I was standing in front of the last pew, the corner seat by the center aisle, with my daughters to my right, and across the aisle was Mr. Cazares standing next to his wife.

 

Their teen daughter, Amanda, stood on the other side of Mrs. Cazares. Amanda was shame-faced, as she had been of late - not nearly as prideful and arrogant as she had been - and holding in her arms the baby boy she bore out of wedlock.

 

The congregation sang, as did I while I made furtive glances across the aisle at Mr. Cazares' shoes, not daring to look directly at him.

 

I was 31, and my daughters were 11 and 7 years of age. What I am recollecting now happened four years ago.

 

Mr. Cazares was a womanizer, but that was not well known. What was known was that he was a deacon in our modest church, and he had a wicked sinner's past.

 

He spent six years in the penitentiary. He told people the conviction was for trafficking in narcotics. That wasn't true. He did time for pimping. He was a 'reformed' whore maker, also a lie. He still very much had a passion for turning decent women into whores.

 

To the public eye, he made an honest living these days. He was a construction contractor. He had a crew and he laid concrete foundations.

 

But he was fucking his secretary and pimping her and her daughter on the side. It turned out, although I did not know it that day, that he was also a horrible influence on his very own daughter.

 

Oh, he did not fuck her himself. But he could not resist corrupting her. He went against his wife when it came to disciplining the girl. He spoiled her knowing full well she would get into deep trouble.

 

He was a habitual enabler. He recruited one of his employees - a 20-year-old man of ill repute - to date his then 15-year-old daughter. Her 'boyfriend' was encourage by Amanda's father to teach her the lifestyle of a party girl, a slut. His employee succeeded unto Mr. Cazares' wildest dreams.

 

At her father's instructions, and with his financing, Amanda's boyfriend would pay for the motel where they would have sex. Amanda's mother thought she was spending these evenings with the daughter of Mr. Cazares' secretary, but that was another ruse. The secretary's daughter would make the obligatory appearance to pick Amanda up, then hand her off to her 20-year-old boyfriend.

 

The boyfriend took her to a cheap motel across the highway from a truck stop. The motel was frequented by prostitutes who 'dated' men at the truck stop. It was practically a brothel and early into Amanda's relationship with her boyfriend she was introduced to several whores with the intent that friendships would develop, and these friendships did occur.

 

It was all part of Mr. Cazares' plan to surround his daughter with wicked influences.

 

While her father helped hide her activities and whereabouts from her mother, Amanda turned into a wild girl -- getting stoned and fucking. And she convinced herself with the help of her new friends that there were no serious consequences for having multiples sex partners with the men her boyfriend brought to their parties.

 

After awhile, and under such bad influences, it didn't even phase her when her boyfriend suggested that she sell her body. Her prostitute 'friends' boasted of the money she could make and it was too enticing. Shortly before she reached her 18th birthday, she succumbed to the lure of money and to her own now insatiable lusts for dirty sex.

 

She was fucking all the truckers that her bad boy lover, and eventual pimp, lined her up with, right up until the pregnancy.

 

The pregnancy was a big blow to Amanda's ego. She was such a beautiful Mexican maiden. She had green eyes, was 5 feet and 6 inches tall, 128 pounds before the pregnancy, very dark brown in skin tone. She had a 36C-24-36 figure and shoulder length straight black hair.

 

Getting knocked up didn't happen right away. She had the good sense to get on the pill. She didn't have the good sense to remember her daily dose when she was getting stoned.

 

But she fucked around for almost four years - long enough to have ruined her reputation and mortified her mother by the time she was 19 and eight months pregnant. Now she was 19 and two months post-birth and back in church. She wanted an abortion, but her mother would not stand for that.

 

But this story is not so much about her. It is about me. My name is Isabel Manchada. And had I known all about Amanda's life and her father's role in it, I might not have got involved with him.

 

I am married to a decent man, or I should say I was at the time. He just happened to have no interest in church. He was also a fat, lazy husband with no ambition, content to waste his life in middle management at a lousy company with lousy pay and few benefits.

 

So, I took it upon myself to take our daughters to church alone. Our church -- I call it the brown trash church. We are predominantly low-income, Mexican-Americans in a small south Texas town near San Antonio.

 

These families scratch a living working on nearby farms, or in the construction or service trades. We are poor and for the most part not well educated.

 

I finished high school and I finished 18 months study in a junior college to get certified for clerical work. That makes me one of the most educated members of the church, but not the wisest!

 

I used to work in an office. But now, at age 34, I am just a prostitute - yes, a common streetwalker.. I lost custody of my daughters in the divorce. I live alone.

 

I have always gone to church, although not always to this church I am referring to. It was a protestant church - not Catholic, which most people just assume would be the case because I am Mexicana.

 

I am 5 feet and 5 inches tall, and I weigh 145 pounds. I have long black wavy hair that flows down to the small of my back, and dark brown skin. My figure is 38D-30-38. I have full red lips and the high broad cheekbones and broad nose of my Native American heritage. I have a bubble butt and thick, firm brown thighs. I wear a size 8 shoe. My eyes are brown.

 

I pluck my eyebrows and use a brow stencil. I've considered tattooing in the eyebrows, but I think that looks too, too chola. I trim my pubic hair into a triangle, and I have a tattoo of a red apple on my left ass cheek; out of the apple sticks the head of a snake with its forked tongue licking the crack of my ass. I got that tattoo after Mr. Cazares put me on the street to whore for him.

 

I also have a tattoo of a small cross on the right side of my neck.

 

And I wear a tongue bar now for the obvious reason - men like the feel of it against their cock when I am giving oral sex. But I had no piercings except for earrings when our sexual relationship started.

 

Few people dress up at our church. I had even seen married women with children show up there in short cut-off bluejeans, sandals and tube tops. Seriously!

 

I was not that bad. In fact, before I got involved with Mr. Cazares, I dressed very nice to church. But after we started fucking, I started sliding into a sleazier self-image. It was what he wanted more than what I wanted. Why did I keep giving in to him? How did he have such a powerful hold over my emotions? He ruined me completely!

 

On this particular Sunday, I had been self-conscious that he was always checking me out when he thought no one was looking. It made me so horny!. And he was very persistent about trying to catch my eye.

 

He was 45 years old, 14 years my senior. I might not have been affected were it not for the fact that despite his age he radiated an earthy virility. He was tall, dark and muscular.

 

He was 5 feet - 11 inches tall, about 200 pounds, and kept his hair cut short. He dressed like a gentleman - never came to church in a t-shirt or even a polo shirt. He was always in a nice, long-sleeve dress shirt and dress slacks, and he had these amazing thick thighs that filled out those pants - OMG! How I loved to look at his thighs and imagine them slapping against me.

 

His black leather shoes always shined and they seemed to call me to my knees, the sparkling of those spit-polished shoes seemed to speak to me, "Kiss my feet, bow down to me!"

 

I admit my clothing might have been a little provocative. I dressed to be noticed and I always longed for compliments about my beauty. I was a vain woman! I liked tight-fitting skirts and blouses. But I didn't show that much skin. I was just proud of my figure and wanted to dress in skirts and tops that were a size too small. It was my vanity, I suppose, but he liked looking at me more than he liked looking at his wife or any other woman in church. That much was obvious.

 

He would whisper to me, "Ahh, Isabel. You are easy on the eyes -- sssuch a beautiful woman!"

 

I do not know how he got my phone number, but he started calling me at the office. He would flirt on the phone and invite me to whatever construction site he was at -- "For a quickie, what do you say, sweet child?"

 

I would rebuff him. I would tell him he was married, and so was I, and that this was impossible. But I never had the nerve to tell my husband, or anyone else. I did not want to be causing more trouble.

 

But he had an effect on me. I had to admit that I was aroused. The very idea of having the opportunity to have an extra-marital adventure, to be naughty with such a virile man - that kept me thinking of him and the wicked things he told me.

 

Oh, it is not like I was a saint. I was not. I had been sexually active since the age of 15. And even after I married my husband at age 19, I had succumbed to temptation.

 

I had a job early in my marriage where I gave in to my supervisor's demands for sex; he offered me money for sex and it excited me to be his personal prostitute.

 

My monthly 'bonuses' always involved a trip to his office with the door locked behind me, and me stripping naked for him, me bending myself over his desk so he could fuck me in the asshole because his wife would not permit him to be doing that.

 

For an extra $400 a month, I gave in to my boss six to eight times a month. It was always the same. Go to his office. Get naked. Bend over the desk. Take his cock up the ass, then kneel and suck his shit-greased cock until he came on my face. He loved to give me the facials and make me wipe his cum with a hanky I kept in my purse.

 

But after having sexual relations with him for six months, guilt finally overwhelmed me and I quit my job. "How could I be such a filthy whore?" I asked myself.

 

I was ashamed at how easily he made me enjoy the way he degraded me. The self-loathing ended a few months after I quit, but the urge to do the nasty outside of marriage lingered inside of me.

 

At my next job, I had an affair with a co-worker. But the opposite happened - although, I was excited to sneak around and cheat with him, he got cold feet eleven months into the affair. His wife was suspicious and he ended the affair.

 

By the time Mr. Cazares had started hitting on my, I had been behaving myself for six years. I was so fucking bored with the sex life I had with my husband. I was bored with life in general. And perhaps too predisposed for having a wicked adventure.

 

Still, to have sex with someone I went to church with! That made me hesitate. It seemed terribly complicated.

 

There were so many people around that might notice, and to have to maneuver around my daughters! I had never had an affair anywhere outside the workplace. I felt very uncomfortable about taking a chance with this man.

 

But I would not refuse his phone calls. And he knew it. Every time he called me at work, I picked up the phone. I listened to his filthy suggestions. He talked dirty to me, and I would listen. And the more I listened, the more disgusting his sexual descriptions became.

 

He became so brazen that he would insult me from the first greeting. The phone would ring, and I would lift the receiver and he would say, "Sos cachonda por mi, puta? Ya estas mojada, verdad?" (Are you horny for me, whore? You are already wet, true?)

 

And from the start of our conversations, I would blush and my pussy would ache. I suppose, no doubt, it encouraged him to go on, knowing that I would not hang up -- at least never right away. He knew I was letting talk his rude voice speak wickedness into my ear until I was so upset that I had to go to the restroom and masturbate.

 

He would go into elaborate and graphic detail about how he was going to make me crazy for his cock, about how he was going to turn me into a slut. He kept telling me that I was one, that he could spot one a mile away and he knew I was one. I just needed to hook up with the right man to "bring out my inner whore."

 

"And you are the man to do this? Hah!" I would say, trying to sound skeptical.

 

I got into a playful phone banter with him, deriding him, calling him a dirty old man, a pervert. But for some reason, I could not bring myself to insist that he must stop calling, or that he must please leave me alone.

 

His talk would arouse me. I would think of him when I was in bed at night with my husband. I thought of Mr. Cazares as I licked and sucked my husband's cock. I thought of Mr. Cazares as I rode on my husband's cock.

 

I was slipping. I felt myself becoming more and more oriented toward Mr. Cazares' needs. When he would be near me in the social hall during a Sunday after-service lunch, I would find his hand on my knee and not object. On the occasions where he was close to me in church, he took shameful liberties - pinching my ass, brushing a hard-on against my thigh, slipping a hand up my skirt until - I, in panic, - would grab his hand and shove it away.

 

We passed each other by the restrooms once. I was leaving the woman's restroom and he was supposedly about the enter then men's restroom. He put a hand on my ass and invited me into the men's restroom to suck his cock. I stood there blushing while he squeezed my ass.

 

He said, "Let's go. Let me cum in your mouth, Isabel. Now!"

 

I could see his cock was hard and throbbing against his thick upper thigh; he had adjusted his organ to make the penis fall out of his briefs just for my viewing.

 

I wanted to give in, but I mustered the willpower to pull free of him and go back to the Sunday service. Oh, but how wet I was, thinking of being on my knees for him, milking his cock. How my heart pounded in my chest! Women are only human, and the flesh it is weak.

 

On this particular Sunday, on the day I finally gave in to him, my willpower had crumbled away. I had decided to give in to him at the very next opportunity. We had been having these exchanges for weeks. I was dying to open my thighs to him.

 

We were in song, and I was looking out of my hymn book constantly, looking his way. It took me awhile to get the nerve to move my eyes up from his shoes to his eyes. He caught my glances and I felt a flood of hot blood to my dark breasts. He nodded at me, a questioning, "yes?" with his facial expressions and movements of his head.

 

 

I bit my lower lip in his direction. I must have looked a sight! So needy.

 

I pressed the palm of my hand to my abdomen and reached down below the cheap black vynil belt at my waist, and I and scrunched the fabric of my skirt into my shaking fist. I pulled up at my short tight skirt, then down. Up and down, up and down, the fabric of my skirt in movement, as if it were being moved around by the physical molestations of a horny man. I made this movement four times.

 

This was the sign he had instructed me to give him, "When you are ready to be my whore," he had said over and over and over.

 

He was aroused. He reached for his groin and adjusted his organ. I could bear this tension no longer. I put down the hymn and told my daughters I would be back momentarily, that I needed to use the restroom.

 

I walked toward the restroom with a choking lump in my throat and my face red with shame; I knew he would not treat me like a lover. He would not be gentle or sweet. He had always been clear that he would treat me like a whoring bitch, and give me "a hardcore fucking!"

 

I walked to the back of the sanctuary and waited behind the baptismal pool in the hallway that led to the restrooms. Mr. Cazares appeared behind me moments later. I had such butterflies! All my senses were roiling and my whole body was in the turmoil brought on by my raging lust and the knowledge that the moment of my surrender was at hand.

 

He took my hand and led me past the restrooms and into the utility closet. He pushed aside the mops, brooms and mop bucket. He embraced me in the darkness that enveloped us when he shut the door.

 

He had one hand on my behind, squeezing my coffee brown buttock cheek, he had his other hand unbuttoning my blouse. There was no kissing, although I hoped that we might.

 

He pulled up my skirt and worked his right hand inside the elastic of my high-cut pink panties. His hand was bare on the flesh of my buttock. He squeezed it and squeezed it and made me want for more. His left hand deftly undid my bra and he squeezed my 38-D brown right breast.

 

"What do you need?" he asked.

 

"You," I responded.

 

"Why?" he asked.

 

"I don't know," I said.

 

"Yes you do! You know! You know that you are a slut! Don't you?"

 

"No," I protested.

 

The fingers of his right hand dug into the crack of my buttock. He forced a digit up my anus. The finger skin was hard and calloused and it scratched inside my sphincter raw. He pulled me to him hard. I felt his erection throb against the skin of lower abdomen as I pulled up my blouse and unzipped my skirt.

 

"Puta calientita!" he said, calling me a hot, horny whore in Spanish.

 

"Nooo," I groaned, but increasingly, it sounded like the truth. What was I doing?! I craned my face toward his mouth and offered my lips to his.

 

"I'm not going to kiss you, you little cocksucker," he said. "I'm going to put your nasty mouth on my cock and you are going to do your business, you hear me!?"

 

His right hand pulled out of my anus and slid around inside my panties to my pussy and he started finger-fucking me furiously.

 

"Nnnnnn!" I moaned, now intoxicated with forbidden desires. I actually felt myself needing to hear him call me a whore and in the same instant hating myself for being such an obsessed and foolish woman.

 

He fingered me until I was dripping wet. Then he said, "Agachate a tus rodillas, puta!" (Get down to your knees, whore!)

 

And I knelt. I exhaled with the force of my surrender. "Down! Submit! I can resist no more!" These were my thoughts. But even then, I did not really believe he would make me a prostitute. For me, it was just dirty talk to make the sex act more exciting.

 

I felt my stocking covered knees press into the hard, scratchy concrete floor. I unzipped his pants with shaking, red-painted fingernails glistening in the dim light. I can still see in my mind my colored fingernails at his zipper!

 

I reached in. I felt his dark, fat, brown, hot, hard cock in my hand. I pulled on it and it sprang out and slapped my chin. I could smell the musk of his organ - Mr. Cazares' wicked, delicious cock.

 

I opened my mouth and I felt the tip of my tongue against the fleshy, dark and hooded foreskin of his uncut cock. My tongue danced there. My eyes wide open, I could barely see his cock in the darkness.

 

"Chupame la verga, puta!" he said in a hoarse, crude Mexican baritone voice (Suck my cock, whore!).

 

I felt him softly fucking his cock into my mouth. I felt the hood pop back as his bulbous cock head flared on the flat of my tongue. He pressed the palms of his hands against the sides of my head. He covered my ears with his hands and the sound of my sucking on his cock was muffled.

 

The inner sounds passing through my mouth to my ear channel took on a new dimension. I thought this might be what it is like sucking cock underwater.

 

I worked my neck and tongue and bobbed my head on his penis. I felt his large soft testicles soothing against my chin.

 

He returned my motions with fuck thrusts of his own. I was so wet for him! I had never been in the throes of lust to these extremes of emotions. I felt such an incredible urgency to give in, to please him. And, yes, to be his dirty whore.

 

I felt my yellow 14K gold wedding band heat up against his hot, hard cock. And that rich, wicked sense of betrayal that filled my soul during my other extra-marital affairs came back. I felt sin fill me in a seductive and familiar way, but this time with much greater strength. After all, I was a cheating wife sucking another man's cock in church!

 

"Voy a meter dentro tu alma un demonio, puta sucia," Mr. Cazares said, (I will put inside your soul a demon, dirty whore!).

 

His demonic speak only heated me with the desire to go over another edge. And it was so hot in that confined space, in that wicked darkness -- and I have always been a woman believing in spirits - that I believed with strong conviction that there were with us demons helping him seduce me. I was the victim, the sacrifice in some spiritual battle.

 

And he fucked my mouth with such urgency. He was enjoying himself immensely and in the darkness, listening to his lewd whispers and piggish groans, i felt Satan was in him and I was sucking on something more than just a man's penis.

 

I felt the excitement that comes from knowing I was being completely selfish. I sucked at his root with raging greed. And he fucked my throat with equal intent.

 

He began fucking my throat so fiercely, I thought he would cum down my throat. But he did not. He pulled out and told me to stand, turn and bend over. When I was bent and offering him my backside, he pulled down my panties to my knees and my skirt up across my back and slammed his cock into my dripping hot pussy.

 

"Ohhhhh," I just had to moan. It was so rich feeling him pound my pussy!

 

He slammed into me steadily. I could hear his groin and balls slap against my ass and pussy. It sounded so loud! I was afraid someone might walk by the closet and hear his cock slapping into me. But that just excited me more.

 

His big, strong, dark, calloused hands held my hips tight. He fucked me and called me a good whore, "Buena puta!"

 

His left hand left my hips and grabbed my head and shook it up and down to force my agreement.

 

"Sos buena puta?" he asked (Are you a good whore?).

 

"Yesss," I said, finally giving in to his interrogating method.

 

It was so dark and hot. I felt like I was making such a horrible sin against God that I was just outside the doorway to Hell itself. We both breathed heavily. We both moaned with lust full filled. We both sweated like gluttonous pigs.

 

His driving, demanding, merciless cock moved inside me with unrelenting speed - filling me, stretching me, awakening me to lower and lower depths. He grabbed my hair at one point so hard that my neck and back were stretched so tight the stress was beyond what I could bear and I moaned, "Aahhh!"

 

As he fucked me, he bit into my top left shoulder by the neck, then sucked and sucked and sucked so hard that I knew he left on me a big red hickey.

 

Luckily, I thought, my blouse had a collar!

 

His hands roamed all over my body as he fucked his delicious, probing fat penis into my pussy. He was an expert at finding erotic places I did not know I had. He massaged my neck. He pushed and pinched at my diaphragm, then those hands roamed strong and sure up to my breasts and throat. He slapped my thighs with his hands. His thighs slapped my ass and I loved it!

 

"Dame mas!" I exclaimed (Give me more!)

 

He asked me again and again if I was a whore. And with each interrogation, my willing "Yes" came with more conviction and more enthusiasm. He had control of me, and in my sexual desperation I wanted to give him control of me. I wanted never to have his forceful cock and wicked tongue and confident strong hands separated from me.

 

He rocked his cock into me with more speed. He was more excited with each success at getting me to confess my whoring heart to him. Mr. Cazares told me he was going to cum in my pussy. I told him I wanted him to cum in my pussy.

 

And as he ejaculated into me, he said, "Cuida mi leche, puta. Toma nena! Perrita! No la vas a limpiar, tonta. Eh? Quiero que te sientas con la congregacion llena de mi leche, cochina!"

 

(Take care of my sperm, whore. Take it, little girl! Little bitch! Don't clean yourself, you fool. Ok. I want you to go sit with the congregation full of my cum, dirty girl.)

 

And as he spoke each phrase, in my lust I said, "Yes!" I felt his cock pulse and stroke deep, ejaculating sperm into me. And I said, "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

 

He pulled himself together, then told me to wait two minutes before I came back.

 

I stood in the darkness of the hot closet alone, my clothes all out of place. And all I could think of was when would be the next time? I couldn't wait to have him use me again. I gathered myself together, then I carefully slipped out of the utility closet and looked myself over in the hall. My stockings were ripped at the knees and my knees were bleeding!

 

I stepped into the women's restroom and took my stockings off and threw them in the trash can. I was mortified. People would notice that I came to church with stockings and now had none! But it would be even more obvious to walk back into the sanctuary with ripped stockings. I slipped out a rear exit, and walked around the building and came back into the sanctuary from the rear. I slid as quietly as I could next to my daughters.

 

My heart pounded so hard in my chest! I felt Mr. Cazares semen seep and slip just inside the lips of my vagina. I felt shame. I had returned to my old cheating ways, only this time it was much worse. It was so much worse than anything I had done before. Of that, I was sure. My other lovers didn't have the effect on me that Mr. Cazares did.

 

I was afraid of him. I was afraid of what he might get me to do next.

Alberto Cazares speaking:

 

That Isabel, heh, let me tell you, I could see her for what she was from the first Sunday she come in to church with her little girls. You want to know how easy it is to make a whore? Eh? Let me tell you, if you know what to look for it is too fuckin' easy. But you have to know what to look for.

 

And you have to be willing to do anything to get to the bitch, sabes? You have to have a killer's instinct.

 

Let me tell you, a whore is just a cheating bitch - that is all! If she has the wandering eye, she dress and paint herself just a little too much, it does not have to be too provocative, just know she is fishing for a man's eye - any man's eye.

 

Now you might think, but lots of women, they dress a little sexy and they are not whores. Yes, yes, that is true. So, there is more to look for.

 

It is this - and Mr. Cazares pointed a finger at his 17-year-old son who had hopes of following in his father's wicked ways - the whore, she sooner or later gives the invitation to be alone with her. You see? La puta, she is looking for trouble.

 

This woman, it was a common gossip among the women of the church that she had been unfaithful to her lazy husband. I did not know how evil the bitch was, but I knew enough to be interested, to get me a hard-on looking at her in church.

 

But there is more, and this is the most important part. A puta, she will let you tell her she is a puta. She may act offended, but to be called out, to be thrown in her face the title of 'puta' - eh? - this excites her, boy.

 

You tell her enough times, and she will let the news sink deep into her soul.

 

Mujer cochina, esa, (dirty woman, that one). I'm telling you the truth! I didn't do anything but put her in front of the mirror of her soul and tell her what she really was! Una zorra! (A skunk --- in Latin cultures, it is common to call a slut a skunk; this is a vulgar reference to the smell of a bitch that is constantly fucking, and of the white stripe on the back, a euphemism for a spine covered with semen).

 

Mr. Cazares adjusted his organ. He was getting aroused talking this way about Isabel Manchada. His son smiled and fondled his own organ. The ease with which he disrespected her was total, and his perceptions were conveyed unto the boy.

 

Man, I can't wait to fuck her, papa! the boy said after letting out a chuckle.

 

Mr. Cazares patted his son on the shoulder: That's my boy! Yes, you will. You will get to fuck that bitch, he said.

 

Cazares went on: After that first time, after she let me to treat her like a common whore in the utility closet of the church - ha, ha! - I did not have to call her anymore. I was no longer the hunter pursuing the little fishy. No. The little fishy, she was on the hook! She was calling me! She was begging me! 'Ay, papi,'

 

She say. 'When are you going to be with me again. I want you. I need you so bad, papi! How you make me crazy. Uyy! I am crazy for you, papi.'

 

La pendeja (the dumb girl), she has no clue how deep in the shit she is. She has no fuckin' clue what I am willing to do to get to a puta and put her pussy to work.

 

- - - - *** - - - -

 

Isabel:

 

After my first sexual experience with Mr. Cazares, oh my god, I was this bundle of nerves. All I could think of the rest of that Sunday was how could I get alone with him again. My stomach had no appetite for food. I couldn't eat or think of lunch, or even of dinner. I cooked for my daughters and husband and went without. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts. I just wanted privacy to recall every moment in that closet. What had happened to me there?

 

It was so intense, so unbelievably wicked what we had done.

 

I knew it was wrong, but I could not help myself. I wanted to relive every precious thrust of his cock inside of me. I wanted to remember every vicious word that he had spit like fiery arrows into my soul. I wanted to run from my home and be alone with him again. I felt like a deer chasing the hunter: 'Come! Here I am. Slay me. Skin me. Strip me bare to my bones!'

 

That Sunday night, I did not sleep. I only thought of him and our actions. It was not until four in the morning that sleep overcame me. And at 6 a.m., the alarm clock went off. With only two hours sleep, I pulled myself together, got my daughters up and to school, sent my husband out the door with a kiss and his cup of coffee. I dressed in a terrible hurry. I could not wait to get to the office and call Mr. Cazares. Forget waiting for him to call me and feed me my servings of dirty talk. I wanted him now!

 

And he was only too obliging. All morning, in between my clerical chores, I had his wicked voice streaming obscenities into my ear. He told me in a thousand ways what a hot whore I was. And there was no more being disagreeable with him on my part. I accepted his offenses. I said yes to everything. He even talked now of his

desire to introduce me in groups of men, for orgies! He told me how I would sell my body and for how much, and what I would do.

 

And I would say only, "Uy, papi! Oh noo! Mmmm, yes papi. Ayy, que nasty! Mmmm, ay papasito, the things you say. You make me blush. Mmm, papi, I'm hot for you now."

 

I took it all as erotic talk. Things a perverse older man would say to excite his new young lover, and to excite himself as well. I did not really believe any of it. How could I believe that he was serious?!

 

Mr. Cazares, he has a talent for drawing. Our conversation continued after lunch. I should say that I actually was in a begging mood and had hoped to go to his trailer at the construction site he was at. I offered to have sex with him there that very Monday during my lunch hour, but the bastard refused me! He wanted to tease me, to make me wait. Oh, how horny I was for him! What a fool I was turning out to be!

 

Instead of sex, he made me to be content for his dirty talks, and in the afternoon, he emailed me a drawing. It was a very accurate likeness of me made in pencil and colored inks of black and red, but in a most evil and sacrilegious pose he had me!

 

I was naked, a brown full-figured slut sitting with my bare ass on the open bible that lies on the altar in front of the pastor's pulpit. Little horns were protruding from my forehead. I had a devil's tail. I had my thighs open wide to an extension of exaggeration, and I was fucking my pussy with a wooden cross. My head was turned to my left, and beside me was a satanic figure - a red demon with horns. He was very tall and he had a huge red, veiny cock. I was holding the cock and sucking it, and semen was drooling down my chin, semen was dripping over my left breast, semen was dripping in liquid lines down my arm.

 

I protested! Papi, I told Mr. Cazares, this is too nasty! How can you think of me in this way?!

 

He laughed. He said, this is what I am doing to you. Get used to it, you horny bitch!

 

And I submitted again to him, pushing aside my moment of shock. Yes, papi, I said. Do it to me. Make me a she-devil whore.

 

I meant it, but I thought I would be only his. I would be his private puta in a way similar to my relationship with my first boss those years ago. Only, Mr. Cazares was not my supervisor, he was something very different.

 

I went home from work Monday in an agitated state. I was irritable with my family. All they demanded of me was a distraction and annoyances. I wanted to be with my new lover in the worst way.

 

I passed another long night next to my husband. As he snored, I turned in turmoil on my side of the bed. I touched myself and imagined again Mr. Cazares fucking me in the church closet. It was like this that I finally found sleep. I dreamed of a demon fucking me on the altar. I awoke still aching for cock. I was in a terrible state.

 

In the office on Tuesday, again I called Mr. Cazares. I told him with determination, 'I am going to your workplace at the lunch hour. I must see you. I can not wait more. Please, papi.'

 

He laughed and told me he was too busy. I begged. He laughed and demanded that I describe how it was that I should act if I go to him. I had to conjure for him sexual acts in detail. At first, I was timid and said simple things like I would suck his cock. But he wanted more and more details. He made suggestions. I must wear something sexy. I had come to work in my common work clothes. He said, get a miniskirt at the mall. 'Dress sexy, puta, if expect me to be hard for you.'

 

I hurried, leaving work early. I ran into the mall. I picked out a tiger print mini dress. It was tight and barely enough material to cover my ass. I put it on in the ladies restroom. I left the mall dressed like a puta and felt the hard stares of men of all ages. It was embarrassing. But I would bear their looks to please my man.

 

I arrived at the construction site and drove up to the trailer of the site supervisor. Mr. Cazares shared offices their with a project manager and a few other men.

 

I knew this much from our long conversations.

 

I walked up the steps, feeling my rear sway more than I preferred. But this dress must be catching men's eyes like honey to bees, I thought. I knocked on the door.

 

A man answered, 'Come on in.' It was not the voice of Mr. Cazares.

 

I entered and there I was in a large room with a long table and two desks and three men. None were Mr. Cazares. I asked, 'Mr. Cazares, he has office here, yes?'

 

They smiled at me and one pointed down the hall. I entered a door with the name Cazares on it. And inside was Mr. Cazares at one of two desks. The other desk belonged to his secretary, but she was not there.

 

'We are alone?' I asked my lover, and obviously I was nervous and anxious to begin again our love making. I locked the door behind me. I smile at him and wiggled my hips, 'You like my dress, papi?'

 

He licked his lips and nodded with approval. I stood up and walked around his desk. He sat on the other end of his desk and unzipped his pants. 'Show me what you are here for, baby,' he said.

 

I stroked his crotch. I squeezed the organ. I said, "Mmmm, is nice you cock, papi.'

 

I reach in for his penis. I bring it out. I bend over. I kiss his penis. I lick the dark meat of his loins. I open my mouth for my lover and I sucked him with my whole being radiant with desire for him.

 

He relaxed on this day and left me to work at loving his cock in my mouth. I let my mind to be absorbed in the act of milking his cock with my lips, my tongue, my throat. He whispered to me, 'Si puta, asi puta.' (Yes whore, like this whore.)

 

And when I would release his penis from my mouth to speak, I wished only to say, 'Soy puta solo por ti, soy tu putita.' (I am whore only for you. I am your little whore.)

 

The clocked ticked. And I sucked in my rhythm. He reminded me every few moments that I was good to be with him in this way, that I was going to be a good whore. He excited me with his dirty talk to the point that I had to finger my clit while I sucked him. I was happy then! I was so happy to be in his presence, alone on his cock.

 

He kept me at it for 30 minutes. I was impressed with his endurance. He had such great control. But the time came to use me in another way. He grabbed me by the neck and lifted me up to the desk. He made me to sit with my legs wide and on the edge so he could introduce his penis into my vagina. He took into his strong big hands my buttocks and made sweet motions inside me. He fucked me and I told him that I loved how he made me feel.

 

'I love it papi. I love it like this. I love how you make me feel. Nnnnn, yes papi. Fuck me. Am I your nena, your sweet baby?'

 

But he was cruel. He thrusted into me and said, 'No, my wife is my nena. You are a fine bitch, but you are just a dirty puta.'

 

I protested. 'Ay no, papi. Please. Am I only that? Only that?'

 

He fucked me, and he disrespected me. And I accepted it all to be with him. How he made me crazy. He was a magnificent sex machine, fucking me so strong, so long.

 

He made me cum on his grand fucking cock. He made me call myself a puta. 'Ok, papi. I am a puta. But I am your puta!'

 

'Si mi cochina perrita (yes, my dirty bitch), that is what papi like to hear," he responded, and he pushed me, he pushed into me, he was always pushing me with his strong body and his hard words.

 

He pulled out of me, but not until I was satisfied with the fucking I had received. I filled me with passion, he made me yearn to surrender to his will. I left his office happy with myself, happy with our arrangement. He could make me glow, oh, how I had inside me a fire. It was my constant preoccupation to find ways to sneak away to Mr. Cazares and open my dark thighs to him. I needed to prove always to him that I could bend to his will and keep him happy and hungry for me.

 

The weeks passed and every day I called him. Every day I fed my soul on the erotic descriptions he would spin. I was like a butterfly trapped in the web of his words. I wanted only to have him wrap around me tight and consume me. I was in love. Oh my god, how I was in stupid, blind devotion to him.

 

Three, four and sometimes five times a week, I would succeed to steal myself away to a place of convenience. In the first weeks, I was always going into his office to consummate our sexual acts. Oh, and I must say, those were the happiest times of my life as a sexual being. He completed me. He made me feel so many deep emotions. He took every part of me. How invasive a man can be.

 

The skull fuckings, the ass-to-mouth, the spankings, the hair pulling. We were animals! Sometimes, he would press me naked against the window of his office, my breasts pushed flat against the glass. His son was often about - that boy did not go to school much - and Mr. Cazares would make me to let the boy watch from outside the window, my lover fucking me from behind. The nasty boy - how scandalous, eh? - he stroke his penis in his pants and even push the head of his brown boy cock over the belt to show me he was engorged and seeping semen from the pleasure of watching his father use his puta.

 

But in all this, I was only Mr. Cazares whore. All the talk of my being a gangbang slut, of selling my body - it was just talk. I could see Mr. Cazares only wanted me for himself. I felt secure in my passion for him.

 

Then one night, our relationship changed. He pushed me into something of pure evil. We had been lovers then four months. And I must confess that by this point my soul was in a state of complete rebellion from reality. I was neglecting my daughters and my husband. I was becoming sloppy at work and incurring annoyance from my

supervisors for my sloppiness and long phone conversations and long lunch absences. I wanted only to ride on Mr. Cazares cock and suck out of his balls his delicious thick milk.

 

But one night we conspired to repeat our sexual act in the church. It was a Wednesday night service, which are services always poorly attended. I did not bring my daughters, and he did not bring his family. After the service, we lingered. I talked with the pastor's wife about a fundraiser and Mr. Cazares talked with the pastor about repairs to the building.

 

We were the last four, and when the pastor and his wife departed, I pretended to leave in my car and Mr. Cazares pretended to leave in his truck. But we both circled back to the church and parked in the back to avoid notice. He had obtained a key from the pastor and I embraced Mr. Cazares at the rear entrance.

 

'Uy papi!' I said. 'We are so bad! I have yearned also to be joined with you in this sacred place.'

 

He kept reminding me in our weeks together of the evil picture of me on the altar. He drew me now to the altar. I tried to kiss him in front of the altar, but as always he pushed my lips from his face and I had to settle for kissing and licking at his chest.

 

His hands rolled and squeezed and pinched at my ass and hips. I was in a black skirt that was just above my knees. I was in a red blouse. I was wearing a black bra. I was not wearing panties at his request. I was in dark stockings that came to my upper thigh. I was in black high heels with leather ankle straps.

 

He helped me out of my blouse and bra in front of the altar in the dark church. There was only one dim red light from the stage. We were in darkness except for the dim red glow.

 

I undid my skirt by myself. I stood before my lover only in stockings and high heels. I smiled to him and I embraced him. I told him that I loved him, and he said to me, 'Then you love Satan.'

 

I said, 'No papi. I love you.'

 

He said, 'I am, in your case, the agent of Satan, and you are his puta if you are my puta.' He pulled from a pocket in his pants a Satanic pendant. It was a bronze demon's head on a cord made of pig skin he told to me.

 

I was of a rebellious heart, and I accepted the cord and pendant around my neck. The demon's head rested on my heart. He said to me, 'Kneel at your master's feet, puta.'

 

I knelt and he said, 'Repeat after me and swear with all your heart: Amo solo a Satanas (I love only Satan)'

 

There was a lump in my throat. I felt myself at a crossroads. There was a silence. He caressed my hair. I felt my obedience to him certain. I then spoke in repetition, 'Amo solo a Satanas.'

 

'Will you fuck on the altar and desecrate it in the name of your master, puta?'

 

I smiled and felt as if I was the star of a horror movie. "I will fuck on the altar and desecrate it in Satan's name.'

 

Take out your master's cock and suck it, puta.

 

I trembled in my whole body for what I was doing. The force of the sexual and spiritual taboos were so great that I could barely unzip his pants and hold in my hands his cock.

 

I felt the demon move on my heart as I sucked his penis. I felt my condemnation. I felt completely committed to Mr. Cazares. I felt it so strong that I began to understand the seriousness of my situation. I heard in my head the voice of insanity say to me 'I would do anything for this man.' It frightened me, but my inner dialog responded with a firm and rebellious, 'I do not care!'

 

My heart toward God was as cold as the tile under my knees. I loved my master completely. I wanted only to please him. I sucked with more energy on Mr. Cazares' cock and said to God, 'You see what I want? You see how I need to pleasures of the flesh? You make it too hard on me, God. I must serve another!'

 

'I am pleased with you, puta. You are obedient to my will and I will reward you as you deserve. Get up and rest and stomach and tits on the bible of the altar.'

 

I stood and turned and bended my body. I rested my stomach over the edge of the wooden altar, the silk table cloth under the bible pressed to my lower abdomen. My naked tits pressed into the pages of the open sacred book and the demon's head rested on the book and I felt deep inside my soul the laughing, laughing, laughing

to a wicked triumph over good.

 

Mr. Cazares rustled behind me. I waited for him to penetrate me, but he took his time. And as he did so, I taunted him, shaking my ass for him and moaning for his cock.

 

Then I felt him grab my left ankle in his hand. And I felt a prick. I asked, 'What is that, papi?'

 

He said, 'Don't worry about it. It is too late, anyway.'

 

I felt quickly a sudden rush of energy and euphoria and a jittery and profound sexual arousal. 'You put inside me a demon!' I cried.

 

I heard him unzip his pants. I was in a state of total obsession for his cock. 'Ay ay ayyyyy fuck me now papi, fuck me fuck me fuck me FUCK ME!'

 

He put the point of his cock at my pussy. He entered. He laughed as he began to fuck me. He said, 'Cocaine will awaken your demons to their full power.'

 

I was shocked. I was in the storm of overwhelming passions. Cocaine? I had never done drugs except for the occasional marijuana in high school.

 

But it was true his words. My demons were in control. I cried for his cock constantly. I begged him to fuck me harder. I laughed at God in my loudest voice. I boasted of my love for Satan. And Mr. Cazares, always, with every stroke, demanding I confess and proclaim my devotion, my status as his whore, and as Satan's whore.

 

I was insatiable for cock. And Mr. Cazares' cock was insatiable. How that organ moved inside me, thrusting and pushing me to wave after wave of squirting, fucking, screaming pleasure.

 

'Ay si, mi amor, mi querido Satanas, chingame con tu gran verga' I cried (Oh yes, my love, my beloved Satan, fuck me up with your great cock).

 

I came, and my Satanic man fucked me more. His smooth, gently slapping testicles teasing my labia as his penis drove deep into my body, and his words wrapped my soul tighter and tighter inside the iron fist of his evil will.

 

I began to improvise and volunteer my own phrases of devotion: 'I want only to serve you, master. I love you Satan. I love you with all my wicked heart. I am a cheating little bitch for you.'

 

And then I said it. I said it for the first time with all conviction: 'I want to sell my body to whore mongers, for you master, to please you!'

 

And to this, he said, 'Yesssss!' And his cock picked up the pace. He raced to spit semen into my womb. And as his cock ejaculated the thick milk into me he began to spank my ass cheeks and thighs with all his might.

 

I was intoxicated with cocaine, yes, but that only accentuated my lust and the influence of my demon impressions.

 

When Mr. Cazares was done moving inside of me, I rested over the altar, the sole of my high-heels again planted firmly to the tile. I felt the rush of cocaine subside. I felt my being drifting like a wrecked ship out of a storm. I felt moments of sobriety and moments of dread under the enormity of my sin.

 

I looked around in the darkness and pushed back at the fear. I stood, unsteady on my feet, and turned and smiled at my beloved tormentor.

 

I asked him, 'What now?'

 

'Funny you should ask, puta,' he said. He lowered himself to pick up my clothes from the floor. He said, 'March, out the back like you came.'

 

I walked in my nakedness to the back door and turned there to reach for my clothes. He refused to hand them over. 'Walk out naked, puta.'

 

I was shaken, and I begged, 'Papi, don't be mean.'

 

'I am not your papi. I am your master. I own you, bitch.'

 

I felt now that this was enough of games. I insisted that he give me my clothes. He instead opened the door and pushed me outside. And there by the back door was his son. 'Lie on the grass and open your legs for the boy, puta,' he said to me in a voice that I had become familiar with; he was deadly serious.

 

I felt a moment of light headedness. I felt a moment of shame. Then I shrugged. What was fucking a minor in the grass compared to what I had done in the sanctuary.

 

I lowered myself, and I sat on the grass, and I laid on my back and his boy chuckled and lowered his pants and knelt between my legs.

 

The demon was still resting on my heart. I felt myself black and wicked and I felt the semen of Mr. Cazares in my wet pussy.

 

His boy aligned his body to mine with confidence. I could see he was already experienced. He penetrated into me with ease and began to fondle my right breast as he fucked me behind the church building. My back was wet with dew. My body was cold and hot.

 

I felt nothing for the boy, but I shut my eyes and felt the pleasant stirrings of sexual intercourse. He pinched my nipple and I opened my eyes in response.

 

Mr. Cazares came to my side and knelt. I had a lump in my throat. What I was doing for him, no decent woman would ever do in a million years. He held on to a foolish hope that he had feelings for me.

 

Mr. Cazares played with my other breast and then he held the demon head pendant in his hand and brought it to my lips. 'Lick the demon, kiss the demon.'

 

I licked the demon. I kissed the demon. I heard a laugh in my soul. I looked at the boy. He was deranged with lust, and he lunged into me with all his boyish

 

strength. The boy grunted and cursed as he ejaculated into me, 'Nnnn, puta prieta, toma mi leche, te chingo mamacita.' (Nnnn, dark whore, take my semen, I fuck you up little mother.)

 

I smiled and let a wave of wickedness flow through me. I clenched his cock with my hot, wet Latina pussy. I reached for the pendant and stared at the demon inches from my face as the boy continued to jerk and stroke inside me. I giggled, and then the giggle grew to a thick and husky laugh and I kissed again the demon.

 

When the boy was finished, he pulled up his pants and reached for a back pocket. He pulled out money and rolled it into the shape of a skinny cigarette. He stuffed the money into my pussy.

 

I reached for it and took the sticky bills apart. I had in my hands two twenties and a ten. Mr. Cazares looked at me and said, 'Your first client, puta. Now you are in business.'

 

I laughed. I was no longer in doubts that it was not a joke. I looked forward, thinking it would be nasty fun to let Mr. Cazares prostitute me from time to time.

 

As long as it was our little secret.

 

But his intentions were more extreme. I did not realize his true ambition was to ruin me completely. He wanted to separate me from everything I held dear. He wanted a full time streetwalker. A time would come when it would not be enough for me to fuck and suck twenty men in a day, seven days a week.

Alberto Cazares:

 

Listen boy, when you are making a whore, for the best result, you need to have patience and you must keep the little pussy believing that needs you. Spend a little money and time up front, understand this is an investment.

 

If you do it right, la puta, she will make herself a puta almost with no effort from you. Look it, you are like the sheepdog herding sheep. Only in these case, you are the wolf herding putitas away from their families. Align yourself with men of the same hungers. We are many! It is best to surround the horny bitches with horny men who have the experience to give the bitches what they need, (and he squeezed on his cock), and who tell the bitches what they want to hear.

 

I'm telling you, it is easy when you know how. A puta wannabe is a POO-TAH! before she even knows she needs to be a puta. I just give the mamacita a little shove here and there to keep her slipping. You know the slippery slope? One little act of sin, it take the bitch down the muddy slope. You just keep giving the bitch a little push. Not too hard, but never let her climb back up! Eh? Never!

 

The putas, they are like the frog in the hot water. If you raise the temperature slowly, they never realize how total is the danger. And then, before she know it, hah! She is cooked. She is so fucked up that la puteria, la vida loca, it is the only life for her! Ha!

 

The best putas, they are always lying. They lie to everybody about what they are up to. But they lie the most to themselves. They do not want to admit, when they are sliding down the slope for the selfish sake of satisfying their temptations, they do not want to admit to themselves of their true character.

 

La puta, in the beginning she will say, I deserve to have a little fun. My life, it is so dull! She sins a little and lies a lot. Then she is push a little to do something worse, and she say, Oh, I misbehaved. But I will repent tomorrow. I will be ok. Then she sin even worse and she say, Oh my god, this is bad, but it is not so bad. I am not that bad like that puta over there.

 

Then she do even a worse sin, and she will say, It was his fault. She blames the wolf for seducing her. It is that bitch's fault. She blames the peer pressure that come to her from other putas in her circle. And keep that in mind, surround the putita with other putas. They will dare her and provoke her to acts she might not do on her own.

 

Then one day, she commits a sin so wicked that she must say, This is very bad. Oh my god, I am the worst! But now, she looks back at all of her accumulation of sins, and she say, I deserve to get away with this. Why not? I just need to be more careful.

 

Ah! Her heart is now in full rebellion. She wants to live in two worlds. She wants to sin to her delight, but she does not want to lose the privileges of respectable society. So, the lies grow into a mountain of lies that everybody can see, and she is the last to know that she is not fooling anyone. This is because her heart becomes cold to all decency. She neglects even more her responsibilities in respectable society and does not want to look at anything that is not convenient to her and her need to fill the hole in her wicked soul.

 

Then one day, she is exposed. She is judged for all her sins. She is rejected from the life she had. And she may cry. Poor little puta. She may try very hard to reform herself, to salvage a marriage, her relations with children and parents. That is when you must intervene. It is time for the wolf to bare his teeth. Cut the bitch off for good.

 

And with that advice, Mr. Cazares showed his son the baggy of cocaine and smiled the smile of a devil man.

 

------------------------------

 

Associated Press:

 

SCHENECTADY, N.Y. — A woman had her 5-year-old daughter and 2-month-old son with her as she took drugs and performed sex for money, New York police said.

 

Wendy Cook, 37, of Saratoga was arrested along with four other women during a prostitution sweep early Monday, according to Schenectady Police Lt. Brian Kilcullen.

 

Cook was arrested when she offered to perform a sex act on an undercover officer for money, Kilcullen said.

 

While Cook's children were in the car with her, she performed sex acts on at least two men for money, smoked crack cocaine in the car and even snorted cocaine off the infant's stomach while she was breastfeeding, Kilcullen said.

 

Cook is in Schenectady County Jail without bail on charges of prostitution and child endangerment, pending a court appearance Tuesday. Her children were turned over to family members.

-----------------------------------

 

Drug Addiction Weblog:

 

Unfortunately, many women face the realization that the only way they can support their crack cocaine habit is by prostituting themselves.

 

Some do it openly and often and others do it only as a straight trade for their crack cocaine. It is common in crack houses for women to trade sex for cocaine. Crack cocaine lowers a woman’s self esteem. Many times, her appearance, hygiene and grooming begins to be neglected. It isn’t long before using her body to pay for her drugs is not a big deal. That is not to say that some don’t regret that they have to do it, but they do.

 

Street prostitutes are becoming crack cocaine addicts at alarming rates as well. Crack is a very addictive drug and it does damage to everyone who uses, but women in particular seem to feel the ill effects. After a while on crack cocaine, demeaning sex becomes almost the norm. Especially in crack houses where the woman has no control over what kind of sexual activity will take place, or for how long, or for how much of the drug.

----------------------------------------

Maureen McCormick (formerly little Marcia on the Brady Bunch, became a cocaine addict and whore):

 

DAILY NEWS --- Monday, October 13th 2008, 4:04 PM

Maureen McCormick says there weren't many sunshine days when she was swapping sex for cocaine

 

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia - naughty, naughty, naughty!

 

The "Brady Bunch" actress who starred as Marcia Brady admits in a new memoir she was a cocaine fiend who swapped sex for drugs, partied at the Playboy Mansion and bedded screen sibling Greg Brady.

 

Q: Do you remember the first time you took a hit?

 

A: Yes. It burnt my nose. I didn’t feel anything for the first snort. After a couple more, I had this feeling that everything was perfect and great. I was on top of the world and I could do anything. I had an extremely addictive personality, and drugs just took over my life — 24 hours a day I was thinking about where I was going to get the next bit of cocaine. I had been addicted to coke since I was 20 years old. It was part of my everyday life; it was all-encompassing. It helped me hide a lot of my problems, numbed me out, and was a way of not dealing with things.

-----------------------------------------

 

Isabel Manchada (31 when she started prostituting, and now 35):

 

The night that Mr. Cazares lured me to copulate, with him with the purpose of inviting into me evil spirits, after I got home from my sexual attack -- what else may I call it? At a church! -- I was sinking into depression. I had been left alone by Alberto and his son in the parking lot. He made me walk almost to the street before he threw at me my clothes. I was near to tears from his cruel taunting.

 

Why did he have to shame me in that way? Had I already not submitted enough to his perverse sexual appetites?

 

I ran again behind the church, clutching my clothes to my breasts, running naked with the darkness of night hiding my shame. I dressed myself with jittery hands. How I shook! I drove home, and trying hard all through the drive to think of home and my daughters and husband -- they must never, never know of this, I said to myself as I pounded the steering wheel out of my exploding emotions.

 

But my thoughts were like pieces of sharp glass. I felt confusion and a sadness deep as a pit into Hell. I felt dirty beyond any experience comparable in my life.

 

My husband was still up, watching TV in the living room. I walked past him and took a shower, hoping he would not ask me anything. He was absorbed in a basketball game, thanks be to god.

 

That night in the bed we had slept in together for so many years, he touched my pussy and tried to have sex with me. I told him I did not feel well. I turned away. For the first time in my life, I felt myself to be not worthy of his affections. I was feeling so anxious. I could not sleep.

 

In the morning, I was so fatigued. And I had no appetite for breakfast. I tried to focus on getting my girls and husband off to school and work. I dropped a glass and it shattered in the kitchen and I screamed. I was so mad at myself! My husband came and tried to hug me. He said, It is just a glass, my sweetheart. And that only made worse my anxieties. He did not understand. It was not just a glass; it was my life shattering. I felt in danger.

 

The night before, I left the $50 dollars in the legging of my stockings. After my husband left, I went to the bedroom and took it out and held it in my hands and thought to myself, I am a puta! Oh my god. This is very bad.

 

I put the green bills to my nose and I could smell my pussy and the semen of those two cocks. I had opened my legs to a whore monger, and then to his underage son! Oh my god. This is very bad, I kept thinking. I was crazy with a new drug. I was crazy!

 

I put the bills separate from my other money in my purse, in a rubber band. I thought, I will go to that boy and throw at him his money and tell him that I am not a whore! But then I thought, I worked too hard for this money. In fact, he owes me more. He got me too cheap! The little bastard. To be fucking with a nasty underage boy, I should be paid $500! Not fifty!

 

Now he will always laugh at me behind my back and tell all his friends that he fucked me behind the church for just $50. Oh my god, all his young friends will ask me for the same deal! This is so very bad!

 

I tried to compose myself. I worked and worked at my makeup, but I kept putting on too much. My image of myself had changed. I could only see a painted Latina whore. I went to work grieving for my loss of innocence and decency. I was thinking all through the morning how could I fix this.

 

I thought, I must stop seeing Alberto. But then I thought, No, no. I love him so! I can control this. I just need to be more careful. I need to be more assertive. I have rights, too!

 

He cannot keep abusing me in these ways. And that morning, I did not call him. And that afternoon, instead of going to him for sex in the lunch hour, I went to the mall and I bought a pair of red high heels with the whore money.

 

I looked at the positives in my life. I am 31 years old, almost 32. And I have managed to hold my life together this far, even though I have been a cheating wife. I am respected by my family, by my church and co-workers. My husband, he loves me. Maybe I do not love him or appreciate him, but I can try. Yes. I will be a better wife.

 

But Mr. Cazares, my Alberto, he did not call me either that day. And this worried me. The next day, I called him in the morning and he was mad at me. He tells me, 'I don't have time for bitches who forget their place. You did not call me yesterday. Okay, then. Do not bother me. I have other bitches that I can fuck!'

 

I was so upset. All the day long, I am calling him back and leaving messages and trying to explain myself. And he does not return my calls.

 

I went home still upset, and I picked a fight with my daughters for not picking up their things. It was Friday evening, and I would not have an opportunity to see Alberto again until Sunday morning at church.

 

Sunday came, and his place was vacant! His wife came with their putita daughter and that baby boy. But no Alberto. My heart was aching so much that I went to the restroom and cried as I sat on the toilet pretending to piss.

 

Monday morning, I was again calling my Alberto, begging him to speak to me. I begged him to tell me anything, even his nastiest desires. I even told him that I would prostitute myself for him. 'I promise you, papi. I will fuck anyone that you want me to fuck. I promise you papi. Please, please pick up the phone!'

 

But he did not pick up. And the day passed and I was in such emotional distress. I would think, 'Why am I doing this? I must stop! I must stop! He is evil! When has he shown me kindness? How many times have I tried to kiss his sweet lips and he turns his head because he tells me I am not his wife, I am just a nasty puta. It hurts my heart that he lies so much about his feelings for me. I know he wants me!'

 

Tuesday morning came and again I am calling his office. This time he answer the phone and I am telling him I am so happy to hear from him and I am so in need of his attention for me. But all he would say was for me to be at a certain motel, at a certain motel room number at noon of this day.

 

I did not ask why. I hoped only that it would just be him and me. I promised to be there on time. I promised to dress sexy. But in my heart, I suspected that he had waiting for me a client.

 

I left early to lunch. I went to a restroom at a gas station. I changed from my office pant suit into a red mini dress. I left my panties in my purse, and I left also there my brassier. I had on only the mini dress, stockings and my new red high heels that I bought with my whore money. I wanted to tell my beloved Alberto how it was that I spent the whore money and that I was grateful for how he treated me.

 

At the motel, I pulled up and walked up the stairs to where Alberto had directed me. There was a long outdoor walkway with steel rail. And I saw at the door as I approached, three men. I felt a nausea in my stomach and a golf ball in my thr