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.