This is a short monologue from an original character that I’m still developing. For now, let me tell you why I love to fuck married men.
Performers: Female
Listeners: Male
Disclaimer: Do not rehost this script anywhere. This material is made by an adult, featuring adult characters, for an adult audience only. Copyright remains with the writer.
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I only fuck married men. Keeps things simple.
If a single guy catches feelings, he has nothing to lose.
No reason not to pursue something more.
Pretty soon I’ve got 20 missed calls and he’s showing up at my work.
He becomes a problem.
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But married men?
They’re taking a risk just being seen with me.
Especially in this small town.
If a married man catches feelings, he’d need to do paperwork in order to pursue anything real.
There would be lawyers and custody cases and therapy.
It would all be very public and very messy.
If I catch even a whiff of obsession on a married man, I remind him of how heartbroken his wife will be when she finds out.
How much his kids will despise him.
Shine a light on any desire and watch it evaporate into a fleeting impulse.
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I keep my face neutral when I see them at the grocery store.
Just a quick wave and a “how are the kids?” while we’re standing in front of the butcher counter.
I do the same thing when I see their wives at spin class.
There’s no animosity in what I do. No judgment about their marriage or hostility toward their partners.
I don’t let them talk shit about their wives when they’re with me.
Because, truthfully, I don’t care.
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I don’t care about the reasons why married men cheat on their wives with me.
I don’t care about their unfulfilled needs or why they feel too ashamed to explore new things with their partners.
I don’t care about dead bedrooms or low libidos.
It’s not about them. It’s about me.
I just need to fuck somebody, and in my experience, the safest person to fuck, is the person who belongs to someone else.
Plus, I kinda have a thing for Dad Bods.
There’s nothing like grinding my wet pussy on a married man’s face and soaking his salt-and-pepper beard.
The one’s I’ve been with just love to be bossed around in the bedroom.
I tell them to smack my ass harder, pull my hair, stuff their fingers into my mouth for me to suck as they fuck up into me.
I pin down their arms and smother them with my heavy tits.
I ride them hard while pressing a vibrator against my clit and when I cum, my convulsing body releases a staccato moan.
I find out what really revs their engine, and encourage them to growl, or beg, or moan as loud as they like.
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No bites though, that’s my rule. Can’t send them home with any marks.
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When I’m ready for them to cum, I call out their names as i fuck back against them.
I’ve only screamed the wrong name once or twice.
Not like it really matters.
There are so many Michael’s and Chris’s and Dave’s that, statistically, I’ll probably get it right.
And they don’t care.
That’s the point.
They just need somebody to fuck, too.
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We’re both just trying to escape from reality.
Just pressing pause on the chaos and the tedium of modern life.