A Slut Called Linda

I opened the bathroom door of the hotel room just enough to see four young black men taking off their clothes. They were acting like typical college boys, joking and smiling, and kidding each other about this or that. Two of them were built like football players, one looked like a runner, and another like a nerdy kid right out of high school.

The one I couldn't see - Terry - was both tall and muscular. We'd had intense sex before, but it had been months ago. He was good. Good enough for my friend, Jean, to have invited him to her home at least a dozen weekends since then. Good enough for a few hours of incredible fucking over the past few weeks with me.

"Linda, could you look any hotter?" I asked myself as I looked in the huge mirror.

Just shy of 38 years old, I thought I had the body of a 28 year-old, and used it like it was the body of an 18 year-old. I never had kids, never had big boobs, but I always stayed in great shape. I wasn't particularly beautiful. I knew it, despite my mother telling me otherwise. Even my husband admitted my face was pretty, but it wasn't necessarily my best feature. I have an Eastern European round face, small nose, and thin lips. A little bit of make-up, though, went a long way.

And a tan helped, tremendously. Over the past few months, I spent a little more time at the pool, and a few sessions at the tanning salon to give myself the smallest of tan lines and white triangles over all the right areas. I actually preferred the all-over tan - especially on men - but Michael and Terry said the tan line look would really make my nipples and pussy stand out.

They were right.

My hair was thick and dark blonde - at least it was on this day - and naturally curly. I kept the length just below the shoulders, but I'd been putting it in a ponytail more frequently, lately. A natural brunette, I tried to add highlights and ended up more blonde than brunette. Jean and Terry liked it, but Michael asked me to let it grow out longer - to the small of my back - and eventually, back to its natural color.

I promised I would.

My arms and hands were pretty. Maybe even elegant. My shoulders were strong, but not noticeably muscular.

My tits... well, they were there, technically. They looked good, but they weren't very big. I had thought about getting a boob job, but I'd seen the less-than-perfect results on other women, and decided that while small, my tits were otherwise perfectly manageable. When I went for a tattoo several months ago, I couldn't decide on which artwork to choose, so I had my nipples pierced, instead. The jewelry was just what they needed, and seemed to always keep my nipples hard, making them stand out even farther from my small areolas no matter what I wore.

My waist was small, with a flat tummy. Thanks, mom.

My hips and butt might have looked too big in comparison to my waist, but I think it was just an optical illusion. At least, that's what I told myself. Marjorie - one of Jean's friends - said my ass was hypnotic. I thought she was just kidding, until I felt her tongue up my butt.

Marjorie and Jean convinced me to do laser hair removal around my pussy and butt hole, and I opted to have my butt hole bleached as part of the package.

My labia were smooth and tight, which only seemed to make my swollen clit more noticeable. I took a risk getting my clit pierced, but I didn't think it was a big one. The young man doing the piercing said sometimes that sort of piercing had a negative effect, and I might loose some sensitivity there. I explained that I could come without rubbing my clit, as long as the dick in my pussy was big enough and talented enough. I didn't tell him the same went for a dick in my butt. Everything turned out okay, though. Every time I moved, my clit was given a little tease.

My legs and feet were beautiful. I ran and swam in sports in high school, which I mainly did because my mother told me it would teach my body to keep a flat tummy. She was right. It also shaped and toned my legs well enough to turn heads whenever I wore shorts or a short skirt, which I did - and still do - a lot. My feet were probably a little small for my 5' 7" height, but my toes were pretty and always seemed to find their way into someone else's mouth, if not my own.

The black lingerie outfit - Terry's idea - at first, looked and felt out of place on me. It was probably meant for someone with bigger boobs, like my friend, Jean. The half-cups of the lace corset pushed up my tan-lined B-cup tits just enough to be extra noticeable. I thought they stood out well enough on their own, decorated with the gold barbells. But I complied with Terry's wishes, anyway.

The garter belt and stockings looked good on my arguably perfect ass and legs, but they itched in a way that just made me just want to rip them off. Terry said not to bother with panties, so I didn't. That left my pale, hairless pussy and bleached butt hole easily accessible once I stepped out, whenever I decided to step out of the bathroom.

The high heels had been Jean's idea, and she let me borrow hers as we wore the same size.

The temporary tattoo of a black spade with the letter Q on it, just below my belly button - also Terry's idea - left me wondering how temporary it really was. It matched a gold charm on my ankle bracelet, which Terry had given to me a few weeks ago during our first hotel get-together.

"How many times is this?" I asked myself. "Second time this week?"

It should have been the third time this week, but I had to cancel because of a work meeting that ran late. Terry tried to work out another day of the week, but the boys that missed out were only available that day. Well, most of them. Terry seemed to think one or two might show up to this one, too, if I didn't mind.

I didn't.

I leaned over the sink to touch up my lipstick. "Second week this month?"

"Third month?" I said, doing the math.

"Twelve times?"

It always started out the same.

The nervousness.

The butterflies.

The anticipation.

The fear. Yes, there was fear, sometimes. Terry set these meetings up with help from Michael, Jean's son with whom I've had a special relationship. Terry and Michael did their best to assure me that the young men attending our private parties were safe, but I sometimes wondered how well they actually vetted them.

Both Michael and Terry knew I had my tubes tied years ago, so they weren't the slightest bit concerned about getting me pregnant. Plus, I was older. But, I was also still married.

I didn't need to pass on any STDs to my husband, even if he did suspect that I had been having affairs with my coworkers for the past decade.

I had.

I made Ron and Kevin wear condoms whenever I was alternating between office affairs. It was a minor inconvenience when establishing business trip fuck-buddies, and in hindsight, maybe a waste of time.

The feeling of indifferent reservation or inconsequential distrust in my marriage was mutual, as my husband's work had him traveling not just all over the country, but all over the world, and I wouldn't be surprised if he had a girlfriend in every country he frequented.

I liked to think that my husband and I still loved each other on some level. We weren't mean to each other. We were both successful and brought enough money home to have paid off the house early, together. We both had nice cars, although I drove the backup Miata more than the Lexus he bought me on one of our anniversaries. We halfheartedly tried for kids early on, and then just gave up, so we didn't have anything keeping us from getting divorced if we eventually got tired of each other. We still got along, but for the past few years, we hardly ever had sex when he was home. There were times when I actually missed it. Either he was tired from the trip (or from fucking his girlfriend from wherever), or I was tired from a long work week (or, more recently, from fucking a seemingly endless stream of college boys in hotel rooms compliments of Terry and Michael). Not a textbook ideal marriage, but we're happy in our own ways. Still, I never came out and told him how much of a slut I had been behind his back. If he suspected, he never asked.

The first time I experienced this new, arranged, college boy gangbang thing, Michael checked into the hotel with me in the late evening, accompanying me at the front desk to get the room key. He and I had been going to hotel rooms for almost a year by this point - just the two of us - as we developed a close relationship. He was the only son of one of my coworkers, and I had my eye on him for years. I had masturbated to thoughts of being taken by him years ago, waiting for the time he'd consider wanting me. Little did I know, he had the same thoughts about me. Then, one day, the opportunity presented itself, and we both clicked. His mom - my coworker, and now special friend - handled it well enough once she found out. A weekend pool party was the turning point, though. A lot of wild sex. And, a lot of taboo sex. We all have our secrets, now.

I was completely unaware that the room we reserved was not the room we were headed to. Michael had me undress in the elevator.

"I thought we'd try something different, today," Michael said softly, and then kissed me on the lips as he removed his finger from my anus.

He put my long coat and heels - all I had been wearing, anyway - in a department store shopping bag, and made me exit the elevator on a different floor, and then had me walk barefoot, naked, and alone, to a different room down the hall.

He waited near the elevator as I knocked lightly on the door. Once the door opened, he was gone.

Three college boys were waiting for me inside, naked and erect. I recognized them from the pool party months before, but I didn't remember all their names.

They new mine, though.

"Hey, Linda!" they called out in unison. Big, bright smiles on their faces. Beautiful, young, erect cocks.

It was fantastic. They had so much energy, and so much come, I thought I was getting a taste of heaven, even if only for a few hours. When the last of them showered and left, Michael returned to the room with my coat and heels. He let me shower, but instead of taking me home, he took me to the room we rented earlier, and took me in all the ways he liked, and all the ways I loved. He fucked me and made love to me until early morning, and I barely had time to go home, shower, and head to work. My husband was on a business trip, so he was none the wiser. Everything had gone according to plan. I had fun, and nobody got hurt.

That was it. I was hooked. Michael introduced me to something new, and seeing how easy it was, I wanted more.

Michael would call me at work, ask me what my schedule looked like for the afternoon, and when to expect him. He made sure I had access to my special wardrobe. Sometimes I'd wear outfits, like this time, and sometimes I'd wear nothing but heels and a long coat. Sometimes, I'd step out of the car completely naked. It all depended on the situation and what Michael wanted.

When Michael was busy with school, Terry took over. When Terry was busy with school, they just told me where and when to show up, and I went by myself.

The second time, Michael joined in. The sex was incredible.

The third time, Terry joined in. My butt got a workout.

The fourth time, they both joined in. That was fun, and set my expectations even higher.

The fifth time, neither joined in, and I had the awkward experience of being surrounded by five college boys that I knew absolutely nothing about, and nobody to make sure things didn't get out of hand.

It started out awkward, and stayed that way, as for almost three hours, nobody said a word. We had sex, but nobody stood out. They weren't very good, and I had to think about Michael while rubbing my clit just to bring myself to orgasm at least once. I didn't want to crush their egos, though, so I put on the best act I could and pretended they rocked my world.

I told Michael about how it went - or didn't go - and I asked if it was me, or them. He assured me it was them, and that there were still virgins out there. I just needed to learn how to deal with them if I was going to make the best of the experience.

The sixth time doing this, though, I really was worried. The hotel was in a bad part of town, and despite Terry's assurance that my Miata would be okay, I took a taxi from work to the hotel.

After-work drinks aren't uncommon in marketing, so my husband didn't hesitate or ask me to elaborate when I said I would be going out after work. I always found my way back home, somehow, and eventually. Drunk, taxi or Uber, and just before sunrise were nothing new to him. He'd hear all about it from my coworkers at the next barbecue and forget all about it a few months later.

I managed to undress in the taxi, and put my long coat and borrowed heels on - an acquired skill - before reaching the hotel. My skirt, bra, and blouse barely fit in my purse, and my purse barely fit in the long coat pocket, but everything was tucked away neatly by the time we arrived at the hotel.

The taxi driver asked for my "rate," and after a moment of confusion, I just came up with "three hundred" off the top of my head. He was completely justified in thinking I was a whore, even though I wasn't. Whores do it for money. Sluts do it because they like to do it. And, I was a slut. "I AM a slut," I thought, correcting myself.

The taxi driver just nodded, took my forty dollars, handed back a ten and his card, and then told me to call him when I needed to get picked up after whatever it was I was doing there.

The gruff man at the front desk didn't even look up as I walked through the dank lobby to the stairs. Terry warned me that the elevators were out of order, and I was only going up to the third floor. Still, two flights of stairs in heels can be a workout after a long day at the office.

When I reached the room I was told to go to, the numbers were off the door.

"Seriously?" I said under my breath.

I knocked once, expecting to be greeted by drug dealers, thugs, gang members, or human traffickers. Instead, it was three preppy college kids with no idea what they were doing. After the briefest of introductions - they couldn't get their fake names straight, even though I gave them my real name - we kissed, petted, and eventually fucked. None of them were remarkable, and none of them lasted more than five minutes at a time. I still enjoyed them, though, thanks to Michael's advice. I had the feeling Michael and Terry were intentionally bringing inexperienced college boys to the mix because they felt sorry for them. Luckily for me, they were all quick learners, and what they lacked in experience, they made up for with enthusiasm. Sometimes, enthusiasm can be a real turn-on.

My phone died at some point in the evening. I didn't make a point of checking my phone while a nineteen year-old cock was pounding my pussy. Being greeted with a dead phone in this situation is not a good feeling, though. Lesson learned.

When it was finally time to call it a night, I had to beg one of the college boys to call the number on the taxi driver's card. I don't know if I could have sucked his dick any harder.

I didn't have to wait long for the taxi to arrive, and the driver seemed a little disappointed that I was wearing my blouse and skirt under my coat when I got in.

He asked if I wanted to be taken back to where he first picked me up, or somewhere else. I gave him my work address. About five minutes into the drive, he asked if he could stop somewhere along the way, as he had an extra $300 in his pocket. I told him I'd have to see it. He thought I meant the money, and flashed it to me from the front seat.

"Not that, sweetie," I said, trying my best to act like a hooker, however I imagined hookers might act.

He didn't ask about stopping again, and instead, found an unlit section of alley, and parked the taxi. He tossed an unopened 4X condom to me.

"I expect you to put this on me with your mouth before I fuck you," he said. "No hands."

I looked at the packet and felt the ring that formed under the foil. It was as wide as my wrist, or maybe my forearm.

"Now, take your fuckin' clothes off," he said with a smile. "I gotta take a leak, and then I'll be joining you in the back seat... unless you want to get fucked on the hood of the car."

"Whatever you like, baby," I said, feeling a little stupid afterward.

I slipped out of my coat and slowly unbuttoned my blouse. I think he was happy to see I wasn't wearing a bra, and was curious to see if anything else besides my nipples was pierced. When I slid my skirt down, I slowly spread my legs, wondering if he'd see my pierced clit.

He did.

Saying that his dick was big would be an understatement. I couldn't remember the last time I held such an example of manhood.

Thankfully, he didn't smell bad. In fact, he smelled like he recently showered and put on a dash of cologne. I carefully ripped open the packet with my teeth and put the condom in my mouth. I had done this before several times with my husband while we were dating, but those condoms were a lot smaller.

To the taxi driver's surprise, I managed to get the condom over the head and halfway down the shaft.

To my surprise, the condom was completely unrolled.

"Wow," was all I could think to say.

He wasn't much for foreplay, but he didn't need to be. Three fingers in my wet pussy and a swollen clit under his thumb let him know I was turned on and ready for him, and I wasn't pretending. I wasn't sure if it was the three college boys loosening me up, or the fact that I was so wet, but he entered me more easily than I thought he would.

He started slowly, and I watched as my flat tummy bulged with each of his thrusts. I couldn't remember ever seeing that happen before. The worst part, though, was that he felt incredible inside me.

When I came less than ten minutes later, he knew I wasn't acting. Either that, or he thought I was the best actress, ever. He was going to get his money's worth though, even though he hadn't paid me, yet.

He let me calm down from my first orgasm, and then decided fuck me a little harder. It should have hurt, but it didn't. He really knew how to fuck. Or, maybe I had just been with too many college boys that didn't. I came two more times during his hour with me in the back seat of that taxi.

When he was finally ready to come, he pulled off his condom and told me to suck his cock. The look on his face told me coming in my mouth was non-negotiable, and he expected me to swallow.

I did.

I had tasted better come, usually from Michael, but the taxi driver wasn't bad. I could barely get my mouth around the head, and not much of his shaft down my throat, but I absentmindedly tried while swallowing the last of his orgasm. I think that took him by surprise.

"If you keep that up, I'm gonna have to fuck you again," he said with a smile.

"I think I'd like that," I said, pulling his dick from my mouth and gently guiding it to my pussy.

"I don't have another condom," he said, leaning into me.

"Are you clean?" I asked.

"Are you?" the taxi driver asked back.

"Clean enough," I said, sliding the head of his huge cock up and down my slick pussy lips.

"You're not a hooker, are you?" he asked, plunging inside me without waiting for an answer.

"No," I answered, anyway.

"Drugs?" he asked, pushing my legs back and easing more of himself into me.

"No, nothing like that," I gasped as my stomach rose. "Just an under-appreciated housewife making up for lost time."

"Well, what you need is a housewife appreciation fuck," he smiled, and proceeded to fuck me hard enough to test the taxi suspension for the next forty-five minutes. I felt come drunk, and my pussy convulsed around his shaft uncontrollably several more times. I wasn't sure how much more I could take, and wondered if he was actually rearranging my internal organs. I almost asked him to come in my ass to speed things up, but the reality was I liked his cock right where it was.