Becoming A Slut 

As I left the customs agent on my return from Italy I headed for the
main corridor where I knew that my husband Joe was waiting. I began to
feel the impact of how that trip had changed my life. My position as an
art gallery consultant had given me the opportunity to tour many
regions of Italy to better understand how art evolved from Italian
artists but what I didn't expect to happen was to become educated in
the art of Italian romance. I was about to meet my husband for the
first time after I had given myself sexualy to another man, even though
I had done so with his blessing. Joe had began making indirect
suggestions to me having "fun" in Italy weeks before I had left, and on
the day I left him at the airport traveling to Italy he had told me
that I had his permission to have an "affair" and set myself free.
Still unable to grasp the idea of the act, I had stopped short with
only fleeting thoughts of any adultress action even when abroad until
my husband suggested it to me. Then through e-mail Joe opened the door
and pushed me forward into a romantic interlude with a hunk of an
Italian, a photographer named Fabio. Even after I had became a mistress
to another man I could not bring myself to admit to the act to Joe
until he again through e-mail pulled out my confession. Only then did I
e-mail to him how and where it had happened and how well I was
satisfied by my Itallion Stallion, and yet still he affirmed me that
everything was fine. So here I was about to meet my spouse, the man I
had sworn covenant to, and this meeting a held fear, partly ashamed of
my actions that he knew about, and even more that had happened in the
days following the affair that he did not know about.

I spotted him immediately in the crowd, he is a big man, an 48 year old
overgrown puppy really, and with the extra baggage around his middle
and his boyish grin I was unable to do anything but smile back. He
hugged me and I held him tight not wanting to really look him in he
eyes, but when I did all that he said was, "Welcome back, I missed
you". The drive home seemed long, he asked me about the Itallian art
and the sites of Rome but seemed to avoid conversation of my love
affair, this made me feel more comfortable, but yet nervous at the same
time. At home I was completely exhausted and jet-lagged to where all
that I needed was to sleep in my own bed. I napped until about six in
the evening and got up to find him watching a baseball game, where I
snuggled next to him and remained half conscious. After about five
minutes he clicked off the TV and began kissing me behind the ear and
on the neck where he knew softned me like butter, I responed
submssively and willingly. We made love on the couch, much the same as
always, me on my back holding off his weight as he put in his thirty
strokes and spurted his semen into my pussy which was only beginning to
feel good. He took off his white t-shirt and let me wipe up the juices,
each time I rubbed my clit, my pussy itched for more. As he left for
the bathroom I allowed myself the pleasure of a quick hand job and a
small but sufficient orgasm. This was all too well back to the norm for
our love life, as many nights I had waited for him to fall asleep after
he finished, usually about two minutes, so I could finish myself off.
This evening he came back from the bathroom in his shorts and a fresh
shirt, he sat opposite me on the couch turning the ball game back on. I
quickly fell asleep laying naked on the couch and not really caring at
that point about anything but recovery from the trans-atlantic flight.

I was awakened later by Joe with his head between my legs and his
toungue in my pussy, the ball game was over and the light of the muted
TV dimly lit the room. Almost surrealisticly because of my stupor I
realized what he was doing and allowed him to continue, never in our
twenty-seven years of marriage had he licked my pussy, tonight he
sucked what was left of his own sperm from me. The sensations I was
experiencing took my mind back to Italy and the toungue lashing that
Fabio had given me only to push me to a quick and powerful orgasm that
Joe had never witnessed.

"My aren't we a bit wild", he responded looking at me from my crotch.

I grabbed his hair and pushed his face back to my pussy where again I
exploded into another satisfying orgasm. This time he crawled up to
kiss my and I pushed him away and let him lick and suck my knockers,
again my mind drifted back to Fabio. I remembered allowing Fabio to
kiss me after he had licked my pussy, my scent on his beard, my taste
on his lips and how it didn't matter. I remember also sucking my pussy
and cum juices from his cock as soon as he finished with me. With that
memory turning me completely on I pulled Joe back up to me and kissed
him with passion, sucking my pussy juices from his face, and sucking on
his toungue. I soon crawled to the carpet and on all fours I stuck my
ass in the air towards him, never before had I spoken such words to him
during sex.

I turned to my husband, "Fuck me Joey, Fuck me hard with your meat".

In no time he was on the floor behind me with his shorts at his ankles,
his six inches of pride was as hard as it has maybe ever been.

"Damn Cyn, you're sure a horny bitch", as he shoved his dick in my wet
hole.

"Fuck my pussy Joey, Fuck this slutty little bitch", I pushed back
against his dick.

With wild abandon my husband was fucking me with a fervor that I had
never known and I was matching his every stroke, again my mind went to
Italy and I imagined Fabio fucking me with his big Itallian sausage.
Never had Joe and I talked this way during sex, but with Fabio I had
constantly screamed for him to fuck me harder, and now Joe was drawn
into the game.

"Yes, you like cock don't you, you horny little slut", although I heard
Fabio talking instead of my husband Joe. I was imagining Fabio was
fucking me also.

"Harder, Fuck Me Harder, Fuck My Slut Hole", I was nearing another
exciting orgasm.

"Take it bitch, take it you worthless fucking tramp", Joe was pounding
me with every stroke, "You're just a cheap fucking slut, a no good
fucking whore".

Looking back I wondered if my husband was venting frustration he may
have felt for allowing me to cheat on him, or if he just enjoyed the
idea of his wife as a slut. At the time all that I remember was that I
liked every word, every name that he called me. Just as I had done with
Fabio during that week in Italy as soon as Joe filled me with his spunk
I spun around and sucked the mixture of pussy and cum off of his spent
dick. I had truly become a slut and I liked the idea.