many hands in two holes
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I lost my virginity in college. Prior to that, I only had messed around with two women, but didn't have actual sex with. First one was my first gf - I got a few hand jobs, and a single, awkward bj, before we broke up.
Now, the second one was something different.
It was the summer before college, and I was spending it at my grand parents house. They lived in a small house, on the Mediterranean, and I would always spend my summers there. Now, this might sound like a confession of a super rich man, to a non European, but my mom originated from this little place, and my grand parents lived there all of their lives. So, not being rich, every summer, I would do kind of a house and yard work, on neighboring houses that are usually rented weekly, you know the drill.
In one of the small, stone houses, there was a woman, with her husband, but he traveled back and forth to the city, being there mostly on the weekends, and she stayed almost all through July and August.
Now, when you are 19, you imagine a 50 year old woman, as this old, wrinkled up granny. No, she was all the opposite of that, slim, petite, beautiful blonde, and she was so obviously a big city woman, you could see it, by the way she dressed, acted, her accent, and peculiar choice of wine she would drink, all day, every day. I thought about her a lot, since, she would sunbathe topless, when I am around, not caring about my gazes. I remember finding that strange, but on the second thought, she was sunbathing on this stone patio, that got out straight to the sea, so people swimming or passing by in their boats, could see her as well. Her tits were very small, but still firm, and I thought about them, as soon as I would go home, and was by myself.
She was giving me attention, only I would think that I was imagining it. She would suddenly have something to do in the house, while I was cleaning, sometimes in a dress, usually just in a bikini bottom. Now, in retrospect, I was a perfect target for a summer fling, I was young, I looked good, from all the work I put on, tanned from exposure to the sun.
I kissed her one afternoon, when she had to go into the cupboard, at the time I was in it, and it was obvious she just wanted to initiate something. We were in the bed, and when I got down on her (only sexual thing I did before and felt comfortable doing, wanting to show that I am not some schmuck, but a seasoned lover), I saw that she had nothing under her dress. Her pussy was bald and perfect, and she came really, really fast.
As I took my shorts down, ready for more, I guess she came to her senses, and asked me to stop. She said she is sorry, but that I have to go.
You can imagine the blue balls I had that day.
Tomorrow, she acted if nothing has ever happened.
The day after, her husband came back.
And that was it. I thought about that woman, for solid five years, at first, every night, then once a week, than monthly. This morning, I remembered her again, and decided to write this.
The Night I Remember Who I Was
by @Military_Spouse
Nobody knows this. I’m telling it now because, honestly, I just want it out. Yes, this happened.
In university, I was in love with a man who broke me down in ways I didn’t even realize until years later. He was charming on the outside — funny, magnetic — but behind closed doors, I wasn’t his girlfriend. I was his toy. His cum rag. His property. And I let it happen, because I believed that love meant letting someone own you.
We broke up in the fall of my final year. And that was when I met someone new — gentle, kind, the kind of man who held my face like it was made of glass. He’s now my husband. But this story isn’t about him.
He was on an internship in Russia for three months, and I was left behind with empty nights and lingering shadows. I went out with my girlfriends, trying to remember what it meant to be free, to be wanted without being hurt. But I was still tethered to something darker.
That’s when I saw him again — my ex — across the room at a bar. He barely acknowledged me, like I was some old hook-up he could barely place. And maybe that made me feel something... dirty, maybe defiant. I let him buy me a drink. One turned into several. My friends left. He offered to drive me home. I should have said no.
But I didn’t.
Instead of taking me home, he drove us to his place. Said I looked like I still wanted to party. I told myself I was in control this time.
His friends were there — two of them, watching me like they knew stories about me. And soon, he was telling those stories out loud. How I used to beg for anal. How I could deep-throat until I gagged and still kept going. How I rimmed him like it was dessert. And I didn’t stop him.
Because by then… I was wet. Humiliated. And incredibly turned on.
I laughed. I played along. I performed. I let it happen.
Clothes came off. My body obeyed. One dick in each hand. His cock in my mouth. My ankles in the grip of his friends while he whipped my pussy raw with his belt, barking, “Keep the whore’s legs open.”
And the worst part? I came. More than once. Loudly. Shamelessly.
They fucked me all night — rough, ruthless, relentless. One would cum on my face while another drove into me from behind. They took turns using my holes like I was nothing. And for those hours... I felt like everything.
When it was over, he didn’t even offer a shower or a bed. Just called me a cab and told me to get out. I dressed slowly, sore, wrecked, dripping.
I checked my phone.
Missed calls from my boyfriend — now husband.
I called him. Told him I was out with girlfriends. Lied without flinching. He said he had a surprise and was coming back into town early.
He arrived at my apartment two hours later. I hadn’t even washed the night off of me.
He knocked.
And when I opened the door, he dropped to one knee and proposed.
I said yes.
We called our families. We laughed. We cried. He held me like I was sacred.
And beneath it all, I was still sticky with someone else’s cum.
I tell this story not because I regret it, but because I don’t.
Yes, I was shaped by "Bad Treatment". But I learned that I crave roughness. I crave degradation. But on my terms. Now, I choose when I want to be a whore. I choose who gets to use me, and how. And no, my husband can’t give me that — not yet. But I love him. And he knows who I am.
People judge women like me.
But I don't care.
I own every inch of this story. I own the filth. I own the power. I am Cari. And I am free.
I fucking crave my tranny lover's cock like dr**s and I'm a fucking addict. We've come so many times together, I've lost count of the loads we've shared. I was just a 18-year-old, innocent little slut weighing 140 lbs when I met her. She popped my cherry and showed me what a real cock could do. I was always curious about sucking dick, but I was too shy to try it with a guy, so I fell hard for trannies and their thick, beautiful cocks. I saw her ad on CL and BP, so I figured she was legit. It took me a fucking month to build up the nerve to call my first escort. One night, high as a kite and horny as hell, I finally called her and got the address. I was nervous as fuck driving to the motel, but my hunger for cock overpowered any fear. I walked up to the door, and it opened automatically with her hiding behind it. My heart was pounding; I had no idea what I was in for. She revealed herself after closing the door, and holy fuck, a stallion stood before me. A 6'1 blonde Costa Rican beauty in fuck-me heels, a skimpy corset, and see-through panties hugging her thick, hard cock. I sat on the bed, trying to act cool, but my eyes were glued to that beautiful bulge. She noticed me staring, asked for the money, and I handed it over eagerly. Still sitting, she stood in front of me and told me to remove her panties. As I pulled them down, she grabbed my head and fed me that 7-inch, fat cock I'd been dreaming about. I gagged and slurped, loving every fucking second of it. I was finally the little slut I always wanted to be, hungry for her load. She stood me up, and we made out, rubbing our cocks together. It was so fucking hot. She told me to get on the bed, and I mentioned it was my first time. She looked at me and called me a dirty little slut for the way I sucked her cock. She laid me down and started spoon-fucking me from behind, slow at first to let me adjust to her thick cock. She pounded me harder and harder, stretching me out, and then made me ride her cowgirl style. I rode that majestic cock like a little twinky boy toy, loving every fucking second of it. I was getting fucked so good that I didn't want to stop. I started riding her harder, moaning like a little bitch, “FUCK THAT ASS HARDER! I'M GONNA RIDE THIS DICK UNTIL I CAN'T FUCKING MOVE! JERK ME OFF WHILE YOU FUCK ME! OH GOD, I'M GONNA CUM! DON'T YOU DARE STOP!” I blew my load, shooting cum about 3 feet in the air, and it landed all over her. She came like a horse inside me, filling me up with her hot cum. I was leaking cum everywhere, loving the feeling of being used and filled. From then on, we had so many encounters—fucking in residential homes she rented for a day or two, waiting in hotel closets while she fucked other clients so I could have her all to myself. My ultimate fantasy? To be her little fuck toy "husband," used and ab**sed whenever she wants, my ass and mouth always ready for her cock, always hungry for her load
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