A rebound fuck desperately wants what my ex had – longish [FM]

M and I chose to stay broken up, as hard as that was on the both of us. In truth, it was a nightmare. I’d become so fond of her, and couldn’t fathom not being the person she came home to every day, but there was hardly any time left to us before she’d move away and we didn’t see any reason to rip the band aid off twice. None of this is to say that I didn’t try my damnedest to convince her to stay, even resorting to begging on more than one occasion; I can assure you she enjoyed that. We both spend ample time on our knees for each other.

But, alas, the clock was against us and this really was a case of loving someone enough to let them go. Pity me, dear reader, for my sorrow was replete with the abject misery of a man utterly bereft of direction, purpose, or joy in equal measure.

It sucked so bad. I never saw her again.

Term of my third year kicked off uneventfully enough. I put my nose hard to the grindstone and set my eyes on a graduate program in the big city; I’d need to hustle hard to make up for 2 years of relative mediocrity, but M had brought out the best in me before, and I could use the things I’d learned with her to some effect. I really began to find a pace that worked for me, and welcomed the distraction of my work. The school even offered me a small, paying post with its resource and access center, which was uncommonly offered to students in my year. I gladly accepted, eager to stem the hemorrhage in my savings.

Nearly the entire term sped past me, spent studying, working, and partying infrequently. I remained voluntarily chaste, mostly by using words like ‘chaste’ in conversation. In all seriousness, there wasn’t any time or much real desire for company.

Until she walked through the door of the student center. S, for now I guess; best be consistent. In my year, and previously attached to an acquaintance I’d run with in first year occasionally, she was not unknown to me. She was short, hardly over 5′, and petite but for her nearly unreasonable hips; I’m not sure she knew that the gym had anything other than squat racks. She wore, as she nearly always did when I saw her on campus, grey sweats, sneakers, a cropped tank, and an unzipped hoodie. It was a confusing aesthetic, but the dangly little belly button ring with the small metal butterfly dancing across her midriff was eye catching enough to enthrall me.

She was there to book a makeup test or something, which was easy enough; the appointment was for a half hour block but her paperwork (an illegible doctor’s note) was sufficient to get us through the business in 5 minutes. To my delight, she stuck around, and we flirted. Her standards were not extremely high and the fact that I worked on campus seemed an oddly impressive thing to her. I asked her out. She said yes.

It went well, so we kept at it. It was very casual, with both of us having recently left something long term, so we just enjoyed it for what it was. She was smart, had plans, had a great (if raunchy) sense of humor, and a penchant for laying on her tummy and pulling her yoga pants down just far enough for quickies far more often than I thought was realistic.

It was great fun. She’d come over and lay on my bed to study while I sat nearby at my desk working away, and I’d often look up to find her staring down at her textbook, highlighter in hand, ass bare to the ceiling, waiting for me to take her. I say ‘take her’ like I was in any way responsible; she was getting just what she wanted. I mounted her every time gladly; her cheeks fit in my hands like they were made to be held fast, and she made a game of acting like she was still reading for as long as she could, often only betrayed in the moments before she came by a slight moan and a tightening fist around her pen. I painted that perfectly fat little ass a dozen times a week or more like that sometimes.

We had other sex too, but that was by far her favorite; pants tugged down, nice and quick, no fuss, and almost always on her tummy. She wasn’t overly fond of being licked, which was a real let down, but liked tremendously to be laid across my lap and fingered while I rubbed and groped her, sometimes idly while we watched a movie but often just for something to do when she was horny. She thanked me too, every time, which I thought was entirely too sexy, especially if I pulled her hair a little. I’m not given to being a dominant type often, so it took some adjusting to give her what she liked, but I got the hang of it.

Having left my last relationship just months prior, it was only a matter of time before something of my previous partner’s reared it’s head in my apartment; in this case it was a book that had been affectionally signed with an XO on the inside cover. I wasn’t dating S in that time, not in an ‘official’ sense, but expected disappointment when I watched, in horror, as she plucked it down off my shelf. She definitely saw the little note in the front cover. I died a little, bracing for some acknowledgement. It never came.

She sat down beside me, book in hand, on my crappy futon. I didn’t dare look over at her as she began to pretend to read it, having opened it half a hundred pages in. I sat stock still, breath held. Two minutes passed, and she turned the page. Another tense minute, and she spoke. What does the word ‘recumbent’ mean? I begged her pardon, and she repeated herself, adding that it was in the book and she wasn’t familiar with it. I told her cautiously that I thought it meant something was laid out, like you might do on a couch. She Hmm’d, and kept going, laying back recumbently and tenting her legs between herself and I, hiding behind the book from me. Unable to bear the situation another five minutes and growing tired of the sound of the TV doing a miserable job of filling the silence, I blurted out that I was sorry she’d found that, that I should have gotten rid of it, that I got her point, and that she didn’t have to keep pretending to read it. She lowered the book and spread her knees to look at me with a devilish smirk, telling me to relax; she found it a week ago, and she wasn’t pretending to read anything – she’d actually started it in earnest and enjoyed it. She’d had class with my ex on more than one occasion and thought she seemed cool, and the book was no big deal.

I have no words to describe my relief, but several to convey my embarrassment, which was crushing. She laughed at me, which served to humble me and diffuse the tension between me, myself, and I, what with her not feeling any kind of way at all about a piece of my previous relationship held in her hands. Besides, she told me, M had really seemed great.

She was, I allowed.

She and I seemed so good together, which I also conceded.

Now that S was here with me, she could see why M was so happy, she said. I was officially getting a little into concerned waters again.

S flopped the book down on her tummy. She said she was glad that it was her turn, finally. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and looked down next to me like an ape as she continued, hands busy playing with the ends of her hair and swishing carelessly through the air while she carried on with her confession. As an older student, my ex had been popular; it was a small school and people knew the business of folks they’d never met. Everyone knew M was infatuated and being taken well care of at home. A drunken confession made in a busy kitchen party had carried a glowing review of yours truly halfway across campus. S had taken note, and put me squarely in her sights. She flipped her hair off her shoulders and tugged the top of her turquoise down, popping her pert little titties out for me; she hardly filled out an A cup, and didn’t bother with more than a little sports bra unless she went out. Her puffy nipples had grown hard. She was enjoying something about this. The monologuing continued, and I expected this to take an “I got what I wanted and you’re mine, I won” sort of thing.

No, that wasn’t it. She pinched her nipples playfully as the book slid to the floor, carrying on. She had wanted me, that much was true, but it was the jealousy that compelled her. Every night laying under the oaf she’d been with, she had closed her eyes and imagined what M must be getting right then; a long, hard pounding from someone with actual ambition and literally any regard for who she was as a person, an equal half of a popular-ish couple on campus. An adult relationship, with a discernable direction, more than just a habit for showing up to places together. She tugged her yoga shorts past her bum, knees still bent but spread enough to see between them to watch as she caressed her body; her chest was flushing red. It wasn’t just for me alone that she made a habit of masturbating after her boyfriend fell asleep. but the jealousy itself of what M had. The hand not still cupping her own left breast was barely noticeably reached around her bottom, rubbing at her tender pussy. I decided I was clear of any danger of misreading what was about to happen, and fumbled my belt and fly open.

S surged on. She knew I ‘ate well at home’ and got off on the sweet torture of knowing she couldn’t even bring herself to enjoy that sort of thing. Her fingers were probing herself now, slipping wetly inside herself. She further made things harder on herself knowing that I came inside of M every time we fucked, while her meathead boyfriend lazily lobbed full condoms toward his garbage can every night. Things got emotionally complex as I pulled my cock out and began to stroke myself, unsure who or what I was masturbating for; S enjoyed the show though, and carried on to tell me that she’d cum so many times thinking about how hot the sex was for us when word got out that we’d need to break up at some point. She knew I just had to be taking her every day like it was going to be the last time, and sometimes moaned our names interchangeably into her pillow at night; mine in lust and M’s in abject envy. Her tone in confession is hard to describe, but landed somewhere between self pity, anger, longing, and desperation.

I beckoned her over to me, and she let out an exasperated little whimper. I was nearly sure now that this was something she’d hoped to orchestrate, and her pitiful agony was filling me with the urge to exorcize her needs. She stood up before me, and I leaned forward to turn her around by the hips, roughly as seemed to suit her mood, and jerked her shorts down abruptly; she let out a happy little noise, and I demanded she lose the top.

Having complied, and having ditched my own clothes while she shed her tank, and brought her to sit facing away from me between my legs on the deep cushion of the couch. She draped her left leg over my thigh and settled comfortably half turned toward me, asking if this was okay; my stiff cock stood up and pressed into her back. I told her that it was perfect and reached around to swat at the hand she’d begun to rub herself with again. I rebuked her, asking why she thought this meant she could touch, and she stuck out a pouty lip. I took over the rubbing, gliding up and down her slit and drawing some of the slick with my fingertip up to her taught clit. I began to circle as she moaned for all the world like an addict getting their fix. I demanded she tell me more and began to kiss at her neck, jaw, and ear, groping her chest roughly with my free hand. Determined not to come on all at once and get her off too mercifully quickly, I kept a slow pace while she instead began to ask me questions about M.

Did I really fuck her raw? Yes, every time.

And I came inside? Always, unless I wanted to cover her.

Had I ever fucked her ass? Why should I, when her pussy was so tight, and her lips so soft. That got a truly feral moan.

How did she like to be taken? On her back, so she could see me, so she could look me in the eye when she came for me.

And I made her cum often? Oh yes, I cooed in her ear, I made sure she came for me every time.

How could I be sure she was cumming? What if she had faked it? I told her that you can’t fake how wet she’d made the sheets every night in a tone that suggested she was a fool for thinking otherwise.

She was actually whining now; it would have sounded pathetic if it wasn’t as hot as it was, or had I not known that this was exactly what she wanted. We carried on like this for a few more minutes, with her asking about M and becoming increasingly squirmy in my lap with each more hurtful response. Finally, after I murmured something about how sore my cock had always been from how often we’d fucked, S jumped out of my lap in exasperation and lay on her back, prostrate on the floor before me, grabbing her knees and cranking her legs as far apart as I was sure they’d go. Her face was bright red and contorted in anguished need as she begged me to fuck her already, as she could fucking take this anymore. I haven’t convinced myself, to this day, that I didn’t imagine the tear on her cheek.

I did take her then. I dropped to my knees on the floor with her and rubbed at her with my hand for a final tease, sliding two fingers in before withdrawing and popping them in her mouth; she suckled at them like they were a Michelin grade treat. I kept them there as I pushed my cock, held in one hand, slowly into her; she bit down on my forefingers, increasingly painfully the deeper I went. She maintained her feral grip as I asked if that was okay, and I winced while she nodded vigorously.

Given the go ahead, I fucked her. There was no art to it, or technique that I’ll deceive you into thinking I put on. I fucked her. She held her legs open for me and I gave her every inch that I had as deeply as she could bear, mercilessly pounding into her with a fervor that I hoped could match the burning intensity of what she’d whipped herself into. Wanting to hold her hips with both hands, I cast around and grabbed her yoga shorts off the floor, pulling my hand out of my mouth and drawing back to turn them inside out before stuffing the crotch of them into her mouth. Knowing that might have been a gamble, she smiled at me around the mouthful of spandex, mostly with her eyes, and nodded. I took my grip of her waist and resumed my thumping rhythm, enjoying the muffled cries into her shorts and the feel of her abs tightening in my hands each time she came for me.

Eventually, I told her I was close. I’d lasted far longer than I thought I would, but she had certainly drained me often enough that week to account for the stamina. She spit the shorts out and said only “Inside”. It was not a question, or even a plea. It was fact, and I was tempted beyond reason to give in. This had all been entirely too much fun though, and she clearly got off (to say the least) on the torture of what had happened. I was running out of time to debate myself; I was sweaty now, my breath was running short, and my knees had been friction burned to ragged messes on the rug.

I told her No, and pulled out to erupt all over her, covering her from tummy to tits while she cried out in protest, amusingly smearing the cum that was landing on her all over her sweaty torso in the most obscene sheen imaginable. Shaking out the last drops onto her pubic mound and smudging it into her pubes with a hand, I came in low and licked from her tummy to her sternum, completing my pass to end in an affectionately salty kiss. She liked that bit, a lot.

We collapsed in breathless bliss, laughing when we were finally able. It was certainly a fuck to remember, and her two word review was music to my ears.

Thank You.

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Lmao I told myself this was going to be short. Oh well. Resubmitting to fix some errors :)

As ever, thanks so much for reading. I love hearing from readers more than anything, so please drop a quick hello if you liked this piece; you’d be making my day if you did.

Be good.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ze5ekw/a_rebound_fuck_desperately_wants_what_my_ex_had