Tag Archives: revenge

Grenade – Final part

I get a little kick out of seeing some of my cum splatter on her chin and see my Exgf turn her face away in disapproval. “Take it bitch!” I say to myself as I give the last few tugs on the end of my cock, making sure that all my cum has landed on her. Almost all of it is on her breasts and this pearl necklace makes for quite a sight. She comes back to life and without saying a word to me she starts smearing the semen into her breasts. To me that will always be a titillating scene because on a subliminal level it speaks to me of approving of my sperm.

As I look at my Exgf my mind wanders over to something I have recently become aware of: microchimerism. In essence it is a phenomenon in which women carry in their bodies samples of the DNA of the men that they have had unprotected sex with. The material even collects in a woman’s heart and brain. Reading up on this has proven scary and disturbing, but it does explain several things.

The research so far has given credence to the practice of using a condom, but it also hints at our forefather’s belief that women should not be promiscuous. I think I am guilty of carrying that belief within me too, but science is now finally starting to provide physical evidence to what has largely been an ethical and moral debate.

Instead of something strange having come over my Exgf, can it be that too many strangers have cum in her? Has my Exgf now become so addled with the DNA of all her former lovers that she is now this dysfunctional person, incapable of a normal, meaningful relationship?

We fall asleep in my bed like two strangers forced to spend the night together. I like to cuddle and this fuckbuddy scene will never be entirely to my liking because it is a cut-down version of what I really want. However, until I find The One, then this will have to do…and I get to even the score with my Exgf.

I’m awoken the next morning by the sensation of my Exgf sucking my morning-glory. She’s only ever once before woken me up like this and it was in the early days of our relationship. As she became more secure in our relationship her initiating sex died, but today she wants something and is prepared to make an effort. She’s such a manipulative Taker; she can put on quite an act.

Her acting triggers a memory of a funny incident recently. I was on a date with The Wanderer and it was a perfect English Summer’s day. We were walking past a parade of shops along a high street when I distinctly heard my Exgf’s voice. My eyes turned to catch her greeting a guy I had never seen before. They were standing on the pavement where a coffee shop had tables and chairs. From her body language and his movements it was clear to me that this was a first date for them. They awkwardly shook hands and he fumbled an attempt to kiss her cheek. As she turned her head to present her cheek, her eyes caught mine; they went wide in surprise. We both smiled at each other and then resumed our individual conversations.

After a few minutes I told The Wanderer what I had just seen and she insisted that we walk back and pass them on the other side of the road. I guess she wanted to have a good look at my Exgf while I was curious as to what might be happening. The guy, who looked quite a few years younger than my ex, was leaning back in his seat, looking very casual and comfortable. My Exgf was sitting forward on the edge of her seat, her hands and feet together, leaning forward slightly, no doubt in a deliberate attempt to tease him with her ample cleavage. Their body language told me that she was more into him than he was interested in her. I was glad that she was out dating because it meant that soon she was going to be someone else’s problem. Hopefully though she wasn’t sleeping with anybody else. Later that day we swapped a few messages about this incident and we saw the funny side of it. The date led to nothing more between them, at least that’s what she told me.

I’m more awake now and our eyes make contact. It looks like she’s been awake for a while, her eyes are clear and bright.

“You’re not just using me for sex, are you?” she asks, then resumes sucking my cock while maintaining eye-contact.

“Oh no, I’m using you for all sorts of other things too,” I answer with a smile.

She lets off a laugh and resumes sucking away, while I muse to myself that I was being totally honest. I had revenge on my mind. You used me, now I’m using you. Suck it, bitch!

Those are her first words to me this morning? Hmm, it seems that she’s starting to realize what my game is and that there might be no hope of a reconciliation between us. Why else would she ask that question? Suddenly an invisible clock starts ticking above us. The end is approaching for our little arrangement. I have to make the most of this.

An idea comes to me and I get my phone out. I start taking photos of her giving me a blowjob. In our past such activity would have come to an abrupt halt if I did anything like this, but now the dynamic between us has changed unrecognisably. I do what I want and she goes along with it, largely because she wants something and until now thinks acquiescence will lead to reward.

I wonder how many other guys photographed or filmed her sucking them off? How many filmed themselves fucking her? Does she know? Would she even tell me? The thoughts of other guys fucking her fill me with a strange sense of rage. It’s not that I have positive feelings for her, but more her cheapening herself is what disappoints me and that coupled with her deceit that angers me because I was so taken in by her. I totally loved this person who I now think of as so unsuitable for me. I’m angry with myself for letting myself feel what I did for her, but her carefully-crafted version of herself had a lot to do with it. My judgemental streak merging with a need for revenge leads me to think and say crazy things sometimes, such as now.

“Show me how you sucked off all those other guys,” I say to her.

Her eyes close slightly and her eyebrows try to meet as she hears my words. I expect an aggressive response, but she says nothing and keeps sucking away on me.

“Show me how you swallowed so many other guy’s cum,” I add, almost goading her and riding my luck.

My Exgf looks me in the eye, trying to make sense of my utterances but all the while rhythmically moving her head around my phallus. I feel my words and feelings have an effect on my scrotum and I feel my sperm starting their stampede.

“I’m going to cum. I want you to keep going. I want you to suck me dry and swallow my cum,” I instruct.

Without flinching or blinking she keeps going, just like a good whore would. There are probably high-class whores – courtesans – who have sucked off fewer cocks than her.

My back arches as my butt-cheeks clamp tight. Fresh sperm, devoid of pollutant flavourings, shoots forth into her mouth. I can’t see what is pouring out of my cock because my Exgf is keeping her mouth firmly locked around my bell-end, still attentively sucking away on it, seemingly intent on swallowing every little drop of my cum, just like I instructed her to do. She keeps her eyes closed as she does what she does best.

If she ever decided to become a professional whore I reckon she would be popular for her blowjobs alone. She takes her time, seems to enjoy it, is happy to swallow…and she can suck the chrome off a towbar.

“Right, I need to shower and then I’m meeting Sally for brunch,” she says as my cock pops out of her mouth.

As she showers I start to remember her best friend Sally. For reasons unknown to me that bitch never liked me. I think it was because I wouldn’t kowtow to her silly whims and mood-swings. Her and my Exgf became friends in primary school and have been a feature of each other’s lives ever since. Neither of them makes a major decision about anything without consulting the other one first. As independent and strong-willed as my Exgf might be, she will consult with her best friend over anything serious, especially her love-life. I have yet to meet a woman who doesn’t. I guess I’ll be a topic of conversation at today’s get-together, but I really don’t care.

My ambivalence is quite liberating. Truth be told though, it’s largely because online dating sites are starting to feel like my own personal conveyor belt of pussy. I’m learning more about the hearts and minds of women by the week and seduction is no longer a mystery to me. I can replace my Exgf; I was always going to.

I walk my Exgf to her car, feeling hidden, inquisitive eyes in the cross-hairs on my back. I think my neighbours must consider me something of a gigolo because almost every time they see me I’m with a different women. I give my free-whore a cursory kiss goodbye on the cheek, just like I would somebody’s grandmother. As she drives off I can’t help but wonder if that was the last time that she would service me.

So on Wednesday night I fuck the Irish Cougar, then dump her the next night just before my Exgf calls to arrange booty duty. I fuck her on the Friday night and have more fun on Saturday morning. Now it’s Sunday morning and I’m getting ready to meet someone new.

Is this really my life?

Bruno Mars – Grenade

Dumping The Irish Cougar

“Feeling frisky?” is the first thing I say to The Irish Cougar when we awake after our night of unrestrained passion. The look in her eye said, “yes” and that’s all it took before we were at it again. It wasn’t long before we were doggy-style on the bed, with me pulling her hair back and my thumb in her bum. She certainly was a little cum-machine and she squeaked her orgasm out within minutes. Not long afterwards I unloaded fresh baby-batter into her.

She had to get to work, so a frenetic flurry of activity ensued on her part just before I was ushered out of the millionaire’s apartment…without being offered breakfast. It mattered not in the scheme of things and was totally in keeping with her selfish ways. I smiled to myself on the bus that took me back to my car because I felt that I had exacted my bit of revenge for her deceit…by deceiving her.

I felt no compulsion to ever see her again. Other than her sexual abilities I couldn’t stand anything about her. I couldn’t believe a word she said. Later that night I sent her the following email. I know that women prefer being dumped in person or over the phone, but I wanted to put it in writing so that it could serve as a reminder to her.

When I figured out your real age, I thought to myself “What is an almost 50-year old woman wanting with a 42-year old?”

“Ah, she’s just out for a bit of fun.”

I have kept an open mind about this, looking for evidence to the contrary.

In my world, if someone helps you move, pays the congestion charge, etc., it is customary to take them out for a meal.

Imagine my disappointment last night when you didn’t even offer to pay for the meal.

That oversight served to reinforce my perception that you’re out for yourself.

There is something in your profile that has bothered me and I think now that’s it’s all interrelated.

You’re looking for and am used to men having far more money than I currently have. I’m currently back at square-one: a 20-something kid starting a new life. I have my doubts that I can live up to your expectations regarding lifestyle. I have no doubt in my mind that as time were to go by that this would become a bigger problem between us. As I’m writing this, I’m getting ready to go off to Aldi and Lidl to do my groceries. I have never spent £70 on 3 carrier bags of food from M&S and probably never will. I have no doubt that your opinion of me would plummet if you saw my home.

My only 2 relationships ended with the same realization: they were with me for the money AND they had deceived me.

I was so excited after our first date. You can’t imagine my disappointment when I read your LinkedIn profile and saw your true age. I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt.

Your lying about your age was a cardinal mistake. To me it feels as if trust was strangled to death at the outset. My thinking about this is “If she lied about something so important, what else has she lied about?” I catch myself not believing half the things you tell me. It’s not natural for me to be like that. I’m by nature a very trusting person and have been badly taken advantage of in the past. Maybe I’m hyper-sensitive to deceit nowadays, but the slightest, smallest of white lies does not sit well with me at all.

You said that you’re looking for your soulmate. Me too. My soulmate would never have lied about anything, let alone her age.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this.

I just can’t see a way forward.

I’m sorry.

I wish you all the best.

You are remarkable and deserve the things you want.

I just don’t think we’re right for each other.

Good luck.

Her response came the next day and it was lame, centring on how wonderful her new life was going to be. I almost felt sorry for her…almost.

I’m struck by how quickly things between us degenerated. Our first date was promising but it was obviously my discovering her deception that halted matters abruptly in my heart. With every interaction her true personality came to the fore. Now just a matter of weeks later and it feels like I hate everything about her. I really need to stop being so easily impressed by a woman on a first date.

Telling lies on a dating profile is so stupid. The truth ALWAYS comes out, just how long it takes varies. Once the deceit is revealed, trust is damaged. In my experience women seem to lie about their age, weight and appearance. Women I’ve met on dates tell me that men lie about their height, jobs and income. It’s an age-old case of women trying to make themselves more physically attractive, while men try to appear to be able to make a woman feel safe physically and materially. Playing “I fool you, you fool me” only makes fools of each other.

This incident with The Irish Cougar has lowered my opinion of women even further. It has been on a downward slant for quite some time now. I’ve become aware of how acute my trust issue is, but every passing woman is making it worse, cementing what is already there. In my quietest moments I fear that I might never trust a woman again; it’s getting that bad.

I’ve always thought womankind to be something of a mystery, what with their unpredictable ways, inconsistent moods, mercurial decisions and emotion-driven behaviour. They’ve been a puzzle that I’ve been trying to solve all my life. I don’t think that I’m any closer to understanding women, but instead what I am learning via online dating is taking the shiny sparkle off them for me.

I used to think that the vast majority of women are good, kind, giving and supportive and only a few bad women existed on the periphery of society. It now seems to me that it’s the other way around and that a truly good woman, the kind I want, is a rarity.

I started out on my dating quest as a White Knight and with every new woman I meet it feels that I am becoming increasingly grey. I find myself doing things I ordinarily wouldn’t for reasons that are unfamiliar to me.

The shine is fading from my armour…and I’m not sure what to make of it all.

Ugly Kid Joe – Everything About You

Seduction scene set

I’m going to seduce The Irish Cougar, then I’m going to dump her. When the day arrives that she fully realizes this, she’ll go cold inside then start wondering why I did this to her. With more thought she’ll realize it is because she tricked me from the outset and now I’ve done the same to her. She’ll complain to her closest friends to help her make sense of it all, but as they huddle in their oestrogen bubble like haggard witches of old around a simmering cauldron, deep down they’ll know that playing games with men can backfire.

The Irish Cougar and I have fallen into the habit of calling each other every night. I suppose it’s normal practise for a dating couple, but to me it’s just part of wreaking my revenge on a woman trying to deceive me. I keep the conversation light and it almost always centres around her working day. From having lived with two other women for almost twenty years I have come to accept that part of life as a couple involves the woman talking or complaining about her working day for about an hour to her man. They claim it’s called ‘venting’, while I call it a waste of time.

Women seem to have a need to unburden themselves emotionally and once having done so they feel better for it. Not so for men. Men do a far better job of compartmentalizing or suppressing their feelings about their working lives from their home-life. We spend enough time at work, why squander free time by talking about it? I guess it’s just a gender difference that nobody tells us about. I think that most men find this aspect of a relationship a nuisance while women think their men insensitive.

I use The Irish Cougar’s need to vent as opportunity to draw her closer to me. Like a motionless spider on the edge of a web, her talking is like a fly moving closer to the centre of my web. When the time is right, the spider that is me will make its move. She’s not the only one who can play games.

We agree to get together on the coming Saturday, but that’s not when I’ll strike. I’m going to have to be a little bit more patient. Besides, I’m seeing Cat Lady on Sunday; who knows what will happen then.

On the Thursday I start swapping emails with The Irish Cougar while she’s bored at work. I use it as an opportunity to raise the temperature of the cauldron that the witches will pontificate over later. Is that ‘witches’ or ‘bitches’? I’m not quite sure.

I say this because I’ve been thinking about her motives and actions. From talking to my other dates I’ve learned that the typical woman on a dating site has a small team of confidants/cheerleaders/advisors behind her, helping their friend along, guiding her away from danger, passing judgement on men they’ve never seen, living vicariously through their friend’s experiences. It’s a rare woman who is dating all on her own without anybody else’s input. Did one or more of The Irish Cougar’s circle convince that trying to pass herself off as being ten years younger was the way to go?

My experience with Lusty Lass and naughty emails gives me the confidence and skills to indulge in a naughty exchange of messages. I turn the conversation sexual because I want The Irish Cougar fixated with me.

Grey Knight: Food can be fun, we agreed the other day…. 🙂

If it’s Summer, I like to squirt some whipped cream along the contours of a woman’s body…watch and feel her recoil from the cold sensation…then slowly lick it all off with my warm tongue…

If it’s winter, I do the same with maple syrup…

Would you like that?

Irish Cougar: Why not cream in summer and winter 🙂

I would like that …….

Grey Knight: I’m not set on anything in the bedroom…everybody has their likes and dislikes, that much I know.

I’m a giver, not a taker. Giving my woman pleasure IS my pleasure.

What do you like?

Irish Cougar: I love penetration, I also love being watched while I make myself come….love to have my back kissed, my hair pulled….

Grey Knight: I LOVE watching a woman making herself cum…one of my joys in life!

There is something delicious, from a man’s point of view, of having a woman on her knees before you ready for doggy style, then slowly penetrating her, listening to the sounds she makes as I slide in to her, feeling her body react, hearing her catch her breath, rocking slowly then… ever quicker…deeper…then bunching her hair in my hand and slowly pulling her head back…

What else do you like?

Irish Cougar: Foreplay is vital…sometimes a quick ‘tear each others clothes off’ and make each other come is good too……:)

kissing, licking, sucking works for me……

Sitting astride you, very sexy, riding you……

Grey Knight: Are you getting turned on?

Irish Cougar: most definitely, while trying to look professional here at the office 🙂


Grey Knight: I’m aroused, but I’m like that most days, most of the day. I have a very high sex drive…but I have never cheated nor will I.

Are you wet right now?

If I were in the office now, what would you like to have happen?

Tell me…

Irish Cougar: I am wet too….

Take me the other other office, remove my dress keeping my stockings and high shoes on and fuck me hard…….

Grey Knight: Have you ever gone to the restroom at work and played with yourself?

Irish Cougar: no….enjoying the feeling of being turned on 🙂

Grey Knight: Would you like to go to your restroom and play with yourself?

Irish Cougar: I would like to lay down and make myself come…..

Grey Knight: Have you ever photographed or videod yourself doing that?

Would you like to?

Irish Cougar: no I have not, mmmm…no not sure I would want to…..

Grey Knight: It’s a life-enhancing experience…you should try it sometime…

Tell me how you make yourself cum…

Irish Cougar: I would rather show you……….. when the time is right 🙂

what kind of things have you been daydreaming about……

Grey Knight: I’m daydreaming about discovering what gets your blood flowing, what you love, how you’re going to react to the things that I can do to you and for you…the sounds you make, how you smell…I’m especially dying to know how you taste…I reckon you taste sweeter than you realize…

Irish Cougar: very turned on here….I love sex, have a high sex drive, ‘frisky’ time, I love morning sex and would say night time and spontaneous sex …

Grey Knight: What have you been daydreaming?

Tell me…in detail…

Irish Cougar: non…I already talk too much….. 🙂

Grey Knight: Would you like to be turned on some more?

Irish Cougar: yes …I would…..

Grey Knight: Do you like being massaged?

Imagine lying on your stomach…


I straddle you…

I have warm oil in my hands and spread it slowly across your back…

Irish Cougar: I love to be massaged…….go on…more …….

Grey Knight: I stretch my hands over your back, starting at the base of the spine and gently push up towards your shoulders…

My hands sliding over the oil, your skin cresting like waves before my hands…

I glide my hands back down to your spine, and repeat…

Increasing the pressure gradually every time…

I can feel your body relaxing under me…

Irish Cougar: More

Grey Knight: I massage your muscles, finding the knots and releasing them…

Your body is warming up to my touch…

The force in my hands is strong, but your body doesn’t mind…

Once I feel your body is totally relaxed, limp even…

I lean forward and start kissing your back…

Starting at the base of the spine, kissing either side of it…

Kissing upwards, slowly, surely…

Tasting the oil on my lips…

Irish Cougar: hmmm…

Grey Knight: I reach the top of the spine…

Brushing your hair to one side…

I kiss the nape of your neck…your ear…your cheek…

You make interesting sounds…approving sounds…that start to turn me on…

I lick your neck and ear…

My hands are near your shoulders…

reach the top of the spine…

Brushing your hair to one side…

I kiss the nape of your neck…your ear…your cheek…

You make interesting sounds…approving sounds…that start to turn me on…

I lick your neck and ear…

My hands are near your shoulders…

Irish Cougar: More

Grey Knight: I turn you over…

Exposing all your femininity to me…

With barely pausing to enjoy the sight of you…

I kiss your throat…then neckline…then shoulders…

Irish Cougar: Hmm

Grey Knight: Are you wet?

Irish Cougar: very…..

Grey Knight: I kiss down the side of your shoulder, along the top of your arm…

Occasionally giving a little lick…just for variety…

Arriving at your breast…I don’t do what every amateur lover does…

Instead, I kiss the side of the breast…ignoring the nipple…

Kissing in a big concentric motion all around the breast…

Slowly drawing the circle smaller…

Eventually my lips arrive at the nipple… 

Irish Cougar: Hmm

Grey Knight: Do you feel like playing with yourself?

Irish Cougar: I so feel like playing with myself…..

Grey Knight: I want to watch you playing with yourself…I want to video it so that you can see how sexy you look when doing that for me…

I ignore that nipple…and kiss across your chest to the other breast…

Kissing in a big circle all around it, once again closing the circle…towards the nipple…

I ignore this nipple too…kissing along your side…down toward your hips…

Kissing over the pelvic bone..ever downwards…

Down towards where you want to feel my lips and tongue…

Irish Cougar: I do……

Grey Knight: I kiss the top of your thigh…in a straight line down to your knee…

Down towards the inside of the knee…

You can ‘t help but spread your legs wide for me…

Inviting me…

I keep kissing the inside of your thigh…slowly…gradually…

Up to your groin…

I lick your groin…

Irish Cougar: I feel I want to spread my legs here at my desk……..

Grey Knight :And do what…

Irish Cougar: for you to lick and kiss and suck me……

Grey Knight: I’m looking forward to doing that…and a whole lot more.

What other people call fantasies…I call plans…

Do you have fantasies/plans you want to make come true?

Irish Cougar: oh I do and I am not talking about them with you in email, face to face……

Grey Knight: We have lots to look forward to… 🙂

Hungry and horny now…

Gotta get some lunch…

Irish Cougar: It is mental here so much going on…that was fun and has me feeling flushed 🙂

I’ve now set the scene to seduce The Irish Cougar. All through this exchange I’m very aware of the fact that I’m dealing with a woman who is significantly older than me, but who is still trying to have me think that she’s younger than me. She wants to play games with men; fine, let’s play.

Shakespeare taught me that all is fair in love and war. I’ve always found that statement ambiguous because it hints at sinister and dark deeds. That’s a side of life that holds no fascination for me. I even fear it somewhat because I am naïve to it, but I am learning, whether I want to or not.

Machiavelli’s ‘The Prince’ has long fuelled a debate on the back of his assertion that “It is better to be feared than loved”. Of course he was writing about early sixteenth-century political and military machinations between small Italian republics. As a young man when introduced to this debate I took it to heart as gospel and it has served me well in the workplace. I also apply it to personal relationships. I let people choose to trust, respect and even love me, but if they choose not to, then I reciprocate in kind.

I have found that this approach to life has been most sound in that I have surrounded myself with people whom I can rely on. In return they get the same and the best of me at all times. Life has been pretty black and white for me as I have found that keeping things simple is glorious. However, as I progress on my quest through the Kingdom of Dating, I find my world becoming increasingly grey. I’m encountering people whose methods and motives are questionable and I fear that some of it is starting to rub off on me.

Depeche Mode – Policy of Truth

Exgf & the finger lickin’ date

I have deliciously naughty plans in mind for my slutty Exgf tonight. She arrives looking like an innocent little girl, wearing a skirt for once. I wonder if she’s wearing knickers; I told her not to. Her green eyes are sparkling at me and she looks quite pretty, but still not the kind of woman I’ve been enjoying fucking in the past year. This is revenge we’re talking about, so looks is irrelevant; ice-cold, slow, strangling revenge.

She’s surprised by my red sports car and I know it does things for her, perhaps even makes her juicy. Once at the Chinese restaurant on the outskirts of my town we get a table and indulge in small talk. I’m easily Passive Disinterested because I know that there is no romantic possibility between us. As with other women who like this demeanour she leans forward, inadvertently but perhaps deliberately exposing her ample cleavage. She catches me glancing, smiles, looks around the room and then shakes her breasts with a quick wiggle of her shoulders. Good, this slut is in a frisky frame of mind.

I pay for the meal just like I used to, but back then it was me being me, but tonight the vengeful me was paying. I was paying for my whore’s meal, making her in my mind a bought and paid-for receptacle for my lust. In the past I had fed her in so many ways, never suspecting that I was also feeding her twisted ego, the ego that got off on manipulating me, leading and misleading me. The sense of satisfaction I felt from being in the driving seat made the meal taste even sweeter. When she brought the chopsticks up to her mouth I could just imagine feeding her my phallus. Patience, all in good time.

It is a perfect Summer’s evening and there’s a party atmosphere in the establishment. The bustling beer garden outside beckons and I order us a bottle of chenin blanc. We find seats in an empty gazebo on an embankment that overlooks all the people about twenty yards from us. We side by side on a two-seater that swings. It’s dark and about fifty people are collected in small groups below us, they’re all engrossed in their conversations, glasses of wine and beer in hand. A floodlight is providing light on the group, their shadows fall towards us, we’re partially illuminated.

About halfway through the bottle of wine, my Exgf tells me about her latest trip to Thailand, somewhere we’ve been together and I can see her remembering this as she tells me of places we discovered in happier times. She went with her mother this trip but her eyes tell me she wishes it was with me; I know her that well. She’s in an emotionally vulnerable state, her practised defences are down, she’ll be receptive to anything I do from now on. The alcohol is helping.

I put a hand on her thigh and she puts a hand over mine. I lean over halfway towards her and she quickly comes forward to make our lips meet. Within seconds her tongue is in my mouth and she lets off a muffled sigh. Time to escalate.

Still kissing I slide my hand down her thigh and find the hem of her skirt. I’m going to do something naughty and she’ll slap me down, but I know it’ll turn her on. I slide my hand under her skirt and slowly make my way to her crotch. I can feel that she’s wearing underwear.

“I told you to not wear knickers. Naughty girl. You deserve to be punished,” I utter in a slow, low tone. She always liked my deep voice and I’ve never spoken to her like this before, so the uncharacteristic words are bound to have an effect, perhaps even an arousing one.

“Open your legs more,” I instruct and she complies. I push her panties aside and slide a finger into her pussy.

Anybody looking in our direction would see her with her legs apart, her skirt pulled up onto her thighs and my hand between her legs, fingering her. Should I be crazy and unbutton the front of her dress, tug on her bra-cups, letting her breasts fall out for the world to see? Surely somebody must be watching us?

“Come, let’s go,” I say, pulling my finger out of her wet pussy. I lead her to my car; we don’t speak. I’ve parked in the middle of the car park, it’s next to the beer garden. People are coming and going from their cars, the area is well lit.

Like an old-fashioned gentleman I open her door for her and close it once she’s sitting comfortably. What I’m going to do next is anything but old-fashioned. I get in on my side of the car and she’s turned slightly towards me and hasn’t put her seatbelt on. She’s looking at me, her eyes are big; she’s still turned on.

Without a word I lean over, quickly push her skirt up and put a hand between her legs, feeling the meatiness of her thighs. She lets out a heavy breath and opens her legs. My fingers push her knickers aside and my index finger slides up into her pussy. We keep eye contact and her mouth opens in surprise, but I know she’s enjoying this.

My Exgf is gushing wet; she did always like to be fingered. I slide my middle finger in too and she spreads her legs even more. I start playing with her g-spot, to which she lets out a “Oh my gawd!” She puts her hands down on her skirt, holding it up and she starts breathing faster. If I keep going like this she’s going to cum, then that’ll be it for the night. Very rarely was she multi-orgasmic during our time together, despite my best efforts. Once she came, that was it, game over. I’m not going to let her cum any time soon, I’m going to make her work for it.

I pull my fingers out and say to her, “Come over here and suck my cock,” all in a manner that I’ve never used with anyone before. Is this how a John talks to his whore for the evening? I know that my Exgf ‘s never had sex in a car.

She leans over to my crotch while I quickly unzip my trousers and pull my now rock-hard cock out for her to suck on. In less than a second she latches onto the top half of my cock with her mouth and she frenetically moves her head up and down on it. She would never have done this while we were together, so it feels good to be able to get her to do it now and with such enthusiasm. After a couple of seconds she starts making approving sounds that remind me of a little girl eating ice-cream on a scorching Summer’s day.

We didn’t get to oral sex on Sunday; it was all too fast and intense. This looks and feels good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her suck my cock with such gusto before. I decide to test her honesty, to see if her story is consistent.

“When last did you suck a cock?” I ask.

She stops for a second to answer with, “I haven’t. This one was my last one.”

“Okay, stop talking, keep sucking,” I say with my new-fond brutishness. She lets off a little snigger and does as she’s told. Good slut.

I become concerned that people might be watching us and also I sense I’m getting closer to cumming myself. No, the evening has just started; I have other ideas that need seeing to.

“Right , that’s enough for now,” I say, guiding her shoulder up with a hand and putting my cock away with my other hand. She straightens her dress and checks her look in the mirror.

“Did you enjoy doing that?” I ask.


“Do you want to do that some more? Do you want me to finger you some more?”


Without another word I start my sports car and it roars into life. I remember reading in her sex diaries that she once let a guy fuck her on their second date because she got to drive in his sports car and she liked it. She must be enjoying this, it must be so exciting for her, especially after a year-long abstinence from sex. I drive us back to my apartment complex and park in the public car park that is also well-lit. I switch the car off, press the buttons that releases our seat belts, unzip my trousers and pull my semi-erect cock out.

“Come over here and suck my cock some more,” I say. I would never have dared say or do anything like this in the past with her. How will she react?

Without any hesitation she leans over and eagerly sucks away on my cock. I’m stunned, but I like this. I don’t know whether it’s this brazenness that I like, or the public naughtiness, or the instant compliance on her part, perhaps all of it, but this feels good. She was always a good cock-sucker, but this is taking us where we’ve never been before.

She starts making those involuntary noises again, like a wild boar sniffing for truffles. She’s enjoying this, being my whore. Of course she doesn’t know that I’m thinking of her in those terms. I didn’t know that she had this degree of exhibitionism in her, just one of the things that she kept so well hidden from me.

“Okay, enough of that now. Sit back in your seat,” I say, sensing that I’m getting close to cumming. She complies and looks at me, waiting for my next instruction.

“Pull your skirt up,” I tell her.

She smiles and pulls her skirt up onto her thighs.

“No, pull it all the way up,” I command.

She pulls it up as far as she can.

“Now spread your legs open and pull your panties to one side,” I instruct.

She does so and looks at me with big eyes. Anybody in the complex looking out of their window now could see us. My Exgf doesn’t seem to care and neither do I. Taking a few seconds to commit this sight to my memory bank, I slowly lean closer to her, keeping eye-contact and put a hand on her thigh. She lets out a nervous breath filled with anticipation. I slide my hand up her silky smooth thigh and slide two fingers into her pussy.

“Ugh” she says, arching her back a bit and closing her eyes.

“Is this what you want?” I ask as I find her g-spot.

“Uh-huh,” she gasps.

To be continued…

Shag the ex – Final Part

“Oh, my God! I’ve forgotten what your big, fat cock feels like. Jeezus!” she gasps as I start slamming into her pussy as her breasts flop about.

Her pussy feels tight; it has been a while since a cock has been in there. I’ve forgotten how nice her breasts are, but I’m distracted by the fact that I’ve got about three days worth of cum in my balls. I don’t want to get any of that on my fabric sofa; I find it such a chore stripping and washing it. I stop fucking her and stand up. She has a look of terror on her face.

“What’s going on?” she asks with a tone of concern and fear.

“Let’s go to the bedroom. Much more comfortable,” I tell her. A look of relief spreads on her face.

I lead her by the hand to my bed, turn her back to it and then brutishly push her onto the bed. She bounces on it with a look of surprise on her face. I’ve never done anything like that to her before; I was always gentle. I get onto the bed, push her legs apart and slide my cock into her pussy.

I rest my elbows under her shoulders while she holds onto my back, her fingers sinking into my muscles, not because she wants to but because she needs to. I deliberately keep my head next to hers, I don’t want to look at her. I just want to hear the sounds she makes because in the past she wasn’t overly noisy, but today I’m going to make her noisy.

The frustration that has been building up in me from months of disappointing dating experiencing fuses with my sense of outrage that I feel about her. It comes out through my body, I become a fucking machine, an unthinking, unfeeling machine that just fucks. Every ounce of negativity in me is channelled through my cock into her body.

My inner dialogue kicks off.

You took something from me, something good and I miss it. I know I’ll never have it back, that innocence, that childish belief, a natural ignorance that made the world feel a better place for me. You took it, abused it then threw aside, like it was worthless garbage. You had no use for it but it was precious to me. You’re a selfish, ungrateful monster. I despise you for what you did to me.

I’m going to fuck you to pieces!

I pound her pussy as hard and as fast as I can, not caring if I could be hurting her. The truth is, if she made sounds of discomfort, I would have enjoyed it more and just kept going. I ram my cock as deep into her cunt as I can go. Again and again, like a man possessed by a malfunctioning cattle prod up his bum. She always liked a bit of deep dicking, she likes feeling my dick touching her cervix. How many other cocks were long enough to do that to her? The thought of that makes me angrier and I grind my cock around inside her.

She makes sounds of satisfaction. Yes, you like having cocks doing that to you, don’t you? How many cocks have been in your pussy? Do you even know? Do you even care? How many cocks have you sucked off without them making it into your cunt? You’ve probably sucked on more cocks than have been in your hole. Did you always swallow their cum, or did you let them spray their sperm over your face? Or did you prefer to watch them dump their load on your tits and then rub it into yourself?

You’re just a free whore and for this next little while you’re my whore. I’m going to do whatever I want with you and I don’t care what you think or feel about it.

Take it…take it…this is all you’re good for…you lying fucking bitch…take it…

She keeps saying, “Oh my gawd…oh my gawd,” but I say nothing, my body’s doing the talking.

I make sure I get my money’s worth out of my free whore before the inevitable happens. My cock can only take so much of her very used fleshiness before my balls have to unburden themselves. I get to that point after about an hour.

“Where do you want me to cum?” I ask, moments away from cumming.

“I don’t care. Wherever you want,” she wheezes as I slam my cock deep into her one last time.

I don’t want to get this good-for-nothing slut pregnant, so I pull out of her with a second to spare and hoist myself up towards her face. As my hand touches my shaft to direct it, my hot, sticky cum starts squirting out. Most of it shoots onto her face while a few lesser drops plop onto her tits. She keeps her eyes closed and opens her mouth as clumps of sperm spatter across her face. She even keeps her mouth open as a few small drops go in there. She doesn’t swallow, but moves her tongue around a bit. Her one eyelid is buried under a mound of cum, while other streaks decorate her face.

I give a few tugs up my shaft with my hand and less-propelled spunk oozes out. She still has her eyes closed as I dangle the fresh baby-batter over her mouth. Enough of it collects and gravity forces it to drop into her gaping mouth. It lands squarely on her tongue, which she pulls back into her mouth, finally closing it now and swallowing without making a sound, just like a good whore should.

I flick a few more drops of my cum onto her tits and my cock is dry. I get off her chest and lie down next to her. Her face is an ugly mess, just like her heart. How many other guys have done this to her? Does she enjoy it? I don’t care.

She brings her hands up to her face and starts smearing the smelly mess down her chin and throat, down over her breasts where she rubs my cum into them. I find her handling her breasts like that arousing, but I know that I’m done for the day. After a while she catches her breath and speaks.

“Wow! You’ve never been like that before. You have learned some new skills in the last year,” she says with surprise in her voice.

I say nothing, I’m still breathing heavily while a silent storm inside me blows itself out.

I have never fucked a woman so ferociously before. She’s going to be walking funny for days. I’m amazed that I lasted so long. I wish I had videoed the encounter. This must be what is called ‘angry sex’.

This worthless bitch did not appreciate me when I loved her, but now she sees me differently? In that case Machiavelli is right: it IS better to be feared than loved. The more she fears me, the more she complies. I granted her free will out of a naïve sense of partnership, but she abused that and has proven herself unworthy of the best of me.

The pendulum has now swung the other way, from an extreme point where I gave her the freedom to show me the best of herself, but she showed her true nature and we’re now at the other end…and I think it only fitting that she has given me the right to exorcise the worst that I can be. After all, she planted it there.

She truly deserves to see the worst of me, but this will only come about when she realizes I’ve outsmarted her…used her, like she used me. Until then I’m going to enjoy myself.

We lie on my bed like we used to in better days, with her body against mine for the bodyheat. We don’t talk much. I think she’s in shock at what just happened. I’m in shock too…shocked that it went so well and so easily. I have indeed learned some things about women in the past year, useful things.

Eventually she goes to shower and says that she has to leave. I say nothing and promise nothing. I want to keep her guessing, keep her wondering, keep her focussed on me. I walk my Exgf to her car and give her a polite kiss on the cheek which puzzles her. She leaves and I go sit on my sofa, thinking about what just happened.

The feeling from the bitter date with The Bitch of yesterday still lingers at the back of my soul and the angry sex with the Exgf has not made me feel any better about anything. Instead it has made me angrier because all the memories of the pain from her lies have come flooding back.

I need to believe that there is some goodness in the world. I need to feel that there is a decent woman out there somewhere. I need to feel good about women again.

I reach for my phone and dial Baltic Babe’s number…

Chris Isaak – Wicked Game

Shag the ex

During the week I came across my Exgf’s profile on OKCupid and Plenty of Fish. Reading her answers was interesting; she even tells a few lies on her profile. I know her better than anybody – I was her longest relationship – and about 10 % of her profile is lies. She even tries to make fun of her cleaning obsession. During our time together I put up with her OCD, but nowadays to me it means ‘Obviously Confused & Damaged’.

It’s Sunday morning and I still have the bitter taste of yesterday’s date with The Bitch in my mouth. My phone rings and I see it’s my Exgf. I look at that phone like a spider would at a fly trapped in its web. We agree to meet and a few hours later we’re buying a few things for an impromptu picnic before sitting under a tree in the largest park of my town where a festival is under way. As we talk I take a good look at her. There is no way that I would even click on her profile today if I saw it on a dating site. She’s a brunette and carrying quite a few unnecessary pounds. In looks I’d rate her a 6, but she has amazing green eyes and big breasts. We indulge in pointless small-talk until she feels comfortable enough to get serious.

“I’ve never missed anyone so much as I’ve missed you this past year.”

“That’s nice,” is my response with a smug grin. You can dish it out, but can you take it? Have some of the pain I knew. Silence ensues.

“I’ve never felt about anybody how I’ve felt about you,” she says.

“I see,” is all I say without making eye contact. Her words are ambiguous, but where’s this going? What is she buttering me up for?

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you would consider giving us another chance?”

I take a deep breath, pretend to think about it, inwardly smiling to myself. “I don’t know,” I say as neutrally as possible.

There it is, that’s what she wants. Her small, dark heart is looking for a home. I have been wondering if she is after this. She’s always after something, always clawing her way through life by clawing into people. There is no hope in hell us of getting back together, but I’m not going to tell her that.

Courtesy of all my shit experiences at the hands of women of late, I’ve decided that it’s time to stop fighting my inner demons and for us to team up and be on the same side for once. It’s scary, but the possibilities are endless and exciting.

Her betrayal hurt me the most, because I loved her the most. Will I ever allow myself to feel that way about someone again?

Never mind that. The balance of power – who needs who more – is entirely in my favour. I have always treated her as my partner, my equal, never for a moment suspecting that she didn’t see it that way. I was her brainless puppet on the end of a poisoned string, obediently dancing to her every wish, blinded by the idea of love. For some women the greatest feat they can ever achieve is to convince a man that he is in love with her.

She has no power over me; no more. The blinkers of love are removed and I see her clearly now. Gone is the notion that she will treat me with the same consideration and goodness as I have always treated her. Gone is the belief that she has my best interests at heart. Dead is the idea that she loved me.

I see this creature squirming before me, bereft of influence over me, feeling powerless and now yearning to have it back. There is a psalm in the Bible that says “it is a double pleasure to deceive a deceiver.” I know that the cruellest hoax one can perpetrate is to pretend you want to love someone when you don’t.

I’m going to turn this bitch into my fuckbuddy.

The noise from the festival is now so loud that hearing each other is a problem. It has caused us to sit closer than we otherwise would, so an invisible physical barrier has been broken. That helps me. It’s the perfect time to move matters to the next level in my plan.

“It’s gotten too noisy. Would you like to see my place?” I ask, knowing full well that she would love to. She’s always had an inquisitive streak; time to turn it to my advantage.

“Yes, please,” she instantly shoots back.

Here fishy, fishy…

Back at my apartment she’s suitably unimpressed, but it just confirms what I believe other women have thought of it. I don’t care what she thinks of my place. What I do know is that, from reading her sex diaries, she is most likely to let a guy fuck her if it is in his place and she’s had some wine. Without asking her I open a bottle of white wine and pour her a glass, which she gratefully accepts. Since I left her I suppose she hasn’t had much money for wine. She hasn’t noticed that I’m abstaining. I wonder if she’s been fucked since me? I’ll wait a while to let the first glass of wine loosen her upper lips, then the second will loosen her lower lips. Without asking her I switch my television on and start playing Californication from where I know she had last watched up until. That show always made her a little frisky; it’s time to get her juicy.

After couple of episodes we’re sitting side by side on my sofa, just like we used to in happier/ignorant times. Her body language is relaxed and a second glass of wine is having the desired effect. After the end of a naughty episode I feel the need to check something.

“So have you had any action since me in the last year?”

“No, you are my last,” she says in a tone that I know is her being honest. I’m surprised, but pleased. Pleased because her abstinence works in my favour.

“You must be gagging for it,” I tease, sensing the opportunity to turn things between us sexual.

“A little bit, yes,” she replies, then asks, “How about you? Had any fun?”

“I’ve had a lot of fun, yes,” I say nonchalantly.

Something I’ve learned is that women are more competitive than men. Women don’t dress to impress men; they dress to irritate other women. If a man is getting attention from women, then other women want his attention. If a man is getting no attention from women, then that state persists. I’m deliberately letting her know that other women want me too; it’ll heighten whatever she’s feeling for me.

I give it a few seconds then I decide to go for it. I’ve sown all the seeds of her having to give into me: there’s her wanting to try again, my feigning uncertainty and now letting her know that other women want me too, so she’s a bit jealous. Have I timed this perfectly? Is she going to walk out? Only one way to find out.

I lean over towards her, indicating I want to kiss her, but stopping just short of her lips. Will she pull away? No, she comes forward instantly and we kiss like it’s our first kiss. I think my kissing technique has improved with practise in the last year because I can sense her getting turned on. The thought of doing whatever I want to her thickens the blood flooding the chambers in my cock more than her kisses ever could.

The time for my revenge has arrived. Let the fucking begin.

It doesn’t take long before our clothes go flying around my lounge, within seconds we’re both naked, without speaking she quickly lies back on the sofa, spreads her legs open for me and I plunge my cock into her.

To be continued…

The Exgf returns

What the hell does she want?! My ex-girlfriend (Exgf) only initiates contact with people when she wants something from them. Does she want me back? Not a hope in hell. It’s been over a year without any kind of contact between us and I want to keep it that way. As I sit staring at her message on my phone I realize that it’s in my interest to talk to her because I still have a lot of money invested in the house she’s living in. I want that money back. Fuck it, I have to talk to her.

It’s a beautifully warm July Saturday afternoon as I arrive at the same pub where we had met for our very first date more than six years ago. She suggested this venue and it made me laugh. I’ve come to talk about the future of what used to be our home, but I know her, there’s always something else going on in the background with her.

As I get out my car I sense her looking at me. She’s sitting outside at a table by herself. I’m always early and she’s here before me? Usually she’s late for everything and has today even bought herself a drink. Hmm, she’s keen. This makes me suspicious and I go more on the defensive. Dealing with her since I learned of her true nature feels like riding on the back of a Great White shark.

I kiss her hello on a cheek, just like I would any other date, except that this isn’t a date, I’m expecting it to be a negotiation. She’s wearing a light Summer dress and her big boobs are popping out at the top. Is that for my benefit? We exchange brief pleasantries and I go to get a drink from the bar inside. I laugh to myself at the surreal feeling that this situation has. I want absolutely nothing to do with her and yet here I find myself.

“I don’t know what to do about the house,” she says as I sit down with my drink.

“Well, you have to pay somewhere to live, so it may as well be somewhere that you have a big garden,” I retort. I immediately see through her ploy of trying to manipulate me and fend her off with what I know she likes best about the place that she won’t get anywhere else.

Round and round the conversation goes, all in a civil manner, with her throwing reason after reason to sell the house now. What’s left outstanding on the mortgage is what is the property’s current market value. The British property market needs to recover significantly for there to be any hope of me getting all my money back. We’re years away from that happening, possibly never. Selling the house achieves nothing.

It’s clear to me that she’s trying to elicit some kind of reaction out of me, what exactly I don’t know, but she’s not getting it. We keep coming back to what I said initially that she will always have to pay to live somewhere. She realizes that a stalemate has set in and that I’m not going to be led by the nose. We fall silent.

“I miss you,” she says softly.

“That’s nice,” I say and take a sip of my pint. I really couldn’t care less about her.

“I’ve been on a few dates,” she says, trying to bait me some more. I’m not biting.


“I keep comparing them to you,” she says.

“Have you slept with any of them?” I ask, curious and brazen at the same time, expecting her to say yes. I really don’t care what she thinks or how she responds. She can storm off in a huff, I’ll laugh and stay to finish my drink.

“No, I didn’t,” she says in a way that I know is the truth, because I know how she speaks when she lies.

Her words are a rare honesty, a naked vulnerability that was largely absent during our five-year relationship. I’m glad to hear that she’s back on the dating scene, not because I’m happy that she feels ready to move on, no because it means that she’s keeping my competition busy. I have very little positive feelings for her; she already took them all.

She starts telling me about her dates, what was wrong with them, why they were unsuitable and I just listen in silence. It occurs to me that I’m in passive disinterested mode; I’m sitting back in my seat, my feet pointing away from her and I’m not saying much. She’s leaning forward, her tits almost falling out of her dress and she’s very keen to have my attention.

For the past year I’ve sublimated any feelings I’ve had about her. I think my experience with her was a poison pill that I’ve swallowed but not expelled or diluted in my system. If any of my dates said or did anything that reminded me of her, I’d lose interest in them. With her every negative word my body becomes more tense. Dormant feelings of rage start to stir inside me and they grow like an acid eating away at my insides. I keep a straight face as she talks but all the while I’m growing angrier at her. I still have unfinished business with her, I realize.

While she sits there finding fault with what are probably perfectly good, respectable men, an idea comes to me…an idea of revenge.

She’s an ideal candidate for a fuckbuddy. I always enjoyed having sex with her and now, courtesy of her sex diaries, I know exactly what she’s capable of. I know exactly how she used sex to manipulate men, myself included. She was holding out on me, putting on a good-girl act for me, meanwhile she’s the biggest slut in town. I have zero respect for her. That’s great because there is no risk of me falling in love, the timeless trap of the fuckbuddy concept. She obviously wants something from me, probably wants us to try again, so she’ll be very keen to please me. I’m in a position to exploit her, to get what other men have got out of her and for it to cost me very little. Everything it could have cost me financially and emotionally I have already paid.

Her phone rings and without asking me, she answers it. Yes, her manners are that bad. I think that there was always a gap between us when it comes to etiquette, but hey, sex is the great leveller of all social pretence. I hear her conversation with a friend, but my mind is mulling over my despicable idea: I like it.

“I have a friend in the neighbourhood coming to join us for a few minutes,” she says.

“Do I know this friend?” I ask.

“No, she’s new. She’s very useful to know because she has loads of contacts and she even got me some part-time work twice last year,” she says.

My Exgf will never change, she’ll always attach ‘usefulness’ to anybody she meets. I must have been so ‘useful’ to her. Maybe it’s time she makes herself useful to me, to my libido in particular. She uses people all the time, I think I’ll show her what it feels like.

The friend arrives and joins us after she gets herself a drink. I decide to do something naughty; I decide to flirt with the friend. This woman couldn’t be more unattractive to me: mousey-brown hair, weathered skin, flat chest, anorexic body, poor grooming and bad fashion sense.

Nevertheless I turn on active interest, I turn to face her, my feet point towards her and I initiate open-ended conversation. I’m affable, I’m interested and interesting. All my attention is directed at the innocent little friend. Yes, I was being a shit, but I don’t care.

My Exgf has never seen me like this before. I think her ego took a pounding as she watched me chat up another women right in front of her. I have no doubt in my mind that she wants me more than ever now; I can see it in her wide eyes. I know how to work her and work her I shall. The friend is enjoying my attention and starts playing with her hair. My Exgf just sits in stunned silence. I’m in complete control of the situation.

After about half an hour of flirting, the friend realizes what I’m doing but my Exgf is still oblivious. The friend makes her excuses and leaves. I turn to my Exgf and smile, knowing that she has never seen me like that because only since I left her have I been on so many dates that I now have these dating skills. She seems in a mild state of shock; I think I see her hand shake as she lifts her glass.

I don’t know what she was expecting from this afternoon, but it’s definitely not going how she planned. The less I cared, the more power I had. Maybe there is something to that nasty adage of “Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.”

“Right, I need to go now,” she says.

“Okay,” is all I say as I stand to kiss her goodbye on a cheek.

“There’s some other things I want to talk about, so how about we meet up another time?” she says.

I say nothing and merely smile. Here, fishy fishy…

I watch her drive off, but stay to finish my drink and savour a warm feeling that has come over me and it’s not just from the sun on my back. I sit thinking about my fuckit list.

Apparently revenge is a dish best served cold. If that’s true, then I sense an unseasonal Siberian cold front heading our way…

Justin Timberlake – What goes around comes around