The trails that our mothers and grandmothers blazed for us i..
🕑 Added 2021-07-11 15:14:22 +0000 UTC
The trails that our mothers and grandmothers blazed for us in the 60s and 70s cannot be overemphasized. Their work in establishing women’s equality gave us the ability to seek out our own fulfillment beyond the confines of the home and gifted us huge control over our own bodies, especially with respect to reproductive rights. It’s no understatement to say that, without their Herculean efforts, a woman’s right to reap the benefits of a hotwife marriage never would have been realized.
But the unvarnished truth is this. Even before the advent of freely available birth control, married women were still secretly getting big dick on the side. Even without the freedom of mobility that comes from having careers outside of the marital home, it was obviously still possible for an enterprising housewife to arrange naughty couplings with hung and eager lovers. And without the responsibility that comes from a 9 to 5 work schedule, women had significantly more spare time for finding trouble to get into (or to get into them might be the better way to put it). Fortunately, women my age and y0unger have never had to be so creative and conniving with respect to our extramarital activities.
Going back, I’m pretty certain that I knew on my wedding night that the prospect of being satisfied over a lifetime with spreading my legs only for my husband was going to be difficult, but I vowed to myself to do my very best. I vividly remember flirting with a coworker the day I got back after my honeymoon. He was an ex-college football player with a classic v-shaped body and the kind of bravado that screamed “hung.” To no one’s surprise, he came onto me at an impromptu happy hour outing, and I ended up giving him a hand job in the front seat of his car. He was so worried about getting cum all over his suit that I wrapped my lips tight around the head of his fat cock right as he started to orgasm and swallowed every drop of it for him. I started cheating routinely to get my “big dick” needs satisfied about a year and a year and a half later; well before my husband and I made the decision to try and start our own family. But as difficult as it might be to believe, it wasn’t without a significant amount of guilt. I remember driving home to my beautiful house and my wonderful husband on countless occasions with the physical evidence of what I’d just done leaking into the fabric of the delicate panties I’d picked out to achieve just such a result. In the guilt ridden aftermath of each and every such occasion, I would swear to myself that it would be the last time. “No more,” I would tell myself. Yeah, right.
Being on birth control at that point in my life was a powerful enabler for me. It gave me the confidence to engage in the riskiest of behaviors without having to be concerned about the most significant of the potential consequences that could come from my secret liaisons. An unwanted pregnancy.
Obviously, even on birth control, unprotected sex with the kind of men I’ve always been attracted to comes with an additional set of risks. But, as ashamed as I am now to admit it, those risks were acceptable ones for me to take at that point in my life. But again, the guilt of potentially exposing my poor, sweet, unsuspecting husband to any number of ‘difficult to explain’ viral and bacterial infections would often lead to anxiety-ridden bathroom moments where I’d scrutinize the discharge in my panties like some oracle trying to read tea leaves.
But in spite of all the guilt and anxiety, my colossal weakness for y0ung alpha studs - my own personal Achilles heal wrapped in an ankle brace of kryponite - would get the best of me every time. And it wasn’t that I just needed a cock larger than my husband’s inside of me. That was certainly a huge part of it, but I already owned an impressive collection of dildos at that point in my life that could have easily satisfied that particular void. What I needed every bit as much as size was risk. It’s always been my biggest aphrodisiac. The risk of getting caught, the risk of getting emotionally involved, and yes, the risk of possibly either getting pregnant or infecting my husband with an STD. It was all like some extremely powerful drug to me. Especially the risk, albeit an unlikely one on with being on the pill, of becoming pregnant with another man’s baby.
It wasn’t until my husband and I decided to actually get pregnant and start a family that I faced the cold, hard reality of what that meant with respect to my extracurricular activities. Going off the pill meant that my lovers and I now bore a very real and significant risk of creating our own chiId unless I took it upon myself to enforce certain measures to prevent it. The easiest and most reliable of those measures obviously included requiring my lovers to wrap their erections in latex. But here’s the thing. I absolutely despise barrier methods of birth control. Especially condoms.
Humans, while highly evolved, are nonetheless still animals. And there are parts of our brains that are still every bit as primitive as they were when we first dragged our asses from the oceans. The hallmark characteristic shared by every specie of animal that’s existed ever since is the primal urge to mate. Condoms, by their very design, preempt that urge, providing the wearer with the ability to experience the pleasure of mating with virtually none of the risk that comes from allowing nature to take its course in a less protected setting.
And it’s an undeniable fact that when that barrier is in place between myself and a sexy lover, the heat for me has always been significantly diminished. And for some bizarre reason, that’s especially been the case since the day I spoke my wedding vows. Sine then, nothing, and I mean nothing, gets my heart pounding quite as much as a fully erect and completely bare alpha cock en route to my wet, eager cunt. And when a bull who’s blessed with such a magnificent specimen lines up over top of me to claim his prize, time somehow seems to slow itself as I wait for his manhood to make contact with my swollen entrance. The level of intimacy I feel in the moment that the precum at the tip of his penis co-mingles with my own feminine lubricant is off the charts. Followed with the sensation of being slowly stretched and filled inch by delicious inch, it ignites an eye rolling level of intensity that only an aroused and unprotected female can truly appreciate. When coupled with the low, masculine moans that clearly signal his appreciation of my tightness, it all set me on course for orgasm. But it’s not until that point in time that the tip of my lover’s manhood has finally journeyed all the way to the door of my womb that I can’t help but be reminded of the underlying purpose of sensations were each experiencing. And the realization that no action is being taken by either of us to prevent it- that we’re literally in the process of letting nature take its course - is what cranks my personal heat levels to scorching. Knowing how the sensations my body’s designed to provide a man are ultimately leading my illicit bed mate toward orgasm is exactly what catapults me toward my own. And the moment my feminine body finally coaxes a lover to flood my cheating cunt with his seed is pure primal validation.
So back in those early days, with the use of condoms clearly off the table, the only other viable options meant either taking a hiatus from my infidelity or trying to schedule my get togethers during my non-fertiIe times of the month. The former turned out to be entirely unachievable, and the latter, while looking very good on paper, turned out to be precisely opposite to the times I craved my indiscretions the most. When it all came down to it, I simply could never muster the self control to implement the measures necessary to absolutely ensure that any chiId conceived would belong to my husband.
Fortunately, everything appears to have worked out in hubby’s favor. Every one of our beautiful offspring are entirely his. But, as much as he hates to acknowledge it, it certainly wasn’t because of any special consideration on my part.
Going forward is an entirely different story, however.
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