I am an unethical slut.

After Phillip left.

I’ve been agitated and antsy all day.  Avoided doing some important work.  Wanting so badly to write a post for this blog, but not allowing myself until I get the work done.  This is a treat, damnit.  It’s almost 9 pm and the work still isn’t near complete, so I decided to go ahead and write here, let it out, expunge my thoughts.

I saw Phillip last night.  He opened his hotel room door dressed only in his boxers.  I was in knee-high tan boots and a green and white wrap around dress.  My girlfriends with whom I’d spent dinner had told me I looked exceptionally beautiful that night, gorgeous even.  I bloomed under their kind words and felt sensational as I strutted through the hotel lobby with my sequined bag and knapsack over my arms.  I was there for a very short stay, is what it all clearly told any casual observer.

We hugged hello, his skin was silky soft.  His lips lingered near my ear.  He offered me some water and he laid back down on the unmade bed.  I plopped down fully dressed beside him.  We chatted, I made him laugh, I relaxed.  He pulled off my boots to expose my hot pink argyle knee socks.  I like to mix it up.

And then after about an hour, the chatting is over.  He rolled over me and kissed me and squeezed my breast with a warm, heavy hand.  I arched into him and sighed, a tiny whimper escaped my lips.  My hands roamed his broad, muscled back.

We stroked over clothes, letting the burn rise.  I avoided his shorts, postponing the glee I knew I’d feel when his hot, tight skin burst into my palm.

He unwrapped my dress from my body like a greedy child on Christmas morning and deftly unhooked my bra, his mouth dipped to my nipples and he suckled.  My silver stretch marks glistened against his five o’clock shadow.

Naked, petted, wet, and hungry he knelt beside my face.  I wrapped my hands around his shaft and took his broad, shining head into my mouth.  I could barely take half of him he was so big, but I lapped and sucked and moaned and worked his glorious cock; his hand rubbed my mound and separated my lips, smeared my wetness around my folds and his fingers delved deep inside of me.

He positioned himself over me and I stopped him.  “Phillip,” I panted, “do you have condoms this time?”


I just looked at him.  The last time we slept together it was the same story and I had given in.  He is not sexually active, I am promiscuous.  I trusted him, he trusted me and my sexual health and so we’d thrown caution to the wind and he’d filled me with his seed for two nights in a row.  But now… now it was different.  Jason and I have an agreement: we don’t use condoms with only each other.





I rolled away from him and he cuddled me.  “We don’t have to have sex, Hy,” he whispered into my ear as he hugged me close.  “I’m happy with this.”

“But I’m not,” I answered. “And here’s the thing…” and I told him my arrangement with Jason.

And then I did something immoral in the world of the ethical slut.  I betrayed a lover.  I fucked Phillip anyway.  Without a condom.  “I can’t not fuck you, Phillip.  I just can’t,’ I barely whispered.  And then he impaled me.

He flipped me on my stomach and pinched my knees together with his.  His giant cock stroked my g-spot as I rocked back on him, my buttocks softly punched against his thighs and pelvis.  Then I was on my side, his hand holding my knee up and he was sliding in and out of me, my juices running down my crack and puddling on the sheets beneath me.

He spanked me, I whimpered, I felt guilty and wonderful and fucked.  Back on my stomach and he pounded against me.  I heard him moan and grunt and felt him shiver inside of me and then he went still.  For only a minute.  And then — oh my fucking god — and then, he pulled me up to my hands and knees and ordered me not to move.

“Don’t move a muscle, Hy.  Be a good fucking girl and let me fuck you.”

“Be still,” he purred from above and behind me.

I whimpered and trembled, and he slowly — oh so slowly — started to stroke my pussy.  His hands on my hips, my fists balled up with sheets so I can be that good girl he’s demanding me to be and be as still as possible.

“You feel that?  That’s me fucking you, you fucking good little girl.  I’m gonna fill you up again with my cum.  You want that?”

I whimpered assent again.

“Oh god, your fucking pussy, Hy.  It feels so good.  Keep still.  Keep still.  Be a good little Girl Scout.

And something about those words sent me over the edge.  I saw white sparks, I thought about his Girl Scout-aged daughter and how goddamned filthy a thing that was to say to me and I squirted hard all over us, I became blanketed in a buzz, my skin  alight with pleasure.

His continuous, cruel and slow thrusting gave me opportunity to suck on his cock with my cunt as he pulled out and to push against it as he bore down  into me.  And each time, as the round head of his penis reached the edges of my hole, I squirted uncontrollably and shook with pleasure.

I was out of my goddamned mind.

And his bare cock felt like goddamned velvet.

I rationalized it as he was grandfathered in, he was before Jason, he was safe.  Jason isn’t fucking anyone else, either.  He’s safe, too.  These men are only fucking me.  I trust them implicitly.  And then I felt powerful in having a secret, in finally being the one who didn’t do everything right all the time; for thinking only of myself; for doing whatever the fuck it was I wanted.

He came again, more gently this time, and pulled me into the crescent of his body.  I lay there with his arm between my breasts, my heart thudding against it.  I don’t think we even said goodnight, but just drifted off into a post-orgasmic haze.

A few hours later, silently in the dark, we fuck again.  The helmet of his cock butts against my dry lips.  I spread them apart and the very movement of being spread quickly lubricates me.  Once the head was in, he slipped in and out with no problem.

I stretched like a cat beneath him and felt his dense muscular weight upon me.  I felt helpless and vulnerable.  Revered.  Panting, slipping, splattering of my ejaculate in the dawn; downtown city lights blroke through the hotel curtains.  He came and we dozed again; stayed inside me until he was soft and his breathing was even.  Then it was time for him to get up and go.

He showered, dressed in jeans and a navy t-shirt.  I watched him from heavy-lidded eyes, tangled in the white bedding that hotels love to put on their beds.  He pulled the covers up over me and tucked me in before saying, “Stay as long as you like.”  Then he kissed me and left.  It was the last time I ever saw him.