It’s the beginning of how I started sharing my (ex) girlfriend…
I started documenting things back then, here & there, and I’ve been writing them up “properly” on & off for a few years…
Recently I’ve (finally) decided to quietly share them
[Please forgive the poor formatting, it's a very lengthy nightmare trying to sort it on either my phone or laptop! -_-...]
“Did you see the way he looked at me?” Elise asked, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass.
Her eyes held that familiar spark, half mischief, half dare.
We were tucked into a corner booth at Bar 42, the low thrum of bass vibrating through the worn leather seats. Garlic still lingered on my tongue from the pasta, her perfume cutting through it, something floral and expensive she’d bought just for evenings like this.
I followed her gaze.
Guy at the bar, dark hair pushed back, forearms resting on polished oak.
He was watching her too, openly.
Not leering.
Just… interested.
My stomach tightened, but not with jealousy.
More like anticipation.
We’d talked about this exact thing last Tuesday, tangled in sweat-damp sheets after roleplaying strangers meeting at a hotel bar.
What if it wasn’t pretend?
What if you watched?
The ice in my whiskey clinked as I drained it.
“Go say hi,” I said, casual as ordering another round.
“I’ll move the car. Parking metre’s probably expired.”
Her heel hooked around my ankle under the table, a silent thank you, before she slid out, smoothing her pink dress over her hips.
The fabric clung to her thighs where the glossy nude nylons ended, gold sandals clicking sharply on the tile floor as she walked toward him.
Twenty minutes.
That’s how long I circled the block, fingers drumming the steering wheel.
Cold air blasted through the vents, doing nothing for the heat prickling my neck.
When I pushed back into the bar’s humid dark, she was already waiting near the exit, leaning against the brick wall beside the hallway leading to the restrooms.
The guy was gone.
Relief?
Disappointment?
I couldn’t tell.
Then I saw her eyes.
Glazed.
Pupils blown wide.
Lips slick and slightly parted.
She caught my stare and slowly, deliberately, dragged her index finger across her bottom lip.
Held it for a heartbeat.
Then slipped it between her lips, sucking gently, her gaze locked on mine.
The message was unmistakable.
Raw.
Electric.
She pushed off the wall, closing the distance.
Her perfume mixed with something else now, musky, unfamiliar.
“He tasted like gin,” she murmured, voice husky and low, leaning in so her breath warmed my ear.
Her hand found mine, fingers trembling faintly.
“Big hands. Rough. Held my head firmly while I…”
She trailed off, a small, breathless laugh escaping her.
“God, you should’ve seen him buckle.”
I gripped her hand tighter.
“The disabled toilets?”
Images flashed.
Her on her knees on that cold floor.
Gold sandals still strapped on.
Pink dress pooled around her thighs.
Sheer nylon ripped open.
The sheer fucking audacity of it.
I glanced down, then back at her.
“Your tights… why are they torn?”
Elise’s lips curved, slow and knowing.
“Because just using my mouth wasn’t enough,” she murmured.
“I needed more. I had to touch myself while he held my head there… couldn’t help it.”
Her body brushed mine as she spoke, heat rolling off her.
“He kept telling me how good I was.
How pretty I looked like that.
I didn’t want it to stop.”
She nuzzled my jaw.
“He was quick. Efficient.”
Her breath ghosted my ear.
“Kept whispering things… filthy things… about how I belonged to him right then.
How good my mouth felt.”
She pulled back slightly, searching my face, eyes bright, almost feverish.
“Tell me you’re not furious.”
It wasn’t a question.
It was a dare.
“Furious?” I rasped.
My pulse hammered in my throat.
I cupped her cheek, thumb brushing where his thumb might have pressed.
Her skin felt impossibly hot.
“I’m fucking wrecked.”
The bar noise faded to a dull roar.
All I saw was her swollen mouth, the faint flush creeping down her neck beneath the dress’s collar.
The reality of it hit me.
Not fantasy.
Not dirty talk.
She’d done it.
For us.
Because of us.
I pulled her toward the exit, my grip urgent on her elbow.
“Car. Now.”
The cool night air slapped us, sharp contrast to the bar’s sticky heat.
She stumbled slightly on the uneven pavement, her gold sandals clicking urgently.
I didn’t slow down.
Every step sent a jolt through me, the nylon whisper of her pantyhose against my jeans, the possessive curve of my hand on her waist.
My cock strained painfully against my zipper, thick and insistent.
A wild cocktail surged in my chest.
Elation.
A primal spike of arousal.
And beneath it all, a fierce certainty.
I loved this.
Loved her like this.
Unbound.
The car door slammed shut, sealing us in sudden silence.
Streetlights cast harsh stripes across her face.
Before she could buckle her seatbelt, I leaned over, fingers tangling in her hair.
“Open,” I commanded, voice rough.
Her pupils dilated further, lips parting instantly.
The scent of him, musky, sharp with gin, still clung faintly to her breath.
I didn’t care.
I needed her mouth occupied.
By me.
Now.
I freed myself, thick and already leaking.
“Show me,” I breathed, guiding myself between her lips.
“Show me how you did it for him.”
She moaned around me, hollowing her cheeks, taking my cock deep, almost to the back of her throat before slowly pulling back up.
She locked her eyes onto mine for a moment, wet and defiant, before taking me down her throat again.
Her pink dress bunched around her hips.
Gold straps digging into the leather seat.
I watched her head work.
Felt the wet heat.
The scrape of her teeth just shy of pain.
Images crashed over me.
Her kneeling on cold tile.
This dress hitched up.
Some stranger’s cock stretching her lips.
My hips jerked involuntarily, driving deeper.
She gagged softly, tears welling, but didn’t pull back.
Her finger traced the damp nylon stretched over her thigh, a deliberate echo of her lip gesture in the bar.
Proof.
Temptation.
Trust.
I groaned, tightening my grip in her hair.
“Drive home like this,” I ordered, voice cracking.
Elise nodded, lips still stretched around me.
She fumbled blindly for her seatbelt.
The click loud in the stillness.
I pulled out reluctantly, tucking myself away.
Her mouth stayed open, slick and swollen.
She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, smearing slickness.
“Christ,” she breathed, shaky.
The engine growled as I pulled onto the high street, past closed charity shops and a kebab place still lit up.
Neon signs bled streaks across the wet tarmac.
Her hand slid onto my thigh, squeezing.
“He tasted like… duty-free,” she murmured, almost laughing.
“Cheap gin. Cheap aftershave.”
Her fingers crept higher.
“You taste better.”
Rain started pelting the windscreen.
Wipers thumped.
I glanced over.
Her dress was still rucked up, revealing the torn nylon at her crotch, a jagged hole in the sheer fabric.
My knuckles whitened on the gearstick.
“Show me properly when we get in,” I said.
“All of it.
Where he touched you.
How he held you.”
She shivered, nodding, fingers tracing the rip.
“He pulled them aside.
Didn’t rip them until… after.”
Her voice dropped.
“When he came on my tongue.
Said I swallowed like a good girl.”
The heat in the car thickened.
I pushed the accelerator harder.
Parked outside our flat.
Engine off.
Silence except for rain drumming the roof.
Streetlight bled through the steamed windows, catching the sweat on her collarbone.
I unbuckled, leaning across.
My thumb pressed her lower lip, still tender.
“Tell me his name.”
She shook her head.
“Didn’t ask.”
“Good.”
I kissed her, hard and possessive, tasting gin and salt and her.
Her hands clawed at my shirt.
“Upstairs,” she gasped against my mouth.
“Now. Before I lose my nerve.”
Her gold sandal scraped the gearstick as she scrambled out.
The pavement glistened.
She didn’t wait, fumbling her keys, the torn nylon flashing pale beneath her pink hem.
Inside, the hall light buzzed faintly overhead.
Elise leaned back against the door, her gold sandals still strapped to her feet, the thin heels clicking softly against the floor as she shifted her weight.
Her fingers slid to the torn section of her pantyhose, tracing the rough edges of the rip without pulling them down.
The sheer fabric was ruined between her thighs, stretched and split where she’d needed access.
“I couldn’t help myself,” she murmured.
“He had my head against the tiles, whispering in my ear… and I needed more than just his hands in my hair.”
Her dress hitched higher as she shifted, but the tights and heels stayed on.
A deliberate choice.
“He pulled them aside.
Rough, like tearing wrapping paper.”
Her eyes flicked down to the damage, then back to me.
“Want to see?”
I stepped closer, lifting her dress just enough to reveal the torn fabric and the flushed skin beneath.
The scent clinging to her, gin, heat, him, was unmistakable.
“I let him touch me here,” she whispered, guiding my hand through the rip in the nylon.
“Hard, like he wanted to leave a mark.”
Her breath hitched.
“Said I tasted like cherries.”
She clung to me, heels still planted, tights still torn.
“He didn’t make me finish,” she added, voice trembling.
“Said that part was for you.”
Her forehead pressed to mine.
“So do it.”
I dragged her down to the worn rug.
Her back arched, pink dress pushed up as she started massaging her tits.
Rain lashed the window.
“Tell me,” I growled, pinning her wrists.
“His words.”
Her eyes glazed.
“Called me his… filthy little cocksucker,” she whispered.
“Said my mouth was made for it.”
Her hips ground against mine.
“Said he wished he could keep me.”
My hand slid between her legs, wet heat through the torn nylon.
“And?”
She gasped.
“I told him I belonged to someone else.”
“But my mouth didn’t say no.”
I tugged the torn section wider.
The nylon gave way with a soft, wet sound.
Her thighs parted slightly.
“Show me how you knelt.”
She lowered herself onto her knees, the rug pressing into her skin, her dress still bunched around her waist.
The heels of her gold sandals dug lightly into the floor behind her.
“Like this,” she murmured.
She leaned forward, hands braced, exactly the way she’d been for him in the bar’s disabled toilet.
My hand rested on her hip.
“Did he hold you there?”
She nodded.
“Kept my head down.
Wouldn’t let me look up.”
I traced the line of her jaw with my thumb.
“And before he finished?”
Her breath caught.
“He made me stay just like that.”
The hallway light buzzed like a trapped fly.
I unzipped my trousers, pulling my cock free and pressing the tip firmly against her slick entrance.
She whimpered.
“Did you fuck him?” I asked, rubbing my tip through her slickness.
She shook her head.
“No…
He kept asking if he could, but I kept saying no.
But god… his cock was perfect.
Girthy.
Good length.
Nice smooth bulbous head.
Just perfect.”
I paused, letting her words sink in as I teased her again with the tip of my cock.
“I only let him use my mouth,” she moaned.
“I wanted it to stay controlled.
Just enough recklessness to feel alive.
Without crossing that line.”
“I know you did,” I said, pushing inside her slowly.
She clenched around me.
“FUCK, yes!”
I pulled her hair, arching her back.
“Tell me,” I growled, exposing her throat.
“Every filthy thought.”
“He had this vein…” she gasped.
“Thick and pulsing… right along the underside…”
Her hand fumbled between her legs, slick fingers tracing beneath her clit.
“I ran my tongue along it… slow… deliberate… and he groaned…”
My thumb pressed hard circles against her clit.
“Then I took him deeper… all the way down my throat…
His balls tight against my chin…
Smelling like sweat and musk.”
I pictured it vividly.
Her on her knees in that cramped toilet.
Pink dress pristine above the waist.
Nylon ripped open below.
Gold sandals gleaming against the tiles.
That stranger’s cock plunging past her lips.
Her throat working.
“Bet you’d love him here right now,” I rasped, slamming into her.
“The two of us.
Taking turns.
Filling both ends.”
A ragged cry tore from her.
“God, YES!”
Her back arched impossibly, heels scrabbling against the rug.
“His cock in my mouth.
Yours stretching me.”
Her words fractured into breathless fragments.
“Feeling him throb.
Tasting him.
While you fucked me deeper.”
“Swapping places.
You in my throat.
Him pounding me from behind.”
“Taking me together.
Owning every inch.”
She shuddered violently.
“I wanted it so bad… even as I swallowed him.”
That admission lit a fuse in my veins.
I fucked her like I was claiming territory.
Each deep stroke punctuated by the wet slap of skin and the frantic click of her gold sandals.
“Harder,” she begged.
“I’ve needed this all fucking night.”
Her fingers clawed at the rug.
The hallway light hummed overhead, casting stark shadows as we moved.
“He asked,” she gasped.
“If I swallowed for you.”
My hand slid to her throat, pulse hammering beneath my palm.
“What did you tell him?”
“Yes.
Always.
Her body clenched.
The tremor hit her thighs first.
Her back arched violently as her orgasm ripped through her.
“Fuck, YES!”
She collapsed onto her elbows, trembling uncontrollably.
The aftershocks pulsed around my cock, milking me relentlessly.
I stayed buried to the hilt.
Only when her shaking softened did I move again, slow and deep, drawing out her sensitivity.
Her whimpers were quieter now.
Almost drowsy.
I leaned close.
“Did you swallow for him?”
She blinked slowly.
I repeated it, softer.
“Did you swallow for him?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Every. Last. Drop.”
The frantic heat melted into something tender and grounded.
“Good,” I murmured.
My grip softened.
I kissed the sweat-damp skin between her shoulder blades.
“Show me where he touched your face.”
Her hand lifted weakly.
“Here.”
I kissed the spot.
We stayed tangled on the hallway rug, rain still drumming against the windowpane.
Her skin burned beneath my hands.
Slowly, I eased out of her.
She rolled onto her back, pink dress a rumpled mess, torn pantyhose clinging like ruined silk.
“He asked for my number,” she whispered.
“While he was buckling his belt, he said he wanted to see me again.”
“What did you say?”
“I had everything I needed right here.”
“He said you’re a lucky bastard.”
“Smart man.”
She nestled deeper into my arm.
“It felt powerful,” she murmured.
“Saying no.
Walking back to you.”
We lay in silence.
Rain softening against the glass.
“Elise,” I whispered.
“Tomorrow… tell me what you liked.
What you didn’t.
What you want next time.”
Her smile bloomed slowly.
“Next time?”
“Yeah.
Next time.”
Her gold sandal caught the faint light, still strapped firmly to her foot.
Later, in the shower’s steam, she traced the red marks on her neck.
“He held me like he owned me,” she murmured.
Wrapped in towels, we collapsed onto the unmade bed.
“He called me ‘angel’,” she confessed.
“While he finished.”
“What did you think?”
“About you.
Watching.”
Her hand found me again beneath the towel.
“Next time,” she whispered.
“I want you closer.”
“Where?”
“Here.
Our bed.”
“Him where you are now.
Me between his legs.”
“You guiding my head.”
The image hit hard.
“We’ll find him again,” she promised.
“Someone you pick.”
“Someone whose cock I’ll worship while you watch.”
“Tomorrow,” she breathed.
“We’ll plan it tomorrow.”
The future crackled, electric and uncharted, just beyond the rain-streaked window.
Her gold sandals lay nearby on the floor, straps still gleaming faintly in the low light, a soft echo of the night’s adventure. |
