My introduction story
written by:
Jessie

***This is my first story on ES. If you enjoy it, please rate it and leave a comment to let me know what you think, or shoot me an email. I hope to write more, but a little positive encouragement never hurts! xoxoxo JR.***

**Updated based on feedback, sorry about all the typos. Unfortunately, I do all my writing on a tablet, and it's not great for editing. Thanks for the feedback!**

My maiden name, before I got married, was Jessica Cordel. After I became Mrs. Mark Rider, I figured I would put my illustrious past behind me, but it turns out that wasn't going to be.

I should start by saying that I love my husband very much, and he loves me. When we got married, he knew about my promiscuous ways. In fact, he always enjoyed listening to me recount my many past lovers, when my mouth wasn't otherwise preoccupied.

And there were many. Before Mark, I honestly can't say how many guys I'd been with. I'd gotten an early start on sexual activity; giving my first blowjob when I was an eager thirteen year old at a party with a high school Senior. I spent a year giving out blowjobs like they were candy before meeting the guy who would take my virginity. After that, there was little looking back. I tried anal with that guy a few months later, and before the end of my freshman year of high school, I had already developed quite a reputation as the easiest girl in my class.

I think most girls would cry themselves to sleep over that. But I was the opposite. I loved it. Sex was power. The other girls resented me, but all the boys wanted me. They jockeyed to get in line for "the sexiest piece of ass in the class." As my body, talents, and reputation blossomed, my sense of empowerment did to.

By the time I was a sophomore, I had grown into a lean, but curvy, 5'4" frame, and I could quite literally have any guy in school. Even the boys in the most committed relationship (and how "committed" is any 17 year old boy?) was happy to have a secret rendezvous with me as long as their girlfriends didn't find out. I got very familiar with other girl's boyfriends in the back seats of their cars or in the darkness of the park at night.

By my junior year, I considered high school boys passe, something to dabble in as I started getting noticed by the college guys attending the parties I frequented. College boys brought access to clubs and more booze. Their massive amounts of disposable income stocked my bedroom drawers with slinky lingerie, and my closet with daring Fuck Me Pumps.

And so, at sweet sixteen, while it wasn't uncommon for me to getting drunk at the hottest clubs in town, and then go back my boyfriends' apartments for a hot threesome, my high school friends were watching movies at the multiplex with their boyfriends, and maybe giving them a furtive hand job in the dark. I would have thought that my sudden disinterest in their boyfriend's would have made them happy, but if anything, I was only shunned further because now the boys were competing even harder for my attention. It was a point of pride for them to double team me when I wasn't out with the college boys.

I graduated after a Senior year filled with drunken group sex, and a closet with thousands of dollars of clothes that had been purchased for me by eager partners. In order to get away from the snide recriminations of my peers, I went to a distant college that no one from my town had ever heard of. I majored in English literature, with minors in Drama and Dirty Fucking. I did things that would have made my high school self blush. Most of my partners were men, but more than a few were not. I found that I enjoyed blonde women, a wonderful contrast to my rich dark brown hair. I experimented with interracial, and found I had a penchant for playing the role of the black-cock hungry whore that turned on black men (and more than a few of my white partners). I learned that I liked being watched, liked being shared, and loved the thrill of giving a good show.

I moved back home a much changed woman, but still playful and daring. I got a job doing what every English major dreams of: working as a secretary. I spent my weekdays grinding out reports, and my nights and weekends grinding down on the men I met at bars and clubs. The two "me's" couldn't have been more different: professional and polite at work versus the dirty slut in the clubs.

So, when my husband-to-be finally asked me the question "how many guys have you been with," I had to shrug. I didn't honestly know.

"More than 200," I said, and watched his eyes pop out. I think if it hadn't been for the fact that I was riding him cowgirl on the couch, he might have walked out.

He asked me if I was serious, and I told him I was. Certainly more than 200, I said. 300 was not out of the realm of possibility, and I had probably given head to twice that many all told. Of course, I suspected the numbers were even higher, but at that point, who is really counting?

It's at this point that most of my "serious" relationships have fallen apart. Men love dirty girls, but they can't stand competing with the past.

"Jesus," he grunted as I continued to ride him, "there are probably porn stars who haven't fucked that many guys."

I bit my lip and nodded my head. Soon he'd freak out, or the insults would start coming, and then the tears, and then the break up.

So when wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and began bucking his hips up into me, and said, "That's so fucking hot, and now you're all mine," I knew he was the One.

***

For the next few years, Mark and I explored our every sexual whim. Growing closer with each one, we denied each other nothing. If he wanted to watch me with a girl, we found a suitable candidate and brought her back to his place. If he wanted to join in, I encouraged it. I fucked his friends, or random strangers we'd pick out at a bar. We were so perfectly matched that it was difficult for me imagine what it would be like when we eventually went our separate ways.

And so, when he proposed to me, I was the happiest girl in the world. I'd long since given up on the dream of marriage.

Mark and I agreed that we had to put some of our activities behind us, that it was time to grow up and start living like real adults. It was the right thing to do, of course.

We spent the months leading up to our wedding cutting ties with that lifestyle. It was hard. Some of the people we disassociated with were good friends, but we couldn't start fresh with them in our lives. We laid out ground rules, not exactly the boring monotony of strictly enforced monogamy, but far from the wild days of me getting gangbanged by Mark's buddies during a halftime break.

Our wedding was the happiest moment of my life.

That's probably why I felt so conflicted, four months later, as a guy I barely knew bent me over the hood of his car in the parking lot of a strip club and started fucking me. It was treacherous act, but at the same time it was an act that was quintessentially Jessica.

I guess it would be unfair to say I hadn't gone to the strip club looking to fuck. I definitely didn't start my night with that intention. Instead, I'd gone out for a night of dancing with some friends. Mark was supposed to meet us out, but a few hours after we got there, I got a text from him saying he wasn't coming out. This had become a constant refrain since our marriage. I didn't know if going out had become less interesting, or if, as he said, the pressure at his job just kept growing, but Mark was spending more and more of his weekends at home; exhausted and sleeping.

My disappointment was palpable. I'd dressed extra sexy for Mark, and for a big night out only to be stood up. Again. I slammed my phone on the bar. What a waste of hours I had spent getting ready. The coquettish curl I'd put in my hair, the perfectly matched black garter belt and stockings, and my sexiest black stilettos; all for nothing. The outfit I'd spent hours fretting over, finding just the right blend of sexiness--not overt and in your face, but classy and tempting; all for nothing.

Those words, "all for nothing" haunted me as I continued to drink, and my friends eventually left--probably to go screw their brains out while I drowned my sorrows. "All for nothing," they haunted me right until the moment I decided to prove them false.

I left the dance club because I was pretty sure all my friends had left, but I wasn't positive. Strip clubs aren't hard to find in my town. When I walked into one, I found myself swaying my hips to the bumping bass line, gliding in like a cat on the prowl.

A married woman, dressed like I was, by herself draws attention at a strip club, and it wasn't long before I was approached by a good looking guy in a business suit and a relaxed tie.

I don't remember much of the banter, but I remember the champagne. $500 a bottle, and he dropped the wad of $100 bills like they were empty gum wrappers. I remember him asking me if I wanted to go to one of the VIP rooms for a private show. More $100s later, and we were ushered laughing and carrying our champagne flutes with us into a nicely appointed plush room with deep luxurious couches.

And although I don't remember how, the next thing I knew, I was on my knees sucking his cock as he watched the girls dance on the small private stage in front of us, his hand on the back of my head as he moaned his approval.

I slid my lips up and down his shaft hungrily. I found myself moaning with delight as his cock filled my mouth, and pushed back into my tight throat. I deep throated him, and felt him lift his hips to push every last inch of himself into my warm, wet mouth. He groaned loudly as I took him to the base, and he held me there for a few seconds with both his hands on my head.

When he let go, I snapped my head up, gasping for breath (but really only as part of the show), and then laid my head down to lick his balls with a mischievous smile on my face.

He looked down at me, my left hand wrapped around his slick cock, my wedding rings gleaming in the room's disco ball light scheme, and smiled at me. I thought, "This is where I belong. This is who I am. Why did I ever think I could be someone else?"

But before I could ponder that quandary any further, he grabbed my hair and brought my mouth back to his cock. He'd paid thousands of dollars for this moment and he wasn't about to waste it on my existential angst.

I reveled in the feeling of giving up control to this stranger. Sex is empowerment, but it also the freedom to be dominated, to indulge that deep dark desire to submit to another's will, to be nothing but a vessel for pleasure.

And as I swallowed his cock, moaning loudly as he rose to fuck my face, I gave into that overwhelming desire to please. To feel his body react to my tongue artfully sliding around the head of his cock as his shaft pumped between my soft lips. I smiled to myself when he shivered at the touch of manicured nails teasing his balls.

When he came, he did so without the customary warning that most guys give. He came with the selfish confidence of a man who knows the girl kneeling before him will take his cum however he gives it. He was right; I greedily sucked down load after load as he filled my mouth with his warm, salty seed.

When I looked up at him, his hands still curled in my hair, he looked truly satiated. A man who expected nothing more than a night of strippers, scoring a blowjob in the VIP.

That reminded me of the girls behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see them grinding away on the silver poles, their eyes locked firmly on the ceiling. I suspected this was nothing new for them, even if it was a rare first for me.

***

We drank some more champagne in an almost companionable way, until finally he looked at his expensive watch.

"Let me walk you to your car," he said over the din of the music. I nodded my head in agreement.

The relative silence of outside compared to the blaring music of the club was almost as much an assault on my ears. As we walked back around the side to the parking lot, my 4" stilettos clicking the pavement, I heard him mutter from behind me, "Damn, you look tight in that skirt."

I smiled to myself. My betrayal wasn't complete yet, was it? I looked over my shoulder at him, sashaying my hips as I did, "Why don't you find out how tight I am," I asked with a smile.

He smiled back at me like the Cheshire Cat, and said, "My car is right over there, in the corner."

I walked in the direction he indicated, and quickly realized we were heading towards a small BMW coupe. A two-seater barely bigger than a fridge. "We're going to have a hard time having any fun in there," I said.

I felt his hand on my hip, guiding me towards the car, and then, as we approached, his other hand on my shoulder, pushing me forward, bending my over the front of the car. "Who said anything about getting in it?"

I could have resisted, but as his hands slid down to my thighs, pulling my skirt up, I knew I didn't want to. This is what I wanted; to be used like a dirty slut. I heard his zipper slide down, and then felt him roughly shove himself into my pussy. He groaned loudly, his hands tight in the bunched up folds of my skirt at my hips, as he began fucking me.

I lifted one leg, perching my delicate heel on his bumper, as I turned back to look at him, moaning loudly. Although I was looking at him, he was staring down at my ass, framed by the black satiny straps of my garter belt, as he rammed my pussy. I reached back and grabbed his tie, tugging it, and he finally looked up at me. With a look of pure, unadultered bliss on my face, I told him, "Fuck me hard, fuck me like you hate me."

He complied, ramming me harder then before, practically bouncing me off the hood of the car with each stroke. His cock felt like a piston inside me, filling me with wild abandon.

But wild abandon or not, when I heard his breath quicken and felt the shift of his pace, I knew he was getting close to cumming again. I turned back to him and said the words that I knew would bring just about any man up short, "I'm not on the pill, do you have a condom?"

He all but screamed in frustration, giving me my answer as he slowed down.

The pained look on his face was almost comical. I let him twist in the wind for just a moment before saying, "Well, I guess you'll just have to cum in my ass."

Before he could respond, I reached down and took him by the base of his cock, sliding him out of me. I rubbed the head of his cock against my ass. I repeated the process a couple of times, using my wet pussy to lubricate his cock and my ass. Then I grabbed his tie again, pulled him to me to kiss him, and growled, "Go to it, tiger."

I lowered my head to the hood of the car, my cheek against the metal, as he grunted and worked his cock into my tight ass. I began gasping for breath as he began fucking my ass in earnest, slamming me bodily into the car. My fingertips scrabbled across the hood of the car, and finally I reached back, gripping his arms. He quickly flipped the grip, grabbing my forearms hard and using them to pull me back onto his cock. I screamed openly, not giving a damn who heard or saw me.

"I wish I could see the look on your husband's face if he could see you now," he grunted angrily.

I moaned loudly, feeling the beginning of a long-delayed orgasm begin to cascade over my body.

"You like that, slut?" he said, not letting up his pace a wit.

"Yessss," I moaned.

"The minute I saw you walk in, I knew you were a whore looking for a good time," he said.

"Your whore," I agreed.

"That's right," he said smugly, "my whore. And now," he grunted as he slowed his pace but doubled the force he was using to thrust into me. If he hadn't been holding my arms in his steel grip I would have slid off the hood.

"You're," thrust.

"Gonna," thrust.

"Take," thrust.

"My cum!" he yelled as he came in my ass.

His second orgasm didn't last as long as his first, and I felt him practically collapsing against me. I let him hold there for a moment, and then shifted slightly, cueing him to move off me and pull his cock out of my ass. As I turned around, he was reaching down for his shaft, but I quickly swatted his hands away.

"Can't have you ruining such a nice suit," I said. I slid down to squat in front of him, perched precariously on my high heels, and leaned forward to take him in my mouth. I dutifully cleaned every inch of his cock as he sighed and moaned.

When I was finished, I stood up and gave him a polite peck on the cheek. He immediately asked for my number, but I simply responded with a "Sorry, but maybe I'll see you around here sometime."

He had the look of someone who knew I'd never be back to this club, and he nodded resignedly. I smiled, straightened his tie, and walked away, a little unsteady on my heels.

* * *

I sat in my car a long time. In part, I was letting myself sober up, but with that came the sobering thought of going back home. This was not something I could hide from my husband. And suddenly, all the consequences of my betrayal hit me like a ton of brick.

How do you tell someone something like this? I didn't know, so I opted for the method that was most familiar to me.

When my husband woke up, his cock was in my mouth. He murmured his approval, and I kept going, still wearing all the clothes I'd been wearing when I had left the club.

"Have a good night, honey," he said?

I bit my lip in the darkness and moved my body up to straddle his hips. I lowered myself down onto his now hard cock, and began to gently ride him.

"I have to tell you something," I said, my voice full of trepidation.

If he noticed it, he didn't respond to it. He simply said, "Hmmm?"

I told my story quickly, clipping through some parts and glossing over others. The gist of it was the same, even if I left the details fuzzy. About half way through, he had stopped responding to my body on top of him, he simply sat there silent and still, as I continued to slowly fuck him and confess my sin.

When I finished, he was still for a long time. In the dim light of the room, I could see his face, silent and expressionless.

"Mark, please say something," I said, feeling the tears rolling down my face.

"I should have known you were too much of a whore to change with marriage," he said in a flat, dull, lifeless tone. It cut me to the bone, and I knew this was it. This was the moment when everything came crashing down.

Then I felt his strong hand on the back of my neck, and his hard cock thrusting up into me. I looked down through my tears, and saw a smile on his face.

"That's so fucking hot," he said, "and you're still all mine."