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I still remember the first day I met Janet back in my early job days. She had something about her that made me obsessed. Brown skin, Indian, curly hair spilling over her shoulders, around 5 feet tall, with medium-to-big boobs and a curvy, natural body. Her stretch marks drove me crazy—they made her feel so real, so mine whenever I touched them. From the beginning, I was in love with her, I craved her, but I was also scared. She already had a boyfriend, and deep down I feared she would eventually break my heart.
With Janet, the sex was always wild. Whenever we met, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I still remember we once made love 15 times in a single day—she laughed afterward, telling me we broke her record with her boyfriend. She was hot and confident, and I was madly in love. What made her unforgettable wasn’t only her body—it was her mind. She was intelligent, deeply into books, and we shared a connection that went beyond sex. And yet… the sex itself was phenomenal. She had zero shyness in bed. She’d grab my cock with hunger, slide it into her throat with passion, and make me explode faster than I wanted to. Recently, though, I became obsessed with a new fetish: eating her pussy endlessly, licking her asshole, and hoping she’d squirt in my mouth.
For years in our situationship, she only slept with her boyfriend besides me. But that never stopped her from telling me how he was better than me. She never held back when she compared us. She would laugh softly, reminding me about his bigger cock, deeper thrusts, and how she preferred swallowing his cum more than mine. Sometimes, she outright said, “He fucks me better than you.” Or she’d laugh while saying, “I drink his cum but yours doesn’t excite me as much.”
Those words hurt, but at the same time—they crawled into my fantasies at night. It confused me. Was I upset? Turned on? Both? Slowly, without realizing it, my jealousy was transforming into arousal.
I still remember one story she told me about a man she met once, the one with the biggest cock she had ever seen. She never actually fucked him, but the way she described him left me dizzy. Me and Janet would spend hours fantasizing about what if. What if she let that guy fuck her? How much would he stretch her? How much tighter and wetter would she get for him? The idea burned me—until I realized it was turning me on more than it upset me.
Meanwhile, my life moved forward and I am now single.As for me— I wasn’t inexperienced either. I’ve fucked 17 women till now. I am an Indian. I always thought of myself as an alpha male, not average by any means. My partners constantly praises my dick, and in our sex lives, sex is amazing.
But with Janet, none of that mattered. She had this power over me, and she used it in cruel ways that I secretly craved.
She would texts me late, sometimes after meeting her boyfriends or fuckbuddies, and tell me how they’d stretched her pussy, how their loads felt, what she swallowed. I started asking dirty, humiliating questions: “If you had a free pass, between me, your ex, your BF, and your office guys, who would you pick?” She never flinched: I was always last. “If we were married, would you let me fuck you after your ex?” She laughed, “No. You’d only lick me. Once a real man stretches me, I wouldn’t even feel your dick. You’d just clean up their cum. Maybe eat my ass too.”
Hearing that broke me—and rewired me.
I was longing for months to meet her again in person, but she would always make excuses. At last, she agreed. She let me come over under one condition: I couldn’t fuck her. I could only clean her.
She opened the door with a warm smile, pulling me into a quick hug that lingered just enough to stir old feelings. “Come in, I’ve missed this.” Her apartment felt cozy as always—soft lighting, books everywhere, the faint scent of her perfume mixing with something deeper, more primal. She led me to the sofa, settling back in a loose top that draped over her curves and a short skirt that rode up her thighs. I sat beside her, heart racing.
We talked easily at first, catching up like old times—her latest book obsession, my work stress, light laughs about mutual friends. Her bare feet tucked under her, curly hair falling free, she looked effortlessly radiant. Then her tone shifted, casual but intimate, eyes locking on mine. “You know, I saw my ex earlier today. It was intense… we went a few rounds, completely bare. No protection.”
She uncrossed her legs slowly, the skirt hiking higher. “I’m not wearing panties right now. My pussy’s still raw from him—swollen, sensitive. I can feel his cum inside, warm and thick, every time I shift.” Her hand rested on her thigh, inches from the edge, the air growing heavier with that unmistakable musk wafting up.
She sighed, leaning back, a tired but inviting smile playing on her lips. “I’m exhausted from it all… but if you want to eat me, go ahead. It’ll feel good.”
She lay back, legs open, pussy trimmed and messy, still glistening with their mixed juices. The musky, raw smell hit me—unmistakable fresh creampie. I kneeled down and started licking. For the first three minutes, she didn’t even look at me, just watched TV like I was a background service. Only later did she sigh and moan softly, her body relaxing into it.
I pushed my tongue deep, curling inside her stretched walls, tasting him—salty, thick remnants coating my mouth as I sucked and slurped her clit. She pressed my head harder. “He stretched me good earlier, filled me up raw… you’ll never fuck me like that. Eating my creampie pussy is your only use.”
I grew harder hearing her degrade me, swallowing his cum mixed with her wetness.
Then she pushed me lower. “Clean my ass too.”
I spread her cheeks and shoved my tongue into her asshole. Licking, circling, probing until I drooled, desperate to please. She sighed above me, fully in control.
Her hips bucked softly, breaths turning to moans, her fingers weaving into my hair to guide me. “Mmm… so good… he left so much there.”
Alternating now, I trailed my tongue downward, lapping the dripping seam between pussy and ass, gathering every stray drop. Pressing her thighs wider, I spread her cheeks with my free hand—my other still shagging firmly, building that aching pressure—and circled her puckered asshole, teasing the sensitive rim before pushing inside. The heat was intense, musky and tight, clenching around my probing tongue as I thrust rhythmically, alternating back up to her pussy in long, sweeping licks—sucking out fresh waves of cum, her walls fluttering against me. My strokes quickened, cock twitching in my grip, the dual worship driving me wild, her moans filling the room.
Panting against her skin, I murmured, “Sit on my face… please.” Her eyes sparkled with desire as she stood briefly, shedding her top to reveal her full breasts swaying free. She turned, positioning herself reverse above me on the floor—knees framing my head, her curvy ass descending slowly, deliberately. I thought she will let me eat her pussy again but no, it was asshole. First, her dripping pussy brushed my chin, smearing remnants across my lips, then her asshole settled firmly over my mouth, sealing in the intimate heat. The weight of her was perfect—thighs pressing my cheeks, stretch marks brushing my nose, her scent overwhelming as she ground down gently.
“Tongue out,” she breathed, and I obeyed, spearing deep into her ass while she reached forward, fingering her clit with expert circles—her free hand occasionally stroking my pumping fist, teasing my edge. I rimmed her ravenously, tongue swirling and thrusting, saliva mixing with trickling cum from above, my own hand flying faster on my cock. Her body tensed, moans escalating, hips rocking in waves—until she shattered, screaming softly as her pussy convulsed, squirting in powerful, hot jets that flooded my mouth and chin, his load flushing out in creamy bursts. I swallowed desperately, shagging through my own peak, spilling onto my stomach in shuddering release beneath her.
Rising shakily, she gazed down tenderly, fingers tracing my cum-streaked face. “You always know how to make me feel so good… You really love me, don’t you?”
Her laugh held quiet affection.
Connected deeply—her trusted one. She loved me in her unique way.
That was my truth. That was us.