“I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I’m horny as hell,” my Exgf says to me on the phone. Was it because I had put her “on the hook”? I know that this call is about a booty call and that is exactly how it turns out. The following night, a Friday, she’s at my front door. We go to a local pub for a quick drink and a light snack…which she pays for. I can count on my one hand the times that she paid for something during our five years together. Now that she wants me back she’s going out of her way to do anything and everything she can for me.
As I sit listening to her moaning about her work situation it occurs to me that she is just as selfish as a some of the women that I have lately had the dis-pleasure of dealing with: Country Girl, Musician Gal and The Irish Cougar. It seems that we all have a type that we are attracted to and often they are the type that is wrong for us. If I came across my Exgf’s dating profile today I wouldn’t even click on it, but if we were to meet for a date, I probably wouldn’t think much of her. I’m thinking that a stronger selection criteria will keep me away from someone like her who took me for granted and didn’t appreciate what I did for her. Funny how things change; there was a time I’d have caught a grenade for her.
I have two regrets in my life. The first is that my father and I quarrelled the night before he died. I stormed off in a huff (I was a week away from turning fourteen) and the next time I saw him I had to hold the drip-bags as the paramedics tried to revive him from his heart attack, but they couldn’t. I had to watch my father die at my feet. I can still hear his death rattle. Because of that I don’t go to bed angry with anyone who matters to me. What was our big argument about? He was trying to get me to believe that the more you do for people, the less they appreciate it. My naivety caused me to dismiss his assertion as bitter and cynical. If I could have just one minute with him again, just one minute, the first thing I would tell him is that he was right.
Should I tell her about The Irish Cougar? No. She’d freak out and our play-dates would be over. I was lucky to get away with telling her about the Wanderer, better not push my luck. Besides, the scene with the cougar is history now anyway. Even though we had promised to tell each other if we were shagging someone else, I’m going to explore unfamiliar territory and just keep quiet. My Exgf’s all about deceit, so she can have a dose of it.
“I need to have a shower first,” my Exgf says as we get back to my place. She heads off to the bathroom as if she lives here.
I’ve realized something about her: she likes to be the centre of attention. So often in a social setting she embarrassed herself and me because she wanted the spotlight on her. So often she would do things in other settings that made no sense to me, but I know now that she was doing it to get attention. A spin-off from that need is that she likes to be watched. She’s a bit of an exhibitionist on top of that. I know that in the Summer she liked to go somewhere semi-public, like our back garden, then strip off and masturbate under the sun. She didn’t really care too much if someone could be watching; I suspect the danger of that made it the more naughty and exciting for her. It’s what allowed her to make those sex tapes with me. It’s what made her go off to a dogging site with me. My education of late has helped me to understand that side of her.
My Exgf is behind the shower curtain and she’s nearing the end of her shower. In a scene out of ‘Psycho’ I yank the curtain aside.
“For fuck’s sake! You’ve scared me!” she chides, her breasts wobbling from her little jump.
Good, I think to myself, that’ll get your adrenaline flowing. That’s all part of sex. This is just a different way to get you turned on.
“I want you to put on a little show for me. I want you to show me how you play with yourself in the shower,” I instruct, keeping a dead-pan facial expression.
She looks at me for a couple of seconds, smiles and then starts fiddling with the shower-fitting removing the head. Water is spurting out of the end of the lead which is essentially a hosepipe. My Exgf lowers the torrent of water down between her legs and directs it upwards onto her clit. She takes a deep breath that makes her breasts swell as the water-pressure finds the spot. I’m standing a couple of paces away, watching her. Her eyes are trained on mine, but I’m taking in this scene. It’s quite a turn-on for me, but it’s not just the spectacle before me, but it’s also being able to get a woman to do this and especially this one who has always been so deceitful to me.
There’s something about a woman being dripping wet with water that is quite alluring. I think it’s subliminal in that it hints at hot, sweaty sex. I watch as drops of water slide down her smooth, hairless body. The pressure of the water on her clit is having its expected effect and I can hear that she’s getting closer to cumming. I know her well enough to know when she’s faking; if it’s real her eyebrows meet and she has an anguished frown. Those things happen as she cums now, her body shakes and droplets of water fly in all directions; her tits wobble beautifully.
We don’t say a word as she climbs out the shower and dries herself off. There’s an electricity in the air and words will destroy it. She never was one for cumming six times in a night, despite my best efforts. Once she’s cum, that’s her done for the day usually. It’s now implicit between us that it’s my turn to cum and it’s up to me to make the move to let that happen.
She walks naked into the lounge with me following her like a good little puppy. This time the puppy has ideas of his own. She’s walking next to the back of the sofa. I slap a hand on her shoulder which brings her to a stop; she keeps her back toward me. I walk up behind her, bumping my chest between her shoulder blades, then turn her to her right. Sliding my other hand around her stomach, I pull in with that hand and push down with the hand on her shoulder. She folds over and rests her hands on the back of the sofa in front of her.
“Stay like that,” I command.
I unzip my jeans fly and pull my cock out of my underwear. She can’t see this, but I know she knows what’s going to happen; she’s done this enough times with other guys. I wonder if she finds this boring or exciting? Is it possible to have had too many sexual partners before sex becomes boring? I hope that I never find out.
I take her from behind, sliding my cock up her pussy and it feels a curious mixture of warm wetness from her pussy juices and cold water from the shower. I put both my hands on her shoulders and her skin feels clammy. For a minute I fuck her like that. She doesn’t say a word and the only sounds she makes are the involuntary ones a woman makes when she’s getting fucked.
“Get on that stool,” I instruct, pointing over her shoulder towards the stool in front of the sofa.
I pull out of her and we walk over to what I know will be our final position for the night. She obediently positions herself on the stool, kneeling for doggy-style, carefully spreading her weight out. She’s naked and I’m fully clothed; I like this. I don’t think that a paid-for whore would be this compliant. I’m enjoying having all the power in this relationship. I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts because I know it isn’t going to last much longer; she’ll eventually run out of patience and wise up.
My cock slides easily into her wet pussy. She lets off her customary “ugh” sounds as I slam into her. Hardly ever did I touch her hair during sex because I know how fussy she is about it, but tonight I just don’t care. Did the random strangers she let fuck her care about her hair during her countless one-night stands? I think not. I bunch her hair up into a tight little knot and gently pull back on it, expecting some verbal resistance but none is forthcoming.
I suck on the thumb of my free hand and drop it down between her butt-cheeks. I find her butt-hole and push onto but not into it. She doesn’t flinch or say a word. The whole time my hips are in motion and my cock is repetitively ramming into her pussy. Can she feel what my hands are doing? If so, is she enjoying it? I don’t care, I’m going to do what I want with her.
Slowly I push my thumb up her bum and she doesn’t make a sound. In the final hours of our relationship I found out that she had secretly been having colonic irrigation sessions several times a year. Having something in her arse is nothing new to her, despite her saying otherwise.
The naughtiness of all this is too much for my brain and it seduces my cock into cumming sooner than I would like. As I feel my man-milk starting to make its move for the exit, I say to my Exgf, “Quick, lie on your back” and she rolls over surprisingly quickly. I rush forward like a fireman with a hose and try to direct my cock at her face, but baby-batter is starting to shoot out already.
Giving a woman a facial is not something I’ve felt the need to do or even thought of doing because I’ve always been more interested in making love, not just having sex. The first time I saw it done in a porn movie I thought it disgusting and it is obviously demeaning and degrading. However, given how I feel about my Exgf, how she demeaned and degraded me emotionally during our relationship, I feel that she deserves the same in return.
To be continued…