Hello everyone. My name is Sarah, and I’ve lurked this sub on my main account for a long time, but never had anything to post myself until now. I really need to get this all out though, because I am still trying to process what happened. Advice from seasoned sluts is certainly welcome (guys, feedback and comments are welcome too, but respectfully, please save your advice and don’t flood my inbox with DMs.) This is going to be long – there is a lot of backstory I really have to get out here. 

My boyfriend and I have been together for about three years, and he’s the only guy I’ve ever done anything sexual with… or at least he was until this past weekend. He is very sweet (most of the time – we’ll get to that), and in the bedroom he has always been very attentive to my pleasure. He always makes sure I orgasm, so I really shouldn’t have any complaints about our sex life. There’s just one problem: as far back as I can remember, I have constantly had very kinky, and sometimes outright depraved sexual fantasies. When I say depraved I mean up to and including stuff I don’t think I’m allowed to talk about here. I have a subby streak a mile wide, and my boyfriend just does not understand it and cannot satisfy it. 

I’m not even talking about the really depraved stuff here, mind you. I’ve never even brought that stuff up to him. I mean like he can’t even bring himself to properly spank me. I tried to get him to do it once, and it was such a sorry tap it not only didn’t excite me, it was actually a turn off. I once went so far as to ask him to call me a slut, and he seemed genuinely disturbed. I played it off like I’d only asked because I thought it was something all guys were into. So I’ve always just looked at it like I’m sort of nobly suffering for the sake of the relationship. 

It doesn’t help that I get a lot of male attention. It’s very weird for me personally to think of myself as “hot.” I’ve always felt like I have more of a cute vibe than hot, kind of girl next door. I have dark hair that I wear with bangs, freckles, and I don’t wear a lot of makeup or dress up too much; I’m usually a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, though I do throw on the occasional skirt. But the truth is, deep down, I know that I am hot. I have a classic “slimthick” figure and 34DDs, and I catch men checking me out constantly. Sometimes guys have even hit on me when I’m out with my boyfriend, like with him right there. So there’s always been this thought in the back of my mind that it would be so easy to indulge my fantasies if I just cut loose and let go. I mean, I’d have plenty of applicants to consider, at least. And I’m assuming this is obvious, but in case anyone’s thinking it, no, there’s no chance of opening up the relationship so I could experiment with more dominant partners. My boyfriend is very jealous. Like I can’t even have male friends, at least not who I see when he’s not there. 

But as frustrating as it all is, I’ve always felt it was worth it. So what changed after all this time? Honestly, everything. It feels like everything changed and I’m still trying to figure out why. 

All this started because of my lack of direction in life. After graduating high school, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with myself; I’ve always been on the creative/artsy side of things, but I didn’t want to rack up a bunch of debt going to art school given how hard it can be to make a living that way. So I just got a serving job and have been kind of coasting for a while. Well, this year, my parents basically gave me an ultimatum: go back to school or move out. My boyfriend and I had been talking for a while about moving in together, and so it seemed like the right time to take the plunge. We found a nice apartment downtown, I found a new serving job in a nearby restaurant, and suddenly there I was, out on my own and independent – well, sort of. 

The place I work now is a very different environment from my last job. That place was a large chain restaurant, but this is a smaller privately owned place, and the clientele is mostly trendy young people with money, which is great because they tip well. It’s also where I met Amanda. 

Amanda has been a manager there for a couple years now, and she was responsible for training me my first couple days. We hit it off right away. In a lot of ways, she’s exactly the kind of girl I wish I could be more like; confident, outgoing, well-spoken, and seems to be very open and unashamed about every aspect of who she is. She made me feel at home right away, and it’s been really nice becoming friends with her because my friends from high school have mostly gone away to college. Until I started working here, the only people I really saw socially were my boyfriend’s friends when I would go to game nights with him or whatever. 

Like I said, Amanda doesn’t seem to hide much about herself. She has kind of an alt emo girl look going, but in a classy and grown-up way, if that makes sense. But one accessory she seems to pretty much always wear that’s not just for aesthetics is a black choker with a heart-shaped padlock dangling from it. I may not be very experienced, but I know what that means. I was curious about it right away – given I felt immediately like she was a safe person for me to talk to, I wanted to ask her all kinds of questions. I was still a bit too nervous to bring it up, though. 

I also noticed right away that there was a guy who’d regularly come in and hang at the bar who Amanda always went over to see. He was quite handsome, and I naturally assumed he was her boyfriend. When I asked her, she just smiled and said, “it’s more of a friends with benefits thing.” 

Well, a few months later, it’s the Friday of labor day weekend, and I’ve been feeling really good about the way everything’s going. Paying my own bills and making some friends at work is making me feel like I’ve taken a big step forward in life, and I’ve been getting the feeling – maybe just convincing myself of it – that my relationship is developing and maturing too. I’ve been working my way up to trying to ask my boyfriend to try something new in the bedroom again. It’s been a while since last time, and we should be able to talk about this stuff like the adults we are. Or so I thought. 

So what does my dumb ass do? I ask him, in the middle of morning sex, to choke me. He immediately pulls out and just loses it. 

I try to get him to calm down and explain that it’s really not that abnormal, but he isn’t having it. He keeps demanding to know why I would want that, and won’t accept it when I try to explain I just think it seems hot. He tells me that there’s something wrong with me. That was about the point where I started to cry. 

That made him back down pretty quickly and start to apologize, but I was really hurt. He hadn’t loved it the past few times I’d tried to suggest anything kinky, but he’d never made me feel ashamed like that before. I told him it was okay, but it really wasn’t okay, and I think he knew that. I said I just needed some time and I’d be over it. 

When I go to work that day, I must be making it really obvious I’m upset, because when I take my lunch Amanda pokes her head into the breakroom to ask if I’m alright. I really do feel like I need a shoulder to lean on at that moment, and she’s the only person I know at this point who I feel like I could confide in, so it all just pours out. I really go into a surprising amount of detail about some of my fantasies, too – not the really dark stuff, but I get pretty detailed. It’s amazing to feel that comfortable with someone for once. 

When I get to telling her how my boyfriend reacted that day, I’m surprised at how outraged she seems. She can’t believe he flew off the handle like that and says really bluntly that she thinks he’s the one with something wrong with him. And I have to say, just hearing her express that felt as if it was unlocking something in the pit of my stomach. I’d never actually felt angry at my boyfriend for this, or really anything before, but for the first time, I kind of did. I couldn’t fault him for not being into the things I am, but maybe I could fault him for reacting so childishly when I tried to bring it up. 

So Amanda tells me that she thinks I need to have some fun on my own for once and that I should come to a house party that she and some other coworkers are going to after work tonight. I’m really not normally a big house party kind of person, as I’m not much of a drinker and I tend to get sort of uncomfortable in large crowds of people I don’t know. But I am in no position to turn down social life right now. My boyfriend won’t like it – he doesn’t like me going anywhere without him, especially not parties where people are drinking. But for the first time since we started dating, I tell myself he’s just going to have to put on his big boy pants and deal with it. Fuck him. 

So a few hours later, there I am in a large house downtown surrounded by loud music, a can of beer in my hand, still in my work clothes (black button up shirt over a tank top and a skirt – I don’t wear my usual jeans to work because everyone else there seems to put in more effort than that, so I’d feel weird.) Now I know what you might be thinking here, but no, I cannot blame anything that happened that night on alcohol. I only drank that one beer; like I said, I don’t really drink, and I’m not about to start at a party where I barely know anyone. I think I may be in the process of becoming a stupid slut, but I haven’t gotten that stupid just yet. Anyway, one is enough to make me feel a bit buzzed, but not to impair my judgment or lower my inhibitions. I did those things entirely on my own. 

Amanda, being the social butterfly she is, can’t be relied on to babysit my awkward self, and I can’t blame her. She is also mostly spending time with the handsome bar regular who she is apparently fucking – since I just work in the dining area, I’ve still never interacted with the guy and don’t know his name. My boyfriend, meanwhile, is blowing up my phone basically begging me to come home and telling me he’s sorry, which is only making me more pissed off at him. The truth is, I’m not really having fun, but I’m sure as hell not going to admit that to him.

After we’ve been there a couple hours and I’ve managed to have some scattered conversations here and there, Amanda suddenly appears and affectionately rubs my shoulders. “Having fun?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” I say, probably not very convincingly. 

She leans in and begins to whisper to me in a very conspiratorial manner. And this is where it all starts to go topsy turvy. 

“Listen,” she asks, “what do you think about Jason?” 

“Who?” 

She gestures across the room at her handsome bar regular, who is gazing back at us with a drink in his hand and smiles. I immediately look away, probably turning bright red. “Uh, I’ve never met him,” I reply. “He’s really cute, though.” 

“He thinks you’re cute too,” Amanda says. She leans in again, getting extra conspiratorial. “And I guarantee, where your boyfriend’s lacking, he’ll do everything you ever wanted.”

God, did I ever get weak in the knees there. I’m still trying to wrap my head around exactly what happened to me in that moment and why it affected me so much. I think it had to do with how “wrong” it seemed on multiple levels. There was the obvious fact that she was suggesting I do exactly what my jealous, paranoid boyfriend was always so afraid I’d do if he let me out of his sight for a few hours. But there was also the way she was just like… offering me her man, so casually, like lending someone a car. Of course I knew they weren’t technically an item, but even so. 

“I can’t just cheat like that,” I reply. I’m fighting hard against whatever it is that seems to be awakening in me. I want this. How can I want this? How can I want to betray my boyfriend’s trust like this? 

As if she’s reading my mind, Amanda looks me straight in the eye and says, “he deserves it. And you deserve to find out what you’re missing out on.” 

She’s so confident in everything she does and says. I want to be like her. My heart is racing. And then another thought creeps into my mind, one that makes me shudder: what trust is there to betray? He doesn’t trust me at all. 

Amanda nudges me. “Listen,” she says. “If you don’t take me up on this quick, I’m gonna sneak off to a room with him and jump his bones. I’m basically offering to cockblock myself tonight to help you out, but the window’s gonna close. Go over there and say hello to him.” 

“Will you introduce me?” I ask. I can’t believe I’m saying it. There is no way I am actually going to do this. There just can’t be. That isn’t me. 

“Oh, fine, coward.” Amanda takes my hand and leads me across the room. 

“Jason,” Amanda says, pointing at Jason. “Sarah,” she says, pointing at me. Then she leaves me. 

I look at Jason and smile awkwardly. “Umm, hey, nice to meet you,” I say. 

“Likewise.” He looks me up and down, just for a moment, but enough to be noticeable. Then he extends his hand, I assume for a handshake at first, but his palm is facing upward. “Shall we?” 

So no small talk. He knew exactly what Amanda was telling me and why she brought me over. 

“Umm.” I am squirming, just looking down awkwardly at the extended hand. “I just don’t know if I should.” 

“Listen,” he tells me. “You’re in control. We won’t do anything you don’t want to.” 

That phrase, you’re in control, seems to have been the thing that finally pushed me over. I’ve never felt in control; I’ve always felt I’m accommodating whatever he wants. And that thing that’s happening inside me, this crazy torrent of feelings, just kind of takes over. For once it’s going to be what I want. I take his hand. 

He leads me down the hall and we duck into a bedroom. He flips the light on. I’ve never done it with the light on. My heart is pounding. He puts his hand on my waist and leads me over toward the bed and gently sits me down on its edge. HIs big hands run up my arms and onto my shoulders. I am visibly shaking a bit at this point, I’m sure of it. “So, Sarah, you like the idea of being choked?” he asks. Amanda really told him everything. 

All I can do is nod up at him. His hands gradually close in around my neck and tighten just the slightest bit. Not hard enough to stop me from breathing, or anything. But enough to send a thrill up my spine. “How’s this?” he asks. “More?” 

“Yes.” I say it so softly it’s barely more than a whisper. 

“If it gets to be too much, tap on my wrist,” he instructs me, and I nod. His hands tighten around my throat. I take big gasps, looking up at him. I am already soaking wet. 

His hands seem to be everywhere on me after that; one is in my hair, pulling it and arching my head upward by my scalp, while the other is undoing buttons on my shirt and finding its way inside to and underneath my bra. The next thing I know I’m being shoved back on the bed, and he’s straddling me, one hand locked around my throat again while the other works its way underneath my skirt. “Ah, you do like being choked,” he says with a smile as he feels the wet spot on my panties. 

Instinctively, I am reaching up to feel his body and my hand goes to feel his cock beneath his pants. He takes me firmly by the wrist and presses my hand down hard on the bed, still constricting my air flow somewhat with his other hand as I gasp. “No one told you you were allowed to touch yet, young lady,” he says. I’m melting. 

Soon my shirt is open, and then discarded. Next my skirt is on the floor. Then my tank top, then my panties. He is pulling me by my hair off the bed and onto the floor. On my knees. “Now you can get a feel,” he says, pressing my face up against the bulge in his pants. It’s big. I never doubted it would be; Amanda doesn’t strike me as the type to settle for less. 

“Take it out, Sarah.” I start scrambling with his belt. It comes out, and it’s even more impressive than I’d guessed. My boyfriend is not small, but is definitely not this big, and so I have never had one this big. 

He is still grasping me by my hair, and now he is holding me back a few inches away from his erection. “Beg me for it,” he orders. 

I’m so nervous I stumble over the words, but manage to squeak out, “please, sir let me suck your cock.” 

“That’s not begging. Really beg.” 

I take a deep breath, gather myself, and raise my volume. “Please, sir, let me suck your cock.” 

“Come on. You can beg better.” 

I try to just let go and stop thinking, and the words that come out are, “please let me be your cock sucking slut.” 

“Much better,” he says. He sounds genuinely approving, and I find his approval intoxicating. He lets go of my hair and I go in for his cock. I start slow and sensual. That’s apparently not the right move, as he grabs my hair again and shoves my head down. “Same as before, Sarah. If it’s too much, tap my leg.” 

The fact that he is looking out for me while simultaneously using me like a helpless fucktoy is sending my already critical level of arousal into overdrive. It makes me very badly not want anything to be too much. I have always wanted to learn to deepthroat, but my boyfriend would probably get scared and start crying or something if I started choking myself on his dick. So I am completely unprepared for this; I’ve never even gotten to practice on a regular sized cock before. I gag and find I can’t get more than half his length down. 

He seems satisfied with this for now, at least, and fucks my mouth at that halfway point a few times. I gurgle and choke, making it loud on purpose. I feel like I am home. 

He is bending down now and pulling undoing my bra, and I let it drop to the floor. He steps backward a bit, leaning me forward, then bends over me and spanks my ass, hard, while my mouth is still full of him. I’m trying to whimper as I gag now, it’s all just kind of a mess of sounds. He spanks me again, and again, and again. The stinging is glorious. I’m delirious at this point. I’ve completely forgotten that my boyfriend even exists. 

That, however, doesn’t last long. 

The next thing I know I am being shoved onto the bed, on my back. “You definitely want this, Sarah?” he asks as he teases me with his tip. 

“Please,” I whine. I’m not nervous anymore; I’ve lost myself too completely to be nervous. So the please comes out instinctively, quickly, without stammering. “Please fuck me, sir. Pleeeeeaaase.” 

He’s entering me. A quarter of the way. Half. Jesus fucking christ, he is filling me up. It does hurt somewhat, but I don’t care. I need this so fucking bad. And as he presses further inside me, he is looking me right in the eye, and then he asks, “do you want me to stop, Sarah?” 

“No.” Why would he even ask that?! I’ve never not wanted something so hard in my life. “Please keep going,” I beg. 

He smiles then, this taunting, cocky smirk, and asks, “but what about your boyfriend?” 

Oh my god, why is he bringing that up?! “I don’t need to think about that,” I say. “Please just fuck me.” 

He begins to thrust into me again, still slowly, but a little harder. “Look at me,” he says, “and tell me you want to cheat on your boyfriend.” 

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Why the fuck is this turning me on so much. “I want to cheat on my boyfriend,” I whine obediently. He thrusts again. Harder. I squeal. 

“Say, ‘I’m Sarah, and I’m a cheating slut.’” 

I can hardly believe I’m getting this instruction. But I remember what he told me. I’m in control. We don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do. And I realize, to my absolute disbelief, that I want to say it. “I’m Sarah, and I’m a cheating slut,” I tell him. 

Pound, pound, pound. Where. The fuck. Has this dick been. All my life. 

“Louder,” he orders me as he picks up his rhythm. 

“I’m a cheating slut!” I’m being loud enough now that someone walking by in the hall probably would have heard. And I say it again, without being prompted again. He’s stroking my clit while he rails me now. I’m already going to cum, and I’m telling him so, so he leans forward and chokes me again. He tells me to cum for him like the obedient little whore that I am. And I do. Because I am. 

He’s not done with me, of course. He picks me up, holding me by a big handful of hair behind my scalp again, and he walks me over to the bathroom attached to the bedroom we’ve entered. He makes me lean forward on the sink, looking into the mirror, and begins to pound me from behind. He has his arm wrapped around my neck now, pulling me backward into his thrusts. He makes me look in the mirror as I’m fucked and he whispers things into my ear that I’m instructed to repeat to myself: 

“I love being a submissive little fucktoy behind my boyfriend’s back. This cock is so much bigger and better than his and fucks me so much better. I’m such a slut. I’m such a whore. I love obeying. I love being used. I love cheating.” Things like that. I can’t remember all of them now; I was just repeating everything he told me like a mindless cock slave.

Orgasm #2 hits. Then I am back on my knees on the bathmat, doing everything I can to try to shove this dick, now drenched in my juices, farther down my throat than I could last time, though without much success. I am just deliriously gagging on this thing though, enough that he doesn’t feel the need to push me or fuck my mouth this time; I’m doing it to myself already. 

“I’m going to cum straight down your throat, Sarah,” he tells me. “You’re going to take as much of it straight down as you can.” 

I try to say “yes, sir,” but of course it’s a muffled mess of syllables since my mouth is stuffed. I’ve never attempted this before, and I have a feeling I’m not going to do a very good job. When his cum starts hitting the back of my throat, I discover I was correct. I am trying to swallow, but I’m choking and splurting it out all over his dick. 

“Clean it all up, Sarah,” he orders, and I dutifully start slurping every drop I can manage off of his shaft and swallowing as best I can. When he’s satisfied, he strokes my hair a few times, and tells me to stand, giving me his hand and pulling me up. My heart is pounding, my breath is heaving, and I cannot believe this just happened. He turns me around and faces me toward the mirror again, pressing up against my back. He leans down and gently kisses the side of my head. “Good girl, Sarah,” he says softly in my ear. He kisses my cheek, and my neck, his hands running along my body. “That’s my good girl.” 

My breath is starting to slow down, and I am staring at myself in the mirror. A few drops of cum are still on my chin and my tits. I do not recognize this person. “Thank you, sir,” I say, and I really mean it; I really do feel gratitude, though it’s sitting in a mixture of other emotions in the pit of my stomach like confusion, fear, shame, and excitement. 

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up and go rejoin the party,” he says, placing one final kiss on my forehead. 

And now here I am several days later, and I am still working on trying to process all of this. I have not told my boyfriend. I told him the party was uneventful and that I was sorry for not coming home sooner but I just needed some time to think things through. He seemed relieved I was back and didn’t ask me any more questions about it. 

I’ve told Amanda some of the details, and she seemed like a truly proud mentor. Apparently this woman is not trying to be a wholesome influence on me. She’s already told me that Jason would like to see me again. He’s been at the bar three nights I’ve worked since it all happened, and I avoided him completely. I’m still processing things and trying to decide what all this means. But notably, all three times he came in, he sat at the opposite end of the bar from where I have to go to pick up drinks for table service, which he doesn’t normally do. He’s making a point of giving me space, which is… really nice. 

Do I feel guilty? Of course I do. But the part that’s really fucking with me is that it’s almost as if feeling guilty about it is making it an even hotter memory. I think I am getting off on the shame. What’s more, I absolutely cannot stop thinking about doing it again. I think a slut who was hiding deep inside me got unleashed that night. I think she was who I saw in the mirror. I don’t know if it’s going to be possible for me to put her back in now. And I think maybe part of why I’m writing this is as a way of coming to grips with the fact that I don’t want to.