The summer before last, I was recently out of a long term relationship and being keen to jump back on the horse (or someone at least) I had a look through my figurative little black book and found Rose. I’d met her a few years before when I was helping out at something she was doing through uni. I was a few years older than most of them, Rose was older and about my age. We flirted during the trip but she had to leave early. Despite having no game normally, I decided I had nothing to lose so suggested she catch a later train and come for a picnic with me. An hour later we’re somewhere in the Kent countryside with my cock in her mouth. An hour after that she’s back on her train.
She was living in London at the time and we met up for a date that before too long ended up back in her student room and bent over her desk as I went down on her and fucked her hard. She was an ex-gymnast and I was keen to see how flexible she was! We never managed a second-date, she started seeing someone and we fell out of touch – I was young and didn’t rate my performance so assumed that was part of the reason.
Fast forward and I make contact again on the off-chance – flirtatious from the start but do the decent thing and back off when she says she’s still with the guy and now engaged. Except she doesn’t. She says they’re semi-open and she’s allowed to flirt with other men. It turns out later that the fiancé is less keen on me – she’s talked about me several times over the years and he’s got an issue with it, knowing that she still fancies me. Although my memories of the night in London are that I was pretty rubbish, she’s got me down as her favourite male sex partner (she’s bisexual) – I’ll take that ego boost, thank you!
A few months followed of flirting and sexting – it would build and then she’d dial it back – before we finally agreed to meet. Her fiancé was away for the weekend, I was house-sitting for my parents. I had never met the fiancé but had no great fondness for him – he sounded moody and difficult at times, and this open relationship seemed to be heavily weighted in his favour with him doing what he wanted and then getting jealous when she did the same. Did I feel guilty? A little, but I reconciled myself that she was a grown woman and this was her choice to make. A false call on the Saturday with her cancelling last minute, but she finally turned up late on the Sunday.
— From here on —
She’d sent me a picture of herself before she left – high heels and a black basque that left little to the imagination. She’s about 5ft7 at a guess – toned from lots of exercise and with lovely C/D cups. We were on each other as soon as she walked in the door – pushing her up against the wall and opening her long coat to reveal just the basque underneath – quite an outfit for a two hour drive! I stepped back to admire it and we moved through to the living room.
She sank to her knees in front of the open fire and pulled my hard cock from my trousers, admiring it before leaning forward to take me into her mouth. She paused with the head of my cock between her lips and looked up at me angelically, then dove forward to swallow as much as she could – she knew what she was doing! I could only take a few minutes of it before I felt myself starting to lose it, so pulled her to her feet, kissed her hard and then started tearing at her basque and thong.
I pushed her back onto the sofa, pulled her thong aside and leant forward to taste how wet she was already. One finger curled inside her as the other hand freed her tits from the basque to tease her nipples. She sank down further and further into the sofa, eagerly offering her pussy towards my mouth as my tongue drew circles on her clit. She came in short gasps, then pulled my head from between her legs and stared at me with an intensity.
“Fuck me.” Not the first words she’d said since she walked in, but might as well have been.
I pulled her up off the sofa and spun her round and down, leaving her on her back on the rug as I followed her down and lined up my cock. She arched her back as I entered her, her hands reaching round and scratching my own back as she pulled me deeper inside herself. We fucked hard, passionately, no time for talk – she was making up for eight years of remembering my cock.
We tired of the rug and I led her upstairs, throwing her down onto my old bed and pulling her onto her knees so I could fuck her from behind, reaching forward to grab a handful of her dirty-blonde hair. She reached down to play with herself as she called for me to go harder/ faster and quickly became one of the first girls I’d made squirt.
She rolled onto her back, wrapping her legs around my waist as she pulled me inside her. We built up a quick rhythm again. Words can tip me over the edge during sex, and being naturally competitive I like to ‘win’ the girl.
“Whose are you?” I asked.
“Not yours,” she replied, remembering her fiancé. That spurred me on and what had been a throwaway line now became critically important. I repeated the question but she kept her answer. I increased the pace further, both our breathing become more and more ragged as I kept asking and she continued to defer until she finally submitted.
“Yours.” She moaned.
“What was that?”
“I’m yours!”
“Are you my slut?” I struggled to get the words out in time.
“Yes,” she gasped. “I’m. Your. Fucking. Slut!” She almost screamed it as we both fell over the cliff, her pussy tightening around me as I came deep inside her. A shared and satisfying victory.
Epilogue.
That was unfortunately the only time. We continued to chat – she told me how much she’d tried to resist saying she was mine or that she was a slut, but also how much it had turned her on. Perhaps stroking my ego, she told me that was the best sex of her life – and that the first time all those years ago had been pushed into second place. We talked of rounding out the top three – I talked of a threesome with the hot friend with whom she used to fool around – but diaries didn’t work. I got a new girlfriend not too long afterwards and she was busy into wedding preparation. She offered up a weekend in Oxfordshire – she was going to a wedding on her own because the fiancé was off on his stag-do… she suggested I should be waiting in the Air BnB with my girlfriend when she got back from the wedding – we talked about dressing one of them up as an angel and one the devil and it sounded pretty damn good. But I foolishly thought it was too soon to throw that on the new girlfriend and it never happened. Damn shame.
Rose looked good in her wedding dress a few weeks later. Sadly I wasn’t invited…
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/d0h32k/a_kiss_from_someone_elses_rose_mf_cheating