Slutwife Helen's Confession: Against Wearing Panties

My name is Agnes, and I come from a small country in Europe. I’d like to consider myself a hotwife, but I haven’t yet had sex with anyone outside my marriage. My husband, however, is intrigued by the idea of me cheating on him. Yes, he does want me to cuckold him, and I am still weighing the thought in my head. It is hard to find suitable men where we live.

Especially black men.

My husband, Paul, is always encouraging me to go out and have sex with black men. I tell him I’m not a prostitute, and he shouldn’t be forcing that on me. Paul loves to watch porn, especially interracial porn. He loves it when I get to watch one with him; he enjoys watching strong black men fuck white women, even better when it’s European women. He often boasts that I can fuck better than those women. He says that I would be a great fuck if I’m in bed with a black man while he watches. I never understood why he wanted to watch. He has promised that he would do anything to see me cheat with a black man. I know he means well by that.

I am usually not comfortable wearing panties whenever I go out; only occasionally do I bother to wear panties. Paul has complained about it, but I made him understand that this is how I like to attract men to look in my direction.

Why should he complain, anyway? It was his initial idea that I go out and try to see how I can get a black man to look in my direction. How else would he expect some man to take particular interest in me if I don’t try to look sexy for them? Sometimes Paul drives me crazy with his dumbness, yet I love him for the sweet husband he is. How else can I find someone like him?

There was a black man seated several tables in front of me. He sometimes glanced towards my direction. I kept trying to catch his gaze.

Paul is lousy in bed. He climaxes too quickly, and when I want to go another round, he curls on his side of the bed and dozes off. I have no choice but to play with my dildo. I even bought a vibrator to use whenever he’d done with me for the night. He usually gets irritated by the noise, but I don’t care. That’s my way of punishing him for leaving me dry and unsatisfied.

I sometimes use my vibrator even when I go out shopping; without me wearing any panties, it makes for easy access. I remember one time I sat outside a café eating a cheesecake and drinking coffee. There was a black man seated several tables in front of me. He sometimes glanced towards my direction. I kept trying to catch his gaze. I even spread my legs and lifted my skirt so he could see I was naked underneath. He did see what I had to offer, but unfortunately, his date suddenly arrived, and he carried on like I didn’t exist. I closed my legs, finished my snack, and then went about with my business. I felt heartbroken, but afterwards, I thought it was a remarkable feat I’d achieved: to finally getting a black man to look in my direction. Who knows what more I can accomplish now we’re in summer season.

He pushes me against a wall, lifts my leg on a trash bin, unbuckles his pants, then shoves his cock between my ass cheeks. I try resisting at first, but he knows I’m playing . . .

 I submit that not wearing panties is a good thing, especially for married women to be doing more often. It gives me freedom; I hate feeling like I’m chained down by covering too much of myself. Sure, I have clothes on, and I’m not advocating to walk around public naked. But I don’t have to cover every part of myself, do I? I love to feel the breeze blowing under my skirt, ruffling the tiny hairs on my coochie. It feels ticking, like someone scratching my armpits, and whenever I feel like slipping a finger underneath, I love when I don’t get any restrictions there.

Another reason is without panties, I feel strong and confident in my sexual womanhood. I feel like I could fuck any man who makes contact with me.

I imagine it’s late at night and I’m walking home. A black man appears out of nowhere and accosts me for sex. I’d tell him to fuck off. He grabs my arm and forces me into a dirty alley. I attempt to scream, but he shields my mouth with his hand and growls at me not to scream or else. I become quiet and allow him to lead me further down the alley. He pushes me against a wall, lifts my leg on a trash bin, unbuckles his pants, then shoves his cock between my ass cheeks. I try resisting at first, but he knows I’m playing; of course, I want his cock; of course, I want him to fuck me. I’ve wanted this for a long while, and it’s finally here. He doesn’t bother threatening me anymore, as I’m now a submissive creature to him. I even thrust my butt back at him, reaching beneath my skirt to grasp his balls slapping against my vagina. I moan with my face pressed against the wall while he breathes against my neck, jerking and hammering me with his cock.

In my dreams, he would be fucking me fast so no passersby interrupt our activity. And when he climaxes, I’d feel his cum pour down my legs until his cock slips out of my pussy. I would fix my dress and he’d vanish into the night while I headed home like nothing happened. Paul would welcome me, but instead of going into the bathroom to wash myself, I’d push him onto the bed, mount his face, and demand that he lick my pussy clean. I know Paul would love that, especially when I tell him I’d just been accosted and fucked by a mystery black man in an alley.

Paul loves buying me sexy lingerie and fish nets. I love wearing them to bed and pretending a black man is waiting to rip them off me. I can imagine that would drive Paul crazy to watch. He loves when he watches porn videos of white women getting their clothes ripped off them while they’re taking black cock. It looks nasty sometimes, but when I see the happy look on the women’s faces, I know they’re having a great time.

That’s the sort of sexual experience I’m looking forward to with a black man. I know there are plenty of white women out there who want the same, too. Many of them are married and even older than me. I wonder what they would think if they read this article about me suggesting they start walking around without any panties. They don’t need to go to some swingers/nude beach to get started; they can be like me and stroll down the park and let the summer wind ruffle their skirts. It wouldn’t work well if I’m wearing jeans; I’d like to spread my legs whenever Paul and I spread a blanket during a picnic.

Even when Paul dines me out at some fancy restaurant, I love it when I step down from the vehicle and my dress slips up my thighs, partly revealing that I’m naked underneath. I would take an excuse and go into the ladies’ room, lock myself in a stall, and play with my pussy until I squirt. I would return to the table and demand Paul to kiss my hand. He would perceive my smell, look at me and know I’ve been naughty; then he would proceed to lick my hand like it came with his meal. The sex would be incredible that night, but unfortunately it wouldn’t last long.

I am desperate, and I cannot help it. Sometimes I have to walk a mile before I sight a handsome black man strolling about. Lucky for me, one works in the same office building I do. I don’t know if he’s married, and frankly, I don’t care. I’m thinking of asking him out for lunch. What if he turns me down? I doubt he will once he sees I’m not wearing any panties.