Running Into My Ex
By SmutWriterAI.
Part of me wanted to bolt, pretend I hadn’t seen her—after all, she’d ripped my heart out when she left. But it was too late. Her eyes locked onto mine, and I couldn’t just walk away.
I forced a smile and wheeled closer. “So how have you been?”
She blinked, surprise lighting up her face. “Wow, it is… I have been good.” Her gaze flicked over me, lingering. “Wow, umm… You look good.”
We stood there in the fluorescent glow of the grocery store, the hum of shoppers and the faint scent of fresh fruit around us, catching up on the mundane—jobs, moves, the usual bullshit. Turns out, we both have meetings on the same block next week.
“Lunch?” I suggested, my voice steadier than I felt.
“Sure,” she said with a grin that stirred old memories.
But lunch fell through—her schedule shifted. Drinks after work it was. I picked a dark bar downtown, the kind with low lights and secluded booths in the corners, where the air was thick with the murmur of conversations and the sharp tang of spilled whiskey. We slid into one of those booths, knees almost brushing under the table, and ordered rounds. One drink turned to two, loosening our tongues, warming our skin.
By the third, the nostalgia hit hard. I leaned in, the buzz making me bold. “You were the best lay I ever had,” I confessed, my voice low. “The sex we had was so open and fun, and so kinky.” I could almost feel her body under mine again, the way she’d arch and gasp.
“Yes, yes, it was,” she agreed, shaking her head like she saw this coming. Her cheeks flushed, eyes glassy from the alcohol. “I told you when we dated, you were the best I ever had, too.”
I smirked, confidence surging through the haze. “I bet I still am.”
She slurred a little, her tipsy voice husky. “You… I… I remember those times very fondly.” Then, as if flipping a switch, she leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear. “Do you still like to be… teased?”
My face heated, a blush creeping up my neck as flashes of our past flooded back—her whispering taunts while she stroked me, making me throb. “Yeah, so what?” I shot back, but my dick twitched in my pants, already stirring.
“Such a big guy with such a little babydick,” she whispered, that old phrase dripping from her lips like honeyed venom, her smile wicked and knowing.
Fuck, my dick hardened instantly, straining against my zipper, the humiliation twisting into raw arousal. I shifted in the booth, the leather creaking under me, trying to hide the bulge but knowing she could tell.
“Aww, you remembered,” I said, sarcasm masking the heat pooling in my groin.
“Well, how could I forget such a cute… little… babydick?” She drew out each word, her eyes locked on mine, challenging, teasing. I
could see the spark in her gaze, the way her thighs pressed together under the table, her body betraying her own excitement. The alcohol burned in my veins, emboldening me. I wanted more—wanted to push this, feel that old thrill.
“Tell me about the guy you left me for,” I demanded, voice rough. “Is he bigger than me?”
Her smile faded, face turning red as she looked away, fingers twisting the stem of her glass. The bar’s dim lights cast shadows on her skin, highlighting the flush creeping down her neck. She hesitated, biting her lip. “Yes, but that’s not why I broke up with you.”
“I know.” My heart pounded, dick throbbing harder at the edge of jealousy and lust. “How much bigger is he?”
“Why do you want to know?” she snapped back, flustered, a mix of anger and embarrassment in her eyes, but her squirming told another story—her legs rubbing together, the subtle scent of her arousal cutting through the bar’s smoky air.
I held her gaze, unflinching. “Because it turns me on. Because you turn me on when you talk about it. And because right now, I think you want to turn me on more. Because getting me hot always got you soaking wet. I can tell right now, the way you’ve been squirming in your seat across from me, your pussy is getting wet. I can smell the horniness on you. I also think that’s why you’re here. You missed me, and the way I made you feel. So tell me, how much bigger is his cock compared to mine?”
She dropped her eyes to the table, cheeks burning, but I saw the truth there—the way her breath hitched, nipples hardening against her blouse. She knew I had her pegged; this reunion wasn’t just catch-up. It was us, circling back to the fire we’d always ignited.
After a long pause, her voice came out soft, almost a whisper, laced with that tipsy slur. “A lot bigger.”
The words hit me like a punch, my dick jerking in my pants, pre-cum leaking as the humiliation washed over me, hot and intoxicating. I could picture it—her with him, stretched and filled in ways I never could, and fuck, it made me ache. Her eyes flicked back up, meeting mine, a spark of mischief returning despite the embarrassment. She leaned in closer, her hand brushing my thigh under the table, fingers grazing dangerously close to my straining bulge.
“You really want to hear more? About how he feels inside me?”
My pulse raced, the booth feeling smaller, hotter, as I nodded, voice thick. “Every detail. Make it hurt so good.”
She licked her lips, the air between us electric, her wetness probably soaking through her panties now, mirroring the drip down my shaft. The night was just getting started, and I wanted her to unravel me completely.
Show me with your hands,” I said, my voice low and commanding, the words slipping out before I could second-guess them.
My dick throbbed painfully in my pants, harder than it had been in years, the humiliation of her confession twisting into a fire that burned straight through me. Truth be told, I’d fantasized about this exact moment countless times—her lips forming those cruel words, her eyes gleaming with that mix of pity and lust. The bar’s dim haze wrapped around us, the distant clink of glasses and low hum of voices fading as her gaze locked onto mine, wide with a cocktail of shock and desire.
She hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted her hands from the table. The flush on her cheeks deepened, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger, then expanded it, her other hand wrapping around an invisible girth like she was gripping a thick cucumber from the produce aisle we’d met in.
“He is thick,” she whispered, her voice quivering with arousal, the slur of the drinks making it breathy and raw. “Much thicker than you. Like… this.”
She demonstrated, her hands sliding up and down the imagined length, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving mine. I could see the way her thighs clenched under the table, the subtle shift of her hips as she pressed her legs together, chasing friction.
The sight of her mimicking that massive cock sent a jolt straight to my groin, pre-cum soaking into my boxers. I leaned closer, the scent of her arousal stronger now, musky and intoxicating amid the bar’s stale beer smell.
“You should touch yourself,” I urged, my tone husky, laced with the old dominance we’d played with. “Tell me more. Let me see how wet this makes you.”
She bit her lip, glancing around the booth’s shadows, but the alcohol and the heat between us won out. Her hand dropped to her lap, fingers pressing against the seam of her tight jeans, rubbing slow circles over her pussy. A soft whimper escaped her, her eyes fluttering half-closed as she started to grind against her palm.
“He gags me when I suck him off,” she confessed, her voice dropping to a trembling hush, the words tumbling out like she’d been holding them back for years. “You never really could. His cock fills my throat all the way in, and there’s more I can’t even fit. Your dick… it could barely reach the back of my throat. My jaw aches after I go down on him. His cock is just that big—veiny, pulsing, stretching my lips wide every time.”
Fuck, her descriptions painted it so vividly: her on her knees, choking on that monster while I watched in my mind’s eye, my own pathetic erection straining. My heart pounded, a mix of jealousy and raw need surging through me, making my skin hot and tight. The emotional pull hit hard, too—the way she’d always known how to unravel me, turning my insecurities into this twisted pleasure we both craved. I couldn’t take it anymore.
My hands fumbled with my zipper, the metallic rasp loud in our secluded corner. I pulled out my dick, hard and leaking, the cool air of the bar hitting the sensitive skin like a tease. It bobbed free, smaller than hers implied, but throbbing with urgency.
“Come sit next to me,” I ordered, patting the leather seat beside me, my voice rough with need.
She froze for a beat, her rubbing hand pausing as reality flickered in her eyes— the risk, the bar full of strangers just beyond our booth. But then she slid out of her side, her movements fluid from the drinks, and settled in close, her hip pressing against mine. The heat of her body seeped through our clothes, her perfume mixing with the sharp tang of her wetness. Her hand wrapped around my shaft immediately, fingers loose at first, then tightening as she compared in her mind.
“Grab mine,” I whispered, guiding her. “Are you sure this guy’s that much bigger?”
With several fingers stroking my dick—her grip firm but not challenged, like handling something delicate—and the other diving back between her legs, she let out a genuine gasp.
“Oh my god, yours is so small by comparison,” Margie murmured, her voice thick with honest surprise and that teasing edge I loved. “It just feels so thin and short. Mike’s cock fills my hand—not like this little babydick. I need two hands to jerk him off properly, to wrap around that thick man meat. Yours slips right through two fingers and my thumb.”
She started jerking me faster, her fingers slick with my pre-cum, the motion urgent and rhythmic under the table’s cover. Her other hand worked her pussy harder through the denim, the fabric probably soaked now, her breath coming in short pants against my shoulder. The humiliation burned sweet, her words slicing deep while her touch pulled me higher—emotional barbs wrapped in the intimacy of our shared history.
“He fucks me with that big cock all the time,” Margie continued, mocking me breathlessly, her voice a sultry slur. “Stretches me so full I feel him for days. Your little dick would just slip out of me now, wouldn’t it? You’re such a big guy with such a little babydick… Such a big guy with such a little babydick…”
Her taunt looped like a mantra, each repetition pushing me closer to the edge. The bar faded entirely, just her hand flying over my dick, the wet sounds of her rubbing muffled by the jeans. I was lost in it—the nostalgia, the raw lust, the way she knew exactly how to break and build me.
“Are you gonna cum for me?” Margie asked, her tone sweet and wicked, eyes locked on mine with that vibrant spark I’d missed.
I couldn’t hold back. The orgasm ripped through me, hot and intense, cum shooting in thick ropes across the underside of the table and splattering Margie’s hand. I groaned low, biting my lip to stifle it, my body shuddering as waves of pleasure mixed with the sting of her words. She kept stroking through it, milking every drop, her own hand frantic now between her thighs.
As I came down, panting, I leaned in close, my lips brushing her ear. “Does he call you a whore as I used to? Because I’m pretty sure jerking a guy off in a bar makes you one—a dirty little whore.” Her body tensed, but she didn’t stop, her fingers twitching as I added, “Now stick those fingers in your mouth and taste my cum like a good whore.”
Eyes squeezing shut, she obeyed without a word, lifting her cum-slicked hand to her lips and licking her fingers clean. The sight—her tongue swirling over the salty mess—pushed her over. Her body jerked, a small yelp escaping as her orgasm hit, thighs clamping around her hand, her free arm clutching my shoulder for support. I watched, mesmerized, the vulnerability in her release, stirring something deep, affectionate amid the filth.
“Good whore,” I murmured, guiding her. “Now eat all that cum… don’t want to leave a mess for the bar staff.”
She scooped up the stray blobs from the table with trembling fingers, stuffing them greedily into her mouth, sucking them clean with soft, needy sounds. Then she grabbed napkins, wiping me down first—her touch gentle now, almost tender—then the table, erasing the evidence of our recklessness.
We sat there in the aftermath, breaths syncing, the booth feeling charged with unspoken history. Margie’s head rested on my shoulder for a moment, the emotional weight settling in—the fun, the kink, but also the ache of what we’d lost.
Finally, she pulled back, voice soft and conflicted. “God, that felt good. But dammit, I knew this was a bad idea. You just… You bring that side out in me. It’s so intoxicating. But I can’t do this… I can’t see you,” she stammered, avoiding my eyes. “I’m… married now.”
The word hung heavy, a twist I half-expected but still stung. I nodded nonchalantly, masking the flicker of disappointment with a casual smile. “I thought you might be. I had fun, though—catching up. It was good to see you again. But I won’t tell if you don’t.”
We stood, the bar’s noise rushing back as I pulled her into a hug, her body soft against mine. I kissed the top of her head, inhaling her scent one last time. “I’m still the best, aren’t I?”
She pulled back, a small smile breaking through the guilt. “Yes.”
“That’s all I wanted to know,” I said, but as she turned to leave, her lingering glance held a spark of unfinished business, the night leaving us both hungry for what might come next—if she let it.
But she didn’t walk away.
That spark in her eyes flickered brighter, pulling her back like a magnet, even as her body betrayed the words she’d just spoken. The guilt twisted her features, but the heat between us was thicker, undeniable, the booth’s shadows hiding our secrets.
“Wait,” I murmured, my hand catching her wrist gently, tugging her close again.
She resisted for a heartbeat, lips parting in protest, but then she sank back into the seat beside me, her thigh pressing hot against mine. The air hummed with the weight of her confession—married, yet here, unraveling under my touch. It stung, that ring she probably wore hidden under her sleeve, but it fueled the fire too, turning the emotional tangle into something raw and urgent.
I leaned back against the worn leather, my heart still racing from the orgasm, cock twitching back to life as I watched her squirm. “You can’t just drop that and leave,” I said, voice low, laced with the old command that always made her melt.
My hands moved to her waistband, fingers hooking into the denim of her jeans. She gasped softly, glancing toward the bar’s dim lights, but didn’t stop me. I tugged them down, inch by inch, exposing the smooth skin of her thighs, the fabric bunching at mid-thigh where it caught. No panties—fuck, she’d come prepared. Her pussy came into view, slick and swollen, lips glistening under the faint glow from the overhead lamp, the musky scent hitting me like a drug.
She shivered as the cool air kissed her exposed skin, her hands gripping the edge of the booth, knuckles white. I traced my fingers over her pussy lips, light at first, teasing the outer edges, feeling the heat radiating from her core. She whimpered, hips bucking slightly, chasing more contact.
“God, you’re soaked,” I whispered, my thumb brushing her clit in slow circles, watching her face contort with need.
Her breaths came faster, ragged, as I parted her lips with two fingers, sliding them along the wet slit, coating myself in her arousal. The slick sounds were obscene in the quiet booth, mingling with the distant bar noise. She bit her lip, eyes squeezing shut, but I could see the conflict raging—desire winning over the guilt, her control slipping. I pressed deeper, sliding two fingers inside her tight cunt, the walls clenching around me like a vice, hot and velvety.
She gasped sharply, a moan following as I curled them upward, hitting that spot that always made her unravel. “Fuck, yes,” she breathed, her voice a mix of plea and command, head falling back against the booth.
Even as she rocked against my hand, her words turned sharp, that teasing edge cutting through the haze. “Your little dick could never fill me like this,” she mocked, voice trembling but defiant, eyes opening to lock on mine with fiery challenge. “Two fingers and I’m already tighter around them than I ever was around your babydick. But fuck me anyway—prove you can still make me cum, even with that small dicklette.”
The humiliation twisted in my gut, sweet and burning, stirring my dick fully hard again, pressing against my thigh. She knew exactly how to play me, turning my insecurity into fuel, her arousal dripping down my knuckles as I pumped faster.
I added a third finger, stretching her just enough to make her cry out, her pussy fluttering around the intrusion. “Harder,” she begged, voice breaking, hips grinding shamelessly now. “Fuck my tight cunt with those fingers, show me you’re not useless. I need it—need you to make me forget everything else.”
Her control frayed at the edges, desire crashing against the walls she’d built; she craved the proof that our connection still burned, that my touch could eclipse the life she’d chosen. I obliged, thrusting deeper, my palm slapping against her clit with each stroke, her juices soaking my hand and the seat beneath us. She moaned louder, careless of the risk, her body arching as waves built inside her.
The scent of her—salty, aroused—filled my senses, mixing with the bar’s haze, pulling me into the intimacy of it all. Her mockery softened into gasps, but the size play lingered in her whispers: “Your dick’s too small to do this… but don’t stop… fuck, I want more.”
The push-pull tore at me, affection swelling amid the filth, knowing she was here, choosing this reckless heat over walking away. As her cuntal walls tightened, on the brink, I slowed just enough to tease, drawing out the tension. She whined, eyes pleading, the clash of her dominance and surrender painting her face in raw emotion.
“Please,” she murmured, voice husky, “make me cum… prove you’re still the one who knows me best.”
The night stretched open before us, unfinished, her body trembling under my fingers, begging for release while her heart wrestled with the consequences.
Her plea hung in the air, raw and desperate, her pussy clenching around my fingers as she teetered on the edge. But the booth felt too confined, too risky with the bar’s murmurs drifting closer. The heat in her eyes, the way her body arched toward me—it ignited something primal, a need to claim her fully, away from prying eyes.
I withdrew my fingers slowly, slick with her juices, and she whimpered in protest, her hips chasing the emptiness. “Not here,” I growled, voice thick with urgency, grabbing her wrist in a firm grip.
Her jeans still bunched at her thighs, she stumbled as I pulled her up, her exposed pussy flashing in the dim light. She didn’t resist, her free hand clutching my arm, breath hitching with a mix of fear and excitement.
I dragged her through the bar’s haze, past the shadowed patrons who barely glanced our way, the cool night air hitting us as we burst out the side door into the dark alley. The streetlamp flickered weakly at the end, casting jagged shadows on the brick walls slick with evening dampness. My dick throbbed painfully in my pants, hard and insistent, the emotional storm raging—knowing she was married, that this was stolen, forbidden, only made the pull stronger.
She was mine in this moment, her body remembering the kinks we’d shared, the teasing that always led to this frenzy. I spun her around, pressing her back against the rough wall, the grit scraping her shirt as I pinned her there with my body.
Her eyes widened, pupils blown with lust and a flicker of that guilt, but she spread her legs willingly, the jeans hampering her but not stopping the invitation. I yanked them lower, down to her ankles now, exposing her slick cunt fully to the chill air. It glistened under the faint light, lips puffy and wet, her arousal dripping down her inner thighs. The scent hit me—musky, intoxicating, mixed with the alley’s stale rain and garbage.
“Fuck, look at you,” I murmured, my hand sliding between her legs, thumb parting her pussy lips to reveal the pink heat inside.
She shivered, nipples hard against her top, her marriage a ghost between us, but her hips bucked forward, begging silently.
I fumbled with my zipper, freeing my dick—hard, veined, the head already leaking pre-cum from the earlier tease. It wasn’t huge, I knew that, but it was hers once, the one she’d mocked and craved. She glanced down, a teasing smirk curling her lips even as her chest heaved.
“That little babydick again,” she whispered, voice slurred from the drinks, laced with that erotic bite that always twisted me up. “Think it can handle me now? After his thick man’s cock stretched me out?”
The humiliation burned sweet, fueling the ache in my gut, the emotional tangle of reunion and rejection making my thrust urgent. I didn’t answer with words— instead, I gripped her thigh, hiked it up around my waist, and slammed my cock deep inside her wet pussy in one brutal stroke.
She gasped sharply, the sound echoing off the alley walls, her tight walls clamping down around me like a fist, hot and slick from her earlier arousal. “Oh god, yes!” she moaned, louder than she should, her fingers digging into my back through my shirt, nails scraping fabric and skin.
The roughness of the wall bit into her shoulders, but she arched into me, her body surrendering to the invasion. I pulled back almost fully, then thrust in again, harder, the slap of my hips against hers wet and obscene. Her pussy sucked me in, velvety and greedy, the friction building fast despite her taunts.
“Harder, fuck me harder,” she begged, her voice breaking into a whine, legs trembling as she wrapped them tighter around me.
Her hands clawed at my shoulders, pulling me closer, her breath hot against my neck. The teasing didn’t stop; even impaled on my cock, she leaned in, lips brushing my ear.
“Your small dick’s always hit my g-spot in a way Mike’s man meat just can’t… but it’s so fucking tiny, I barely feel it. Make me cum anyway, prove you’re not worthless.”
The words stung, erotic humiliation flooding my veins, making me pound into her relentlessly, each thrust deeper, chasing the mix of pain and pleasure. Her moans grew louder, unrestrained, the alley amplifying them—raw, needy sounds that spoke of her conflict, the tipsy flirtation turning into a desperate reunion.
Our bodies slammed together in a frenzy, sweat slicking our skin despite the cool air, my balls slapping against her ass with every urgent drive. I could feel her clit grinding against my pubic bone, her juices coating my shaft, dripping down to the ground. I gripped her ass, lifting her higher, angling to hit that deep spot, her gasps turning to cries.
“Don’t stop… fuck, I missed this,” she confessed between moans, voice cracking with vulnerability, the teasing giving way to honest need.
Her cuntal walls fluttered, tightening, the build-up coiling in her body as I fucked her harder, the raw lust and lingering humiliation pushing us both toward the edge.
The alley seemed to close in, our breaths mingling, hearts pounding in sync, but the night held more—her body quivering, not yet breaking, the tension strung tight between release and restraint.
I couldn’t hold back anymore, the pressure building in my balls like a storm ready to break. Margie’s words echoed in my head—’tiny,’ ‘barely feel it’—twisting the knife of humiliation into pure fuel, making every thrust more savage.
I slammed my dick deep into her tight pussy, pounding with raw, urgent strokes that shook her body against the rough brick. The alley’s damp chill did nothing to cool the heat between us; her slick walls gripped me like a vice, sucking me in deeper with each plunge. Sweat beaded on my forehead, mixing with the faint drizzle starting to fall, our skin slapping wetly in the shadows.
“Fuck, yes—harder!” Margie screamed, the sound raw and echoing off the walls, her nails clawing down my back through my shirt, leaving fiery trails that made me growl.
Her legs locked around my waist, heels digging into my ass, urging me on as if she could pull me even deeper. The teasing in her voice cracked, giving way to desperate need, her tipsy haze sharpening into something feral. Her pussy fluttered around my short shaft, hot and soaking, her arousal dripping down my balls as I drove in balls-deep, the friction building to an unbearable peak.
I gripped her hips bruisingly tight, fingers sinking into her soft flesh, angling her just right to grind against that sweet spot inside her. “You feel that, huh? My little babydick owning your married cunt,” I rasped, voice hoarse from the effort, the words spilling out in a mix of dominance and vulnerability.
She whimpered, head thrown back against the wall, her pretty face contorted in ecstasy—vibrant cheeks flushed, lips parted in constant moans. The scent of her—musky sex and faint perfume—filled my lungs, intoxicating, pulling me under. I chased my release relentlessly, hips snapping forward, dick throbbing inside her velvet heat, every inch of me alive with the urgency of reunion.
Her body tensed suddenly, pussy clenching tighter, waves of her orgasm crashing through her like a tidal wave. “Oh god, I’m cumming—fuck, your babydick’s making me cum!” Margie cried out, voice breaking into a sob of pleasure, her cuntal walls spasming wildly around me, milking my shaft with rhythmic pulses.
Juices gushed out, coating my cock and thighs, her thighs quivering uncontrollably as she rode the high, nails raking my shoulders hard enough to draw blood. The sight of her unraveling—eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream—pushed me over the edge.
I buried myself to the hilt one last time, groaning low and guttural as my orgasm hit, cock pulsing hot ropes of cum deep into her clenching pussy. “Take it all, you teasing slut,” I muttered through gritted teeth, the release exploding through me, stars bursting behind my eyelids.
Wave after wave emptied into her, filling her up, our mixed fluids leaking out around my base as I kept thrusting shallowly, prolonging the bliss. Her moans softened to whimpers, body shuddering in aftershocks, her arms wrapping around my neck in a sudden, tender hold that spoke of the emotional undercurrent—the conflict in her eyes when they fluttered open, the guilt flickering beneath the satisfaction.
We collapsed together, breathless and spent, her weight slumping against me as I held her up, our bodies slick with sweat, cum, and alley rain. Tangled in the dark shadows, her head rested on my shoulder, hearts hammering in unison, the night air cooling our overheated skin. The teasing, the size play, the drunken pull of our past—it all hung between us, unresolved, but for now, sated. She lifted her head slightly, lips brushing my jaw in a soft, conflicted kiss, the end of our stolen moment settling like the drizzle around us.
Eventually, she pushed me away and pulled up her jeans. “I gotta go, James,” she said, her cheeks red. “Mike is expecting me home.”
“I understand,” I said. “It was nice catching up.”
She giggled, kissed my cheek, and left me there.
The End.
*The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech. This story was created specifically for this site using AI. While AI created most of the text, an actual human guided the process and edited the story and rewrote/added parts to make it as good as possible for your enjoyment.