[My Wife's First Experience with a Prostitute]

The idea of having my wife work as a prostitute had been on my mind for a long time, but I never had the chance to do it. It's

a high-risk profession, and I only wanted to experience the thrill of cuckoldry; how much money I actually made wasn't important.

Therefore, if I were to have my wife work as a

prostitute , it would

have to be under safe conditions. On one hand, the clients needed to be of high quality and not have strange requests like SM. On the other hand, I also needed to consider whether the clients were "clean." Of course, I also had to consider social and legal factors. Therefore, this idea had long remained just a fantasy

. However, a chance encounter gave me a breakthrough.

Through a friend, I met a man named A who worked in public relations. Because of his job,

dealing and socializing was unavoidable. Sometimes, to achieve his goals, he needed to arrange

"activities" for his clients. Over time, he not only became a very good public relations professional but also a

pimp .

He often went out into the community to find models, students, and part-time housewives to entertain his important clients.

Since many of these clients were business elites with very high standards, these were exactly the "

clients . Therefore, I soon told Mr. A about my idea. Mr. A was inevitably

surprised to hear my plan, but being a seasoned veteran of the underworld, he quickly understood my intention and said he could

arrange a time to meet my wife.

At the agreed time, my wife and I met Mr. A at a coffee shop. The moment that brat

saw my wife, his eyes lit up. That day, to make a good impression on Mr. A, I specially had

my wife wear a very low-cut blue silk slip dress. Her ample breasts, accentuated by the bra, almost

seemed to be bursting out of the dress; the black mesh pantyhose paired with black stilettos

accentuated her elegant demeanor, offsetting the somewhat vulgar look of her upper body. Dressed like that,

Mr. A's eyes never left my wife during our conversation… The conversation in the coffee shop was simple, basically

just getting to know the basics, confirming if my wife really wanted to be a "prostitute," and briefly explaining the

future "work environment" and the types of clients she would encounter. I watched Mr. A talk animatedly,

but my mind wasn't on the conversation. The thought of my wife in various sexy outfits, letting strangers freely penetrate her,

stirred an uncontrollable excitement within me .

After about fifteen minutes, Mr. A expressed satisfaction—my wife

was quite good-looking and had a good temperament; she wasn't the kind of woman who looked "sexy," which actually made it easier for her to gain

clients ' approval. Then Mr. A invited us to his "studio"—apparently, to make his clients

feel safer and more sensual, he had rented an apartment in a hotel for them to

"rest" in.

In my mind, such a studio would be a pink, decadent

room , nothing more than a brothel for clients to release their sexual desires. But when I actually entered the room, I

realized it wasn't like that at all.

It was a suite. The kitchen to the left of the entrance had been converted into a small bar,

fully stocked with various liquors and equipment. Further in was the living room, where sunlight

streamed , illuminating the leather sofa. A black plush carpet covered the floor, feeling incredibly warm underfoot.

Opposite the sofa was a huge black glass wall with a massive LCD TV mounted on it

. According to Mr. A, it used a high-definition player, and the TV cabinet stored various latest high-definition adult

films and some erotic music CDs. Next to the sofa, a chaise lounge lounged lazily. It was clear that

the customers here weren't just there for relaxation, but rather for a pursuit of a certain lifestyle.

When you sat on the sofa, you could see your reflection faintly in the black glass wall opposite

you , allowing guests to watch adult films while simultaneously seeing themselves having sex.

The bedroom was even more interesting. There was a peephole in the bedroom door, offering a clear view of the bedroom from the living room side

.

According to Mr. A, the women would lie on a large, six-foot-wide bed in the bedroom, dressed in sexy clothes. Guests could

preview their "prey" through the peephole to see if it was their type. There was also a

wardrobe ; when closed, it became a huge mirror,

reflecting everything on the bed.

Opening the wardrobe revealed various styles of designer clothes, including office lady outfits, nurse uniforms,

flight attendant uniforms, police uniforms, teacher uniforms, student uniforms, and Lolita fashion, along with various jewelry. With such

attire , it would be difficult to associate this person with a prostitute. Mr. A explained that the clients here

were all of a certain status; they not only had to satisfy their clothing preferences but also their taste.

After touring the entire room, I was speechless with amazement. My wife, however, was

captivated by the entire room's decor; she seemed almost eager to become a prostitute herself in such a place.

At this point, Mr. A began to speak: "As you can see, this isn't a place for ordinary customers, and the girls who come

here to work can't be ordinary girls either. Madam just passed the first round of interviews, and now

I'm going to start a more in-depth interview." After saying this, Mr. A walked directly to my wife, first

hugging her from behind, then cupping her breasts with his hands, and continued, "In terms of

figure and looks, your wife is top-notch. In terms of temperament, Madam is very suitable for an office lady look. Why don't you

pick out an outfit like this and change into it? Let me assess whether your overall look matches my client's

taste." After saying this, my wife nodded in agreement and started to grab an office lady outfit from the closet, intending to go to

the restroom to change... But then Mr. A stopped my wife: "Just now I only got a general idea of your figure,

but you know, in the end, this job requires 'being completely honest,' so I need you to change in

front of so I can understand your true figure." "At this point, my wife blushed, showing a hint

of embarrassment. Mr. A continued, 'When you come here to work as a prostitute, the customers won't ask you to

do anything. Everything depends on your own performance. So, don't just think about taking your clothes off in front of strangers; you need to know all sorts of seductive tricks

, otherwise the customers won't be satisfied.' Hearing this, my wife seemed to be provoked and retorted:

"I understand, I'm just afraid I'll be too tempting and you won't be able to resist!" As soon as she finished speaking, my wife

put back the outfit she had casually picked out earlier and began carefully selecting her favorite clothes.

After about the time it takes to smoke two cigarettes, my wife found her favorite outfit, and then she began

to take off her clothes in front of Mr. A. Perhaps because she had been aroused earlier, my wife deliberately slowed down

her pace while taking off her clothes, and occasionally twisted her body. The whole process of undressing was both elegant and sexy, and Mr. A had a

satisfied expression on his face... After my wife finished displaying herself completely naked in front of Mr. A, she even made some touching

motions, and I saw that Mr. A's penis had already formed a large tent. However, at this time, my wife

gestured for the two of us men to leave for a moment, saying, "You've seen what you wanted to see earlier, now you can

leave right?

It's not that I don't want you to see, but I hope to present myself to you completely after changing clothes.

Men should like this kind of visual impact, right?" At this point, Mr. A was a little embarrassed and quickly pulled me to

the living room .

After a series of anxious waits, the living room door opened, and my wife walked out.

At that moment, I could almost hear Mr. A's gasp. Before us stood a sophisticated white-collar

worker, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt underneath. She walked gracefully around the living room, her

black high heels clicking softly.

However, a mere ordinary office lady image wouldn't fully capture the allure of this outfit. A

closer look revealed subtle sexiness—the black pantyhose had been replaced with black lace-trimmed

suspender stockings. The skirt's length was just right, perfectly accommodating the stockings, with the black

lace and a small section of the suspenders peeking out as she moved. The shirt she wore wasn't an ordinary shirt either;

the buttons were fastened just to her chest, revealing a deep gorge created by her large, white breasts

through the open fabric… At this point, Mr. A was barely able to contain himself,

uttering a hoarse voice from his dry throat: “Madam’s image and temperament are perfect! This outfit is practically

tailor-made . You’ve passed the second interview. Now… let’s see the most crucial part:

whether Madam’s ‘technique’ meets my client’s requirements… If you can accept

the test of making love with me in front of your husband and perfectly demonstrate all your sexual talents, then you will definitely be a qualified employee.” "

A said, glancing in my direction as if asking for my agreement. I then gestured for him to do as he

pleased . A then said to my wife, "Then please begin, ma'am! Remember, customers don't like being

instructed, so this test must be initiated by yourself, and you must give it your all."

After saying that, I saw my wife walk up to A, kneel down in front of him, touch his crotch with her hand

, and ask me, "Honey, I'm going to start! Now I'm going to be a prostitute, you won't

mind will you?"

"Of course, baby, just go for it! I believe you are definitely a qualified prostitute, don't mind

my presence!" I replied.

So my wife began her "work." She knelt before Mr. A and slowly

unzipped . She reached one hand inside his pants like a treasure hunter, gently caressing

his "treasure." With her other hand, she took something resembling a remote control from her pocket and handed it

to Mr. A, saying, "Master, you can now control me as you please." I looked at

them in confusion. Mr. A seemed to understand immediately, and he pressed the button on the small remote. A "buzz...

buzz..." sound, like a cell phone vibrating, came from my wife's body. It was a remote-controlled

vibrator! Later, I learned that while changing clothes, my wife had noticed

various and had inserted a remote-controlled vibrator into her vagina beforehand.

As Mr. A continued to press the remote, the vibration frequency I heard changed constantly—sometimes strong, sometimes

gentle, sometimes fast, sometimes random… and my wife's expression became increasingly lewd. Sometime during the night, Mr. A

's belt had been unbuckled, and his wife reached into his underwear, pulling out his penis

.

Mr. A's hands were constantly changing the frequency of the remote control, and my wife, not to be outdone, took

his penis into her mouth, performing oral sex in rhythm with the vibrator...

Because of my wife's actions, Mr. A had to switch the remote control to a gentler frequency, otherwise,

at that pace, he would probably ejaculate before even getting to the point.

At this point, my wife changed tactics, no longer giving Mr. A oral sex, but instead straddling him

as he sat on the sofa and unbuttoning his shirt, licking the exposed part of his body with her tongue after each button was undone

. After all the buttons on Mr. A's shirt were undone, his entire body had been "roamed" by my wife

.

Then my wife reached under her skirt and took the vibrator out of her body. With

that movement, the vaginal fluid from her body and the vibrator was drawn out, soaking

several . My wife then started licking the wet vibrator, seemingly

not wanting to waste a single drop of the fluid.

A seemed unable to resist any longer, and tried to insert his penis into my wife's vagina, but my

wife immediately stopped him. She then took a condom from her pocket—a 0.03mm ultra-thin

condom (probably found in the closet; although I had asked her to prepare condoms beforehand,

this not one she had brought).

Unpacking the condom, my wife used her mouth to hold the small air bladder at the tip, and put the condom on A's

glans. Then, she slowly moved the entire penis down into her mouth, and when she spat it out, the condom was

already skillfully on his penis. She then propped herself up on the sofa, sticking her buttocks

out and lifting her skirt, revealing her wet vulva completely

as she said, "Please, Master, fuck me!" In this situation, A stood up and walked around to me...

Behind my wife, he guided his penis into her vagina. Her already wet vagina was very lubricated, and A

easily inserted his penis completely into her body. A exclaimed

, "So wet! This is the first time I've ever seen such a wet cunt, it's overflowing with juice, it's like something out of a porn movie

..." With several vigorous thrusts, my wife began to moan, "Oh... ah... so

... so thick..." After several repetitions, my wife's lust was fully aroused, and one

leg naturally lifted like a dog's. While A held that leg and continued thrusting, he didn't forget

to continue verbally abusing my wife: "No wonder your husband made you a prostitute, this cunt is so wet and horny,

so wanton... Isn't it exciting for your husband to watch you be a prostitute?" "No... no!

Don't say that..." My wife could no longer endure the verbal stimulation under such intense thrusting.

Seeing her trembling as she was being penetrated, I knew she had reached orgasm. Mr. A seemed to have noticed this as well

, but he showed no sign of stopping, instead thrusting even more intensely.

"Quick...quickly tell your husband that you like being a prostitute...you're a born prostitute..." Mr. A continued

to verbally provoke my wife.

"No...please...don't...don't...don't say it..." My wife maintained her last

shred of composure.

"No! Now I'm the customer—you have to say what the customer wants you to say!" Mr. A said, both commanding and

threatening .

"I...I am..." My wife murmured indistinctly, "I'm...I'm a prostitute!" "

What ? I didn't hear you clearly! How can anyone hear you saying that?" Mr. A continued to clamor.

"I'm a prostitute! I'm a born prostitute! I like being a prostitute! Husband...I'll be a prostitute from now on

...as long as someone pays...I'll satisfy the customer's demands...let lots of people fuck me..." My wife

not only said it, but she answered even more aggressively, it seemed that her last line of defense had been breached.

No wonder. A while ago, when my wife was working in sales, she had

indirectly , accompanying them to hotels for sex. This

wasn't unfamiliar to her. Stimulated by this atmosphere, I started to feel she increasingly enjoyed the feeling of selling her body

; the slightly humiliating atmosphere actually gave her greater satisfaction.

As the atmosphere intensified, Mr. A became bolder. He pulled out his penis

, picked up my wife, carried her into the bedroom, and threw her onto the bed. He laid her flat, then went to the bedside,

raised her legs high, placed them on his shoulders, and began thrusting. He also removed her high heels, and while thrusting, he

didn't forget to caress her beautiful legs.

At this point, I wasn't going to be a mere spectator. I took off my clothes and joined in. I ran onto

the bed, put my penis to my wife's mouth, and when she saw it, she was like a

baby —grabbing it and starting to suckle.

A started talking again: "Your wife is a real gem! My clients will love her.

From now on, I'll make her my 'top girl'..." "That's great! You must find my wife lots of

clients; she just loves having strange men fuck her all the time," I agreed.

Then I had them change positions again. This time, I lay on the bed, had my wife straddle me, and

inserted my penis into her wet vagina. I had my wife give A oral sex. At this moment, A took off his condom and

put his erect penis into my wife's mouth... With such vigorous movements, A quickly pulled

his penis out of my wife's mouth and ejaculated on her face. My

wife not only didn't resist but also sucked the remaining semen from his penis into her mouth. Seeing this lewd

scene, I quickly ejaculated into my wife's vagina as well.

Then I put my wife down and let her rest freely on the bed. By this time, my wife had no

strength left to clean herself. My semen was flowing from her vagina, and her face was covered in Mr. A's semen as she fell into a deep sleep.

Having passed this "test," my wife successfully became Mr. A's "social butterfly," and from then

on, she began her career as a prostitute…

[The End]

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[My Wife's First Experience with a Prostitute]

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