I asked if he had a big dick, and her answer was “Yours is longer.”
I’m sure she meant it as honest reassurance. And the sentiment really was appreciated. But her specific choice of words revealed what she was trying not to say: he was thicker.
Years ago, when we were first going out, probably during an intoxicated Truth or Dare, she told me length didn’t really matter to her. The really important part of a cock was it’s girth.
When she commented recently that I would like her ex, I didn’t hesitate to suggest we meet. I didn’t see the guy as a threat. And he really did seem like a nice person. Maybe we could all be friends. That’d feel so mature. So she invited him over to watch the new Game of Thrones.
I was happy to see he was a good six inches shorter than me, he had more grey in his beard than I did, and while his handshake was masculine enough, he did have a bit of an effeminate way about him. And he had a girl’s name. All night I subconsciously kept noticing the things that kept him firmly in the “not a threat” category. But yes, I did also notice the bulge in his shorts. How could I not? Especially with her glancing there whenever she was talking to him.
We drank some Stellas while she downed enough Moscato to make her pass out on a regular night. She wasn’t sleepy at all. It made her bubbly and keen to reminisce with him about all sorts of things. It was all very interesting, even though I couldn’t partake much. When their first date was brought up, she asked if he remembered the park. He chuckled, took a big gulp of his beer, nodded and quickly tried to change the subject. She smiled and sipped her wine, seeming to savor watching him fidget. I wonder if she remembered that she told me the date ended in the park where she blew him on the grass under a maple tree in broad daylight, almost getting caught by some dog walkers. Our early relationship Truth or Dare habit was both fun and informative. I highly recommend it.
I suggested we start the show, and he and I sat on opposite ends of the couch, so when she came back from the bathroom she didn’t have to make a choice of whom to sit next to. She sat in the middle, but at an angle so her head leaned more toward me and her feet lightly grazed his legs, just under (and occasionally underneath) the hem of his shorts.
I love Game of Thrones, but couldn’t focus at all on this episode. She asked for the lights out at one point and when I stepped back to my seat, she was sitting straight up, having inched slightly more toward him. As the show went on I kept trying to make out details in their direction, in the dark, out of the corner of my eye. Were they touching? Was her head leaning against his shoulder? Was he caressing her arm outside of my view? I couldn’t tell.
I decided to fake a yawn and close my eyes. Without being able to see a thing my imagination took over. Every sound of rustling on the couch was her rubbing his leg, him sliding a hand under her ass, or better yet her pulling a nipple out for him to sneak a suck. I kept my eyes shut for just a few minutes before she said “Are you asleep?”
I pretended not to hear. She called my name. I didn’t move. My ears perked up and I think he may have whispered something and maybe she giggled in response. Or maybe it was just Arya quietly and joyfully assassinating another person on her list. I couldn’t tell.
My mind raced. I peeked out between my eyelids, and definitely saw his hand on her knee. Her fingers were resting on top of it lightly. His hand started to slide upward. Was she moving it, or was he? It rubbed up against her skirt and I spoke up.
“I am tired!”
They sat straight up, suddenly hands to themselves.
“Um, yeah… you fell asleep.”
I yawned again. “I think I’ll finish this tomorrow. I’m going to bed. Are you coming up?”
She shook her head, “We’ll finish the show, if that’s okay.” She looked at her ex and he nodded, eyes fixed to the screen.
“Sure, that’s fine. Take your time.” I shook his hand goodnight, and headed upstairs, my heart racing.
I closed the door, and leaned my head against it, cupping my hand around my ear, hoping against hope to make out any sounds. The show drowned out everything. After a while I thought I heard some moaning. I would’ve bet money he was grunting at some point. But who knows for sure. I have fucked her in enough bathrooms at parties to know she can cum so very quietly when she needs to. I wouldn’t have been able to make out her cute-as-fucking-hell tell-tail squeak over all the sword swinging that was going on.
It seemed like hours before I heard the closing credits. And soon after I heard a clear “Good night” and maybe something about doing this again real soon. The front door closed and I tip-toed into the bed. A short while later she carefully opened the door and slid under the sheets next to me in the darkness.
I faked a groggy wake up, rolling over to lay an arm and leg around her and nuzzle her neck. Yep, it smelled like his cologne. I’m sure she felt me get hard against her hip.
“How was the rest of the show?” I whispered.
“Good, as always.” She responded.
“Did he enjoy himself?”
“I think so…” She paused for sec. I felt a smile form against my nose. “Yes, I’m sure of it.”
“Good,” I said before a long pause. Then, “How was his cock?”
She laid there silently for an eternity before breaking out into a giggle.
“His cock was…” She contemplated this a long time: her head tilted to one side, she nodded to herself and she smiled again.
“It was longer than I remembered.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/6tfbtd/her_ex_mf_cheat_hotwife
hahaha