Dear Holy Father X,
I confess everything. So what’s my punishment? Will you spank me? We force me to do even dirtier things to make up for all the dirty things I’ve done? Sort of like community service, if you know what I mean (I think that should be clear)? I hope so.
When I got your challenge, my first thought was that there were a surprising number of people who I would be willing to tell about my recent sex stories. I’m not exactly the shrinking violet type, if you know what I mean. So there was my husband, and I considered this possibility for about a day. I honestly think he would get a kick out of what we’ve been up to, but in the end I decided not to mess with how the game’s been played so far. He’s been enjoying its benefits as much as me, after all. So don’t fix it if it ain’t broke, or something like that.
Anyway, after the hubby I thought of a few girlfriends I see often. They’re mostly as open about sex as me, but I’ve also learned over the years that the one subject most likely to get an unexpected response is sex. I mean, one of my most liberal girlfriends once got furious with me when I confessed that I had jokingly kissed a male friend of ours on the mouth at a party (in front of several other people, mind you). My husband had laughed (he’d been one of the several other people), but this liberal friend of mine actually used the word – you ready for this? – “adulteress”. Needless to say, we’re not such great friends anymore, and my point: since I’ve been repeatedly amazed by how close-minded “open-minded” friends can be, I decided to play it safe.
Remember “Mona”? Big tits? Sexy as hell? The chain-smoker I told about my orgy fantasy after you insistently pestered me to do it (you terrible, terrible man)? Well, I met her for coffee again, and it was easy. But Mona first. Or the weather first: why is it still so hot here? It’s killing me. Now Mona: she was taking advantage of the weather to wear a typically revealing outfit. Tight black jeans, hot pink heels that would honestly put me in the hospital, and a loose white scoop-top shirt that showed off that cleavage and had the waiter lingering over our order (two espressos – come on!) to take in the view. Her sunglasses were pink-rimmed to match her heels, and before she had even sat down she wanted my opinion on whether seven days was too short a wait to text a hot guy she’d met at a bar last weekend. She’s a piece of work, Mona, and I adore her. She’s gotten even more fun now that she’s officially divorced. Not that she was any less fun when she was married (the divorce was not, shall we say, unexpected).
We caught up for a bit (for the record, my advice was just to text the hot guy whenever she felt like it, but then I’m not up on dating strategies and have been promptly returning my hubby’s texts for years). She simply wouldn’t shut up (another of her many charms), so finally I butted in with something I knew would get her attention: “Truth or dare?”
“Well dare, baby!” she cried.
“I’ll give you two for one,” I said with a laugh, and then I came right out with the truth about our sexy dares, swearing her to secrecy beforehand. Remember that orgy fantasy of mine, I asked her. She gasped at the memory. Of course she remembered. Had the hubby and I found some secret orgy club that she needed to know about? Could we get her in? No and no, unfortunately.
Then I started at the beginning. I told her about your first e-mail and some of your first dares – wearing no panties or bra in that very same café, walking into that sex shop, flashing the deliveryman. When I heard myself telling about our adventures, I was shocked by everything I’ve actually done over the past few months. I was even a little embarrassed and didn’t tell her about the massage or my afternoon with the photographer. For one, they seemed completely outrageous now that I thought about them, and even a little dangerous. For two, I wasn’t too excited by the idea of Mona calling up the masseur or the photographer at the recommendation of “a friend”, then passing those numbers along to all of her single girlfriends until half the women in town were getting happy endings and nude portraits thanks to me. Not that this place couldn’t occasionally use some sexing up.
When I finished the story, Mona said it was the hottest thing she had ever heard, and for once she was left speechless. I told her that my confession had been another experiment of yours, and now I’d completed it thanks to her. She laughed and gave me a high five. Then she lit a cigarette and ordered a vodka tonic. Then of course she wanted to know everything about you. What wasn’t I telling? Were we having an affair? In her curiosity she was leaning so far forward that I could see right down her shirt to her outrageous tits (in a pale pink bra). No affair, just an adventure, I replied. All I knew was that the guy had a highly active imagination, I trusted him to keep quiet and distant, and his name was Mr. X. Sorry, X. Don’t feel too bad, though. If you met Mona in person, she might just eat you alive.
She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to know everything, so I told her about a few more of our experiments, and we laughed together at all the things I’ve been up to. I think I rose significantly in Mona’s estimation. Finally I made excuses and left her to another vodka tonic (that woman turns her head just slightly and waiters come running with fresh drinks). Had I gotten a kick out of bragging about my adventures to Mona? Yes. Was I feeling satisfied? No. I’m accustomed to a bit more kick from our experiments, X. You’ve spoiled me. So you want to want to know what I did? I went home and told my husband.
Don’t panic. I didn’t tell him about you. As I said before, I don’t think he’d mind in the slightest, but part of the fun of the game is that it’s secret. I did tell him about my first mission for you, though, where I sat at my café naked underneath. I didn’t tell him it was a “mission”. I just told him that I was feeling horny that day and wanted to feel even hornier, and I didn’t think anyone had seen me, but just the thought of being seen had gotten me just drippingly wet (practically all day), and when he’d gotten home that night I’d attacked him in the shower (he remembered). I told him all of this because I wanted a little thrill, but I had no idea how thrilled he’d be by the story of my little naked escapade. Man. He instructed me to immediately remove said bra and panties for his inspection. I did, which left me topless in a skirt. He checked me out for a bit, and then he asked what I would have done if I’d been spotted that day by some man.
“I would have sucked his cock,” I said with a straight face (or at least as straight as I can make it in these situations, which isn’t very straight). He pretended to really think this over, like he was mentally doing a list of pros and cons for cock sucking. Then he nodded like he’d reached his conclusion. “Show me,” he said (with a VERY straight face). So I got down on my knees like a good little student and actually undid his zipper with my teeth (which I thought was a nice touch but completely ruined my straight face. Also he had to help a bit.). I unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down to his knees, and then I pulled down his underwear. His cock popped out like a jack-in-the-box. I love it, Mr. X. It’s clean, smooth, and eager to please. I never get bored with his cock. It could keep me entertained all day. So I started to lick it, just the tip at first. I licked it all over, from the tip, down the length of that vein beneath it, over his balls, which I kissed. I kissed it all the way back up until I was tonguing his head again, and I’ve been practicing, mister – if I get him at just the right angle I can now take almost all of him in my mouth. It’s one of my proudest accomplishments, and I’m actually not kidding.
Fortunately for me, I had been ordered to strip out of my underwear. Also my skirt was fairly short, so it wasn’t too difficult to start fingering myself while I held the base of his cock with my other hand. It was like a swamp down there, and I put two fingers inside. Hubby tends to take a long time to come when he’s in my mouth (I think he prefers to be in control), but soon enough I felt him swelling up like he does when he’s getting ready, and I could taste the first salty drops on his head. I don’t swallow him every time, but that day I wanted to, every last drop, which I did (with a face that was not straight at all but NAUGHTY), and then he crashed to the floor with a moan of satisfaction. So I got my kick, Mr. X. I completed my mission, and I got my kick. So there.
Now hubby wants me to give up bras and panties forever. He says that in these times of crisis we all have to make sacrifices. When I asked him what hewas willing to give up, he said he’d sacrifice my skirts too if it came to that.
Oh, one more thing. I gave Mona your e-mail. She asked for it, though she’ll probably never write. Ha! Probably.Smooch!
Need to catch up? Read the Sex Experiment from the beginning: Table of Contents
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