The saying goes, “I have no regrets over the things I’ve done in life, only the things I haven’t done.” There were still a few pieces of me missing, and the mantra rang true. I had been afraid to admit it, to myself, my husband, or even my friends, but when the black plague took up residence in my twat, I was filled with regret over a life wasted. I realize that my physical shell, my mortal coil, makes me look like I’m in my early twenties, and nobody is more aware that I act as if I were a petulant teenager. However, I am forty years old and have just figured out how to live.

Finally, discovering true happiness, I was spiteful that my disease attempted to steal that solace away from me. The Goddess chose to bless me with what every woman yearns for in her deepest heart, the one desire that fuels her masturbation fantasies and drives her soul, a love that completely consumes. Behind that despair came the knowledge that I had wanted to do so much but squandered my time.

After the previous weekend, the fact that others still find me desirable, my tone changed once more. I was optimistic, upbeat, and living, truly alive. Pandora’s box had been opened and all the beauty, blessings, and fury of nature coursed through my body, mind, and soul.

The winds of a monsoon were my filth-ridden pleas for more cock, another pussy to pleasure, and a desperate need to be sexually free and wild, now, not later. The awe-inspiring power of an erupting volcano was between my thighs, flowing like lava. My ass shook with all the beauty and resonance of thunder just before Mother Nature unleashes a tornado, leaving sexual desolation in her wake. Like the summer sun, my lips were warm and tempting, allowing one to get lost in their love; storm clouds of moss green passed through my eyes.

The fires of passion were rekindled in my core, and I no longer wanted to be a slut; I needed to be THE slut. Had the gods’ curse taken me, I would have perished, regretting holding myself back. I would face my problems bravely, for once. Saturday night was my final test. If I could let loose and enjoy myself, I knew that I’d somehow be fine.

In bed the night before, after dressing up like the waitress that was flirting with my husband as some revenge role-play, I asked him, “Will you think less of me if I let myself go crazy and be the biggest fucking slut that ever lived tomorrow?”

He closed my mouth and eyes with kisses three, then told me, “You are the gods' vision of perfection, itself. Only admiration, love, and desire for you are in my soul.”

“I’m serious. I don’t want to die regretting not experiencing everything I wanted. I want to fuck and suck my way through everyone until I’m covered in jizz, all while you watch. I told you the day we met that I’m fucking crazy, and I proved it to you every day since then.”

“You’re my kind of crazy. You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met, with a sex drive and wild streak that’s epic. I’m the luckiest man in the cosmos.”

“I don’t want any regrets, especially regretting that I scared you off or fucked up our marriage.”

“Regrets are for mortals; you’re a goddess. Now, pick a number between one and twenty.”

“Um, nine, why?”

“That’s how many more orgasms I’m going to give you while you think about what a dirty, filthy, slut you’re going to be and how much I love you for it.”

He fulfilled his promise and I verbalized all my plans, moans, orgasms, and unfettered lust spewing from my impassioned mouth. Then sleep overtook me. The night was dark and filled with nightmares; it had been for months. I woke three times in the night, crying each one. He was always there, always awake, stroking my hair, holding me, or kissing away my fears.

Saturday came, and I was a wet, horny mess. The fear of being able to confront my terrors still lingered but aroused excitement was there in equal volume. My workday was a blur, my online messages bordering on cybersex. My fingers or any convenient object couldn’t stay away from my soaked pussy. I even humped the corner of my desk while I rubbed the cold, hard steel of my stapler over my clit.

Terrified but determined to face myself laid bare, I made it home and got ready for my orgy. My time was spent upstairs while the guests arrived and made merry. I also spent a large portion of that time fingering my cunt while staring myself down in the mirror. When I felt that I couldn’t delay any longer, I went downstairs and was greeted with fanfare.

While I remained stoic and friendly, warm and appreciative externally, my innermost self was in the midst of another breakdown. My lack of self, fear, insecurities, and terror over what had happened threatened me. I could run back upstairs and hide; nobody would mind or judge. However, I forced myself to stay, showing off my garter and thigh-high stockings, concentrating on how horny I was and how amazing the wine and marijuana buzz I had going was.

“Are you ready to start the action?” Sylva asked me. She and Elsa were talking with me. Everyone else was milling about, having a great time. My friends from the medieval group and our gaming group were in attendance. Had I not been dressed for a porn shoot, it seemed like any other gathering.

“I don’t know if I can. I’m afraid,” I confessed.

“Everyone,” Sylva loudly said. “How about I dance for you all? Glade, would you put on some music, please?”

“What’s your pleasure,” he inquired.

“Something sexy and not too fast.”

My blond friend, Sylva is a voluptuously-built little thing from the West Coast. Sporting tanned skin, full and round breasts with amazing, puffy nipples, and a sweet, bubbly demeanor, she’s also a very seductive harem-style dancer. Despite wearing leggings and a t-shirt, she took the center of the room and began swaying to the music, her arms held high, snaking around each other.

Smiling broadly, mischief in her pale eyes, she shook her hips and circled the room, her body always in sensual motion, causing arousal with every shimmy, each glance. The shirt was shed, leaving her in a red, lacy bra that looked amazing on her tanned skin. Each man in attendance was given special attention, her grinding on them, humping their leg as she writhed to the music, getting the cocks stroked.

Picking one man out of the lineup, she dropped to her knees and fished out his cock. I watched as my friend slobbered up his shaft, making it hard, and plunged her mouth up and down its length. When he was fully erect, she began stroking him with one hand, gesturing for another to fill her mouth.

Elsa and Ursula watched on either side of me, their hands tentatively caressing my body. My lust and need to feel free won over my fears, and I soon felt that wet, burning hotness between my legs. As if in a trance, I gave no resistance when my two friends gently guided me toward the mass of bodies. By then, Sylva had a cock in each hand and another in her mouth. Two more men had disrobed and were stroking their cocks to hardness.

I nervously glanced at my husband. He was fully clothed and seated in his favorite chair. Catching my eye, he smiled and mouthed, “I love you.” At that moment, the last vestiges of my fear and worry were sundered. If I played or not, it didn’t matter; I was still loved and accepted as a complete person. Nobody but me was hung up on the fact that I’d had cancer.

To my psyche, it felt as if I’d just done a death march to my doom. Knowing that this was my final decisive moment, I stood at the precipice of which sort of person I was to be from that moment forward. If I stayed and partook in the orgy I had planned and made such a huge deal over to my friends, I could hopefully reclaim all of my essence without fear or remorse. If I retreated, then I’d know that I was forever changed and the person I once was had been cut away with my cancer.

With a sigh, I leaped off the cliff by dropping to my knees beside my friend and sucking on the cock in her right hand. I stopped when I felt the presence of everyone around me. We were surrounded by cocks, smiling faces, and the intimacy of close friends sharing passion.

“Get on the floor, please,” I said to John, the man I was sucking. At my prompting, he lay on the floor, giving me full access to his cock. My mouth sucked it in, my head bobbing up and down as if I were starved for cock.

I was on my hands and knees, my ass up in the air, and I felt gentle, manly hands stroking my butt. A man that goes by Rolf, one of my husband’s best friends, was worshiping my behind.

“Fuck me,” I begged. “Stick that cock up my fucking cunt and take me.”

As much as I had thought I was myself, once more, the reality that I had still been holding back washed over me as the heat of the situation and the intense pleasure I was taking from my friends consumed me. My friend was beside me, stroking and sucking cocks, while I fucked a hard shaft with my mouth and felt the waves of bliss ripple through my body from the one slamming into my cunt.

Every one of Rolf’s thrusts pushed me forward, sinking the cock in my mouth all the way. Soon, I found my cadence and took over the action. Rocking forward and back, I used their cocks to fuck my pussy and face, moans gurgling over his shaft, my wetness soaking the other.

Somebody, I was far too lost in the wilderness of lust to care whom, added their tongue, then a finger, to my asshole. My entire body shook with rapture as all three of my sex holes were simultaneously pleasured.

“Let me,” I heard Elsa exclaim. I kept on fucking and sucking as she slid her frail, tiny body under me, and began nibbling on my thighs while she reached out to play with my clit.

“Fucking fuck me, I’m fucking cumming,” I screamed. The cock I was sucking slipped from my screaming mouth, stabbing my face. My body bucked wildly, overstimulated by the tongues on my clit and in my ass and the two cocks at either end.

Overcome with need and still in the violent throes of passionate release, I reached out, my body tilting in bliss, and stroked the pulsating cock in front of me. Rolf continued jackhammering my aching cunt, and his hard thrusts were so powerful that they took my breath away, mewling moans coming out of my mouth.

“Uhm, oh, uh,” I panted, my hand furiously stroking John’s cock. I could tell by his actions that he was getting close to cumming, so I urged him on. “Cum for me. Show me how fucking hot you think I am. Cum right in this slut’s fucking face. Shoot your spunk in my hair.”

My wish was granted, and that moment in time shall forever be cemented in my mind. Sylva had taken a cock up her tasty snatch and was bouncing up and down on it as she sucked one man off and jerked off another. My friend, Ursula, was seated in my husband’s chair, sitting on his lap. She was pressing her back into him, facing and watching us. Her hands were pulling on her nipples, her shirt pulled up, while my husband fingered her delicious cunt. From the way her hips were humping his hand, she seemed close to orgasm.

The hot cum shot over my face, getting in my red hair, and covering my lips and chin. That made me go wild, and I bucked back on the finger and cock behind me so hard that the finger plunged knuckles-deep into my ass and Rolf announced that he was going to cum.

“Pull out and shoot in all over my ass. Paint my ass with your cum.”

“Ah, fuck,” he said. I watched him stroking his cock, his lithe muscles bulging as he stroked himself and unloaded all over my ass.

I moaned in ecstasy because each drop of jizz felt like liquid pleasure on my flesh, and with it, another layer of fear and self-doubt was destroyed. The sticky ooze saturated my asshole and then dripped down my crack. With the anonymous finger out of my ass and Rolf spent, that gave Elsa enough room to scoot in further and lick the cum running down my ass off my pussy.

I saw another friend, a guy from the medieval group that fashions himself after a valiant knight. “Thomas,” I commanded, “I want you in my ass. Fuck my cum covered ass and shoot your seed deep inside it.”

Moaning at Elsa’s oral skills, I surprised myself with my utter lack of decency and powerful assertiveness. “Somebody lay down and let me straddle them, so I can get a cock in my cunt, too. Girls, on either side, I need my fucking tits abused.”

We shifted, me moaning all the while. It took some doing, but I managed the double penetration and was soon lost in an incoherent, babbling narration of lust.

“Your dick is in my ass, Your dick is in my ass. Fuck my cunt; fuck me. Fuck me harder. Oh fuck, oh, God, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me.”

In a moment of clarity, I became aware of what a filthy, nasty, dirty whore I’d become, totally surrendered to sexual abandon.

“Do you like your dirty slut wife,” I screamed to my still-seated husband. “Am I enough of a fucking whore for you?”

He toasted me with his drink. “You’re inspiring, and I’m in total awe of your power. I love you.”

Ursula moaned off to my side and I glanced at her. She is so beautiful and exotic, but, at that moment, she was raw, hardcore sex. Another man was behind her, plunging his cock into her. She’s more into women than men, but when she’s comfortable with people, she loves herself some hard cock. Sylva was panting on my other side. She was lying on her back, licking and fondling my breast, and a man was between her legs, fingering her juicy pussy and licking her clit.

“Somebody shove another cock in that slut’s mouth and shut her up,” I heard. The others laughed.

“Yes. Fucking yes. Make me airtight, and I want the rest of you to jack your cocks over me. Cover me in jizz and let them lick it off. Fucking take me. I’m your whore; use me.”

All three of my holes were filled, and my tits received lesbian love while those two got fucked as well. Stream after hot, Krystal-restoring stream of cum shot onto my back, in my ass, and over my thighs. As soon as somebody could get their cock up once more, one of us would pounce on it, hungry and greedy for spunk.

I didn’t even bother trying to count my orgasms; I only knew that I had several. Squeals of passion echoed off the walls, cum and pussy nectar were everywhere, and my entire existence became one filthy, sexual blur. There was no fear, only pleasure; anguish had fled to be replaced by lusty greed.

When the smoke from the eruption of my lusty libido had cleared, eight men had fallen to exhaustion, all of them drained at least twice. Sylva was looking haggard and thoroughly used, but she was a distant second to me. My entire body was covered in glistening cum. Both of my stockings were mangled, and both garters were ripped off the belt, still attached to the run-ruined thigh-high. My bra was torn and somehow in the corner of the room, but still, I stroked a flaccid cock, wanting more.

Ursula and Elsa knelt on either side of my husband’s chair. They were playing with each other's dripping cunts, orally sharing his monster cock between them.

“I’m a slut, the queen of slut,” I said to him. I was still horny, my hand furiously rubbing my cum-soaked, drenched clit. “Promise me this will never change.”

“You're perfect,” he moaned as my friend ran their lips down either side of his cock. “I’d never change you or us.”

The orgy returned to normal wild party mode, except most of us were now nude. After a lesbian show because we felt like it, enough of the guys got their cocks hard, again, for us to enjoy another round. More than five hours of fucking and sucking had gone by. If my goal was to let loose and prove to the world what a dirty slut I am, I accomplished that with flying colors.

Our guests, except for Sylva who rents from our neighbor, which makes her our other neighbor, filed out. Each one of them received passionate kisses from me on their lips, and a cock cleaning from my slutty mouth.

Not at all squeamish about such things, my husband stood, embraced my soiled, used body, and kissed my cum-covered lips with lust and fury.

“I imagine that you’re exhausted, so we can go to bed if you’d like,” he said to me. There was no judgment, no jealousy, just him sincerely enjoying the fact that his wife is a horny, dirty, fuck toy.

“There is no fucking way you’re going to bed without reclaiming my cunt, do you hear me?”

He laughed with such mirth that the ceiling shook. “As you wish.”

“Do you want me to shower first, or do you want to fuck your filthy slut of a wife while she’s covered in other men’s cum?”

He opened his mouth, some poetic perfection of a compliment at the ready, I’m certain. I cut him off.

“Fuck me like the whore I am, right here, right now. Treat me like trash, I need you to take me; use me. And, Sylva, I need that cum-soaked cunt of yours on my face.”

Who am I? I can truly confess that I still don’t know. I’m not the same woman I was a few months ago, that much is certain. Not only that, but I’m definitely not the terrified little mess I’d been just weeks earlier. The coward grew fangs and reclaimed her sense of self, a new sense of self. The plague of the gods didn’t destroy me, but it almost killed my soul.

What I do know is that life is too short and far too fragile to not be lived. Am I a slut? By most people’s standards, I’d say so. Am I happy? Yes! While I could describe my horror and despair, the words to describe the elation of being allowed to live will never come. I am ditsy but smart, creative, and pleasant, and I am so fucking horny that a small army of cocks and cunts cannot stand before my might.

I am Krystal, maybe Krystal 2.0, and though I died a thousand deaths of the heart and soul, I am on the mend. I am insecure and vulnerable, always needing external validation, but I am also strong, not caring what others think. I’ve been dragged, helpless and screaming, through the fires of crushing despair to be reforged into a stronger version of myself. Unrepentant, empathetic, and giving, always opening my heart to others, I am no longer afraid. No more fear for me, no regrets.

The end.