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I first started with her telling me stories from her past. She’d whisper them in the dark, breath hot on my neck. She opened with how she sucked her boss in the alley behind the pizza joint—kneeling on broken glass and cigarette butts, his fist in her hair as she took every spurt. I’d seethe, knuckles white, but my cock throbbed. She kept talking, giggling about getting wasted and streaking through the city park with her girls—moonlight on her bare ass, tits bouncing while drunk dudes in the shadows yelled they’d fuck her raw. Later she admitted half the guys there jerked off in the bushes watching, begging for a turn she never gave.
She never stopped texting him after, phone buzzing under the pillow, nudes while I pretended to sleep. One guy slid in her DMs—tall, buzz-cut white Marine, fresh off deployment. They clicked fast, inside jokes and dick pics. I green-lit a brewery hang. She came home reeking of beer and cum, bragging she swallowed him in his truck, hot load coating her tongue. Next weekend I got blackout with the boys; she did sushi then a hotel with him. Mid-fuck she sent pics: her in black strappy lingerie, ass up on the bed, thong swallowed by her cheeks, pussy lips peeking out, captioned “wish this was you.” She kept sexting him every thrust while I puked in the bar sink. This was the start of a 2 year journey of her owning me.