Breaking the Ex

I’m writing this on the back of a post I made several days ago on a confessions board. In light of Nick’s discovery, and having blocked me from contacting him using conventional ways, I penned a lengthy, somewhat rambling, letter to him. I sent it recorded delivery to his home address. I wasn’t looking to rekindle anything, far from it. I was actually glad that the relationship was over. I didn’t expect a reply, I just wanted to provide Nick with closure.

I was surprised, I’d even say shocked, when, barely a week after sending the letter, that Nick appeared at the gate of my apartment building. I don’t know if he’d been trying the door, as I saw him when entering myself. I didn’t even realise it was him until I attempted to enter, as he had his back to me. I should have recognised him, but I just didn’t. He was the last person that I expected to see that day.

He had wine, two bottles in fact, in his hand. This shocked me just as much as his presence did, as I know he hasn’t drunk anything in several years; not since an incident that I’d rather not go into now. He looked as though he’d been crying, but I couldn’t say for sure. He didn’t say anything, evidently waiting for me to make the first move, to say the first word.

“Do you want to come in?” is all I could muster after an embarrassingly long, awkward, silence. I don’t think that’s what he was expecting me to say, he just nodded, and followed me sullenly. We made our way to my apartment, in silence, nothing was said at all, I don’t even think he made eye contact with me.

We sat on the couch, which is U-shaped, at opposite corners. Again, Nick waited for me to say the first words, which came with difficulty. “Sorry.” It came out like a whisper, not with the force or gentility that I wanted to say it with. “It’s okay” he muttered back. “I’ve actually come to say sorry myself”.

I was a bit taken back by this, he didn’t have anything to apologise for, at least not that I could think of. “I’ve never been attracted to you” he, finally, said. “In fact, I’ve never been attracted to any woman” he continued. Like that, it was like a dam had been open in my mind. Things I’d never given any, real, conscious wondered to suddenly made sense. He’d never checked out other women on the beach, or at the pool, or the spa, etc. He’d never made eyes at any of my friends when we’d gone on nights out. He’d only made love in missionary. Never wanted oral, to be touched, to go down on me.

That suddenly then, became a very long monologue. He spoke of his desires, and his fantasises. By this point, I’d opened the wine, and he was drinking it heartily, on his third glass before I’d even had half of my first. He spoke of men, of feeling feminine. Of loving me, but not as a lover, but a companion. He rued not telling me earlier.

He told me he wasn’t angry when he saw me, what he had read of me, of my stories, my diary. He said he felt jealous more than anything, that he felt so confined in his own sense of shame, that he wasn’t as brave as me for embracing who he really was.

I’m not going into the fine detail, but coming out would never be an option for Nick, for many different practical reasons, not if he didn’t want to lose the love of his family or his career. That whirled through my mind as I heard him, painedly, tell me of his own wants.

He then told me he’d let his family know, just in the way of a note, and that he wasn’t going back to his home town, that he was coming here, if I’d allow it, for him to make his own way in the world, and to live his life as he saw fit.

By now, several hours had passed since he entered, and I needed a breather. I’d had two glasses of wine against Nick’s eight or nine. Both bottles emptied, I offered to go to the shop, to get something stronger. In reality, I didn’t want to drink, but I could tell Nick did. To open up, to say what he wouldn’t have necessarily said sober. I even bought myself some cigarettes. I don’t even smoke, I never have done, bar the odd one on a drunken night out. It just felt like this is the occasion that tobacco was for, and I was right, as I lit up outside the gate, it felt good taking that poison into my lungs.

Armed with a bottle of vodka, I made my way back to my small, but cosy studio. Nick was sat staring into space, I could see his cheeks twitching, as if he wanted to say something, but was lacking the confidence or the will to say it.

I sat next to him, taking his hands in my own and told him it was okay, that although we were not together, he could distribute his worries with me. I felt so clumsy saying it, but it was genuine. I cared, and still do, deeply about the man.

He slid to the floor next to me. “I want you” he finally said. We almost argued at this point, and the memory is a bit fuzzy as I became a bit ill tempered. The back and forth was that he didn’t want me, he just wanted companionship and stability. Eventually, Nick said what it was that he actually wanted. He wanted to explore his sexuality and repression, but wanted to do it with me. Not as a couple, but with a very different dynamic.

By this point, I was drinking the vodka, and passing it between us, straight from the bottle. I was drunk, but tipsy drunk, whilst Nick was hammered. Eyes glazed, it was like he was looking through me, rather than at me, and he was slurring his words, even changing topic mid-sentence.

I couldn’t have, or finish this conversation with him in this state, so I told him I was gonna sleep, and he was welcome to the couch. I stood, made my way to the bathroom to remove my make-up and brush my teeth; a ritual that takes up to half an hour in its own right, but tonight, I dragged it out for almost an hour. I opened the bathroom door, slowly, listening for Nick, and could hear his snores. I covered him with a blanket on the floor; he hadn’t made his way back onto the couch.

I entered my room, removed my clothing and climbed into bed. It was only twenty-five past nine, but I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. I awoke to Nick stroking my leg in the early hours. He’d been crying, telling me he had no where to go and he wanted to be with me forever. He was still drunk, but at least now he looked and sounded lucid. We talked, talked for hours, well until after the sun had risen. He told me of his desire to distribute someone with me. That’s what he called it, sharing. He wanted me to teach him he told me.

He kept bringing up that he felt more woman than man, at least when he wondered of sex. He wanted to dress like me, to look like me, to act like me. He even said he wanted to serve me, for me to own him, to tell him what to do. I felt really uncomfortable at this wondered. He began licking my feet, covering himself in the duvet as he did so.

He said he wouldn’t work anymore, that he would be the housewife. That he would cook and clean whilst I went out to work (I don’t work, I study, but whatever), and then, when the mood took our fancy, we would go out and party together. Party together, again, that’s the phrase he used to describe it.

I know I’ve made an error here, or at least I think I have, but I acquiesced. I agreed to trial it, to see how it goes, and, if after one month, neither of us is happy, we call it quits and this agreement is broken off.

It was strange gonna lectures the day afterwards, I was due in for several hours, but didn’t last half an hour of the first before returning home. I entered the apartment, expecting to discover Nick out, or asleep, or doing something. I did not expect him to be sat naked on the couch, headphones on, watching pornography on the television. It wasn’t even ordinary porn, just flashing, vivid colours with quick edits of fucking. He wasn’t even pleasuring himself, nor was there evidence that he had been. He heard me as I closed the door, turned to me, and, very matter of factly, told me he was preparing. He wasn’t even erect.

The rest of the week was a blur, an absolute blur. He slept in my bed, not next to me, but horizontally across the bottom, raising my feet onto his chest. Stroking, caressing and massaging. Every day, whilst I was out, either running errands, studying, meeting friends, or at the gym – anything to really avoid being at home with him, he was spending his time preparing meals, cleaning, doing odd jobs. He would never wear clothes, and I noticed he’d been shaving himself, daily, absolutely everywhere.

He kept calling me honey too, which was really grating me. We spoke about this on the Thursday night, and agreed on a compromise; he either used my name or he would call me Lady. Lady stuck, and that’s how he’s been addressing me since.

I had social plans on the Friday night, nothing major, just drinks with a couple of friends, and Nick begged to be allowed to come too. I was not ready for that, so declined, firmly. At twenty past ten that night, just as I was wrapping up to come home, he sent me a picture. His face was covered in semen. I couldn’t bring myself to phone or text him, I’d be home in ten minutes, I needed time to process this.

I came in, and found Nick still lying on the couch, the spunk still plastered to his face. “It’s my own” he stated, “but I want somebody elses” he told me. His erection was throbbing. I can’t really express how I felt. I was both angry; why is he debasing himself like this for me, but I was also horny. I licked his cheek, the cum was dry and stuck to him, and told him we’d do something tomorrow night.

We talked on the Saturday afternoon; I made excuses to leave on the Saturday morning, to leave him alone with his thoughts. He told me he just wanted to watch, to pleasure himself whilst someone had their way with me, like they did in my stories and on the video that he’d seen before deciding whether or not he wanted to commit.

I agreed to this, I was aching for it myself, and I was glad that I’d had the week to really reflect on things before escalating. I knew someone, someone I’d met before that had no qualms about using either sex and began formulating plans. Markus was who came to mind. Somebody I’d met, and Nick had seen, for he had seen Markus defile my face on a video clip.

The plan was set in motion, Markus would come by at 10pm, and the Nick would figure out if this was a fantasy that he did enjoy or not.

Markus is a behemoth of a man. 6’7” tall, toned, but not overly muscular. Massive in the area that matters most. He arrived at the door wearing shorts and a vest top, aware of what was in store for that night, and ready to go immediately. The shorts and vest top were off just as the front door closed.

Nick looked at the man in awe. He licked his lips as he surveyed him. I took Nick by the hand, and led him to the bedroom. Nick remained clothed as I undressed, backing myself against Markus who wrapped a strong arm around my waist, and the other around my neck.

Nick was breathing through his mouth, visibly excited by what he could see. Markus lifted me by the waist, and ate my arse as I maintained eye contact with Nick. Nick removed his pants, keeping his shirt on, and began to play with himself, stroking his shaft, methodically, with a slow rhythm.

He rose, gingerly and approached us, dropping to his knees. I couldn’t see what he was doing below me, at least not clearly, but he giving some sort of oral stimulation. “I want to see this thing inside you” he said, over and over again. Markus didn’t so much place me, as drop me onto the bed, grabbing me by the ankles and pulling me to the edge of it. I heard the snap of latex on skin, that faint slap as it’s pulled down, an unmistaken sound. As Markus had me by the ankles, I knew it was Nick that was applying it to him.

Knees tucked under chest, chin resting on the duvet, I waited for Markus to enter me. First came the spit, then the thumb, as he opened up my anus, prodding gently, allowing the muscles to relax, the sphincter to open and dilate. The thumb was retracted, and then I could feel the head of his member pushing against the hole, now offering much less resistance.

For those of you that haven’t taken it in the arse before, let me tell you, it hurts. It really hurts at first, but, after time and relaxation, things do get better, until they eventually become pleasurable. Nick, now on his knees in front of me, holding my hands, eyes inches away from my own, was not exactly helping with the relaxation.

“You okay, Lady?” he kept saying, it was pathetic, but at the same time, so fucking hot. Markus is not a gentle man, his thrusts soon became deep, and wild, hitting different angles. What he made up for in his lack of tenderness was his technique and responsiveness. If my breathing changed, or a hint of pleasure was detected from one of his thrusts, he would continue to thrust in the same way, hitting the same spot before suddenly exploring a different angle, or direction.

I can’t say how long this lasted, time loses all meaning in a situation like this. I do know that it ended with Markus removing his protection and leaving a load up my back, from the tail bone to the nape of my neck. It was Nick who cleaned it, hungrily with his tongue, devouring each drop, sharing some with me on the tip of his tongue.

That is where the story ends for now. This is how Nick will serve me.

NSFW: yes

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