Literotica gay husband
Letter from a Jailed Husband
My Dearest Wife,
I hope you are well. I lose you and the kids very much and reflect about you every time. I know me existence locked up hasn't been easy for you, but I also know that you are strong and together we will acquire through this. After all, "For better or for worse."
Anyway, I need to talk to you about something very important to me, which will approach as a shock to you, but I adore you, and you always told me you loved me for my honesty.
So here goes: I am forefitting my parole hearing next month. I've already told my lawyer to not bother.
I know it sounds crazy, but the fact is I haven't repaid my debt to society yet, and I think me leaving prison early would deprive me of a real knowledge experience and my newfound purpose, which is to be the very foremost cock slut I can be. Yes, you scan that correctly.
I've been reborn, honey. Your husband is now a prison cockslut. A bitch. And I love it. And my fellow inmates love me. And so do the guards.
It started on my first day, when I met my cellmate, Spider. He's 6'5, 200 pounds of muscle, covered in tattoos, and has a facial scar given to him by a rival biker gang leader he killed. He also has a fat, del
Looking for a Husband
Suddenly single, I establish myself taking stock of my situation and where my desires should direct me. I knew what I wanted. I wanted to be another man's wife. Yes, that is a very gay thing to say, but it was what was inside me for so long. Earlier in life as my sexual journey evolved, I had incidences of having sex wearing panties and dresses for other males in high school and college. Due to family and societal pressures I always denied I might be gay and did everything to prove to myself and the planet that I wasn't gay, even marrying a sweet adolescent woman.
While married, I had a number of clandestine encounters with other men while I cross-dressed. The exhilaration I felt about having sex with a masculine man while I was dressed in women's clothing and how feminine it made me feel really defined my sexuality. I never viewed myself as trans, I just really relished the sensation of being a feminine acting homosexual.
One-time sexual encounters with anonymous partners were very shallow and for me, unsatisfying. I would rather acquire had a limited encounters with the same guy than many encounters with many different guys. The one thing missing was any emotional connec
My Husband Is a Slut
My husband is a slut.
John would never openly acknowledge that, of course. He grew up in a Catholic family, the type who never actually set foot in a church but put their kids in a Catholic school just so they get enough doctrine to sense ashamed of themselves for the repose of their lives. He's an out and proud homosexual man and his family is perfectly lovely and accepting of me and our marriage.
But he gets inside his head during sex. Which is such a shame. He's gorgeous. Dark hair, striking facial features, a fit body without being pretentious about it, and my favorite, a beautiful, perfect penis. Long and plump enough to load my mouth and my hole nicely without worrying about damaging my internal organs. And the slight curve it gets when he's rock hard is perfect for skull fucking me or punching my prostate until I cum hands free.
I cherish being a bottom, and I contain no shame about it, but he's made occasional comments that reveal that internalized homophobia he got from his Catholic upbringing. After more than a decade together, I've realized that it's not a scoop at me. It's because he's curious about exploring that side of himself, but he's ashamed to admit it. In hi
Tommy's Wife Turns Him Out
Dear Reader:
Female dominant and forced (sort of) mind-control male-male sex. Skip if it's not your thing.
Regards and blessings,
Adam Lily
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"It just looks enjoy acid," I said.
Andrew, Laurie, Meg, and I were huddled over a coffee table, studying a postcard-size piece of white filter paper on a coffee table. It was Friday night. Meg and I had come to Andrew and Laurie's house to try a new drug.
"A short-lived bit like acid," said Laurie. "But also different." Laurie was a researcher at a pharmaceutical company. She was always smuggling out the latest psychoactive compounds for us to sample—usually pills or liquids or injectables.
"Different how?" asked Meg. My wife. She enjoyed our parties, but brand-new chemicals always made her nervous.
"It's more unpredictable. It affects everyone differently. Put 100 people in the same room and they'll all have a completely unlike experience."
I asked, "Any bad ones?"
Laurie sipped red wine and shook her head. "The worst thing so far is that a couple people got angry. Some other people just felt nothing."
"Nothing?" asked Meg. "Like, no effect?"
"That's right."
"Well, that's boring," I said. "H