I Called My Ex and Lived the Night My Boyfriend Never Gave Me

I could never forget the nights I spent with Marcus during my first year at college. He was the one who truly introduced me to my body, to what I liked, and even to how far I could go. For months, there wasn't a week when we didn't end up tangled together in his room, exhausted and happy, swearing that the next day we'd seriously study.

Fate took care of separating us. Marcus had to leave his degree and return to his country to look after his parents, who were already elderly and ill. He left one winter morning, and for years I heard nothing from him. All I had left was the memory, which weighed more heavily than I liked to admit.

I carried on with my life. I met Martín, started dating him, and moved in with him. He's a good man, of that I have no doubt. The problem begins and ends in bed. Sex with him almost never went beyond adequate: he'd put it in for three or four minutes, come, and go to sleep. He rarely brought me to the edge. When he finished, he'd fall asleep within minutes, while I would lie there staring at the ceiling, my pussy throbbing and my panties soaked, finishing alone with two fingers what he hadn't known how to begin.

In those moments I thought about Marcus. About the way he looked at me before touching me, how sure he was with his hands, that thick, long cock that opened me in two and made me come over and over, everything he knew how to do that Martín didn't even suspect existed.

One day, a mutual friend wrote to me. Marcus's parents had died, and he was planning to return to the city. I read the message three times. Then I deleted it, as if that could erase what had awakened inside me too.

It didn't work. I replied that very night.

We met a few days later. At first we talked about a little of everything, like two old acquaintances catching up. But after half an hour I couldn't keep pretending. I told him that I'd missed him throughout all those years. That what I'd missed most of all was the nights with him.

“And your boyfriend?” he asked, without taking his eyes off me.

“My boyfriend is another matter,” I replied.

We made plans for Saturday at a quiet bar downtown. All week I lived for that day. I told Martín I had a girls' night out and would sleep at a friend's house. That I'd see him Sunday. I lied so easily that afterward it frightened me a little.

***

On Saturday I got ready slowly, choosing everything carefully. I put on a black miniskirt, a tight top, and underneath, a black lace set, a tiny thong, and a push-up bra. I looked at myself in the mirror longer than necessary. It had been years since I'd gotten ready like that for anyone. I touched myself through the fabric and was already wet just thinking about him.

I reached the bar nervous, my heart pounding in my chest. I saw him immediately, leaning against the bar. He was still that tall man, nearly six foot three, broad-shouldered, with that slow smile that formed at only one corner of his mouth. The years, far from wearing him down, had made him even more imposing.

We sat in a secluded corner, away from everyone else. We ordered drinks and started talking, but the words were beside the point. His hand found my knee almost immediately and began moving slowly upward, unhurried, gauging me. I didn't move it away. I parted my legs a little, almost without thinking, and let his fingers approach where I wanted them to go. When he brushed the soaked fabric of my thong, he gave a low laugh against my neck.

“You're dripping, Carla,” he murmured.

“I've been like this all week,” I confessed.

“Do you really want to do this?” he asked me quietly in the ear.

“Why do you think I came? I want you to fuck me until I can't walk.”

He took my hand and we left. In the car, before starting the engine, he looked at me for a second and kissed me. It was a long, deep kiss, the kind you feel throughout your whole body. His hands moved from my face to my thighs, and from there, once again, between my legs. I was already burning from the moment I'd seen him at the bar.

He pushed my thong aside and stroked me slowly, first over my pussy, parting my wet lips with his fingertips, then inside, first one finger all the way in and immediately two, curling them to touch me inside exactly where I needed it. With his thumb he found my swollen clitoris and began making slow circles without stopping the pumping of his fingers. He found, without hesitation, the spot Martín didn't even know how to locate. I moaned softly and bit my lip.

“There,” I whispered. “Don't stop, fuck, right there.”

“You're still just as intense, Carla,” he said against my neck, biting my skin. “You're still soaking the whole seat like you did when you were twenty.”

His fingers moved in and out with a wet sound that filled the car. I spread my legs wider, propped one against the dashboard, and gave him complete access. He increased the pace, three fingers now, while with his other hand he pinched my nipple through my top. I didn't need much. I had my first orgasm right there in the car, with his mouth on my skin and the city passing in a blur beyond the window. I came, squeezing his fingers inside me, my skirt pulled up to my waist and my panties reduced to a rag, biting my hand so I wouldn't scream.

He pulled his fingers out, shining with my juices, and put them in my mouth. I sucked them without thinking, looking him in the eyes.

“That's my girl,” he said, and drove off.

***

His apartment was only a few minutes away. While he went to the bathroom for a moment, I stayed in the living room. I took off my skirt and top and folded them over a chair. I remained in the lace set, waiting for him, with the feeling that I was doing something there would be no going back from.

When he returned, he paused in the doorway for a moment, looking me up and down, and that look alone made me squeeze my thighs together. He kissed me again and finished undressing me with a calmness that made me even more nervous. He unfastened my bra, lowered it slowly, and bent down to suck my nipples, one and then the other, biting them just enough to make me arch my back. Then he slipped my thong down over my hips and let it fall to the floor. He caressed my breasts with both hands, unhurried, and then lowered his mouth along my neck and stomach until he knelt before me.

I sat on the edge of the sofa and spread my legs for him. He looked at my swollen, glistening pussy and smiled like someone coming home after a long time away. He began by kissing the insides of my thighs, moving slowly upward, blowing over my wet skin. When he finally slid his tongue between my lips, I moaned so loudly I nearly startled myself. Marcus ate pussy like no one else. He licked me from bottom to top with his flat tongue, stopped at my clitoris and sucked it, taking it entirely into his mouth, then went back down to push his tongue inside me, fucking me with it. I grabbed his head with both hands, pressed his face against me, and began moving my hips against his mouth without the slightest shame.

“Like that, like that, don't move,” I begged him. “I'm going to come in your mouth.”

He put two fingers inside me again while continuing to suck my clitoris, and a few seconds later a second orgasm shook me, folding me forward, my legs trembling and my pussy contracting around his fingers. Marcus didn't stop until I pulled his hair to move him away, hypersensitive to the slightest touch.

He stood in front of me and lowered his pants. When I saw his cock, my mouth watered. Long, thick, with a prominent vein and the tip already wet. Just as imposing as I remembered, or more so.

I took it in both hands and guided it toward my mouth. I started by running my tongue over the head, sucking the tip and tasting the salty pre-cum, and then I took the whole thing into my mouth until it hit the back of my throat. Marcus let out a hoarse moan and grabbed my hair. I sucked his cock eagerly, moving my mouth up and down, my tongue circling around it, while one hand caressed his tight balls. I wanted him to enjoy himself as much as I did, and I went at it eagerly, letting him move too, slowly fucking my mouth, listening as his breathing grew heavier while his fingers continued moving between my legs.

“Stop or I'll come now,” he said in a broken voice, gently pulling me away.

He knelt between my legs. He ran his cock over my pussy lips a couple of times, coating himself, rubbing the head over my clitoris until I gasped. He entered slowly, inch by inch, giving me time to get used to his size again. I felt him opening me from within, every millimeter touching walls that hadn't felt anything like this in years. From time to time he pulled all the way out and sought that perfect contact again, teasing me, making me wait, leaving the tip barely brushing my entrance until I raised my hips to chase it. And when he finally began moving in earnest, burying himself inside me with long, firm thrusts, I moaned without being able to hold back.

It was the feeling I hadn't experienced again in years: being completely full, completely attended to, with a cock inside me that knew exactly where to touch. He leaned over me, kissed my breasts, sucked my nipples, bit my neck, and gradually set a harder rhythm. Every thrust made my breasts rise; every withdrawal left me empty and desperate for him to return. I moved my hips to meet him, panting against his shoulder, digging my nails into his back.

“Harder,” I begged. “Break me, Marcus.”

He obeyed. He grabbed behind my knees, lifted my legs over his shoulders, and began fucking me deeper and faster, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the entire room. He found that spot inside me again. The third orgasm shook me so violently that I sank my teeth into his shoulder, and he let out a groan caught between pain and laughter while I convulsed beneath him, my pussy squeezing his cock in spasms.

“I missed you so much,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Don't stop, please, don't stop.”

He didn't stop. We changed positions; I got on all fours on the sofa and he positioned himself behind me, ran his cock over my dripping lips again, and entered me with a single thrust that tore a guttural moan from me. He gripped my hips with both hands and began pounding me mercilessly, hard, driving me against the backrest. Every blow pulled a louder moan from me, until he had to hand me a cushion so the entire building wouldn't hear. I bit the pillow while he slapped my ass every time a scream escaped me that was too loud, leaving my skin red and burning. He reached underneath me and found my clitoris while continuing to hammer me from behind. I lost count of how many times I came. One after another, in a chain, until I was voiceless. He endured patiently, as if he had the whole night ahead of him, pulling out and lowering himself to lick my pussy whenever he was about to come so he could last longer.

When he finally let himself go, he laid me on my back, got on top of me, and pushed himself all the way inside a few more times, looking into my eyes. He came with a hoarse moan that ran through his entire body, unloading inside me in hot spurts that I felt one by one. I stayed wrapped around him, both of us breathless, his semen running between my thighs, laughing softly about what we'd just done.

***

In the middle of the night my phone rang. It was Martín. I gestured to Marcus to keep quiet, though he found it amusing to continue caressing me while I tried to sound normal. Beneath the sheets, his hand made its way between my legs and slid two fingers inside me just as I answered.

“I'm on my way to my friend's house,” I lied, concentrating with all my strength so my voice wouldn't tremble while his fingers moved in and out of me, still coated with his own semen. “I drank a little too much. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?”

I said good night, hung up, and turned off the phone. I didn't want anything to pull me out of that night. Marcus looked at me with one eyebrow raised, pulling out his soaked fingers and licking them in front of me.

“You're terrible,” he said.

“Look who's talking.”

We went to the kitchen for water, both of us naked. I hugged him from behind, reached around in front, and grabbed his cock, which hardened immediately between my fingers. Almost without thinking, I whispered in his ear:

“Why are you so good at this?”

He turned around, lifted me into his arms, and sat me on the cold marble counter. He spread my legs and spoke into my ear while rubbing his cock against my pussy.

“I try harder with you. I know what you like. I know you like me to put it in slowly at first, and then fuck you like a whore.”

I didn't answer with words. I took his cock and guided it to my entrance myself. He lifted my hips and entered again, slowly at first, looking into my eyes as he opened me once more, and then forcefully, pulling almost all the way out and driving into me with one hard thrust, while I wrapped my legs around his waist and gripped the edge of the counter so I wouldn't fall. The glasses beside me shook with every thrust. He sucked my breasts, bit my neck, and whispered every filthy thing he knew turned me on. I did it all again and again, coming on his cock twice more, until I felt pleasure clouding my mind.

He finished inside me again with a long moan, holding me against him as he emptied himself completely for the second time that night. When he pulled out, I felt his semen escaping me and falling onto the marble. He carried me to the bedroom, my legs still trembling. As he laid me down, he kissed me with a tenderness that contrasted with everything before. We stayed pressed against each other, his breath on the back of my neck, his hand cupped over my breast, and before I fell asleep I heard him whisper:

“I'm crazy about you.”

***

We woke up after eleven, and not exactly because of the alarm. Marcus woke up pressed against my back, his hard cock digging into my ass, his hand already searching between my legs. Without saying a word, he lifted one of my legs, positioned himself behind me, and slowly pushed inside me from the side while I was still finishing waking up. He fucked me like that, slow and deep, both of us half-asleep, kissing the nape of my neck, until I came silently, biting my hand, and he came behind me, holding me tightly against his body.

While I showered afterward, I replayed the entire night beneath the hot water, my legs still trembling and my pussy sore from so much use. We'd spent hours together. I didn't recognize myself in the uninhibited, overwhelmed woman I'd been, the one who had asked to be broken on all fours, swallowed semen, and moaned like a bitch, and yet I didn't feel even a trace of guilt. I thought about the orgasms Marcus had given me in a single night, more than Martín had given me in all our years together, and told myself I had been right to seek him out.

The truth was, I'd always been like that. The first time I understood what real desire was about, I was already in my twenties, during a trip, with someone who knew how to take his time, who ate my pussy until he made me cry and fucked me until dawn. From then on I knew what I was looking for, and I almost never found it.

I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and Marcus greeted me with a good-morning kiss and strong coffee that smelled like heaven. We ate breakfast in silence, smiling at each other like a pair of accomplices.

“Thanks for the night,” I told him.

“You're welcome, darling,” he replied with that crooked smile. “It's my specialty.”

Breakfast wasn't the only thing we shared that morning. As soon as I set down my cup, his fingers were already traveling over my back, and my body, which should have been exhausted, responded immediately. He lifted me onto the kitchen table, opened my towel, and ate my pussy again until he made me come, my legs over his shoulders. Then he took me back to bed and fucked me slowly, on my back, looking into my eyes, without hurry. We finished with him coming over my tits while I spread his semen over my nipples with my fingers, never stopping looking at him. We lingered until midafternoon, without a clock, without guilt, reclaiming all the years that had been stolen from us.

When I finally got dressed, I said goodbye to him with a long kiss at the door, still tasting his cock in my mouth. I took a taxi, and as the city passed beyond the window, I thought about Martín, waiting for me without suspecting a thing.

The sex I'd have to have with him that night would be, compared with this, barely a formality. But I'd do it anyway, because for now I wasn't planning to leave him. Martín had his good qualities. For everything else, now, once again, I had Marcus.