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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

My name is Monica St Croix, I frequently cheat on my husband and it’s not a secret; he’s fully aware of what I do just powerless to stop me. See I know what you’re thinking right now as you read this. You think I’m a bitch slut whore amalgamation that deserves no happiness in life and should be stricken from society. But; having said that there’s also a damn good chance that many of you reading this; man and woman alike are actually somewhat aroused and intrigued by this and probably even a little jealous of my sexual freedom.

Truth be told I could care less what you think of me; I’m not writing this to gain anyone’s approval simply because I don’t need it. I’m here to tell you my story.

Thing is; I wasn’t always this brazen; I used to be the perfect timid little housewife who knew her rightful and submissive role in the marriage and didn’t ever answer back. Despite my 1st class degree in landscape architecture, I actually used to stay at home and watch daytime soaps while my husband went out and earned the money. I would darn his socks, have dinner ready promptly for his half six return from work and meekly accept the £35 per week allowance he gave me on a Sunday morning. I watched myself grow older, fatter and uglier as my dreams of an exciting and passionate life fell by the wayside. I was a 32 year old housewife who read celebrity gossip magazines every day with an aching in her heart caused by the knowledge that she would never ever experience the glamorous lifestyles she was glimpsing. I knew I would be forever condemned to a life of social non-existence and a size 16 dress.

Sounds pretty bleak doesn’t it?

It was bleak, extremely bleak. My husband and I played the happy couple when in the presence of onlookers but I was a corpse inside. Our sex life was dead life I’d counted two orgasms at his hands in the previous 5 years, (but maybe that’s not so bad when intimacy only occurs only twice a year?) I couldn’t remember the last time he had done anything thoughtful, told me I was beautiful or even just said he loved me. If all of that wasn’t enough he also had no less than 6 affairs in the ten years before I finally grew a backbone. So little respect did he have for me that he didn’t even bother to try to cover his tracks and I found out about every last swimsuit model, wannabe actress, and air hostess that was willing to show my husband the kind of wild time I couldn’t. Every time I found out and every time I did he managed to twist things to imply that it was actually my fault that he strayed, perhaps I didn’t listen to him enough, take much of an interest in his business or fulfil any of his kinky fantasies, the particular excuse changed depending on his mood. In my teary, red eyed and emotional stupor I always accepted responsibility and pledged to do whatever it took to make the man in my life happy.

One day he and I were at a cool and trendy wine bar entertaining American businesspeople he was in negotiations with in the hopes of securing a distribution deal for his software company Mermex. Being rather frumpy and somewhat lacking in vibrant sassy confidence I was unsurprisingly disregarded by all present (my husband included) in favour of the far younger and prettier women in our group. Halfway through the night I found myself sitting alone at the bar nursing a half empty glass of Baileys and in honesty; fighting back the tears as I searched my mind frantically for an answer as to just where I’d gone wrong for my life to be this horrible.

It was in that moment that I saw a sight that would forever change my existence. There was a woman dancing on the dance floor who was unlike anything I’d ever before seen; five foot 7 inches tall in seductive grey 3 inch Jimmy Choo pumps, semi opaque striped stockings, and a tight light grey dress that accentuated her curvaceous A-list figure and exposed a tantalising amount of her ample cleavage. She had beautiful caramel coloured Mediterranean skin, shoulder length jet black hair and piercing green eyes that simply oozed sensuality. Everyone watched her as she danced rhythmically in perfect knowledge of the attention she was commanding yet somehow in complete comfort with it. A young, attractive, Armani suit wearing businessman approached her from behind and asked to dance. I watched in wonder as she grabbed him and began to grind her beautiful peach shaped ass against his crotch to the rnb music. My eyes widened as I saw the effect she was having on him. He was putty in her hands, eyes closed with pleasure, his arms holding her tightly against him as she tilted her head back and smiled seductively.

I felt myself begin to moisten as I imagined the seductive power she was having over his cock, teasing it to erection with her perfect body and rubbing its granite like hardness against his own thigh with her gorgeous butt.

I imagined how stiff he must have felt to her between the thin fabric of his trousers and the more slender fabric of her satin dress. My breathing began to heighten and beads of sweat ran down kütahya escort my chest as I imagined how horny they both were. Could she make him cum if she wanted? Was he going to cum right there on the dance floor? Was she deliberately keeping him in a state of suspended lust? How exactly would that feel, for him and for her? Just how much physical pleasure was her own deep sexual power bringing her?

There I was, a boring and dingy little housewife, dressed head to toe in lacklustre black, wearing baggy trousers and comfortable shoes being inadvertently schooled in the art of being a confident sexual siren by the goddess on the dance floor.

In all my life I had never been that kind of woman, the kind of woman who was sexy, and desired by all. The kind of woman who knew exactly what she wanted and went for it with complete confidence in her abilities. The kind of woman who could make an attractive and successful man who clearly was no stranger to the opposite sex weak with lust just by dancing with him.

At that moment in that bar with that cunt of a husband only 3 feet away doing his best to charm the thong off that blonde haired 21 year old glamour model; that’s exactly who I decided to become.

I had to change; it was a must, not a should.

Over the next year I spent at least one hour a day training rabidly in the gym. I became completely focussed on the goal of shedding the chrysalis of my middle aged looking, pear shaped, stretch mark and love handled figure and emerging with the butterfly of physical perfection.

I exercised in secret while my husband was at work, using his credit cards to pay personal trainers and gym memberships. The change was slow at first and to be honest I often thought about giving up in the early days but I kept at it and sure enough; after a couple months of perseverance my body began to noticeably change. My saggy and unshapely thighs were becoming toned and sexy as my breasts now taut and firm, I discovered curves I had never before known as well as a confidence that I used to think was reserved for people who were my superior. It was at this point that my husband began to notice the change in me.

Did he encourage me to continue? Hell no. Did he say he was proud of my progress? Not even once. What he did do is put me down at every single conceivable opportunity.

He began to berate me and undermine my progress, telling me that I was nothing special and was wasting my time trying to be anything else. He said that I didn’t have the mental discipline to work out, that I didn’t deserve to be sexy. He also said that I’d eventually lose heart and go back to the frumpy submissive figure we both knew all too well.

To say it intimidated him is probably the greatest understatement a person can ever utter.

I kept on regardless, somehow spurned on by his words and over the next 6 months my intense cardio workouts, high protein low carb diet and regular beauty treatments had completely realised my dreams. Men were now looking at me with both intense attraction and intimidation when eye contact was made and I could sense women were now beginning to feel very threatened by my sexy, curvaceous and toned figure. To my amazement; by the end of the year my life had completely changed and I was a totally different person both mentally as well as physically. A year of high intensity workouts had given me a mental discipline and self confidence in my abilities that I’d never possessed before, I felt able to take on the world!

By that point the strains that were already in place on my marriage were now starting to reach breaking point. It was obvious how much more attracted to me my husband was but what was even clearer was that he just wasn’t man enough to handle it.

Here’s a prime example, on one of our admittedly rare moments of intimacy I quite easily overpowered him in the middle of a light hearted play fight. The look of complete fear and emasculation in his eyes as he felt himself pinned down against the beige carpet by my new hard and toned sexy figure spoke volumes. The growth in his crotch I felt swelling against my knee spoke more than words ever could. The balance of power was beginning to shift in our relationship and he wasn’t able to handle it, no scratch that, he hated it. What he also hated was the knowledge that he had never been more attracted to me in all the time he’d known me than he was in that moment. His pride told him this was wrong, that he shouldn’t lose power to me, that he had to “be the man” at all costs but his body urged him to surrender to me, to give in to my feminine power.

These two conflicting armies waged a civil war throughout his mind and body that left him in a completely deserved state of emotional turmoil.

Our arguments grew in ferocity, what little intimacy we did have before all but vaporized and I began to realise just how small of a man he really was. He couldn’t handle me physically or emotionally and quite simply wasn’t manisa escort good enough for me. I knew I could, should and deserved to do better and found myself beginning to fantasize about many of the men I saw on the street. Where they “real men”? Would they be able handle a strong, passionate woman like myself and lead me on a journey of unrivalled passion that would forever blow out the cobwebs of my failed, dull and lifeless marriage?

One day I was walking home from the bus stop after a late night shopping spree at Harrods when I noticed a large fat ginger haired man in a dirty and oil stained lime green tracksuit following me close behind. Fear began to crawl deep within my gut as he matched my route perfectly for ten whole minutes and followed me from the relatively bright main roads to the more desolate and dimly lit housing estates. I sped up my pace to avoid him, he followed suit and my brisk walking soon tuned into a panicked run.

“Come here ya fucking slut! Lemme talk to ya!”

He screamed with a raspy growl that sent shivers throughout my body. I dropped my shopping bags and expensive high heels and ran in my nylons to evade him but I wasn’t nearly fast enough. He grabbed me in a dark alley and pinned me down against the course, rocky ground. With tears in my eyes I kicked and screamed with all my strength but couldn’t break free. I could smell the stale beer and cigarettes on his breath as he grunted into my face and felt the wet dripping sweat on his fingers as he grabbed my breasts with his meaty fingers. The rough gravel on the ground began to lacerate my stockings and cut the skin on my hands. It was hell. I closed my eyes and prayed a silent prayer for Jesus, Allah and Buddha to kill me right there so I wouldn’t have to endure whatever this monster was going to do! That was when I felt and heard a sharp and sickening thud.

I opened my eyes and my would be rapist was now laying next to me unconscious with his own phlegm streaming down his chinless chin. I saw standing above me a tall, handsome and well built man dressed in a black Versace business suit, looking down on me with a concerned expression, I recognised him from the gym, he would often work out with scores of very beautiful women.

“Are you ok miss??”

I continued to shiver and stare into space; he took his jacket off his own back and placed it around my shoulders.

“Miss? Are you ok? Can you hear me?”

I looked up and meekly nodded.

“You’re gonna be fine now miss, ok? He’s out cold, I’m just gonna call the police, then I’ll wait with you until they arrive.”

“No!”

“Excuse me?”

“No police, please I haven’t got the strength all that now, just take me home.”

“Will do.”

The well dressed man helped me to my feet, kicked my would-be rapist hard against the skull twice and draped his strong arm around my shoulders. I could feel his powerful heartbeat reverberate against my ear as I rested my head on his chest.

I called my husband as we walked home only to find that he was less than interested in my personal wellbeing than he was interested in suggesting that I was somehow to blame for this happening! He actually said to me that this is what happens when you become so undeservedly fixated on your looks!

Before he could even finish his sentence I switched my phone off and continued my walk absolutely irate with anger and distraught with grief. It wasn’t the fact that my husband cared so little for my wellbeing that got to me, no I’d made my peace and was long ever that. It was because in that single moment I realised just how I felt about him; I didn’t love him, in fact I hadn’t loved him for years, I hated him. I hated his guts with a passion that would make Adolf Hitler look like a bleeding heart liberal. All those years I spent breaking my back to be a good wife to him were completely wasted! And I wanted revenge, no I craved it, I demanded it! Something had to be done to pay back that heartless fuck of a man, to let him know a glimpse of the kind of pain I had felt over the past 10 years, to give him but the smallest insight into the emotional turmoil I’d been put through at his hands.

Things between us were going to change, it was a must, not a should!

As I looked into the strong, chocolate toned jaw line of the man who had saved me a devious plan came to mind.

“Your husband sounds like a complete dick.”

“He is.”

“He doesn’t seem to respect or care much for you.”

“I guess not.”

“So why the hell are you still with him?”

“I looked into the deep brown eyes of this man as they bored into my own with a knowing smile.

“I don’t know.”

I held his hand tightly as we walked down the street.

When we finally got to my front door the well dressed and muscular ebony toned man looked me in the eyes and smirked with a gaze that oozed confidence and sincerity.

“I guess this is where we part company.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“You’re mardin escort home and safe now, there’s nothing more to worry about.”

I looked up into the steely resolve of his deep, dark, chocolate eyes and felt myself begin to melt. As if he sensed this he asked me.

“When does your husband get back?”

“In about an hour.”

“You sure you want me to come in?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I’m sure you can take him.”

There was something powerful and captivating about this man that made my pulse quicken and my nipples grow erect. I could feel the ice cold wind of the winter night sky blowing against my neck but I felt the heat of a thousand raging suns burning beneath my skin. He took my keys from my hand, unlocked then opened my front door. As I walked past him he placed his smooth chocolate hand on the small of my back and guided me inside.

It was electrifying.

Inside it all exploded. He pushed me against the wall and held my arms over my head with his left hand as he licked my neck with his tongue and ran his right hand over my left thigh. I wrapped my leg around his waist and heard him grunt as I dug the heel of my Manolo pump into his firm calf muscle. I could feel his swelling, bulbous dick trapped against the inside of my thigh, but I wanted to feel it in my hands, I wanted to taste it in my mouth, I wanted to feel the thick, twitching, veiny mass of his shaft stretch my pussy and fuck me like the slut I was.

He continued to ravish me against the wall before lifting me up and carrying me to the bottom of the stairs. He slipped off my pumps and ran his tongue from the sole of my nylon foot along my quivering leg, underneath my skirt and made me shudder as he teased the tip of my clit through my thong. Then he grabbed my left foot and ripped the socking around it and worshipped it with his tongue. I took my now bare left foot and pressed it against his face as I grinded his thick 10 inch member through his trousers with my nyloned right.

I stood up, took off my jacket and pulled him into the living room. He threw me down on the couch, and began to slowly remove his clothes in front me. The suspense was all too much for me; I leapt to my feet and ripped his clothes off him, trousers, shoes, socks, shirt, tie, and jacket, everything. I felt him pressed next to me. His ripped bare physique and huge cock stretching his tight red boxer shorts. I pulled him down onto the couch and kissed him passionately. I slipped my hands under his silk boxers, felt his butt and dug my nails into the flesh. As our two bodies writhed against each other before I was in heaven. This chocolate god was bringing me to levels of ecstasy I’d never known before! Never in all the time I’d spent with my husband had he ever made me so horny. This man pulled down my skirt and ripped off my blouse and bra, he licked and bit every region on my bare sweaty body for what felt like blissful eternity, my neck, my shoulders my ear lobes, my toes, my arches, my knees, my inner thighs, my butt, my lips, my breasts. I was delirious with pleasure. I began to moan and rub my fingers in small circles over my aching nipples.

“Not yet!” He grunted as he pulled my hands back above my head and resumed his delightful sexual torture. I was going crazy! I wanted him to suck on my nipples, to lick them; hell just to even touch them but this guy seemed to take pleasure in not giving me what he knew I wanted! “How long can he keep this up?! ” I screamed to myself. “When is he going to fuck me?! Why won’t he fuck me!?”

Yet again as if he read my mind this black god took his thick tool and began to rub it against my damp pussy through my thong panties. From the tip of my clit down past my labia to the space between my pussy and ass, the intense, throbbing energy I felt building within me was absolutely incredible! When I said that my husband would be back in an hour I lied through my teeth, half an hour would have been closer to the truth and that was at least 25 minutes ago! I knew he’d be walking through the living room door at any moment now and this fear of being caught in the act heightened the emotion of the event to unbearable levels. I felt my body relax from head to toe in sheer pleasure as shockwaves of arousal made my legs shudder! I started to moan incoherently as I felt a raging orgasm building within me! With a skill and grace that defied his muscular physique this man used one hand to rub my swollen nipples while he teased every inch of my soaking pussy with his stiff cock!

“Keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing…”

I panted breathlessly as I felt my stimulation reach unbearable heights.

“You like this don’t you?!”

“IloveitIloveit…”

“You’re gonna cum for me aren’t you?!”

“Yeaahimgonnacum…”

“Do it then, come right now, come for me baby, come for me!”

And that was all it took. The surge that had been growing inside me began to burst in the form of the most powerful orgasm any woman anywhere has EVER experienced! I felt like a drop of liquid spreading out at light speed in all directions for eternity, my body convulsed and spasmed, my toes curled and my fingers gripped the couch with a power I didn’t think was possible for a woman to possess as I experienced what was also the longest orgasm in human history.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32