My Ex-Convict Came Back and Fucked Me in the Hotel

I woke up wet, my heart pounding against my chest and his name piercing through my head as if all those years hadn’t passed. I had dreamed about him again—his mouth, his rough hands, the way he looked at me as if he already knew exactly how he was going to make me moan. I opened my eyes and took a few seconds to get my bearings, but as soon as I remembered the date, I felt a hot tug between my legs.

That was the day he was getting out.

No one from his family was going to pick him up. I already knew that. His mother had died some time ago, and his brother had disappeared from his life long before he was locked up. I, on the other hand, was still there, even though he and I had stopped seeing each other a decade ago. Not because I had forgotten him, but because I had never been able to.

I got up early, unable to sit still. I made coffee, took two sips, and abandoned it halfway through. I walked barefoot around the apartment, feeling stupid, almost adolescent anxiety, but we were more than old enough to know better, and I knew perfectly well what had me feeling that way. It wasn’t just the reunion. It was the memory of his cock. The memory of how he spread my legs and made me beg him for more.

I got into the shower to calm myself down, and it only made things worse.

The hot water slid down my neck, over my breasts and belly, and when I closed my eyes I saw him as if he were standing right in front of me: broader in the shoulders, maybe with a few new scars, surely with that hard look he’d had since before he went to prison. I soaped myself slowly, but within seconds I was already touching myself with intent.

First I pinched one nipple between my fingers and let out a breath through my mouth. Then my hand traveled lower. My pussy was hot, sensitive, and soaked even before I really touched myself. I spread my lips and began rubbing my clit in slow circles, feeling my legs go loose. I braced one hand against the wall so I wouldn’t slip and kept going, harder and more desperately.

He’s coming back today. He’s going to look at me. Maybe he’ll touch me again today.

I slid in one finger and moaned. It went in easily because I was dripping wet. I pulled it out and put in two, opening myself from the inside while I rubbed my clit with my other hand. I could feel the pulse in my pussy, the desire that had built up over so many years squeezing my body. I started moving my fingers faster, imagining they were his, imagining his deep voice telling me to keep going, to come thinking about him.

“Fuck...” I murmured, alone, my forehead pressed against the tile.

I came like that, in the shower, with a spasm that shook me from my belly to my thighs. It wasn’t an elegant or gentle orgasm. It was one of those that leave you trembling and still hungry. I stood there for a few seconds, breathing hard, water running down my back and my pussy throbbing, aware that I hadn’t emptied myself at all. I’d only whetted my appetite.

I got out, dried myself, and chose my clothes without thinking too much, even though in reality I thought about everything. A simple dress, sandals, perfume behind my ears. Nothing over the top. I didn’t want to look like a woman who had gone to find a man to fuck her the moment she got the chance. I wanted to look like a woman who hadn’t planned exactly that from the moment she woke up.

When I arrived, he was already outside.

I recognized him even before I could get a good look at his face. From his posture. From the way he occupied space. From that tense stillness he’d always had, as if even standing still he were ready to shove open a door or punch someone in the mouth. He was carrying a bag with his things, wearing a dark T-shirt, with short stubble and the same serious expression as always. But when his eyes found me, that hardness cracked for just a second.

He smiled.

So did I.

We didn’t make a scene. I didn’t run to hug him. I didn’t cry. I walked up to him, and we stood less than a step apart, staring at each other with such obvious tension that the rest of the world disappeared. I noticed a small scar on his eyebrow, shadows beneath his eyes, and more bulk than I remembered. He looked me over from head to toe without shame, stopping at my mouth and then my cleavage.

“Still just as dangerous,” he said.

“And you’re still just as shameless.”

“No. I’m worse now.”

That “worse” went straight down to my cunt.

We kissed without asking permission. No preliminary conversation, no testing the waters. His mouth crashed into mine with years of hunger behind it, and I gave it back, opening his lips with my tongue as if I wanted to reclaim all the lost years at once. He tasted like coffee and cigarettes. Like the street. Like a man. He grabbed the back of my neck with one hand and my waist with the other, and in that instant I knew that if we stayed there another minute, I was going to end up rubbing myself against him in front of anyone and everyone.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” I said, pulling away just enough to breathe.

“Tell me where.”

I pointed to the hotel a few blocks away. He wasn’t even surprised. He just took my hand, picked up his bag, and walked beside me at a steady pace without letting go. I felt the heat of his fingers in my palm and noticed myself growing more aroused with every step, because I wasn’t fantasizing anymore: I was going to lock myself in a room with him to do exactly what we both wanted.

We went up to the room without saying much. The tension was so thick that any extra words would have been pointless. As soon as the door closed, he turned me against it and kissed me again, this time more brutally. His tongue invaded my mouth, his hands squeezed my ass over my dress, and I grabbed his face like a madwoman, moaning against his lips.

“I missed you,” he said against my mouth.

“Then prove it.”

He gave me that sideways smile he used to wear and bit my lower lip.

“That’s what I came to do.”

He slipped a hand between my thighs and rubbed me over my underwear. I jerked and opened my legs wider by pure reflex. I was soaked again, so wet that the friction barely separated the fabric from my skin before it was already drawing moans out of me. He pushed my dress up to my waist and gave a low laugh when he saw me.

“No stockings, no complications. Very considerate of you.”

“Stop talking so much and touch me.”

He moved my panties aside and ran two fingers over my wet lips, coating them without effort. Then he held them up in front of my face, glistening.

“Look how you welcome me.”

I sucked his fingers without taking my eyes off him. I wanted to tease him, but by then I was far more aroused than he was. He pulled his hand from my mouth and brought it back to my pussy, now pressing my clit with short, precise movements, exactly the way I liked. My knees went weak.

“Fuck... yes...”

“Like that?” he asked, thrusting one finger into me.

I moaned with my mouth open. His finger went in easily. Then he added a second and opened me from within, pumping slowly while his thumb kept rubbing me above. I fumbled with his pants in my urgency and lowered the zipper. I needed to touch him now.

I pulled his cock out of his boxers and wrapped my hand around it.

My mouth watered. I remembered it as big, but it felt even better than I’d preserved it in my memory: thick, hot, truly hard, throbbing in my palm. I stroked it slowly a couple of times, and he closed his eyes for a second, clenching his jaw. I loved watching him hold himself back.

“Kneel,” he said.

He didn’t shout or act like he owned anything, but his firm tone went straight through my body. And I obeyed. I knelt in front of him on the hotel carpet, my dress still hiked up and my pussy dripping, and gripped the base of his cock before running my tongue over the tip.

He tasted of hot skin and restrained desire. I licked the head slowly, circling it, then ran my tongue down one side to the base before coming back up. He looked down at me with an intensity that made me even hotter. I opened my mouth and took him as deeply as I could, feeling him fill my tongue and pull at the corners of my mouth.

“That’s it, fuck... just like that...”

I started sucking him rhythmically, holding him with one hand while my mouth worked the tip and the middle of his shaft. I moved up and down, created a seal around him, ran my tongue along the underside, swallowing to make him slide more smoothly. He brushed my hair away from my face and held the back of my head, not to force me but to guide me. I welcomed the pressure, taking him deeper each time the hand on my head set the rhythm.

His cock hit my throat on the longest thrusts, and that made me even hotter. He exhaled sharply, and when I looked up I found him biting his lip, genuinely aroused.

“Look at me while you suck it.”

I did. I looked at him while his cock filled my mouth, while my tongue wrapped around it and my saliva-slick lips slid up and down. I watched him lose some of his composure, tense his thighs, and grip the back of my head more tightly.

I brought one hand to my pussy and began rubbing myself while I kept sucking him. He let out a hoarse laugh.

“You haven’t changed one bit. Always such a slut for me.”

The words made me moan with his cock in my mouth. Electricity ran down my back. I kept sucking faster, dirtier, leaving the head gleaming, listening to the wet sound of my mouth working him. I felt his breathing speed up, and just when I thought he was going to come, he pulled me up.

We kissed again, and I tasted him on my own tongue. He tore my dress and bra off over my head, baring my breasts, and immediately caught one nipple between his fingers, squeezing it until I gasped. Then he lowered his head and sucked it, hard, alternating his tongue with short bites.

“Shit... yes... don’t stop...”

He held my back while he sucked my breasts as if he were truly starving. I felt his beard scrape my skin, the heat of his mouth, and his free hand dropping once more to my underwear to tear it off completely. When the fabric fell to the floor, he thrust his entire palm between my legs and found me soaked.

“You’re dripping.”

“It’s because of you.”

“I know.”

He led me to the bed and gently pushed me down to sit on the edge. He crouched in front of me, spread my legs with his hands, and spent a second looking at my pussy shining before him. That pause, the way he contemplated me open, wet, and waiting, made me more shyly aroused than any words could have.

Then he dove in.

He ran his tongue from bottom to top, slow and firm, and I arched sharply. His mouth was hot, and there was something obscene about the way he ate me that made me feel truly naked. He spread my lips with his fingers and buried himself in my pussy as if he wanted to drink me dry. He licked my clit, went down to my entrance, thrust his tongue inside, came back up, and then sucked me with a force that made my vision blur.

“Fuck, fuck...” I kept repeating, gripping his hair.

He didn’t pull away. He kept devouring me, alternating between his tongue and his fingers. First one, then two, moving in and out while his mouth concentrated above, where I was most sensitive. His fingers struck the inside of me in the exact rhythm while his tongue unraveled me. The room was already shaking around me.

“I’m going to come,” I warned him, panting.

He answered with a growl and sucked harder.

I came in his mouth with my legs spread and my pussy clenching around his fingers, trembling from head to toe. It wasn’t delicate. I soaked his face, and he still kept licking, drawing small spasms from me and prolonging my orgasm until I had to push him away because I couldn’t take any more.

He stood up with his mouth shining and kissed me so I could taste myself. The gesture drove me crazy.

“Now,” I said, my breathing ragged. “Put it in me already.”

He took off his shirt, finished pulling down his pants, and stood naked in front of me. I looked at him without hiding it. His chest was more defined, his stomach hard, his thighs strong, and his cock erect and heavy, pointing upward. I stroked it once more, just to feel it, and he gently moved me away.

“Lie on your back.”

I obeyed immediately. I lay down on the bed and spread my legs. He positioned himself between my thighs, grabbed one leg behind the knee, and lifted it slightly, arranging me so he could enter more easily. He rubbed the tip over my lips, and I moaned from that alone.

“Don’t make me wait any longer.”

“You like it when I make you wait.”

“I like it when you fuck me.”

Then he put it inside me.

Not slowly or with exaggerated care. He pushed inside me all at once, firm and deep, and I let out an open moan, a mixture of pleasure and the intense shock of feeling him fill me to the hilt. I clutched the sheets and lifted my hips, seeking more of him. He stayed inside for a second, buried completely, watching my reaction.

“This is how I remembered you,” he murmured. “Clenching all around me.”

He began moving with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in to the hilt. The wet sound between our legs filled the room immediately. My body answered his as if it hadn’t forgotten a thing. Every stroke opened me, stretched me, and made me hotter. I received him, lifting my pelvis and moaning without shame.

“Harder,” I begged.

He grabbed my legs and spread them wider. Then he really started fucking me hard, with a brutal rhythm that made the bed creak against the wall. His pelvis slammed against mine, his thick cock slid in and out, soaked, wrenching cries from me that I could no longer—and no longer wanted to—hold back.

“That’s it... that’s it... fuck, yes...”

“Look at me putting it inside you,” he said, looking down between our bodies.

I looked too. Watching his cock disappear inside me again and again was too much. I brought one hand to my clit and started rubbing myself in rhythm with his thrusts. He saw me and smiled fiercely.

“That’s it, touch yourself. I want to watch you come while I fuck you.”

I felt a wave of heat rise from my belly. He leaned over me without stopping his thrusts and bit my neck. Then he caught one breast in his mouth while he kept driving his cock into me with an exact, hard, sustained rhythm. One of my legs was over his shoulder and the other was spread on the bed, completely exposed, completely his in that moment.

“I thought about you in there a thousand times,” he told me through clenched teeth. “I thought about finding you again and leaving you like this, open for me.”

“Then do it,” I panted. “Open me wider. Fuck me harder.”

His answer was to obey. He sat up, grabbed me by the waist, and began entering me with even more force, with quick strokes that made me lose track of what I was saying. All I could do was moan, say yes, fuck, right there, don’t stop. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping skin, broken breathing, and my voice rising higher and higher.

I don’t know how long we went on like that. I lost all sense of time. I only remember the sweat, the sweet ache between my legs, and the way I drew closer to coming again, this time faster, pulled along more by his body than by my hand.

“I’m going to come again,” I said, almost breathless.

“Wait a second.”

He pulled out of me and turned me over without ceremony, leaving me on all fours on the bed. I felt the air against my empty pussy for only an instant, because he immediately put the tip back inside and penetrated me from behind with a dry thrust that made me scream into the pillow.

“Shit...”

From that position, he felt even deeper. He gripped my hips and started fucking me with short, violent strokes, pulling me back against him so I would take all of him. Each thrust made my body bounce. I buried my face in the bed, moaning like a woman gone mad, and reached one hand beneath me to rub my clit again.

He slapped one of my ass cheeks, making me gasp.

“I want to hear you.”

“You’re driving me crazy.”

“That’s why I came back.”

The words, the position, the strength with which he was thrusting through me... everything blended together until pleasure made me clumsy. I felt his pubic bone striking my ass, his fingers buried in my hips, his cock sliding into me wet and heavy, pounding the exact spot that made me see stars.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop...”

“Come.”

And I came. I came with my face against the pillow and my hand between my legs, squeezing my clit while he kept fucking me without slowing down. The orgasm left me shaking around his cock, clenching hard. He grunted when he felt it and fucked me for several more seconds, already losing control.

“I’m going to come,” he said, his voice thick.

He pulled out of me, turned me just enough to leave me half on my back, and gripped himself with one hand. Still trembling, I propped myself up slightly and took him in my hand too, stroking him quickly. He looked at me, breathing like a cornered animal.

“Do it,” I told him. “I want to watch you come.”

That was enough. He let out a deep groan and came over my stomach and breasts in thick, hot, abundant pulses. I kept stroking him until the end, watching his cum spatter his skin and splash onto my fingers. The image was obscene, direct, perfect. He closed his eyes for a moment and let his head fall back.

Then he lay still, catching his breath. I looked at the mess on my body and smiled.

“Ten years, and you still come the same way.”

He gave a tired laugh and dropped down beside me on the bed.

“And you still take me just as well.”

We lay in silence for a few seconds, breathing. Then he sat up, took a towel from the bathroom, and came back to clean me slowly. The gesture undid me in a different way. Less wild. More intimate. He ran the cloth over my belly, my breasts, and my thighs, and I watched him in silence.

“I thought about this moment far too many times,” he admitted.

“Me too.”

“And now?”

The question hung in the air. It wasn’t an innocent one. He wasn’t talking only about that fuck. He was talking about everything else: the time we’d lost, what he carried with him, what I was or wasn’t willing to open up again.

I leaned closer and kissed him softly, very differently from the way we had kissed when we came in.

“Now I don’t want to think,” I told him. “Right now I just want to stay here for a while, with your scent still on my skin.”

He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me against his chest. I closed my eyes. My body felt sated, my legs weak, and my pussy still sensitive and wet, remembering every thrust. Outside, the world remained just as complicated. Inside that hotel room, at last we had stopped imagining each other.

And as I curled up against him, I knew that some things weren’t erased by the years, the distance, or a prison cell. Some things came back hungrier. And when they returned, they didn’t ask permission: they spread your legs and reminded you exactly who you were when you trembled with pleasure.