Becoming Hers Pt. 04-1

Becoming Hers

Part 4

The continuation of the story.

Chapter 19

“Did you take out the trash last night, like I asked?”


“Recycling too?”

“No, forgot.”

“I specifically asked you take out the recycling. Why don’t you ever listen?”

I was trying to read the paper, my morning coffee still hot. Another morning, another scolding. Sally had just come down from the bedroom and was disheveled and wearing an old shapeless bathrobe. I had woken up early, gone to the gym, and returned home to shower and dress in a fresh suit.

“When will you be home tonight?”

“I have to take a client out for dinner, so late.”

“Of course.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. On your way home, can you pick up the things on the shopping list?”

“Come on. That’s a decent sized list and it will be late. What about you? How are you spending your day?”

“You know how hard it is with the kids. And I’m meeting friends for coffee.”

I knew better than to reply. I no longer wanted to finish my paper. Only to leave.

“I have to go.”

“Remember to do the shopping.”

“I’ll try,” I said, forgetting to take the list.

Twelve years had passed since our wedding. By all quantifiable measures, we were doing great. I moved jobs a couple of times but was now a partner at a hedge fund, working long hours but also making more money than we could possibly spend. We bought a big, sunny duplex in the Upper East Side five years earlier and we had two healthy, beautiful children. Ethan was five years old and in his first year in kindergarten and Susan was three and in a pre-K program. The first few years after we married, Sally returned to school, transferring so she could complete her BA and qualify to get into a veterinary program. It took her longer than expected to get her BA but she succeeded. Then she became pregnant and put her plan for veterinary school on hold. She hasn’t studied or worked since.

By most unquantifiable measures, though, we were struggling. I never really enjoyed working in finance. Working day after day mainly with assholes who wanted little more than to “win” — defined by making more money — in an insanely competitive environment was bringing out all of my own most asshole-ish qualities. I regularly returned from work at 8 or 9 PM and was exhausted.

Meanwhile, Sally had found her life disorienting. She pushed her way through school but in the process really discovered that she was not much of a student and that her dreams of becoming a veterinarian were not realistic. Putting her plans to continue “on hold” for the baby was really just a welcome excuse for her to avoid confronting the painful truth. And that left her stuck. She probably would have been happiest going back to work as a secretary or receptionist and having daily interaction with the kinds of people with whom she was comfortable. But with all of our money that seemed too dissonant to her. She never clicked with the women she met at the drop off and pick up of the kids at their posh schools; they always made her feel self-conscious. These social interactions exhausted her and she put all of her energy into our children. She stubbornly declined to hire help and by the end of the day she was often exhausted and frustrated. She loved our kids and was a great mother, but it was just a lot for her, all day every day.

If I were writing a romance, this might be the point where something big happens, something dramatic that separated or challenged us. In our real life, though, this is not how it happened. Rather, over twelve years there were a thousand pin pricks to our romantic life. The unsexy daily slide and grind of life just eroded away at what we had. Ten years ago, even eight, we were laughing together and having great sex regularly. Now, seeing each other usually released a torrent of mundane but necessary updates, requests to take care of things, and scolds. Our sex life began to wither.

We still loved each other deeply and made an effort to restore at least a small part of what we felt slipping away. We went on regular date nights to fancy restaurants and shows but one of us was often falling asleep by the end. We tried making appointments to have sex but that always felt uncomfortable and more like a chore. We went on vacations to fun and exotic places but those were usually with our children who always found ways (God bless them!) to keep us from intimacy.

So I was feeling crappy when I stepped out that day into the streets of Manhattan. It was March and it was cold and drizzling lightly. The subway was hot and steamy and smelled of piss. I wasn’t in a good mood when I arrived at the office, but then again I rarely was. It was a normal crappy day.

The day was going normally until around 2 PM. I was working on a big and complicated but boring transaction that basically reinvented the complex financial instruments that led us to ruin in 2007. A subdued buzz began to spread through the office. Around the time it reached me my phone buzzed.

“Stevie, get in here,” Jake, the Managing Director who was basically my boss, barked. I hated being called Stevie and he knew it.

Members of the Executive Committee were gathering in his office. I was a junior partner and not involved in governance. When I entered Jake looked up.

“The uranium position — that’s yours, right?”

Our job was for each of us to take “positions,” that is, invest in a particular company or sector using a number of financial instruments that could lead to massive profits while minimizing losses if there was a problem. I had taken a large position — over one hundred million dollars — in uranium, betting that the U.S. government would soon increase demand to honor the president’s pledge to update our nuclear missile force.

“Kazakhstan is fucked.” Kazakhstan is the largest producer of uranium in the world. For the last few weeks their government was becoming increasingly mired in a political corruption scandal. Today Russian troops, “at the invitation of the people of Kazakhstan,” were gathering at their borders. The Kazakhstanis vowed to destroy their uranium mines — sorely wanted by the Russians — should they be invaded.

I had hedged against a possibility like this. This should have pushed uranium prices up, which was good for my position.

“Canada’s going to pick up production.” This I didn’t expect. Canada, the second larger producer, was going to dramatically increase their mining of uranium. With their government and population largely against nuclear energy and weapons, this was entirely a financial decision to capitalize on the coming shortage in the market. For me, this meant that my investments in Kazakhstan were almost worthless but my hedge did not work because there was no increase in the price of uranium. It was a stupid oversight on my part.

“How much are we on the hook for?”

“A hundred million.”

“You have to liquidate it. What were you thinking?” My heart sank. We wouldn’t lose all of it, but most of it. By the firm’s standards this was not a disastrous loss, but it was a noticeable one and would impact our bottom line, and my compensation.

I was less concerned with the loss of compensation than the shame. Sometimes we lost money — it was expected that some bets would pay off and others wouldn’t. We were not expected to be sloppy while risking firm money and there was always someone one rung down the ladder, or on the same level, waiting for you to screw up so they could take your place. I wasn’t particularly worried about job security but it was the shame. Everybody in the office knew by now and I was the goat. The other partners glared at me. This was the kind of mistake that would be reflected in their own compensation at the end of the year, although I’m not sure whether they would even notice.

As we began to leave Jake’s office, he called me back in to speak to me privately.

“You really fucked up.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Do I need to approve all your deals from now on?” Normally we were given wide discretion.

“No, that’s not necessary.”

“I hope not. Oh, by the way, you are not needed anymore at the Johnson dinner.” Roy Johnson was a very rich man whom I had been cultivating as a client for months. I made him a lot of money and we were going to sit down with him to see if he wanted to invest even more with us. Now Jake was telling me that after cultivating Roy, they would close the deal without me, undoubtedly also taking the credit and the fees. It was a double-shaming and would be read a vote of no confidence in me. Puts me in my place. I could hear the knives sharpening. Motherfuckers.

Now I could go home at a reasonable time, maybe even see my kids before going to bed. Maybe spend some quality time with Sally. But the thought filled me with dread more than anything else. I was in a sour mood and the thought of dealing with whining children and a scolding wife made me slightly ill. First I had a lot of work to do unwinding my position, but then? I think that I deserved something special.

Almost none of the married guys in the office were faithful to their (often second, third, or fourth) wives. A bunch of them had mistresses, young women whose rent they paid and whom they visited regularly. Others just frequented brothels. They would talk openly in the office about their adventures in these places so I knew a fair deal about where they were and how they operated. I had been alternatively disgusted and intrigued by the idea of going to one, especially as my sex life began to unravel. Intrigue got the better of me that day, stemming from my feelings of self-pity and shame. I suffer through all this shit for my family — shouldn’t I get something in return?

I finished the last sickening trade at a huge loss and spent a couple of hours cleaning up the paperwork for the compliance department. There were still a good number of people in the office, each vying to be seen working the hardest. They tried to avoid looking at me but I knew that they were mainly gloating. A part of them, though, must also be terrified knowing that next time it could be them.

Around 6 PM I exited to the cold, darkening street. I walked a couple of blocks and slipped into a pub where I ordered a beer and a burger. I took out my phone and began searching for local brothels. I recognized a number of them from the office talk and they were surprisingly easy to find. Beautiful Asian women dressed in lingerie beckoning for a fully nude body massage, open and leaving little to the imagination. I looked at the pictures of one of these sites and was struck by “Judy,” who was tall, thin, and busty with long straight black hair and a voluptuous smile. I called.

“Hello,” a woman said professionally.

“Hello. I’d like to see Judy in about half hour.”

“Have you been here before?”


“OK. I will text you the address. Call me when you get there.”

As I finished my burger my phone buzzed with the address, which was close. I realized that I probably shouldn’t have used my phone for this, with my number, but it was too late now.

I stopped at an ATM to take out cash. I walked quickly to the address. It was now dark and clammy and I was moving into a mood of excitement mixed with self-loathing. I got to the address and called.

They must have had someone watching me. When she answered, she said immediately, “I’ll send you another address.” A moment later my phone buzzed with another address, two blocks away. I walked over. It was a non-descript building with a whole panel of buzzers. The spa’s name was discretely located next to one of the buzzers. I buzzed.

I noticed the camera facing me as the door buzzed open. I took the small elevator to the spa, which occupied the entire fifth floor. When I got out of the elevator there was a small corridor and a single, unmarked door with a camera over it. I was thinking of turning back when the door opened. I didn’t see anyone but heard a soft Asian voice say, “Come in.” I stepped in and the door closed behind me.

I immediately recognized Judy from the picture. She was about 5’7″, although was taller in her high heels, and was dressed in a red lacy bustier, her tits and ass barely covered. She had big eyes, a lovely face, and full lips. As soon as the door was closed she put her hands around my neck and kissed me deeply. I was not expecting that.

“This way,” she said, taking my hand. She led me into a large bedroom. She closed the door, turned around, and again kissed me hard. I ran my hands over her firm ass.

“I’m Judy. What’s your name?” she asked between kisses.

“John.” That was original.

“Ok, John, should we get more comfortable?” She began to undress me. She took my suit jacket off and carefully draped it over the chair and then took my tie off and unbuttoned my shirt.

“Oh, you have such a masculine chest,” she giggled as she sucked briefly on each of my nipples.

She undid my pants and slid them down, directing me to sit on the bed as she took off my shoes, socks, and pants. My cock was hard in my underpants as she spread my legs and stood between them, her hand on my cock and her breasts in my face.

“You can suck them. Mmmm,” she said as I took her up on the invitation. After a few minutes she stood me up and slid off my underwear, kissing the head of my cock as if it was a scepter. She then giggled again, stood up, and wrapped a towel around me.

“Shower,” she explained.

She took me out of the bedroom, down a hall, and into a shower room. I think that there were other people in the suite but I was unsure. She patted a table.

“Face down.”

She took the towel off and I lay on the table. She had a shower hose that she used to wet me and then began to run soap over my back. Her hands on my skin felt great, especially when she washed my ass-crack, which she did very carefully, often grazing my balls. She stepped away for a moment and I realized that she was getting undressed. She then spread oil over my back.

Before I knew it she was on top of me, sliding her naked body over my oiled back and legs. I felt her pussy sliding down over my ass as her big tits pressed against my back, her nipples poking into me. She reached back and gave my balls a quick squeeze and then kissed the back of neck and blew in my ear.

“You’re so sexy,” she said. “Get on your hands and knees.”

I did and she reached under me, stroking my cock a few times as she playfully slapped my ass. She then stepped away for a moment and suddenly I felt her finger on my asshole, rubbing some lotion on it. Later I would find out it was mint toothpaste. It stung, but pleasantly. A minute later I felt her tongue on my asshole, entering me, as she reached under with an oiled hand and stroked my cock. It was unbelievable. Sally stayed away from my ass and I had no idea it could feel this good.

She flipped me over on my back before too long and slid her body over mine again, moving her tits over my mouth and to around the level of my eyes before going back down. I felt her bare pussy over my cock; how she avoided penetration was a mystery. She slid further down my body and swung me around so my legs were off the side of the table and I was sitting. She kneeled between my legs and began to enthusiastically blow me.

“You’re going to make me come,” I rasped in pleasure.

“Yes,” she said now stroking my cock, “I want all of your hot come in my mouth, filling my belly,” and she plunged my cock back into her warm mouth.

As she began to tickle my balls, I came. She kept sucking and it felt great. Maybe she swallowed maybe she let it run out of her mouth. I didn’t care. She milked my cock, not eager to let it go. Finally, I touched her head, letting her know I was done. She kissed up my torso, seeming happy.

“Feel better now?”

“I sure do.”

“That’s just the beginning.”

The whole time in the shower took about twenty minutes and we wrapped towels around us and went back to the bedroom, where she took mine off again. She waited for a minute. I realized that she wanted money.

“How much?”

“$280 for hour.”

I went into my pants pocket and gave her the money. She smiled, kissed me on the cheek, and said she would be right back. She left for a minute, then returned and took her towel off. She really was quite beautiful.

“Relax you now. Face down.”

She straddled me and began to move her hands gently over my back, lightly massaging my neck and ears. She moved up and down my body, grazing her tits against me and sometimes reaching under to tickle my balls, as she did in the shower. It was beginning to turn me on again.


I was surprised by the question but then I realized that I had left my wedding ring on. How stupid! I couldn’t lie now.


“Good sex with wife?”

How much should I tell this woman? My initial reaction was to think of telling her what was really going on as a betrayal of my wife’s intimacy. My next, though, was to think of it as more of a therapy or venting session. After all, I probably knew more about the intimate lives of my co-workers — who never hesitated to complain about their wives — than this woman would ever know about me or Sally. So I compromised and gave her a redacted version of where Sally and I stood.

“Your wife fucking someone else?

I was surprised again. What kind of question was that, especially to ask of a client? It was out of the question that Sally was cheating on me. Or was it?


“You want her to?”

I considered that for a moment. What if Sally hadn’t lost her passion but had only lost it for me? What if she had spent the day in the arms of another man, her trainer or the father of one of kids’ friends? The thought made me angry, but also, to be totally honest, turned me on.

“You a big man. Much money.”


“But you have little dick.”

Now I was totally confused. No, I did not have a little dick. I wouldn’t win any size awards but I figured myself about average. The humiliation and dirty talk from this naked beautiful woman, though, was really turning me on. Or maybe it was the fact that she had bent my hard cock back so it came out from under me and she was stroking it with her moistened hand.

She raised me up and began to rim me again, her tongue probing my still tingling asshole. She continued to stroke me.

“Little dick. Like a man clit.”

This was definitely turning me on.

“You like sissy. Want to see another man fuck your wife with his big cock.”

She turned me over and began to suck me, hard. I felt my cock slide down her throat briefly. Damn! Her finger was under me, circling my asshole.

“You want to fuck me?”


“Ha. Sissy can’t fuck me unless she beg.”

“Please. Please can I fuck you?”

“You give me more money?”


“How much?”

“A hundred.”

“OK, I let you put your man clit inside me for that. Let me see if I feel it.”

I was going crazy with lust now. I looked down and saw that she had already put a condom on although I couldn’t figure out when. She laid back on the bed and spread her legs, rubbing her clit for my benefit, or maybe hers too.

I did not hesitate. I would show her what this “man clit” could do. She gasped as I began to push into her hard. Thrust after thrust. No sissy here.

She flipped over and I began to pound her from behind. She was moaning with every thrust.

“Yes! Harder! I want you to fill me up!”

I went on for a while, punishing her.

“Take that, you slut!”

Just as I was about to come, she disengaged and turned me over. She mounted me, cowgirl and began to seek her own pleasure. She bit her bottom lip, her breasts swaying and eyes closed as she ground against me.

“You like to see another man fucking your wife, right?”


“Say it.”

“I want to watch another man fuck my wife.”

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