Author: I_am_a_slutty_bitch

Getting Raped is My Fantasy (FICTION)

My biggest fantasy is to be raped. I’m ashamed to say that because it’s not something a woman should *admit*.

My reluctance to say it out loud stems from a conversation I had once with a friend’s boyfriend in a pub. We were chatting about fantasises (you know the type, sex in public, Britney Spears in *that* school uniform) when he suddenly announced that it was every woman’s fantasy to be raped.

I thought it was the most misogynistic thing I’d ever heard because at that time, I saw rape as a woman being forced at knifepoint to have sex with a stranger in a dark alleyway somewhere. So why would any woman in her right mind want to endure that humiliation? No woman *wants* to be hurt and degraded like that.

But his words stayed with me and I was determined to prove him wrong in every relationship I had after that.

Every man I have been with knows that I’m no victim. I’m in control of all aspects of my life and I certainly don’t let anyone dictate to me what I should do: everything is done *my* way, especially sex. Read more »

Loving Mom

“Beverly, Beverly, what has happened to you?”

I was walking past the downstairs bathroom when I heard those words. The door was open a few inches, and I could see my mother’s reflection in the mirror when I looked inside. I wasn’t trying to peep, but it happened that way.

Mom was wearing a tight sports bra and nylon shorts—workout clothes—that she spent more time wearing than working out in. The bra supported her large breasts without hiding her cleavage, and it left her abdomen bare down to her waistline. Mom wasn’t heavy, but for the last few years she was picking up a pound here, and a pound there and they weren’t going away.

The extra weight was evident in some of the clothes she wore, like her shorts. I noticed they fit tighter than they had a year ago, and I saw the way the fabric dug into the cleft between her thighs. I wouldn’t have been aware of this if Dad hadn’t pointed it out one night as a joke, but now my mother’s thick, meaty camel toe was something to look forward to during her “workout” time. Read more »

Poker-Night Orgy

I should have known better. Of course I should. I knew how much my husband’s poker nights meant to him, and how competitive they had become. I don’t mean the cards though. Sure, they all wanted to win, but after ten years or more of the boys playing against each other, the edge had gone. Rob enjoyed victory at the card table, as did his mates, but some nights they won and some they lost. They never bet what they couldn’t afford to lose – on the cards, at least.

About a year ago, so Rob told me, the poker itself had started getting a little stale and the gang were looking for ways to spice things up a bit. For a few months they got competitive over who could put on the best spread. One month they would be at Chris’ house and he got in some speciality beers instead of the usual cans of Carling. A few weeks later at Jim’s place they were treated to a sushi buffet. They came to our home and Rob got champagne. Read more »

Anxious Homemakers: Part 2

Monday. 10:45 a.m. Claire Willis and Rachel McGilll were having coffee as usual in Claire’s dining room. Claire was telling Rachel about how a neighbor’s exclusive handbag was actually a cheap knockoff.

As Claire explained, “So she says, I bet it was $10,000. And I say I bet she didn’t spend ten bucks. And she says, no way,and I say, way. And she says, how can you tell? And I say, you can totally tell by the stitching. And…”

Rachel’s cellphone interrupted Claire’s story.

“Sorry.” Rachel said with a sheepish smile. Claire frowned and sipped her coffee while Rachel checked the caller’s number.

“Sorry got to go.” Rachel declared abruptly.

“Hey!” Claire objected but Rachel was out the door in an instant.

“She’s been acting real crazy recently.” Claire mused as she went to her front window to see where Rachel was going. She went into Dr. Don’s house across the street.

“Oh that ho!” Claire laughed. “I’ll surprise her and the doc when they’re getting it on. Let me time this right. Five minutes chit chat. Two minutes to strip. Ten minutes for foreplay. Strike that. The doc has got to be a slow mover—15 minutes for foreplay. So I’ll give them roughly 30 minutes and start banging on the door. That will scare them totally shitless.” Read more »

Anxious Housewives: Part 1

Claire Willis and Rachel McGill did not have much in common. Claire was a trophy wife; Rachel had married her college sweetheart. Claire was outgoing and gregarious. Rachel was the shy and reserved type. Claire liked expensive clothes; Rachel mostly wore t-shirt and jeans except when she was going out on the town. Despite these differences, they shared one important thing in common. They were trapped in a seemingly never-ending cycle of domestic routine. They got up, made breakfast, exercised, showered, had lunch, volunteered at a local charity, made dinner, had dinner, watched TV and went to bed. They did the same things day after day. If their husbands were home, they were worked into the routine. Since their husbands were rich high-powered businessmen, they often weren’t around and Claire and Rachel’s routine, more often than not, stayed the same.

Since Claire and Rachel did mostly the same things, they came to be friends and commiserated over their mundane existences and their frustration with those mundane existences. This commiseration usually took place over coffee about 10:30 am.

It was this frustration over their boredom that one day caused Claire to make a stunning declaration over this coffee. Read more »

[F]Loving Mom

“Beverly, Beverly, what has happened to you?”

I was walking past the downstairs bathroom when I heard those words. The door was open a few inches, and I could see my mother’s reflection in the mirror when I looked inside. I wasn’t trying to peep, but it happened that way.

Mom was wearing a tight sports bra and nylon shorts—workout clothes—that she spent more time wearing than working out in. The bra supported her large breasts without hiding her cleavage, and it left her abdomen bare down to her waistline. Mom wasn’t heavy, but for the last few years she was picking up a pound here, and a pound there and they weren’t going away.

The extra weight was evident in some of the clothes she wore, like her shorts. I noticed they fit tighter than they had a year ago, and I saw the way the fabric dug into the cleft between her thighs. I wouldn’t have been aware of this if Dad hadn’t pointed it out one night as a joke, but now my mother’s thick, meaty camel toe was something to look forward to during her “workout” time. Read more »

I am a Slut and I can’t help it

I’ve done every slutty thing you can imagine, I’ll try to remember and arrange them from my youngest moment up till the present:

* I had my first sex in the living room, which is just beside my parent’s room.
* Had the first blow job, and second sex again in the living room.
* Purposely went to his room for sex the following day, and it became a routine for almost half a year.
* Dances in the middle of the college class while taking off my shirt and would probably take off my bra and everything else if the teacher doesn’t intervene.
* Let my friends touch my breast in the college classroom while half of the class is present.
* Allows my guy friends to take off my bra and play with my breast during school hours. (Lunch break.)
* Had guys sucking on my breast during PE lessons, they purposely left their saliva on my chest area others to see (my clothes are wet).
* Sex in the bathroom is normal. I even had a threesome in the bathroom.
* Gave my panties for “free” to 2 guys.
* Sent sexy pictures of me to my friends on the intention of wanting them to masturbate on my picture.
* I had sex with probably half of the boys in my college
* Purposely wore “semen” stained skirt to college just to show off of my achievements.
* more on [I am a slut](https://thebestsexstories101.blogspot.com/2019/10/i-am-slut-and-i-cant-help-it.html)

[Group] I Fuckmeat

 “Sharon?” he says when I pick up the phone. He always asks first, just in case it’s a secretary or, God forbid, my husband answering my mobile.

 My tummy flips when I hear his voice. Heat rushes south and my vulva immediately begins to juice.

 “Speaking,” I reply, barely able to utter the word because my throat is suddenly clogged with the sexual yearning rising inside me.

 “Fuckmeat,” he says, the gross obscenity followed by a number.

 The former is the trigger, the code that means I’ll be setting aside my carefully constructed persona as a well-respected, high-flying political executive for the evening ahead. Instead, I’ll make my way to some seedy location – the sites he chooses are always run-down places like abandoned warehouses due for demolition, sleazy, despicable buildings perfect for the corruption that takes place.

 The latter is the number of men I can expect to find waiting for me. That afternoon he murmurs the number I’m going to take is fourteen.

 Fuckmeat 14. Read more »

My Sex Story On My dear Son’s Lap A Mother Son Sex Story

It was August. We spent the morning packing the car. Our son, Mike was leaving for college. It was morning but already it was 90 degrees outside. Mike and husband, and I were getting pretty sweaty loading up the car. The trunk was already full and the back seat wouldn’t fit much more. Mike went back in the house to get the last of his things.

I heard him come out of the house. I turned around and saw him carrying his 42 inch flat screen TV.

“Where are you going to put the TV?” I heard his father ask.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to leave it. Maybe we can move some stuff around in the back seat.”

I looked in the back seat. “I don’t think so, son.” Mike looked in the car. “We can put it in the middle of the front seat.”

“Ok, college man,” I said. “Then where is your mom going to sit?” Read more »

Sister’s Home Movies

“Hi Geek!” Maryanne’s voice came through the speakerphone, using the nickname that she had affectionately called me for years. “I’m having trouble e-mailing a video file.”

“That’s because of the blonde filter on your computer,” I teased, using a running joke between me and my older sister.

“Blondes have more fun and geeks don’t have a social life,” she said, which was her standard reply to any blonde joke. I don’t mind the nickname. After all, I was a serious computer gamer and, yeah, I guess, I was a geek.

“The only reason blondes have more fun is because they are more easily amused,” I answered. “I’d rather be a geek.” Actually, I’d rather be a jock, but that’s never going to happen.

“Yeah, but geeks don’t get laid,” she teased with unintended accuracy, and I changed the subject.

“What do you need to e-mail?” I asked.

“How come it says the file is too large?” she responded, ignoring my question.

“Because your ISP has restrictions on how big an e-mail file can be,” I answered, wondering how a former cheerleader-turned-high school English teacher gets by without knowing basic stuff like this. Every eighteen-year-old high school student like me knows how to e-mail video files. “Do you want me to come over and condense the file for you?” I offered. Read more »