So my ex, Jake, cheated on me months ago with some random girl from his frat. Thought he could just slide back in with a “miss you” text a year later like nothing happened. Bold, right?
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By then, I was already seeing Marcus, 6'4", gym rat, dick like a Red Bull can. It was just for fun, nothing serious. Meanwhile, Jake starts blowing up my phone calls, texts, flowers, crying like it was a movie. Total drama.
I finally told him, half-joking, “If you really want back into my life, you can sit in the corner and watch Marcus remind me what a real man feels like.” Didn’t think he’d actually say yes… but he did. Like, instantly.
Told Marcus about it and instead of being weirded out, he pushed me to go through with it. Said, “Why not? Sounds hot.” Honestly, after what Jake did, getting caught mid thrust with that chick, I figured, screw it. Revenge sounds fun.
We picked Friday night.
My roommate was out. The apartment smelled like vanilla candles. I wore the black lace teddy Jake used to buy me "for later", the one he never got to see me in. Marcus showed up in sweats, shirtless, gave Jake a lazy nod like, “Sup, spectator.”
Jake sat on this little wooden kitchen chair I dragged in. Hands on his knees. Eyes wide.
Marcus started slow. Hands on my waist. Kissing my neck. Teasing me in these slow, melting circles. Lifted me onto the couch arm, no panties, and slid in, inch by inch. That first stretch burned so good, I gasped loud enough to echo off the walls.
Jake’s chair creaked. I know he shifted.
Marcus took his time, long, deep strokes that hit spots Jake never even knew existed. I let my moans get louder on purpose. Each one was basically me saying, “Thanks for cheating, asshole.”
Twenty minutes in, Marcus stood up, lifted me like I was nothing, carried me to my bed. Headboard slammed, sheets twisted. He flipped me over, pinned my hands above my head, and started fucking me hard. I could feel Jake’s stare burning holes in us. I could hear his breathing.
Then Marcus leaned in and whispered, “Tell him who owns this.”
And I moaned back, “Not Jake.”
I looked over. Jake’s knuckles were white, gripping the chair arm like his life depended on it.
Marcus finished deep inside me, hot, slow pulses and stayed there while I caught my breath.
Then I turned my head, looked Jake dead in the eye, sweaty, red-faced, pathetic and said, “Thanks for the show, babe. Door’s that way.”
He left without a word. Shoulders hunched. I blocked him the next morning.
Best. Closure. Ever.
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