Chapter 1: Now and Then

Part 1: Now

Hi. My name is Nicola and I am a slut.

Actually, there is a bit more to it than that. My name is Nicola but, ever since I was a child, I have been called Nikki. And yes, people have, and do, call me a slut because I have had sex with many men and quite a few women. But I think I am an exhibitionist first and foremost, and having sex has simply been an important part of my exhibitionism.

Why am I telling you this? Because last week I celebrated my 60th birthday and decided to share my life story with people like you who share the same tastes as me. So, over the next few chapters of my story, I will tell you how I started down this degrading route and how I became the exhibitionist slut presenting herself to you today.

A little about me to start. I was born in 1963 in a small country town in the south of England. And nothing happened for the next 14 years, except I was very happy at home, was good in school and was totally innocent in all “adult” matters. Until the summer of 1977.

Before I go back down memory lane, today I am a widow, after my husband died 10 years ago of a sudden huge heart attack. It was my fault, at least in part, as he caught me fucking his business partner in the back of his Range Rover in the multi-story parking garage next to their offices. He was supposed to be away until that night so it was certainly a shock to me when he suddenly started banging on the car window, just as his partner Tim was banging me, on my back on the back seat, legs up and wide apart and feet resting on the front headrests, and totally naked. There was no way to claim it was a misunderstanding!

Anyway, my husband of 15 years, who was 25 years older than me and so nearly 75 years old, just dropped dead beside the car, which was the most depressing form of coitus interruptus that any horny couple could experience – neither of us had got anywhere near a climax, although my husband surely had.

So, there I was, 50 years of age, a still youngish attractive woman with my natural body still the same size as when I was 18, and suddenly a lone female in a world of possibilities. In fact, since marrying my husband in 1998 I had led a largely respectable life. Although I had met him in 1993 at a private sex party in a house in London where we were both invited singles (single women were very popular as I had learned a long time before, single men less so) I had given up most of my slutty behaviours after marriage and only played when my husband was present. Well until I started to fuck his partner of course. I suddenly realised I missed all that I used to do when younger and I wanted to be a proper slut once more.

At the will reading I found out I was now a very “multi” millionaire, as my husband had no family and left everything to me. Over the next year I sold off all his businesses and investments and became a cash rich merry widow. I also sold our houses in England and Spain, and instead bought a small cottage, almost on a nudist beach in south west France, just a short walk through the dunes to be on the beach. I can now walk naked out my front door, cross the small road and into the dunes opposite, ignoring any passers by, and can be laying naked on the beach within five minutes of closing the front door. And that is when I reverted to my early formative years when I discovered who and what I am. I have accepted that I have always been a slut and an exhibitionist.

I have rediscovered the joy of random sex in public with one or more strangers that I meet on the beach or more likely in the sand dunes. In the last eight years, since buying my cottage, I have had sex with probably a dozen people a year, so about 100 people, about 90+ men and roughly one or two women each year. Always in the open air, and frequently seen and even watched by others, and on a couple of occasions, which took me back to my early dogging days, the watchers joined in as well.

So that is me today. How did I get to this stage? It all started back in 1977 when I was 14 years old.

Part 2: “Fuck Slut” is born

Back then it was quite common for school children in France and England to stay with families in the other country to help them learn the language and experience different customs and lifestyles. My parents decided to help the programme and so volunteered to my school to take a French child for a month in the summer. I think they were a bit taken aback that the French child, Laurent, was a strapping six feet tall, 16-year-old boy, but being typically easy-going middle-class Brits, they decided to give it a go and see how it worked out. In fact, he turned out to be an absolute charmer and had my mum wrapped around his little finger and my dad thinking he had the son he never knew he wanted. So much so that he came to us for a month each summer for three years!

Anyway, as soon as he got off the train, my heart flipped – he was gorgeous! I had never had a boyfriend, had never even kissed a boy, and certainly not been touched by one. I was wearing a short, lightweight, cotton summer dress that day and as I slid into the back seat of dad’s car, my dress rode up my thigh. Embarrassed, I tried to tug it down, which was difficult as I was sitting on the hem by now. I looked at him and he gave me this super sexy grin and winked at me, before turning away to allow me to straighten myself out.

At home he was all over my parents, making himself useful and impressing them with his willingness to learn English, which was actually already very good, but he kept his distance from me even though he must have seen me staring at him on so many occasions. I had never had sexual dreams or fantasies but by the third night my panties were soaking wet and for the first time I played with myself, albeit in a fumbling and not very satisfying way, as I dreamed about Laurent.

The next morning, after my sleepless fumbling, my parents had decided that he was OK to be left alone with me – big mistake! – and were going to be gone for most of the day. Ten minutes after they left, I casually wandered past his bedroom door – for no reason since it was the end of the corridor – and just as casually said bonjour to him in my best school girl French. He looked up and gave me that smile again, and invited me to come in and sit down. He was sorting and unpacking his case, so he had clothes laying on the only chair, making me sit on the edge of his bed as he continued to sort things.

At that time, I was just five feet tall, with shoulder length blonde hair, blue eyes, and weighed just 40 kilos. My breasts were still developing and I was in a 30a bra (I later grew to be 32a, which is what I still am today) and my nipples seemed to be growing faster than my breasts, being large, erect, and very sensitive to touch. Down below I had a sparse patch of pubic hair hardly covering my fleshy labia and clitoris, and at the back my bum was boyish and slim.

That morning, as I sat on his bed and we made idle chitchat, I noticed that his eyes kept wandering to my bare legs and feet and the short denim skirt I was wearing, before raising them up to look at my chest under a simple cotton vest. With no bra underneath my nipples were prominent, barely concealing or containing my excitement. I had not set out to dress seductively but for a 14-year-old with no experience of boys I had done a very good job!

When he came and sat on the bed next to me my heart rate went up several notches. When he reached out and brushed my hair from eyes, I nearly panicked but he just dropped his hand down to the bed beside my hip. Then he smiled again and told me, in his wonderful French voice, that I was very pretty, and must drive the teachers wild at school having to give lessons with me sitting in front of them. I blushed madly and shook my head and when he asked me if I had a boyfriend, I blushed even more and told him no. “Oh, but a beautiful girl like you must have hundreds to choose from. Are English boys too stupid to see what they have just waiting for them? For the next four weeks I will be your boyfriend and drive them wild with jealousy” he laughed. I laughed too and said “OK that will be nice.” “Nice?” he said, “it will be wonderful!”

Then he raised his hand again and this time stroked my face before whispering “If I am your boyfriend, I think I should kiss you – is that OK?” I nodded dumbly, unable to speak, my heart rate now at record levels, as he lowered his face to mine and his lips brushed my own. His hand held my head steady and his mouth began to open and his tongue started to press against my lips until, without thinking, they opened too and his tongue invaded my mouth. That kiss seemed to last a life time and, at some point, we had both fallen backwards to lay across his bed.

We must have spent ten minutes just kissing, laying on his bed, before he slid one hand on to my bare belly and then, gently and with no rush, moved his caresses up under my vest to rest on my bare little breast. As we continued to kiss, he moved his hand to the other breast and when I did not stop him, he very gently squeezed, then rolled, then pulled each hard nipple in turn. When I still did not stop him, he slid the strings of my vest off each shoulder and pushed it down to my waist, so I was naked from my navel upwards, and once he started to kiss and fondle my nipples and breasts, I was literally like putty in his hands.

Oh God, being touched like that was wonderful. My breasts were throbbing and my nipples were hurting they were so hard. I had never felt anything like this. The next step in my seduction was about to happen and I knew I was willing and wanting it.

My little denim skirt had three buttons at the front, and as he suckled on one nipple and I pulled his t-shirt up over his head, so bare chest met bare breasts, his hand slid down my stomach to my first button. He expertly popped the button, then moved down to the next one and then to the final button. Laurent slowly slid his hand down my belly into my open skirt and on down to my panties, before resting his hand on my mons. He began to squeeze my small mount of Venus, and then casually moved his hand and fingers down my panties until his finger was pressing on my virgin vagina. He slowly and gently began to rub his fingers up and down my innocent pussy, through my already soaking wet panties, as I writhed and moaned under his touch.

He sat up and grabbed my skirt with both hands and patiently moved it down my hips, over my thighs and down to my feet before pulling it off completely, taking my rumpled up vest with it, leaving me lying there in just my panties with the visible damp patch between my legs. He now stood up and pulled his own shorts down and kicked them off, revealing his boxers with a very noticeable tent in the front. In the next second they joined his shorts in the corner of the room and I was looking at not just my first naked boy but also my first ever erect penis – he and it were both gorgeous and frightening, he was twice the size of me and his penis was huge and hard.

“Sit up” he said, offering me his hand to pull me up so I was just inches from his rampant cock. “Now kiss it” and I did; “and lick it” which I also did; “and now suck it, in all the way and move your head up and down on it” Which I also did! My first lesson in fellatio and I was an eager pupil! His cock looked, tasted, and felt delicious with little drops of juice seeping out of the top which I licked up when I pulled back to admire his solid weapon.

Before we could go too far, he pushed me back on to the bed, and hooking his thumbs into my panties pulled them down and off in one swift movement. Now we were both naked and he was clearly in an agitated state - as was I, but I did not understand too much of what was happening to me or the feelings inside me.

Without warning he grabbed my legs behind my knees and pushed them up and apart so they were pressing against my immature breasts, before kneeling in front of me so he could lower his mouth onto my exposed and very wet pussy. That was the first time any part of him had touched my vagina directly, my panties always being there before, and what a sensation to have a man’s lips and tongue be the first thing to touch my soaking clam shell. He had certainly done this before and within seconds I was writhing under his tongue and when his fingers joined in I went crazy – two fingers in my tight virgin hole and a tongue lashing my untouched clitoris brought me to a shuddering climax. I did not know what was happening, just knew it was wonderful and unlike anything I had ever experienced, but then I discovered there are always two sides to a transaction.

He stood up, dipped into his open suitcase, and took out a large box. “What’s that?” I asked nervously. “Condoms” came a brusque reply. “How many?” I gasped, and when the reply came back as 50 I was speechless. “Well, if I am here for 28 days that is less than two per day and I plan to fuck you more often than that – I hope I will need to get some more!”

As he took one out of the box and tore the wrapping open, I watched in silence before saying, “What are you doing now? Why are you putting that on? I thought we were just playing around.” “We were just playing, now this is the serious bit” he said as he rolled the new condom onto his solid rod, “Now I am going to fuck you” “But I am a virgin” I cried out but the reply was brutal, “I know you are a virgin and that is why I am fucking you now, because we have a lot more fucking to do every day before I leave!”

With that he climbed on to the bed, pushing my still bent legs further apart with his knees, and then placed one hand beside my head to support his weight, while he used the other to rub his latex covered cock up and down my labia, gradually pushing them open with each thrust. Finally, he stopped rubbing with his cock poised at the entrance to my virgin vaginal hole, the head just nestled in the opening. He brought the other hand up to my shoulders and lowered all his weight onto my tiny body.