Slut Wife Stories

Set in a small-town church community, the story centers on Adrianne, a 36-year-old preacher's wife whose outwardly perfect life masks a simmering dissatisfaction. Married to the gentle, devout Charlie, Adrianne embodies virtue—toned from morning runs, with chestnut hair and hazel eyes that reflect her inner turmoil. Yet, beneath her conservative dresses and dutiful role, a primal hunger festers, fueled by unfulfilled longings that challenge her religious upbringing and vows.

Monica a prim and proper wife and mother have been feeling a rush of sexual lust and want to dress sexy without a bra and visit a porn theater. She has huge DD tits, large round areolas, curvy body, brunette hair, and brown eyes

I'd been living alone in my sixth-floor apartment ever since my husband died in that tragic accident a few years ago. The building was old, with a shared courtyard where neighbors sometimes crossed paths, but I usually kept my distance. That day it was pouring rain, one of those downpours that turns the streets into rivers. As I entered the courtyard, I saw a tall man, his skin as dark as ebony, soaked to the bone, waiting in front of the elevator door.

A chance meeting at a remote farmhouse and a young soldier finds himself caught in a family weekend. The farmer's sister-in-law is willing and is the farmer's daughter.

Since I wrote 'Lost Wife' I've been thinking about the stories my wife told me all those years ago. Now I think there was more than a grain of truth in all of them. So I wrote the story about the three guys in the Supermarket car park, then the fine tit fucks she gave at her office Christmas do, and lastly the three guys on the back seat of someone's car

I'm now very happily married; I was brought up very strictly by my somewhat older parents, and my experience with sex was restricted to an occasional fumble with the boys from school. When I reached eighteen, my figure had finished filling out; my breasts, I thought, a little too big for my slight frame, but they were firm and didn't sag at all.

Martina's on her tour bus, two hours after finishing a nighttime concert and she's only six months away from giving birth to her second child. Her breasts are full, even hurting, and she's so horny from the concert that she needs help from a horny man.

"What do you want?" he whimpered.
"Shut it," I pushed him stumbling into his living room.
"Don't hurt him," his good wife screamed and she when she came to his aid.
We had chosen this house with care for it far away off the main track to be isolated. The young couple who lived there weren't rich but they wasn't poor either. We had just walked up to the front door and knocked.

I woke up after a few miserable sick days and every woman I came across was now politely and overtly offering me total free use. Or seemingly total, I should say.