Randy's Slutty TrailerTrash Wife Ch. 01

Hello all you horny fucks in Web world.

My name is Teresa. I'm 32 years old and six months pregnant, so I'm taking a long break from being a slut to carry this baby.

I've decide I'll write about my life instead, on account of I've so enjoyed my chats with men who visit Literotica.

First, the flashcard version. I lost my cherry to my 2nd boyfriend while I was still in high school.

He was my first love and we married right after graduation because I was preggers! And scared.

And he was in love with me, which was a good thing, because we were having great sex!

We were married for 10 years monogamously. At least I was, totally faithful. I found out later that he wasn't so true. And that hurt, but hey, I got over it.

The last two years have been - long pause here, how do I - hell. Just say it. Fucking Hell!

As in, I am so going to Hell.

Basically, it's this. He outed me, as in the way some inconsiderate person might out a homosexual that was not psychologically, socially or economically prepared that it be known he's gay.

Well, I'm a slut. But I was a closet slut. We lived with my sluttiness within the confines of a monogamous marriage.

But hubby got bored, wanted to see me get fucked by other men, had that voyeur fantasy he wanted to live out, and knew that if he pressed I'd give in.

I'm not sure who my audience is. I think mostly horny old farts, dirty old men, will read this, but I see my audience as women - married women and young ladies that might be thinking they'd like to have the life of a slut. I'm not saying you shouldn't. It has its rewards. I do really enjoy a lot of what's been going on, but I was not prepared for the reaction, socially speaking.

The downside: When my dad found out he beat me black and blue and won't speak to me anymore. My mother also has shunned me. My siblings - even my sister - won't speak to me. I was cast out of church and that was my social network. Family, church. It's all gone. Without that, and in the condition I'm in now, I'm just white, trailer park trash.

More downside: This is a small town. Everybody, I mean EVERYBODY knows Randall's wife is a whore, and more shocking, he prefers her that way! The scandal! Oooooo!

More downside: I have two children of middle school age. I couldn't put them through this. They were getting into fights, all kinds of risks being posed. I sent them to live with their aunt (on my husband's side of the

family). I visit with them weekend mornings and sometimes on a weeknight, but its better they not be around much.

I miss them.

But fuck it if my old world hates me. I've had to grow some tough skin, but there's been a lot of crying. A lot of tears.

The UPside: I'm not a hypocrite anymore. What I am on the outside is what I felt I was on the inside all along.

I can dress like a slut in public now. I used to wear such tight-ass, modest, wimpy submissive wife crap.

Long loose dresses, everything covered up, ambiguous.

Now I'm all about tight short shorts, miniskirts with colored pantyhose, Victoria's Secret undergarments, revealing tops that show off my 40D bust. Slutty jewelry like the Playboy bunny 14K white gold pendant, the graduating 4-stone,

teardrop shaped, simulated pearl dangling pendant on a yellow gold chain (looks like sparkly cum drops lying between my tits), the charm bracelet with the little sterling silver cocks, the ankle bracelet with the marijuana

leaf charm, the pierced hoops on my cunny labia, pierced hoops on my nipples, the spikey dog collar with "SLUT"

embossed on the side.

So, I just feel more honest about myself this is me. A shapely, 30-something, small town, pot-smoking, beer-drinking Slut!

And I'm hot, or I was until I got knocked up again. Fuck!

My normal measurements are 5-feet, 7-inches, 175 pounds, 40-32-44. Yeah, I think I just sensed some boners rise.

I'm a big girl and I can take the big cocks and the hard, mean-pounding motherfuckers.

More upside, the big upside: I get all the fucking cock and nasty talk I fucking want. And then some.

Now you may ask, What is a clost slut? It's like this, I was raised in a very socially repressed environment.

Sex was bad, very bad! Good girls didn't do this or that. No sex before marriage, no oral sex, no anal sex.

You get the picture.

But my body was, is special. I'm not just saying that. I've had the advantage of receiving many opinions from men and women. Put it this way: some women have almost no sex drive, other women have a normal sex drive (what I call the 2 fucks a week girls).

Baby, I gotta have it! I mean I have got to have my fat cock every day.

I learned at a young age that I was unusual in that I masturbated. Most girls would not admit to masturbating and I felt a commeraderie with the few that admitted they did. But even the ones that did masturbate only did it

occasionally. I masturbated every night in bed.

I have a large clitorus, as big as the tip of my ring finger. I ejaculate fluid excessively. Men tell me I get wetter than anyone they've been with. I have a snapper cunt. Men tell me not all women have a vaginal channel that will clamp and milk a cock. I've heard it often enough now that I take it for absolute fact that I have a slut's pussy.

Daddy, I was born for this.

But I was very repressed, inhibited. My parents kept a close eye on me, kept me on a tight curfew. Until I was 16 I wasn't allowed to have a boyfriend. My first boyfriend was clueless and I quickly lost interest in him.

I was looking for a classic bad boy, someone who had experience, who had a reputation for turning good girls into sluts. I had dark fantasies about being the student of such a man.

Then I met Randall in my junior year of high school. He had a long list of broken relationships with girls with tarnished reputations. I knew he was trouble, but when I caught his eye, I couldn't resist, didn't want to.

I was a willing student. Enough said. It was an exciting time. And I was encouraged that he always told me I responded better and was more sexual than any girl he had been with.

We married and settled into a domestic lifestyle. Neither of us did better than a high school education. He

got work as a mechanic. I worked as a waitress doing the breakfast and lunch crowds. After we had our first child, I cut back to just working lunch crowds, and I've been doing that ever since.

After three years of marriage, the sex as getting kind of boring. Sucking his cock, taking it up the ass, and pussy fucking wasn't quite enough for him anymore. I was willing to try something new, so he suggested with get

sex toys and start watching porn during sex. He also wanted me to start smoking marijuana.

By this time, I was 21, married, and these were suggestions about things we would do in the privacy of our bedroom.

I was willing.

My attitude about myself quickly changed in this environment. For example, our first "new sex" adventure went like this.

Randall put in a DVD of an gangbang. A shapely white country girl being fucked every which way by five black men with monster cocks. He lit a joint and passed it to me. We smoked. Now I'm not a totally naive person about pot. I got high a few times with him in high school, but discouraged him bringing it home.

I got stoned and horny. While we listened to the white girl getting violated, I pulled out Randall's cock. Randall is a big man. He's 6-feet, 1-inch tall, weighs 270 pounds, has size 11 shoes and, yes, a fat 10-inch cock. I love

that man's cock!

So I'm sucking down on his knob, hornier than I've felt in years, and he takes a black rubbery 14-inch dildo and starts to shove it up my wet, hot pussy. I'm pretending I'm with two men and he's talking to me like this:

"You slut! You always wanted to get a double-fuck, didn't you? Huh? Horny bitch. You're just as nasty as that white whore in the DVD! You hot cocksucking whore! Goddamm, look at that black buck fuck you. You love his big old black cock reaming your cunt? Do ya? Whore! yeah. I knew it. Suck on my cock, bitch. Suck it. Yeah, you

fucking love that shit, dontcha?"

And I'm all: "Mmmmm, mmmmm um yes baby. Oh yes. I want that black cock! Oh fuck me. Fuck my pussy, fuck my mouth!"

We had a great time. So that kind of evolved. More toys: a G Freak, a ripple plug, vibrators, the ooh-lala rabbit, vibrating beads, nipple clamps. We got more porn DVDs, mostly gangbang material.

We enjoyed him getting on top and pussy-fucking me while he worked a vibrator up my ass, mmm, talking dirty about my double-penetration.

Another thing that changed was the facials. He gave me my first facial when I was 21 and four months pregnant with our second child. Now, technically, it wasn't my first facial. I mean I'd been sucking his cock almost five years by then and there had always been leakage, Randy's cum backing up out of my mouth, dripping down my chin.

But mostly, I either swallowed it or he pulled out and jacked his shots on my tits, which he always seemed to really enjoy, or he wasn't near cumming and put his cock in my pussy or my asshole and finished off there.

But on this occasion, he pulled out, didn't tell me what he was doing, jacked his throbber in his hand and fucking shoots all over - he grabs the back of my head, fistfull of hair, snarls and sprays my hair, my forehead, I take a shot on the left eyeball, its burning, I'm blinded, warm goo running down all over.

And I'm thinking: "I just washed my hair. These are Sateen sheets and laundry day is five days off. I don't have a towel near."

I think I would've been okay with it if he had warned me, or if I knew he'd do the laundry once in awhile.

Oh well.

For the next nine years, this kind of sex continued within the confines of our happy home. But to the outside world I was a very respectable, church-going lady. A good housewife, mother. A decent woman.

But things really started going downhill about the time I hit 27. That's when he started talking serious about me trying three-ways, and more. Four-ways. It was all talk, but he was seriously pushing me for my consent.

That period from age 27 to 30 was what I call the "Period of the Great Temptation."

I knew that if I gave in to temptation, he wouldn't care. In fact, it would excite him. What held me back more than anything was the terror of social banishment. But knowing that I was being pushed into an open marriage was tough. It was on my mind wherever I went. I felt a kind of sense of impending doom, a sense that sooner or later I would slip, give in to someone, I would have my moment of weakness.

And then what?

Shortly after my 30th birthday, my world was about to turn upside down.

During my early 20s, the social relations Randi and I had with our friends was what I'd call normal. His buddies would come by with their wives or girlfriends and visit with us, usually on a Friday or Saturday evening.

Me and the girls would separate and have our chats and he and his boys would play Texas Hold-em, or watch some DVD or play a little basketball on our dirt court.

Shortly after I turned 27, though, that changed. He became more selective about which guys came over and they stopped bringing their women. It was just him and the guys and as soon as this started the guys were paying more attention to me.

Randy wanted me to be the center of attention. His friends were flirtier and when he wasn't watching, some would make passes at me, saying inappropriate things like, "You got such a fine pair of tits, Terry, sure would enjoy tasting that." I'd say something smart in return to put them off, or something stupid depending on whether I was prepared for the remark.

It annoyed me, these passes, but I put up with it.

Some would touch. A hand would grab ass, caress my thigh as I came to the card table to serve drinks, I'd swat one hand away after another. I'd boil inside and bite my lip.

This went on for the better part of one summer until one day one of his friends reached down to my crotch while I was at the kitchen sink washing plate and fingered my pussy and asked when was I gonna try a gangbang.

I screamed! Oh, my word. I slapped him, I shooed the bunch of them out the house and Randy, my pervert husband, could be heard outside telling them he would calm me down, but they'd have to call it a night.

He came in. We had a big fight. He confessed that he had been telling them about his fantasy to watch me fuck his friends, he had been telling them about the kind of sex we had: the dildos and vibrators he made me suck or that

he'd shove up my asshole while he rammed his 10-inch cock into my pussy, how we talked dirty about how I was loving my "double penetration" or how I "loved being a three-way slut."

I was furious.

"That, that ... you son of bitch! What goes on in our bedroom is between us! US! And no one else. It's nobody else's fucking business!"

He went on about how he felt it was time for us to go to the "next step" in our relationship, and how I should be "mature" about this and "just try it, honey."

"You shit! You fucking shit, asshole, pervert dirt-bag! DAmmit, Randy, how am I supposed to go out in public now. What you've done. This kind of talk gets around. People are going to find out."

And so it went, until I got so riled up, I left the house at 1 a.m. and spent the night with my sister.

His buddies stopped coming around much after that.

It was just Randy and me. And after about a month, I got passed it and we settled into something like a normal domestic life again. We even started have dirty sex again. Again with the dildos and vibrators and porn videos,

listening to the sounds of porn queens, their every hole being stuffed while Randy did the same to me.

And again I was "his gangbang slut." And I loved it.

But things weren't the same. Our lovemaking became less frequent. My body still craved a fuck every day, but the fucking was happening more like just once a week, if that.

Randy would occasionally ask if I'd be willing to do a three-way. He suggested various scenarios, trying to find something I'd be willing to do. I could pick the guy. I could be in control. We'd only do what I wanted.

Bla, bla, bla.

A woman's reputation is so important. You are either seen one way or the other. Respectable and virtuous, or slutty.

And once you're a slut, or worse, "the town slut," there's no going back. Not where I come from.

I was terrified of the shame it would bring me, bring my parents, my children, the rejection I would suffer from my church friends, everybody.

So Randy's, now less frequent attempts to get me to try it just led us to fighting. And the fighting was a strain on our relationship that hadn't been there before.

What changed me, oddly enough, was the action of a good man who happened to be one of my regular lunch customers at the diner. Billy Johnson owned a tree nursery and was a successful businessman. I'd been waiting on him for

years, so I knew a lot about him. He was 58 and had recently gone through a terrible divorce. His ex-wife took the house, his best truck and ran off with one of his best helpers in the nursery. I made it a point to be extra

cheerful with him and encourage him to look for them silver linings. "Every clouds got one, Billy."

I knew Billy to be a decent man, and he attended church so I saw him on Sundays, too. But about the time I was 29 years old, he was feeling real lonely. One day, I went up to his table and took an order for the chicken fried steak platter with a tall glass of tea. While I wrote on my pad, Billy put his hand on my butt and squeezed.

I looked at him and cleared my throat. I looked dead serious, and said calmly, "Billy, don't do that."

He blushed, took his hand away. Said he was sorry, and explained he'd been lonely and depressed of late.

I said it was okay. We're still friends. Then he said something in a whisper that stung me to my gut.

"Your husband ought not be telling people about what goes on in your bedroom, Terry." He was staring facedown at the table when he said it, too humble to look at me. Then he turned his head away, looking out the window.

I marched straight into the women's restroom, opened a stall door, sat on a toilet and started crying. Oh, my God, I never cried so much as I did then. Here was a good man, driven to lust out of his loneliness, but also out of his knowledge (community knowledge) that my husband - My husband! - was spreading word around town

about what a hot slutty-in-bed wife he had, and did he tell them about the toys, about the gangbang fantasy sex?

Of course, he did! Why every where I go, there must be an illustrated sign over my head with a photo of my thighs parted wide and the words: "Public Parking" under my fucking ass!

Cheryl, one of the other waitresses, came in looking for me. I was getting behind on my orders. Found me crying, I wouldn't tell her what it was about. I composed myself, went back and got caught up on my orders.

I was shaking all through it. I was furious, tossing plates and cups and flatware. Ohhhhhhhh!

I took Billy his order. He tried to apologize again. I put my hand up, a clear warning: Don't say another fucking word.

When it came time to give Billy his check, I went to the dessert case, pulled out the apple pie, put the pie plate on the counter and cut a slice. I put the slice on a plate and I took out my pad and wrote a note on a 2nd ticket that was hid under Billy's bill. I went to him and said, "Billy, the pie's on the house. It's on

me, actually. For telling me what my husband .... well."

I walked away and from the counter watched Billy. He took the bill, and found the 2nd ticket. It read, "My slice of pie is your slice of pie, whenever you want it." And below that I had given him my cell phone number.

He looked up, turned to look at me. There was no smile. No reaction. He walked over to the cashier, paid his bill and left. Two hours later, my cell phone rang.

"Hello, Billy."

"I don't know what to say, Terry, except that you're too good for Randy."

"I know," I said. There was a long pause. "So, you want my pie, Billy?"

"I'm sure yours is a heap tastier than the one I ate in the diner."

"Billy, my pie comes with everything it would be if Randy was on it. I wouldn't hold nothing back. And you could help me make it ala mode."

"I'd like that," he said. "Yes, indeed, I would."

I didn't have time that afternoon to see him. But I explained that if he wanted, I could drive over to his place, first thing in the morning after I'd seen my kids off to school. He agreed to that, and that's what I did.

And for the first time in my life, I cheated on my husband. For the first time in my life, I had sex with a man other than Randy.

I showed up at Billy's place in a loose-fitting floral print house dress, and open-toe, low-heeled leather sandals.

But underneath, I wore black fishnet stockings, black lace hi-cut panties with open crotch, and a black lace bra.

Underneath, I showed him a hot slut.

Billy was in his morning house clothes, dressed casual. His physique was that of a man who had been in the landscaping industry all his life. He was 5 feet-11 inches tall, about 190 pounds, full of gray hair, but his figure was still slim and muscular. I always did consider him handsome - and so fuckable.

I went on my knees right inside the front door, unzipped him and started sucking his cock. He was aleady hard.

"I took that Viagra," Billy said. I could see he was nervous and insecure about this and I was being too aggressive, but I figured rightly he could handle me.

I worked Billy's cock, about a 7-inch, fat poker, in my mouth, my lips tight on the foreskin, tongue flicking back and forth fast under the head, my skull bobbing forward and back, my right hand gently stroking the hard