Some of the best sex that I ever had with my ex, was once he became my ex. That’s not to say that the sex we had when we were a couple wasn’t good; it most definitely was. If it hadn’t been good, I wouldn’t have carried on fucking him after he became my ex. No, in a particularly fucked-up kind of way, the reason sex with my ex was even better after we split up was purely down to the fact that he was my ex.
The fact that my ex had a girlfriend made it kind of forbidden.
The fact that his girlfriend was the woman he fucked behind my back then left me for gave it a sort of bitter sweet feeling of revenge.
The fact that he was still fucking me regularly now that he was living with her was deliciously fucked up.
That kind of sums me up.
It’s not that I wanted him back, I most certainly did not. He was a cheating bastard who couldn’t be trusted, the fact that he was still fucking me was proof enough of that. It was, however, that he was an extremely good fuck. In the four years that we had spent together, he had learned exactly what buttons to press, exactly the things to say and the tone in which to say them, that would turn me into a gooey, gagging mess. He knew exactly how I liked my pussy licked, he knew how I liked my boobs to be treated, he knew how to take me to the edge of orgasm and hold me there, deliciously, painfully, torturingly, agonisingly keeping me on the brink until, at exactly the right moment for maximum effect, he would lick that final lick of his tongue, or give that final thrust of his cock that would send me over the precipice into a shuddering, gut-wrenching, toe-curling climax that would leave me exhausted and satisfied.
When he left me, I didn’t really miss him, but I did most definitely miss the sex. When he first approached me about the possibility of hooking-up for a fuck because his girlfriend was away (his exact words), I am ashamed to say, I didn’t even hesitate to accept the proposition. Less than 20 minutes after receiving his text, I was receiving a load of his cum in my mouth. We spent a whole afternoon, evening, night and morning licking, sucking, fucking and cumming; resting only in the time it took us to recover before starting again.
It was wrong and I didn’t care. It was wrong, and that only made it better. It was wrong, so wrong and that was what made it so amazingly fucking good.
Having let him back into my life, and in my cunt (not to mention my mouth and my arse), it would take me almost 18 months to finally wean myself off him. In the end, it wasn’t any moral compunction that made me end it, I simply met the first of my two current guys whom I could enjoy sex with every bit as much as I could with my ex, without the need for feeling any guilt that I might possibly hurt someone. After all, I finally realised that it wasn’t her fault he’d cheated on me, nor was it my fault he cheated on her; no one forced him to stray from either of us, he was simply a cheating bastard who took what he wanted in the guise of giving both her and me what we had become addicted to. It wasn’t healthy, and now I realise that what I have with Master C, The Other Guy and The Girl is so much more satisfying.