Things hadn’t been right in my marriage for a long time. David had a cycle of quitting pornography for a few months, only to fall back into it. Recently, his social media had been filled with young women, most of them promoting their OnlyFans. I’ll admit, I was intimidated. I no longer had the slim, perky bodies of the women he was looking at online; mine was soft and motherly. It was taking a toll on my mental health.
That Saturday, we walked to a local brewery. By the time we got home and the kids were tucked away, the alcohol had softened my sharp edges. I opened another round, watching David as I danced toward him. I’d discarded my bra earlier; I put my crop top back on with comfortable shorts, knowing the occasional peek of underboob would catch his attention. I took my seat in the recliner while he sat on the couch, deliberately choosing the movie Clerks.
I finished my beer. It was time. “David,” I smiled.
He looked over, his gaze heavy. I swung my legs over the armrests and pulled my cotton shorts to the side, intentionally exposing my mound. His eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. As my fingers explored my own entrance, David watched in a drunken stupor. I motioned for him. He knelt before me, parting my folds and gliding his tongue along my slick opening. The sensation sent tingles down my neck. I let out salacious whimpers with every flick.
When he hooked two fingers toward my G-spot, I melted. I climaxed hard, but David was relentless. He pulled back and aggressively thumped his fingers inside me. I shrieked, squirming in delight as his free hand squeezed my breasts and pinched my swollen nipples. Abruptly, he removed his fingers and savored my juices with his tongue. I grabbed his hand, placing his fingers in my mouth to suck myself off of him.
“That’s so fucking hot,” he marveled.
On the screen, the scene where Veronica reveals she has sucked 37 dicks came on. “Those are rookie numbers,” I giggled. David’s hand stilled on my thigh. “37 is a rookie number,” I reiterated. The air in the room thinned. “I may be in triple digits, but at least 90.”
David stared into the flickering light of the TV. “You told me you were a slut when we met,” he mumbled. “I just never put a number to it.” He looked unsettled, forced to face the realization of my past.
I tried to offer consolation. “Your dick is the only one I’ve sucked the past 19 years.”
“Do you ever think about them?” he asked. The question caught me off guard. When I didn’t answer immediately, he asked again.
“Have you ever thought about any of the women you’ve slept with?” I fired back. We reached a stalemate, the silence heavy between us.
I remained exposed, reeling him back by parting my lips and teasing a finger along my slit. He started kissing my thighs. I took the fingers he’d had inside me and sucked them again, locking eyes with him. I smiled and worked them the way I would a cock. “Fuck me?” I yearned. He eased into me, stiffer than he’d been in months.
“There has to be one,” he stuttered, his voice trembling. “If you’ve sucked that many… one has to be memorable.”
“Yes.” The word escaped before I could stop it.
“What made it so memorable?”
I divulged more than I should have in my drunken state. “I actually feel guilty. At the last bachelorette party, I was the only one who didn’t pick their spouse as the ‘best’ sex. I told them you were the most fulfilling, but the best was someone else. We just meshed. I felt free.”
I felt his girth twitch with excitement inside me. “Tell me more,” he commanded, beginning a slow hump.
“He was a womanizer,” I panted. “I was warned to stay away, but he was always around. I didn’t expect anything but sex, and neither did he. It was incredible.”
“Rub your clit,” he stated. This was the longest we’d lasted in a year; the alcohol was giving him extra stamina. “So, did he have a big dick or what?”
“Yeah,” I answered, my mind beginning to lead the way. “He had a big dick, but it wasn’t the biggest. He just knew how to use it.”
As my hand worked against our joined bodies, I wasn’t in the living room anymore. I was at a house party, in a stranger’s bedroom. I wasn’t with my husband; I was with him. My pants were down around my shoes, legs pushed back to my chest while he filled me. He covered my mouth to mute my enjoyment, only because he didn’t want us to get caught. I came quickly, and so did he. He left the room before I could get myself presentable, returning to the party to make out with his girlfriend. I should have felt cheap, but I didn’t. There was no emotional connection. Just raw, untethered sex.
The memory pushed me over the edge. This orgasm felt different. It felt like I was with him again.
David placed his fingers in my mouth. “Are you thinking about him right now?” I shook my head side to side, keeping my lips tight. “Would you fuck him if he asked right now?” I pulled his fingers out.
“No,” I lied. I wanted him. I wished he were here. I sucked my fingers like I would his cock.
“What if I told you I wouldn’t be upset?” David interrogated. “Would you do it then?”
“Maybe,” I smirked.
“Good girl,” David grinned. “Tell me something slutty you did for him.”
I told my husband about the day I messaged him because I was having a rough time. I went over even though a mutual friend was there. I greeted both of them before disappearing to his bedroom. I stripped down and started giving him head while knowing someone was on the other side of a thin wall. David listened, his breathing ragged.
“He told me it was rude to make our friend listen,” I whispered. “He suggested letting him join. I wasn’t interested in the friend, but I wanted to make him happy. So we paused, and he invited the friend in.”
“You’ve had a threesome?” my husband asked, his voice a mix of shock and arousal.
“More than one. I only gave the friend a blowjob.” I wanted David to move, but he was pinned by the story. “Our friend didn’t last. He said it was the best head he’d ever received. It didn’t hurt that I couldn’t stop moaning.”
David finally began to slowly thrust, his fingers back in my mouth. “Was it like this?”
“I was bent over. Our friend stood at the end of the bed,” I answered. I couldn’t believe I was saying these things, or that he was devouring them.
“Where did he finish?” David groaned.
“Which one?” I teased. That sent him over the edge. His cock jolted inside me, his fingers digging into my hips, bruising the soft skin I’d been so ashamed of. “I swallowed one,” I whispered. “The other came inside me. He loved doing that, but he didn’t shy away from blowing his load on my chest sometimes, too.”
David howled as his tension released. He pulled out, parting my folds as his warmth slid out of me. “I want to go down on you so bad, and taste it,” he huffed. His mouth was on me in a brief, awkward, but enjoyable moment.
“So, who is this mystery man?”
I intentionally left out his identity. It was a friend of mine whom he’d met several times early in our relationship. David had always been suspicious of him, despite my reassurances. Over the years, we grew apart and stopped talking. I knew I had to give my husband an answer.
“He’s just a distant memory.”
My husband accepted that response, crashing to the floor, spent. I retreated to the restroom and looked at myself in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, the “motherly” curves didn’t feel like a flaw. It felt good to be accepted by my husband for exactly who I was—history and all.