A brief introduction to me, a secret milf who goes to church on Sunday’s but always travels home alone from Bingo in the hope of being raped.
Hello, my name is Brenda and I’m a sex addict. Always have beenI guess. I was a pretty kid and didn’t I just know it. I’d just soak up their compliments, preening and posing for them as cutely as I could. I never equated this with sex but even then, I loved being touched by everybody and anybody. Of course, my underage erotic adventures must remain a closed book here thanks to these new age limit laws but suffice it to say that my craving for attention, especially from guys, has never left me. I want to be the most important thing in the world to them, if only for a few frantic minutes. But no, want us too vague a word, I need to feel desired so strongly that a man can’t keep his hands off of me or his cock out of me. Any man.
The problem with this is that I’m now a 40 year old housewife and mother of two who’s husband has no idea that his spouse is a raving and perpetually frustrated sexual maniac. I’d lose everything if he ever found out. Therefore, our mutual friends are strictly off limits and I have to seek solace with strangers. It’s a dangerous game but that only adds to the thrill of it all. On several occasions, powerful hands have encircled my throat and squeezed a little but the excruciating bliss I’m experiencing as a result an unfamiliar penis pounding my vagina into liquid ecstacy forces me to let it happen.
Force; I love that word when applied to sex. That’s why I’ve never really been raped. There’s quite a few men now who think they’ve raped me and it pleasured me to play the role of their victim. However, the truth of the matter was I just wanted to get shagged, humped, shafted and fuck.
Part of my addiction is the buzz I get out of not being in control. The feelings of powerlessness and vulnerability I experienced when a man “forces” himself on me is hard to describe. My body is no longer my own. I have no say in how fiercely my boobs are being savaged or how brutally my cervix is being repeatedly pounded by the monstrous cock in an effort to completely rearrange my insides. Pain and pleasure mingle to produce orgasm and it’s in orgasm that I truly feel exquisitely alive. Everything that’s gone before, the groping of my thighs, my getting my eager grasping hands on the guy’s manhood, my arse getting mailed, his tongue down my throat; these have all served to validate my worth as a woman, but it’s the earthshaking eruption of all consuming orgasm that is the real prize.
There’s also the cool dark thrill I get from duping my family and friend into thinking I’m just a demure little housewife and mother who’s content with her domestic lot. Well, actually, living two lives the way I am, I suppose I am content. I know I’m playing Russian Roulette with my health. Sexually transmitted diseases are a distinct possibility when you’re as promiscuous as I am but then, what the fuck? I’m as bothered about that as druggies are about the cleanliness of their needles at the moment of getting their fix. Maybe I think giving a cock a good suck before letting it loose on my pussy will kill off the germs. Maybe I’m a tiny bit insane, but then aren’t all addicts.
This is just a short introduction to what I hope will be a series of stories concerning my erotic adventures. That depends on whether or not I get comments encouraging me to write them. I guess that’s down to you, dearest reader. As an added inducement, here’s a selfie. The thought of gentlemen masturbating over it has already set my pussy a-tingle and I very much doubt that anyone who knows me will be a fan of Sex Stories 69. At least, I hope so 🤞🏻.
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