7 comments/ 14672 views/ 7 favorites Never Fuck Your Ex - I Did! By: blondechristine2012 Over the years I have heard a few sayings about who a woman should not fuck. In advertising it is said, 'never fuck a client,' in more gentile society it is said never 'fuck an ex.' Odd that you don't hear sayings about who you can fuck. That said, I have ignored the sayings about who I should not fuck as I have fucked both, a client, who became my husband and then my husband when he became my ex. Sound complicated? Don't worry it will all become clear. I was married for about a hundred and fifty years and was with him in total for even more. We had an intensely sexual relationship. Looking back, I sometimes wondered whether that was all we had, but I didn't think so most of the time. In our ways we loved each other; it's just that those ways were different and were not sufficient for the relationship to survive. Then, c'est la vie, it happens to all sorts. I never really thought about sex much whilst I was with him. It was just something that was there on tap all day, every day, just like foof, wine and money. I can hardly remember a time in our marriage when we were getting on ok, that either party turned down the other's advances and I never had to feign an orgasm. I did not even learn how to do that until after the break up! We were both always up for it. So, I drifted through marriage and motherhood in a daze of sexual satisfaction without really querying anything. Well not until I caught him having an affair, then another one. It was then that I had my affair, more a revenge than anything. Alternatively, it was, in a way, an effort to save my marriage. I was terrified of being alone and having to bring up my daughter without the husband and father I had always assumed would be there. I had become terribly depressed and had lost nearly twenty pounds, great for the figure but havoc with your bra sizes. The third time I caught him out he was fucking a twenty one year old secretary at the business we had built together and jointly owned. That was, I felt, rubbing my face in it just a little too much. Play away, if you have to but don't piss on your own doorstep. So we parted. A year later we divorced. Since the divorce, I have hardly stopped thinking about sex. It's on my mind all the time. I continually have sexual feelings and images constantly flash into my mind. I fantasise about different forms of sex, with different combinations of people and I look at both men and women with lust in my mind. In that period between parting and the divorce, I did not date and did not have sex with anyone. I did not feel that it would be right for Emily. The only good thing that was emerging from the sham of a marriage we were ending, was how we were both totally intent on shielding her from the influences of the divorce, as much as was possible. That even meant me attending school events and other functions with my ex. In that year, though, I did find chat rooms. At first, I went into straight ones for divorced women, but of course, it was not long before I was in romance and adult rooms. It wasn't that much longer before I was losing my inhibitions and chatting quite openly and easily about sex with numerous men. Soon that extended to exchanging e-mails and to developing role-plays, some of which were acted out in the chat rooms, with the inevitable outcome. I suppose from the first time I said, "Yellow" to one of the pervy guys in chat who asked, "What colour are you wearing?" I was on the slippery slope. Probably from when I told a guy about my sex life I was on my way and certainly once I started messing around with role-plays there was no escape. The first time I masturbated as I chatted to a guy was amazing when it was happening, but very guilt ridden afterwards. I got used to it, however, the guilt that is and stopped worrying about it! There was a period in that year I waited for my divorce when masturbating, as I exchanged written messages and later voice, became my prime sexual outlet. I can't say I was pleased with myself though. I mean to find myself sprawled back in my big leather chair, my tee shirt pulled up and my boobs out of my bra with my trackie trousers and panties round my knees as a guy told me what to do, is rather on the sordid side isn't it? Equally, having my mobile on loudspeaker as I listened to strangers telling me that they were wanking over my selfie photo, wasn't exactly that subtle was it? It equally wasn't that modest to hear a guy I may have chatted to a few times telling me that he was shoving his big, hard cock right up my cunt and fucking me hard. Similarly I wasn't that inhibited anymore and it wasn't really that lady-like to be saying to a guy that I was imagining having his cock in my mouth and sucking it. Or it wasn't that refined really that as he told he was cumming to say. "Cum on my tits or cum on my face." No it wasn't any of those things, but they were massively arousing and incredibly stimulating things all the same. And they did help with the terrible withdrawal symptoms I had from not getting the fix of what had become, unknowingly to me, my drug, sex. This was the start of the oddness that came about between my married and unmarried years. In the former there was loads of sex, but it didn't seem that important, whereas in the latter, sex was the dominant thought and feeling practically all the time, yet there was no real sex, well with partners that is. I did get to know myself very intimately though! As I got through the first year waiting for the divorce, celibate I hasten to add, my attention turned to dating. I did not really know what to do. It was quite frightening to be with a guy not knowing the latest form. Did mid-thirties women screw on the first date? Had society moved on so much that what used to be a protocol of kissing on the first, touching boobs on the second, hand up the skirt on the third and then a good old-fashioned shag on the fourth, well sometimes third, was now out of date? Did women really ask men out and suggest that they have sex? Was everything so different? I just didn't know. So for a couple of years as a divorcee I tried to find out. I dated numerous men. I had flings, affairs and one-night stands. I fucked in cars and in the open air. I did everything, well everything I was asked to do and probably would have done more if requested. I also reacquainted myself with women, something that I had been quite into at uni and had dabbled with a couple of times since. Actually, reading this back it all sounds pretty awful and could make me appear somewhat of a slut. In fact, there were only five or six men in that over two-year period, that's not too bad is it? Gradually though, the gloss wore off, the madness went away, my need to find out what I had been missing diminished. I found that sex without any emotional involvement was just not worth the trauma, guilt and remorse I went through afterwards. Therefore, I needed to make an emotional commitment, or at least have some involvement other than sex with the guys. But I couldn't. I felt I rather owed it to my daughter not to become involved, entangled or dependent on a guy until she was 'of age' at least. Something had to give. Therefore, I became celibate. * Despite all the trials and tribulations of the acrimonious divorce brought about by his continual philandering, we managed to fulfil the vow we made when the divorce became inevitable. We protected our twelve-year-old daughter from it as much as we could. This meant that he had rather more access than most exes had and that when Emily wanted I would always let them meet more frequently than the court had ruled. It also meant that we saw more of each other than many, or most, divorced couples and that there were many family and other functions that we both attended. In addition, the deChrissy of the private school she attended required considerable parents' involvement and Emily's tennis career, brought him and I into frequent contact. At first, I found that difficult. Whenever Emily was not around, I did not look at him and tried as much as possible to avoid talking to him. Inevitably, I suppose, things did get easier and after, probably a year or so from the divorce, there was an ease between us and we found our way of relating to each other. It was then that he started becoming more and more friendly. Then, especially when Emily was with us, that he would hold my elbow or slip his arm round me when we crossed the road or when he stood to one side to open a door. It was then, that for the first time since that night I kicked him out, he kissed me. It was just a light peck on the cheek, almost more of a gesture than an embrace, the sort that even strangers exchange, but it was a kiss. The second time he went to kiss me, Emily wasn't there and I moved out of the way, "Sorry," he mumbled. It started happening each time we met and parted. Most times, I moved away and he missed, as it were. However, that would have been too obvious in front of Emily, so when she was there I couldn't duck or bob out of the way. So then, his lips would graze my cheek, each time it seemed going nearer and nearer to my lips. Then, his hand would rest on my hip or waist or, as time progressed, would slide around my side to my back brushing, unintentionally of course as so many men do, the side of my breast. And it was then that I found to my abject frustration that I was enjoying it. "It was the most stupid thing I ever did." "What was?" "Letting you push the divorce through." We were at a family party. It was summertime and very warm so the party was in the grounds of his mother's large house. We were standing close together off to one side from most of the guests. We were both slightly drunk. "You had no choice." "I should have fought harder, I've regretted that ever since." "I haven't and no matter how hard you fought I would never have taken you back." "I guess you're right, but I should still have tried more to stop you." "You'd been fucking that cow for three months and God knows how many more before her, there was no alternative." "You know they meant nothing." "So, what's that got to do with it, you still cheated on me." "Yes I know, but I still loved you, and still do." He moved closer and took my hand in his. "I mean that Chrissy," he whispered, moving his face towards mine, clearly about to kiss me. I was tempted, but my sensible side took over. "Yeah right and pigs might fly. You don't even know the meaning of love let alone experience it." Over the next three months or so, we had a number of similar situations where he tried to kiss me and I came close to letting him. We also had a number of similar conversations. He was trying to convince me that he had his own sort of love. The sort that men seem to have specialised in for years. The sort that women also have recently began to enjoy. The sort of love that does not preclude having other partners. Yes the sort where one truly can have one's cake and eat it as well. The sort of love that as one gets older and more experienced does in some ways begin to make more sense. "So you would have liked us to have continued living together while you had bits of skirt whenever you pleased?" I asked as we sat in his car waiting for Emily to finish a tennis match. "No, not at all." "What then?" "More in a controlled way." "How?" "In a way where you knew and approved." "I would never approve." "Why not?" "Because I just wouldn't, it's not right and it's not fair." "How do you mean not fair?" "Me sitting at home looking after our daughter while you're out screwing some young bit of stuff." "Yes that would be unfair if it was all one way." "What other way is there?" "Well as I have my fun why couldn't you have yours as well?" "How? What do you mean?" "We could both have had fun on the side with other partners, but do it all above board, so that you know who I'm with and I know who you have." "I couldn't do that." "Why couldn't you?" "Because that's not a marriage and I'm faithful." "Well you weren't totally were you?" "What do you mean?" I asked panicking a bit. "Well your fling did go on quite a time didn't he?" I was so shocked I didn't think straight and instead just blurted out. "How do you know about that?" He didn't tell me in detail how he knew about the six month affair I'd had with the man I think was probably the love of my life, but he told me enough to convince me that he really did know about it, something that had not come out during the divorce. "How long have you known?" I asked effectively owning up to it? "Since it was going on", was his calm and measured response. I could not stoop low enough or show him how interested I really was or to ask how he had found out. I listened incredulously, though, when he continued. "I know a lot more about you than you can ever imagine Chrissy; even where you spent the night you kicked me out." Things were just going from bad to bloody awful. "So where was that?" I asked hoping I could front it out. "Next door with Phillipa." "So?" "Well my darling," he said softly turning in his seat and resting his elbow on mine so that his came forward closer to me. "I do know that she has a penchant for other women and you did stay all night with her didn't you?" My face was burning with embarrassment so I was pleased that it was almost dark. I had spent the night I had told him to leave with our next door neighbour and I had found out pretty quickly about her liking for women, something I found we had in common. And yes, I had spent that night with her, in her arms in her bed. "So, what's that got to do with me?" "You know full well luv, after all you did show me how much you were like that didn't you with Jenny." If things had already got bloody awful they were now becoming fucking terrible as he reminded of the time I had agreed to have sex with another woman while he looked on. I felt him slide his arm along the back of my seat. "See what I mean Chrissy, we could have gone on like that. You could fuck who you want, male or female and I could have my little diversions and we could have lived happily ever after." As he said that, he let his left hand drop onto my shoulder, his fingers sliding a little way inside the collar of my blouse so they rested on my bare skin. "Don't be daft, those sort of arrangements never work, you know that as well as I do," I retorted, feeling surprisingly tingly at his touch on my shoulder. He slid his hand up my neck and into my long, blonde hair that as usual was tumbling down over my shoulders. He pulled on the back of my head moving my face nearer to his. He bent forward and whispered. "We could have done Chrissy and we could now," as his lips found my cheek and he kissed me. It felt so nice; it was almost as if I had come home, as if I was in a familiar environment. I almost gave in. Part of me wanted to. I leaned my face against his as the turmoil raged inside me. I was saved by the sight of Emily approaching the car. "Is it ok if I go to Lucy's to do my homework?" Emily asked as she, my ex and I walked into the apartment a week or so later. Without hardly thinking, I said. "Of course it is darling, but be back by eight won't you?" We were in the kitchen. "Well thanks for the lift," I said, hopefully meaningfully and that he would take the hint and leave. "Have you thought any more about what I said in the car the other evening?" He asked as I leaned back against the work surface. "Thought about what?" "An open relationship." "Look we haven't got any relationship, let alone and open one. We're divorced, remember?" He came and stood, too, close to me. He was invading my space; he was almost in my face. I could smell his Polo aftershave, the brand I had first bought for him, it was sort of touching that he still wore it. I looked up into his eyes. "And we shouldn't be Chrissy." "But we are and it was all your fault." "But we could act as if we weren't." "No we couldn't," I said sharply, my heart pounding. He beamed that smile that I had always liked and which I was sure had got him into the knickers of countless other women. "Ok, well we could act as if we were having an affair then." He rested his hand on the work surface alongside me, his wrist touching my hip. Having come straight from a new business pitch that I had made for one of the agencies that employed me freelance, I was wearing a pinstriped, black trouser suit made from just about as thin a wool material as you can get. The jacket had four buttons and quite wide lapels and I was wearing it without a blouse. I could feel the side of his hand through the wool. I could feel him, smell him and see him so clearly that it was intoxicating. I felt as though I was drunk, I had lost control, lost the direction and focus that I normally kept when with him and I was losing the will to resist. Just before his face closed the short space between us, I heard him whisper. "Wouldn't it be fun trying though?" and then his lips were on mine and his arms were round me. * Things developed quite rapidly after that or, dependent on your viewpoint, went down the plughole at an increasingly fast rate. That kiss was deep, passionate, fervid and so bloody frustrating that it was on my mind when Emily, thankfully, returned earlier than expected and when he left. It was on my mind as I undressed and got ready for bed. It was also on my mind as I lay on the bed, not in it, and started rubbing my breasts and stroking my clit. The kiss caused tremendous conflicts and traumas to rage in my mind as I part cried and part masturbated myself to sleep. The memory of his lips grinding against mine, his tongue plunging deep into my mouth, my breasts crushed against his chest, his arms round me and his erection pressing up the entire length of my tummy were all charging around my mind as I made myself cum so easily and quickly. I determined to put an end to this crazy behaviour, to stop him before we went too far, to show him that I wasn't his just because he wanted me and made some come on gestures and persuasive arguments. "We need to talk," I said to him on the phone, one Saturday morning when Emily was getting ready to go off to a hockey match for the school. "Sure, when and where, like me to pop over?" "No, no don't do that," I said, feeling a little alarmed at the prospect of being alone with him in my flat. "Where then?" "Meet me in the car park by the driving range," I said, mentioning a location that was about mid-way between us." "What need some advice on your swing?" He joked. "No we need to talk about us." Even to this day I don't know how it happened. I have no real recall of the events or words that led up to it, no effective memory of how we went from starting a really quite serious discussion to ending up how we did. And I have no recollection whatsoever of how I got into his arms and how we started kissing. I remember getting out of my car and into his. I remember him greeting me warmly and asking how I was. I remember saying about how we needed to talk and how things couldn't continue the way they had been going. What I don't remember is how it went from that to him moving across the brake lever, sitting half on my seat and taking me in his arms. How it went to us kissing, deeper and more passionately than that first time and how it went to me kissing him back, hard and enthusiastically as his hands found my breasts. I do remember that feeling though. That wondrous feeling for a woman as a new lover touches her breasts for the first time. Usually, as it was this time, it's firstly outside the clothing, but even through two or three layers, it is still so wonderful that first time. But hell this wasn't a first time and he wasn't a new lover I realised as his hand slid inside my sweater. Never Fuck Your Ex - I Did! Needless to say, we didn't have that conversation. We also didn't go any further, for I bolted. I pushed him off, jumped out, got into my car and drove home, quickly. But of course it happened again. I wondered if now I was actually finding ways to be alone with him, or whether it was him doing that, probably a bit of both I concluded. He had come to collect Emily, she was late and had phoned to say she would be about an hour. "Call when the train's near and I'll pick you up from the station," he shouted into the phone. It hit us at the same time as we stood facing each other in the lounge of my flat. I could see it in his eyes as I was pretty certain he could see it in mine. The thought sent a shiver through me. Was that of concern apprehension, fear, anticipation, expectancy, excitement or want, I wondered? A little of each I thought as wordlessly we covered the space between us knowing that we were going to be alone in my flat for almost an hour. How I had the resolve to stop him fucking me I have no idea. Especially when I did not have the resolve to stop him kissing me, to stop him caressing my breasts, to stop him undoing my blouse, to stop him rubbing my boobs through the bra, to stop him easing each breast out of its cup or to stop him pinching and pulling my nipples in exactly the way he knew I so loved them being played with. It was so dark. But then we were parked in a field out in the country miles away from street lights. On our way to collect Emily from Stansted airport on her return from a skiing trip we heard that her flight was delayed for two hours. It seemed the natural thing to agree to, when we turned off the M11 and he said. "Let's take the scenic route." I knew immediately what he meant by that and what he intended. After coming so near to having sex with him in my flat I had asked him not to come there anymore. It was bad enough letting myself do such things with him, let alone it being in Emily's and my home. "What you don't want me kissing you?" he had said leaning across from the passenger seat in my car as we once more waited for Emily after a tennis match. "Not in my home, no." "But it's alright out of it, is it?" He said leaning across and kissing me. "No it's not alright, it's downright bloody stupid and ridiculous." "But you won't stop me," he went on just before pushing his tongue into my mouth as he ran his hand up my jean covered thigh. I didn't stop him then, or on several other further occasions when we were in his or my car. Occasions when we kissed for ages, when he undid or rolled up my top, when he caressed my breasts, when he got them out of, or undid, my bra and when he almost made me cum by pinching, pulling and then sucking my nipples. It seemed so much more ok in the car. Daft? Yes of course, but then the whole thing of having an affair with your ex is daft, so this was just taking that further. But it wasn't that it was just less in my face and an invasion of my space, it was also that it was so dramatically more exciting. I found the idea of going further and further in places where we could easily be caught an enormous turn on. See what I mean about how I had changed? We were parked right beneath the flight path into Stansted Airport. It really was weird to be lying on the back seat of the Rangerover kissing him and having the roar of a jet right over us every ten minutes or so. Whether it was the uniqueness of that, just how we felt, or the inevitability of the build-up, but we went further that evening than we had before. I made my token resistance when he slipped his hand inside my button up sweater. I said. "We shouldn't" when he cupped my breasts and rubbed them and I sort of stopped him when he undid the buttons. Stopped him only momentarily though, for when he kissed me again, I had no will to stop him unclipping my bra. No will and no defence or wishes either to stop him taking both my top and my bra off. I couldn't believe how fantastic it felt to be in that large car naked above the waist. I still can't, even though that quickly became a norm for us. But that night was the first time and it felt fabulous. His hands and mouth were everywhere. The soft flesh of each breast and the rubbery firmness of each nipple welcomed his fingers, teeth, lips and tongue. He made me cum and wanted to undo my jeans but there I drew the line and stopped him. We were, I recognised when I thought about it, having an affair, if two unmarried people can have one of those. It was a very quiet one, one that we could tell no one, especially our daughter, about. It was an odd affair due to that, but also due to my enormous reticence at letting him go further with me. I wanted sex, badly and I saw that he represented a means by which I could satisfy my sexual craving without having to make any form of emotional commitment. In between stolen moments in my flat, firstly, but latterly in our cars, we had talked more and had broadly agreed that there was no way we could ever have a reconciliation. So it was no strings attached sex. And for some reason that didn't offend my distorted morality. In fact I felt safe with him, not from a fear or physical viewpoint, but morally and emotionally. We were like two teenagers. We would take a few steps forward then one or two back. I would relish him doing something then feel guilty so the next time I wouldn't let him repeat it. He got my bra off and had me naked above the waist in the car, I loved it at the time. Then I worried and thought about it and next time I wouldn't let him do it; it took three or four more 'dates, for me to feel comfortable enough to be topless again in his darkened car in a car park. He had ran his hand up my leg several times. Well that was a natural extension of 'capturing' my breasts. Don't all men feel that after taking one stronghold they have to fight to take the next? And with a woman, that next after the breasts is at the top of her legs isn't it? He had to have that, he had to take the next stronghold and capture my warm, wet, smooth womanliness. Yes, after having his way with my tits he had to go for my pussy didn't he? Truth be known that is exactly where I wanted his fingers. Right up my cunt. But that took ages. He touched me there a couple of times when I was wearing jeans. The thick material reduced the effect on me and my resistance stopped him undoing the button and zip. "No, no, I don't want that," I said one evening in May when we had been to an open evening at the school, without Emily. It had ended earlier than expected. We had an hour to ourselves. I was wearing a yellow blouse and a white skirt, very summery, although it wasn't that warm. We went to one of our favourite parking spots. It was almost dark, there were no other cars there. The only way in was along a lane, so any lights could be seen for long enough for us to get dressed. We kissed. I didn't object when almost immediately he cupped and squeezed my breasts through the blouse. I didn't object when he flipped the buttons undone, I didn't object when he slid his fingers inside my bra and I didn't object when he got my boobs out. I didn't object, for that is what I wanted. I didn't object for I was doing virtually the same. He has a nice, hairy chest and although there is slightly more of a pod than when were married, his body is good. He's generally lean and taught, for he plays lots of tennis and five a side football, although he's now really too old for such exertion, and he's always nicely tanned. I nuzzled his chest as he took my blouse and bra off. That made me feel excited, aroused, sort of brave and adventurous. To be in the back seat of a car in the dim, but not darkness of mid-evening, naked above the waist in a man's arms really is an incredible sensation. Every time I'm like that with Kevin I have the ironic memories of my affair several years ago. A lot of that revolved around sex in cars, something that partly through guilt, but mainly for convenience, I push to the back of my mind. But of course when Kevin laid me flat on the back seat of the huge Rangerover and sucked my swollen nipple into his mouth all those thoughts flooded back to me. The combination of the excitement of being topless in such a place, what he was doing to me and the memories of the incredible sex during my affair, really did do the most stimulating things to me. He laid beside me, although half of him was dangling over the edge of the seat. He kissed me, ran his hand downwards and slid his fingers inside the waistband of the thin skirt. His fingertips touched the soft skin of my tummy, it felt nice and I kissed him back hard as I slid my hand down towards his crotch. He was erect, but then he always was. The outline of his long, thin cock felt lovely, it made me want to be fucked, but at the same time scared of going that far with my ex-husband. He took his hand away and ran it down the front of my skirt stopping at my pubic mound. He squeezed me there. I jumped for one of his fingers, fortuitously or by intent, pressed right on my clitoris. By Christ did that feel good. I groaned with pleasure and want and clung to him harder grinding my lips more firmly on his and squeezing his erection through his trousers. He was now very clearly rubbing all round my pubes as, at the same time he eased the hem upwards. The very slight chill as my thighs were exposed to the air was a strangely nice feeling. He moved his hand and put it on my leg some eight or nine inches above my knee. I stiffened for it was obvious what he intended to do. It was, I suppose, as obvious as it was inevitable that he would slowly slide it upwards until his hand cupped my pussy through the flesh coloured thong. A moments fumbling and he had pushed the flimsy gusset to one side. I shuddered as I felt his finger on my warm wetness. I grabbed his wrist. "No, no Kevin, I don't want that," I moaned, although incongruously my hand had slipped inside his fly that he had opened and I was holding his cock through his silk boxers. "Oh Chrissy, yes, let me, let me please," he begged, running his finger up and back the length of my aching slit. "No, no we mustn't," I said adopting once again the rather teenage attitude I had towards sex with him. He didn't stop though. He continued stroking me, although he couldn't do much for I had my thighs firmly closed. He kissed my breasts, sucked my nipples and thrust himself hard against my hand. It was so good. He rubbed my lips and pressed against my clit. It was marvellous. I stroked him harder and he wiggled his finger between my thighs. The feelings were so strong, so powerful and so simply bloody wonderful that I started moaning. I knew I was starting to cum. I felt him reach down and push his pants away from him, presumably so they wouldn't get in the way of my hand that was now pumping him quite firmly. That felt marvellous as well. I could feel my resistance waning. I let my thighs open a little as the sensations welled up in me. His fingers slipped between them, right on my blood engorged, soaked pussy lips, it made me jerk again. "Oh my God," I groaned. I couldn't stop myself, I couldn't resist, I didn't have the strength to hold back. I opened my legs inviting his fingers into me. And boy as he slid two, three or four deep into me it felt absolutely wonderful. I was being finger fucked by my ex-husband in the back of his car in a car park and I didn't give a sod, I was simply loving every second of it. Kevin raised himself up a bit so he was more kneeling than lying with his fingers still in me. He positioned himself so that my hand that was holding him was about level with my waist, perhaps a little higher. We were both moaning and grunting with the pleasure and excitement we were giving and receiving. I had been almost climaxing for several minutes. I knew that it needed just a little more stimulation and I would have a full orgasm. I wanted that, I wanted to cum, yes I wanted my ex to finger fuck me to a full climax. And he did just that. Plunging his straightened fingers in and out of me as he thrust himself against my hand he took me just that little further. That extra little bit, that tad of a distance between a near orgasm and a full one. He held his taught fingers as deeply in me as he could get them as my deep sighs, low animal-like moans and throaty grunts told him I was cumming. I bucked and lifted my bottom from the seat as he pushed further forward and harder into my hand. I wasn't quite screaming, for I don't do that, but it was so awesome that I was very noisy; well in the back of car miles away from anything a girl can, can't she? I squirmed and pushed my pussy against the surrogate cock that was giving me such pleasure just as the real cock that was in the surrogate cunt my hand was providing exploded. It sprayed its sticky, warm, starchy, acrid smelling sperm all over my tummy and breasts. * Balancing the pleasure and excitement I got with the guilt and remorse I felt was difficult, if not impossible. Many times I became determined to stop it, but I hadn't the resolve. In my more logical thinking moments, I could just about reconcile this ridiculous 'affair'. I needed a sexual outlet and this was safer, slightly less emotionally involving and potentially less harmful to Emily, should she find out, than the alternative, which probably would have been a series of lovers. I had tried that and knew that this was the preferable avenue. What I wasn't able to reconcile fully in my mind, though, was the turn on I got from having sex in the car. I know that during the affair my curiosity for it was spiked and that led to us not only using the car quite often, but also doing it in fields, in the woods and against trees, but I had put that more down to lack of availability of alternative locations than anything else. Apart from that, the only other exhibitionistic experience I had had was when I posed for him when we were still married and trying to perk things up. After some persuasion and cajoling I agreed, rather reluctantly I thought, to pose firstly in my underwear then, as we both got used to it, naked. I hated it at first, but after a while I sort of fell in love with the camera. Then, when posing, I got aroused to the extent that we never finished a session, for we always ended up shagging on the carpet. It was great for sex, but it was not enough to save the marriage. So I accepted it. I became relaxed about the notion that, for whatever reason, I got an extra buzz when having sex with an element of danger of being caught. I even started to fantasise about having sex in even more 'dangerous' locations, fields, by rivers, shop doorways, on trains etc. The only problem being, I would smile to myself as my hands were busy on my breasts and between my legs, I don't have anyone to have such sex with. * We were going to make love tonight. Not with our hands, not with him cumming on my tits, not with me riding his fingers. No, at last, at long, long last we were going to do it properly and fully. My ex was going to fuck me on the back seat of his car tonight. It had taken us about eighteen months to go from that first kiss to now. Eighteen months of experiment, progress and intimacy. Through the stage where we just kissed, to the period where he used to touch my breasts outside my clothing. That was a short time, for once I had let him touch me like that, there seemed little point in stopping him going further step by step. From sliding his hand inside my clothing, onto my bra, into that, easing my boobs out of the cups then taking the bra off. At first, I would let him take my bra off, but I would put my blouse back on top. Then came the strange discovery of the turn on I got from being naked above the waist. From that day I no longer replaced my top but revelled in the feelings of my breasts being bare. I really was becoming a sex-thrill junky or, as others might put it a slut! It took a couple of months, I guess, before I had a full orgasm, because during the time between me letting him bare my breasts and the orgasm, I wouldn't' let him touch me beneath the waist. When, eventually and inevitably, I did however, albeit only outside my clothes at first, the orgasms really did begin to flow. No longer did I then have to go home and relive in my mind my breasts being played with as I masturbated myself to sleep after being in his car. The first time he finger fucked me was amazing, but was only a precursor to other more intimate escapades. Regularly now I would let him undress me completely. Alright, we always had a blanket close by and usually I had been wearing 'quick dress' clothing, such as a baggy dress, that I could rapidly slip over my head in case of trouble, but nevertheless, there was a risk and that had become like a drug to us. Being totally, bare assed naked in the car, or sometimes in good weather, alongside it was fantastic. There were times and places where he could also strip off, but they were far less frequent than where I was the naked one. That didn't bother me. Of course he continually wanted us to go all the way and most times he tried, but I held out. I think I knew deep down that we would, but somehow prolonging the moment added to my pleasure. It sort of meant we weren't really lovers and we hadn't taken that final step. Tortuous logic I know, but that's how I felt and how I managed to emotionally handle this odd situation. But I didn't prolong the times for oral sex. When we had been married, we spent ages orally loving each other, so it seemed natural that once we had made each other cum with our hands, we should repeat that with our mouths. So we had a few months where that was the main event in his car. Where I might be lying naked on the back seat, my knees raised my legs open as he knelt on the floor his face buried between my thighs. Where he might be sitting in the driver's seat, his trousers and boxers round his knees or ankles with me topless leaning over attending to his awesome erection as he caressed and squeezed my boobs. Where, with almost superhuman agility and dexterity, he might sprawl on the back seat and I would straddle his face as we sixty-nined to our heart's content. Where I would suck, lick and stroke him until he was ready to cum. And then he would cum. Cum on my face, cum on my tits, cum on my stomach, cum on my ass and cum in my mouth, and yes I would swallow, after all he had been my husband, hadn't he? So we had gone through all the preliminaries. We had moved from hesitant kissing to full blown, naked oral sex. We had overcome my resistance to going backwards with a relationship that had failed before and we had resurrected that on a different level. We had overcome the near taboo of having sex with your ex and we had found a new experience of having sex in places where we might be seen. We had built up and up and now we had reached near to the pinnacle, the ultimate, the peak of our new-found sexual relationship. My ex-husband was going to fuck me. I was to drive to a car park not far from where I live. I would leave my car and there and join him in his more spacious one. We would then drive to a quiet place where we could be disturbed, but not one where that was too likely. Deciding to surprise him, I slipped into a pair of white, fishnet holdups and white patent four inch heels. I looked at myself in the mirror noting my hardened nipples and full breasts that seemed to be quivering with expectancy. I could not resist cupping them, pushing them together and lifting them up as I imagined his cock between them. "Shall I masturbate?" I thought reckoning that by doing that I would last longer before cumming when I was with him. I decided not to, but it was a struggle stopping myself especially when I then slipped on the only other garment I was going to wear. That was a thin, yellow, sleeveless dress that came down nearly to my ankles. It had a line of buttons running from the scooped front to the hem. I left three buttons undone so that the sides of my boobs and the loose cleavage caused by me not wearing a bra were clearly shown. Still looking in the mirror I watched, quite fascinated, as my boobs jiggled when I moved. I knew he would love that. Turning and looking over my shoulder as I bent forward and stuck my bum out, I was surprised at how see through the dress was. It was very evident that I was not wearing anything at all under it. I knew that he would also love that. Never Fuck Your Ex - I Did! God I was so looking forward to this evening. Although I'd been seeing him round about once a week for the past few months and he made me cum at least once and often four or five times on each occasion, I hadn't had full sex for nearly nine months. Sure, his fingers had been up me, his tongue had been in me, my fingers had entered me many times and I had used my vibrator quite frequently, but I hadn't been fucked. I hadn't had an erection in me, I hadn't had a man shove his cock up my cunt in all that time. But tonight one was going to do just that, shove his cock up my cunt. The words rang loudly in my mind; I find that cunt used appropriately is such an evocative word. Yes that was going to happen this evening and it was my ex-husband who was going to fuck me in his car in a car park. The mere thought made me shudder as I went out onto the large balcony. I poured myself a glass of cold, dry, white wine and lit a Marlboro, my first for several days. I was so excited I couldn't concentrate on doing the crossword or the sudoku. I just wanted time to vanish, wanted the dusk to arrive, wanted to be in his car, wanted him to undo the buttons; no, hold on, I had another thought. I smiled as I planned what I would do. It was about five miles to the place where we had our best times, a twenty-minute drive. I thought that when I got in the car I would undo a button. I knew he'd notice. Then every few minutes I would undo another. I knew if we pulled alongside another vehicle and the driver could see in I could always cover up, or leave myself exposed if I was brave. I thought that I would undo another button every few minutes until I could open the dress and flash everything I had at him. The plan was to undo the last few buttons as we entered the parking place. Good idea? Good plan? It certainly got me going as I practiced slipping the buttons undone without looking, for in the car I wanted to watch the expression on his face as he saw more of my breasts, as he saw all of one, as he saw both of them and my nipples. As he saw my tummy, my thighs, my legs, possibly opened, my pubes and maybe my glistening pussy. I knew that if I did all that he would only have to touch me to make me cum. And for sure he would touch me. God the mere thought of having the dress completely undone as we drove along turned me on so much. There was only about half an hour left before I was due to leave when my mobile rang. Thinking it was probably Emily calling to tell me about her day I answered in a bright and bubbly voice. "Hello." The dull, "Hi, it's me," from Kevin made my heart sink. "He can't make it this evening was my immediate thought." In my wildest dreams I would not have thought I would then hear. "I'm sorry Chrissy, I've met someone and we'll have to cool it." I clicked the end button as I realised that for the second time this man was ending my world as I knew it.