A Married Woman's Fantasy

Most of my followers here know that I am a married woman in my mid-thirties and that I live in southern England. Although I have not (yet) been unfaithful to my husband, I have a co-writer on Literotica with whom I share my fantasies, and he helps me write them up into stories. The story I present here is based entirely on a fantasy of mine. It is not true, but a dark side of me would like it to be. I know I am far from alone in having what is often referred to as "the slut fantasy". The idea of being taken by a stranger while my unsuspecting husband lives on in ignorance would probably not be very practical or attractive in real life, but it is a common fantasy among married women, and the thought of it one day happening has been a useful turn on during sex with my spouse. I hope you enjoy reading it. It is intended for my female followers more than for my male followers, but my co-writer assures me that both could enjoy it at various levels.

The story I'm telling doesn't yet have an ending, so forgive me for telling it now. The truth is I just need to get it down on paper now while it still feels fresh and exciting because I have a feeling what I'm doing right now will soon fade into the past and I'll wonder what I ever saw in it. But that doesn't take away any of the raw excitement, or the wickedness. Perhaps that will need to be addressed in additional ways in the weeks and months ahead. We'll see.

I'm Hannah. I'm twenty years old and I live in England, not far from London. I'm completing my studies this year and will soon be a member of the legal profession, though not actually a fully-fledged barrister (perhaps one day I might take my bar exams, but for now I'm content to be slightly further down on the ladder while I work out what exactly I want to do in life). I'm in a long-term relationship with Colin. He's ten years older than me, and works in the design department of a racing car team. Through Colin, I've got to meet quite a lot of celebrities over the past two years that we've been dating. Colin says that it's my looks that got me those meetings, and that's very flattering, but I wouldn't have been in a position to receive invitations to A-list parties and events if I wasn't associated with the Formula One crowd through Colin, so I owe him that. I should say right now that I know very little about racing cars. But I do know that roughly 90% of the men in Formula One that I've met are sexist to the point of ridicule. Girls are in the sport simply to look flashy and enhance the appearance of the cars and the men who drive them. On two occasions, I've been mistaken at events for a chassis dolly - the term Formula One teams use to describe the models who are hired to lounge on cars' body works and look sexy. Most of the time I'm ignored. But I'm fine with that. It's not really a part of my wicked little secret except to give you the background to Colin and me.

Colin met me while I was still at school. I was at a friend's 18th birthday party and he was there because he was a friend of her older brother. We chatted and danced together a bit, and although he was 28 and I was 17 I remembered thinking he was nice. Two months later when it was my own 18th party I asked my friend at whose party I'd met him to invite him, and he turned up mid-way through the evening with a huge bunch of flowers for me. Very sweet.

It would be romantic, I guess to say that Colin took my virginity and we'd been faithful to each other ever since, but the truth was I'd already been had by two different men that day - barely hours before Colin walked in with his floral gift. The first was Mr. Du Pont, my physics teacher, who deflowered me during a lunchtime tryst at his flat. The second was Bruce, my best friend's boyfriend, who'd been flirting with me for the previous two weeks since we'd gone to the cinema as a group and he'd ended up sitting next to me and spent half the film stroking the inside of my thigh under my skirt (Carla was on the other side and oblivious to what he was doing). I'd been shocked when I first felt that hand wandering over to my leg as I was trying to take in the plot of Skyfall, but I'd sat still and let it happen and from that moment on I couldn't get Bruce's naughty behaviour out of my head.

Bruce waylaid me during my birthday afternoon, as I was walking home in my school uniform, pussy still full of the cum Mr. Du Pont had ejaculated into me three hours earlier on his sofa - and thoughts running through my head of how I'd lain there gasping for breath my legs wide open and my knees resting on his shoulders as he pounded my virginal pussy with his thirty-something year-old naked cock. Bruce took my hand silently and I let him lead me to his motorbike. He'd planned something. He had brought a second helmet and I put it on and got on the saddle and clasped my hands around his tummy. We rode off to what I later learned was his sister's flat. She was in Dubai for the week and had asked him to water the plants so he had the key. He led me inside the flat, which was sparsely but tastefully decorated with pictures on the walls of semi-clad Arabian women in seductive poses (I wondered if Bruce's sister was a lesbian). Bruce didn't say very much. We both knew why we were there. He made me stand in front of him while he undressed me. When I was completely naked he kissed me - still fully dressed himself, and took me into the bedroom. I sat on the bed while he undressed. I felt some of Mr. Du Pont's cum leak out of me. I wasn't sure if Bruce would notice it and comment, but he said nothing. When he was completely naked he came and sat down next to me on the bed. We kissed and I felt his hand reaching for my pussy. I didn't want that and tried to delay him by holding his hand but he wasn't to be denied. He stroked my pussy and evidently mistook the oozing cum from Mr. Du Pont for my own love juices. His cock was erect and I put my hand on it and closed my fingers around it. I bent down and kissed it and then took it completely into my mouth. I knew nothing about how to give a blowjob (Colin taught me all that in the months ahead), but whatever I was doing Bruce seemed to like it. He pushed me gently down on the bed and I parted my legs to let him slide between them. Instantly I felt his cock nuzzle its head against my pussy lips. I sighed as he pushed it gently in and repositioned himself so he could thrust in further.

He started thrusting in and out and I realised this was probably his first time fucking someone, as I knew Carla wouldn't let him do this. I felt slutty and kissed him hard on the mouth as he thrust harder. He came very quickly and stayed in me - buried up to the hilt as his quivering cock emptied its contents into my newly ravished cunt.

"Fucked twice in three hours by two different men," I thought to myself. "This will probably never happen again."

That was the one and only time I let Bruce fuck me, but it was exciting to have that guilty secret - and I enjoyed the slutty looks he would give me whenever Carla, Bruce and I were out together and she was distracted for a few seconds. Perhaps that's why what I'm doing now works for me. It appeals to the same sense of disdain for social norms. I like breaking rules.

Colin and I dated for a few weeks before he dared to ask me to go further than a peck on the cheek. He was definitely inhibited to a degree by the age difference between us. If he'd known I was continuing to fuck my physics teacher at lunchtimes I'm sure he would have been bemused by his own reticence, but he never knew. And by the time the Easter holidays came and went Mr. Du Pont was no longer at the school. Apparently, I had not been the only schoolgirl he was fucking, and he had been careless enough to use a music practice room for one of his liaisons and had been discovered by Mrs. Amos, the Head of Music.

You may have heard a version of this scandal if you live in Surrey. It was quite a story for the newspapers, though I don't think it was carried nationally. The incredible thing was it was entirely possible that even at that point that Mr. Du Pont might have got away with his outrageous behaviour. But it turned out that Mrs. Amos wasn't there by chance. She and Mr. Du Pont had also been having an affair for the past year, and she had come to one of their secret trysts in the music practice rooms. Either he or she had made a mistake about the date of their agreed next meeting and she walked in on him to see him thrusting his cock into the cunt of one of her star pupils as she stood there bent over a kettle drum with her school skirt raised up around her waist and her panties down around her ankles.

It wasn't Mr. Du Pont's impropriety that Mrs. Amos reported him for, it was his betrayal of her! Of course she had to go too, but it did seem a bit unfair that Mr. Du Pont had fucked at least eight of the sixth form girls - regularly and without regret for the best part of a year (he'd been careful to wait until each of us turned eighteen so technically none of this was illegal) and yet the head of music had only had him, yet they still got the same punishment. Shortly afterwards I heard that her husband divorced her and she moved away. Mr Du Pont got a job in a software company and continued fucking at least one of the girls from my class for another year or so.

I didn't regret not having Mr. Du Pont as a lover any more. He had taught me a lot - and he was always gentleman enough to make me cum first before spurting his seed into me, but it had begun to be a bit of a game to him, not an emotional encounter. He would ask to keep my panties as a trophy, or take a photograph of me on his phone as he was fucking me. At one point he came all over my breasts and smeared it into my skin. I had to go through the entire afternoon sticky and smelling of his cum - and I had him for physics during that afternoon so I sat there feeling like a helpless conquest. I later realised that he had fucked at least seven other girls in my class - and there were only eleven girls in the entire set.

Colin took me away from that. Sex with him was mutually satisfying. I'm sure he got a thrill out of having a teenaged girlfriend at the age of 28, but he never made me feel like a whore. In retrospect, maybe that was part of the problem. I had a yearning I had not learned to recognise or identify.

One night, lying next to Colin as he snored away following an hour of fairly rough sex, I realised I was nowhere near ready for sleep. I reached over to my bedside table thinking I might flick through social media for half an hour, and picked up my iPad. Without even thinking it through I found myself typing "Sex chat" into the search bar. The number of hits surprised me. I found one that looked less likely to fill my screen with spam and scrolled through some of the guests. It was a worldwide site, and most of the guests online at that time were in America. I guess it was about 2 AM here in England. I clicked on one and within seconds I got a message from a guy in Pennsylvania saying "Hi cutie. Love the bedsheets!"

It was then I realised the webcam was on and a complete stranger in America was looking at me lying in bed next to my sleeping lover. I also realised that my heart had started pounding really hard. My throat was dry. I clicked off and sat in the darkness catching my breath. This was exciting. There was no hint of sleepiness in my mind now.

I composed myself for a few minutes and sipped a glass of water from my bedside table. I rearranged the duvet and clicked on again. A few guests came and went, and then another guy (I had noticed there were almost no women there - although some of the avatars were impossible to sex) came on. This was Randy from Minnesota. The camera was on. He lost no time. "Hi girl. Want to rate my dick?" he typed.

My god! What a pervert! Flashing his dick to complete strangers on a chat room site? How gross!

"Sure." I typed back. "Show me".

Randy from Minnesota stood up and revealed he was naked from the waist down. His dick stood half erect pointing at the screen. I blew him (and his dick) a kiss.

"Want to show me something of yours?" he typed.

I moved the iPad to show the sleeping Colin lying next to me.

"LOL," typed Colin. "Show me your pussy."

I flushed. The blood ran to my face. Instinctively, I hit the button at the top of the chat feed that read "Stop Chat". The screen went blank for a second and then the menu screen flashed up again.

"Why the fuck did I do that?" I asked myself. "This is fun, harmless and exciting. Colin need never know". In fact, Colin's sleeping presence provides in equal measure a bit of calming reassurance and a sense of enhanced wickedness about this whole thing. Why not show a complete stranger my pussy? It's not as if he could rape me through the screen.

I steeled myself. I took another sip of water and clicked "Next Chat". It was Pete from California. He was in a back yard in brilliant sunshine. I checked the clock. It must be late afternoon where he was.

"Hi, Hannah!" he had typed. "What brings you here?"

Fingers shaking, I typed back

"Hi Pete." Then added. "Just curious I guess. First time on here."

"Welcome, then Hannah." he replied. "In that case, this is my lucky day. You're a chat virgin. Did they explain to you about the forfeits?"

I smiled and then typed "No, they didn't. What's that all about?"

"Well, basically, you have to do whatever I ask for the next ten minutes. You cool with that?"

"Sure" I typed. And I thought to myself "Here goes".

Four minutes later I was sitting up naked in front of the screen with the webcam inches from my pussy as I rubbed my clitoris with two fingers and typed short replies to Pete with the other hand. On the screen I could see him still sitting out by his pool but with his penis out and jerking himself off while he watched my orgasm building.

Pete came first. From 5,000 miles away I watched as a gush of white cum spurted from his erect dick while I built my own orgasm in stages under my probing fingers. When I finally came I mouthed "I'm cumming" at the screen. Pete didn't see me as he was too busy cleaning himself up, but it didn't matter. I had cum in front of a complete stranger thousands of miles away with my unsuspecting boyfriend slumbering peacefully on. It was wickedly exciting, and I knew I would want more.

Over the next few nights I repeated the experiment in front of strangers from Germany (some very late night owls there!), Iceland, Canada and Brazil. The Brazilians were the best. There were four of them. And even though that night Colin was away, I wore headphones and heard them cheering me on while I gasped and panted and brought myself to the most intense orgasm I could ever remember having. I watched them jerk

off in front of me - university students by the look of them cheering as each of them came on the floor and swilled down chilled beer as though watching a nightly sports game - which on reflection it probably was to them.

The feeling after each of these encounters was the same - a dirty, slutty shaming feeling that I knew would last until the next night when the red blood would once more pump around my veins as I trawled the net looking for my next exhibitionism venue. I went on like this for about three weeks before I met Ian.

Ian was unlike all the other chat room inhabitants. For a start his on-screen avatar was a blank, black space.

I found that intriguing. I couldn't see him or even an avatar representing him. I was forced to imagine what he looked like. I also found his first question intriguing. Instead of saying "hi" or "hello" or the abbreviation "asl?" that I'd come to learn meant "age, sex, location?", he simply said "Feeling sharp?" When I typed "Sure", he instantly posted a brain teaser. I'd seen it before so I got the answer right (at the risk of boring you it depended on you understanding that square roots can be negative numbers) and he wrote back with

"Smart girl. Want to claim your reward?"

I typed "hahaha" and waited. He kept me waiting three or four minutes and I thought he'd disappeared but his activity monitor was still showing as present so I hung in there. Soon enough he wrote back.

"Tell me five things about you that your best friends wouldn't guess in a hundred years." he wrote. "Points will be awarded for intrigue and creativity!"

I smiled. This was fun. And totally safe - although risky if Colin knew what I was doing I guess. I thought for a minute. And then typed

"1. When I was little my ambition was to be a maid. I had no idea about where the job sat on the social spectrum. I just loved the uniform"

There was a pause. Then he typed back. "OK. That's a good start. What are the others?"

"When I first read The Twelve Swans I went straight out and sat on a stinging nettle to see if it was true that it didn't hurt. Then I went and did it again the next day just to check if it was really as painful as I remembered"

This was true. I still recall the shock and pain from the tops of my thighs as I found out the hard way that fairy stories aren't always accurate! Ian wrote back.

"Ouch! You are evidently way too trusting. I shall have to remember that. Go on with your last three."

"I cheated during my A' Levels" I wrote.

This was also true. I'd written vital notes on my leg just above my knee. I'd figured (correctly) that no teacher was likely to ask me to lift my skirt - especially in a school where the Mr. Du Pont scandal was still so fresh!

"Excellent." wrote Ina. "Two more please. Make them risqué"

"OK," I wrote back. "I let my best friend's boyfriend fuck me on my eighteenth birthday hours after losing my virginity to my physics teacher. And I pass the time after my boyfriend falls asleep chatting to strangers on anonymous chat sites."

I pressed send and there was silence for over a minute.

"You're in Epsom," he wrote back. "Meet me tomorrow night at the Mexican bar. 10 PM"

I sat and stared at the screen. How the fuck did he know I lived in Epsom? And yes, I did know the Mexican bar he meant. There was only one, and I was a reasonably regular visitor there. Had he seen me there sometime?

Unnerving though this was, I realised I was turned on. Los Tres Amigos is a public place. I was free tomorrow. Why not at least think about it?

The following day I swung from determined not to go, to determined to go, to determined not to go again with equal fervour on an almost hourly basis. By 8 PM I knew I would not be going. It was stupid and dangerous and I didn't even know what had possessed me to give away the information that had obviously (though god knows how) allowed Ian to trace me to my town of residence. By 9 PM I was getting into my onesie for an evening alone in front of the television.

But by 9:30 I was standing in my hallway wearing a red leather mini skirt, glossy black high heels, white blouse and black jacket, under my blouse I had on a Stella McCartney lacy bra and under my mini skirt I was wearing Coco de Mer black silk French knickers. In one hand I had my Louis Vuitton clutch and in the other my phone on which I'd just used Uber to book a ride to Los Tres Amigos. My hurriedly-washed hair was still damp and although I'd stepped from the showed not ten minutes ago, I was already bathed in a nervous sweat. The app pinged. My ride was waiting downstairs.

All the tables at Los Tres Amigos were full but there was space at the bar so I walked up an ordered a Margarita. I sat on a bar stool and sipped it, looking around and noticing that I was not the only girl there but I seemed to be the only lone girl there. That didn't last long. A figure took the stool next to me and ordered "I'll have the same as my friend, Sara."

I looked up and saw the man who had to be Ian. He looked straight into my eyes. He was handsome but in a normal way - no film star but with a look of intelligence and mischief. He looked natural and easy on the eye; the sot of guy you sensed you could have a lot of laughs with. He wore smart jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. He had a Breitling watch on his left wrist and a gold ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. He looked about 35 or 36. He raised his glass to me.