Melanies Memoirs A Married Slut 09

9. The Day:

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!

* * * *

("The Day" I will never forget was almost exactly nine weeks ago, as of the time I'm writing this.)

The night of my threesome with two men, Brad and Tommy, was something of a high-watermark for me, or so I'd thought at the time. I suppose every girl fantasizes about fucking two hot studs at once, and that was my first time doing it. I loved it, I was good at it, the two men had a great time with me. It confirmed my self-image -- I'm hot, I'm a great fuck, I can please two men at once. Mmm, my husband has no fucking idea what he's married to, what kind of whoring tramp I am.

But, like I always say, life is stranger than fiction -- or, fantasy in this case. A couple weeks later, I had a day that was beyond even my own kinky fantasies. I wouldn't say "too good to be true," because "good" doesn't even apply. It was, well, unbelievable.

After fucking both steamy Colin and perverted Michael back-to-back in the same afternoon, you'd think my day was would be done, right? Should have been. But my carnal cravings were exploding on me, and that day had not yet ended.

Thoroughly messy after the slutty sex with Michael, I did step into the shower again, washing off the shaving cream from my crotch and ass, and giving myself a douche to clean out the cream from my pussy. My hair was tangled from showering then drying without being brushed, so I had to take care of that, getting it wet again, and brushing it out. My arms hurt so much, my muscles sore, that lifting the brush to my long hair made me laugh. I found myself sitting in front of the mirror on my vanity, admiring my round tits, knowing I'd just fucked TWO hot men in the same day. And I'd get away with it, my husband would never find out.

Now, there was the matter of that plate?

Was I going to go through with it, was I really going to feed my husband dinner on the same plate where I'd licked off Michael's cum? At first, I told myself, of course I wasn't. But I started to think about it, sitting at the mirror. I could feed him something with a thick sauce, like a steak, or mashed potatoes, whatever lingering flavor was there -- and there wouldn't be much -- he'd never be able to tell. In fact, there was probably so little cum left on the plate, the only "flavor" would be from my saliva, and he'd never really taste that on his food.

I was getting horny at the idea. I went into the kitchen, nude as usual, and inspected the plate. Ooh, there it was, this was so sinfully sexy. I sniffed it, and couldn't smell any odor on it. In fact, sitting in the sunlight, it almost looked clean, only a think smear of my saliva on it. Fuck, things come out of our old dishwasher looking dirtier. Yeah, I could do this. Should I? No. But, I was going to, it was a sexy thought, Michael was so nasty and depraved.

Standing there naked in my kitchen, picturing my husband eating off the plate, I suddenly was really horny again. Really, really horny, as in, I needed to take care of myself. Even after all that sex that day!

I wound up on my bed, pretending I was there to take a nap, but in fact I was lying on my back with pillows under my small shoulders, my hand rubbing juices around my aching, throbbing clitoris. I had been fucked so good, but my body wanted another orgasm. So I started imagining sex, both with Colin and Michael, and with other guys I'd been with, and also picturing my husband eating off that plate. Yeah, an orgasm was in my near future.

Except my cellphone rang, and I knew it wasn't my husband by the ringtone. Horny Melanie wanted to know who was calling me, so I actually bounced off my bed (with sore limbs and all) and retrieved my cellphone from my purse on the dresser. It was Brad, the hot stud I'd picked up at a bar and by whom I'd gotten double-fucked with his out-of-town friend Tommy.

I'd fucked Brad, just him and me, twice since then. He lived less than an hour from me and he was single, but he couldn't take off of work much. So, our schedules never meshed. Plus, he was regularly seeing some hot chick whom he said, if you can believe this, was an 18 year old high school senior (Brad was in his early 30s), and he didn't want to make her suspicious that he was fucking another woman. But he and I hooked up a couple of times he'd been able to get some time off of work, and with his very athletic, muscular body, he was one hot fuck.

I hurried to answer it, standing there nude in my bedroom. Brad was his usual, friendly self, his voice calm and casual. He's such a hunk. He said his boss was giving everyone the afternoon off, and his girlfriend was going to be at pom squad practice, so would I like to meet him for a drink?

Immediately, I thought to myself, I can't go fuck Brad, not after taking Colin's and Michael's cocks that day. I didn't have the strength or energy; shit, I thought I could barely drive to see him. My voice might have sounded reluctant as I thanked him for the offer. Brad laughed and was apologetic, not wanting to make me feel cornered, but he said we could just have drinks, we didn't need to "get naked" if I didn't want to.

He sounded so sincere and friendly, as usual, and I hadn't been taken out for "just drinks" in a while -- like I said earlier, most of my adventures were with other married, professional men who were pressed for time and thus we typically just got right to the sex. (Like Colin.) Drinks with a guy I'd already fucked? That sounded sweet. So, even though I was exhausted, I agreed. I couldn't say no to that friendly, sexy voice.

Less than an hour later, I was walking into a hotel bar about halfway between Brad's and my homes, my emotions a little disheveled. It was about 5:30 p.m. or something like that, so I knew I only had an hour or so before I had to get home before hubby would be there. I wouldn't even have a chance to make dinner, I'd have to pick up something along the way. So, part of me was nervous about not having time to do this. Part of me was nervous about having "drinks" with a guy, on a day I had no energy from being such a slut. And part of me was nervous that I'd break down and want to fuck him, although clearly I didn't have the time to do that.

Smiling, hunky Brad was waiting for me. He was dressed in a tight button-down shirt that showed off the masculine shape of his shoulders and arms, and his rock-solid chest muscles. Mmm, very tasty. His dark hair was even shorter than I'd remembered it, he'd gotten a "buzz" cut. Brad's blue eyes looked inviting, his demeanor was relaxed and confident. Seeing me in a smart, conservative loose, light-blue tunic top and looser, dark blue skirt, he winked and gave me a peck on my cheek, bending way down for that. He smelled good, an expensive, understated cologne or lotion. Nicely, there wasn't anything sexual about the greeting, just a friendly "hello."

We sat at a booth, across from each other. I looked around, wondering if anyone might see me there with him. There aren't a whole lot of people in my home town who know both me and my husband, so odds were low. It's not like my hubby and I visit hotel bars, anyway. The place was mostly professional men relaxing with clients, except for a table of what looked like four or five female teachers bantering together. In the disarming setting, it was easy for me to keep my attention on the stud in front of me.

Then we got to talking, just leaning towards each other, chatting quietly. His eyes focused on my face the entire time, it was very warm and cozy. We'd never really talked much, except for pillow talk, so that time at the table was very revealing about Brad. He's a softy. His mom was older and in a rest home, and he spoke passionately about the lack of care there but how he couldn't afford a better place for her. His dad died years ago in a car accident, and even after so much time, he eyes watered over talking about that -- then he apologized for getting too much into such melancholy subjects. I started finding out what he did in his spare time, including fly fishing and coaching girls' softball. Ah, so that's how he met the 18 year old he was dating, I figured. No, actually, he met her online, he said, blushing. I pretended to scold him for being a pervert, but I couldn't blame him whatsoever, could I?

Brad answered all my questions about himself, then asked about me. What's there to say about me. Bored, lonely suburban housewife. I told him how I'd tried to start an online business a couple of years ago, but it failed -- largely because I wasn't dedicated enough to put the effort into it. My online sex activities probably are the main blame for that, although I didn't tell him that. We talked about college and careers, and somehow about finding newer homes in farther-out suburbs, and then about good, underpriced restaurants. I mean, a rambling conversation, nothing really sexual, just getting-to-know-you, even after having fucked each other three times.

As we talked, at some point, his hand slipped around mine. Holding hands across from each other at the booth, looking into each other's eyes, it felt very romantic. I really liked his character, and it was easy to slip into a mode of adoring the sexy man. And, suddenly, I was feeling guilty. Fucking men on my marital bed earlier that day? Not so guilty. But having a personal, intimate and non-sexual connection with a man not my husband? Maybe it was an ephemeral, fleeting moment, but it was very real, and it unnerved me. I wasn't supposed to be having these kinds of feelings for men I just wanted to fuck.

There was a hot waitress, too, who didn't make things easier on us. She said we made a "cute couple," even though my wedding ring was glistening on the same hand he was holding. Yeah, I wear the ring when I go on fuck dates, it's sexy to me -- kind of flaunting how I cheat on my husband. The booby, early-20s blonde winked at me, complementing me on "my man." When she walked away, I teased Brad about staring at her round butt in her cocktail waitress dress, and he adoringly replied, "I wasn't even looking at her butt, you fool -- I've been staring at you -- you'd have seen that if you weren't staring at her butt yourself!"

Brad stood up from his side of the booth, and slipped to my side, putting his big arm around my petite shoulders, sliding his meaty hip right against mine. His other hand crossed his body, taking my hand into his grasp again, putting our enjoined hands on our hips where we touched. I felt his presence envelope me, not just his arm, but his eyes, his breath, his aroma, his masculinity. "I can't stop staring at you," he whispered into my ear, almost professing humiliation, "I know you're married, I don't mean to be a pest, but you're really just about perfect, Melanie, I'm sure your husband tells you that constant."

Wow, I was weak again, looking up at the hunk of a stud next to me, his eyes locked onto mine. My hand melted into his hand, I sank sideways against him a bit, using his body to prop up mine. "You're sooo sweet," I purred back, feeling like a school girl on her first date, squeezing his hand with mine. "And -- I'm not acting married when I'm with you, right? So -- don't worry about that!"

So, of course, it happened, we began kissing -- softly, romantically at first, just touching wet lips to wet lips. Then back for more. Then a short burst of electricity, tongues fleetingly glancing off each other, pulling back flush with embarrassment at being so affectionate.

Brad's eyes looked over my body hungrily. My clothing was intentionally not very revealing, but he knew what was under it, he'd seen me nude three times before. I felt his desire for me radiating through his face, my pussy tingled at the way he was looking over me. Shit, it was making me horny for him, damn I knew this would happen! "Melanie," his quiet, manly, melodious voice muttered to my nearby ear, "I wish you had more time, to stay -- can I show you something?"

I giggled, thinking he was referring to his penis. But, playing coy, I shrugged and said, "Sure, what do you want to show me?"

To my surprise he fished into his pocket, and withdrew a small object he placed on the table in front of me. It was a room key -- really, a credit-card sized magnetic card, with the hotel's emblem squarely in the middle.

I think I lost my breath in surprise seeing it, not really expecting it, and when I looked back at him, he explained himself. "Really, I didn't think we'd need this, but -- on the off-chance you wanted to -- I got a room, for us, just in case."

Wow. He was making things really difficult for me!

I checked the time on my cellphone, it was 6:23. We'd been there about an hour. Damn, I really needed to get home, didn't I? But . . . the way the sexy hunk of love was looking at me, and he was so adoring and adorable, and I was enjoying myself. Really, I was in a trance, there was something magical about this hour with Brad. My heart and pussy were jointly volunteering for the mission to accompany him to the hotel room somewhere above our heads, but I was still fretting about the time. I had become extremely uncomfortable about getting home too late from fucking another man, lest my husband realize where I've been. Looming over me was my husband's reaction when I got home too late for a fancy dinner engagement, my expensive hair-do all screwed up from having sex with Michael for the first time. Say no, Melanie, I told myself, say some other time.

But, he'd already gotten the room and paid for it. That was sooo nice of him. And he's so dreamy, so enjoyable.

"I'd love to," I answered, batting my eyelashes, knowing I was blushing. I gulped once to clear my throat. "But, I need to make sure I can stay a while longer, okay?" Brad nodded, whatever you need, he said. Both of us were starting to boil over in sexual lust now, knowing there was a good chance we could be humping each other very, very soon. That's what my body wanted at that moment, for sure.

I fumbled around to reach into my small purse and take out my cellphone again, and sitting right next to my lover with his arm around me, I called my husband. Nervously, I looked to Brad, giving him the "quiet" sign of my finger in front of my puckered lips. Then my husband answered, and I launched into a lie I made up on the spot. I'm out window-shopping, I told him, there's a store a little ways away that has some drapes on sale I might want for the living room, would he mind if I got home later? You'd have to pick up dinner for yourself, I told him. Instead of sounding disappointed or mad, my hubby seemed to breathe in relief. That's fine, he told me, he had a project that was overdue for a client on the other coast, and he was planning to work on it later that evening. How about, he told me, he gets home at like 9 p.m. and we'd have a late supper together?

Of course, his cheating, lying wife instantly agreed to the deal. He told me he loves me. While I was staring into Brad's eyes, I said back to him, "Love you too, darling, see ya later." I snapped the phone shut and reported to my boyfriend, "I'd have to leave about 8, or something?"

Brad's arm around my smallish shoulders gave me a squeeze. "I'll take whatever time you have for me," he offered with a soft purr, kissing my temple with his warm, wet lips.

So, we headed out of the bar to go fuck. Well -- to make love, really.

A few minutes later, I was standing alone in the closed bathroom of the hotel room, staring at the mirror. The toilet was still running, I'd just flushed it, I couldn't avoid doing a "#1" before getting active with Brad on the bed. Staring into the mirror, I was questioning the attractive brunette looking back at me. Melanie, I thought without spoken words to my reflection, are you really going to have sex with a THIRD man today? And it wasn't just horny, perverted sex like I had with Michael, or even the sensuous affair with Colin hours earlier. Brad was really into me, we were connecting, this was getting personal. I was really cheating now, wasn't I?

Time was passing, I was standing there. I washed my hands, which I needed to do anyway, but I was stalling for time. A bitchy voice in my brain was telling me, just go home, you need to get control of your life at some point, and might as well do it now. Are you going to be such a whore that you spread your legs open for any guy who wants you, even three in one afternoon?

I dried my hands. I put the towel back, slowly. I looked at myself in the mirror again. So what will it be, Melanie?

Mmm, my pussy was aching, I felt it wetting my panties. My nipples were firm in my bra. Brad was out there, sexy, hot, loving, wanting me. I had the time, over an hour, at least.

My hands reached for the bottom hemline of my tunic, which I pulled over my head, and the sight of my tits in my lacy black bra propelled me to continue. I removed my bra, admiring my own bosom in the mirror, I do so love my own tits. Firm, round, meaty, with big pink nipples, so fucking hard. Men love them, Brad was going to love them again. Quickly, nervous to get it going, I kicked off my sandals, then I unzipped and unsnapped the skirt, stepping out of it, and finally I bent over and peeled off my red lace thong, standing up so I was naked now. Mmm, I looked good naked, if I had a twin I'd definitely fuck her.

I wanted to be a little sexy, not just a naked slut, so I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself, covering my nipples to just past my pussy. It was evident I was nude underneath. Clutching the towel tightly, I opened the bathroom door and emerged into the hotel room.

Brad was naked too, sitting upright in the King size bed, his back propped up by pillows against the headboard, the bed sheet pulled to his lap to cover his penis. I could see the tent rising from his lap, however. He leaned back, his muscular shoulders and arms so masculine and meaty, so powerful, contrast to the amicable smile on his lips and tender gaze from his big eyes. Seeing me in the towel, he patted the space on the bed next to himself, muttering, "I'm so happy you can be with me today, Melanie, you're almost making me feel guilty."

Sauntering over to the bed, seeing his eyes ravish me in the towel, I cocked my head to the side and let my long, brown hair spill down my chest. "Aren't I the one supposed to be feeling guilty," I asked playfully, "I'm the married one, after all?" Having his full attention, I stopped next to the bed and peeled away the towel, showing him my naked body, his eyes darting to the sight of my hard nipples and my always-shaved pussy, now glistening and pink. Smiling at his reaction, I purred, "Got any room for me under those covers, darling?"