My wife and I had travelled back to my hometown to celebrate my sister’s 30th birthday. She’d chosen a grand Manor House and hotel for the occasion, and luckily, we’d booked early enough to secure a room onsite.
After grabbing a few drinks and picking out a table for the evening, we settled in as guests began to arrive—family, friends, familiar faces. The music was already playing, the bar queue steadily growing, and the tables quickly filling with laughter and conversation.
I scanned the room, exchanging greetings with relatives—some I hadn’t seen in years. Then I saw her. My ex-girlfriend. She was one of my sister’s closest friends, so I’d known there was a strong chance she’d be here. But knowing it and actually seeing her were two very different things.
A dozen thoughts raced through my mind. Should I say hello? Pretend not to notice? Introduce her to my wife? I didn’t want to create an awkward scene or stir up unnecessary tension. Instead, I leaned toward my wife and quietly pointed her out.
“She’s pretty,” my wife said casually.
I didn’t reply. She was more than pretty—she was stunning—but that wasn’t something my wife needed to hear. Some truths are better left unspoken.
As the night wore on, the drinks flowed freely, music pulsed through the manor, and dancing filled the room. Dinner had been served, speeches delivered, and the air was thick with celebration. While waiting at the bar, I felt a hand gently press against my back.
“Hello, stranger,” she said.
I turned, and there she was—my ex. Instantly, any imagined awkwardness dissolved. Her presence felt familiar, easy. I greeted her, and she pulled me into a warm hug. We started talking, and it was as if no time had passed. The conversation was effortless, natural, even enjoyable.
We caught up on our lives, exchanging updates and anecdotes, before slipping into shared memories—moments that once belonged to us. She told me she was married now, though her husband hadn’t been able to attend. Then, with a mischievous glint, she leaned in and said, “Shame your wife’s here.”
The comment hung in the air. Lightly spoken, but not without weight.
Eventually, I got served and bought her a drink. She smiled, thanked me, and said she’d like to talk again later. I nodded, then made my way back to our table.
Moments later, my wife returned from the dance floor, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. She glanced toward the bar, then looked at me.
“Was that your ex you were talking to?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” I said. “We just caught up. She’s married now too.”
My wife nodded, taking a sip of her drink. She didn’t press further, and I didn’t offer more. Some conversations are best left where they happened—in the hum of the bar, under the low lights, with music playing just loud enough to blur the edges.
Seconds slipped into minutes, and minutes into hours. The night had deepened, the party mellowing into its later rhythm. Most of the girls had kicked off their heels and were now dancing barefoot, my wife among them—laughing, carefree, lost in the music.
I’d drifted to another table, chatting with a couple of cousins about work, life, and how quickly time seemed to move. That’s when I felt it—a gentle touch on my shoulder. I turned to see her, my ex, sliding into the seat beside me.
She leaned in slightly, her voice low. “Your sister and one of the others told me not to come over. Said it probably wasn’t a good idea. Alcohol and old flames don’t mix, apparently.”
I gave a small laugh and shook my head. “It’s fine. We’re just talking. No harm in that.”
She smiled—mischievous, knowing—and leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear. “Not yet,” she whispered.
The words lingered, heavier than they sounded. A tease, maybe. A warning. Or something else entirely.
“I’m heading outside for some air,” she said, her hand resting briefly on my thigh before she stood and walked away. The gesture lingered—intimate, deliberate. It felt like an invitation.
I stayed seated, thinking. I couldn’t just follow her—not without a reason.
I made my way to the dance floor and leaned in close to my wife. “I’m heading back to the room to change my shirt. Getting a bit warm. Need anything?”
She smiled, still swaying to the music. “Just a drink when you get back.”
I nodded and slipped away.
Outside, the cool air hit me. I scanned the area, half-expecting to see her. Nothing. Maybe I’d misread it. Maybe she’d gone back in. Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. Unknown number. I answered.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” she said. I knew the voice instantly.
“Look to your left, down by the corner.”
I turned and saw her, partially hidden in the shadows. I glanced around—no one in sight—and walked toward her. As I rounded the corner, she was there, leaning against the wall, waiting.
Without a word, she reached for me, pulled me close. Our bodies met, and she kissed me—unhesitating, familiar, electric.
I slid my arms around her waist, hands resting on the small of her back. The sensation was immediate—familiar, electric. Muscle memory met emotion, and the past surged forward. Her scent mingled with the crisp night air, intoxicating and unmistakably hers.
I kissed her back.
Our mouths met with urgency, no hesitation. Tongues tangled, exploring, rediscovering. It was raw, unfiltered—like a door had been opened that neither of us had truly closed.
After a minute or two, we broke apart, both instinctively scanning the area to make sure we hadn’t been seen. Then she took my hand and led me away. I didn’t ask where we were going—I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Her grip was firm, purposeful.
We wound our way around the back of the property, where the noise of the party faded into silence. No music, no voices, no passing cars. Just the two of us, cloaked in quiet and shadow. A dim light from the side of the building cast a soft glow across the path.
She pulled me into a doorway—an emergency exit, by the look of it—and leaned back against the wall. Her eyes met mine, steady and unguarded.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
I did.
She still held my hand, guiding it gently, deliberately. The moment was slow, charged, and deliberate—less about movement, more about memory. Familiarity met desire, and the past folded into the present.
As my hand being held by hers moved up her dress and further up her thigh, I felt the lace of her knickers.
A rush of sensation hit me—unexpected, undeniable. The closeness, the familiarity, the secrecy of it all. I felt my pulse quicken, a heat rising beneath the surface. It wasn’t just physical—it was memory, tension, and the thrill of being wanted. The past and present collided in a way that was both exhilarating and dangerous.
She removed her hand, allowing me to take control. She had indicated what she desired. I moved slowly, teasingly and slipped my fingers into the side of her knickers.
She immediately spread her legs a little wider. It had been quite a while since I had experienced this with her, but it was like time had never passed. Her pussy still a little hairy, something we both always liked, a nice trimmed bush. It was obvious straight away that she was excited, her pussy wet.
I felt myself stiffen further. Then more so again as she began to undo my belt, unbutton and lower the zip on my jeans. Her hand suddenly slipping into my boxers and taking hold of my now throbbing cock.
Having caressed her clit and teased her inner lips, I decided to slip two fingers inside her. She let out a soft gasp, followed by soft, pleasurable moaning.
I fingered her, slowly at first, my fingers sliding in and out of her. Her hand wrapped around my cock, stroking me also softly.
She put her head next to mine and whispered softly in my ear.
“Put four fingers inside me and finger me hard,” she said.
I didn’t hesitate and did exactly as she requested. I inserted my other two fingers inside her now soaking pussy and began rubbing the inside of her pussy.
Her moaning now intensified, slightly louder but holding back to not draw any attention to ourselves.
“Fuck I’ve missed you,” she said.
With my other hand I was able to remove the straps of her dress from her shoulders and lowered her top. Her tits looked exactly as I had always remembered them. A beautiful, round set of tits. I was able to remove them from her bra by tucking her bra underneath them.
I didn’t hold back, took hold of her right tit and teased her nipple with my mouth. Slowly sucking and nibbling. Something which I knew she’d always enjoyed.
“I’m going to fucking cum,” she said.
In this final few moments she didn’t care if anybody heard. She allowed herself to completely embrace the moment, to enjoy herself fully. Her moaning louder, pleasure from my touch, from the tension, from the weight of what we were doing.
Then I felt it, her pussy tightened as she gripped me. Her head resting on my shoulder as she had an intense orgasm and had cum.
“I’m pretty fucking close myself,” I said.
I’d always enjoyed watching her enjoy herself fully and had found myself extremely turned on by it every time.
Allowing her to compose herself, I removed my fingers from her. She took hold of my hand immediately and I found it thrilling to watch her suck my fingers. I remembered then that she’d always liked the taste of herself.
She took hold of me and spun me around, my back now against the wall and got to her knees.
“Now I want to taste you,” she said.
She lowered my jeans and boxers a little, exposing my throbbing cock, already dripping with pre-cum. She began by exposing the head of my cock, my foreskin peeled back and licked the cum from the tip of my cock.
She didn’t hold back. It was as if she’d been waiting for this—starving for it. She came at me with a force that spoke of restraint finally shattered, a hunger that had simmered too long.
She sucked hard and deep. My throbbing cock sliding in and out of her tightly gripped mouth. Her eyes fixed on mine.
I felt it, the urge, the sensation. It really hadn’t taken long at all. The thrill of the naughtiness, the risk and the cheat.
“Fuck, yes, I’m going,” I said.
I allowed myself to release, to let go. Feeling the cum running through my cock and then explode with force into her mouth. It felt like it wouldn’t end. A big load.
Once I felt that I had finished, nothing left, I pulled out. She made sure that she’d got the last of it, not one to want to waste anything.
Standing she smiled, her eyes still fixed on mine and then kissed me. Something I’d always enjoyed, the taste of my cum on her tongue, in her mouth.
“I can’t believe we’ve just done that,” I said.
“Hopefully, it’s not the last time,” she said.
I fixed myself back up. Pulled her into me again and we shared another passionate meaningful kiss.
“Next time, I want you to cum in my pussy,” she said. A cheeky, mischievous grin told me that she meant it.
As we made our way back towards the party, I explained to her that I needed to quickly go to my room. She asked if I’d like some comply in my room. I knew exactly what she was suggesting. I told her that I really wanted to invite her up and continue what we had started, but we had already been away long enough to raise some suspicion. Plus, I wanted to increase the excitement of thinking about what we’d done and what we would do next time we got a chance.
Just before we rounded the corner, she stopped me for a brief moment. She raised her dress and removed her knickers. Sexy, lace, bright red, French knickers. She handed them to me.
“For you to do as you wish with and so that you remember tonight,” she said.
I took them, crumbled into a ball and held them close to my nose. Inhaling deeply, her sweet scent strong and alluring.
“I always loved seeing you sniff my knickers,” she said, with a soft giggle. |
