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She was stunning and sexy. Well, whore, your man has been loving on Lori here, and he looks hungry for more. Look at how hard his cock is! Now, come over here and cuff me to this frame, Diane ordered. It was then that we noticed the girls had arranged to have one of the hotels large baggage racks brought to the room. Diane rolled it to the center of the room, and placed her hands on the top of the garment-hanging bar. She spread her legs wide to touch the bottom of the rack, and her obedient whore fastened her mistress wrists and ankles to the sturdy cart. Now, Slut, take off my wedding ring and give it to your husband. I am offering my ass to him. Negotiate the price for my virgin asshole, Diane commanded. Well, Honey, my slut wife smiled, How much will you offer to take my Masters cherry? You can have now what no other man has ever had! Whats the price for her virginity, My Husband? MY beautiful Whore, I will pay you $800 for your mistress virginity. Ill take her just like Tom. "Please Sir" she requested "Its just where he and I sleep... together. it might be weird for me." Tell me" I said, with a confident smile, "How have you felt these last two days, each and every time that you walk up or down those stairs?" I asked, point down the flight leading to the entry-way. "I remember" she said softly. "I remember what I did..... I remember what I now am." she added"Tell me" I said, again softly so as to not wake the sleeping baby on the floor below."We had sex" she replied, almost in a whisper."What you mean to say" I corrected her "is where I fucked you and where you took my cock up your virgin ass? Is that what you meant to say?" Yes Sir" she added "I remember that every time I pass through the foyer or go up or down those stairs." Then imagine" I continued to whisper, but added a big smile "what you'll remember after I fuck you in your marriage bed. Now strip for me, like my good slut."She had a determination in her eye... not lust, not defeat, but.
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’ I slipped the note into my pocket and walked out into the night. For some reason I couldn’t bear to even look at the slip of paper with Beth’s handwriting on it during the ride home. When I got to my condo I set it on the kitchen table, but couldn’t make myself dial the number written on it. I instead watched late-night TV and eventually fell into a restless sleep. I called in sick the next day and spent most of the morning with a cold cup of coffee in my hands staring at the note. How could it be that this happiest of memories from my youth might actually come back into my life? What strange coincidence allowed our straying paths to once again intersect? Could it be fate, a concept I quite frankly scoffed at for most of my adult life? Eventually, I gathered my nerve and yanked the phone off its cradle. With a shaking finger, I punched in the digits. The ringtone on the other end trilled once, twice, then stopped. A short pause, then a click. A female voice: ‘I’m sorry. The number.

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