I Am Not A Slut

This is a story I am sure a lot of you are going to hate. However, I am certain it is a tale that happens all too often. But please feel free to express your reaction in comments. The objective in my writing is to provoke emotion in the reader, and I expect that this story will do so.

I am not a slut.

Or at least I wasn't, until I met Roger. I suppose some people could differ about my current status, but frankly speaking, if they are worried about whether I am a slut, I don't give a damn about them.

It was a big issue to my ex-husband, Simon. He certainly thought I had become a slut after I met Roger and ultimately it led to our divorce. But don't feel sorry for me (or think badly of me). My life is much better without my Ex and given how horrified he was about the change in my attitudes about sex after I met Roger, I am certain his life is better also. He has since remarried, a widow from our church, and what do they do in bed? Well, I don't care to speculate. It's really none of my business, but given, what I recall of Simon, I would have to say the answer to the query is not much. Their loss.

And just in case you are wondering, no I was not a slut before I married Simon. As far as I ever got in college was a little oral sex with a guy or two (well maybe a few more than that). Me doing them. Not the other way around. Honestly I enjoyed cock sucking in college but Simon didn't approve, so I had just about forgotten how to do it, until I met Roger.

My Marriage

Simon and I were married for 20 years, raised two children, and sent them off to college, all before I met Roger. Our sex life was plain vanilla to say the least. Yes, there was enough of it to conceive two children, and no, they were definitely my husband's children. I never had sex with anyone but him until I met Roger. I shouldn't tell tales out of school about my Ex, but suffice it to say, there just wasn't anything to get excited about before Roger. Yes, I had orgasms (not more than one during each session and frequently not at all until I was in the bathroom afterwards) and they were okay, or so I thought, but I didn't have anything to compare them to. They were also infrequent because we rarely had sex more than once a month and even that pace was tapering off. Masturbation? Occasionally, but until I met Roger I didn't think sex was an important part of my life, so I rarely supplemented the weak gruel my Ex was feeding me with my fingers, and I knew nothing of the myriad toys available from Amazon today.

Of course, there is more to a marriage than just the sex. We got along well enough: we weren't mean to each other; I cooked and kept house; he made a good living and took care of the yard; I looked after our kids. Money was never a problem because we had both received significant inheritances from our respective families. Simon had a full-time job, that required some travel. After the kids reached an age where the schools were providing most of the care, I had a part time job at a local grammar school. I worked out regularly at our gym, something my Ex avoided like the plague. And I had, what my husband called my 'she shed' in the back yard of our Bay Area home where I occasionally pursued my pottery hobby. I had been an art major in college. It was a successful, but now that I look back on it, boring marriage. There was no passion in it. I tried to introduce some passion into the marriage after I met Roger, but Simon just couldn't understand what I wanted or why.

Meeting Roger

I met Roger at our country club. My husband and I had a regular mixed doubles schedule with Roger and his wife Liz. No not that kind of mixed doubles. Roger and Liz were about ten years younger than Simon and me, in their early thirties I think. We didn't socialize with them much beyond tennis so we really knew little about them. We played tennis, every Wednesday night. Roger was a handsome man--tall, lean, and broad shouldered. His legs beneath his tennis shorts looked strong, and... well they looked sexy, but I didn't let myself dwell on that. He was always polite treating me respect and not flirting, until the night Simon had to be out of town and I went to play tennis with Roger and Liz without my husband. That was when my life changed. When Simon learned he had to be away the night of our regular tennis schedule I called Liz and tried to beg off, but she insisted I come without Simon. "You and I can play two on one against Roger. Trust me, you'll have a good time." That certainly turned out to be true, but not in the way that I understood it.

When I arrived at the tennis club Roger was there, but without Liz. She also had to bail, needing to suddenly go across town to spend the night with her aging aunt who was having some health problems. "Come on Carolyn," he said. "We've got the court time reserved. Might as well use it."

I agreed and hurried into the ladies locker room to change clothes. My tennis outfit, like most women's tennis outfits, had a very short skirt with color coordinated panties beneath. The panties provided ample coverage. It looked sexy, but nothing really showed other than the shape of my ass when I leaned forward. I have always thought I have a nice ass. Vanity, I guess, The top covered me amply, but my medium sized breasts were not disguised. My breasts had been small when I was in college and I was embarrassed about being flat chested. Breast feeding two children had cured that problem. They were now an ample C cup--full and soft but not seriously sagging. They stood out proudly beneath the soft top. I was actually quite proud of them. When I went to change clothes I realized I had left my sports bra behind so I would have to go with the everyday bra I was wearing. It was fine, but it did allow more jiggle than the sports bra would have. No big deal, I thought. It's just Roger. I could feel my tits bouncing as I hurried out on to the court to meet him.

"Oh you're looking nice tonight," he said as I bent over to get my racket out of the case and re-tie the laces on my shoes. I had noticed him watching my jiggling tits as I walked in. Now he was standing behind me as I bent forward to retie my shoes. Probably staring at my ass but there's nothing he can see with this outfit on. I'm well covered, I thought. Of course he could see the shape of my ass perfectly. I thought about wiggling it a bit, but quickly discarded that as inappropriate.

We played tennis for about forty-five minutes before I slipped and twisted my ankle. While I was playing I noticed that my boobs were jiggling almost continuously as I moved about the court. It was making me a bit horny, which wasn't a sensation I had regularly, given my lukewarm marriage. To be honest I was enjoying it--the tennis and the jiggle and the mild arousal that went with the jiggle. My twisted ankle brought our tennis to a halt. I was limping and Roger helped me to the ladies locker, carefully checking to make sure we were alone before he helped me my locker. I planned to just pack my street clothes in my racket bag and change out of my tennis clothes when I got home. He helped me pack up and then I leaned on him as we left the club. I noticed there was something about his aroma that was arousing, but mostly I was focused on my painful ankle.

"You need to get some ice on that ankle quickly."

"Yes, but I have to get home first."

"Come with me. Our house is only a couple of blocks away. We will get you taken care of."

When he said, 'We' I assumed he meant himself and Liz, forgetting she was away from home for the evening. By the time I remembered she was gone for the night, I was sitting on a couch with my good leg on the floor and the injured one up on the back of the couch with an ice wrap around the ankle. The position I was in pulled my skimpy tennis dress up about as far as it could go, although there isn't much of a limit with a dress as small as it was. It was more like a napkin lying across my lap. No worries, I thought. The underpants provide good coverage. Good thing I'm dressed though. Otherwise this would be kind of a slutty position.

Roger had disappeared to the back of the house. When he reappeared he said, "Now there is one more thing you need for the ankle. I have just the thing for the pain. This brand of marijuana is something Liz and I each use when we've worked out too hard and beat ourselves up."

Marijuana? I knew it was legal in California now, but I hadn't had any in years. Not since I was in college, before I met Simon. "Oh. I've heard it's good for pain," I said. "But I don't usually... Well we don't really ever... I mean I haven't in years..."

"Trust me Carolyn. This is just what you need." He sat down on the couch so my injured foot and leg was behind his back and my other foot was tangled up with his feet on the floor. I was a little uncomfortable with Roger sitting between my legs like that, but damn, my ankle did hurt and maybe the dope would help. Besides, we weren't going to do anything beyond handing a joint back and forth. And I was well covered by the panties that I wore as a part of the tennis outfit.

Roger fired up the joint and we each took a hit. I managed not to cough even though it had been twenty plus years. When I took a second hit I let myself take a bigger toke and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Marijuana had gotten much stronger since I had been in college.

"Wow. That's good shit," Roger said. "How's the ankle?"

I was wasted. "Ankle? What ankle?" I asked.

"This one. Right here," he said, stroking my calf.

"Oh that feels really good," I said. "Can I have another hit. You're right. This really is good shit." I giggled. I hadn't talked like that since college. He passed the joint to me and I took a couple more tokes. Meanwhile he kept stroking my leg, slowly working his way up. "God that feels good," I told him when his hand passed my knee and moved to the inside of my thigh. That was what I intended to say. Maybe what I actually said was, "God that feels sexy." Who knows. It did feel sexy. That was when he put a hand on my other thigh. "Ummm. Yes," I said. By now the whole issue of my ankle was forgotten. Roger was softly massaging the inside of my thighs and it felt fabulous. It was making me horny as hell. The combination of Roger's sexy fondling of the inside of my thighs, growing ever closer to my underpants, and the effect of the dope had pretty much eliminated any inhibitions I might have had. When his hands reached my crotch he cupped my mound. Instead of telling him to stop, as the good girl I thought I was would do, I just groaned and pushed back with my hips.

"How's the ankle?" he asked again. I groaned in response and pushed my sex against his hand again. To make things worse, just proving I had lost any semblance of propriety I was using my hands to rub my breasts. Well, I told myself, my hands weren't doing anything and they felt really good massaging my tits. Yeah, I was seriously stoned and seriously horny. I was of course still fully dressed, I thought, as if that made any difference as I lay with my legs spread, my dress pushed up to my hips and Roger massaging my ever-wetter sex through my soggy underpants while I played with my tits.

"You know," he said, "these panties are kind of in the way. I could make this feel much better if they weren't here."

What I should have said was something like "No shit Roger. I'm sure you could but those panties are going to stay right where they are." But did I say that? Oh no. Not even close. Instead I responded with a dope fueled giggle and said, "Oh I bet you could. Let me help you get them off." It took a little wiggling around and at some point I noticed that I still had a very sore ankle, but a few moments later the panties were gone. I didn't know or really care much about where they had gone. Later I would find them around my injured ankle. I was still lying with one leg on the back of the couch and the other on the floor. I had also pulled my top and my bra off at the same time. Now I was naked, except for my very short tennis dress which was bunched around my waist. For some reason I didn't understand, I still had my tennis shoes on. I was so wet it took Roger almost no effort to slide two fingers into my dripping cunt. When I looked down at him I could see that he had also slid his pants and underwear off. The hand that wasn't finger fucking me was stroking his long fat cock. I felt a rush of lust when I saw his cock. Shit, that's a big cock, I thought. I knew I shouldn't be staring at it, but I couldn't resist. Meanwhile my hands had resumed their fondling of my tits, but they were doing a much better job now without my tennis top and bra running interference.

"Oh fuck this feels good," I whispered.

"Does your husband do this to you?"

I sniggered. "Hell no." The dope was making me obscene. "He doesn't do much of anything to me."

"That's a shame. You have a beautiful body." He had taken his hand off his cock and was now using it to play with one of my breasts. My nipples were fully aroused and he was pinching one between his fingers and pulling on it so it stretched my tit away from my chest. It hurt, but it hurt in a most delicious way.

He had moved a third finger into my cunt and was fucking me aggressively. It was just fabulous. I could hear the squishing noise his fingers were making as they pumped in and out of me. He twisted his hand around and began using his thumb to stroke the sensitive tissue between my engorged pussy lips, stopping on each stroke just short of my clit. I continued to push my hips up to meet each stroke of his finger fucking.

I could feel a climax building in my core. It was going to be a big one, the kind I never got from my husband. "Oh shit Roger that's so good."

"How's your ankle?" he asked in jest.

"My ankle is just fucking fine," I responded with a growl. "Just keep doing what you're doing. Don't fucking stop." He pinched one of my nipples and I groaned. "Oh god, Roger. Make me cum. Play with my clit Roger. I need to cum. Oh fuck I want to cum so bad. Play with my clit Roger. Play with my..." I screamed as I tripped into an orgasm. He kept pulling on my nipple and rubbing on my clit with his thumb, two fingers buried deep in my cunt as I screamed my way through spasm after spasm of my extended climax.

Eventually my body calmed to nothing more than a few mild recurring spasms in my cunt, each weaker than the last. Oh my fucking god, I thought. I haven't had an orgasm like that in... Oh god... years... maybe never. God I don't know. Maybe it was the dope. I didn't know and right then I didn't care. I just wanted more.

I didn't have to ask. Roger was barely beginning. We spent the next... what was it? Half an hour? Fuck I don't know, but it seemed like it would never end, or at least I hoped it would never end. I remained laying on my back on the couch, naked but for my tennis skirt bunched about my waist and my shoes still on for no good reason, my injured ankle on the back of the couch and my other foot on the floor. Roger without asking dropped between my legs his face against my pussy and began to torture my sex with that devil's tongue of his. Who knew men had tongues that could do the things his did for the next half an hour or whatever it was.

At first I resisted, sort of: "Oh. Oh. Roger what are you... Oh oh. Not now Roger. I'm not ready for more. I'm not sure..." He ignored me and just kept licking my pussy. My protests waned as my libido returned to rage. "Oh god yes Roger. Oh, oh, oh, yes. That feels so good. Oh fuck yes." He slipped two fingers into me. My dripping cunt, just barely relaxed from my body's massive orgasm of a few moments before, thrilled to his invasion. "I can't. Not yet," I told myself. "Not yet." But it felt good. So fucking good. My words sunk into silence as I was overwhelmed with growing lust.

"Screw that not yet shit," I said to myself. "This is too fucking good not to have." I did nothing to prohibit or even discourage Roger, instead responding by again masturbating my tits, pinching and pulling on the nipples which had never shrunk down from the last orgasm and by arching my back to push my sex into his face as he finger fucked me and licked my pussy.

"Oh yes, Roger. Yes, yes, yes. Oh fucking yes," I said with a growl. "That is so god damned good. Keep that up and make me cum again," I said.

He kept it up but he had no intention of bringing me to another orgasm any time soon. The devil was monitoring my body as he licked my sex and sucked on my engorged pussy lips and my clit. He brought me to the edge of orgasm again and again, always backing away before I could achieve that ecstasy that I sensed was there, just right there; that I so wanted to feel again as I had before. But the bastard wouldn't let me get there, always backing away at the critical moment. I cursed and swore at him. "No don't fucking stop again. You asshole. You bastard. Let me get there." He ignored me and continued his exquisite torture. The pressure continued to build as he brought me to the edge again and again.

And did I think of my ankle? Hell no. What ankle? Or my husband? Fuck no. What husband? The only thing in my mind was the sensations coming from the sexually active organs of my body: my cunt, especially that so sensitive spot on the front of the inside my cunt that Roger seemed to know about that I never had known the existence of; my swollen pussy lips that he sucked on and even nipped with his teeth and that sensitive engorged tissue between them; my nipples; and above all else my clit. All of them flooding my brain with a message that said, "Oh fuck, we can't keep this up. We need to feel the release that he is denying you. We need it now." But he wouldn't give it to me.

And how long did this go on? Damned if I know. Forever or perhaps only a few minutes. But when Roger finally relented and used his tongue, that devil's tongue, on my clit to push me over the edge, the orgasm was beyond description. I screamed. At least he told me I screamed. I don't remember. It can't describe it but I knew, even then, it was something I would have to have again, and again, and again. I was in tears when I came down.

But that of course was far from the end of the evening. He let me come down a bit more this time, and then we moved on to other things. I sucked his cock. It had been years since I sucked a cock. My husband didn't approve, but Roger did. His cock was long and straight. Much bigger than most of the cocks I had sucked in college and definitely much bigger than my husband's cock. It turns out that cock sucking is like riding a bike. Once you learn how it is a skill that comes back easily and still brings the same enjoyment. I had totally forgotten how much I liked to suck cock: licking the shaft; teasing the sensitive tissue just below the mushroom shaped head with my tongue; caressing the head with my tongue; engulfing it with my lips and then letting him shove it against my cheeks and to the back of my throat; pulling back with suction until it popped out and I could lick the precum off the tip; fondling his balls (my god he had big balls). Oh how I loved sucking the big obscene cock.

But Roger wouldn't let me finish him. He wanted to fuck me with that big, beautiful cock and I was more than ready to let him. Still on the couch, still in my tennis skirt pushed up around my waist, my tennis shoes still ridiculously on my feet, we banged away like a good missionary and his innocent island lover. His cock filled my cunt and it felt marvelous. At first we just lay there, my feet behind his hips pulling him into me. I think that was when I noticed I still had my tennis shoes on, but Roger wasn't complaining and I sure wasn't going to pause to take them off. I lay there, savoring the fullness of my cunt and the warmth of the big cock that was providing that fullness. "Oh god yes, Roger. That feels so fucking good. You have the greatest fucking cock," I purred. Then he began to bang away at me. I cried and screamed out my enjoyment and he grunted as he rammed himself home again and again, stretching my cunt on each thrust. I came twice more in rapid succession. Not like the massive climaxes of earlier, but still way stronger than anything that ever happened with my husband. Then I felt his cock began to swell and I realized he was close. "Cum on my tits," I said to him. Where the fuck had that idea come from I briefly wondered. What kind of slut was I becoming?