Seven Days Of Sin: The Slutwife's Tale

By Tia Lascivo

Carla's husband works away a lot. When her husband's out of town, Carla goes out to play. She's hot, mature, and loves young guys who can go all night.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

Carla said: “Hey, how about we grab a coffee or something? You can give me feedback on how I did as your counselor. Maybe a critique on what I did well, what I could improve on in future...?”

Carla saw reluctance, disappointment a heavy drag at her guts.

Mikey glanced at his basket.

Looked back at Carla.

Said: “I can’t, Mrs. J. I gotta get this to my grandmother.”

Carla pouted.

“Oh,” she said.

“I would, but, you know,” Mikey went on.

He shrugged.

Carla’s mind worked with computer-quick speed.

She asked: “Does she live close-by? Your grandmother.”

Mikey nodded.

“Couple of blocks.”

“Did you walk here? Ride a bike? Did you drive?”

“It’s not far to walk, Mrs. J.”

Carla seized the moment.

She paused like she was thinking.

Drawled: “Okay, so...”

Mikey was looking, a frown creasing his flawless brow.

Carla added: “How about I give you a ride? If it works for you, we could drop the groceries off and then go over to my house?”

It looked like Mikey was about to decline.

Carla said: “Oh, you’re busy, huh?”

Mikey shrugged.

“Not busy, Mrs. J. I ... I, uh, I just don’t know about going to your house. I mean, is it even allowed? I’m a student, you’re my counselor...”

Carla chuckled and rolled her eyes.

“It’s just coffee,” she said.

Doubt persisted in Mikey and Carla pressed on, determined.

“And you’re not under my guidance now. That was what ... six, seven months ago, right?”

Mikey shrugged and nodded.

Carla kept at it, working on instinct and experience. She didn’t want to give Mikey time to think. She had to keep pushing.

“It’s no big deal. Just coffee and a talk. It really would help me out,” she said.

The up-and-under, doe-eyed plea she gave Mikey worked to Carla’s favor.

“Well, I guess it’d be okay. If your husband’s cool about it. You’re married, right, Mrs. J? I mean, I know you’re a Mrs. but you’re not divorced or anything, huh?”

Carla shook her head.

Showed her left hand.

“Married,” she said.

Mikey kept on looking.

She added: “And my husband’s fine. I have a room at home I use as an office. It’s all professional—if that’s what’s bothering you? I’ll log it in my diary so we’re above board.”

It was a thrill to see Mikey nodding.

“No, it’s all good, Mrs. J. I just didn’t want to get into trouble—your husband, school, you know?”

Elation surged when she heard Mikey say it, but Carla suppressed the excitement, forcing herself to play it slow and calm.

“It’ll be fine. Now, let’s finish up shopping and get the groceries to your grandmother’s house,” Carla said.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing, LLC
• Release date: May 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005817909

Book preview

Seven Days Of Sin

The Slutwife’s Tale

By

Tia Lascivo

* * * * *

Copyright © 2022 by Tia Lascivo

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

All Characters are 18 and Over

Monday

(i)

The whirring motor set it all going for Carla.

Excitement was a visceral squeeze, pussy clenching when she heard that noise. Arousal flared between her legs, a Pavlovian response to the sound of the garage door going down.

Oh God, Carla muttered.

She gulped resisting the sudden, desperate urge to lay on the bed and masturbate.

Carla went to the bedroom window, saw the car reverse out of the drive.

She watched her husband drive away; three flashes of a left turn signal and he was gone.

Out of sight.

Away for ten days.

Conflicting sensations worked on Carla: guilt, fear, flutters of urgent sexual need way down deep.

She sighed, giving in to the urges.

Carla was going to cheat.

Again.

It was what she did.

She loved it.

Didn’t want to stop.

The car signaled the left at the end of the street.

When it made the turn, Carla got busy.

(ii)

First detail: two necessary messages.

Carla went to the basement and grabbed the old cashbox from the shelf. It belonged to her son, one of two, both long fled the nest. Carla found it during a clear-out, the key in the lock. She found some Pokémon cards and a graphic photo showing a busty older woman taking a cock in her pussy and mouth. Carla kept the box, the key, and the photo, appalled yet thrilled her son had kept hold of something like that: him and his buddy spit-roasting some campus slut.

The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Carla unlocked the box, arousal flooding her vulva when she saw the phone and the notebook.

She took the phone out, the one she called the dirty phone, the one her husband knew nothing about. He had no idea about the contact list in the phone or the details Carla put down the little black book Carla kept stashed in the box.

Carla shivered when she thought about the consequences of someone finding the box, contents explosive enough to blow a marriage and professional reputation past the moon.

It was possible but very unlikely. The box was just some old junk left by the boys. Carla kept it locked, key in among the accumulated bits of this-and-that in the second-from-bottom drawer in the kitchen. Both box and key were in plain view, which Carla calculated was way better than trying to hide things away.

The sex toys in the back of the closet were easy to explain away.

The phone and notebook, not so much.

Carla switched the phone on.

She waited, impatient for it to do its thing.

At last, Carla muttered.

Her fingers moved over the letters and symbols.

She typed: >he’s gone. CU@ 1245.

Carla sent the message into the ether.

Then wrote: >its on. u and ur friend. u no the hse. 1pm. Do NOT b late. im so fkn horny!!!

That message went out as well.

Carla’s insides squeezed when the words were out there, arousal warm in her vulva.

She was impatient for the replies, anxiety loose in her guts as she stared at the phone and willed it to ping.

Ten seconds passed.

Thirty.

A full minute went by.

Fuck, Carla muttered.

She sighed and went back up the stairs.

Carla went to the bedroom and tossed the phone onto the bed, heading to the bathroom.

Carla filled the tub.

She bathed.

She primped and preened, legs smooth, landing-strip patch trimmed and neat.

Then Carla set her attention on the full-length mirror in the bedroom.

Naked and scented, she went over the details, appraising her body, pleased with what she saw.

Carla smirked at her reflection, expression vixen, lower lip between her teeth while she crinkled her nose, a snigger issuing forth.

Slutty bitch. All those boys, Carla said.

Excitement flared, hot and urgent.

She thought about using one of her dildos, imagining slamming the suction-cup against the mirror so she could back onto the thing and watch her pussy take the thick black shaft, her white skin and scarlet cunt contrasting with the color of the thing invading her body.

Uh-huh, fuck me, boys. Use my married pussy any way you want. God, I’m so hot for young, black cock.

A gasp burst from Carla after she said it. She was squeezing her breasts, teasing her nipples, one hand moving between her legs.

Carla was close to rubbing her clit, the bean swollen and pulsing with need.

Then she remembered the phone.

Anticipation brought forth another gasp.

Carla went to the bed and grabbed the phone, saw WhatsApp was showing a message.

Oh, Carla said.

She trembled as she read the replies.

(iii)

Carla got ready: stockings and quarter-cup bra under an innocent, benign summer dress. If anyone saw, or if her husband came home, Carla could pass for a casual shopping trip down at the mall.

She looked like she was heading out for coffee with a friend.

Going to book club.

Whatever.

Carla had the Mid-50s, ultra-attractive, gym-fit, suburban wife and mom thing down.

She could blend-in wherever, a poster-girl for success and affluence. Not showy, just the right side of boring, a deliberate cover to mask the wild inner slut.

Carla grabbed the big leather bag, thin necklace, symbols of marriage and fidelity flashing and sparkling on the third finger of her left hand, and wearing sensible shoes, Carla left the house. She took care to set the alarm and locks before walking down the driveway, taking a left before walking a hundred feet along the wide street

She turned into the neighbor’s drive.

He opened the door as Carla approached.

Hey, neighbor, he said.

Carla paused on the step, playing the game of casually dropping by.

Hi, she put in.

He asked: Wanna come in?

Sure, Carla said.

He smiled and stepped aside.

Carla moved past him and stood in the hallway.

She heard the door snick shut.

Saw him leave, the neighbor said.

Carla nodded, anticipation winding tight.

Okay. We’ve got fifteen minutes, she said.

The neighbor nodded.

Asked: Time for a drink?

It’s early but I could use one, Carla said.

The neighbor’s eyes moved over Carla.

He said: You’re a cheating bitch, but fuck, nobody would ever know. Not just by looking at you.

Carla shrugged.

I’ve been doing it fifteen years. I’ve had a lot of practice.

The neighbor shrugged, chuckled, and shook his head.

You mentioned a drink, Carla said.

The neighbor nodded.

Sure..

Fifteen minutes later, with the light buzz on her, and after swapping the sensible shoes for four-inch heels, Carla felt the excitement jump inside when the doorbell sounded.

Your dates, the neighbor said.

Go let them in. Let’s get this party started, Carla told him.

(iv)

The boys walked in.

Carla’s legs trembled.

It never got old. Carla never got tired of living through the moments where it transitioned into sex. They were just how she liked them, on the cusp of shyness, their demeanor all about good manners and respect.

The pair were a deliberate choice. Both with experience of Carla already. They knew her preferences, understood the boundaries.

If they hadn’t proved themselves before, they wouldn’t be there.

André had been a slow seduction at the tennis club, one of her hunting grounds. Carla had picked up a lot of fucks at the club. Seducing André was a delicious thrill, leading him on with her little skirt, smooth legs, and heavy-duty flirting.

Carla wanted André the moment she saw him, his aesthetic appeal immediate. André was damn near perfect, a foot taller than Carla’s five-six, rangy and athletic in build, polite and well-mannered, a well-raised youngster thirty-five years Carla’s junior with a talent for tennis.

André also had a long, black cock that Carla was desperate for when she stroked it to a spitting climax in the back of the BMW outside the club.

Jordan was André’s friend, introductions made on court after a game, excitement on Carla so bad she took Jordan’s cock standing from behind in the janitor’s closet where Jordan left her brimming with cum, his musk on her thighs, her underwear soaked with ejaculate as she sat down to dinner with her husband later that day.

The boys walked into the neighbor’s kitchen.

Hey, Mrs. J, André put in.

Jordan thrust his chin at Carla.

Said: Sup?

Carla smiled.

Said: Hi, boys.

The neighbor cut in.

Okay, you all make yourselves at home. You’ve been here before. You know the drill, he said.

All three turned to look at him.

I’ll just be … around, the neighbor added.

He gestured with his hands.

Carla asked: Bedroom?

All ready, the neighbor told her.

Carla moved in to peck a light kiss against André’s cheek.

She did the same to Jordan and then felt their eyes on her body as she went to the door, labia sliding together as she moved.

Carla shrugged the dress off her shoulders, letting it whisper along her back to the floor.

Fuck, the neighbor gasped.

Carla didn’t look back.

She walked away, a deliberate sway though her hips.

That’s the plan, Carla called.

(v)

Carla stopped at the foot of the bed and turned to face the boys, delighted to see the need in their eyes.

I’m just about naked, Carla said.

She folded her arms, smirking.

Added: Well, except for my stockings and bra.

She thrust her chin at André.

Said: How come you guys are dressed?

Carla examined her own frontage and then looked at Jordan.

She asked: You like my shoes?

Jordan nodded, cheeks ballooning through a long, appreciative sigh.

Hot, he said.

Carla looked towards the door. She saw the neighbor lurking, furtive in demeanor.

She ignored him, going to André, heels giving almost enough height as she moved in to press her body against his front, tilting her face for a kiss.

André’s tongue invaded Carla’s mouth, arousal rushing in a tsunami wave of desire. She felt someone squeeze her buttocks, fingers moving between her legs, the expeditionary digits at her pussy.

Carla shifted her feet and angled her hips to facilitate access.

Mrs. J … Fuck, this is a wet pussy, Jordan muttered.

Carla broke away from kissing André.

She looked at Jordan.

I’m so fucking horny. I’ve been thinking about this for two days, Carla gasped.

She kissed Jordan, moaning as she squirmed, both boys grabbing her naked flesh.

Carla alternated between the boys, kissing, moaning, libido thrumming, their hands all over Carla’s intimate places.

Impatient for it, Carla stepped back.

She tugged at André’s tee-shirt.

Take it off, she gasped.

André was yanking the shirt over his head as Carla went into a squat.

She pulled at his shorts, yelping delight when the long black cock sprang up, already erect, the dome swollen and purple.

Oh Jesus, Carla mumbled.

Her fingers curled around the girth, forefinger and thumb barely able to encircle its size, excitement surging.

Carla stroked the length, her free hand busy at her clit.

She was greedy for the cock, desperate to fuck.

Hey, Mrs. J, Jordan put in.

Carla turned.

His erection brushed her cheek.

Carla looked at the boy, saw him staring, expression intense.

Jordan asked: You gonna suck it?

Carla blurted a laugh, fingers busy on her bean before she worked her hands over both cocks, her focus on the size and color, the dense mass of sheer maleness setting the urges running wild within.

Boys, we’re going to do it all, Carla gasped.

She glommed at Jordan, sucking the dome before she swapped over to slurp at André’s size, the thrill of cheating with two good-looking boys a hot coal in the pit of her stomach.

Today I want you to use me, Carla moaned.

She looked at their faces, hands jacking the cocks.

Carla licked one big bulb, teasing its owner with her eyes and a grin before she did the same to the other swollen cockhead.

Carla paused, thrilled at the nastiness of it.

She looked at the boys.

Gasped out: My husband’s only been gone a couple of hours. I’ve been going crazy waiting for this. Today, now, I just want you two to use my pussy like you’re jerking off. I’m your slut.

Holy-fucking-shit, the neighbor muttered.

Fuck my cheating pussy. Call me names. Treat me bad, Carla groaned.

The need was on her, pussy squeezing, anticipation swelling.

She went back to sucking André, cheeks concave while Jordan stripped naked. Then Carla used her skills to deepthroat Jordan’s size, practice with the big suction-cup dildo paying off as she gulped the thing into her gullet while André got out of his clothes.

After that, following a long, appreciative look at the boys, with Jordan shorter than André but wider and deeper in the chest, Carla got busy by making them stand side-by-side while she sat on the foot of the bed.

Carla jacked both cocks, taking turns at swallowing them whole, balls up to her chin, rump squirming against the bed as Carla tried to get friction on her pussy.

Excitement surged.

Carla gasped and moaned, desperate for pressure against her clit. She mumbled potty-mouthed filth and depravity, saw the