Melanies Memoirs A Married Slut 02

2. The First:

I'm Melanie. I'm a 30 year old, married slut who cheats on her husband almost daily, if not even more often than that, because he can't come close to satisfying me and I can't possibly get enough cock anyway. This is another entry in my memoirs.

At the time I'm writing this, I've got about eight to ten guys who I count as "boyfriends" -- guys I fuck somewhat regularly. I decided to write down how I got here -- the doting, boring suburban housewife to the cheating, cock-loving little bitch that I know I am -- because I know how impressed many guys are with me. I've done some really, ridiculously naughty things. Really depraved, outrageous things. Two years ago, before all this started, I barely even had fantasies about some of the things I've done.

I can't get enough attention from hung, sexy men (and hot ladies too!). I want every reader of this to crave me, as much as I crave the men in my life. Don't you want me? My petite 125 pound frame, my long dark hair and slender, triangular face, my hot small ass, my gorgeous C-cup tits. I'm here for you, baby, are you man enough to please me, hmm?

So go on, grab your dick (or jam your fingers in your twat), read on and I hope you get off as hard as I have!

* * * *

This happened on a sweltering, blazing hot day last July, I remember that vividly.

I had never previously cheated, in person, with another man before that day. Cybersex? Phone sex? Trading emails with other men, fantasizing about hook ups? Yes to all of that. But those were just mental and visual or oral games, nothing physical, nothing in person. Showing off my C-cup tits, my petite body, my shaved 29-year-old, married vagina, in photographs or using the camera on the iPhone, or on Skype? I'd done all of that, for months, but it was never real. It was never in person.

And I wasn't looking for it, either, not really at least. From an online personal ad that was soliciting local men to contact me for sex, I'd generated dozens of emails from horny guys who wanted to meet to fuck. Some of them were lucky enough to get my reply. I'd struck up email friendships and a few phone calls, but I never crossed my line of scheduling a date for a fuck. Never, ever in person. I was going to remain a good wife, I was just playing around, filling the time during the day when my husband was at work and I was bored.

Of course, I'd been fantasizing about it. I'm not naive. What would it be like, who would be the first guy I fuck? Making dates with men, even as a fantasy, talking about when we'd meet, what we'd do -- making it seem so real, I had some powerful orgasms visualizing those kinds of things. But, as the orgasms passed, I'd return to Earth and put aside the folly of having dates with other men. I was married, damned it.

The afternoon before, I was horny and mad. Bothered, is a better word. I'd scheduled a time for phone sex with one of my online boyfriends, only I wasn't home alone. My husband had hired some stupid handyman to rewire the bad electrical outlets in our house, and I didn't know the guy was showing up until he was on my doorstep. Fuck. Growling around the house, I wanted to tell him to come back another day, constantly thinking about my friend David, whose cock was going to squirt orgasm a few times from the sound of my voice. But I had to email him and apologize, telling him it would be a little while because I had the contractor over.

The handyman, Rick I thought his name was, was probably a really nice guy. He certainly looked good. In a tight t-shirt and jeans, his butt was small and powerful, he was tall, handsome, he had a casual smile that was very disarming. His demeanor was completely professional, he talked pleasantly to me, he wasn't making me feel uncomfortable. I mean, my husband was only a phonecall away. So why didn't I like Rick? He was fucking interrupting my day, and my phone sex with David. I growled at the guy, snapping a few times, hoping he'd finish soon. The clock ticked away, and my concern wasn't the expense (my husband saves way more money than he needs to), it was the lack of time I could play before my husband got home. Three o'clock. Four. Five. Fuck, hubby would be home real soon, and I didn't have even one fucking orgasm all afternoon. NOT ONE!

The next morning, I was in a totally different place. It was a fucking monstrous day outside -- temperature over 100 degrees, not a cloud in sight to save us from the pulverizing July sun. The humidity in my part of Pennsylvania can be brutal, too, we aren't in the mountains like some other lucky folks. Even going out to get the newspaper for my husband, I was breaking sweat. It was a rare event the fluids dripping down my thighs weren't due to my over-active vagina; no, I was perspiring instantly. The heat suppressed my lusty desires, and I wasn't particularly eager to get to fucking.

So I didn't mind that the handyman, Rick, was coming over again, to complete the work from the night before. He wasn't happy about it, either, making calls in front of me and my hubby the night before to rearrange his schedule. My hubby didn't like the expense, but some prick who lived in the house before us tried a do-it-yourself repair job that was constantly making shorts around the house. We'd put up with it for years, so the fix was overdue. Gotta be done, my husband told me when he decided to proceed with the work.

Hmm, hot temperature, sexy repair man coming to the house. I should have foreseen it. Rick came over, wearing a white t-shirt that was like glued to the muscular pecks and abs on his very fit upper body. With sweat beading on his stubbled chin, my eyes were invested in him immediately. I like men with that gruff, unkempt look, and the sweat made him look more manly.

I let Rick back into my house about 9:30 that morning, intending to stay out of his way. But . . . how he looked in that t-shirt, and bending over in his jeans, and that sweat on his forehead. I have to say, he looked good.

My feelings for him started to change, mostly due to the temperature. Our house is nicely air conditioned, however, Rick had to turn off the power for a couple of hours, and thus it getting really hot inside. Had to be over 80 degrees, or more, even with the window shades closed. The house was dim, sweltering. Rick moved around, room to room, needing my help to flick switches and tell him if stuff was activating or not. Working as his unpaid apprentice, I found my eyes gazing at his body. He was way taller than my husband, he was all man -- not ripped, but really fit. Curly blonde hair, deep-set gray eyes. We got to talking, too -- nothing serious, just about where he was from, his days in the service, some places we'd both visited, although years apart. I kept thinking, it was like a date, something you'd talk about with a guy over lunch, only, he was rewiring my fucking house, not dating me. My husband hired him.

So, yeah, I was flirting with him. My unfinished business from the previous afternoon -- the lack of orgasms -- had spilled over to the next morning, and even in the oppressive humidity and heat inside my own house, I was feeling horny again. The high temperature suppressed that a little, but it also suppressed my self-monitoring. I was probably flirting a little too much, smiling and giggling at Rick's stupid jokes, acting way too much like a schoolgirl. It was fun.

And the heat -- well, it had another effect. Under my clothing, a t-shirt and bra and shorts, I was getting really oppressively hot. I hadn't dressed with the expectation that my home's temperature would climb so high. I started getting an idea, and while I told myself it was a bad one, I couldn't stop myself. I'd shown my nude body off to lots of strangers, and my idea wasn't nearly as provocative as that.

So, around 11 in the morning, I excused myself to my bedroom. I knew what I wanted to do. I picked out a bikini, lying uselessly in the bottom of one of my drawers, something I'd worn to the ocean beach a couple years ago. I've got a tiny body, I looked the same at 29 as I did at 26 or 27, so there was no question it would fit. It wasn't really slutty, either; it wasn't a string bikini, it was more of a two-piece bathing suit, nicely covering my large breasts and all of my ass and crotch. But, wow, it felt soooo much better in the hot air, wearing it than full clothing. So I wouldn't look too provocative, I put on a loose, short white skirt over the bottom. I looked like I could be at the beach.

"Hope you don't mind," I teased to Rick, entering the room and making his eyes pop out, "it's really hot in here." I pretended not to notice his eyes devouring the sight of my round, soft C-cup tits bouncing around inside the tight yellow bikini. I didn't try and make too many overtly sexual poses, like I never bent over in front of him, but his eyes definitely were on my ass as I passed him. Rick didn't mind at all, in fact, he said I looked "delightful" in it. He didn't sound sexual or aggressive; it was just an honest comment, and he kept going about his business.

Poor guy, he had to keep his shirt and jeans on, and he was really overheating inside my home with the air conditioning turned off. Rick didn't complain, he just kept wiping the sweat from his manly brow. With my defenses lowered and feeling horny, I suggested he could take his shirt off. He politely declined. I said, no, really, it's okay. He still declined, but not as confidently. I am sure he was thinking about it.

No, I wasn't thinking about seducing Rick, I was just teasing him while trying to feel comfortable inside my overheating house. Honestly, I swear, that's all.

He flipped back on the power a half-hour later, something like that. Within a few minutes, I could feel the air inside my house returning to a much more temperate state.

Not my libido, however.

Just before noon, I was standing in the foyer of my house, the front door opened, Rick on the deck outside about to leave, his work finished. With the front door opened, the heat of the bright July day came blasting into my just-cooled house again, and sweat started dripping down my slender neck, down to my chest plate exposed above the bikini. Looking at Rick, seeing him so sweaty and hot, I felt hair rising on my neck. His body and ass looked so manly in his tight, sweaty clothing. He was about to leave, for good, and I had been enjoying his attention. I gulped, frozen for a moment, caught by the sudden rush of desire sizzling between my thighs.

Right in front of me, the hunky, dreamy handyman was staring at my achingly hard nipples poking through my yellow bikini, right at him. Did I say staring? More than staring. His eyes were glued to the sight, like radar on the targets. For the first time all morning, he was looking at me sexually.

My voice was shaky. It was a moment I hadn't planned, and my reaction to it was totally the opposite of what I really wanted. I mean, I was giving into REALLY wanted, but my brain was saying, this is absolutely not what you want, Melanie. I had said no to so many men online, surely I was not about to give into this handyman?

"Sooo," quivered my girlish, high-pitched whisper, barely audible enough for him to hear and he was three feet in front of me, "you can stay for lunch here, with me, if you want, I can make you something, so you don't have to go out into this sweltering heat." I smiled, trying to find a good excuse. "I mean, if you don't have anywhere to be for a couple of hours, why not wait out the heat in here, make sure the air conditioning works and won't blow a gasket or something?"

As I leaned my shoulder against the door frame of our house, I sensed my back instinctively arching, pushing my heaving tits in my tight blouse right at the 30-something-year-old stud in front of me, my buttocks clenching in my bikini bottoms inside my skirt. I was almost biting my lip, nervous, feeling like I was in high school again. I hadn't flirted with a guy since I began dating my husband eight years ago, and I was out of my element. Unlike playing with so many men online or on the phone, this was different -- this was in person. I felt exposed, ashamed.

Rick's steel gray eyes, set deep in his square face framed by a rock-solid jaw sporting two-day stubbles, looked up from the C cups in my tight shirt to my blue eyes, finding my visage a combination of lust and fear. "That's sweet of you," purred the hot man who'd been flirting with me for the past two hours, "I do have a couple of hours before I need to get to the next job -- and yeah, we might want to make sure the gaskets all work." He chuckled, undoubtedly because I bet air conditioners and electrical systems don't have gaskets. I have no idea what a gasket is, for the record.

I let the gorgeous man back into my house, feeling a mixture of relief, excitement and nerves. My knees wanted to melt. If my husband knew what was on my mind, he'd have killed me, then divorced me afterwards to add insult to injury. I mean, just the thoughts in my head were bad enough, right? That I'd changed into the bikini, making my flat tummy and petite frame and big round tits more obvious to Rick? Maybe my husband could have gotten over all the cybersex and phonesex and video sex with men for months, but, here I was, seducing Rick in person. None of that other stuff counted to me, it seemed.

Yeah, I felt guilty as shit, letting Rick back into my house, the way he was looking at me, the way I was dressed. I even peeked around the neighborhood before shutting my front door, making sure none of my neighbors (whom I didn't know anyway) were looking at the horny, married woman letting the handyman back into her house.

Rick's powerful eyes were on my body as I wandered around the kitchen making us a tuna salad. I felt him ogling my small butt in my white skirt, with the bikini bottoms under it. I could see his eyeballs fixated on my breasts trying to squeeze through my tight but covering bikini top. His eyes drank the sights of my small, triangular face, of my long dark-brown hair. I continued to pretend not to notice, but unlike earlier, I was giving him more to see. I bent over at the refrigerator too long, showing the shape of my ass in my bathing suit; then I unnecessarily stretched up on my bare toes to grab glasses off of the highest shelf I could barely reach, showing off the shape of my breasts in the bikini top.

It was still just teasing, but it was becoming more torture than fun. On me, I mean -- showing my married body to a handsome hunk, after I'd spent months and months fantasizing about fucking men and cheating on my husband. This handyman was a gentleman, taking what I was giving -- an eyeful -- but still not crossing any lines. It turned me on, made my pussy leak juices in my bikini bottoms under my skirt. Knowing I shouldn't be doing it, I was feeling alive. Having a man's eyes on me, his attention, my femininity and my body seducing him. All of the feeling from those online and email and phone affairs, but a million times more powerful. And better. I thought about how I let Adam and other men see my naked body through the cellphone, but letting Rick see me in my tight, revealing clothing in person was actually much more arousing to me. Adam couldn't touch me through a phone (too bad!); but Rick, he was here, in his manly flesh. There was always that potential for something real happening, as much as I had told myself I would never cross that line.

Delivering the tuna salads in bowls to the table where Rick was sitting -- right where my husband sat that morning before his job, and where he'd sit a few hours later for dinner -- I saw Rick admiring me, sitting back, casual, yet waiting. Yes, he was waiting for me. For a signal, maybe? Maybe he'd make the first move, but I had to let him know it was alright. Mmm, yes, his eyes flirted with the sight of my nipples in my bikini top, he was hungry for them, wasn't he? He wasn't here to eat lunch, he wanted to eat my cunt, I bet. I hoped.

My brain was goo. So many emotions. All those hours and days in front of the computer, rubbing my cunt, reading stories of married sluts and whores, fucking hot men because their husbands couldn't give them what they needed. The phonesex, hearing men orgasm for me. The video sex, showing off my tits and cunt to strangers so I could enjoy their delicious pricks spurting hot cum. But as real as those orgasms were, the situations were all phony, completely electronic, not "real" to me. This was real, the sexy hot stud at my kitchen table was real.

But this wasn't a decision for my brain. No, my college-educated brain had nothing to do with it. I was all woman now, on the prowl, I was looking for cock and I wasn't going to deny myself any longer. All those months and months of online and phone fucking were pushing me over the edge.

The words just tumbled out of my chalky mouth, something my fingers might have typed in a hot session of cybersex , but nothing I'd ever thought about uttering aloud.

"You can have this tuna salad for lunch," I offered as I slipped the bowl in front of him, "or, if you want, you can have anything else you see."

And, as I said it, I leaned my petite frame forward, pushing the C-cup melons swelling in bikini top towards his face. My nipples were not even two feet from him, hard knobs making distinct bumps in the thin fabric, and the shape of my boobs was completely evidence as they stretched out the bathing suit.

Besides being hot, Rick was smart enough to know what he was being offered.

Suddenly his hands were on my small buttocks, groping my asscheeks through my skirt and bathing suit, and my body was straddling his lap as he sat at my kitchen table, I felt the bulge of his incredible erection pushing through his jeans against my aching pussy in my clothing. While he ground his penis against my pussy and groped my ass through the jeans, his lips and jaws opened wide to start mouthing my throbbing hard nipples through my bathing suit. He was eating my tits, not my tuna salad.

And the married woman straddling his lap? I was enthralled, giving into the moment of lust. So many hours of fantasies were bursting into reality. "Fuck yeah," groaned my desires with enthusiasm. "That feels so good, baby -- I need that so bad!"

He confirmed his desire for me, too, by bending my head down and sinking his tongue into my mouth. Instantly we were making out with a sloppy wet French kiss, this married woman crossing the line with a hot stranger. Not a complete stranger, my husband hired him to repair our dated electrical system. I'd known him since he arrived the afternoon before and pissed me off the rest of the day. It was already past noon now, more than enough time to justify his tongue driving into my throat, his hands clutching my buttocks, his bulging penis gyrating against my married mound.

We made out noisily, swapping saliva, tongues dancing together, grinding our crotches together, not comfortable at all but unable to move away from each other. Then, out of nowhere, without saying a word, studly Rick scooped my petite body into his arms and carried me across our one-floor house towards the guest bedroom. Still making out with him, our lips sealed and lungs exchanging breaths directly, my legs were wrapped around his athletic waist while he continued to grab my firm little butt. As we passed into the guest room, I had a fleeting admiration for Rick that we weren't going into the master bedroom, thus avoiding me fucking him on my marital bed. Cheating is cheating, but for a second, I felt that I didn't need to do it right where my husband slept. Really bad karma, that would be -- even if all this would remain a complete secret from my husband.

Flopped onto my back on the queen-size bed, Rick peeled off my white skirt. I couldn't wait, I gripped my bikini top and yanked it off of my torso, tossing it onto the floor. My nude tits jiggled in front of the stud, my pink nipples long and hard, standing at attention for him. Arching my back more, I grinned as Rick peeled off the bottoms of my two-piece bathing suit. He was stripping me completely naked, I was a married woman being exposed to a virtual stranger.