Confessions of a Slut Chapter One

Author: Rebecca R
Published: Jun 10, 2008
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I was wet and ready for him when he reclined over me. "You're drunk," I thought. "You're going to regret this," I told myself. What I said was, "Fuck me!" I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

It may seem odd to start the story of my sex life at age thirty-two, but that's when my sex life became interesting.

I was an ugly ducking as a girl: too tall, big-boned, clumsy, overweight, nearsighted, and shy to attract male attention. Contact lenses corrected my vision, tennis got my body in shape, and big tits made up for other faults. At eighteen I had my first boy friend -- and my first sexual experiences.

My boy friend and I had sex every weekend for a year, until he found someone better and dumped me. The pain still blocks my memory of our love-making. Was it good sex or not I don't recall. Honestly. However, I remember well the time I cheated on him. He traveled at lot on his job and while he was out of town I went to a party and drank too much and had a one night stand with a perfectly wonderful man. He was also cheating. Afterwards we both suffered qualms of conscience and we didn't repeat the experience. I never told my boy friend.

That one-night stand was also the first time I ever got drunk and thereafter booze has been associated in my mind with good sex -- which has caused me some problems.

Well, after my first boy friend, and my first one-night stand, I was celibate for about a year and then I met Don. He was five years older than me and seemed very worldly. We dated about a year and got married. I had just turned twenty-two and graduated from college. I had a good-paying job as an accountant and that was one reason Don married me. He had big schemes about making money, but he didn't like to work. My regular paycheck enabled him to indulge himself.

Don also liked my sexual compliance. I gave him exactly what he wanted: a reliable receptacle for his sperm. "Making love" does not describe our sex life. Don fucked me every night. Not only that, he fucked me at the same time every night. At 11:00 we began undressing and, as regular as rain, at 11:10 Don cummed inside me. By 11:15 he was asleep. Sometimes, I cummed too -- but that was the exception.

Don was a one-trick pony. He liked sex doggy-style. Our routine was that I took my clothes off, laid on my stomach and stuck my ass up in the air. He finished undressing, turned off the light, and leaned over me, sometimes kneeling, often standing up, inserted his penis into my vagina, and humped his way to ejaculation. To vary the routine, now and then he pulled his penis out of me and cummed on my ass. Since Don, I have never really been able to enjoy doggy-style sex.

During my periods, Don, however, wouldn't touch me. He stood beside me at the edge of the bed and I jacked him off with my hand and mouth and he spurted cum on my tits. I always took a towel to bed with me to clean up the mess and by the time I had wiped off the cum he was in bed and asleep. No kiss, no kind words, no caressing.

I was the perfect wife for ten years. I cleaned; I cooked; I fucked; I gave Don money. We never had any children. My reward for those ten miserable years, for I realized later how miserable they had been, was that Don dumped me. It was a total surprise and I was devastated -- but only for a month. My confidence in myself as a woman descended to new and lower depths. At thirty-two years old, I believed that my sex life was over -- and that didn't seem such a tragedy.

One day, however, I realized that I was not unhappy and, in fact, I rather enjoyed not having Don around. Moreover, I decided to venture out of my cocoon and look for a little adventure to relieve the tedium of my boring, boring life. I contemplated sky-diving and mountain climbing, but I settled on travel. Sue, a college girl friend had invited me to visit her and her husband Jim in Bangkok, Thailand and I accepted. It was my first trip outside the United States.

I went to Bangkok with a thought in my mind that I might have the opportunity to get laid during my visit -- and that I wasn't going to turn down any suitable men, although I was still too shell-shocked to engage in seductive games. But I was away from home, footless, free, and feeling just a tad frisky. When I heard my girl friend and her husband making love I got friskier. I laid in my bed in the guest room and listened to them in the bedroom next door. Sue was noisy, and she seemed to be enjoying what he was doing to her. I had only rarely masturbated, but I did that night while I listened to the sounds of passion and the murmur of their quiet talk afterwards. Maybe there was a possibility that sex could be fun!

Sue suggested a weekend at the beach in Pattaya. Her friends had rented two large rambling beach bungalows. Three married couples would inhabit one house and I could join two single women in the other.

We had a wonderful time at the beach. We rented a boat and went snorkeling -- the first time I had ever done that. I noticed that the men were appreciative of my tits overflowing out of my otherwise modest two-piece swimsuit. Looking at the other women, I realized that my body wasn't half bad. I had good muscle tone, no cellulose, a pretty face, large brown eyes, and thick black hair. On the negative side, I was big and raw boned: 5 feet, 8 inches tall and 150 pounds. I wore a 36 D bra, my hips were too wide, and, no matter how much I exercised, my stomach was more rounded than flat. In what for me was uncharacteristic, I encouraged the men's interest by sunning myself with the straps of my bathing suit loosed and my nipples barely covered.

Pattaya is a great place for bar-hopping and we went out that night. Every bar was full of scantily-dressed Thai girls looking for a man to pay them for their attentions. The men, mostly foreign, in those bars weren't shy about feeling the merchandise before they decided which girl to buy for a night of pleasure. I drank and danced and watched the scene -- oddly turned on by the mating games and business negotiations going on between Thai girls and foreign men all around me, often with gestures because they had no common language.

We were all a bit drunk when we went back to our bungalows. We parted -- the married couples to their bungalow, the single girls to theirs -- with boisterous hugs and tipsy laughter. I was giddy and happy.

The other two women went upstairs to sleep in the one bedroom of the bungalow. I had volunteered to sleep downstairs in the living room. I laid out cushions on the floor, stripped down to bra and panties, covered myself with a sheet and laid down to sleep, my head spinning from too much alcohol. It was a beautiful night at the beach; moonlight poured through the screened windows that ringed the living room.

I was nearly asleep when I heard someone come in the door. I had neglected to lock it. In the moonlight I saw that it was John, one of the married men. I pretended to be asleep while he walked over to me and knelt down beside me, and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to face him, pretending that I was waking up. His hand found its way to my breast and he whispered to me, "I want to make love." He added. "My wife is asleep"

He was a little drunk and unsteady, kneeling there in the darkness, his hand kneading my breast gently, while I contemplated the offer. His hand moved inside my bra, his fingers flicking against my nipple and he leaned over me and kissed me, first on the forehead, and then the nose, and then softly on the lips. He was wearing only shorts and I felt his hardening penis against my thigh through the thin fabric.

For a long minute, I neither protested nor responded to his probing fingers and lips. I had not had sex for three months, since my husband left me. This attractive man with his hand inside my bra and hard penis against my thigh wanted to make love. So did I. I put my hand on his shoulder and pulled him down on top of me. He unhooked my bra and I slipped out of my panties and then helped him out of his shorts.

I was wet and ready for him when he reclined over me. "You're drunk," I thought. "You're going to regret this," I told myself. What I said was, "Fuck me!" I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

I didn't have to ask twice. He penetrated me during our one long passionate kiss, and I wrapped my legs around him and drew him closer and deeper. He felt so very good between my legs -- an unfamilar sensation after my years with doggy Don. Unfortunately, he lasted only about three strokes, let out a long contented sigh, rolled off me and lay breathing hard on the floor beside me. I was wet with sweat, juices, and cum.

I was not ready to call it a night. I had never been so hot. I let him rest for a minute and then shyly and tentatively tried to get him ready again. He was reluctant, groaning and mostly asleep, but he responded when I took his soft penis in my mouth and sucked him back to hardness. With renewed energy, he climbed back on top of me, and once again I received him, this time for a good long time with me nearly screaming in passion and, when I climaxed his hand was over my mouth. "Shh," he said. "You'll wake everyone." And then he cummed too and we both lay there too exhausted to move.

He went to sleep. I woke him and told him I wanted more but he didn't respond. It had felt so good that I wanted it again. My mouth on his limp pecker didn't accomplish much. Desperate measures were required. So, I rolled him on his back and I sat down on his stomach, facing his feet. From that angle I held his penis in my hand and guided it into my vagina, although he could only achieve a half-erection and kept slipping out. I was determined to climax again; I held his penis against my clitoris and rubbed it up and down and slipped it into my vagina whenever it showed signs of woodiness. I don't know whether it was fucking or masturbation -- but the climax was huge. I shook the room.

I was exhausted; I laid on top of him, my face at his feet, biting his toes in ecstasy. He was already fast asleep, dead to the world. He would have spent the night there, but I knew that I had to get him up and on his way, back to his wife. I shook him awake and we got his shorts on and I shoved him out the door, pointing him the way to the cabin where his wife was. My bed on the floor was a mess. It took five minutes of feeling around in the dark before I could locate my bra and pants. The room had the distinctive sweet smell of sex -- but I was too tired to care and I dropped off to sleep.

The next morning my two girl friends sniffed the air and knew that I had been doing more in the living room than sleeping, but they asked no questions. And when the group met for breakfast, there were only two couples rather than three. "John and his wife had a family emergency," one of the other wives said. "They got up early to drive back to Bangkok."

I never saw my sleepy married lover again. I left Bangkok to go home a few days later.

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