[MF] I slept with my ex’s sister after bumping into her at a school parents evening

So, I live in a small town. My ex doesn’t live far away. My partner’s kid goes to a school where my ex’s sister teaches. Life is tight knit, and complicated.

The school does discos for parents to get together, usually with a band and a buffet. Recently they had a cocktail bar. It is a weird school for posh folk: not my scene but I went with my partner to keep her company.

While she was off talking to other parents, my ex’s sister – a teacher at the school – came up to me and said hello. She’s about ten years older than me. I’m 30, and I guess she’s roughly 40. She’s good looking though: one of the drama kids in school, and now a drama teacher. Brown hair, smiley, surprisingly perky looking tits, and a great bit wagon of an arse.

What I’m saying is, she’s hot. Epic MILF material: I thought so when my ex and I were together as well, but perhaps understandably kept that to myself.

We talked: small talk at first, asking one another about the cocktails we’d been drinking and relating whether or not we liked them. Then she said “enough of these things and I’m anyone’s” and looked me dead in the eye while she said it.

I’m not one to pass up an opportunity to flirt, so I smiled, looked her up and down, and half-jokingly asked how many before she was mine.

She looked shocked. She *actually blushed*. I told her she looked especially sexy when she was blushing. She laughed, thanked me, and told me if she was younger it wouldn’t even take one cocktail.

I was thrilled: that buzz that anyone who has flirted will recognise when flirting is reciprocated.

I said: “you’re only as young as you feel”

She replied, after a pause, looking me in the eye with a smirk and brushing her arse up against me for a moment: “you’ll have to let me know how I feel”

We parted ways after that: she was working, and had to mingle with parents. Her husband was present and my partner was too, so there were plenty of reasons to contain ourselves.

Later that night, I dug through old WhatsApp group chats. One from a family holiday years ago had her number in it. I sent her a message, perfectly innocently saying it had been nice to see her and I was looking forward to when we next bumped into one another.

She got back to me the next day by sending me a couple of emojis: sticky out tongue, splash, aubergine, horny devil. The meaning was clear enough. I sent her a peach and a tongue in response, and a single word: “Cocktails?”

We went out that week: I skipped the gym and she skipped an exercise class. We met at a train station a town over to avoid being seen, sitting close together in the carriage, her leg touching mine. We texted our other halves, saying we were going to go for a drink with people from our respective classes.

At the pub I placed my hand on her thigh, and she pressed her leg against mine. She opened her legs a little, and I slid my hand nearly to the top of her thigh: we were in sports gear to keep up the ruse. Her shorts were *short*, and skin tight, maybe lycra.

We drank and laughed and flirted, and eventually she told me she wished she’d been more of a slut (her word) when she was young, and confessed she married at 20 and had only ever slept with her husband. I feigned surprise: my ex had told me as much, although I’m still not sure why my ex knew. Families are weird sometimes.

I told her there was still time, that there was no time like the present, and that both our partners would be suspicious if we went home boozy but not sweaty. She laughed, all the more when I told her that the “obvious” solution was to have energetic, athletic sex with a younger man. She joked back, asking if I knew anyone suitable. I told her the only one she had to hand was deeply unsuitable, but that this would help her discover her sluttiness.

She laughed again, and whispered into my ear: “we don’t have much time – are you going to make me a slut tonight or not?”

I hadn’t expected her to be so forward. I paused for a second, smiled, and said yes. Then without another word I went to the bar and booked a room, thanking the gods of fuck that the train station pub was part of a hotel. I got the keys from the staff within a minute – they clearly knew what was happening – and walked back to the table.

“The room is 312. I’m going up. Finish your drink, then follow”

She nodded, shy for a moment, and sipped her drink as I left. I looked back, and met her gaze: she’d been watching me walk away. I thought it was only fair if she was checking me out: I’d been not very subtly eyeing her tits and caressing her thighs all night.

The room was nice enough, but I knew we didn’t have much time to appreciate it: we were an hour in, our train took ten minutes, our classes were meant to be two hours and drinks couldn’t plausibly go on for more than an hour or two. So, three hours to get home.

She knocked at the door. I peered at her through the spyhole for a second, seeing her adjust her tits, seemingly to make her cleavage even more eye-catching. I opened the door quickly, took her hand, and pulled her inside the room.

We kissed straight away, hard and passionate. Her hands made their way past my waist and her palms rested on my shoulders. I wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her in close, while I placed my other hand against her cheek with my fingers in her hair. I pushed her against the wall.

Her waist was toned and firm, her tits *deliciously* soft, her arse shapely and accentuated by her shorts.

I kissed her neck, then ventured lower to her chest, noticing my own ragged breathing as I noticed hers. My hand made its way from her face, ranging over her breasts, slowly down the cleft where her thigh met her body, and between her legs. She ran her fingers through my hair and between gasps she said:

“you, are, the least, appropriate, man, I could, do, this, with”

Then:

“I, fucking, need, this”

I told her she was having “this”, and asked her if she wanted to feel like a princess or a whore.

“make, make me, a, whore” she said, still between breaths.

Still kissing her neck, her shorts were wet between her legs, with arm pulling her close by her waist, I smirked to myself. I wondered if she fucked like my ex.

I rose, my face back to her ear, giving her a chance to feel my hard cock against her body, and whispered: “the best way for you to make a whore of yourself..”

I paused for a second to gauge her reaction: she moaned a little as I ran my fingers between her legs and, questioning, said: “yeah?”

“..is to kneel down and suck a cock. My cock.”

She didn’t say a word, but parted her legs, knees bowed out, then down to the ground, her face sliding against my body as she descended, eyes closed, mouth open and lips agape. Her hands unfastened my shorts and eased them down, and she looked up at me, eyes wide, until my hard cock was in front of her.

She took me in her mouth and forced as much of me down her throat as she could. She couldn’t deep throat but the clench of her throat when she gagged on me sent me wild. I don’t know what was so different about it, but I’ve never felt so much detail in a blowjob: the action of her lips halfway down my shaft or further, her squirming, hot tongue for the full length of me.

She held the base of my cock in one hand, moving it back and forth in sync as she sucked and choked on me. I saw drool on her chin: it made my cock throb even more.

I never like to push a woman’s head down during oral, out of consideration, but she took my hand and placed it on the back of her head, and pushed. I paused for a second, and took the signal. I grabbed her head with both hands and fucked her pretty little MILF mouth. I told her she was born to be a slut, that her place in life was to suck cock and swallow cum. She moaned approvingly as I felt my cock get as hard as it ever had.

She stopped for a second, still using her hands. I moaned at the change of sensation and nearly came on her face. Our eyes locked together again as she looked up at me.

She told me she couldn’t be a real slut without cum inside her, then took me in her mouth, sucking so hard I could see it in her cheeks, and forcing herself to take me even deeper. Her head moved fast and I couldn’t hold it any further. I warned her I was going to cum and she moved her head faster, even though she was gagging. I grunted hard, and gripped her head by her hair as I filled her mouth with cum.

She giggled, showed me my cum on her tongue, and swallowed it. She told me she felt like a porn star doing that, and that she had fantasised about it.

“Fuck” was roughly all I could say for a minute or two. She stayed on her knees the whole time: later, she told me she was kneeling to admire her handiwork.

I couldn’t let this pass without giving her something in return, though. I knew I’d be able to fuck after fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. I took her hand, gently, inviting her back on to her feet. I kissed her, slow and deep, with tongue. I wrestled with what words to use for a second, then told her I wanted to taste a slut’s pussy.

Feigning outrage, she pushed me on to the bed and told me how disrespectful I was:

“You need to learn how to talk to women, boy”

“And I thought I was doing *so* well” I replied

She smirked an evil smirk, then.

“A man’s place is to be seen and not heard” she joked, “and I know how to make sure of that”

Pushing me further on to the bed, I thought she was going to try to ride my (still recovering) cock. I was wrong. She straddled my face, and looked down at me. We’d discussed feminism in the past, and making a sly play on that, she told me:

“This is your place, boy. This is me, liberated, and I’m going to ride your face until I cum. You’re going to taste a liberated slut and you’re going to like it”

She paused for a second, maybe feeling a little bit silly. She blew me a kiss, and before I could reply, she lowered her pussy on to my face. I couldn’t have wanted her more if I had tried.

I remember the taste of her: clean, almost sweet. A cliché it might be, but it was like nectar. She had shaven completely and was smooth, and she was soft, and wet. I could feel her clit, a little lump, engorged, grinding across my lips, chin, nose, and tongue.

I grasped her body with my hands while she rocked on top of me, feeling her arse, her thighs, and her tits. I teased her nipples while she rode me, her hips gyrating while she hung on to the headboard.

After a while I could feel her sweating, beads of it making their way across her body. She was fit and strong, with stamina. I heard her moans, and my own muffled responses.

I could start to feel my cock come back to life as her pace quickened: moans turned into gasps, higher pitched, as her hips ground down harder on me. There wasn’t much I could usefully do but let her ride my tongue, and take pleasure in how she was using me.

She came hard, and loud. She swore, and said my name, and bucked hard. She took her hands from the headboard and grasped my hair in both of them, bearing down on me hard while her insides pulsed and tensed.

With very, very obvious relief, she ground on me one last time, gently, laughing and moaning as she did. She moved herself off me, and we met eyes again. We kissed.

She smiled and told me that the taste of my cum and her pussy was the real flavour of being a slut. I kissed her again, and told her that in that case, we both were. We laughed.

We had maybe an hour before we needed to get the train at this point. My mind was a little blown, but I wanted to fuck her, and do it hard. Maybe there’s something about having one’s face ground on for someone else’s orgasm that can make a man want to assert himself: I don’t know.

In any case, I sat up, and came level with her. My cock was fully hard again now, and I guided her hand to it. Once she was touching me, I gently ran my fingers between her legs again, and whispered into her ear that I wanted her, that she was a hot MILF who I’d fantasised about fucking for years, and that I wanted to bend her over, pull her hair, and fill her with cum.

She didn’t smile, but she bit her lip, and went down on to all fours. I moved behind her, taking my time to admire her girlishly narrow waist, her wide hips, and her still-young and pretty face looking back at me.

I took my time. First more gentle touching of her clit. Then the head of my cock, resting against her. I wanted to bait her into pushing back. She moaned, but kept still.

I pushed my cock inside her, slowly. We moaned, almost in unison. Her body was hot, her skin still glistening a little from riding my face. I paused when my cock was all the way inside her, and gave a little shove. She gasped a little.

“I’m going to fuck you hard, woman”, I said. She murmured in agreement. I took her hips in my hands, pulled out all the way to my tip, and thrust back in, hard this time.

I love it when women say “oh fuck” or “fuck yes just like that”, and she said both.

I pushed myself into her hard, and fast, pulling on her waist to go deeper, slapping her arse hard, daring her skin to leave a handprint for her husband. I took pleasure in fucking someone I’d known for years, who I could never have expected to fuck.

She seemed beyond words now, except for “fuck”. I was too.

I could feel her clench around me as I fucked her, pushing hard against her and pulling her in towards me.

A little recklessly, I took a hold of her hair, hard, and pulled her up. She was missing yoga, and I wanted to see her flex. She arched her back towards me, following where I led. I wrapped one arm around her front, then another, squeezing her tits and tweaking her nipples while I fucked her, hearing her voice responding to every touch and thrust.

Sweat was on me now, and the second time I cum always takes twice as long as the first. I could still taste her on my tongue, and knew, *knew* she had one load of my cum inside her already. While she moaned and panted and while my cock throbbed inside her, I took a deep pleasure at the thought of sending her home full of cum.

I could feel myself getting close now, a pulsing, squeezing sensation told me she was too. Losing control, I started to kiss her neck, barely avoiding giving her a love bite. The sensation of pushing myself inside her, the feel of her breasts, the sound of her breath the sight of her face pushed me over the edge. I throbbed, and moaned, and gripped her tight: I could feel her pussy clench around me and she let out a long, high moan.

Anyone nearby heard us both as we came. It was loud, and hard. We stayed still for a moment. I was still inside her. I ran one hand from her tits, across her chest and collar bone, to cradle her chin and bring her mouth to me to kiss.

Our sweat mingled, on our skins and the sheets.

We dressed, not bothering to shower. We didn’t speak for a long time, just smiling to ourselves and one another.

We left, checked out with the (amused) bar staff, and boarded the train home. Once again, I took pleasure in the fact that my cum was inside her: this woman, always unavailable to me before, who I was sending away with the taste of me in her mouth and between my legs.

I asked her, in a whisper, if that’s how she felt about me still having the taste of her on my lips, and my cock. She cocked her head at me, and whispered back “yes, and twice as much if your girlfriend sucks the taste of me off you”

She grinned an evil grin. It was hot, and naughty, and *mean* in a way that surprised me.

We went our separate ways at the station, with knowing smiles but without a kiss, to avoid attracting attention. It has been about four months and I haven’t seen her since, but I’m writing this prompted by a text message: she has invited me out for cocktails this week.

Wish me luck.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/xkjy3d/mf_i_slept_with_my_exs_sister_after_bumping_into