Written by ThisFool
9 Oct 2016
Ex-Girlfriend at a Party I Love You (FMMM).
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9 minute read
This is about my ex-girlfriend, Karen. She was just nineteen when this happened. It’s what ended our relationship. God! I still can’t believe what she did.
I have not seen Karen for twenty years -- but now I really, really wish I had not dumped her, wish she was my wife right now. The things I could get her to do!
Back then she worked in the offices of one of the big Ruby clubs here in the North. There was a bit of a do at one of the player’s homes to which she had been invited. I knew a couple of the guys at the club and she was told she could bring me along if she wanted to but I could tell she was not keen.
The night of the party we argued.
We fell out because of how she was with me, trying to talk me out of accompanying her. She said I would be bored by all the shop talk. But she forgot I knew some of the guys at the club, knew what they were like. I was determined to not let her go on her own.
And then there was the Little black Micro dress; high hem and cut low at the chest. Those smooth, pale puppies sure looked eager for walkies. And her long legs in ever-so sheer, barely black tights. Toppling heels too.
God, did I really sound like he father when I said she couldn’t go out looking like that?
She said I did.
Silence in the cab on our journey there.
A largish house in the hills just up from town. All lit up. Loads of nice cars in the drive.
As soon as we were though the door she was off. Circulating. Didn’t see her much for at least three hours. After a few drinks my nerves calmed. There were a couple of guys there I knew. We chatted about bands and stuff, and soccer, of all things.
By eleven thirty I’d drunk a lot of beer and thought it about time I found Karen. She was in one of the lounges, stood to one end of the biggest corner sofa I have ever seen, one hand stretched out casually stroking its back as she lifted her glass with the other.
Karen was certainly a honey pot in that dress. There were two a three guys stood about her wanting to dip in. Oh, they were keen alright, each trying to outdo the other for her attention, trying too hard, their laughing becoming ridiculously loud.
I tired to judge how much she’d had: loud and flamboyant, edging towards slutty. Too many. She kept touching one guy gently on the chest as if in a gesture of grooming. Then her eyes would flit to another, giving him a smile, sometimes laughing at something said. But it was her eyes that said it all, told those men just what she wanted.
Then out of the blue she was kissing one. I’ll call him Jeff. I didn’t see that coming. He just took her in his arms and then they were snogging the face of each other. I stood watching in horrified disbelief as his hand went under the hem of her dress from behind.
The other blokes were silent for a moment, just stared like I did. They obviously thought their chance had gone, so one and then the other turned to move away. But Karen disengaged from the Jeff and called to them both, reached out her arm for -- I’ll call him Tom -- beckoning him. Their eyes met and he understood. Then she was kissing Tom with Jeff now behind her kissing her neck and shoulders, his palms groping buttock.
The third guy, Brett, went and sat on the end of sofa right next to where Karen was still standing sandwiched between Jeff and Tom. He watched for a moment and then reached out and gently swept his hand up the inside of her thighs, letting it rise and fall. I saw her part her legs a little to allow him easier access.
My mind was spinning by the time they’d coaxed her dress from her. She had no bras on. The dress was strapless, had its own supporting cups. And besides, Karen was still had a year left as a teenager, her youthful tits were firm, had nipples still at forty-five degrees, In the lamplight of the room they looked very swollen, in need of sucking.
The few remaining people in the room could not help but look on, strangely compelled to watch what now unfolded, their eyes drawn as if to a car crash on the ring-road -- I know it’s a cliché but that really is what their faces made me think of. No one was talking, just background music, something chilled, ambient.
At one point, between kissing each bloke in turn, Karen looked around the room. She seemed pleased at the affect her situation was creating on those still present. Then she saw me at the far end and her smile became one of gloating triumph. Then she was kissing Tom Again, her tongue ostentatious, a show just for me.
Brett -- the guy on the sofa -- leaned right over the arm of the sofa and reached high for the waistband of her tights, yanking them down, brining her panties along too. Then his fingers delving.
The female from one of the couples in the room quietly got up and moved towards the door, taking her boyfriend with her, actually dragging him by the hand. She looked outraged, he completely pissed-off being led away like that. Now I think, poor bloke. The show had only just begun.
But no one else left. One couple even moved closer to get a better view; standing, glasses in hand, sipping from time to time, not saying a word. At one moment they shared a kiss with each other, and then their eyes were quickly back at my naked Karen.
I thought the men were going to fuck her one after the other. But they didn’t. They had her drop to her knees and then all three stood before her with their trouser down round their ankles, their cocks protruding like coat-hanger pegs on a hat-stand. God, other men’s hard cocks are so ugly. Three in a row was almost too much. I nearly turned and left the room.
But I didn’t.
Each time she took a man’s cock in her mouth, she brushed her long red hair away from her face as if clearing the decks for action. She Spent a minute or so on each, working her way along the line and then repeat. It Didn’t take her long to undo Tom and Jeff. I clearly remember the glisten of spunk in lamplight matting her hair. The back of her hand smearing her lippy when she wiped her mouth. She did not swallow -- nor did she spit -- sort f just let it all dribble down her chin.
When she had done with those two, they fastened up and took a seat to watch what came next.
She was on her back on the sofa, her legs spread wide with Brett between, his hairy buttocks powering cock deep. I just stood and stared. I think by now I had disowned her, didn’t want anyone to know she was my girlfriend. I’m sure none of those in the room knew me.
Some might ask why I just stood and watched. I suppose I was in shock. And perhaps it was a revelation to me. The whole thing turned me on like nothing else ever had. Yes I was outraged, felt humiliated. But more than those things, I felt myself consumed by a sexual arousal of such intensity it overrode all rationality, swept aside all social expectations of how a man should behave on seeing his girlfriend used like that.
So, yes, I just watched -- watched until he finished with her. Yes, I watched how she raised her knees way back, watched how she pulled him to her and ran her fingers over his shaven scalp; watched how he pressed her heels into the small of his back. Watched her face, its drunken gape of abandon. She never once closed her eyes.
When he’d done with her, he stood up and laughed out loud, said, “Karen, you really are a slut.” Of all those people in the room Brett was the only one who knew Karen was with me. As he turned form her he caught sight of me, looked over to where I stood and held my gaze. That look destroyed me. It was one of utter contempt.
The couple who had moved close to watch continued to stare at Karen as she stood up to dress herself. She saw them looking and went close up to them, said “what’s up luv. You want some of what the boys are having?” Then before the girl knew what had happened Karen took her in her arms, pulled her tight to her naked body and began to kiss her.
The girl squirmed but Karen held on. The girls arms began to flap up and down as if she were trying to fly away, a stifled yell of protest failing to escape her mouth, It was only when her boyfriend parted the pair was she able to break free.
“You dirty, fucking slut,” the girl said, wiping her mouth over and over with the back of her hand. She reached into her small purse and retrieved tissue and spat over and over. She looked like she might vomit.
Karen just grinned. “You were asking for it . . . and you know loved it” she said.
I t thought the other girl was about to launch herself at Karen. I anticipated a cat fight. But the girl’s partner quickly ushered her away and out of the room.
Then Karen was gathering her things. She came over to me and said, “Take me home, Martin. This party stinks.”
The lounge was emptied as she dressed herself. I say dressed herself; squeezed into that piece of cloth that masqueraded as a dress. She didn’t bother with her panties, tights or shoes.
I called a cab and then sat with her in silence until it arrived while she downed more booze.
I told the cabbie to take drop her off at her parents house. She didn’t object. When she got out I said we were done and to come and pick her stuff up from our flat tomorrow when I’d be out. She said nothing.
I never spoke to her again.
What a fool I was. If she has kept her looks, can you imagine having a wife like Karen? Jeez! There is some lucky guy out there married to her right now. And I bet she is the kind of wife who visits SH. If so: Hi Karen. You know who you are.