My libido woke from its temporary hibernation and delivered this dream, alongside my writing mojo. Welcome back to both. Please feel free next time not to drag That Guy up out of my subconscious along with you.
like all good parties, most of the action has coalesced in the kitchen. Guests lean against the counters, drinks in one hand, the other draped casually around nearby waists or scrabbling at tortilla chips. Robust opinions mingling in good-natured rowdiness against the backbeat of the nostalgic 90s Britpop blaring from the corner speakers.
I’m standing alone by the back door, trying not to sneak too many glances at him in case he notices. It’s been a long time since we split up, under not-entirely-amicable terms (for which I must accept my share of responsibility – which is most of it). He’s changed little, his long blond hair showing evidence of recent highlighting; handsome, boyish – almost delicate – Nordic cheekbones and wide blue eyes, tip-tilted nose a startling contrast to the sandy goatee and black leather clothing. My stomach flutters when I look at him. Admiration, for he is as pretty as I remembered. Apprehension, in case he is still angry or worse – disdainful. Hope. A tiny, flickering butterfly of hope. For what, I’m not exactly sure. Something.
he’s with a girl. A really cool, funky girl I’ve never seen before, sporting electric blue hair that flops over an undercut on one side and chunky steel spikes through her earlobes. She has a face like a mischievous porcelain angel, all rosebud lips and dimples. I want to hate her for being right there next to him, her thumb hooked through his belt loop. She’s pretty, with a deep dirty laugh and flames tattooed along her thin bare arms. I’m looking for some reason to despise her, but find myself lost instead in a study of her arched brows and red lips as she sips at her beer and converses.
damn. He’s caught me looking. A neutral nod of recognition. He tips his beer bottle in greeting and nestles the girl under his arm a little closer. I nod back, touch a finger to my forehead in a salute then deliberately turn my attention to the nearest bowl of crisps. My heart is racing.
we’re in a bedroom, sparsely adorned with a mattress in the corner upon which I am propped against the wall and she is bending her head to my breast, sucking at the erect nipple. I’n groaning as a flood of sensation washes over me, grabbing a handful of blue strands to mash her head against my body. She’s struggling, but only in token protest, mostly she’s squirming in glee. The cold metal in her ears digs into my hot skin as her tongue swirls across the sensitive nub in her mouth. He’s holding her arms behind her at the wrists, observing with clinical detachment, his interest betrayed only by the swelling bulge in his black jeans.
I still want him. I want him to want me. I want her more.
she’s wriggling, pressing herself closer against me, raising her head to meet my lips with hers. I pull her in for a kiss, delving into her mouth with my tongue, still holding tightly to her hair. Her lips will be bruised in the morning; I’m crushing them with my own, sucking and nipping, urged on by her small whimpers of lust and need.
he’s behind me, skimming his long-fingered hands over my hips and around to my belt-buckle. A flick and a twist; the belt is undone and slithering through loop after loop until it’s all in his hands and encircling my neck. Firmly, he draws me away from her, reaches down to unzip my jeans and yanks at my knickers hard, pulling them tight between my labia. He’s biting my shoulder, vicious nips with sharp teeth.
she slides my jeans down, lowers her face to the taut cloth bisecting my flesh, and inhales deeply. Something about this action is so deliciously greedy, so uninhibited that it makes me catch my breath. Then she is tugging my knickers aside and probing eagerly for my clit with the tip of her tongue.
we’re grinding; sitting naked on the mattress facing each other, legs interlaced and gazes locked. Propped on one hand, she watches me closely as with the other, she pulls at my nipples and slaps at my breasts; my own arms twisted painfully up my back while he rubs himself against me and whispers filth into my ear
you love this don’t you, slut? Your cunt was dripping as soon as you saw her, watching her doing you makes me want to fuck your mouth until you choke, you bitch. I might just hold you down and let her hurt you. She wants to hurt you. Do you think her fist would fit inside you? I think it would. I think you’d love to have that hungry cunt stretched and pounded while I stuff my cock down your throat
but no, I think you’d like that too much, being given what you want. Maybe it’s time you were treated like the fucktoy whore you should be, instead of the selfish bitch you really are.
and his words cut me as much as they make me howl with joy, every syllable dripping with lust and poison, and I don’t care if he hates me as long as he fucks me, because all I want is her, to hurt me, really hurt me until I scream and cry, and I want to make her come so that she screams along with me and forgets that he even exists at all
on my hands and knees, head held in place with four handfuls of hair; his, at my rear as he works his cock into the tight whorl above my dripping cunt, hers pulling me forwards while she grinds her slick cunt into my face. Every harsh word I spoke to him is visited back upon me with his silent revenge, pulling sharply on my hair, he fucks my arse as though punishing me is now his life’s work and his soul’s redemption
and I’d be begging him for mercy if my mouth weren’t stopped up with her, juices tricking down my chin and my tongue shoved as deep inside her as I can reach. She screams, shudders, and her hot come floods my mouth tasting of salt and musk, she’s as delicious as I knew she would be from when I first saw her
but they won’t let me come
she holds the belt taut around my neck as he pounds into me, tighter, tighter until my vision starts to cloud and my ears to ring, then she lets go and celebrates my gasping helplessness by biting – hard – at my neck and breasts. She laughs with delight when I flinch from her and each time she does, he thrusts harder and deeper until just as I start to teeter on the edge of climax, he pulls out and yanks me round by the hair to face him, pumping his come in hot splatters across my lips and cheeks spitting “you fucking CUNT” through gritted teeth as he does so.
and she won’t let me wipe it off, but smirks at me as it dries.
Then I’m awake, alone in my own bed; cunt aching, thighs slick, desperately horny. Wishing I could stop him from sidling so often into my dreams, wondering why when he does, it’s better than we could ever make it in reality