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Confessions Of A Slut Wife. (fm:slut wife, 2134 words)

Author: Stevie Wonder-ful Picture in profile
Added: Apr 15 2019Views / Reads: 2318 / 1711 [74%]Story vote: 9.36 (25 votes)
Confession is a good for the soul, or so a sexually insatiable wife hopes.

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One of the few things that my priest and the handful of psychologists I've seen over the years all seem to agree upon, is that honest self-reflection and genuine confession are good for the soul. Mind you, my priest seemed to spend more time gazing at my cleavage than he did into my soul, whereas most of the psych's kept the majority of their focus firmly upon my bank balance.

With that in mind, let's clear the air about a couple of things right from the start.

The first is that I am basically a good person, a loving wife and a caring mum.

The second is that I have a near insatiable appetite for sex and I have finally come to terms with that fact. My focus now is to minimise any pain my sexual proclivities may cause to my husband and children, as opposed to trying to bring about any real change regarding my needs and behaviours.

The third, is that despite a growing list of personality traits and disorders determined by a small army of psychologists, I simply love risky, promiscuous sex. I enjoy the physical aspect of strange hands clamouring for my tits or a wagging cock finding its way into my wet pussy for the first time. I enjoy the challenge of seduction and the power I alone wield when I decide whether or not to take a man to bed, whether to let him ride me bareback and come inside me or to offer some quick and dirty relief in the form of a hand job under a table or in his car. I enjoy the guilty pleasure of sitting down to a meal with my husband while my panties are damp from the remnants of another man's semen and my memory is replaying the feel of his cock inside my vagina or my mouth.

Does my family know about my promiscuity, I hear you ask? My daughters definitely don't, I've been extremely careful to protect them from this aspect of their mother. As to my husband, who really knows. Drew has never brought up the matter, he's never accused me of having an affair but in all other aspects of his life, he is an extremely astute man. As careful as I've been to shield him from this truth, it would be hard to imagine he didn't at least have a suspicion about how I spend much of my time when away from him.

I actually gave Drew a blow job on the first evening we met, while one of his mates, the guy who had brought me to the party, was passed out on the floor of the lounge room surrounded by empty bottles and cigarette butts. I can still remember looking up into his face at the inane grin that was spread across it as I used one hand to wipe his semen from my lips while the other rubbed the smear of lipstick off of his cock.

What Drew didn't know then and still doesn't know now to my knowledge, is that his was the second cock I had sucked that evening and that once his mate had sobered up enough to stumble into one of the downstairs bedrooms with me, I'd let him fuck me doggy style without a condom.

I had turned sixteen a week earlier.

Drew and I had a couple more casual sexual encounters over the next few years as we occasionally met up at parties held by mutual friends but it wasn't until I was nearly twenty-one and he had just returned from working overseas for a couple of years, that I began to see him as something more than just a fun fuck.

Drew's body had filled out over his time away, his face now resembled that of a grown man but more importantly, he had gathered a wealth of knowledge and experience in his time away. I spent much of the evening raptly listening to his travel adventures around Europe and the UK and when it was time to leave, I eagerly accepted his invitation to a lift home.

I was flattered that he remembered where I lived but puzzled and more than a little disappointed when he pulled into my drive without a detour to a quiet spot that would allow us to crawl into the back seat and reacquaint ourselves with previous sexual encounters.

I was knuckling away an errant tear from the corner of my eye when he

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