Slut and Proud Pt. 01

The title is the whole truth. If I could summarize this story in a single sentence, that would be it.

I'm Sofía. I'm twenty-six years old, around 5'0", more or less, with shoulder-length, voluminous, curly hair. I'm a latina, as you might've guessed by my name. I'm a petite girl, as you can imagine, but since forever I've known that I was gorgeous, in my own way. I was never one of those busty girls, with an enormous ass or huge tits. My tits are small, my ass is firm and round, mostly thanks to the gym, and I've always, always gotten men's attention.

In my younger years, the single years, I was a slut. I never liked the term, you know? Always felt... pejorative, I guess. Women are not lauded for being sluts, they're lauded for settling down with a single guy, the love of their life, their only man. On the other hand, the more women a man sleeps with, the higher he's regarded. That never stopped me from being me, though. Feeling a cock coming in and out of my tight pussy -- something I always hear in bed -- listening to that wet, gushing sound, those things have always been much more important than the words I was called. Yeah, I was a slut. Easy. A one-night stand. Maybe I was offended words like that at one point, but eventually it all blurred together. I knew they were insults, but then those same dudes lined up to get me to bed, paid exorbitant amounts of money to take me to dinner, sent me gifts, when, in reality, it wasn't at all necessary. Listen, I didn't want to take advantage of them, I wanted to fuck, but the gifts were nice too.

Around two years ago, I got married. He's a lovely man. My husband. He's tall -- though anyone is tall compared to me -- pretty, lovely, kind, a good listener. There is almost nothing that I could complain about him. But that "almost" is a really, really bothersome detail for me: he's terrible in bed.

I don't mean average or bad, I mean terrible. Horrible. Lasts barely five minutes, has the motor coordination of a jackhammer with Parkinson's and can't seem to understand what a woman like me would ever want out of him. I've tried telling him, many times, and then many more after that, but it never works. It's almost as if, when it comes to sex, his brain completely fogs any and all advice I have and all that's left is his stupid understanding of "lovemaking." I hate it with a passion, but I also love him very dearly.

When we married, I thought I was leaving behind my slutty side. That I had become a wife, with a capital W, and that I was satisfied and happy and that, in the end, his other attributes would compensate for his terrible performance in bed. But I couldn't just ignore it. And it became a focal point of our fights. I know some things are not in his control, I know it, but fuck, I have MY needs too. I try to be a great wife, we have a good life, but that small fucked up part is really, truly fucked up.

And that lack of a great sex life, something I had always had for most of my life, ever since I started having sex, turned into a porn addiction. My husband would pump his limp dick inside me for five minutes or so, and then he'd turn to the side and either sleep or do scroll on Instagram. At first, I was kinda scared of just watching porn, you know? But I soon realized he didn't give a fuck, and so I went all in.

I'd just take my phone to the bathroom, put on my earbuds, and go to town on my pussy. I watched everything, and I couldn't help but remember all those nice poundings I got from other men before him. There was Marcos. He was older, strong, like naturally strong, not one of those gym-built freaks. As I watched those porn sluts getting fucked, I kept remembering how he manhandled me. Yeah, he'd lick my pussy, getting me all wet, but he wasn't sweet and caring; after that, he'd just pick me up, and I'd cling to his body, and he'd shove his cock deep inside me, hug me tightly, and pound and pound and... oh Lord, he was mean! Not the type of man to marry, but definitely to fuck every once in a while. Forty minutes of pure, nasty sex. I'd cream so much over his dick, but also feel exhausted after it. Terrible for my back. Then there was my ex before my husband, whose name I don't even wanna mention; a horrible human being, but with such a huge cock, who knew how to make me come. He, unlike Marcos, was gentle. He knew when to go slowly or fast, he listened to my wants in bed, and his voice in my ear, ordering me to come, oh my God! I went crazy with him. If only he was as good in the day-to-day life as he was at night, after work, we might've still been together. But all in all? Good riddance.

I remembered them and many more, the best fucks, the thickest cocks, big, but not too big, juicy. Sucking them after getting fucked, spitting on them all nasty-like, and then I'd come, hard. Sometimes, I'd do it three times straight. I left the bathroom a broken mess, my fingers smelling like saliva and pussy juices.

For a while, I thought that was enough, though I surely knew I wasn't THAT happy with it. But then, then I met someone else and, well, things surely took a turn.

I never cheated on my husband. Never. Call me anything you want -- slut, whore, bitch -- but never unfaithful. Still, I couldn't deny how he made me feel. He was a new guy at work, one who didn't stay too long, unfortunately, but we still stayed in touch after he was fired. He became a friend, though not so close. He also became my wet dream. He had "longish" hair, which fell in waves to his nape. A nice body, not too fit, almost a dadbod, but not exactly. He was also so pretty, with nice skin, vivid, intense dark eyes. It was clear he took care of himself. If I was single, I'd throating his dick, staring into those goooorgeous eyes the day after meeting him. But I wasn't. I was married, still am, and so I had to behave. But with every interaction with him, I fell more and more for him, especially since he was so kind and nice. Kinda reserved, but never disrespectful. Every woman at the office had a thing for him, most of them married.

At home, I'd fantasize about him in the bathroom, most times not even needing porn anymore. "He has to have a small cock," I thought. "There's no way he's gorgeous, kind AND stacked. Nuh-uh." But, when playing with myself, he WAS stacked. The right size, perfect for me. He became my daily thought. Until that thought became a reality.

I had been thinking about it for a while. A threesome, I mean. It didn't come out of nowhere. But, knowing my husband, I was sure that I'd have a hard time convincing him. He was a very "normal" man. Not many fetishes -- besides the obvious ones, like lingerie and high heels and submission and blah blah blah -- so I knew I had a rough road ahead of me. I wasn't even considering that friend. Just a threesome, something to spice the relationship up.

It happened during one of our monthly fights, which had become more of a discussion than anything else; my husband and I, together for around a year by then, had become too, too tired of it. Out of nowhere, I suggested it. He did not overreact, thank God, but he also wasn't very sure of it. I didn't hide it, I said I wanted to have him and another man, not another woman. Then he became much more defensive. I think most men, at least those who grew up "the right way," have this tendency to become too closed off and afraid of whatever takes them out of their comfort zone. I had shared girlfriends before, and they had shared me with their boyfriends and flings. To me, it was normal. To him, not so much.

But I'm not just a slut. I'm smart, too.

The conversation ended that way, but over the next few days, wanting to increase our intimacy, I started watching porn together with him. It was actually fun! And, sometimes, he'd get so excited that we'd do a second round. A second round just as bad as the first, but it was progress, I guess. We'd watch those sluts, but slowly I got him into something more... propitious for us. Gangbangs, threesomes. I think he noticed what I was trying to do, but I figured that, in bed, he was too horny to care, and out of it he was too uninterested to bring it up. It didn't take long for us to watch it every day. I felt him getting hornier and eager day by day. He'd try to rub my pussy for me, and I'd slap his hand away, saying "it's my turn now, shush," and then he'd watch silently as I reached my orgasm, my eyes turned white, my legs shook, the phone fell from my hand and I moaned and stuttered. The only thing he didn't know was that it was not him in my head.

During sex, I made sure to poke him a little. "Fuck me like a man, c'mon" and "c'mon, give me more, baby, c'mon, treat me like the whore I am." I started slapping his face whenever I was on top, pointing my finger at him. At some point, I even denied him an orgasm, saying "that's enough for you." He'd beg, and that got me even hornier, but I knew I had to be firm. After that, I'd play with myself in front of him, while telling him to take care of himself if he wanted it so much.

I realized a certain degree of submission in him, and I loved exploiting it. I think I did it right because, in the end, he was the one to bring up the threesome again, not me.

He was fucking me hard -- as hard as he could anyway -- calling me insatiable, a needy slut, then saying "this is why you want a threesome, you slut, you're insatiable." I grabbed his face and pulled it to mine. Feeling him coming, I finally spilled it out: "Maybe, if you were a real man, you'd satisfy me," ending it with a slap. His limp body fell over me.

After that, we had a serious and intimate talk. He told me he knew he wasn't satisfying me enough, and that he was sorry for it. It was okay. It was the first time I saw him being that honest with me.

"You still want that threesome?" he asked.

"Only if you want it, honey," I said, and it was the truth. It had been around fifteen minutes since we'd fucked, so I went on to rub his cock over the covers. "You want to see your wife with another man? Do you?"

I felt like I was pushing it a little bit, from a threesome to a cuckold invitation, but I couldn't stop; my hatred for our sex life, mixed with my desire for my previous coworker and my horniness led me deeper into those words.

"You wanna see how a real man fucks my pussy, baby? I need a big cock stretching me out, God, I love it." But I didn't love just that. I wanted to be wanted. To feel the heat of sex in me again, which I hadn't felt in such a long time. Hands over my arms, grabbing my body, desiring me. But men would never care about that.

Shortly after that, we were watching porn again. I had found some gorgeous-looking women, with curly hair and a petite body, and we watched their videos. It was the closest he had gotten to watching me get fucked by someone else, at least then, and I knew his brain was making the necessary mental connections. So was I.

"Is that what you want, honey?" I asked, touching myself.

He was unwilling to answer, but I saw his face. He was considering it.

"Who?" he asked, and I realized then I had won.

"I know this guy, I think he'd be up for it."

In reality, I had no idea. In fact, it was very unlikely. He never struck me as a player, the threesome-having kind, you know what I mean. We messaged each other every once in a while, liked each other's Instagram posts here and there. But fuck, I was so horny, all I wanted was to make love to that man.

"Did you cheat on me?"

"No, baby, never," I said, panting, taking my fingers off my pussy to sweetly touch his face and bring it in for a sweet kiss. "It's just, I don't know, I..."

The commander in me was vanishing, I felt it. The woman who slapped her husband, that implied he was not man enough, that woman was slipping away, and I could not afford that. I was so, so close.

"And it can't be anyone else?"

I stared at him for a moment. I felt sorry, for a second.

"You know what, baby, forget it," I said, putting down the phone, pulling my pants up.

I was on the verge of screaming "ANYONE! ANYONE! BABY, PLEASE!" but what would that have gotten me? I'd have been putting myself down. Once again. Becoming submissive to him. I'd be giving him the control of the situation. No, I had to show him I would not be folding, even after he begged and said he was sorry. That made me even hornier, but all I did was roll to the side and pretend to be asleep, until I actually fell asleep.

For days, we did not talk about it; we did not get our intimate moment together. That forced him to bring it back up, once again. I thought I had lost it once and for all, but hey, playing the bitch paid off.

A few nights later, things went back to normal. And playing with his dick, denying my husband his undeserved orgasm, I said:

"I want him."

"Why?"

"I just do. And until you say yes, you're not coming."

"Baby..."

"There's no 'baby'. You're not coming. Not until you say 'yes'. I want you, honey, I want you and him. I want two men fucking me, having their way with me. Say yes."

"Baby..."

I jerked him harder, then softer.

"Say it, baby. Say it."

"I..."

"Say. It."

"Yes, baby."

"Yes? Yes what?"

"I want to... to have a threesome with you."

I increased the speed, just slightly.

"You want to share me? Is that it?"

He nodded.

"Then say it. Just say it, out loud, like a good boy."

"I want to share you, baby, I want it so much!"

He exploded, covering my whole hand, including our wedding ring, in cum. I cleaned it in his T-shirt. No, I did not swallow or lick or whatever; that wasn't the time for it. I had just made MY MAN say he wanted to share me. He was mine now. Mine. Mine.

As he panted, I grabbed his face with my sticky fingers and long nails, pressing hard on his cheeks. I had tamed him, now it was time to wrap the leash around his neck.

"That's right, you're becoming a good boy. My good boy. Aren't you?"

"I am."

"I can't wait to have his cock in my mouth and you in my pussy," I said. "Now, go clean yourself. And bring my toy." My toy was, in this case, an eight-inch vibrator I was still to debut, and I thought there would be no better moment than now. "I'm gonna fuck myself, thinking of you and him, and you're gonna help me."

I'm not sure I was that surprised that he actually went and actually helped me, whispering nastiness in my ear, touching my tits, by hips. He had become so obedient. Deep down, I guess it was then that I realized my husband had always had this desire. This hidden, horrible desire. He just needed the right person to push him forward, to open "his cage," so to speak.

And that night, I fucked myself so sweetly, so gently, and looking into my husband's eyes, but seeing Matías's, my wet dream, the man I would convince to fuck me with my husband, the man who would, unbeknownst to me at the time, be as addictive as sugar to my sweet tooth; that night I came, just once, but so strongly, and hugged my husband as I imagined lying over Matías's body in ecstasy.

I felt mean, evil, immoral, a whore in every sense of the word. At that moment, I felt deserving of every hateful name I was ever called. But I also felt so, sooooo good. For the first time in years, I felt like MYSELF. I am a slut. I know it. I'm proud of it.

Nowadays, when I look into my husband's eyes, I know he is proud too. I am his slut, after all.