It started small. I never thought it would get to where we are now.
My boyfriend got a text from his ex, and he immediately panicked that I would think he had encouraged it or asked for it or been involved at all really.
We were drinking and smoking together, sitting at a little table in the backyard, and he suddenly dropped his head into his hands.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“How’d you immediately know something was wrong?” he asked with a pained voice.
“Well, I mean, it’s all over you. What is it?” and that’s when he told me. She sent him a picture of her in her underwear, a little lacey number, and I expected to feel repulsed or upset, but instead the blood rushed to my cheeks and it excited me.
She was an ex model, which sounds so cliche, but of course she was tall, thin, and blonde, and I am…not. I’m 5″2 with red hair and some extra weight on my curves. It turned out she was going to be in our city, a city he had left after dating her for a few months, to be with me. We dated in high school and it was on and off again for the better part of a decade. She was coming to our city, and she wanted to show him what he was missing.
I wanted more.
I wanted him to text her back, to encourage it.
But I acted the part. I told him to delete the pictures, but I let him know I was not upset with him, that it would be okay.
That night, while we lay in bed, I rolled over and straddled him. I looked him in his eyes, then faltered and mumbled into his neck, “Do you want to fuck Amy?”
He froze, but I felt his dick get hard and swell against my thigh.
The growth was all I needed for encouragement. I suddenly felt sure that I knew what was happening.
“Do you want to fuck Amy when she comes to visit?” I asked again, rubbing against his engorged penis, “I’d let you.”
Truth be told, when we dated in high school, I’d cheated on him a couple of times, and while I certainly felt I deserved forgiveness after 10 years — I was just a dumb kid afterall — I sometimes felt something in the pit of my stomach wondering if he resented me, if he wanted to get me back.
“Oh yeah?” He was hesitant, but he pinched my nipples through my shirt lightly. They sprung through attention, and I felt so pathetic the way I was putty under his touch, already wet and my nipples already hard.
“Yeah, I think so.” I said, and our eyes met. There was a tinge of something indistinct, fear mixed with lust. He was confused, but she was everything I wasn’t. “I want you to humiliate me,” I told him, taking out his cock and lowering myself to lick the tip of his 8 inches, “Show her she’s more beautiful than I am.” I rested my lips on his tip and took just that inch into my mouth.
He clenched two fistfuls of hair and shoved his shaft full force down my throat, moaning, “You want to be a little slut and watch us fuck? You want to see me shove my cock down her throat like this?”
I nodded while drooling down his balls, gripping his back, and inhaling deeply through my nose. He held my head and grinded against my mouth, telling me, “I’ll fuck her in front of you while you watch on all fours and then finish on your face just to put you in your place.” He pulled out and iced my face with his cum, letting it drip down my cheeks and neck, and I knew he was cumming thinking of fucking her, not about my mouth around his dick.
After he finished, he turned to face me, cradling my face with his hands, and said, “You know I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable.”
“I know,” I assured him, smiling, “But I think I want to be uncomfortable.” He hadn’t made me cum – so overwhelmed by his own desire and my mouth – and my pussy was throbbing. I laid back and wondered how I’d feel if he really did fuck his ex in front of me. I’d probably feel something like this, empty but hot between my legs. I fell asleep in his arms, confused about what I’d just opened up and dripping into the creases of my thighs.