The Loan Shark In Our LifeChapter 1 free porn video

I'd feel better about myself if I could say that this horrible mess was entirely my husband's fault. Unfortunately, I'm as much if not more to blame than he is. No. That isn't true. I want to blame him. It would be nice to be able to assuage the sense of guilt I feel by assigning some of the blame to him.

But nothing that has happened, none of this mess was his fault. You know how people are. We always want to blame someone else for the messes we get ourselves into. And I've gotten myself into one hell of a mess this time. I'm not certain how I'll be able to live with the shame of some of the things I've done when this is over. And yet ... well, let me try to explain.

The events that I've set in motion, the things that I've brought down on my family are the stuff of pulp fiction. These aren't things that happen to normal people, people like us. Except they are. And in quiet moments of retrospection I sometimes worry whether I'll be able to survive this with my sanity intact, much less my marriage and my relationship with my children. Those things are already under attack.

All of that is true. And yet at the same time I find myself living a long time fantasy that I have repressed for most of my life. It turns out that the reality is every bit as exciting as the fantasy.

Our problems started almost a year ago. My husband lost his job when the company that employed him for almost sixteen years went bankrupt. I couldn't blame him for that, of course. But sometimes when things were rough I found myself resenting him even when I knew it wasn't fair and I had to guard against thinking that way.

It shook us up. How could it not. But we weren't too worried. My husband is very good at what he does. We were confident that he would quickly find another job.

We were wrong. Craig started sending out resumes immediately. He searched online and he spent hours on the phone networking with others in his field. He worked diligently to find another position. At first he was certain that something would turn up quickly. He was willing to accept a smaller salary and although we hated the idea of it he was willing to relocate.

Our confidence began to fade as the time neared when his unemployment benefits would run out. There were a lot of people like Craig out there looking for work and no one seemed to be hiring. Not locally. Not anywhere.

The unemployment insurance money finally ran out. We were forced to start living on our savings. Because his job had paid so well we managed to acquire a comfortable cushion over the years. We had our savings accounts, a fistful of Certificates of Deposit and his sizeable 401K. But when those things were all we had to live on it was amazing how quickly they began to empty out.

In desperation, Craig finally took a job selling appliances in a major department store at the mall. It wasn't enough. He made a small salary plus commissions. But even on a good week his income didn't come anywhere close to what he once brought home. It wasn't enough to cover our large mortgage, two payments for the luxury cars we could no longer afford but couldn't seem to sell, and a wallet full of credit cards that I was guilty of over using.

We had to start letting some things slide and paying partial payments for others. I tried to talk the bank into refinancing our mortgage or accepting reduced payments until the economy recovered and Craig could once more find work in his field.

The bastards wouldn't even discuss it! They would rather evict us and foreclose than work with us until we could get through this. They would rather have our home sit vacant and cost them money than cut us a little slack even though we've never had so much as a single late payment in fifteen years.

We tried working out something with the car dealer we've been buying our cars from for more than a decade. We tried to get him to downsize us into cheaper cars or even let us give one of them back in a voluntary repossession. He was no help at all. He was very sympathetic. But he insisted that he couldn't do anything to help. I was more inclined to believe that he wouldn't do anything to help.

I tried to find work to supplement Craig's income. I have no skills, no experience, no training. But I was willing to do just about anything and I do have a college education. I didn't expect it to be easy to peddle a degree as an Art History major. I knew that never having worked a day in my life outside of the home was a drawback. But I wasn't asking to head up IBM. I just wanted a damn job!

I never even got an interview. The only job I might have been able to talk my way into was stripping in a seedy, sordid joint downtown. I didn't realize what the job was when I answered the ad in the paper. I'm not certain why I talked to the man on the phone once I found out what it was. But I did. He wasn't enthusiastic because of my age. But he was willing to give me a tryout.

I thanked him politely and hung up. I found myself smiling at the thought of becoming a thirty-four year old stripper. I've stayed in shape over the years. I'm pretty proud of my appearance. I thought I had the body to be a stripper if not the skills or the mindset that would be required. But of course I wouldn't even consider it.

We didn't plan very well for that moment when our savings would run out. That was largely my fault, too. We should have started looking around for a cheaper place to live and let them foreclose on the house. We should have set aside enough money to move into an apartment or a small rental house, despite the heartbreak of losing our beloved home and the humiliation of being forced to live somewhere less acceptable.

I couldn't bring myself to even discuss letting our house go into foreclosure. I wouldn't even consider it when it became obvious that my husband wasn't going to get a job in time to save our home.

Two weeks after our last reserves ran out I was almost desperate enough to take that job as a stripper. Craig and I had begun to argue fairly frequently. While we seldom actually argued about money, we knew in actuality it was all about the money. Everything was about the money now.

I said some pretty nasty things to him in those arguments, things I regret. I heaped the blame on him for our situation even when I knew that nothing he did brought it about. I knew even as I said those terrible, hurtful things to him that they weren't true. But I said them.

He was nice enough not to say anything about my spending habits. Maybe he should have. I probably could have used a reality check. I was the one who insisted that we buy two luxury vehicles. I was the one who charged up the large balances on our credit cards. I was also the one who continued to spend too much even when we were living on our rapidly declining savings.

It was only after our savings were down to zero and we were about to lose everything that I tried to make some money by selling some of the expensive jewelry I've accumulated but almost never wear. It never occurred to me that there wouldn't be a market for that sort of thing. I ended up going to every pawn shop in town and being humiliated in each one.

The pawnbrokers all seemed to have come from the same mold. They were unpleasant men who all took one look at what I was trying to sell and either said they weren't interested or offered me next to nothing for some of my most treasured possessions.

I stormed out of more than one those tawdry shops after giving the man behind the counter a piece of my mind.

It wasn't until the end of the month when the phone calls from bill collectors started driving me to tears that I finally had to break down and swallow my pride. I returned to the pawn shops and ended up selling a large amount of my cherished jewelry collection for less than ten percent of its original value.

Each of the pawnbrokers I spoke with made the same suggestion. They all told me I should place an ad in the paper or try selling them on the internet. But it was too late by them. I didn't have time to place an ad and wait for someone to buy my jewelry. I was only days away from having my electricity shut off!

The money I received was only enough to get us through one more month, and then only if I left the phone off the hook to avoid having to talk to the bill collectors.

Craig was upset when I told him what I had done. He had insisted several months earlier that we return our cars to the dealer and buy an old used car before our money ran out. I absolutely refused to give up my Mercedes. Now we had no money to buy a used car and no money to move into a cheaper house. We were on the verge of losing everything and being homeless.

Craig had tried desperately to get me to see reason before we reached this point. I wish now that he had been more forceful. We were less than a month away from living in our Mercedes with our two kids. But it wouldn't be long before we lost the cars, too. They were already threatening to come and get them.

Our kids knew what we were going through. We kept it from them at first. But we had to be brutally honest when we ended up asking them for the money in their savings accounts, the accounts we insisted that they establish and to which they were required to contribute regularly.

Piper, our sixteen year old daughter, and Trey, our fifteen year old son, became privy to our conversations about the family finances towards the end. They were fully aware of how desperate our situation had become.

They were surprisingly practical. They weren't happy about it. But they always sided with their father when he tried to talk me into downsizing and economizing. Sometimes hearing it from all three of them made me want to scream. Now I wish that I had listened.

I paid what bills I could with the money I had, saving out enough to buy food. By the time two more weeks had passed I was nearly desperate enough to reconsider showing up for the audition for stripper. I called in response to almost every want ad in the paper whether I was qualified or not. I didn't have a chance. There were too many skilled people out of work and willing to work for whatever they could get.

Craig tried taking a second job as a night watchman. But several times a month he was forced to be late because of scheduling conflicts with his job at the mall and they let him go after less than a month.

The next step was homelessness. On Monday, after a long weekend of bickering with Craig about nothing, I tried to sell my few remaining pieces of jewelry. Unfortunately, I'd already disposed of anything of value. Disposed of pretty much describes it. It made me sick to think of how little money I received in exchange for my very expensive jewelry.

I was taking the few items that remained in my jewelry box around to the pawn shops trying to raise enough money for one more month of scraping by when another customer intervened. I had been behind him while he was paying an outrageous sum, all in cash, for an almost new Rolex he was buying.

I waited until he completed the transaction but he didn't leave. Instead he stepped aside and leaned against the counter ogling me while I tried to sell my few remaining baubles to the pawnbroker.

Just as in the half dozen pawn shops I visited before I came into his shop, the pawnbroker wasn't impressed and he wasn't interested. I was reduced to pleading with him, which would have been humiliating enough. But the man who still leaned against the counter beside me and continued to ogle my body as if I were dressed suggestively was listening closely and seemed to find my plight amusing.

At the time I thought that nothing could be more humiliating than having to plead with a pawnbroker to buy the last of my jewelry with that stranger listening in amusement and blatantly appraising my body as if I were a prostitute or something.

It turned out that I had no idea about humiliation. I was about to learn. I was about to take a crash course.

The pawnbroker finally shrugged and said, "Lady, I'm sorry. But I already got too much of this crap I can't sell. I can't help you."

I struggled to hold back the tears as I turned slowly and began to walk out, more humiliated than I've ever been in my life.

I took four or five steps before I was brought up short when the man who bought the watch quietly said, "Maybe I can help."

I stopped and turned around. The man was well dressed and not unattractive. But he had an unpleasant, almost predatory smile on his face that made me very uncomfortable. He was a large, muscular man with very cold eyes.

He was still openly ogling me, almost as if he were daring me to object. I watched his eyes moving over my body and suddenly I knew that I wasn't going to like his offer, no matter what it was.

I hated the way he was looking at me. I was dressed in a modest sundress. There was nothing overtly sexual about the clothing I was wearing. I certainly hadn't dressed to attract the attention of men on the street.

Even though I knew in my heart that this man was trouble I was so desperate that I had to at least hear what he had to say. I was made more uncomfortable by the lascivious look that passed between the pawnbroker and the man who had just offered to help me. They made no effort to disguise what they were thinking.

He was waiting for me to respond. He looked so smug, so arrogant that I almost couldn't bring myself to ask, "Help how?"

There was just an infinitesimal change in his expression, as if he knew he had me as soon as I asked him how he could help. My desperation was obvious. I knew that. I didn't try to hide it now.

He simply said, "I sometimes make loans to people in need ... people that banks won't help."

He was well dressed. But even if he hadn't added that last bit about banks I would have known that he wasn't in the banking business. There was something shady about him, something dangerous. But I didn't want to be homeless. I couldn't just walk away.

I didn't know what to say next. I was still trying to decide if I wanted to become involved with someone that looked like him when he suggested, "Let's go next door and get a drink. We'll talk and see if we can do business."

There was only one possible answer to that suggestion. I couldn't possibly go to a sleazy bar with that man. Of course I would have to decline his offer.

But he turned and walked out and I followed him, even as I was trying to decide the best way to say no to him.

I followed about ten feet behind until he entered the dark, unsavory bar next door. I stood outside staring at the painted over windows and neon beer signs for a minute before I finally decided that I had nothing to lose by at least talking to the man. It was a public bar. How dangerous could it be?!

He was already seated in a corner booth by the time I got up the nerve to follow him in. The bartender was standing at his table, listening as he apparently ordered a drink. The bartender looked over at me as I entered. After exchanging a few more words he went back behind the bar.

The bar was to my left as I entered. The room stretched out to my right. It was long and narrow and my first impression from outside was exactly correct. It was dark and slightly rundown. The air was smoky and unpleasant. There were booths along both walls separated by no more than twenty feet at the most.

Except for the corner booths which were slightly larger, each of the booths was built to hold four people. Most of the booths were occupied but usually by only two or three men. I didn't see any other women in the bar.

I gathered my courage in order to face another humiliating request for money and no doubt another denial because no one in their right mind would loan money to my husband and me now. I wouldn't loan me money!

I couldn't seem to look away as I walked toward the back of the room to join him at his corner booth. He glanced at my face for a moment. But then he stared at my body as I crossed the long, narrow room.

It was humiliating. I desperately wanted to turn around and leave this dark little bar. But I couldn't. I had to hear what he would say.

He stood up when I reached his table and indicated that I should squeeze in and sit down. I tried to take a seat across the table from him but he grasped my upper arm with his surprisingly strong grip and I let him seat me on the bench beside him. He sat back down and I slid over as far as I could, pressing right up against the wall to put as much space as possible between us.

He sat back down, held out his hand and said, "I'm Tommy."

I reluctantly shook his hand and told him my name. Without any further preliminaries he asked me to tell him how much money I needed.

The bartender interrupted before I could answer, if I had an answer. He served us each a drink. I tried to decline but Tommy insisted that I have a drink with him. In truth, even though it wasn't even noon yet I very much wanted a drink at that moment.

I took a sip of my very strong drink and then another. I was surprised to discover that I didn't know how to answer his question. I didn't know how much money I needed! I needed a lot!

I explained about my husband's job and our depleted savings. When I told him that we even used our kid's savings he asked me if I had pictures of them in my wallet.

I did, of course. He made me show him their pictures and tell him about them. It made me feel very uncomfortable, especially the way he was looking at the picture of Piper. He asked me her age and if she was a natural blonde.

I didn't answer. None of that was any of his business!

I tried to tell him how much equity we had in our home and our cars but he didn't care about that. He asked again how much money I needed.

I still wasn't prepared to answer that question. I did a quick calculation in my head and finally blurted out, "It depends on when the economy turns around and my husband can find another good job. To get through the next six months and get caught up we'll need about twenty-five thousand dollars. But I don't have any idea when people are going to start hiring again. And until we get back on our feet I can't even make monthly payments. Do you still think you can help?"

Tommy didn't answer immediately. He signaled to the bartender who reappeared almost instantly with a beer for Tommy and another of those strong drinks for me.

I took another sip and sat staring at my hands, waiting for the only possible answer to my question. Of course he couldn't loan me any money.

So I was more than a little taken aback when he said, "I might be able to help. It depends on you."

I was shocked, but not as shocked as I was going to be.

I turned to look him in the eyes. When I saw the look on his face I think that I already had a pretty good idea what he meant when he said it depends on me.

He stared right into my eyes and casually let his hand drop to my thigh.

I gasped and I was just about to slap his hand away when he said, "It's up to you. Do you want me to let you up? I will. Just say the word. You can get up and go home right now. You can start packing your things and looking around for a nice overpass to sleep under. Or you can deal with me. Take your pick."

His fingers squeezed my upper thigh gently and he waited for me to decide just how desperate I really am. The thing that scared the hell out of me was the thrill that shot through my body when he touched me like that. No one but my husband has touched me like that since we met while still in college.

This dangerous man was daring me to refuse him. I felt all the things I was supposed to be feeling. I was stunned. I was offended. I was afraid. I was desperate. But I couldn't deny that I felt ... I don't know, something else!

I wasn't so shocked that I didn't know that the things I was feeling were not things a happily married woman like me was supposed to be feeling in a situation like this.

I knew that the only possible decision I could make was to get up and leave without another word. So I couldn't believe it when I heard myself meekly whisper, "What would I have to do?"

His expression never changed. He didn't even seem surprised. Just as casually as if we were discussing the weather he said, "I'll loan you twenty-five thousand dollars. For the next six months, since you can't make monthly payments, you will belong to me two days a week. You will do anything and everything that I tell you to do without question. I do mean anything. If I tell you to walk down Main Street at noon wearing nothing but your wedding ring you obey me.

"If you repay me at the end of the six months I walk away and it's over. If you can't, we renegotiate. But the next set of terms will not be so easy."

I could almost not think for the heat of his large hand on my upper thigh. I couldn't believe that I was still sitting there. Surely I wasn't considering his offer!

I shocked myself again when I asked, "What about my husband? What do I tell him?"

He chuckled and said, "Tell him you're working two days a week."

"Doing what?"

He rolled his eyes and exclaimed, "I don't give a fuck! Tell him you're a fucking prostitute for all I care!"

This couldn't end well. If I took the money he was offering it was bound to be the end of life as I knew it. This man is evil and he doesn't even try to disguise it.

I shivered in fear and timidly asked, "What would I have to do?"

"I told you! You'll do anything and everything I tell you to do, without question. And the moment you say no to anything I tell you to do you had best be prepared to be punished or to give me back my money.

"Keep this in mind before you decide to accept my offer. I don't send out second notices and I don't accept excuses. You aren't stupid. You know what you're dealing with here. If you own a television you know how people like me work. I'm not a nice man, in case there was any question in your mind. And I won't tolerate a broad giving me her word and then telling me no under any circumstances."

His hand crept up a little higher on my thigh. I felt the tip of his little finger resting over my mound. I shuddered at the thought of what I would have to do to keep from losing everything. I wasn't sure I could do it even if I told him that I would. And yet just the tip of his little finger was sending shockwaves through my body like I haven't experienced since I was in high school!

I struggled to think. With that much money I could pay off my credit cards, bring my other bills up to date, and because I wouldn't have to pay him back until six months from now, at least not with money, we could either climb out of the hole we're in or do the things we needed to do to economize and downsize.

But the price I'd have to pay could very well be my own destruction.

Tommy's fingers began to slide back down my thigh toward my knee. The relief I felt was incredible. I could finally breathe again, until his hand started sliding back up, pushing the hem of my skirt up with it.

As incredible as it must seem I was still trying to think this through. What could I tell Craig if I accepted this deal with the devil?

When I realized that I was actually thinking about accepting his loan despite the shocking demands he was making in return for the money I so desperately needed I tried not to think about my far too rich, far too outrageous fantasy life. I knew that at least some of the things this evil man would require of me would closely resemble my most secret fantasy of being dominated by a strong, dangerous man. There wasn't any question in my mind that he was all of that.

I'm smart enough to know that those things I fantasize about are only exciting in my mind. In real life the things I would have to do would be demeaning, humiliating, unpleasant and probably painful more often than not.

So why was I a hair's breadth away from taking the money?!

I was so befuddled that I didn't even realize the bartender had come back to check on us until I heard him asking Tommy if he wanted another round.

Tommy's hand was back where it had been earlier. But now my skirt wasn't in his way. I glanced down to see how exposed I was. My pantyhose and the crotch of my panties were visible to Tommy and the bartender!

I glanced up nervously and a shiver ran through me when I realized that the bartender was indeed staring at Tommy's hand and my exposed underwear.

Tommy turned to me and after taking a second or two to evaluate my reaction he said, "It's decision time. I want your answer. Do you want the money?"

I moaned and nodded. But it tore me up inside because I honestly didn't know if I was accepting his offer because I was desperate for the money or because I was so fucking turned on.

I tried to think about the consequences. My mind wouldn't even let me. I couldn't think about what Craig would do if he found out. I couldn't think about how my kids would react. I couldn't even bring myself to ask him what would happen if I couldn't repay the rather large loan in six months.

I heard Tommy order another round. He ordered me to finish the drink I was sipping on. I don't know what I was drinking but it was strong. I needed it, though. I was terrified now that I had actually agreed to ... to whatever it is I've just agreed to do.

I gulped down the last few sips of my drink. I put my glass down and breathed a sigh of relief, or was it disappointment, when he finally removed his hand from my upper thigh.

Tommy sat back and said, "Take your pantyhose off. If I catch you wearing those damned things again before you pay me what you owe me you'll be punished. Trust me Regina. You don't want me to punish you. I enjoy it too much."

I glanced around the room nervously. But I didn't hesitate. I reached down to obey him.

People weren't staring at me. But they were aware of me. Men sitting nearby glanced at me occasionally. I was the only female in the bar. The fact that Tommy had his hand in my lap hadn't gone unnoticed.

The men around us started paying more attention when I reached under my skirt and started working my pantyhose down. I wondered how exposed I was but I didn't dare look. I hitched my ass up off the seat and had my hose halfway down over my butt when the bartender returned.

He placed our fresh drinks on the table but he didn't move.

I groaned in humiliation but I didn't stop what I was doing. The bartender stood right there and stared as I finished pulling my hose down over my ass and sat back down.

I couldn't look up. I continued sliding my pantyhose down my legs. It was harder to remove them while sitting in that booth than I thought it would be. I slipped my shoes off and made an even more disreputable display of myself when I was forced to lift my legs one at a time and slip the hose off of my feet. Each time I lifted my leg I exposed the lower two or three inches of my underwear to both men.

I was more humiliated than I've ever been in my life. And god forgive me, I don't believe I've ever been more turned on!

I slipped my feet back into my shoes, pulled my skirt back into place over my thighs and put my pantyhose down on the bench beside me. Tommy reached across me and picked them up. He handed them to the bartender and told him to throw them away.

The bartender grinned and carried them ahead of him with the legs hanging down so that everyone in the bar knew what he had in his hand. I was aware of every man in that bar watching me now. They couldn't have seen anything. Well, the three guys in the booth across from us might have seen a little something. But now everyone knew that I removed my pantyhose while sitting there at the booth with a man that most of them probably knew was not my husband.

Tommy turned slightly in his seat so that he was almost facing me. He started asking me personal questions. He asked me my age and how long I've been married. He asked me how old I was when I lost my virginity and how many men I've had sex with. Well, what he actually asked me was how many men have fucked me.

I told him that I've slept with five men besides my husband since I lost my virginity when I was sixteen. He grinned and said, "You better not be sleeping when I'm fucking you."

I blushed but ignored his crude joke. I was aware, though, that I was still enormously turned on by the way this gangster was treating me.

While I was answering his crude and invasive questions he reached up and began unbuttoning the top buttons on my dress!

My entire body began to vibrate with a strange mixture of terror and excitement. I was so embarrassed I couldn't draw a deep breath. I wanted desperately to stop him. But instead I sat there submissively and tried very hard to continue answering his probing questions.

My dress was hanging open down to my waist when he asked, "Are you any good at sucking cock?"

I shivered again. It was hard to give him a yes or no answer to that. I've always been reluctant to do that for my husband, or any of my previous boyfriends. I always thought it was a demeaning thing to do. But for that very reason it turns me on when a guy makes me do it.

My husband isn't the kind of man to make me do anything he knows that I don't enjoy. I have probably sucked his cock a dozen times in all the years we've been married. I get turned on under the right circumstances, but I seldom encounter the right circumstances and so I haven't had a lot of experience.