I was in a vanilla marriage. I know that now although looking back on it, at the time I never even knew what that term meant. I do now but luckily, things have changed so much in that respect over the 12 months since. The following series of stories is my recollection of how I have been transformed in to a typically tame of often dull suburban wife, into a whore and a slut for my husband (and anyone else as he sees fit!)
My name is Natalie. I am 35, I have long straight, jet black hair, 5' 7, slim figure and full 36C breasts. Men usually find me highly attractive and I've certainly never had problems catching their attention. Men compliment me on my looks, my pale blue eyes and my strikingly clear complexion. I hold a senior managerial job at my work and I dress accordingly, skirt suits, high heels, fairly straight laced but feminine, professional and well presented.
When not in work I am what you would call a girly girl, I wear feminine clothes and try my best to be elegant and neat at all times. My husband regarded me I think, as something of a catch when we met at a house party all those years ago and we 'enjoyed' a typically suburban lifestyle of too much work and too little time for any meaningful relationship. We were both career minded, worked long hours and would get in of an evening barely having the energy to talk to each other over our TV dinners.
My husband's name is Paul. He's 36, slightly greying, short black hair. He has a very pale complexion, but a warm and friendly face, pale blue eyes just like mine. He is quite well built although with the onset of the coming middle age, had lost a little of his rugged manliness that so attracted me to him all those years ago. He works for a construction company, having worked through the ranks over the 10 years he'd been with them, starting out as a qualified builder but now in a more managerial office role and physically suffering from being chained to a desk when his body was more used to manual work and rugged labour.
Marriage wise, as I said, we were truly vanilla back then. We'd met 10 years ago, still in the flush of youth. We'd never been a mad, adventurous couple but we started out enthusiastically and happily. Sex wise, like most other couples, we'd had plenty of it in during our engagement and then marriage but as in most cases, the spark fades somewhat as you settle into a routine. Whereas in the first two or three years it would not be uncommon for us to have spontaneous sex, or for me to blow him in the kitchen just because I felt like it, now, over time, it ended up routine and regimented and barely non-existent for us to enjoy any genuine intimacy together.
I will describe our sex life as it had become by this point in one single paragraph, via a typical sexual encounter of ours. I would be reading in bed, he would, usually on a Friday, slide his hand up my nightie. I would let him some of the times as I knew this was our code for 'let's have sex'. He would give me a quick five minutes or so sliding his finger in my pussy, whilst kissing me. He would undress, I would briefly grab his cock and hold it, until he would get on top of me and slide inside me. He would give me about three or four minutes of slow fucking until he was ready to come. He deposited his come inside me, I would get up, get cleaned up and get back into bed.
Occasionally, very occasionally, I could come from the fingering or I would continue to play with my clit while he was inside me. Mainly though, I would pretend, or barely bother to come but rationalising that it was keeping him happy and it wasn't un-pleasurable, just not amazing!
I don't want to get too depressing here, I don't mean to say that there wasn't any warmth between us anymore, there kind of was, but we had very much forgotten how to be passionate. In fact, passion in front of each other would seem kind of embarrassing and out of place, it was no longer what we did together. I had always loved Paul and he me, we had just forgotten how to be sexy with each other I think. Little did I know that just over a year gone, my forthcoming works Christmas party would leave to a chain of events that would see this vanilla life being smashed to pieces, thank God!
I remember the night in question like it was yesterday. Both Paul and I were on separate Christmas works parties. His was a few miles out of town and he and a few of his friends were going to stay overnight in the hotel that was part of the complex where the do was happening. It was one of those conference centre things were lots of different companies go to, a full bar, casino, games and entertainment. Paul had asked me if I wanted to go but by coincidence, my own do was on the same night. A more modest affair, we were going to town for a meal and a few drinks and maybe a club if we could last the pace!
Anyway, I'm not going to dwell on how or why it happened as that's not why I'm sharing this but after far too many drinks, I made a mistake of sharing a taxi with one of the guys from the office, Grant. He was a well-known Jack the lad and had made it known to all of us girls in the office that he was always up for a shag with anyone. A male slapper really and the office was always full of talk of his latest (usually failed) attempts at pulling one of us girls or chatting us up.
Thinking about him now, I did certainly find him attractive. He was well built and definitely loved himself. Deep brown eyes, thick set masculine complexion and a cheeky grin, always ready to flirt and 'look for skirt' and he had some of the characteristics in men I quite like, cocky, confident and brash. He wasn't however someone I'd ever looked at as anything other than a 'Jack the lad' and there were plenty of those around.
I wasn't thinking about any of this as I was speculating as to how to get home after the party. I was simply thinking that he could save me half of an expensive taxi fare home. He only lived about three streets from me and his offer of sharing a cab back didn't seem unreasonable and was in fact, convenient for me so I accepted routinely.
He may have been less drunk than me, or at least more aware of the potential of what could happen but to this day, I can't quite remember how he managed to end up sitting on my couch chatting to me, enjoying a glass of whisky. I must have succumbed temporarily to his 'gift of the gab' and considered that a little drink couldn't do any harm and that perhaps, I wanted a few more minutes of company before calling it a night and it was just a little Christmas drink.
I'm not going to go into detail about what happened with Grant, mainly because I can't actually remember in much detail but needless to say, he quickly had his hand up my skirt and reaching for my knickers. A little voice in my head told me to stop this but thus far in life, I hadn't done anything 'dangerous' like this before. In what mental faculties I had remaining I rationalised it, just the once, he'll never find out, it won't do any harm, sex has been so dull recently, it's nearly Christmas, it might be amazing, how long is it since I had amazing sex....!?
Grant was a fast worker. As these thoughts swirled around my head, I collected my senses to reveal he had already pulled my skirt over my hips and my knickers were quickly being pulled down my legs. Any doubt I had was swept away by his urgency and speed. He hardly paused, he pushed my legs wide apart and his fingers were already sliding inside my slit, quickly followed by his tongue as he buried his head between my legs.
I lay back and let it happen, I grabbed his head between my fingers as he lapped at my pussy with his tongue. I was starting to really enjoy it and getting lost in the moment but he seemed to lose interest in my pleasure as he just wanted his own. He stood up between my legs, looking down at me with a lewd grin on his face, as if to say, "this was easy", while he rapidly dropped his pants to the floor. I broke eye contact with him as I wanted to look at his dick before I would feel it penetrating me. It was nice and thick, not especially long but bent and curled upwards erotically. He was hard already and raring to go.
I saw him grab his cock, give himself a couple of preparatory strokes with his hand before kneeling between my legs and guiding it inside me. The sex wasn't great, far from it. He had a basic technique of sliding it deep inside me and then sliding almost all of the way out.
A minute or so in, I'd almost lost interest and just wanted him to finish. I avoided kissing him as I started to be more aware of the fact that I was already feeling guilty about my infidelity. Sadly, I thought that sex with this guy, whilst feeling a little daring at first, had quickly descended into being no less routine and dull than the formulaic sex that I have with Paul every once in a while, maybe every guy was like this I thought as I lay back and felt him fucking me almost disinterestedly.
Luckily, his lack of technique was matched equally by his lack of stamina. On his latest thrust into my pussy, he let out a low groan and I vaguely felt his cock twitch inside him as he groaned and held his cock inside me. The only thing I could think of was that I'm glad I'm on the pill and hopefully he's clean as the reality of what had just happened had dawned on me; cheating on my husband just for more unsatisfactory and unfulfilling sex. I almost felt cheated myself, if I'm going to risk my marriage, I'd at least expect a quick trip to heaven and back – it would have been nice I reasoned!
I considered that the scenario couldn't get much worse but it really did, considerably so. As Grant stood up with a satisfied smile on his face and his cock glistening from both our juices, savouring his all too easy conquest of my pussy, he wasted no time in starting to get his clothes back on. As he was just about to pull his boxers back on to my horror, the door opened and Paul strode in!
I froze in shock, my head in a whirl, there was no way whatsoever to even pretend anything other than sex had just happened. I was still sitting on the sofa, legs apart with my dress bunched around my waist, already starting to feel Grant's come leaking out of me and down my legs. He was in the process of getting dressed but his stiff prick was still on full display. My thoughts whirled, mainly to why the hell Paul was here, and to how he was going to react to catching his wife red handed just having been fucked by another man.
I had no idea what Paul would do. He surprised me. The only thing he said was, "What the fuck....?" as he quickly came to terms with the scene in front of him. He lurched at Grant but not to hit him as I thought he would, he simply grabbed his arm forcibly and pulled him out of the room, frog-marching him out of the house, Grant quickly trying to grab his clothes on his rapid way out but as far as I recollect, still having a smug grin on his face.
He'd gotten what he wanted courtesy of my open legs and now he was leaving me to face the music while he had lots of bragging material to discuss with his mates, not to mention work colleagues, OUR work colleagues! I heard the door slam behind him, the locks jangling with the force of the slam and I heard Paul angrily lock and bolt it before returning to me.
I wanted to cry and sob at that point, but I couldn't because I was too afraid of Paul's reaction. Was he about to throw me out into the street and start divorce proceedings, was our marriage over? I couldn't even really begin to process what had just happened to be honest but the night still had some even more amazing shocks in store.
