Following my husband's account here in Literotica of my Las Vegas experiences with Alex and thereafter, several people asked that the series include an account of things from my perspective, including perhaps some insight on why a married woman who entered marriage as a virgin and a strictly traditional view of her marriage vows would allow herself to become the shameless slut I became. So with the assistance of his editing, here it is as best as I can recall (with, as he has done, some embellishment in the form of conversations that, frankly, I cannot recall in detail).
Let me start by saying that I am not ashamed to admit what I am (or was, since the recounted events occurred quite awhile ago) ... an occasional whore and wanton slut who eagerly sought men to fuck. For those of you who disapprove of me, if there's a fault to be found, it lies with me as well as my husband. When, soon after our marriage, he revealed his fantasy of watching me have sex with other men, like most new brides, I was appalled. I wasn't a prude, but the idea someone other than my husband fucking me ran counter to everything I'd been taught about marriage. For me, wives who fucked other men were 'sluts' in the full negative sense of that word. What I didn't realize then, though, was that the seed of the idea had nevertheless been planted and the fantasy of being a 'hot wife' slowly, with my husband's prodding, took root.
Maintaining my views of marriage was partially undermined when, in the apartment complex we lived in prior to buying our own home, we met a couple with whom we socialized a few times and who, it seemed to me, hinted at being interested in swinging. When I mentioned that to my husband he told me I was imagining things, and I took his response to mean that he wasn't really serious about pursuing the fantasy of sharing me. Nevertheless, the fact that I did find the other husband attractive ... sexy even ... made it impossible for me to resist thinking about the possibilities and fantasizing further. I had never had sex with anyone but my husband and I couldn't help wondering what it would be like with another man.
Nothing ever developed between us and that couple because, as we later learned, each of s was afraid to make a specific proposal to experiment with swinging. It was, perhaps, the classic case of two people failing to effectively communicate out of fear as to the other's reaction. That fear, though, fell to the wayside and and my fate as a slut determined when I met Bill, an older unmarried neighbor who lived a few houses down from our newly purchased home. Finding myself strongly sexually attracted to him, I began masturbating in private to the fantasy of being fucked by him. I had always been a bit of a flirt, and when my husband watched Bill and I openly flirt at various neighborhood get-togethers, he began more forcefully pressing on me his fantasy of sharing me, with Bill now the focus of that fantasy. My resistance to the idea of being shared grew increasingly feeble since, frankly, I truly did want to fuck him and it was only the hangover of moral precepts learned as a young girl that kept me from surrendering to the fantasy sooner. Ultimately, of course, I did surrender to the temptations of extra-marital sex even if, as I told myself, it was on an experimental basis. Agreeing to leave the annual neighborhood New Years Eve party with Bill rather than my husband, I was scared, ashamed and yet excited. But shame and fear went up in smoke when I realized a level of sexual fulfillment that night I never imagined possible.
When my husband and I fucked, I was lucky to experience a single orgasm and only in exceptional circumstances did I experience two. But that first night with Bill became a blur of intense and ongoing orgasmic pleasures. It should come as no surprise to anyone, then, that in combination with my husband's encouragement, I made that night more than a mere experiment and quickly vanquished all moral reservations. Sex with my husband was adequate, but sex with our neighbor was something totally different: Wild, erotic, unrestrained. And yes, I found that adding to the raw eroticism of everything was that fact that what I was doing was so socially forbidden, immoral and dirty.
Once 'the line' had been crossed, it became impossible for me to resist letting Bill fuck me on a regular basis. Bill, though, planned more than merely having an affair. Sex with him quite literally became like a drug wherein the stronger the dose, the more I needed, and he took advantage of early on in our relationship by having me stay with him for weekends ... not leaving his house and often not even leaving his bed. That progressed quickly to letting him invite his friends over to fuck me, followed soon thereafter by taking me out of town so he could share me as a whore with his work colleagues and business clients.
There were, moreover, no apparent negative consequences from any of this, so with my husband's ongoing approval and encouragement, I committed to become Bill's eager and wholly compliant and collared sub slut, living a life of sexual pleasures few women can even imagine. If rationalizations were necessary I adopted the view that I was merely taking advantage of a body, mine, that was designed by nature to give and receive sexual pleasure. For nine years, then, if any constraints were imposed on my actions, they'd be those only my Master, Bill, set.
Aside from the cravings that developed within me for raw physical pleasure, I'm not sufficiently introspective to understand fully why I so readily became a slut nor can I explain the source of my husband's eagerness to become what most people would deem a cuckold. But at least we were 100% compatible in the lifestyle we found ourselves in. My life as Bill's collared slut, though, had an unfortunate end with his premature death. I was devastated by the loss but my craving for sex, and sex with other men didn't end. It thereafter became my husband's responsibility to arrange for my needs. Unfortunately, my husband had neither the colleagues nor clients he could, as bid had, share me with. Nevertheless, my craving then was such that he knew that if he failed to find venues in which I could meet men, I'd do so on my own.
We'd thus far been especially cautions as to what we did in and around where we lived (with the exception of our small neighborhood) for fear that if the 'wrong' people learned I was a slut and put his job in jeopardy. But with Bill no longer available as someone who'd take me out of town on his business trips as his personal slut and sometimes whore, the care I was willing to take in satisfying my needs was rapidly receding. I even went so far as to tell my husband that I was thinking about working as a whore by finding employment at one of the local escort services. That wasn't a threat as much as an expression of what I truly wanted to do. Hence, our occasional trips out of town, labeled 'vacations', were in reality opportunities for me to pursue being the slut I wanted to be and was unable to resist being.
