Back to the Ex

"I'm here for my hoodie."

His ex-girlfriend glares at him from the doorstep, all 5'6 of her. Dark eyes glower beneath a blue-dyed pixie cut.

With a smile, he welcomes her inside and she brushes past him in a gust of lavender perfume, big gothic boots clomping against the wooden floor. His eyes track her as she passes; big tits straining under a black tanktop, chequered skirt swishing in red and white, pale legs in fishnet stockings emerging from those heavy black boots.

"You should take your shoes off in my house," he says mildly.

"I," his ex spits, "am not taking anything off for you. Not anymore."

It had been a heated breakup.

"Really," he says flatly, stepping close.

"Yes, really." She steps closer, looking up to stare him in the eyes.

He moves his face closer still and, on instinct alone, she does the same back. And she tells herself she hates him but this feels like a challenge and she's too proud to back down, so she reaches up and kisses him angrily. Before her mind catches up with her body, he has her pinned against the nearest wall, one hand up her skirt and teasing her pussy through the thin silken layer of her knickers.

Why am I doing this? She thinks frantically. I shouldn't be doing this. But her pussy is more honest than her brain and it's flooding her best panties, her fuck-me knickers, the frilly silk she wears when she's expecting to get dicked down, so maybe on some level, she knew what would happen when she came here today...

Oh, it might have been a heated breakup, but that's only natural.

It had been a fiery relationship.

They're in bed before she knows what's happening; he pushes her into it, and somehow by then he's gotten her panties off. He smirks as he looks at them, knowing they're her best and sexiest, knowing that she wore them for him. Then he stuffs them into his pocket and goes to her.

The girl with the short blue hair and big heaving tits cries out as her ex enters her. She'd tried so hard to forget how good it was, so hard she'd nearly managed it, and now as she's feeling his fucking again, she simply isn't prepared. How stiff and strong and fulfilling he is, how he thrusts hard and assertively at the perfect pace to get her motor running, driving her pleasure into overdrive. She cries out, grabs his back, locks her legs and booted feet around him as he fucks away like a relentless machine. Like he's trying to slam her plump and pretty arse through the bed slats.

Soon she's fucking back. Her lush hips rock up against him, working together in that perfect rhythm they'd devised together, back when the two were a couple. His breath is coming heavily now, as heavy as hers, and there's a lustful fire behind his eyes. He growls, she gasps, he takes a breath of her sweet-smelling hair.

I've missed this so much, she thinks, as sweat pours from her and her face heats up and her heart threatens to burst out of her chest. it's the last coherent thought she has before she cums.

"Yes! Yes! Fuck yes!" These and more, equally eloquent cries burst from between her lips, only to be drowned out by a loud and masculine roar. Her ex-boyfriend shouts like a wild animal as he cums deep inside, not even asking for permission, just taking the creampie that he wants. God knows he's given her enough before now, and in the shining bliss of her orgasm, she can't find the energy to be mad. And they lie there for a while, together, basking in the afterglow like they used to.

Then reality comes creeping back and all the hard feelings come with it. The man rises and walks to his wardrobe and, like a hungover partygoer coming to their senses, the girl with the dyed hair and the big goth boots replays what just happened with mounting horror. She sits up in bed, suddenly mortified. I fucked my ex, she thinks. I fucked my ex, oh god, why did I fuck my ex-

"Here's your hoodie." He chucks it to her from the other side of the room, and she stares as if she's never seen it before.

Then he kicks her out.

She stands there for a minute, red-faced and weak-kneed. She's disheveled, her hair all messed up, her body soaked in sweat. Her feet are boiling in her heavy boots; she really should have taken them off. And she can barely feel her legs.

She's going to have to walk back like this.

As if that's not bad enough she suddenly feels a dampness, an oozing trickle as his deep-shot creampie begins to drip out her pussy and slide down her inside thigh. And it's then that she realizes he still has her panties.

A week later there's a pounding on his door.

His ex glares at him from the doorstep, all 5'6 of her. Dark eyes glower beneath a pixie cut, metallic red this time. She clomps past him in a gust of rose perfume and immediately starts pulling off her big, heavy boots.

She's wearing tight black jeans, the hoodie he tossed her last week, and her second-best underwear.

"I'm here for my knickers."