I’m not merely a slut; that’s far too vanilla to describe me. I’m the sort of scandalous vixen that gets slut-shamed by major sluts. On top of that, I’m a natural redhead, complete with pale skin, extreme emotional swings, and infinite, volcanic passion to match my fiery hair. I epitomize the saying, “You can sleep with a brunette; you can sleep with a blond, but you’ll never sleep with a redhead.” Additionally, I’m also a stereotypical Scorpio, known for our passion for all things, especially sex. I’m a sexy, flame-haired ball of horny fury that can never get enough, and I’m not exaggerating. When I go on one of my sex-benders, all of this horny, lust-filled need increases exponentially.
I’m always horny, so aroused that my pussy flows like a faucet, pouring down my scorching thighs. My nipples are always so taut and firm from my horny desires that people, while they leer at my tits, ask me if I’m cold. Owning my sexuality and having a rare, raw talent for sexualizing any topic, it doesn’t take long before any random stranger gets the impression that I’m a hot and horny slut who’s just aching to tear off their clothes and fuck them. If I like the person and feel a spark between us, they are correct.
You see, unlike Mary Boring-Vanilla Sue, I don’t get horny. My lust boils over, making me eager to try or do anything, anything at all. My mind fantasizes about the hottest, most torrid, and taboo, lecherous deviancy my overactive, perverted mind can conceive, and I voice my desires, then act on them. Fuck the consequences, and please fuck me until I pass out from bliss.
Even in my normal state, I yearn for multiple cocks pounding into every hole while onlookers watch, stroking and fingering themselves. I need to be driven to deviant, sexual madness while I scream and beg to be spanked, covered in cum, and used like a fuck toy. I demand an endless line of wet, willing pussies to feast upon and a similar queue of hard cocks to pleasure me. I’m nasty, dirty, perverted, and insatiable.
If you like horny, dirty-talking sluts that need constant, perverted sex, I’m your wet dream. If I happen to catch you staring at my round, firm, perfectly-shaped ass, you might just end up on the receiving end of my exhibitionist tendencies. If you know how to turn a woman on—here’s your first hint, it starts with her mind, long before you even think about touching her—then I’ll ride your hard shaft until you’re in an exhausted coma.
Do you like porn? That’s not really my thing most of the time, but how about you bend me over and fuck me from behind while you watch it, and I show you that I can do everything they do, only better. Did you ever want to watch your wife lick another woman’s pussy? I’m your girl! I’m the sort of torrid slut that brings home a woman to surprise her husband, fingers her dripping cunt, urging him on, while he fucks her, and then licks his cum off her tits.
My biggest problem, or blessing, depending on your point of view, is that my life is perfectly set up for me to indulge all of my horny whims. My husband is not only deeply into me acting so slutty, but he’s my superior in debauchery. If I tell him that I want another cock, he’ll retort, “Just one, or a dozen? I’ll make some calls.” If I bring home a new, potential lover who’s not for sharing, he’s fine with it. All of my close friends are also of like minds.
My entire lifestyle, while it doesn’t revolve around my burning, endless lust, is permeated with my horny desires. They are fully integrated into who and what I am. Therein lies my problem. I get stuck in an endless feedback loop, an infinite, ever-growing cycle of fulfillment creating more horny desires. I’ve been deeply submerged in another sex bender for a few weeks; I can’t really say when it began, but I did note the moment that I became blissfully aware of it.
Maybe it began when my husband had to leave the state for a little over a week. I am a strong, independent woman and even own my own business, but the man is my every dream and romance-novel-induced fantasy, coupled with a smoldering sex appeal that literally has women lining up to fuck him. By the Goddess, that man can fuck! He can also romance you to death, make love, and have sex that makes you melt, but he excels at fucking you to your limits and beyond, all while making you crave more.
When he’s not there for me, I feel it. My soul darkens, my heart gets heavy, and the emptiness in my essence is only surpassed by the aching void in my cunt. In case you haven’t figured it out, yet, I adore sex, and I need it, constantly. With him, the sex is so good that, when I wake up the next morning, I’m so turned on over what we’ve done that my fingers fly straight to my clit, and I have to get off, reliving each glorious, perverted second in my mind.
When he left, my libido skyrocketed because I’m just fucking broken. Knowing that he wasn’t around to call me a slut, get off on my acting like one, and fuck me into a coma made me yearn for it ten times more than I usually do. For those of you doing the math, that’s infinity times ten. Luckily, an online friend, another redhead, made herself available to keep me distracted.
I don’t do the cybersex thing. That doesn’t mean that my regular conversation isn’t highly sexual; it is. While she and I conversed over the days, our strong bond became more intimate, and we shared a lot of the details of our lives. Astoundingly, the similarities were very eerie. We’d both gone through similar medical issues; we’d both been married on the same day we met our husbands, and we were both hot, horny, redheaded sluts that couldn’t keep our fingers out of our saturated pussies.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but we fed off of each other’s heat. Her aroused state sent mine into orbit, and my lusty zeal made her clit throb. With sex being a prevalent theme, we’d mutually aroused each other to the point of masturbating while chatting about nothing and everything. Soon, her husband had to leave for business, and it was my turn to help fill her void by providing nonsensical chatter and companionship. Then, two things solidified my horny descent into yet another sex binge.
Those two things were the new manager at a neighboring business and my friend’s visit by an electrician. More or less concurrent, that was when I realized that I was so far gone that I had no choice but to ride out my frenzied, sexual glory and deal with the consequences of my behavior.
With my husband having returned, I was not only incredibly horny, but the sex between us was smoldering, kinky, and hot beyond words. I had been indulging every slutty idea that came to mind. Over that week, I’d left at least a dozen drained but smiling bodies in my sexual wake. Still, no matter what I did or how many orgasms I gave myself, I wanted and needed more. My friend was in a similar state, and every proud exclamation that I’d just done something slutty, was met by her masturbating, then launching herself into her own horny adventure. We fed off of each other’s insatiable libidos; her actions spawned more of mine, and vice versa.
My friend was nude, one day, as she worked and chatted with me, draining the charges on her sex toys. I was in a similar furor, having been masturbating for several hours on end. Even at work, all I could do was sit in my office and finger my swollen clit while I fucked myself with my own “at-work toys.” I’d even gone so far as to hump my sensitive clit against my stapler, dousing it with my erotic nectar when I came.
“The electrician’s here,” she told me. “I need to throw something on and answer the door.”
I was occupied with my new, sexual infatuation, Byron, whom I immediately nicknamed Java Man. H was the new manager of the coffee shop my store has a business arrangement with. Just a couple of doors down the street from my store, we serve the shop’s coffee in our store. Every morning, we wheel over a cart with two carafes of their gourmet java, and they supply the cups. We pay a discounted price for them, and we make a few cents per cup when our customers purchase from us. The old store manager was getting promoted, and an assistant manager from their second location, on the other end of campus, was being promoted to fill the vacancy.
When I first saw Byron, I was already deeply entrenched in my bender. The night before was spent licking my friend’s juicy pussy while my husband pounded into my eager holes. After he got me off, countless times, I squatted over my friend’s face and begged her to finger my ass while she licked my clit. All the while, my mutant-hung husband fucked my friend until she had multiple screaming orgasms. Still needing more and more perversion, I pleaded with him to shoot his cum all over my face and tits, then for her to lick and kiss it off of me while we fingered each other.
The kinky, perverted sex was so hot, lasting all night, that when I woke up, my fingers were already buried in my pussy; I’m so fucking insatiable that I sleep-masturbate. It took two orgasms before I could even think about getting out of bed. Since my clit-sucking toy was still in the shower, and the shower massage was set on high pulse mode, I had to have a few more cums while I washed the sex juices from the previous evening off my body. I edged myself all the way to work, one hand on the steering wheel and the other in my pussy.
When I wheeled the java cart up to the coffee shop and saw Byron for the first time, I had to struggle to not fuck him on the spot. The new store manager is young, maybe in his late twenties, and sexy. He has a swarthy complexion with a tinge of exoticism. Curly black hair adorned his head, and his lithely muscled body looked enticing. He dressed sharply, and the colors he chose set off his deep, dark eyes.
I wish I could say that “maybe” I was a bit too obvious in showing my interest. That would be a terrible understatement. My eyes devoured the poor man; my immediate lust made my blood boil, and my body language screamed, “Fuck me like the horny fucking slut I am. Jizz on my face and call me a whore!” I hid my intellect, played the vapid vixen role, and shook my hips, ass, tits, and shoulders at him. My long, red hair flew in unruly, sexy waves as I laughed at everything he said, and my voice oozed sexual honey with every innuendo-laden syllable.
I fantasized about him all through the day, as well as my friends, my husband, my online redheaded friend, her naughty antics, and everything else that came to mind. Needing more stimulation, a higher octave of perverted naughtiness, I even went so far as to staff the show floor, taking care of customers with a cordless vibrator buzzing away inside my needy cunt.
Then, Byron came into the store, on his lunch break, and innocently asked me for my phone number. First, I exchanged numbers with him; then, I gave him the brutal truth. Being honest, I told him that I was married and do not date, but I do like to play, and I’d love to fuck him. If you ask any random man what he’d do if a hot, horny, slutty redhead said that she doesn’t want a relationship with you, she just needs your cock; they’ll all answer exactly the same. “I’ll fuck her like no other man ever could.” However, in reality, most of them run for the hills, because sexually aggressive women, which are the stuff of their wildest dreams, scare the ever-loving shit out of them. Byron was no exception.
I intimidated him to the point of panic. When he asked me what about my husband, I offhandedly replied that he wouldn’t mind, and he got off on me acting that way. Perhaps when I added that my husband might want to watch, I overstepped his boundaries or something. Stopping him as he turned to go, looking deflated, I held up my phone and texted him, “Hi from Krystal.” After he nodded at his phone and meekly smiled at me, I added, “And I’m not wearing panties.”
Java man bolted to the safe space that is his demesne. I laughed it off, asking my friend if I came on too strong. In my slutty fervor, I’d forgotten how intimidating I can be when I’m so fucking horny that I can’t stand it. Hoping to at least salvage some teasing fun out of it, I debated sending him a naughty picture of me and claiming that it was an accident. My lovely redheaded friend told me that I shouldn’t, and she was correct, but I did anyway. That netted me a terrified, “I just can’t,” from Byron, but I knew he’d cave.
He and I textually jousted over the next few hours, all while my friend was being her horny self. I told her that I was going to wear my “Kim Possible” outfit the next day and make him mine. I was a hungry predator, a she-panther on the prowl, and he was going to be my prey. Byron was the lamb thrust in front of my sex-hunter’s gaze. Then, my friend said something, innocently, that shattered the last vestiges of refinement within me and sent me blissfully spiraling out of sexual control.
“I just noticed that the cover-up I threw on is see-through,” she casually mentioned. “No wonder the electrician was so flirty.”
I had already been lightly caressing my pussy, but her words evoked the sexual, emotional rush of flashing somebody, and the naughty, taboo thrill I get from doing it possessed my body. Although she’d done it, I felt chilling ripples of thrill running through my overheated flesh.
I stopped typing, so I could fuck my dripping, aching cunt with three fingers while I flicked my clit. When she added, “You can easily see my nipples through it,” I had an intense orgasm on the spot. The conversation remained light, but both of our erupting libidos were woven throughout the topics.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. In my mind, she’d intentionally thrown on something translucent, because that’s exactly what I would have done. I would have teased the electrician mercilessly, bending and stretching, ensuring the light was behind me, so he’d see the silhouette of my nude body through the thin material.
“How many orgasms did you give yourself over teasing the electrician?” I asked.
“Three,” was her response.
Not that we keep score, but I quickly fucked my saturated pussy to two more orgasms just to keep up. In my mind, I was watching her tease the electrician, then quickly pull up her see-through cover-up and furiously masturbate. I envisioned the lusty look on her face as her fingers became a blur between her quivering thighs, and her imagined sighs and moans of pleasure echoed in my ears.
That wasn’t enough for my tawdry state; Byron made an appearance in my fantasy and fucked me like a savage caveman while I watched. In the throes of what was probably my twenty-fifth orgasm of the day, I realized that I was possessed by Aphrodite, the goddess of lust, and so far gone that there was no hope for me.
“I’m seriously broken,” I told my friend. “I can’t keep my fingers out of my cunt, and every orgasm just makes me need more.”
It was true. Every sexual release and action just catapulted my lust higher and higher. My husband, always perfect, takes all of that in stride, feeds my horny wants, and delivers above and beyond my wildest expectations. Just like my redheaded friend and me, it only caused more urgency, more perverted acts to spring into my head, and the overwhelming desire to do more depraved, kinky, slutty things.
When I got home that night, all the text exchanges with my husband were put into action. I’d been begging and pleading for him to toughly fuck my ass and shoot him cum all over, to treat me like the dirty fucking slut I am. I didn’t want foreplay or love; I needed to be ravaged and treated like an owned piece of sexual property. When my husband got home, I was bent over the dining room table, nude, finger-fucking my overheated pussy, with an anal plug in my ass and my liquid sex running down my legs. I was so fucking horny that there was a puddle on the floor.
Because I’d been begging to be treated like a piece of meat—my actual words being, “I want you to own me like a trashy fuck toy, objectify me, and harshly use me. Please, promise me that you’ll fuck my ass and cum all over me. I’m serious, be fucking brutal.”—my man, ever chivalrous, gave me what I needed, and he didn’t stop there.
“Did you fuck Java Man, you dirty, little slut?” He asked me, spanking my sexy ass as he fucked it.
“No. I scared him off. Harder! Fuck me hard. Oh, fuck, your cock’s in my ass. I’m going to cum.”
“I bet you wish he was here right now, don’t you? What would you do if he was here?”
“I’d suck his fucking cock.”
“Tell me you want it.” His cock bottomed out in my tight ass, setting off a chain reaction of linked, anal orgasms, one after another, making me wail in pleasure.
“I want to suck Byron’s fucking cock while you fuck my slutty ass. I want to feel his hot cum shoot on my face while you fuck me.”
“You love being a slut, don't you?”
“I do. I’m a slut, your slut, a fucking whore. Fuck your slut’s ass. Treat me like fucking garbage. Fucking own me!”
Covered in cum, my husband dressed me in a sexy, slutty backless dress. It screamed, “I’m a trashy slut that gets off on you lusting after me, so please objectify me.” It was perfect. A remote-controlled, cordless vibrator was harshly thrust deep inside my dripping pussy, piling taboo, public kink on top of my multi-faceted, boiling lust.
“Remember,” I told him as we drove to our favorite restaurant, which was nearby, “I want your cock in all of my holes tonight, and I need to be covered in cum.”
After an endless, sensual torture by my sadistic husband, who kept me on the cusp of an orgasm all through dinner, I got my wish. As usual, his enabling and support of my horny debauchery made me want it more. That night, I woke up twice, so horny that I had to get off before I could go back to sleep. Still, my morning ritual began with more masturbation. That morning, though, I was determined to either have or break Byron, and my Kim Possible outfit, which people somehow find irresistible, was my secret weapon.
A simple affair, consisting of feminine-cut camouflage pants and a thin, black long-sleeved T-shirt, the description belies the overall effect. The shirt is skin-tight, so thin that it’s diaphanous, and the cut of the pants, coupled with the low-riding, hip-accentuating flair, made my already sexy ass look like it was forged by the gods themselves. Helen of Troy may have launched a thousand ships with her face, but my butt has caused at least that many traffic accidents.
I had a light olive crop-top sweater to throw over the see-through top for work, but I left that in my office when I trudged over to the coffee shop. On the phone with my darling husband, I asked him to call me back in five minutes, as I was picking up our coffee cart. Then, I entered the Java house, seeing a nervous but still staring Byron.
“I, ah, I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” he nervously began.
We discussed the previous day, with Byron trying to maintain his composure and me first ensuring that our companies’ business arrangements remained intact. Then, as he relaxed, finally understanding that there was no pressure, I asked him about the naughty picture I’d “accidentally” sent him. This time around, he was more at ease, and I felt that he finally realized that I was just fucking horny. Then, my husband called.
“Oh, hiya, honey,” I sang out to my man. “No, I’m not at work, yet. I’m still in the coffee shop.”
Byron’s face blanched as I said that. I just smiled at him, enjoying his eyes wandering all over my body. The tight, see-through shirt molded itself around my breasts, adding sexy enticement to their charms. He drooled over my nipples, and I could see his skin flush with desire.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I responded to my husband’s question. I pouted at Byron while I spoke. “He doesn’t seem to want me.” I stomped my foot, playfully, knowing that it made my high, round breasts jiggle.
Then, I handed my phone to Java Man. “My husband wants to speak with you.”
I watched Byron’s expression change from worried to bemused, then shocked. Pretending to busy myself with the coffee cart, I had to bend deeply to grab the cups, then stretch to reach the coffee pots to fill the carafes. When I poured myself a cup of coffee, I arched my back, sticking out my ass for him to drool over. If Byron could fuck me half as hard as his eyes were doing, I picked a good partner. Finally, he hung up my phone and handed it back.
“He doesn’t care what you do?”
“Of course, he cares. But playing is something we do for fun and pleasure. He owns my heart, but my hot, wet pussy is mine to do whatever I want. Trust me, I do whatever I feel like, and he loves it; you will, too.”
As I spoke, I approached him. My final words, “Let me show you,” were whispered into his ears. My voice was husky with lust, and my body was pressing against him. Although he was shaking, slightly, he didn’t resist. I let my hand caress his chest, traveling downward until I could feel his hard cock in my grasp.
“Do you like what I’m wearing,” I asked as I dropped to my knees. Setting down my coffee cup, my hands fumbled for a moment until I had his cock in my hands. “I wore it specially for you. I wanted to make you hard for me. I see that I have.”
Other than stammering out, “err... umm... ooohm,” Byron only moaned.
“Last night, while my husband ravaged my ass, I screamed out that I wanted to suck your cock, Byron. You can tell me to stop, but right now, I want your hardness in my mouth. Have you ever been sucked off at work, before?”
The new shop manager was putty in my hand. I smiled up at him, opened my mouth, and lunged my lips over his hard shaft. One advantage of my husband possessing a massive, thick cock is that I can easily deep-throat any average or large one. Feeling the swollen head push against my larynx, I forced my hot, eager mouth all the way down until his pubic hair tickled my nose.
“You’re the best at sucking dick that I’ve seen,” Byron attempted to compliment me. His moans between words and buckling knees boosted my ego enough.
The naughtiness of what I was doing possessed me. “Fuck my married face,” I begged. I had the cock of a man I’d only met the day before pounding into my mouth, in his place of business, and my horny lust consumed me. I grabbed his butt with one hand, physically urging him to thrust into my mouth harder and deeper. My other hand went down my pants, found my clit, and fingered my dripping snatch with a ferocity that only a woman lost in the throes of kinky, horny lust can achieve.
“I’m going to cum.” Byron announced, much too soon.
“Not yet,” I told him.
I eased off just enough to stave off his orgasm but continued to hold him there until I was ready. It didn’t take very long before I was on the brink, myself.
“Cum for me, now,” I commanded.
Then, I felt my self-administered orgasm quake through my body. As I moaned and writhed, I shoved my face as hard against his gyrating torso as I could. Holding his entire cock in my mouth, I slammed my head against him, keeping him buried in my throat, my bobbing head fucking his fuck.
Byron couldn’t speak; he could only moan. His first spurt coated my tongue and throat, and then I pulled my mouth off, reaching up with my nectar-soaked hand to milk the rest of his cum from the shaft. On a devilish impulse, I grabbed my cup with my other hand and aimed his cock at my coffee, giggling as his jizz flew into my beverage, lightening the dark brew.
My new, beneficial friend stared at me in disbelief, no longer trying to hide his lusty stares. I licked his cum from my lips, smiling. “My favorite coffee creamer,” I said. After licking his cock clean, I tucked it back into his pants, zipped him up, and wheeled the coffee cart out.
That morning set the tone for my day. I’d gone off the deep end and was gleefully drowning in the horny, boiling waters of lust.
To be continued...
