

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Things that happened while looking for a job

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