Melanie's Memoirs - a Married Slut 01

1. The Ad:

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 starting a year and a half ago, it was around early December, if I recall correctly.)

Pausing gingerly on the front edge of my bed, I stared emptily at the little black plastic machine pointed at me a few feet away. It was only a small camera, with a timer set to take a photograph in a few seconds. But really, it was so much more.

It was a big mistake, part of me whispered in my pretty little head. Another voice said it was just fun, just something new to fill this suburban boredom. I was either crossing a forbidden line, or I was just doing something whimsical without significance. Or it was all of that, at the same time. How did one smart guy put it to me, after some deep discussions following multi-hour cybersex one afternoon? It was like a cat in a box, it was both dead and alive, both at once. I didn't get it (some kind of physics reference), but, maybe that's what this is like. Both a good idea and a horrible idea, at once.

Distracted by my thoughts, I didn't get ready in time and the camera clicked with a photograph that was hardly flattering. I knew that was going to happen, I told myself. I got off the bed, adjusted my outfit, set the timer again, and jumped back to nestle on the front edge of the bed.

My nipples were aching, straining inside my slutty little outfit. Perched in front of the camera, I was wearing a see-through black bra and matching lacy black g-string thong, with a black choker around my thin neck, a huge cubic zirconium "diamond" over my Adam's apple for some sparkle. My long, dark-brown hair was brushed full, falling a few inches past my bony shoulders. I had applied dark eyeliner around my wide blue eyes and thick, cum-fuck-me red lipstick on my slender lips. My C-cup tits felt even larger, held upright by the slutty lingerie, my big, pink nipples somewhat visible through the black lacy fabric. The thong dug into my asscrack, the lacy front panel damp from the juices seeping out of my bald, shaved vagina. This was no way a 29 year old married woman was supposed to look, in photographs to be shown to men not her husband.

Hold my breath, keep my chin up, push my chest forward. I froze, waiting, and the camera on the corner of the dresser burst with a flash of light and went click.

Time for the second pose. I'd been mentally rehearsing for days what poses I might do, getting myself horny thinking about it. Now, actually doing it, I was even more turned on. I reset the camera and hurriedly crawled onto the bed, this time on my knees with my ass facing the camera, covered only by the thing string of the black thong digging into my asscrack. I didn't look back but froze again, waiting until the picture was taken.

Then the third, last post I had intended to take. I removed the bra and thong and wore only my hands on arms, standing on the floor in front of my bed, crossing an arm across my tits and nipples and using my other hand to cup my shaved pussy. Damn, this was slutty, I knew. A naked 5-foot-2 slut, smiling to the camera, hoping to make men horny and want to fuck me. But I let the camera take a picture anyway.

Okay, those were the three pictures I had planned to put on my new online profile. But, fuck, it was fun taking slutty photographs. Way more than I'd realized; my nerves had subsided and now I was just a bored, horny married housewife, doing something outside the box, showing off my sexy little body.

Let's take some more, Melanie said to Melanie. I liked the idea of tantalizing, suggestive photos that weren't yet X-rated. Standing there nude, thinking, the brain of a college graduate with a completely unused degree in media relations began to whirl. I had a few ideas. I grabbed a pair of old, tight jeans, and wearing nothing else I yanked them 90 percent the way up my legs and butt. Not all the way; I got a picture of my nude back plus the upper half of my firm, small buttocks just above my not-quite-closed jeans. That was a hot photo. I removed the jeans and put on a pair of fresh, white panties, then took a close-up picture of my bald pussylips in the damp, clinging crotch. From deep in the closet where my husband never voyaged, I retrieved an often-used dildo -- a fat, thick one, bigger than any real cock I'd fucked before I got married, and certainly bigger than my hubby's little 5 inch prick -- and photographed myself sucking it like it was some lover's boner. By now I was really, really turned on, and for the last picture, I got nude again and spread eagle on my bed, and started fucking myself with the dildo while my tits and hips were barely covered in a towel. That was the hottest picture of all; my hand and the dildo were visible right below the towel, but my filled pussy couldn't be seen. The horny look on my face, however, was priceless.

Actually, the orgasms I had from the dildo were really useful. It took me off the edge, as I carried the camera to the computer. I'm not a rocket scientist but I'm pretty good with a computer, so I loaded up the photographs and made online versions of them by pixelating my face where it was visible. I left my lips undisturbed, I think I had hot lips.

Then, I opened up the web browser and logged into a site I'd visited a hundred times. I won't use its real name, but it's for consenting adults who want to find other people to fuck for real. For weeks I'd been thumbing through the personal ads on it, getting horny looking at people who lived near me, or at really hot guys and girls who wanted to fuck. Some of them were definitely fake, but the ones with realistic pictures were amazing. You had to pay money to see the "good" stuff and the full details, and at first I wasn't going to go down that path. I was just looking at ads as another form on online porn, using the entries like porn stories for my fantasies. But my lust got the best of me and I paid for a membership, so I could see pictures of guys with their beautiful cocks and women with really hot tits and cunts. I'm not bisexual, but I appreciated a sexy woman, and it made my horny to think that a hot female in those pictures would make men get hard and fuck her.

This online website was just like other porn sites that has fueled my sexual imagination for months. Maybe a couple of years, since I first started using the Internet on a regular basis for sexual satisfaction. Back then, I'd just look, no harm in looking; I was a happily married woman, I had been telling myself. I just needed something to get off during the daytime, when my husband was at work, and I was bored of window-shopping (I rarely dared to buy anything, except the most inconsequential items) or reading or trying to build an online, at-home business that seemed destined to failure anyway. I would read porn stories on Literotica, getting off to all sort of horny stories, particularly ones that seemed relevant to me -- hot married women who fucked hung men, cheating on their husbands. So taboo and decadent, I loved it. Unbridled lust, especially women who fucked strangers. Shit, that was hot. I loved the ones that said they were true stories, although I don't know if they really were. It wasn't for me, cheating on my husband, I had a comfortable life in a nice, one-floor house in a suburb outside a large city. My husband worked long hours for okay money, but we had nice clothing and two nice cars and took nice trips. I'm 29 and obviously kids have to be somewhere in my near future, but after eight years of marriage, it was comfortable and secure. So why fuck with it, right? Reading horny stories while I masturbated was no threat to that.

But, just reading stories turned into cybersex. Something I'd done in high school and college, but had abandoned like a good girl since getting engaged my senior year in college. After a few tepid, brief adventures into it, one guy particularly good with words caught my imagination and, two hours later, I'd cum a dozen times in front of my computer in the TV room. I felt really guilty about that, and avoided the computer for about two weeks or something. But, you know, it was calling me back. Sitting at home, alone, wearing tight jeans on my tingling crotch, I couldn't resist. I logged back into the same chat sight, and while nothing sexual happened that visit back, it broke open the floodgates. I was logging in once a day, sometimes more, and soon it was addiction. There were so many men, so good with their words, having such nasty, naughty fantasies. I would even get aroused before I even logged on, looking forward to something new, already nude and excited before my computer booted up for the morning. I mean, I had it bad. My husband would leave for work while I was still in a robe, telling him I was going to shower after he left. Oh I would shower, but many hours later; first, I'd get nude, turn on the PC, and find men who wanted to talk about fucking me.

The cybersex, of course, wasn't enough for me. Guys were always offering to call me, or giving me their phone numbers. I, again, resisted, the doting housewife didn't want any risk, and I didn't want to make these online affairs any more real than words on my computer screen. But some guys are good talkers, and I was getting ravenously horny, and cybersex wasn't doing it. A couple of guys I'd been cyberfucking for over a couple of months, and in my spare time away from the computer, I sort of realized that if I ever broke down and did the phone sex thing, it would be with one of them. One guy was named Alex, he was in his late 20s and married (both like me), he worked a nightshift while his wife was a nurse and had weird hours. We had multi-hour fuck fests through cyberchat, and he was so good and sexy that sometimes I'd just be finger-fucking myself or using a toy while he did all the typing. I longed to hear his voice, let him hear me cum over the phone for him, or at least do a "voice chat" on the computer so we could hear each other. Another guy, Patrick, said it was up to me but he had a bunch of online and phone lovers, and he wanted to share some of his skills with me. Guaranteed I'd cum many times, he said.

All that lust rattled around my pretty little head, making me think about it for week after week, forcing me to prove how good a wife I was.

Of course, it just happened without planning. I had been online for like two hours, really horny, looking for orgasms and not finding very much when Alex send me a message, did I have time for a chat. Or a call, he "joked." I looked at my iPhone, then at my spread-open naked legs and my dripping wet vagina, and I couldn't stop myself. I typed my phone number into a response message. Ten seconds later, Alex was calling. Shit, it was really going to happen!

"Yes?" I answered, almost apologetically, scared and cowering as I sat in my chair in front of my computer.

His voice was smooth and low, full of confidence, juiced with excitement. "Melanie, is that finally you? It's me, Alex, your long-off admirer -- you have no idea what kind of smile you've put on my face this morning!"

Wow, he sounded sexy. Masculine. And, he was hot for little ol' me. The good married girl was grinning now, wanting to be Alex's little slut, his secret slut.

"Yeah it's me, honey," I told my daytime lover, "are you alone -- are you gonna let me hear you cum?" I couldn't believe how direct my words were, but I was super-horny, I didn't want to play around.

You know, I hardly remember that first call with Alex, I just remember it happened. It happened with him after that, too, over the course of a few weeks. He wasn't the only one, either, I tried my other online boyfriend Patrick, then also called some random stranger whom I saw in a phone sexchat room on Literotica. I got off in those calls, but it wasn't any kind of religious experience. I think the guilt and fear of discovery overpowered my love of being sexy and slutty, after the orgasms had died down. Don't do it again, I'd tell myself, only to break the rule the very next day, or later in the same day.

No, it was about my fourth phonesex lover that awakened me. His name was David, he was a kinky, smart, married son of a bitch, he had a great radio voice and he knew how to say the most amazing things to make me cum. We'd had cybersex a few times and he didn't even ask about phonesex, until one day I was really horny and my other phone lovers weren't online. I typed to him, do you ever call women? He said it had been a while, he was trying to be "good," and wasn't openly looking for it. Unless, he added, someone wanted to try it with him. I wrote something slutty like, your phone number or mine? I can't even remember who called whom, but a few moments later, we were on the phone together.

Oh, baby! I had about a couple dozen orgasms, maybe more, in that phone fuck with the beast. We didn't just fuck, we talked and "cuddled" together over the phone, only to get horny and fuck again. And again, and again. The call lasted so long, my iPhone ran out of juice -- probably about five hours! My bedroom smelled like a gymnasium, my sheets were rancid with my pussyjuice and sweat from all my orgasms. I couldn't put my knees together, the sex with my finger and David's voice was better than any screw my husband had ever given me. Really, I'm serious. My hand ached from fucking my pussy so hard, my face was streaked from crying from the many, hard orgasms. There was just something wonderful about David, I kept cumming and cumming throughout the call, gasping and screaming even while he talked over and over about how he'd fuck me and turn me into his little slutty bitch. He knew me, or my kind -- the married woman who fantasized about being used, being a fucktoy for hot men, strangers, big fat pricks. That's what I wanted, he knew it.

David released some of the slut in me. I was aggressive with men online, if I liked how a guy chatted, if he sounded, sexy, if I liked him in pictures he'd show me, I'd just ask to phonefuck. Most guys readily agreed. If they were good, I might call them another time. If not, I'd pout and say what a waste, then go looking for more cocks online to screw. I had phonesex about three or four times a week, and there were more than a few days where I phone fucked more than one guy in one day (never at the same time). Sometimes with "regulars" I met online, other times were "one day stands" with strangers I found online who wanted to get off. I even dabbled a couple times with other women, having phone sex with a college girl once, and another time with a married woman. They didn't make me as horny as the men, but I had orgasms anyway as we talked about rubbing our pussies and eating each other out. Again, I'm not bisexual, but it was just hot fun. Just wild fantasies, really.

But as good as phone sex was, I was still drawing lines, trying to confine my bad behavior. David was the first to ask to "face" fuck me -- you know, using the face-time feature on the iPhone -- but I didn't cross that line, not then. It was too personal, he'd actually SEE me. Up to that point, it was only words, either text on the computer or spoken into a phone. Nothing real. I didn't even give out my email address. So why would I let him see me? Other guys wanted to fuck "on cam," or trade nude pictures of myself. I said no to all of that -- at first.

Somewhere in all this fun, I discovered the website with personal ads. I'd known about them for years and years, just never paid them attention. I was a petite brunette with hot tits -- C-cups, which on my small, 5-foot-2 frame, look really big -- so until I got married I never needed computers to find male attention. Then, a good wife for eight years, I didn't need this stuff anyway. I had my man, who gave me all his attention! He certainly meant well and I was his whole world, but as the fantasies, cybersex and phonesex were teaching me, I had lust for more. Much more.

I checked out the website just to see what kind of men and women were on it. Their "interests" and "bios" and "fetishes" made me so hot, even more than the written stories on Literotica. I couldn't resist, eventually I paid for a membership using a giftcard, so my husband would never know. Now having access to the unrestricted ads, I saw pictures and fantasies and stories that made my cream my panties just thinking about them hours or days later. My husband and I drove two hours one time, and I sat in the passenger seat almost crying because my cunt was so wet, thinking about ads I saw on that website the day before. Poor hubby had no idea, and he got a severely hot fucking back at home later that evening, even if I wasn't picturing him in my head while I rode his little dick.

See? It was fair to him; I was enjoying myself, he wasn't any the worse off, and in fact he was getting hot sex from it. How could he complain?

But, like the other internet stuff, I couldn't control myself. Not content to just look at ads on the website, I made up one for myself. Okay, it wasn't really me; I lied about what I looked like and where I lived, my age, just about everything. I wanted to see what kind of reactions I'd get from men, and whoa, did I get reactions. Men could be crass, just saying they wanted to meet me to bend me over and fuck me. Other men were lame, trying to sweet-talk me. Some guys were proud of their dicks and told me to look at their pictures, and I'd want to contact them. (I looked, and sometimes I wanted to contact them about setting up a date, but I didn't.)

All of this festered in me, as I continued to have cybersex and phone sex time to time. I was definitely out of control, a bored housewife getting off almost every day. I missed it when I wasn't home, I put off chores and luncheons so I could get off, I loved having orgasms with men (and sometimes women) from the internet. Now, knowing there was a place I could put up a true ad about myself, I

started to think about it. No, don't do it, I told myself, don't do it Melanie. So I didn't, for weeks and months.

It took a stray comment from a friend, about another friend. I was talking on the phone to one of my two best friends from college, Marigold. She was married, kids, all that. We were talking about our mutual best friend from college, Belinda, who unlike us was twice divorced and back playing the field. Marigold had something dismissive to say about Belinda, something like, "Yeah, she said her last date was a guy from an online want ad, she said it was the best sex she'd ever had." Marigold, of course, had no idea I was fucking around on my husband online and on the phone with internet guys, so she thought I'd share her disdain for Belinda.

Hmm, that wasn't my reaction. I mean, I said what Marigold expected me to say. But, secretly, it was like a sign. See, internet men can be hot in person too, just like on the phone.