Confessions of a Slut

I continued my alcohol and sexual abstinence for several months at my punishment posting in Africa. As I explained earlier, I was in deep dudgeon with my employer, the Department of State, for excessive drinking and "additional problems," among which was sex with too many men too often.

It was six months of abstinence before I got a telegram that allowed me to go off the wagon and become again, more discretely this time, a slut. The telegram announced that I had been promoted and, moreover, that I had been recommended for a meritorious award for my excellent work at my new post.

That was a huge relief; my career was back on track again. But, working at that small, isolated, Embassy in an inhospitable African country, it was not easy to rejuvenate my sex life. Available men were few and far between. What a waste! I was at my sexual and physical peak. At 37 years old, I was in the best shape of my life -- a slender 140 pounds on my large 5' 8" frame.

My first sex partner in my resurrected life was Abe. He was a professor and he visited my country for research about a book he was writing. He was forty-five and married, but his wife was in the States. To my way of thinking, infidelity doesn't count if the spouse is more than a thousand miles away.

Abe was a thoroughly funny and likeable person -- but an awful lover. I ran into him at a dull dinner party and lured him to my apartment. I really, really wanted to get laid. Alas, Abe cummed as I tried to put a condom on him. The next night we tried again and he couldn't get an erection. I put his penis in my mouth to encourage it and one lick later I had a mouthful. Our third night together I skipped putting on the condom and Abe attempted to fuck me, but it was the same story. Ejaculation without erection. He cummed, I didn't. You've heard of three strokers? Abe was a one stroker.

Abe was good company, however inadequate as a sex partner. He went back to the States for several months but one day a faint ray of sun peeped out of the cloudy sky of my enforced chastity. Abe was coming to town! He asked me to pick him up at the airport when he arrived.

Well, when it rains it pours. I worked late the night Abe was to arrive. I had a financial report to complete. Everybody had left the Embassy except me and one Marine guard. The Marine usually stayed at Post One near the front door, but he also periodically patrolled the halls of the two story office building.

I was in the Ambassador's office. I needed the space on his floor to spread out the pages of my report, collate them, and staple them together -- this still being the paper era before e-mail. I was kneeling on the floor when the Marine guard came in, greeted me, and sat down on the couch.

I don't look like a slut. I dress professionally. I was wearing a knee length skirt, but in shuffling around the floor on my knees I probably showed the Marine a glimpse of inner thigh and the lacey bra beneath my white blouse allowed the most subtle outline of a pink nipple to show through. The Marine and I talked as I worked and when I finished I extended a hand to him so he could pull me to my feet. He did so, and I found myself in his arms.

This boy was a pool-playing friend on Friday nights when the Marines hosted a happy hour at the house in which they lived. He was 21 years old and tall and muscular, a shy Southern boy with a thick uneducated accent. I don't usually have sex with people I work with but I have made exceptions for marines. These youngsters in isolated African countries have sex lives as deprived as my own -- and like me they are discouraged from sex with locals by our employer. So, in desperation, single women in Embassies and much younger Marines hook up sometimes.

Well, Abe's imminent arrival notwithstanding, I didn't resist and that Marine fucked me real good right there on the sofa in the Ambassador's office. He took his pistol, nightstick, and walkie-talkie off and laid them down on the coffee table, pulled his pants down to his knees; pushed my skirt up around my waist, pulled my panties off and inserted a very large and hard penis into me. It felt good after my long drought. I climaxed quickly a couple of times, as did he, but he continued on, methodically pounding me. I began to feel pain and I was about to call for a cessation of sex -- a first for me -- when a voice barked through the walkie-talkie. "Post one, post one, come in immediately!"

My marine pulled himself out of me, grabbed his radio, snapped to attention with his pants around his ankles, penis dripping, and said "yes sir, yes sir" into the radio as his sergeant barked out instructions. When he signed off, he said to me, "I gotta go. Orders. Sorry."

I wasn't sorry, but he was a dear boy, and I liked him, despite the pain now running from my crotch all the way to my esophagus. As he rushed out the door, he picked my panties off the floor and asked, "A present for me?"

"All yours," I answered. But I got up with difficulty. I mopped up the sperm oozing out of me to avoid having stains on my fashionable and expensive skirt, arranged myself as best I could, and walked out of the Embassy with a painful bow-legged shuffle. That boy had left me in no shape to accommodate even semi-hard Abe who was due to arrive in two hours. I went home, showered, and pondered my strategies while driving to the airport to get him.

We had a lovely dinner and dessert at my apartment, stripped our clothes off and got into bed. After preliminary embraces I undertook to divert his attention from my ravaged vagina to my breasts, suggesting that his limp penis between them would feel good. I have large breasts and he responded with alacrity. On top of me he humped away, and now and then I caught the tip of his penis in my mouth on his upswing and gave it a sloppy kiss. We rolled over and I let my breasts hang over his penis and massage him. That was how he climaxed, his penis hardened beyond what I had ever seen before; and the sperm shooting out in copious streams against my hanging tits. Abe and I had discovered the sexual technique that suited him.

Abe wasn't any better after sex than before. He rolled over and went to sleep immediately. I finished myself off with my fingers while he snored happily. I woke up the next morning with Abe on top of me, his penis between my tits, and he cummed all over me before I could properly open my eyes. Abe was a sexual tiger, so long as penetration was not a goal.

That night set the standard for our sexual relationship. Abe and I had more than a dozen trysts over the next decade. With titty fucking he attained and kept an erection. For me it wasn't overly exciting, but I could sometimes get to an orgasm with just his naked body writhing with me.

As a lover, Abe got a D minus. The pathology was that he, as a married man, felt guilty about having sex with me. But in his psyche, titty fucking didn't really seem like infidelity and thus he loosened up and performed better. I was willing to accommodate him; what are friends for?

The young marine, by the way, became a regular lover over the next few months. I persuaded him that we must be discreet and two or three times a week he sneaked into my apartment and spent an hour with me. One hour was enough time for this very horny boy to ejaculate three times. Three shot Johnny, I called him. I learned to cum with him the first two times and then avoid being rubbed raw by giving him a blow job for his third penile eruption. A hard man is good to find.