Just Another Old Slut

by

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Reluctant, Drunk/Drugged, Humor, Cheating, Cuckold, .

Desc: Sex Story: A pre-cheating wives story

Author's note: Over the past roughly 6 months I really appreciate all of you for allowing me the outlet you provide by reading my stories, and for your feedback. Last week some of you (about a quarter) took strong offense to the "over the top" violence in Curiosity. Some of you didn't realize that no one actually died, but I get the point, it was a bit much. Last fall about the time that I wrote National Security, I was in a similar mood, and put out 3 stories in a row where people actually died. You let me know then too, that I was pushing it. On the other hand a large number of you also hate "wimp" stories. Where the husband either does nothing or participates in his wife's cheating. I guess I have to find the happy medium. Which brings me to today. I've decided to back off on the heavy drama (for this piece) and do something lighter, shorter and a bit more fun. It's a bit more like something you might see from JPB, or Ohio, or DG although I don't have half of the talent that those guys do. I did completely finish the story, but I also left a bit of room for interpretation as to what happens next. If someone wants to tell us what did happen next, feel free to do so. I promise that no one in this story will be seriously hurt (physically), and no one actually even gets their ass kicked ... except for one guy, and he really deserved it. So thanks to everyone who's read even one of my stories. And especially, those of you who took the time out to comment in any way.

I knew it was her as soon as she walked into the restaurant in the lobby of her husband's building. She was tall thin and pretty. She was this year's model without a doubt. One of those Anne Hathaway/Katy Perry type women that look like they're English, but aren't.

Whatever happened to girls like I was? Have we gone out of style? There's no way you can tell me that a man would prefer one of those thin, whiney, needy, fembot like girls to a full bodied, bit titted, fat assed blonde. If that's the case, I'm glad I'll be too old to care soon. Anyway the game was on.

She sat down at a table, and looked down at her watch. Within moments she was joined by a guy in a cheap suit. This guy was not impressive at all. He was of middling height, neither skinny or fat, nothing about him stood out in any way. He appeared to be merely one of those bean counters that no one ever notices. You know the type they have nice little cubicles and they look out for this account or that one, but they really don't matter much in the grand scheme of things. They don't handle the heavy lifting in either business or life. They only keep an accounting of what someone else has designed, or built, or stolen.

From the instant that he sat down across from her, I watched her eyes light up. This was the most excitement she'd have in her entire day. She really didn't understand what was going on here at all. Poor stupid little fembot, I was almost sorry for her. And the bean counter had no idea how close his feet already were to the fire.

He regaled her with his witty conversation. She tittered and giggled endlessly. They were having such a good time. I'd realized instantly, when I saw the look in her eyes, that I was almost too late.

It's said that a woman knows within 10 seconds of meeting a man, whether or not she's going to fuck him. The look in this fembot's eyes said "Maybe not today, but her pussy could possibly be had by this grunt."

It was obvious that I had my work cut out for me. My name is Sally. Sally Ryde and I work for an investigative firm, here in sunny California. I'm not exactly an investigator or a detective of any kind. What I technically am is a decoy, but what I really am is a slut.

It's okay, I'm not offended. In fact I'm proud of the title. I've worked very hard to earn it, and had a lot of fun doing it too. I've had a very good life and will probably be retiring soon. In this case, the job I'm doing isn't exactly for the firm. It's kind of a favor for an old friend; that will also benefit me.

As I mentioned before, I'm the old model of slut. I have long blond hair, big blue eyes, big tits, a fantastic ass, and a walk that no man used to be able to resist. I say used to because though I don't look it, I'm 62 years old.

Okay, close your mouth, you're letting all of the flies out. My hair is Clairol's Ice Blonde number 8. My tits are implants, and my ass comes from daily, one hour stair-master sessions. We'll talk about my assets more later on, but for now just suffice it to say that I'm still hot and not just for my age. I have absolutely no doubt that if you and I were in the same room, you'd want to fuck me.

Besides I could look like a wrinkled up corpse and still be able to do my job. If they think that no one will know about it, most guys will fuck anything on 2 legs, with a hole in it. How do you really think all of those 350 lb. women on Jerry Springer ended up pregnant?

Most sluts, the good ones anyway, have this pheromone thing going for us. Most guys can smell it and just know that they aren't going to have to put out any money or any effort whatsoever. They know that they can pretty much just walk up, push us over and get that pussy. No strings attached, no bullshit or guilt trips after it's over, and a return visit any time you'd like. Try getting that kind of service from one of the Anne Hathaway types.

So even at my advanced age, I have no trouble pulling in men. As I sat down at a table near my target and her beau, I silently put out the call. Within moments I have a bean counter of my own at my table, then another, and another guy from outside. All I have to do is glance their way, and they just know that they can get some.

As my entourage and I got up to leave, I casually mentioned to my target that her makeup could use a light touch up.

By the time she entered the nearest ladies room she found me in just the position I wanted her to find me in. I was bent over, with one guy under me thrusting himself into my pussy and his friend was sticking it up my ass, while I blew the third guy. As we made eye contact briefly, I made sure to smile, while noting the fembot's outright shock, if not disgust that someone of my age would be engaged in such behavior in a public restroom. If only she knew.

As soon as she left, I finished the guys off and sent them on their way before fixing my own makeup and hair. I do need to keep up my appearance in public, since I am after all a professional.

As I returned to my table, I ordered a drink and looked at the menu. My target no longer laughed at her beau's silly jokes, and in fact she seemed to be deep in thought. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed a number. Less than 2 minutes after I put my phone away her boyfriend got a call on his. He excused himself, looking really red in the face and quickly left. It was time for me to strike.

"Don't be shocked, sweetie," I said to her. "We are after all the same. We're just at different spots on the same road."

"I quite doubt that," she said.

"Damn," I thought. "The bitch even sounds English." There must be a school out there teaching certain skinny assed American girls how to act like they're English. I had to find the place and burn it down.

Not that I have anything against the English, but I just hate anything that's fake. It's kind of a joke, like Madonna. That bitch grew up in Michigan, just outside of Detroit. Now she sounds like the fucking Duchess of Windsor. Who the hell does she think she's fooling?

"Okay honey," I said. "Whatever you say; but before you go jumping to conclusions, let's talk for a moment." She came over and sat down across from me.

"You're married, right? But obviously not to that idiot that just left here." I said.

"How did you know that?" she asked.

"Looking at his clothes and jewelry, I could tell that he couldn't afford to even buy you the shoes you're wearing. Those Donnie Noh pumps you have on, cost at least Fifteen hundred dollars a pair. Your wedding rings probably cost more than that schmuck makes in 2 years. His ring finger has a fresh tan line on it. That means that he just took off his wedding ring, to hide the fact that he's married. If he was married to you, he'd have no reason to hide it."

"Your husband, from the things he buys you, probably loves you very much. Judging from your expression, I'm sensing that even though he loves you, and you know that he loves you, he's spending a little bit more time at work than you'd like. You're feeling trapped and lonely and bored. Am I right?" she nodded her head and looked at me strangely.

"The bean counting cheater comes along and starts giving you compliments, and telling you how pretty you are and all of that shit. Every time you see him, he spends more time with you, so by now it's become a little bit of a pattern. No one has noticed it yet, but you're starting to come here more often. You're starting to engineer opportunities to see him and get your fill of attention. Tell the truth. Am I right?" The girl nervously nodded her head.

"Told ya," I said. "We are the same, because that's how it starts. Very soon you're going to be just like me. Maybe it'll take you a few more years, but maybe a few less. You never know. Let me tell you a story, okay, uhm..."

"Renee," she supplied. Pay dirt, Renee Colter was my intended target. I'd been sure from the beginning, but there were so many of these silly little cows out there that you could never be sure.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Reluctant / Drunk/Drugged / Humor / Cheating / Cuckold /