The time that I became a whore - for real.

He paid $75 to fuck me in the ass.

I don't remember his name, or if I even knew it. B. set it up, and for one night, my husband became my pimp.

From the beginning of our relationship - as he likes to quip, the one night stand that never ended - our sexual dynamic has been one of control and degradation. I am a natural submissive. Something which, he has said, he realized immediately by the way that I responded to his first kiss, which took place only hours after we met, still seated closely in a dark booth in the seedy, tiki themed, dive bar which was the location of our first date.

I still remember the look of intense excitement on his face the first time that I asked him to slap me - "harder" - while we were fucking, not too long after that first night.

Everything was exciting then. It still is, just in different ways. There is little that rivals the first exploratory flush of new relationship sex. Though, admittedly, when one half of the relationship has as hard a time talking about sex as I, the revelations keep coming longer than average. As B. read The First, the first thing that he said was "I didn't know that you have had sex 'bent over the hood of a car, or in otherwise unoccupied theatre restrooms'" - which is exactly the kind of thing that he likes to hear about.

"I didn't know" and "you never told me" are things that he has to say to me far too frequently, and usually in reference to things that he very well should know, and that I should have already told him. And though he often exhibits more patience with me than one might realistically expect to receive from a saint, I can sometimes hear the faint tinge of resentment lingering underneath the surface. Why do I withhold?

I do go through occasional bouts of uncharacteristic openness - it was during one such time that I told him that I had fantasized about prostitution. We already had quite a few sexual adventures together racked up, and we were discussing my taking a regular lover in addition to the assorted strangers that end up in our bed. He likes sharing - in the way that one proves one's ownership over something by doing so.

It was with that frame of mind that he sold my company. I had already fucked someone else that night, while he watched from a crack between the closed closet doors. As I lay in bed after, stretching my aching hip joints and recuperating from the pounding that I had received, B. found my John.

Again, B. watched - though, if I remember correctly, this time through a slit in the curtain which separates our bedroom from the patio. He was youngish, tallish, and slightly awkward - I suspected that it was his first time engaging in a financial transaction for the sake of sex as well as mine. I don't remember too many particulars about him. Except for his cock; it was big, and it hurt when he penetrated my ass with it. The sex didn't last long, though he tried to prolong it (to get his money's worth?). He came quickly once he was inside me.

Before he left, he tossed his wad of cash on top of my naked body, as B. had instructed him to do. Once I was again alone, B. came back into the bedroom and beat me for being a whore. Then he took me himself, his sweat and semen mingling with that of the two men who I had already fucked that night.