ART IS DEAD // 1:12 – 1:17

I guess this is a Meet the Slut sort of post? If that (understandably) isn’t your thing, feel free to skip it, but I feel like maybe I haven’t accurately represented all of myself, which I’ll be honest bugs the fuck out of me. I’ve told you guys little to nothing about myself in order to maintain some small sliver of ever-fading anonymity. At this point all you know is I’m a fairly attractive (maybe) female with a pretty healthy appetite for fucking, who is married to a fairly slut-loving guy and maybe for some of you that’s enough. But I have a sneaking suspicion some of you out there on this beautiful invention we call the internet might like to see me as a fully fledged person instead of a easily choked out fuck toy.

This won’t be a life story type of spiel. More like a proper introduction and what to expect if you’ve been foolish enough to make it your quest to find and fuck me. A warning if you will, whether you take it as that is up to you.

I have recently learned to sum myself up as a sentient void that can only be filled with sex, affection and attention. Which is extremely accurate, but I also (obviously) love writing. Reading weird shit (bizarro fiction for the win). Head diving face first into anything that seems relatively occult. Horror. I fuckin’ love horror and sci-fi. One of my favorite things to do is to have access to a pool to jump in totally naked at night in the summer & just look up at the sky, trying to spot constellations & quietly hoping the aliens finally feeling generous enough to come take me & mine off this hellrock.

And I’ve made independent, amateur porn for 99% of my adult life. I think it’s partly what led W & I down this path and why we were able to skip a good portion of what couples embarking on this type of journey consider necessary testing of their relationship. Sometimes I feel like I brought all of this on by force of by having/demanding to keep the job I have. We were playing with toys in the bedroom by 4 years into the relationship, I had him ask to watch me play with someone else on cam (at “work”) by year 5. We’ve (for better or worse) successfully dealt with jealousy, mutual distrust, general bullshit most couples spend a lifetime focusing on and trying to get passed. And he’s spent the majority of this relationship being intimately aware of just how badly people want to fuck his wife and not just in my job.

I vaguely remember one time, extremely early on in our dating that was the exact moment I demonstrated to him exactly who I was. We stopped at a local gas station to grab smokes & snacks, he went in and left me in the car alone, keys in the ignition. Two idiots in the truck next to us, for whatever reason decided to try to talk me. When I ignored them they got out of their truck and with all the audacity only two drunk white dudes in the Midwest could have, got into W’s car. With one in the drivers seat, the other in the back I sat there annoyed and fairly shocked as an inexperienced-with-the-assholes-of-the-world kid. Bad pick-up line after bad pick-up line flew out of his ugly, idiot’s mouth while his friend laughed at his weak attempts to fuck me from W’s backseat. I anxiously eyed the door and the second I saw W step out, I gave them a heaping helping of bard-like Vicious Mockery, laughing in their faces at the pathetic attempts to woo me just as W came within listening distance. He stood absolutely dumbfounded as they spat back weak venom about what an ugly bitch I was, then noticing W slinked back to their truck to rev it in defiance of my rejection. I’d like to think that’s the first W realized, I don’t need him, but I definitely wanted him.

I’m regaling with you this story, dear reader, to do two things: show you I’m indeed a real human with thoughts, feelings (aside from horny) and a very big personality & to give you a little piece of insight: W isn’t the one you have to worry about in this hellish little match up you may stumble across if you’re lucky enough to be within fucking distance: it’s me. I’ll make you give up & cry long before he has to kick your ass.

Now back to your regularly scheduled slut stories…

Darling Nikki // 2:09 – 2:17

I won’t lie, now adays I’m well aware that when I’m in a room with B I’m even more easily distracted than usual, so this part is no surprise to me, but the only thing I remember between walking up to the room and getting started is smiling. A lot.

Once inside the room, W sat in his usual position: whatever chair the hotel/motel/temporary fuck haven has provided & I made drinks with the ugly purple-ish pink & green cheap cups I’d brought, clunking the vodka bottle clumsily back into the shitty little mini fridge after I was done. I gave B his drink and sipped on mine.

Now to get get from point A to point B, I’d honestly have to have W or B sit here with me while I write this and help me accurately remember. Because of the absolutely enjoyable combination of substances being used, the time between now – the night in question & the general excitement of the whole thing it’s all pretty fuckin’ blurry. We’d found someone exactly as advertised AND who knew his way around. It all resulted in a avalanche of orgasms & being especially obsessed with worshipping his giant cock. I came again and again all over his almost-perfect cock. It worked and worked EXTREMELY well for almost everything he wanted to do to me/have me to do him.

He dirty talked like a pro (and is the reason I realized I LOVE dirty talk), made my pussy wetter than a water fountain with little to no effort, fingered like an especially seasoned lesbian in a back alley at PRIDE & completely ruined damn near all of me in the best possible way. There’s (well edited) video footage of all this out there on the internet so if you really wanna see it for yourself…you’ll find a way.

I’ll admit, what really impressed me with B wasn’t his dick or how he knew his way around my pussy like he’d fucked it dozens of time before. It was the way he reacted to things, his personality & his general outlook on stuff. Easy going isn’t accurate enough a term to describe how well he rolled with everything thrown at him that night. I looked that man dead in his eye and threatened to fuck his mom (though I can’t remember why) with his dick buried as deep inside me as possible and he didn’t even flinch. I’m 80% sure he said something along the lines of “And I’d let you.” Needless to say, he left my pussy, myself & even W (a little bit) impressed. At some point he made me cum so loud W had to turn on the TV and blare some stupid comedy show to try and drown out my moans. 10/10, would fuck again material.

And after the surprisingly shy, vanilla & straight laced Mr. Martini the weekend before, B was a hurricane force gale of fresh air. His sense of humor matched mine, if not W’s, his dick was absolutely nothing short of something created for me to play with & worship and he made me cum in a ways that left me sore for days afterwards. I admittedly left that hotel room on shaky legs and it wasn’t from the vodka.

As we rode home, I think I was the one who brought up asking B to be our regular. The person who we can trust to come over & maintain discretion. Someone we could both trust to take me out alone and still obey boundaries. Someone we both actually liked and for more than just fucking (although, especially that). We both agreed to test him out a little more & see where it led.

W and I got home. I stumbled out of the car, still smiling and trying to adjust my clothes. We got into the house and no sooner than we had walked upstairs I was naked, riding W’s dick on extremely shaky legs, trying (and failing) to keep my moans contained to our little would-be studio apartment. I came hard more than a few more times, climbed off & licked my favorite flesh toy clean then passed out in pure bliss.

W & I knew one thing for sure: B had gotten me addicted to his cock in just one night.

Wolf Like Me // 1:34 -1:49

When we started this slutty little adventure, I’d made one thing I wanted out of it crystal clear: someone we could text/call up & trust to come over to fuck me without making a scene or causing suspicion. Someone who could take me out alone if W was busy/uninterested in sexual shenanigans that day. Our permanent living situation isn’t exactly ideal for our now-permanent lifestyle so someone I want to keep around long term is a pretty tall order.

Have I mentioned I’m weirdly lucky yet?

In waltzes B. A 23 yr old who I was so sure was actually 25 (spoiler, he isn’t) who was just my type. He pops up in my messages with a screenname I can’t resist (and won’t post here since it’s very much one he uses other places) and one of the most perfect dicks I’ve seen in my entire life. And doing camming/porn for over a decade, you see a LOOOOT of dick so I won’t claim I’m an expert yet, but I know pretty, fulfilling cock when I see it.

We meet up with him at some overpriced college bar after our first choice of venue turned out to be WAY too overpopulated with children for a Saturday night & have a couple drinks as we a watch an overpriced soon-to-be bride walk around with a bouquet of lollipops asking people if they “want a suck for a buck”. The whole game being that her and her fiancé race to see who can con the most money out the people in the bar to pay for dinner.

Life has a weirdly funny way of showing me things at just the right time for them to be genuinely hilarious.

I made a comment to our new friend B that the last bachelorette party we saw on *our* side of town, the bride and her friends were taking turns drunkenly swinging around a foot long dildo as they hit on/harassed the various bartenders and loudly screeched with joy.

“Yeah, that sounds a lot more fun than whatever this is. How can you even have a bachelorette party WITHOUT a foot long dildo to whip out and helicopter?” is one of the sentences that came out of B’s mouth that made sure my pussy would be the next thing in it.

He was so sweet, extremely cute, a little goofy and little bit of an asshole. Turns out, that’s the perfect combination to make me drip. The next thing I knew we were running to the store to grab more vodka for me & after that a hotel for everyone.

We walked into the grocery store and I quickly grabbed everything we’d need to finish off the evening with a bang. I ran around quietly giggling like an idiot while W trailed behind with a smirk on his face. We meet up at the hotel with B waiting patiently outside. We stood back as W booked the room, talking shit about whatever we can come up with to pass the time. I stood there with a stupid grin on my face, mentally undressing him and deciding what I wanted to do with him once we got up to the room.

I had absolutely no fucking idea what I was in for.

Left Brain, Right Brain // 1:47 – 2:21

We quickly (and excitedly) made our way to the dive bar Mr. Martini had in mind for the evening & took our seats towards the back. I anxiously waited & sipped on my Screwdriver while eye fucking the gorgeous waitress and complimenting her/her tattoos any chance I got. After 10 minutes inside with the music & drunken yelling, I realized I wasn’t tipsy enough to be exist in the dimly lit booze den so we made our way to the patio to finish our drinks and wait.

After sitting out in the sunshine for a few minutes, admiring the sheer amount of dogs people bring to this place we see Mr. Martini strolling up, looking fairly determined and confident. Quite the change from the puppy dog I saw in his car at the gas station parking lot a few evenings before.

He walked up, found us & got himself (and me) a drink from the bar. We sat as the sun sank down behind the shimmering, ugly buildings surrounding us, shooting the most casual of shit considering the intended outcome of the evening. W & Mr. Martini discussed work, I made dick jokes whenever the opportunity presented itself & went on a full spiel about how if Martini wants a dog & can afford a dog, why not get one.

Dusk drops around us as I suddenly put the night’s most important question on the table: are we getting a hotel room or can he host? Because I’m mostly certainly down to fuck.

Mr. Martini pipes up that he can host & his apartment is just down the street from where we were sitting. We gather ourselves together & head his way as he does the same.

We pull up to what I can only describe as something that looked like dozens of aluminum shipping crates stacked on top of each other to make a building with windows & sliding glass doors installed. We make our way through the lobby & up to his place, my eyes burning at the sudden and intense brightness with which everything inside this opulent abode is lit. A quick knock on the door & we’re inside being greeted with the perfect thing: an offer of a dirty martini (with delicious jalapeno olives) & the sound of quiet music.

I slip off my shoes and marvel my way to his living room, noticing YouTube music playing some John Popper (ew, but whatever) jam session video. I take my seat on the couch as W spies a big, single seat chair & plops down in it, taking it as his own.

Mr. Martini brings me my drink & sits down on the couch next to me with his own. W being the smart man he is realizes, not a lot is going to start with him in the room. Both of the people expected to fuck are pants shittingly nervous & while there’s no real tension in the room regarding his presence, I’ve been monogamous for well over a decade – I had no idea where to even start.

He excuses himself for a cigarette & the next thing I know, I’m kissing and groping on Mr. Martini, pulling his pants down/off. I don’t even hear W come back in, but after we take a quick breathing break from stripping down and sucking face I notice him sitting in that big, poofy chair, watching the night unfold & smiling ear-to-ear. I took this as a big, beautiful green light to proceed however I wanted to…and I did.

Most of what happened next has been lost in a blur of time, excitement & alcohol.

I remember hearing him (Mr. Martini) gasp as I took his dick in my mouth, sucking & licking it like the last popsicle of my favorite flavor from the freezer.

I remember riding him and trying not to laugh because he was very much trying to bring male porn star energy and very much had no clue how to do that.

I remember cumming at least twice. Both times from his awesomely attuned hands.

I remember taking a smoke break & having him play with my pussy as I looked out over the balcony railing to the two big, gawdy Catholic churches that faced his place. I laughed at the lovely coincidence of it all and pushed his hand deeper into my cunt.

I remember him licking my armpits & sucking on my toes. My first fetish fun in forever.

I remember him asking (very nicely) for a spit-covered handjob and realizing he’s found the ONE thing I’m not at all skilled at sex wise.

And I remember us both deciding mutual masturbation was the best way to end this night. I laid back on his couch as I cranked his cock, fingering and eventually fisting my pussy as I watched. Having done live cams for years on end, I always wondered how I’d feel if someone was to give me a show in real life and as it turns out, it makes me cum just as hard if not harder than being on cam.

Mr. Martini and I collapsed in a pile of sweat and cum, opposite each other on his fancy couch. I played with his feet & traced his birthmark that looked a bit like Orion Belt sans the belt as the music played in the background & I finished the last drink he’d made.

We said our goodbyes & made our way back to the car, W & I all too excited to get home and jump all over each other again. I got him home and immediately let him dive into my ass, bouncing up and down on his cock, trying not to scream-moan the whole house awake.

The first one’s always the hardest, but Mr. Martini made it pretty damn easy and fun.


There was supposed to be an order to how we do these types of things. A long list of rules for how we approach it. We’d sat down the same day we’d decided to go on this adventure & made up a comprehensive way we thought we could make this work & maintain boundaries. A month in and I can successfully say, most of them have been left at the door as arbitrary, unhelpful or as a needless complication.

We have four rules that seem to have stuck around and evolved. And Mr. #1 helped created one of the big ones: no second chances. Flake on the first date and YOU’RE OUT, regardless of what your excuse is. The others I’ll go through another time, but right now lets talk about why I’m so goddamn merciless when it comes to canceling meet-ups last minute.

Mr. #1 got his name because he was our first choice to actually meet up for drinks/whatever comes later. But I honestly can’t even remember his face or dick (I’m pretty sure I saw both, it’s just etiquette) so maybe what happened next is for the best.

We’d scheduled Mr. #1’s meet up for the first Saturday after we’d dove into all this. That night I excitedly got all slutted up, threw my panties to the wayside & walked out of the house with W in tow to go meet what was supposed to be my first dick date.

I send him a text saying we’re on the way to the bar we agreed on right now, telling him how excited I was & get an almost immediate response back of…

“Oh wow, I totally forgot about our date (??). My mom has been in a serious car accident (?!) and I’m working out of town the next few days (!?!?!) so I can’t make it.”

Needless to say, I didn’t really buy it. Now, fuck me with a smiting if his poor mother did suffer some sort of accident, but the way it was typed (almost exactly how the above quote is) reeked of “the dog ate my homework” so I left him on read.

My disappoint & annoyance swelled until I remembered that Mr. Martini was close by where we were going to meet Mr. #1 and with a few quick text messages, date night was saved.

Me and My Husband // 1:15 – 1:32

Almost immediately after we’d both cum harder than either of us had in awhile (look at me, making assumptions about his orgasms like I have a dick or something), I dove into the depths of the internet researching/signing up for these sites he’d listed. AdultFriendFinder this… FetLife that… Fling. Tinder. Feeld. A whole list of sites who’s names I’d heard over the year, but never had any real reason to give a second thought to.

I dipped between creating these shiny new slut accounts & drunkenly reading and re-reading the article that had spurred him into talking to me about all of this.

It was a woman describing her own situation with this lifestyle in a way that I’d never heard before. Where you can do this type of thing and no one has to take any humiliation from it they don’t want to. W is not into insults for pleasure. Something, something Vixen/Stag/Buck vs. Cuckold/Wife/Bull. The terms being used to describe things took on a new importance that I hadn’t considered while searching up the porn I had been for the last couple (few?) years. You can put whatever fantasy you want on a cuckold clip, but when it comes to real life, words definitely matter.

After more talking (it seems huge amounts of honest communication seem to be key to doing this without hurt feelings) he proclaimed he had no desire for these dude’s to shit talk him, he just wanted to equivalent of live, personalized porn. And I wanted to be the world’s slut. It was and always has been a match made in an especially colorful level of Hell.

With his okay & confirmation that this was something he actually wanted to go forward with, I signed up and picked a name that I figured no one else would find me under. Since I already have a quite infamous and sexual presence on the internet (yes, I’ve conveniently skipped over that part, gimme a minute) I decided to go with something totally out of left field to (at least temporarily) hide the fact that my day job for the last 10+ years has been making independent fetish porn.

For the first time in my adult life I was just a silly slut on the internet looking for easily accessible dick that would obey boundaries & fuck me senseless. We weren’t even sure there would be any interest. I’m over 30 & I’m not exactly what the picture of the local beauty standards. Or beauty standards anywhere really. I’ve curated my look over the years to read “GET AWAY OR I MIGHT STAB YOU” not “Please socialize with me”.

The next morning we woke up to 20+ messages on the main site we’d chosen to fuck around on & dozens of messages everywhere else. Overwhelmed is an apt word to describe how it felt reading through those, but so are powerful, elated, surprised & horny.

Hell And You // 1:27 – 2:18

I’m never sure how to start this part. Every encounter we’ve had so far is amazingly easy to sum up. Like every other big revelation in our relationship over the last 15+ yrs, it happened during sex.

W had been making a weirdly large effort to get me more fucked up (drunk) than usual & I figured it was for our usual game of “of course you have permission to fuck said sleepy drunk girl”. I was wrong. It started out like that until in the middle of one of my moaning bouts I hear a very quiet, very intense voice come out of my favorite person & it whispers “I wanna share you”.

Que the simultaneous feeling of confusion and extreme elation. I would really say I stopped him, my pussy was waaaay too into what it had just heard to do that, but I did ask him in between gasps and groans if he was serious. Like really serious. He whispered back in my ear that he was and I had one of the best orgasms of my life.

Afterwards, hoping that his hard on wasn’t the one doing the talking I asked what the next step was. Where the fuck do we (safely and sanely) find people to “share” me with? How the fuck does this process work? How long had you been thinking about this? How long had I?

In the midst of doing crossfire style questions on each other, I had an epiphany of something that happened a couple months prior. I flashed back to a very “Spiderman points at Spiderman” moment where in the middle of me lamenting how we don’t have access to cloning technology so I could be properly fucked in a threesome, W randomly asked if I wanted to fuck other dudes. Through narrowed eyes I simply answered with a question of my own: did he want me to fuck other dudes? No, of course not.

Apparently, we’re both terrible liars.