The break up was beyond messy and I won’t try to claim that it was only her to blame. It happened slowly and painfully over a few days. Things were said to each other and friends that couldn’t be taken back. Friends were slept with in revenge. Cars were keyed. CD’s and warm sweaters were not returned.
By the end we hated each other and didn’t speak. Our friends chose their sides and on the off chance we saw each other at parties or around town, we stared daggers. Then I moved and moved on. All I had left, was a handful of Polaroids, vague pleasant memories, and a lingering anger.
8 to be specific, each and every one at least a hard R, if not XXX rated.
I was shocked when a few years later, she texted me. We had a terse discussion. There were needs that needed to be met on both sides, things she wasn’t getting at home and she wanted the photos back.
*******************************
We met for the first time in years at a warehouse she had keys to from her job. It was late and the parking lot was empty. We made awkward hello’s and tried to hug, but we were both rigid.
She was a thin woman of medium height, short reddish brown hair and adorable freckles. She had this habit of opening her mouth and tonguing her canines that I quickly saw, as we stood awkwardly, she still had. It was just the start of fall in the north east and we were both in pants and light jackets.
“Well,” she said, suddenly so much shyer that she had been in the texts. She looked down, but then back up and directly into my eyes. I saw irritation. “This is fucking stupid, I don’t know why I wanted this, did you bring it?”
I pulled the polaroid out of my pocket. A picture of her, almost 6 years before hand, naked, taken looking down at her with her breasts prominently in the picture. She looked drunk, because she was always drunk, and you could just see at the edge of the photo that she was squatting onto and fucking a beer bottle.
She reached for it but I held it back. “That wasn’t the deal,” I said.
She nodded and seemed genuinely conflicted. As if I really was black mailing her.
“Well,” I asked and she gave me an annoyed look.
“I have a boyfriend you know,” she said.
I shrugged, “I don’t care and it sure as fuck didn’t bother you when you were fucking around on me.”
I saw her cheeks darken and when she spoke it was with the old anger I remembered, “Oh fuck you, that was a lifetime ago and I wouldn’t have sucked his . . . .”
I held up my hand to stop her and said, “Do you want it back or not. I’m not hear for us to replay our last fight.”
Fuck you she said, but turned to walk to the building and I followed. We found our way into an office area that was warm and had a comfy couch.
We stared at each other for a moment as she closed the door behind us.
“I’m not kissing you,” she said.
I almost said something snarky, but left it. “That isn’t where I want your mouth anyway.”
And without another word she was down, on her knees. Unzipping my fly, unbuttoning my pants and dropping them and my boxers to my ankles. She spit on her hand and took my still limp cock and began to stroke it while tonguing my head.
“I see you’ve learned something,” I said as my cock quickly hardened.
“Fuck you,” she said again, before trying and failing to deep throat me. Matching her hand stroking me with her mouth. I put my hands on her head but she swatted them away and I let them fall.
The spit lubed hand and mouth felt great and I backed up slowly, her shuffling along, until I was sitting on the arm of the couch.
“It must feel nice having a real cock in your mouth again,” I said, but she didn’t respond.
I saw her hand moving down and heard the snap of her jeans and the zipper. I felt her stop for a moment to readjust, moving her hand into the front of her pants. Then she kept stroking and sucking.
I wanted to fuck her, I wanted to taste her fingers and her cunt. But that wasn’t the deal. The deal was the blow job. And she was performing well.
As she continued to suck and stroke, sending waves of pleasure through me, I saw her body starting to react to her own hand. Time passed. I have no idea how much. And I felt myself getting close.
“I’m going to cum,” I said and she immediately pulled her mouth off of me, stroking harder, and looking up, looking angry.
“Fuck you,” she said and I began to cum, splashing it across her face. Some got into her mouth and she made a gagging face, but didn’t move, her hand now clearly visible, sliding around inside her pants.
“Fuck you,” I said back watching and taking the photo from my jacket and showing it to her and throwing it onto the ground. “There you go.”
“Just leave,” she said, but didn’t stop masturbating.
“You like me watching,” I said, “don’t pretend.”
She looked away and I heard her whisper, “Say it, the thing.”
“Whore,” I said and she shuddered. “You are pretending like I’m fucking raping you are something when you set this whole thing up and are now masturbating like a fucking whore while your boyfriend sits at home.”
“Fuck you,” she said, but her body was twitching.
“You literally have my semen dripping off your face, your cheating on him with me and your going to go back to him like a whore smelling of cum,” I said, getting into the spirit.
She kept masturbating and refused to make eye contact, but said again, “fuck you.”
“And you are loving it, you love being a whore, you love being used, and you can’t wait until the next time when I demand more than just a blow job for the next photo,” I said.
“What are you going to make me do,” she said, gasping.
“FUCK YOU,” I said, “Fuck your little whore wants, I’m not going to give you a list of what I’m going to do to you, but I can promise your going to like it a lot less than this,” I said. “I still remember what used to make you safe word whore, and I can promise you we will be doing that and more.”
She began to cum then, rocking on the floor, my semen on her face, a nude photo laying next to her. As she finished I pulled up my pants and zipped them and started to leave.
“Let me know when your free for the next one,” I said.
“You could at least get me some tissues,” she said, sounding angry again.
“Fuck you,” I said as I left.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/jk2u87/mf_a_handful_of_polaroids_part_1_mshumilreluc
Sounds like you both had an intense but toxic relationship in the past! You both know each others hot spots, no doubt there will be more as she only took / wanted one of the pictures (assume she knows how many there are?).