The Bet

I lost a bet in a game at a house party and had to suck two guys off as the forfeit. It ended up going too far and I let them both f*** me bareback. Now everyone is calling me a s*** and I'm worried I might be pregnant because they both shot their load inside of me. The worst bit is I want to do it again because it was so hot, but I've already got a bad rep from last time.

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  • Don't worry about being called a s***, you enjoyed it and want to do it again. I'm 35 and a s***, I get f***** every time I go out, my husband met me as a s*** and I f***** him in the toilet on a train 30mins after meeting him. On one occasion I had s** with 5 of his mates, he arranged it and watched. He calls me him fat s***

  • Get on the Pill and start working on worsening your reputation.

  • Fake as f***

  • Why are you not on the pill? Seems like a hot experience to me and I would love to have two guys after me at one time. Cant do it as I am married, LOL.

  • Carry on you are a s*** but you enjoyed it and want to do it again, id love to f*** you or suck me off

  • Next time swallow their loads so they can't get you pregnant.

  • That sounds like a pretty hot experience, you're lucky you already know what you like so theres no shame in it but...

    Check to see if you are pregnant. If you are, just go to a local clinic and explain. Due to patient-doctor confidentiality they are sworn not to tell anyone who doesn't need to be told.

    Get contraception (there are so many to choose from you'll be able to find one that suits you) because it sounds like you will do it again

    Sadly, that rep will probably stay with you a long time. people will say cruel things to your face and behind your back to get a reaction out of you. Remember to remain calm but stand-up for yourself. But most importantly make sure you have a good supportive friend to talk to because it can get tough.

    Gradually everyone will stop

  • Don't read the comment below


    It was a cool Friday evening and I was bored. Incidentally, I did not want to go for my usual weekend night out. Everything seemed insipid. I was just not happy the way my life was going; wondered why it even bothered me. Usually booze and rough s** and my brand fix would do and I had a string of guys who would do me just for the asking; no just showing up with my well endowed b**** slim waist and "mega" hips that keeps the guys drooling. Just turned 18 and the hormones were raging.

    Finally, I locked my room door and lay on the bed sulking and moody. I put on the stereo but my favorite gigs were insipid too. What's really up with the night. What the f**k is it with this scr**d night? Then suddenly, someone was in my room; live, the lights were on. There was this strange feeling of guilt that enveloped me with his presence. He looked young, handsome and immaculate and I felt so dirty and wretched before him. I hid my face under the pillows and goosebumps rippled through my being like a wave on the sandy beach. Then the longest (about) fifteen minutes of silence I ever had in my life and he spoke: "Why have you been avoiding every overture of mine . . ." I was stunned. Overtures?

  • I never knew him from Adam. I was ruminating on his question and shivering with fear in the interlude of about another 10 minutes. I was getting surprisingly relaxed only that guilt was resident in my heart. The next question showed me that this fellow whoever he may be knew what no other knew about me . . . "you shunned all my entreaties and went and killed my son . . .? (pardon I can't put all the rest of this second part of the question that explored my life down here). I was stunned the more. "killed his son?" I knew instantly what he meant. I yanked off a six week fetus despite the tug of war in my heart to the contrary. I never told anyone; neither my parents nor my best friend knew. I did not know the father of my baby either (but definitely not this fellow standing here) for I had a "gang bang" in a night party two weeks before I missed my period and I was drunk and high. More so I knew I was in my ovulation then. The guilt increased. He seems to allow my heart to absorb his questions before the next one. Then he asked the one I knew was the last; "supposing you die now . . . where are you going to?" I knew immediately that the "man" who could enter my room while the door was securely locked could take my life without even a snap of the fingers. The fear was back with the goosebumps and the guilt intensely multiplied! I began to shiver and quake with sobs and tears streamed freely. The next 10-15 minute was like eternity. I literally saw h***; where I was going to if I had died. I thought the guilt would crush me. T

  • Hen he did the unimaginable, it was not a question, it was a liberating statement. "An***a (he called my middle name which no one ever called me, not even my parents or at school for everyone called me by my first name) your sins are forgiven . . . for I died for you". Waooooh! The guilt was gone instantly, I felt new . . . a song simultaneously was triggered in my heart like a skillful DJ had tuned it. I knew instantly (honestly these pieces of knowledge are beyond me) that my name was written in "the book that mattered the most" (whatever that meant) and I also knew him; the one that created me, the one that died for me. I had avoided him all my life and in fact hated him in spite of the fact that my mom knew him and taught us about him. I stood up to embrace him but he was gone; just like he came. The song in my heart was then on my lips (a song I never sang before);
    I am saved,
    my heart is healed
    No more tugged by sin . . .

    The next week was even more stupefying. I lost the desire for booze, for "my brand fix" for clubbing, stripping, "gang bangs" and the wayward life I'd lived. I only wanted to read a copy of the bible especially the New Testament.I wanted to know him the more. I saw that he said the same liberating W*** ("your sins are forgiven") to a w**** like me in Luke seven vs forty eight. That was my best day so far in my life; the day I read that chapter.

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