Though we had ended our relationship four months ago, my ex-girlfriend and I continued to share the small apartment—and even the same bedroom—due to our lease not yet expiring. Despite no longer being together, our bond was surprisingly close, nearly like a couple, but without the intimacy. It wasn’t for lack of desire on her part; she was irresistibly sexy. Yet, I always came too quickly, failing to satisfy her, which contributed to our breakup. She told me bluntly: she needed real cock. She reminisced about how, before we got together, she could have anyone she wanted.
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At first, the situation was painful. But I found some solace in the nude photos she’d sent me during our time together. They were incredibly hot, and I’d use them to pleasure myself—until the day she caught me. When she saw those pictures on my phone, anger washed over her, and she demanded I delete them. I pleaded, wanting to keep those last pieces of our intimacy, but she was firm: if we weren’t together anymore, I couldn’t keep them. She took the phone from my hand and left the room abruptly.
After about half an hour, she returned, tossing the phone back to me with a sly smile. I felt relief until I unlocked it—every single photo was blurred, censored so I couldn’t see her breasts or her most intimate parts. She laughed at my stunned expression, telling me it was all I deserved since I couldn’t satisfy her in reality.
That was harsh, but things grew even more difficult once she started bringing a new boyfriend home. She arrived one evening with him in tow and promptly pushed me out of our bed. I retreated to the living room, attempting to distract myself with television. However, through the noise, I heard her unmistakably—sucking his cock, gagging, and giggling. His cock filled her mouth, and soon, passionate moans followed. They fucked hard and fast; she screamed with pleasure, declaring how long it had been since she’d felt real cock.
Despite the pain, I couldn’t deny my growing arousal from overhearing them. I turned off the TV and allowed myself to masturbate to the vivid soundtrack of her pleasure—the slap of skin, her needy cries. I shut my eyes and pictured her bent over our bed, taking him deep and hard. Before long, my orgasm crashed over me, and I spilled a heavy load, overwhelmed by the knowledge she was getting exactly what she craved.
They kept going for over an hour; eventually, I noticed his moans soften and minutes later, the door quietly closed behind him. I crept back to our bedroom to find her naked, sprawled on the bed. Her face and lips were smeared with cum, and she sensuously licked it clean.
When she caught me watching, she warned me not to look as she got up and walked toward the bathroom. I lay down in the strangely warm wet spot beside me, feeling strangely comfortable. While I listened, she brushed her teeth and showered. When she emerged in pajamas, she slid under the covers, switched off the light, and murmured, “I’m going to sleep well tonight.” As I closed my eyes, she added with a smirk, “Oh, by the way, I accidentally used your toothbrush. Sorry—I was in a rush to get the taste of cum out of my mouth.”