My Ex Master Found Me Naked in the Olive Grove

It’s been months since I’ve been with anyone, and my body is climbing the walls. I confess it without shame: the lack of sex has me on the edge, and my mind turns to memories to give me the most intense handjobs, the kind that really quench the thirst. Almost like therapy, I go back over old hookups until I feel again the way I like to feel: submissive, used, a bitch at the mercy of a guy who enjoys my flesh.

That’s why today I’m going back to a specific afternoon. The last time I set foot in the olive grove cruising area, the last time I went out looking for hunters. Though, if I’m honest, the roles are reversed: I’m the prey chasing its hunters. A heat-crazed cat sticking its ass up for any street macho in need of a release.

Summer was ending. The sun still beat down, but it set earlier now, so you’d arrive at the grove in daylight and leave with night on top of you. As always, I took my bike, my backpack with the essentials—condoms, lube, wipes, and a towel—and pulled on my cyclist warmers with nothing underneath, to make my ass stand out nicely.

The heat was still intense at that hour, so I went deep into the olive grove, already inside the area, but I left the bike in a secluded corner away from the center. I spread the towel on the ground, among the dry grass. Before looking for anyone, I wanted to steal the summer’s last rays, to tan my skin one more time before autumn dulled it.

In a burst of rebellion, or of peace with the earth, I took off all my clothes and lay down face down. I felt the sun caressing my back and legs. I stayed motionless, fighting not to fall asleep, with my body on display for whoever had the luck—or the misfortune, truth be told—to pass by. I’m not trying to pass myself off as handsome, nor do I want to judge whether I am. Aside from the occasional annoying fly, which I’m half used to by now, I enjoyed a rest earned by pedaling.

When I’d recharged, I turned onto my back and took out the book that always comes with me. While I was reading, the flies stopped coming near: the sweat from the exercise had evaporated and I no longer interested them. With one eye on the page and the other on my surroundings, the slight evening breeze brushed my genitals and sent a shiver through me. September isn’t July, and the heat was already almost springlike.

The sun began to sink and the olive grove woke up. I heard footsteps in the distance and, after a while, the first men appeared among the trees, walking slowly and aimlessly, glancing at me out of the corner of their eyes.

The shyer ones watched without stopping and disappeared back into the thicket. If they liked what they saw, they would reappear from another side to look at me again, with furtive but direct glances. Others, bolder ones, would change course as soon as they spotted me and walk past with their gaze fixed on me, the kind that clearly says they’d like to grab me and do everything to me except scare me. Since none of them appealed to me, I answered with a brief, indifferent look. One came close enough to say hello, and got a cool greeting and the polite message that I wasn’t interested.

But these people don’t give up easily. That man, about fifty, with graying hair and an average body, moved aside a little and stood looking at the branches of a tree while continuing to spy on me every now and then.

He didn’t bother me, so I kept reading, waiting to come across another macho who would actually spark my desire, one I could greet in a very different tone. You know what I mean.

I didn’t have to wait long. Another man appeared, and I knew him well. A handsome guy in his early thirties, brown-skinned, with neatly styled black hair, jeans, a summer polo shirt, and dark sunglasses that made it impossible for me to tell where he was looking.

For anyone who has read my previous stories, here’s the extra bit: it was my ex master. The one I had an exclusive master-and-sub relationship with, without protection, without seeing anyone else. To sum up, for those who don’t know me: this man didn’t keep his word, I found out, and I broke the exclusivity. Since then, contact between us had been lost.

He saw me and changed course straight toward me. I was fine with that. I enjoyed him a lot, and the fact that there was no trust anymore didn’t mean I held a grudge. He would have to understand that too.

“Hi, how are you? What are you doing here?” he said, breaking the ice.

“Here I am, basking in the sun and reading a bit. Given the lay of the land, maybe later I’ll work up the nerve to look for someone.”

“If you want, I’ll keep you company. It’s been ages since I saw you.”

As he said it, his hand drifted automatically to his bulge, which was tight under his jeans, eager to come out. It was obvious that seeing me again had put him at a hundred just from imagining what might happen. His cock was begging me to unzip him.

We exchanged a couple more sentences that I don’t even remember, and the two of us ended up looking at the man who was still watching us from a distance.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“No, but he’s been watching me sunbathe for a while. It doesn’t bother me, so he can keep doing it for all I care.”

My ex moved a little closer, almost stepping onto the towel where I was sitting up, and brought the bulge to within a hand’s breadth of my face.

“Maybe you’d like to play with mine for a while. I’m rock hard.”

He said it while already rubbing over his pants, restless, eager to pull it out and have me take it any way he wanted. I smiled at him with that sly look of someone who isn’t pretending, but is truly dying to feel that member in my mouth again, on my tongue, savoring it to the hilt. I told him yes, I’d love to.

There wasn’t going to be exclusivity again, but that didn’t stop us from having a good time together whenever we crossed paths and neither of us had anything better planned. I had gone to the olive grove to enjoy my body, and he knew better than most how to make me moan.

Without giving me time to get ready, I was already holding a brown cock in my hand, with a pronounced head, soft and hard at the same time, the kind that drives me crazy. That perfect glans melts me like ice in the sun, especially when it’s a half inch from my nose. It smelled like sex. I didn’t think twice: I took it in my mouth without teeth, just with my lips, and trapped his head. With a rush that made me dizzy, I tasted him, covered him in kisses, and started a slightly awkward blow job from my improvised position, taking him from the side rather than head-on.

While I sucked and savored him, neither of us ever lost sight of the voyeur, who was now watching us with even more hunger.

My ex and I weren’t talking anymore: the blow job had taken all our attention. I closed the book with one hand and put it in the backpack so I could sit up better and, squatting, suck him the way God intended on that delicious thing the afternoon had put in front of me.

I kept a steady rhythm while he held my head and, I suppose, kept watching the man in the background. That naked guy is hooked and someone else is having a good time, the one at a distance must have thought. My lips could feel the ridge of the head going in and out, faster and faster each time. Every now and then I stopped to spit out the excess saliva and catch my breath, then I went back at it. That head. It couldn’t be any fuller or harder. I’m addicted to that cock, and he knows it. We both know it.

He was so hard he wanted more, so he stood me up and asked if I felt like going somewhere more private, because of the voyeur, who wouldn’t take his eyes off us. I wiped the corner of my lips, stuffed the towel into the backpack, and lifted the bike.

***

The encounter entered a strange but exciting phase. We headed toward the corner of the grove where he’d already fucked me before. My ex, whether out of embarrassment or to stay anonymous, didn’t walk beside me, but several meters ahead. I didn’t care; truthfully, I enjoyed it.

Like a lamb heading for the slaughter, I moved along calmly, naked, backpack over my shoulder and bike held with both hands. The sun was already going down and the olive grove was full of men. Four or five saw me pass by in procession. I felt watched, even desired, while I paraded my ass in the open air.

In the middle of nowhere, a guy was walking around stark naked, his genitals slapping against his thighs with every step. I didn’t know it was going to be my last time for a long while, but it was so special that it lived up to the farewell.

When we reached “our hiding place”—an old olive tree with tall brush that forms a kind of hollow next to the trunk—we had already been followed at a distance by a couple more gawkers. More spectators for the price of one. My ex’s plan to change locations had done him no good, and I loved it. I get turned on when I’m watched.

Inside the hollow I left the bike and backpack to one side, and my master knelt me down again so I’d lift his spirits. In plain English: so I’d suck him again until it was rock hard and then he could wreck my ass. Yes, master.

Squatting there, glancing sideways to make sure a man was spying on us while pretending not to, I sucked and sucked until I brought all the vigor back to that stake working in my hand. My fingers caressed his balls and he trembled with pure excitement. That was when he said something I wasn’t expecting.

“I’m going to be honest with you: you’re the only person who makes me nervous.”

I took his cock out of my mouth, looked at him, smiled, and went back to it. I don’t know whether it was a declaration or just his way of admitting that my body turned him on like no other. For me it meant only one thing: that man fucked me with tremendous hunger, and that was enough for me. I’m not looking for a boyfriend or exclusivity. Once he was rock hard, and I’d already stretched my asshole with my left hand during the blow job, I asked him to put on the condom while I lubed myself with the bottle from the backpack.

I know he didn’t like it. He must have thought that by sweet-talking me he’d get to fuck me bareback and come inside, but I’m a bitch, not an idiot. I told him no, condom. He must have been desperate to ass-fuck me, because he didn’t even argue: he put it on, confirming in the process that the fault for us losing exclusivity had been his alone.

I got myself standing, legs wide open and hands braced against the trunk, ass stretched and sticking out, ready for my master. With his breathing already ragged, it took him no effort to thread his cock into my hole and slide it in slowly until his balls were pressed against my cheeks. He was inside so fast I barely noticed, and he couldn’t suppress a moan at feeling himself inside me again.

I made an effort to spread my legs wide to make up for the height difference—I’m quite tall—and to keep my rectum open so he could get all the way in. Fuck me, damn it. I’m yours again. You’re an asshole, but it doesn’t matter anymore: I just want you to ram me.

The voyeur was still there, jerking off, while my ass began to make noise under his thrusts, gentle at first, brutal afterward. My hole knew that cock well, and it knew me too, so he went in slowly before speeding up. I slipped my left hand between my legs and caressed his balls, almost begging to be filled with pleasure.

The thrusts were harsh but delicious. We were moving the olive leaves and there were probably already more than one spectator. I couldn’t have cared less. I was loving it like I hadn’t in months. His hands pinched my nipples, grabbed the back of my neck, and returned to my waist to drive deeper. His cock, a stake of flesh, rubbed the walls inside me. The tapping of his balls was getting stronger and my hand could no longer keep up.

He didn’t have much left, and my legs didn’t have much strength left in that position either. And so, my last cruising afternoon ended with low but genuine moans, his hips pressing against mine and God knows how much cum unloading inside the condom, inside me. My ass was flattened between my back and his belly. It was so pleasurable that I didn’t even remember to jerk myself off to come at the same time. I let myself be fucked and surrendered to the giving over, nothing more.

In that state of ecstasy I’d do anything. Good thing the world doesn’t find out, because if anyone knew they could do whatever they wanted with me. At that point, if they put another cock in my mouth, I devour it. If they come on my face, I take the rain. And if they pour it down my throat, I swallow it. That’s how much of a slut I am, damn it.

My ex master had already let it all go and must have had empty balls. The cock came out of me soft, after a while joined together, calm, while he kissed my back with the last spasms. Then, peace and normality. I cleaned the lube off my ass with a wipe, he pulled up his jeans, and he said goodbye politely.

I think I’ll see him again someday, but for now I have to wait. Life won’t let me go back to the olive grove, and only these memories calm my desperation. Desperation not to go naked in hostile territory, but to turn a man on, to feel myself fucked, to let him ass-fuck me any way he likes. The position is yours to choose; I barely decide anything. That’s the only thing I ask for.

I got dressed, took my bike, and disappeared from the olive grove into the darkness of night. And that’s how it’s been until today. I’ll go back, but for now it’s just my memories and me.