The Slut Diaries

Quick note: The following is not the typical story with lots of set-up or specific descriptions of individual sex acts. That said, I think there's enough in here sexually(including hetero and lesbian sex, group sex and father-daughter incest) that it may find an audience. All characters are over 18 years of age at all times

Dear Diary,

I suppose I should start by introducing myself. My name is Heather Miller. I'm twenty-three years old and work in public-relations. I'm about five and a half feet tall. I'd like to think I've been well blessed. I have long, naturally curly blonde hair and clear blue eyes. I have a body that's equally parts kind genetics and a rigorous combination of yoga/jogging/Pilates. When it needs to be tape measured, said body comes in at 32-23-34 at those three magic spots. Because it comes up in these kinds of things, my cup size is D-elightful at most times, but can give me a ba-DD back ache when I'm not my trimmest. Anyways, get that picture in your head because this is the story about just how beneath my relatively sweet and innocent exterior lies the heart of what some judgmental people would call a dirty, filthy slut.

Ever since the first time I had it, I've loved sex. I can still remember that first time vividly. It was a hot august night. I was in the back seat of my high school boyfriend's parent's car. We were doing our usual making out when he made a move to take it further. I stopped him at first. It's hard to believe now but I'd stayed a virgin longer than any of my friends and, because I was still a virgin, I wasn't sure. The furthest I'd let Bryan get before that night was some over the bra boob grabbing.

I remember Bryan making his case. We were seniors. College was only a few weeks away. I don't know if it was his arguments or the moonlight or the bottle of vodka we'd stolen from my parent's liquor cabinet working it's magic but I agreed. I couldn't bring myself to say the words. I just bit my lip and nodded. I practically thought Bryan's eyes were going to bulge out of his head. Everything he did from that point on seemed to be in a rush. Like he was afraid I was going to change my mind if he didn't get it over with as quickly as possible.

No sooner had I agreed than Bryan had his pants off and his cock out. I remember thinking how strange it looked. Now, of course, I know it was more or less unremarkable but then, I can't remember ever having seen anything so alien. I know that anyone who knows me now would have a hard time believing this but I really was sheltered growing up. I'd never seen porn, never even seen a picture of an erect penis. I'd never even masturbated. It was almost a relief when he rolled his condom over his erection, masking it in a thin sheet of latex.

I stripped and straddled him and held myself over him for the briefest of seconds, fearing the pain I'd been told by girlfriends came with losing your virginity.

Looking back, I know that there was nothing particularly good or memorable about the sex. It was over quickly. Bryan came and I didn't. For most girls it would have been their disappointing entry into the world of sex.

Not me though. I loved every second of it. The feeling of his hands and mouth on my naked breasts, the thrill of doing something forbidden, the look of lust and desire in his eyes and knowing that I was the cause of that. Combine that with the heady, magnificent, fulfilling and filling feeling of having a thick cock inside me, stretching and shaping the delicate walls of my cunt around it, and I was instantly hooked.

Later that night, after Bryan had driven me home, I masturbated for the very first time. I masturbated thinking about what I'd done. My hands were inside my panties, frigging away at my stiff clit, as the words describing what I'd done ran through my mind. His hard cock had been inside my virgin pussy. His stiff, aching prick had shot all the cum in his balls because my cunt was so wet and warm and tight. The words, the thoughts, they were almost as good as the actual act. As my teenaged body burst in it's first delicious orgasm, I knew there would be no going back.

That's actually stuck with me. I love cumming during sex but, really, it's not necessary. A man losing control and spurting his dick inside me or on me can drive me wild later on when I'm alone in my bed or in the shower. Just knowing that I made a guy cum is enough to inspire toe-curling orgasms of my own later.

The change in me was immediate and drastic. My mother had always said that only a slut would have sex before marriage and that sex was for procreation early. Before that night I'd agreed with her. After that night, it just made me feel sorry for my step-father. Not that I thought my mother was wrong, exactly, maybe it did make me a slut. However, as I fingered myself to orgasm that night, the idea of being a slut didn't seem all that wrong to me. In fact, it seemed exactly right.

After that night, and being awoken to my desires, I quickly learned that my sexual appetite was not normal. It was the very next night that I had called Bryan up and asked him for another date. This time I went over to his house, ostensibly to watch a movie, but we'd barely made it inside the house before we were naked and on his couch. In those last few weeks of summer vacation before college I got quite the sex education. Bryan and I fucked every single day. When I went home, orgasm or not, I went on the internet and, having easily guessed that the password on the parental controls was “password”, I began looking up sex things on the internet. I saw pictures, videos and stories that showed and detailed things, all of which I'd try the next day with Bryan. I sucked cock, swallowed cum, jacked him off, got fucked on my back, on my hands and knees and while on top. If we both weren't due to leave town I'm sure Bryan and I would have done everything else I eventually came to do.

But those weeks ended and college came and that's when my real dilemma started. Bryan was on the west coast and I was on the East. We tried to stay together but both of us knew it wouldn't last. We did all the usual things, promising to stay in touch and so on but the relationship ended. I think he's an actuary now.

My sexual appetites didn't abate whatsoever. Now, though, I had no outlet for it. It wasn't debilitating. It wasn't like being around anyone attractive had me dripping wet and panting. I just got urges. Urges that needed to be satisfied just so my mind could be cleared. They'd just hit me out of the blue. I'd know I needed to be fucked and my mind couldn't focus on anything other than it. I'd shift in my seat, have trouble paying attention in class and generally be a nuisance. Masturbation didn't help much. It was like methadone to a heroin addict. Really, all it did was make the need burn hotter.

I was a wreck that first week. I needed to fuck someone and I didn't have a boyfriend. Desperate, I confided in Erica, one of my best girlfriends from back home and someone I knew wouldn't be shocked by my needs. She'd been the first of my friends to have sex and I knew some people called her a slut. She was the one who said the words that really changed my life.

“You don't need a boyfriend. Just find someone to fuck.”

That's exactly what I did. I knew there was a guy on the floor above me who'd gotten a reputation as being quite a ladies man and no sooner had I logged off than I'd been knocking on his door. I didn't beat around the bush much. I asked him if he wanted to have sex. Surprisingly, when asked for sex from the cute 18 year old blonde, that dormitory Lothario agreed. We fucked hard and fast, him between my thighs and me spread eagled on his thin dormitory bed.

So that was me satiated, right? Well, yeah, until a few days later when that burning urge came back. I decided to take the same route. I was upstairs, knocking on the same door. This time, however, my stud on call was not there. His roommate was though and, well...I think you're starting to get the picture.

Since then, well, I've had dozens of sexual partners. At least. Truth is, I'm not terribly picky. I'd like to think that's one of my better qualities. I'm not shallow. I don't only want a guy with a tan and nice abs. When I need to get fucked, well, just about anyone will do. Just as long as they've got a hard cock that wants to fuck a tight wet pussy I'm on board. I've been with 18 year old guys with lovely cocks that can stay hard even after they've blasted a thick load of cum on my face and 70 year old guys who show me everything they've learned about fucking over the years. Big muscle bound black studs who just want to bang my head against the headboard and thin geeky types who want me to dress up like an Elvish maiden before they defile me. Truth is, I like it all. There's no telling what I'll be in the mood for.

It usually goes the same way. I focus on my life as much as I can during the week but every day or so I get that itch and, well, I do what it takes to scratch it. I know some of you might be saying, you know, a high sex drive is normal but that I should find a boyfriend or girlfriend who wants to do it as much as I do but, the reality is, part of what turns me on is the variety. The spontaneity. I wouldn't want to be in a relationship where I couldn't fuck who I wanted and someone who wanted to be in a relationship probably wouldn't be OK with my promiscuity. So my arrangement works. I'm single and free to choose whoever I want to fuck. Now, if someone's particularly good at making me scream their name they'll get a repeat performance or two but just so long as we agree that it's just about sex.

One of the unforeseen consequences in the changes of my life is that my views on who is or isn't an appropriate sex partner have almost entirely fallen by the wayside. As long as they're a consenting adult, well...let's just say I haven't reached my limits yet. Remember Erica? The girlfriend from back home who got me started on this path? Well, the first time I saw her after college she pressed me about how her advice turned out. We both started telling stories and we got so worked up that we ended up fucking that very night. It was my first time with a girl and I soon found that tonguing pussy, sucking clit and lapping up the orgasmic juices of a beautiful woman shrieking in delight are just as much to my tastes. I'm firmly bisexual, all may apply.

I've played the butch, bending a pretty young thing over roughly and finger fucking her into obedient bliss. Sucking on bouncing tits as I turn good girls into dirty lesbian sluts. I've also played the femme, getting that massive, ever-hard fake cock rammed into me by a big strong butch dyke. Some of my hardest climaxes have come like that. Again, for me, it's not the attractiveness of my partner that does it for me. I just love receiving, and especially giving, sexual pleasure.

I'd love to be able to say that my transgressions against the norm were strictly limited to occasional diversions into homosexuality. I mean, it's 2012, right? That's barely even noteworthy.

Alas, that is probably the least of my sins. In my junior year of college I was waitressing at a Steakhouse when a group of men came in. They were real Wall Street types. Suits, cell phones and cuff links. There must have been six of them, their ages ranging from thirty to fifty. I was getting that familiar itch and, when I saw them, I knew I'd be fucking one of them. As I looked them over, trying to decide which one was going to defile me for the evening, a thought hit me. Why choose? When they asked for the bill, I made my proposition. They eagerly accepted. I got my co-worker Emma(who loved it when I'd finger both her cunt and ass at the same time) to cover my tables for a few hours and led the group of men to the bathroom. The next hour or so was a blur as I sucked cock after cock, getting pounded from behind while on my hands and knees of the men's room. Honestly, I don't even remember how many times they spurted their cum down my throat, on my face or in my cunt. I just remember cumming like a firecracker, intensely turned on by being used for the sexual fulfilment of others. It was the kind of thing that would have almost certainly gotten me fired if it weren't for the fact that my manager and I had an “understanding” of sorts in that I understood that I could get away with murder so long as I occasionally walked into his office and begged him to fuck me in whatever hole he wanted.

So, yeah, I've been gang banged or had group sex or whatever you want to call it. Usually I'm more or a one on one girl but every now and then the urge is such that one cock, no matter how spectacular, isn't enough. Whether it's a cock in all three holes at once or five guys coating my face with thick, creamy cum, sometimes you just need to go that extra mile.

At this point I want to make a quick digression. Some of you may be inclined to call me a whore. I want to clarify. I'm a slut, not a whore. I do all these things because they turn me on, not for money. I mean, if a guy or girl wants to call me a whore while we're fucking then I'm all for it but it isn't technically accurate. I've never fucked for money. Well, I guess that's not entirely true either. But it's not in the way you think. I've never told someone that if they give me 100 or 1000 dollars they can fuck me. Just, sometimes, there've been financial benefits. I don't even mean that some of my old, rich beaus have given me gifts, although they have.

Well, here's an example of what I mean. After graduation I moved to the city to attend Grad School. I got a nice little apartment in a building owned by this big, burly Polish man and his wife. They were real sweet people, around 60 or so. Anyways, that first month my rent check bounced because I was in the process of changing banks. When my landlord came into my apartment to talk to me about it, I was just getting out of the shower. I yelped a little to find him in my kitchen, just a small white towel clutched around my wet, naked body. He apologized for the intrusion but I could see the look in his eye as it hungrily stared at my barely covered breasts. He told me the situation and, rather clumsily, said that if I was “nice” to him that the problem could go away. My first instinct was to explain the mix-up. I wasn't a freeloader and had the money. But as I felt the heat of his gaze cause my sex to drip with anticipation, well, I let him know my answer by dropping the towel and down to my knees.

After we were done, and I was on my bed with his jizz leaking down my thigh, he told me between gasps for air that my first month's rent was covered and that any future month where I let him ravish my body would see my rent cut in half. I readily agreed. I mean, I'd have agreed to fuck him anyway, why not get a few extra shopping binges out of the deal?

So, I mean, to my mind I'm not a whore. Not so long as I'd do those things anyway. Plus it has lead to some of my more fun adventures. If I get a good ride from a cab driver I almost always offer to return the favour. There's an older woman I know who runs the local sex toy store, one that's exclusively for women. She lets me have the pick of the new toys provided I let her try them out on me. You should see the eyes bulge out of heads when I act out a porn cliche, answering the door for a pizza delivery man in just a tight t-shirt and panties. I don't not pay for the pizza or anything but I have been known to be extremely generous with my tips.

God, that makes me sound like such a porno movie cliche, doesn't it?

Well, here's something you won't see too much in your average skin flick. Remember how I was talking about appropriate sex partners? Well, the six stock brokers were nothing. I fucked my father.

As mentioned, my parents aren't together and haven't been for a long time. My father was never overly attentive after the divorce. I'd see him once a year, if that. Mainly his presence in my life was my mother's constant complaining about him. I'm sure some of you reading this may attribute my condition to that fact but, well, I'm not complaining if it is the cause.

Anyways, shortly after my move to the city I got a call from my father telling me he'd like to see me. I hadn't seen him at all while at college and so this would be the first time I'd seen him in quite some time. I agreed to have him over for dinner. He showed up, not always a guarantee with him, and we exchanged some pleasantries. He talked about how grown up I looked, how I was a spitting image of my mother.

I remember I was wearing pretty normal clothing. A green sweater and jeans. Still, I guess when your breasts are as large as mine and your backside is shapely enough even that simple attire can make a man's mind turn to impure thoughts. All throughout the dinner I could swear I was seeing that familiar look of lust on my father's face as we stumbled through our usual awkward father-daughter conversation. I could barely believe it on his part but, worse still, his gaze was having the effect on me that most men's gazes did. I remember having to excuse myself to the bathroom before I felt my inhibitions totally leave me.

In the bathroom, despite the slickness I could feel between my thighs, I tried to reason my way out of it. He was my father. The man who'd fucked my mother some 22 years earlier to make me. Problem was, that line of thought just got me into more trouble. I started imagining that night. Did he fuck my mother doggy style? Did she suck him to get him hard or was he ready to go? Did he try to pull out and end up getting her pregnant by accident as he spurted on her stomach or did he lose control, plunge himself deep inside her as he emptied the full contents of his balls into her.

That made me think of his balls. In his pants, right now, were the balls that contained the cum that had made me. It made me think of them as huge, potent, powerful things. After all, I was pretty impressive. And those things had made me. Looking in the mirror, I knew it was pointless to fight the urge. The cum that made me? I was determined to find out what it tasted like. Those balls that gave me life? They were going to get tongued and sucked clean in gratitude.

Each step I took out of the bathroom felt as loud as a jackhammer, as did the beating of my heart. Still, I knew my mind had been made. A quick trip to the bedroom and my uninspiring underthings(after all, who dresses in sexy lingerie for a dinner with their father?) were exchanged for a beautiful little white babydoll. I even slid on some thigh high white stockings.

I walked back out to find my father engrossed in the rest of his dinner. When he noticed I'd come back and looked up I froze for a moment. What if he turned me down? The thought hadn't even occurred to me. As I mentioned, I don't get turned down a lot. Still, I sucked up the courage to make my desires plain.

“Daddy?” I remember saying, “Daddy, I need you to fuck me”

The look on my father's face when he heard that instantly allayed any fears I had he'd reject me. I'd barely gotten the words out of my mouth when he was jumping up from his seat and pulling me towards the bedroom.

As soon as we were in the bedroom I began tugging at his pants. When I finally got them off I got my first pleasant surprise of the night. My father's cock remains one of the most impressive I've ever seen. Long, yes, but nearly as thick as my wrist. Even for as dedicated a slut as I was it was an intimidating sight. He also, as per my dreams a few minutes in the past, had an equally impressive set of balls hanging below. I attacked them, licking tonguing and sucking on each heavy, bloated, cum-filled and life-giving orb.

Then I sucked his cock. Frantically, desperately. I tried to stuff as much into my mouth as I possibly could all the while bobbing my warm, wet lips up and down it's length. He didn't last long. Eventually I found out how that cum of his tasted. My attention to his balls must have done the trick because I don't know if anyone has ever pumped as much cum into me in one shot as my father did in that first blow job. So much that even as I was desperately drinking down his seed it was running down the sides of his mouth. When I finally had to pull off for breath he still had a few bursts left in him, enough to streak my face and stain my lingerie. When he was done I was a cum stuffed, cum coated mess. Even still I used my fingers to scoop what hadn't been shot down my throat into my mouth. I savoured the taste.