0 comments/ 11430 views/ 2 favorites The Ex Files By: -Sadie26- Sandy walked into her apartment, totally exhausted and looking forward to a night of sitting in front of the television and relaxing. As she entered her bedroom, she picked up the faint smell of stale cigarette smoke. Puzzled, she looked around, not really sure what she was looking for though. After a few minutes of going room to room, she shrugged it off and returned to her bedroom and proceeded to take off her clothes. She stared at herself, momentarily, in her mirror, thinking to herself it was definitely time for another diet. Sandy had never been happy with her appearance even though, by most standards, she was a knockout. Standing 5'7, with long blonde hair that kissed her ass, Sandy was definitely a woman that could make heads turn. Her gorgeous blue eyes danced when she laughed and turned almost black when she was angered. Her long legs set the stage for the arousing trip up her body, capped off with succulent size 40 C tits, decorated with small to medium darkened nipples. And to top it all off, she had an ass that seemed to be carved from stone, perfectly round, yet perfectly tight. But, even though she possessed all these assets, Sandy was always looking for ways to make herself even more attractive. She had had several boyfriends in the past, all feeding her ego about her beauty, only to find out they were just the right words to get her into bed, then gone for good. Did this make her feel cheap? Yes, sometimes, but it also turned her into a raging nympho knowing she had that kind of power over men simply by just flashing some flesh. As Sandy finished removing her clothes and giving her reflection a disgusted look, again she smelled the faint smell of cigarette smoke. And again, she looked around. Paying no attention to the fact that she was now naked from the waist up, Sandy proceeded on with her search, even glancing outside to her back patio. And again, she found nothing. "Damnit, Sandy, get a fucking hold on yourself," she mumbled, sliding her skirt down to her feet and kicking it off. She walked over to her large closet, yanking a shirt that one of her ex's had left behind. She loved wearing their shirts because they were so much bigger on her and were extremely comfortable. Sandy then walked out and into her kitchen. As she bent down to grab a soda, she heard something that sounded almost like heavy breathing. She shot up and looked around, and again, saw nothing. Now, she was becoming aggravated. She slammed the refrigerator shut and walked into the living room, dropping down on her huge overstuffed new sofa. As she stretched her legs out onto the glass topped coffee table, again the smell of cigarette smoke invaded her nostrils. "Okay, who the fuck are you?" she said, standing up and quickly surveying the room, "I know someone's in here. Fucking come out and show your face and stop hiding!!" For a moment or two, there was only silence. Sandy's heart was racing so fast she could hear it thumping in her ears. Her hands were becoming clammy and her legs began to feel like jello. "Well? Are you coming out or do we have to be children here and play hide and seek?" she screamed, looking over and noticing the screen door was open half way. Sandy quickly ran over to the screen door and shoved it closed, feeling somewhat better when she heard the lock click. "It's a little late for that, Sandy," said a husky voice from behind her, "I mean, after all, if that door had been locked in the first place, you wouldn't be as scared as you are now." Slowly, Sandy turned around. Her eyes widened when she saw who it was. "Mike????? What the fuck are you doing here? Last I heard, you were in Boston," she said, slowly walking backwards, finally pushing herself against the closed front door. "Good to see you remember me, Sandy," he said, putting his cigarette out in a cold cup of coffee Sandy had left. "Mike, I told you before you left, it's over," Sandy said, trying desperately not to sound like a scared child. "Yes, this is true," Mike agreed, "But see, I've decided that it's on again." Sandy looked around for anything she could use to hit him or at least scare him. Instantly, her eyes focused on the pool stick in the corner, a gift her father had given her before she went away to college. Mike picked up on what Sandy wanted to do and could only laugh, "If you think you can make it to that stick before I make it to you, then go for it." Sandy swallowed hard and slowly began inching towards the pool stick. Unfortunately for her though, for every step she took, Mike matched and was quickly catching up to her. Finally, she reached the stick and grabbed it, just as Mike grabbed her wrist. "Drop it, bitch," he hissed, "Drop it before I drop you." Sandy remembered Mike's temper, it was one of the reasons she broke up with him. She also remembered that it didn't take much to provoke his dark side, so, hesitantly, she dropped the stick. The sound of it hitting the cold tile echoed in Sandy's ears, almost as if it were a warning of things to come. "I see you still like pushing the envelope," he whispered, gently pulling her to him by her wrist. "Well, Mike, you know me, I don't like to let things get boring," she said, flashing him her best fake smile. "Still a bullshitter too, I see," he said, guiding her back to her original spot on the sofa. Sandy's body trembled with the fear of the unknown. She watched Mike remove his jacket and toss it to a small chair in the corner. He quickly unbuttoned his black shirt and jeans, kicking them both across the room. He stood there, clad only in black silk boxers, staring Sandy up and down. "Unbutton your shirt, bitch," he whispered, slowly rubbing his cock thru his boxers, "And don't take all fucking night to do it." Sandy glanced up at Mike, fighting back the tears, she unbuttoned the shirt, trying desperately to make her trembling fingertips work fast enough to please him. "Now, take it off, I wanna see those hot tits of yours," he said, slowly sliding his hand down inside his boxers. "Please, Mike, whatever it is you got planned, please don't go thru with it," she pleaded, "I have money now. I've got a great job and I'll give you some money." Mike quickly yanked his hand out of his boxers and leaned forward, slapping Sandy across the mouth. "You ignorant bitch, is that what you think I'm here for, huh?" he said, hovering over her with his hand still raised, "You think I need your hand outs? Sandy covered her right cheek, rubbing it softly to calm the sting, "No, that's not what I think," she whispered. "Get your ass up!" he said, pulling her by the wrist and yanking her up from the sofa, "Get on your fucking back on the floor." Both stunned and curious, Sandy obeyed, quickly laying down on the plush blue carpeting. "Spread your fucking legs and show me that pussy I've been missing," he said, pulling his boxers down. Reluctantly, Sandy slowly let her legs fall open, revealing her freshly shaven pussy and clit piercing. "Mmmm, that's perfect," Mike groaned, slowly moving down to his knees, "Now, grab your tits, press them together and make your nipples meet." Again, Sandy obeyed, figuring Mike would get so aroused by just her naked body, he would jack off and then leave her alone. But, leaving her alone was not on his list of things to do ............... not just yet, anyway. "I always did love seeing you naked, San," he whispered, slowly jacking off and watching her pussy glisten. "You miss me, bitch?" he asked, "Huh? Tell me you miss me inside you." Sandy again swallowed hard and manage to whisper, "Yes, I miss you inside me." "I don't quite believe you, San, I think you better try it again," said Mike. "Yes, yes, Mike, I fucking miss you inside me," she said, trying her best this time to sound sincere. "That's better, baby, that's what I wanted to hear," he said, slowly moving towards her. Sandy thought back and remembered how good Mike was at eating pussy. He could always make her cum so quickly and leave her begging for more. Little did she know, this time, Mike wasn't there to eat pussy and make HER feel good. "Rub your cunt, San," he whispered, "Rub that bitch hard for me. I wanna see it stretched and sloppy wet." Sandy did as she was told and quickly brought her fingers to her wet pussy, gently rubbing her slender fingertips around her sensitive clit and massaging her smooth, bald lips. "Yeah, that's it, baby," Mike groaned, "Rub that sloppy cunt, I remember how fucking wet you get when you're hot." Sandy arched her back slightly and raised her hips off the floor, instantly sinking two fingers into her begging pussy. She moaned as her fingers slid in, knuckle deep and her pussy opened up for more. "You hot, bitch? Huh? Your pussy aching yet? I fucking know you're hot, I smell your fucking pussy from here," snapped Mike, quickly grabbing his ex's hips and flipping her over onto her hands and knees. Unfortunately for Sandy, she didn't quite make it and proceeded to fall, face first, into the carpet. Mike seized this opportunity and grabbed both of Sandy's wrists, pinning her arms behind her back. He tied her hands together with the phone cord he had apparently managed to acquire before she got home. Instantly, Sandy's hands began to tingle and her fingertips went cold. She felt so scared and humiliated having been tied up like a steer in a rodeo. She was completely helpless now and Mike couldn't have been happier. "I wanted to tie you up like this so many times when we were together," he whispered, "I wanted you to be at my mercy." "Please, Mike, don't do this," pleaded Sandy. Unfortunately, her pleas fell on deaf ears as Mike moved in closer, grabbing her by her hips and forcing her face into the carpet even further then it already was. His hand was almost hot as it wrapped around the back of her neck, making sure she kept her head down. She could feel the heat from his body seering into her skin, demanding her attention. She couldn't even speak anymore because her mouth was full of carpet and her head was unable to move. Her back hurt and her fingers had gone completely numb. Tears welled up in her eyes and her heart felt as though it would stop beating at any moment. She closed her eyes and squeezed the tears free, making sure to not even whimper. "I smell your fear, bitch," he hissed, slowly pushing his enormous cock tip to her virgin asshole, "I love knowing you're scared right now." Mike slowly pushed his cock tip just inside Sandy's asshole rim. Just enough to make her squirm, but not enough to get him excited enough to cum. He had one hand on her hip and the other hand still firmly wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her face and head tightly to the floor. "I've missed being inside you, baby," he groaned, thrusting his hips forward and pushing his cock further inside, "I want you back, Sandy and I won't take no for an answer." Sandy began to cry harder, finding it more and more difficult to keep her whimpers silent. This is not at all what she wanted. She didn't want anything more to do with Mike. The last contact she had had with him was right before she broke up with him for beating her up. She was away from the maniac and she wanted to keep it that way. "Remember how we used to fuck, baby? " he asked, now picking up the pace and slowly massaging her asshole with his engorged cock, "We used to fuck for hours, sometimes 5 and 6 times a day, everyday. Fuck, I miss that!" "I always wanted to fuck you up the ass," he said, "I always wanted to feel this tight hot hole suck my cock." Finally, he released his grip off her neck and the restraints on her hands and Sandy was able to raise her head. She slowly pushed herself up, onto her aching, tingling hands and arched her back, helping to relieve some of the pressure on her lower spine. The tears and snot from her runny nose had trickled down her throat while her head was forced down. She began to cough and tried not to vomit as Mike picked up the pace. He grabbed both her hips and began slamming into her asshole, feeling as though he was trying to rip it open. He dug his nails into her flesh, creating small tears in her skin that burned each time the salt from his fingers would rub over them. He grabbed her long hair and twisted it around his fist, using it like reigns on a horse to keep her upright and his balance in tow. And the sound of his body slapping against hers made a sickening echo in her small apartment. "Oh, God, please, Mike, please, fucking stop!!!" she cried, feeling her asshole being forced open further. "Shut up, bitch," he hissed, tightening his grip on her hair, "I say when this shit's over with, got it?" Sandy bit her lip so hard she tasted the blood wash over her tongue. Her head was beginning to spin and her arms were becoming weak from trying to hold herself up. Her head throbbed with the force of Mike's grip on her hair and he showed no signs of backing off. Her ears began to ring as the sickening sound of a hard slap echoed throughout her living room. Mike was spanking her like a small child that had been disobedient. Slap after mind numbing slap, Sandy's ass quickly became beet red and stung as if she'd been bit by a mass of bees. Her tits jiggled and slammed into each other as Mike drilled her asshole. Her nipples were erect and aching and her pussy was so wet she knew she needed relief soon. After a few more thrusts, Mike became bored with using Sandy's asshole for his play toy and demanded she lean forward and spread her legs so he could have a turn in her pussy. She gave no lip and did as she was told, quickly lowering her upper body back down to the warm carpet beneath her. Again, she arched her back and closed her legs, instantly tightening her pussy slit. Her ass was raised high in the air and received three more hard slaps before Mike finally slammed his dick inside her cunt. Sandy screamed into the carpet and bit down, forgetting both how good and how painful it felt to have a cock buried inside her pussy. Her fingers were finally starting to have feeling return to them and her pussy had now accepted the large cock that was invading her. She kept her legs pressed tightly together and pulled up onto her palms, again arching her back. But, this time, she wanted in on the action, too. She pushed her lower body back towards Mike and begin moving her hips side to side, grinding on his dick and feeding her starved pussy all at once. She moaned his name over and over, professing her love for his cock and admitting that she had indeed missed him inside her. Mike was beginning to fall for Sandy's routine and began fucking into her faster, slamming his fuck rod balls deep into her sloppy wet pussy. His grip on her hips intensified and she cried out as the open wounds on her skin seemed to be getting bigger. She looked down, watching her massive tits swing with the ryhthm of Mike's pounding. Her nipples were harder then they had ever been and hurt so bad. Just then, Mike stopped and pushed Sandy's body forward, again sending her face first into the carpet. For a moment, there was only silence and Sandy had no idea what to expect next. "Suck me off, bitch," whispered Mike, reaching down and yanking Sandy up by her long blonde tresses, "Suck me good or I'll hurt you more." Sandy reluctantly turned around and faced Mike, who, by now, was looking down and giving her a shit eating grin of satisfaction. She slowly reached out and grabbed his wet, throbbing cock and gently wrapped her lips around the pre cum covered cock slit. She almost gagged from the taste. Sandy had never liked sucking cock, anyone's cock. She didn't like the taste of cum or having something thick shoved down her throat. But, at this moment, Mike couldn't care less what Sandy did or didn't wanna do. He held his grip on her long hair and began to slowly push her inexperienced mouth up and down the length of his dick. His balls were full and ached so bad he could scream. He didn't have time for Sandy's innocent act right now. "Come on, bitch, you can do better then that," he groaned, now shoving her mouth up and down faster. Sandy gagged as the large muscle filled her throat. Mike's pre cum was all she could taste and his body was sweating, making his aroma flood the small living room of her apartment. She tried desperately to pull away, only to find that Mike's grip would become that much tighter. She reached up and grabbed his hips, digging her long claws into his flesh, sort of a payback for the wounds he had inflicted upon her hips. She slid her hands around and cupped his tight, muscular ass. He groaned and pumped her mouth faster, sinking his dick in balls deep. Sandy was now getting into cock sucking and finding that she was enjoying it just as much as Mike appeared to be. She decided to try something she had seen in a porn movie one night in college. Slowly, she slithered her hands close to Mike's asshole, gently pushing his ass cheeks apart. He threw his head back and groaned, instantly giving his approval, knowing what Sandy was about to do. She wasted no time. Instantly, she slammed two fingers deep into Mike's asshole, forcing it apart, much to his liking. Thrust after thrust, Sandy fingered Mike's ass, drawing him closer and closer to his climax. "Oh, fuck, don't stop, bitch, don't fucking stop!!!" he screamed, jamming his thick cock in and out of her sore mouth. With her other hand, she reached down and fondled his tight balls, rolling them around inside her warm palms. Mike couldn't hold back any longer. He released Sandy's hair and cupped her face in his strong hands. Sandy matched Mike's thrusts, slam for slam, finger fucking him in the same rhthym as he was fucking her mouth. She could feel his ass muscles tighten up and his cock became rock hard, almost like a steel rod. "I'm gonna cum, bitch, FUCK, MAKE ME CUM!!!!" he roared, pounding into her gaping mouth. Seconds later, Sandy felt the warm flood of Mike's cum dumping into her throat. Rope after creamy rope, Sandy's mouth was flooded. Mike kept his grip on her face, making sure she stayed right there to receive every warm drop of his seed. After it was over, Mike fell to the floor, both exhausted and satisfied that he was finally able to have Sandy again. But, Sandy wasn't gonna let Mike have all the fun. She quickly crawled over and straddled his deflating cock. Just as Mike wasn't willing to take no for an answer, neither was Sandy. Mike looked up and propped his head up with his hands, watching Sandy's perfect body move on top of him. "Can't get enough of me, huh baby?" he said, giving her a wicked smile, "Just like the old days." Sandy didn't answer, she just locked her eyes on his and continued with her mission for getting her own release. She leaned forward, placing her hands on Mike's stomach, using his body for leverage. She brought her feet forward and firmly planted them on the floor and began to ride Mike's cock like a horse. Up and down she rode, sinking her pussy walls firmly around his dick, massaging the thick veins that protruded from his shaft. Again, Mike grabbed Sandy's hips and pushed her down, also pulling her up for the ultimate ride. "Oh, God, Mike," she groaned, throwing her head back,"Your dick has never felt as good as it does now." Mike watched Sandy, concentrating on the look on her face. A look of total abandon and lust. She never looked more hot. Her hair was lying across her slender shoulders and her nipples were so beautiful. Her stomach was flat and glistened with sweat and all he could think about was fucking her for the rest of his life. She began to move faster, driving his cock further and further with each thrust. She leaned up, sliding her pussy to his cock tip and slowly moved her hips side to side, pressing down and squeezing Mike's cock slit. Then, with one final descent, she rammed his cock deep into her pussy, slamming him inside her balls deep. Mike groaned and gripped Sandy's hips tighter, confessing over and over that he was about to cum again, begging her to ride him faster. The Ex Files I haven't had a lot of luck with exes. There was the one who took half my record collection with her. The one who left me feeling bereft and empty for months before announcing, when the gap was irreconcilable, that she thought we'd done the wrong thing by splitting. The one who copied her key to my flat before returning it and turned up in the middle of the night, unannounced. The one who asked me to contact my mate from the rugby club and remind him he'd promised to return the brooch she'd left on his bedside table. But Jane was special. Special in her ability to get back under my skin as easily as if we'd never parted. Of course she could. It was as if she'd been different all along. That's what I'd told myself, that she was different, the one. Clever, intelligent, razor sharp in her understanding of ideas and principles. And she was attractive. No, not attractive. That's an understatement. She didn't ooze sex, but she had her style worked out to a T, and she knew it worked. She knew she wasn't model thin, but neither was she Sophie Dahl, so she went for a continental look that looked backwards to the fifties, but was label savvy and up to the minute sharp. It wasn't quite a pastiche of the fifties either; there were none of the jarring anachronisms that made that 1980s Style Council look so embarrassing. I remember the first time I saw her. She was walking along the street, skirt and blouse, a pullover draped around her shoulders, D&G sunglasses, classic looking low heeled court shoes on her feet, her costume jewellery pointing up the fifties style references and making the real pearls around her neck look even more lustrous. Naturally olive skin too; Mediterranean looking even if the suggestion that her family was anything other than North Country gentry stock would make her seethe. I was putting up a poster for my new business; second hand and antiquarian books and prints from a stall in the market hall. It was the kind of thing that would fascinate her I discovered; the highest word of praise in her vocabulary was 'authentic'. Í got additional praise because I was trying to do it the decent way; not bursting old books for colour plates that could be framed on walls, just acquiring the material any way I could and bringing it back into circulation at a profit to me. She was fascinated, she said, and followed me down to my stall where she cooed appreciatively over the stock, before buying an Orwell first edition and a modern copy of a Bewick engraving. She made great play of telling me she'd need the Orwell for her Open University course. Over the next few weeks she became a regular visitor to the stall. She'd usually have a bag or basket with her containing the product of her other shopping; fresh coffee, over priced cheese, occasionally a cushion cover from the embroidery stall. I got to know something of her circumstances; divorced in her twenties, owning a semi rural guesthouse and obsessed with acquiring status via learning. She bought an eclectic collection of books, taking great care to make sure I knew which were for her studies and which to make guesthouse look classier. And I took her money and amused her the way a shopkeeper should, building a rapport with a profitable customer. Except she seemed genuinely flattered by the attention, and genuinely interested in me. So we began a relationship. Don't get me wrong. I may sound jaundiced now, but by the time we started the relationship I was utterly taken by her. She was sexy and different, and this was the early nineties, when ostentation was still acceptable as a lifestyle choice. And I enjoyed the way her friends took me up as a new project, the bookseller trying to make their town a little more dignified in their eyes. And we had great sex. Vigorous, enthusiastic, passionate sex. She'd decided that part of the problem with her marriage was her husband's attitude to sex. I never found out what his attitude to sex was. Hers was pseudo scientific. She wanted to experiment. So we did. And if in retrospect it seems to me like she overdid the experimental protocols and controls, I maybe should have realised that she was showing off her learning. The sociology of science and the enlightenment were both on her curriculum. It was less of an experiment for me than for her. I knew what I liked. If she wanted to find out about sex that involved power exchanges, or challenges, I was up for it. We found ways of doing it that didn't challenge her book learned feminism head on. We found ways of having sex that made her feel that even when she was offering herself to be used or spanked she was in charge. Her notes specifying what she envisaged were an art form in themselves. She wrote them poetically, in a lyrical style that betrayed a strong knowledge of simile and knowledge, and a lack of understanding about how much imagery was enough. That was understandable though one night, drunk, she admitted that she masturbated while writing them, sitting on a leather covered piano stool at the dressing table in her bedroom. Looking back, I know now that I'll never know if the anticipation was greater than the experience for her. There's a line from a song by Bob Seger: 'wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then'. But if I had known, would I have done anything differently? Probably not. I'd be a liar if I pretended the relationship was perfect. Spontaneity was not her strong point. She didn't relish the idea that sex might happen without warning. She didn't understand that part of being a lover was about fitting herself to my needs too; my need for sex to be a surprise, an adventure and a game. That wouldn't have been fatal to our relationship. Not if it hadn't been a signifier of her approach to life. She found it hard to take chances, to understand that my job might involve driving thirty miles to a house sale or standing quietly at the side of a provincial saleroom trying hard not to reveal quite which book in a mixed lot had caught my attention. We split acrimoniously. She took my being different to her as a reproach, not as an invitation to compromise. So we went our separate ways, as much as you can when you live in a small town and share a circle of friends. Our paths were bound to cross again. It was two weeks before Christmas that our paths significantly crossed. It was at a party in a house up on Church Street, just round the corner from my new flat in Hallgarth Street. I'd moved after we split, to a larger flat that reflected the fact that even if my private life was in tatters the business was going from strength to strength. I was standing in the study, trying not to look like I was pricing the books on the shelves. Jane was looking good in a teal green dress, off the shoulder, sleeveless, revealing her muscular and handsome shoulders and her cleavage. She was wearing her hair loose and full around her shoulders. And she was smiling at me as if I was the only person in her world. She was not drunk. I knew what she was like when she was drunk, and there was nothing vindictive or sharp tongued about her manner. Bu there was something different about her. She was more light hearted than I remembered, but more intense. Forgive me, but I thought that, given that she wasn't drunk, she might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. It took a little while to realise that we were playing a game. Maybe the fact that I was more vulnerable than I expected meant my defences were down. The penny dropped eventually. It was more a process of accretion than elimination. I thought she was trying to wound at times, and at others that she was trying to seduce. Examples? We'd squabbled more than once about my fetish for piercings. She'd remained unpierced when we'd been together. So did she need to tell me now that she had a silver barbell through her right nipple? Or, given that I desire exhibitionism in a woman, that she was naked under her dress, save only for stockings? Did she need to tell me that she'd decided to try bisexuality, and was in a relationship with a woman, when she'd always denied to me that she had any such inclinations? She wasn't trying to wound. She was trying to seduce. But not because she was drunk, or cracking up. She smiled as she pointed out her girlfriend, blonde haired, a mass of curls atop her head so she resembled a dandelion, slender in trousers and an ivory coloured blouse, maybe ten years Jane's senior, standing in the kitchen at the heart of a circle of women. Jane smiled. "I've taught her the game you taught me. She writes me notes about her fantasies. Long notes, essays really, with footnotes and reading lists." I realised where I knew the blonde from. She taught in the German department at the university. I'd sold her an early edition of Goethe. Jane was talking again, light hearted. "She writes more notes than we can ever act out. So I collect them, and think of them, and leave her the one I've chosen on her pillow on any given night. The more she's pleased me, the more extreme the fantasy I'll act out for her." The couple having a hushed domestic row across the study from us wouldn't have been able to see Jane's right thumb, shadowed by her wine glass, stroking at her nipple through her dress, but I found it hard to tear my eyes away. "Last week she wrote me an essay for my OU course. So she got her dream of being pissed on in the bath. Tonight I found, in her purse, the receipt for the ring she's bought me for Christmas. A wedding ring, antique style, the kind I've wanted ever since Paul." Her thumb was stroking at her nipple again. "So tonight she gets her dream come true. She'll hate herself tomorrow, but tonight she'll do what she wrote one night when I'd denied her for three days, three days when I wouldn't even let her see me naked. The more I deny her the further it seems she'll go, and I want to make her go as far as I can. So tonight she'll get to dildo herself while she's licking a man's come out of me. Want to be the man Tim?" Was I disturbed by the cruelty in Jane's tone? No. Was I disturbed by the precision of her planning? No. We didn't negotiate. Not exactly. We didn't need to. I was taken in completely. It was just a matter of getting the plans clear. She would come to my flat. We would have sex. I could have the use of her, so long as she was wet and had my come inside her when Barbara came to get her. I offered to let them use my spare bedroom, but that would interfere in the fantasy. Barbara would wait for her phone call, then come and collect Jane from my flat. I asked about the kind of sex we would have. The fact that I had liked to dominate Jane would not interfere in their fantasy; it was part of it. I've already admitted my defences were down. So I went along with it. Completely. We walked around the corner to my flat, not really caring if any of our friends gossiped about our departure. A few strides outside of their door she took my hand, and it was almost like one of our first dates. It's an odd experience, watching someone else act out their fantasy. You know there's a script in their heads, but without dialogue or a script to follow it's a mime performance. Her knee length coat went on the rack in my hall; the dress followed with an economy of movement that I remembered with a keen sense of loss. I realised, too, that I was seeing her body for the first time. It had changed. There was a muscle tone to her stomach that suggested regular visits to the gym. On her left hip, just below the joint, were two Chinese characters, one above the other. Her pubic hair, sometimes shaven, sometimes untrimmed when we had been together, was a neat, tightly clipped delta. And there was that barbell through her nipple, pushing the nipple forward, making it more prominent. Jane was unabashed by my inspection of her. Did I feel sad that she was willing to do these things for her new lover's pleasure, but wouldn't do them when she was my lover alone? Not then. Later, maybe, even now as I write this, definitely, But not at the time. At the time I felt as if I was alienated from the experience, acting a role exactly as she was. Where once I would have sought to cajole her or tempt her into a submissive role, now I took it as a fact and spoke coldly to her, commanding her to enter the living room, slapping her backside as she walked in front of me for no other reason than because I could. Was I ass cruel to her as I could have been? No. Part of me was replaying the fantasies I'd had when I was with her, fantasies she knew about, of my beating her till she cried in pain, inflicting pain remorselessly while fucking and masturbating her. She knew about those fantasies, and she'd incorporated them in some of her fantasies. I had her sit on my sofa, her heels on the cushions so that her knees were raised and parted, her pussy open to my gaze until she did as she was told and started to finger her clit. As she did so I wondered if she was remembering those fantasies, if she feared that the riding crop I'd described to her in careful detail was waiting for her. Was that was making her so aroused that, within minutes, she was close to orgasm, masturbating herself in the way I remembered, thumbnail scratching at her clit as her fingers rubbed over her pussy lips. It was possible that she was thinking about those fantasies. She'd played along with them before, and enjoyed it. Our first Christmas together had as its highlight her being bent over a bolster on the bed, her hands tied behind her back, a dildo buried in her pussy as I spanked her. She'd enclosed the note describing that in her Christmas card to me, and we'd made it happen. Watching her stroke herself I asked her if she remembered that occasion. Her answer was to come, gasping, biting at the fingers of her free hand as if to stifle the noise. And yet I didn't want to push the boundaries of that fantasy. Not now, not in those circumstances. I explained it to her as I stripped, facing her, gesturing at her to resume her self-stimulation. "It's not like I don't want to whip you. It's not like I wouldn't love to make you beg me to put the whip down and fuck you any way I want. It's not like I don't know that maybe that was in your mind when you chose me to make your girlfriend's fantasy come true. But I want you to go back to her and tell her it wasn't about whips, or pain, or being tied. I want you to go back to her and tell her it was about my cock, and about you coming as you suck it. I want you to tell her that even as you came with my cock in you the idea of taking it up your arse was in your mind." Her answer? She extended her tongue to lick the end of my erection as it approached her mouth, and used her free hand to cup my balls as I entered her lips. Standing astride her I pulled at her nipples, pinching and stretching them, enjoying the difference between the smaller, unpierced nipple and the barbell enhanced left one. "Is she going to make you have more piercings Jane? Does she want to make your body hers? Will she hate the fact that she can do what she likes to you but she hasn't got a cock, the one thing you crave?" She took her hand away from her pussy to hold my cock as she took it out of her mouth to answer; I slapped her wrist and told her to carry on wanking. She hated the word, hated the bluntness, but she did as she was told. I moved forward a little so she could lick the underside off my cock, alternating licks with her attempts to answer the questions. "She hates it and loves it. She hates porn and stuff, but she loves showing me off. She has women friends round the house and makes me strip off for them. She wants to take me to a nudist beach so she can make me walk round naked in front of everybody. It's like I'm everything a woman shouldn't be in her world, and she can't get enough of me." She leant forward and rested her head against my thigh as she came again. Her tongue licked at my thigh, but then it was as if she realised where she was, and what she was doing. She shuddered and tried to pull away from me. I slapped her breasts, once on each, then ordered her to stand. And yes, I enjoyed that reaction. "Time for the endgame Jane. Time to phone Barbara and tell her that you've loved making yourself come as you suck my cock. Time to tell her that you're about to kneel on the floor, arse in the air, open to me, waiting for my cock to make you come again before I spunk in you." And she did. She took my cordless phone, dialled a number form memory, and told Barbara exactly what I'd said. Then she knelt, between the coffee table and the sofa, her head resting on her forearms. And I knelt behind her, and remembered as I experienced it again the elasticity and muscularity of her pussy, pressing my way inside her as she held her breath. And then I fucked her, the way I'd fucked her when she was at her least inhibited, one hand stroking at her clit, the thumb of the other hand breaching the ring of her anus. Barbara's timing was poor, or excellent; depends on your taste I suppose. The doorbell rang just after Jane's first orgasm, when we'd both paused with my cock lodged inside her. I bent forward and put my mouth next to her ear. "She's waiting by the door. She knows you're here, but she might think we're already finished. Make plenty of noise Jane. Let her know you're loving being fucked." And with that I started pumping at her, hard, deep, long strokes, holding onto her hair as if it were reins. She gave into the feeling, and started to shout, harsh single word exclamations in time with my groin slapping into her backside. I came too soon for my taste. I'd like to kind myself that I could have stopped, maybe made her change position or used her anus as I'd threatened. But I didn't. As she came for the second time, calling me a bastard at the top of her voice, I came inside her. It was less of a little death than a kind of shared achievement; we'd set out to do it and we'd done it. Jane stayed there, on the floor, hunched over, as I pulled out of her and pulled my boxers on, then went to the door. Barbara was red faced, her head down, not looking me in the eye. I smiled and asked her to come in. "She's in the living room..." Jane had rolled onto her side, her legs pulled up to her chest. Barbara's arrival seemed to change something in her; suddenly she was in command again. She walked to Barbara and kissed her on the mouth, putting her arms around her and resisting her attempts to pull away. "This is how you want me to be Barbara. I know you're soaking wet under those trousers. He knows too. He knows I'm coming home with you. He knows that I'm this way because you want me to be this way. So don't blush. Don't be embarrassed. He knows what I'm going to do, and what you're going to do, but he's as much a player in this game as you and me." She turned towards me, the pink flush on her chest subsiding. "I'll leave my dress. You can imagine I might be back to play a game again." With that she was gone, slipping her coat over her nakedness and making her way to the door in front of Barbara, who still hadn't spoken to me. Three days later I got a thank you card with a note inside. One of Jane's notes, but less lyrical than before. What it led to is another story. The Ex Files Sandy panted and groaned, feeling her own orgasm creeping up. She bounced and moaned, screaming Mike's name over and over, whimpering like a wounded slut. "OH, FUCK, MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" she screamed, "OH, FUCK!!!!! AHHHH, AHHHHHH, SHIIIIIIIT, I'M CUMMING!!!!!" Mike held onto her tightly and released another strong flood of cum into her, this time reclaiming the pussy he had been aching for for so long. Sandy fell forward, on top of Mike's sweaty torso, kissing him wildly and letting her nipples kiss his wet chest. "Come back to me, Sandy," he whispered, in between kisses, "I'm nothing without you." Sandy hesitated for a moment, then smiled and whispered, "That's true, you ARE nothing without me." The couple laughed and spent the rest of the day intertwined on Sandy's living room floor. And true to the saying, sometimes the past DOES repeat itself.