How I Became a Slut

I've had one lovely girlfriend (Kelly) and four boyfriends while being with my current husband. He gave his permission. I do nothing without his permission. I chose Kelly because she was a bit like me - up for anything. I chose each boyfriend because they were dominant and had very big cocks. Those are my only stipulations. Dominant and well-hung. Size is very important to me. I need to feel my orifices being stretched so I can orgasm properly. My boyfriends were always incredibly polite and deferential to my husband. I also made sure they always asked his permission. For everything. My last boyfriend, Stefan, was Swedish and was as perverse as I am. He had an enormous cock and I had a huge crush on him. I did everything he told me to. He 'made' me fuck four of his friends while he (Stefan) watched. He whipped me often, which I loved. He fucked me in a sauna, in front of two other men who were customers, while my husband took lots of photographs. And he 'made' me get in his car naked and masked and then parked on a busy XXXXXXX street, told me to stay perfectly still, disabled the alarm, got out then locked the car and walked away. Several people knocked on the window during the fifteen minutes he was away. I know some filmed/photographed me.

Once, he took me to a gloryhole venue. Obviously this is not somewhere I'd ever frequent, as I have to know the medical history of the cocks I suck, and I'd never have gone in to such a place without Stefan's assurance that it'd definitely be his cock I sucked. So, just to be sure, I wrote my name on his cock with a black board pen. Then I went into the gloryhole room and stripped off. Picture the scene, if you will. I have ten photos of this particular adventure. All of them show my face very clearly. I'm crouching naked in a small box-like room with a closed rectangular flap-door in the wall.

My husband is taking photos of me crouching naked, waving my arms about, and saying: "Open Sesame."

After a while, I hear Stefan's voice calling: "Open the door."

So I pull it open. Behind it, there's a hole in the wall. I wait. Suddenly, a very big, erect Swedish cock is pushed through the hole, balls too. Down the middle of that cock is the word: Laura.

Stefan says: "Suck it, slut."

I instantly relax totally and start sucking and licking that lovely cock like a pro. I try to lick my name off his cock.

Stefan suddenly comes loads, shooting out huge silvery ropes of hot spunk. I drink it all greedily and noisily.

And I call: "Thank you".

It was all very wicked and very lovely. He's gone back to Sweden now to (I suspect) his wife.

Young men's cocks keep me young. I've now reached a point where I prefer sex with men who are younger than my sons, both who are in their 30s. For really good sex, well-endowed men in their 20s or younger are best.

And although, my last experience with two young men of that age ended on a sour note because of their mental immaturity, it was still a very satisfying sexual experience because of their cock size (the first time Edward rammed his huge cock into my arse, I screamed with pleasure and nearly bit his friend's cock off). However, as you know, it was the emotional upset that marred the whole experience for me. In a thirty or so years' time, I'm going to die a very old lady, knowing that my last two-man sexual experience was less than fully satisfactory on all its emotional/psychological levels. It was a lesser experience than my first time with two men as a naive 28 year old. And that's sad. It should have been so, so, so much better. But careless comments ruined it.

It's my own fault; I recruited Edward and his friend Anthony because they were both incredibly well-endowed. Edward's cock was really big, fat and long and tasty. I couldn't get enough of it. I kept getting him hard and making him stick it in me again. Friday night, all of Saturday, Sunday morning. Every orifice, over and over again. I thought that because he was able to cope incredibly well physically, I thought he could cope mentally too, but instead, his new-found status of stud went to his head. He was there (with his friend) to service me until I was fully satisfied. That was it. He did that. I have no complaints about the sex. But after a while, he started boasting of his prowess with 'younger' women, which was fine, I suppose, up to a point.

And then he suddenly said: "Yeah, and it's not just the young ones; all the old women love my big cock too. Like you. You really love my cock, don't you?"

Anthony laughed, then saw my expression and looked embarrassed.

Edward looked at me.

"Don't you?" he insisted, looking proudly at his big, erect cock.

And despite the fact that I was incredibly aroused and was standing in that hotel room, admiring his impressive cock, and was about to get on my knees and start licking it again, what he said hit home and really hurt. Because suddenly I was reduced to being just one of 'all the old women' that Edward was constantly servicing in his imagination. I had ceased to be a real person and had, instead, become an imaginary 'old' recipient of his mighty young pecker which he graciously bestowed upon me as part of his busy schedule of servicing the world's 'young' and 'all the old women'.

So, understandably, I got angry and cut him down to size. I reminded him he was only there to service me; to do everything he could to make sure that this particular old woman was fully satisfied. I reminded him he'd only partially achieved that.

For a twenty-three year old lad, there's probably nothing worse than being naked and proudly erect, ready and eager to fuck a mature, blonde, gagging-for-it, up-for-anything, promiscuous slutwife, and then suddenly being confronted by, and then told off and embarrassed by a very angry, very upset, sixty-one year-old woman who's wearing nothing but a ripped bodystocking and smudged makeup, with two men's spunk dripping out of her orifices onto the hotel floor.

As I berated him, I watched his long, thick erection start to subside and then finally wilt. As I watched this happen, I was thinking 'What a waste of a really big cock,' but my hurt and my anger and my humiliation were so overwhelming that I couldn't bear the idea of his cock being inside me ever again.

As you know, I ended my adventure there and then. I just grabbed my bag and walked out of the room in that outfit, crying. I went out of the hotel and sat in my car. Nobody who worked at the hotel tried to stop me, even though I ran through the foyer in just my bodystocking and heels, clutching my bag. It's a good job they didn't try. My husband spoke to Edward and Anthony and told them it was over and why. Then he got our things and paid our bill, then joined me in the car.

I sat in the car in my shredded bodystocking, all of my carefully-applied slut makeup ruined by my tears and my sniffles. My hair was covered in semi-dried come; my cunt was dripping Edward and Anthony's warm spunk; my anus was very tender from the constant pounding I'd insisted they both give it; my whip marks were stinging, and I felt absolutely wretched. Like an abused, old, long-past-her-sell-by-date used-up, dried-up hag. I sat in the car and held my husband for a long time.

Eventually, I composed myself, and we left that hotel car park, with me still sniffling, when I should have been singing and laughing. We drove to the undercliff and parked in the clifftop car park. It was busy, but not too busy. I held my husband very tightly and nearly started sobbing again. After quite a while, I pulled myself together and said I wanted an undercliff walk. Then I tidied myself up. I got out of the car and pulled off my bodystocking. I used wipes to clean up the spunk. I rubbed antiseptic cream into my whip marks. I brushed dried come out of my hair. Finally, after my husband checked my appearance, I got dressed in my walking clothes.

Once I was ready, we walked down to the seafront. I needed fresh air. I could still taste Edward's cock in my mouth. I told my husband that I needed another adventure as soon as it could be arranged. I most definitely didn't want that disastrous-ending adventure to be my last. I wanted (and I still want) to go out on a high note. He said we could start our search as soon as we got home. We walked along the undercliff and I stood on the rocks. I raised my arms to the sun. My husband took several photos of me as I stood in an X shape on the rock.

"X marks the spot," I said.

"It's where the treasure is," my husband said.

We walked and talked about a new adventure. I said how I wanted to expunge the Edward/Anthony experience from my memory. Also, I didn't want that particular emotional disaster to be my last double penetration experience. We watched the sunset, then went home.

And that's where I was at when this (lockdown) happened. Waiting to be able have a really positive adventure with three men with big cocks who'd all jump on me together and fathom my hot, wet depths and really give me a long and hard and very rough series of multi-hole fuckings over a couple of days until I'd totally drained each of them of every drop of spunk and all of my orifices were stretched out of shape. It was going to be my palate-cleanser. My expunger. It's what I needed. What I need. Now it's not going to happen. I'm not going to have that experience. This pandemic is the end of experience.

Highlights from my slut life so far are:

Five men fucking me simultaneously; two cocks in my mouth, one man under me, his cock in my cunt, one man behind me, his cock in my arse, and one man beside me, his cock in my hand, me wanking him while he pinched my nipples really hard. Without doubt the most fully intense, deeply satisfying, profoundly moving sexual experience I've ever had. It made me want to experience 6 men: two in my mouth, one in my cunt, one in my arse, and one on each side, their cocks in my hands and each man really pinching my nipples hard, digging their nails in, making me yelp.

Being fucked in the arse by a black man named Robert. His cock was the biggest (thickest) I've ever had in me. He anally fucked me seven times. In the end I got so stretched out I took him inside my rectum easily. I was mushy and stretched for weeks afterwards. I orgasmed so much from his cock I passed out three times during that weekend. He was so big. I tried to recruit him again, but he was in demand and it never happened again.

My first time when I was 28. Luckily for me it was two young black men. My first interracial experience, my first experience with two men at the same time. The experience was literally life-changing and I'm eternally grateful that I made that choice, that decision, to go to that hotel room for what I thought would be an afternoon of 'naughty fun' because I was unhappy, bored, looking for something that was 'forbidden', something that promised to lift my spirits. Little did I know.

Double anal and double vaginal. Any of them. They've all been fantastic experiences.

Pulling a train. Seven men lined up and fucked me, one after the other. The fifth one made me orgasm and orgasm and orgasm. I was shaken to my core. He thought he was amazing, and I'm not saying he wasn't, but it wasn't because of him, it was because of the slow build-up by the other four men. The fifth man thrust his cock into me and I just exploded into a huge chain of orgasms. I don't remember the sixth or the seventh man. My husband filmed most of it. I like watching it.

Stripping for an audience when I was 60 years old. I never had any ambition to be a stripper, and when I heard about it, I initially dismissed it. But the owner was quite persuasive. Very charming too. He put me on second and let me wear a mask. I wore a PVC and leather outfit. I cracked a whip. There was an audience of over thirty people. Mostly men, some women. I danced and stripped and crawled around naked picking up money that men had thrown onto the stage. I absolutely loved it. I got a lot of applause and a few appreciative whistles. My stripper name was Laura, like my slut name. Afterwards I served drinks at tables and let anyone who wanted to feel me up or finger me. I had so many propositions that night. A couple invited me home, but I declined. They were very beautiful too. I went to the club owner's party afterwards. I wore a dress and shoes, nothing else. The owner gave me some of his cocaine. Three men fucked me that night, two together and the other one anally, in the bathroom over the basin. I held the taps. I was so gagging for sex that night that no amount of cock inside me seemed to satisfy me. I told my husband we'd better leave before I invited everyone to fuck me. As we left, the owner asked me to strip at his club again. I agreed. He slid his hand under my dress and stroked my fanny. I spread my legs for him. It was an instinctive reaction. He laughed.

"Laura, you're a fucking star," he said. He removed his hand and sniffed it.

"See you next month," he said.

I got home and rode my horse cock dildo for ages, eventually having a whole chain of orgasms. Then I slept for half a day.

I'm aware I've only written about a few of my experiences in this document. It'd be a book if I wrote about them all. It's my life, or rather it was my life. I don't have many interests or hobbies. I love sex. I love having it, planning it, talking about it, looking at photos and videos of me having sex, I love being naked and being photographed. I'm very vain and very narcissistic. I've had 33 years of sex. I love my promiscuity. I love every sexual experience I've ever had.

So now I'm faced with folders full of photos of my past 'adventures'. All of them. No more analogue photos, only digital ones now I've scanned and burned all of my Polaroids and analogue photos. Thousands of photos from every year of my life except for the year and a half when I went celibate, due to my mother's cruel comments about my age and my weight. And now there's no one to see those photos except me. They go right back to when I was twenty-eight and right up to my last less-than-satisfactory one when I was sixty-one. That's thirty-three years of group sex. More than enough to get me burned at the stake as a whore.

My husband has promised he'll destroy all of my photos when I'm gone, except for the few I've said he can keep. I know he will too. He keeps his promises. He always has.

I'm going to stop writing now and cry. Again. I'm doing a lot of crying lately. And counting my bangles. I really wish I hadn't lost the fifth one. I can't replace it because my rule is that I buy each one to mark reaching each specific sexual milestone - and I buy it immediately after having the experience. One bangle after sex with one man, two bangles after sex with two men; three bangles after sex with three men... and so on. After having sex with five men, I bought my fifth bangle. That was the one that got lost - or stolen. I'm not sure which. I think lost, because if anyone were going to steal my bangles, surely they'd have stolen all of them. They're only worth twenty to thirty pounds each. The five of them would have been worth over a hundred pounds. So I bought the fifth one the day after the five-man sexual experience. I had it for about two months, then it was gone. But I don't feel right about buying a replacement for the missing one because it wouldn't be the significant one I originally bought. It'd be a replacement, bought on the wrong day. Somehow it just seems wrong. If I can't have the original one, I don't want a substitute. So I have four bangles instead of five. I can live with it. I like the visual aspect of wearing my bangles because I know what they mean and I can wear them in public, showing the world that I've had four cocks inside me simultaneously - and no one knows that what they mean. There's a thrill to wearing them, and most of the time I'm aware of what I've done to earn them when I'm wearing them.

I keep adding to this document. As I reread it I think of something else to add, or some extra detail I forgot to mention. So I add to it and the document grows...

To be continued...