Post-Uni Hookup with My Ex
It was barely three weeks after I walked across that graduation stage, still riding the high of freedom and zero responsibilities. My ex had texted me out of nowhere — “Drinks? Catch up properly?” — and I said yes without thinking twice.
I got ready to provoke him, White fishnet crop top, the one that let everything show through the mesh — my dark nipples clearly visible,. Tiny black mini skirt that barely covered my ass when I stood still and rode up the second I moved. Sheer black tights that made my thick thighs look shiny and expensive. Sky-high black platform heels that clicked loud on the pavement and made my calves pop. And that long, glossy red satin scarf — I looped it twice around my neck like a choker, then let the long ends hang down between my breasts.
He picked me up and his eyes went straight to the scarf, then down to my tits, then to the way the skirt hugged my hips. “Fuck,” was all he said at first. We spent the whole day out — coffee, walking through the park, late lunch with wine, then more drinks at a quiet bar. Every time I crossed my legs the skirt rode higher. Every time I leaned forward the fishnet stretched over my chest. He kept staring at the red satin trailing down my body like he wanted to wrap it around his fist already.
By the time we got back to his flat the air was thick. The second the door clicked shut he had me pinned against it, mouth on mine, tongue deep, one hand already up my skirt grabbing a handful of ass through the tights. “Been thinking about this all day,” he growled against my lips.
We didn’t even make it to the bedroom at first. He spun me around, bent me over the back of the sofa, yanked my skirt up and my tights down just enough to expose my ass and pussy. Two thick fingers shoved straight into me — I was already soaked. He finger-fucked me hard while his other hand grabbed the ends of the red scarf and pulled, tightening the satin around my throat. Not enough to cut off air completely, just enough to make my head swim and my cunt clench around his fingers. “Still so fucking tight,” he muttered.
He dragged me to the bedroom, stripped me properly. Fishnet top peeled off over my head, careful not to catch the scarf. Skirt unzipped and dropped. Tights rolled down my legs slow, his mouth following the fabric, biting the soft flesh of my inner thighs. Heels kicked off. Then I was completely naked except for that long red satin scarf still looped around my neck, the shiny ends dangling down over my bare tits and stomach.
He pushed me onto the bed on my back, spread my thick thighs wide, and lined his cock up. No teasing. He slammed in to the hilt in one thrust. I cried out. He grabbed both ends of the scarf, wrapped them around his fists, and started fucking me deep and steady while he pulled on the satin. Every time he thrust forward he gave the scarf a little tug, tightening it around my throat. The pressure made my pulse roar in my ears. My pussy was dripping, making wet sounds every time his cock bottomed out. I came like that — legs shaking, back arching, gasping around the scarf as my cunt pulsed and squeezed him. He didn’t stop. He just kept fucking me through it, pulling the scarf a little tighter when my moans got too loud.
Then he flipped me onto all fours. Doggy. He wrapped the long scarf once more around my neck, crossed the ends, and held them like reins. When he thrust back in he pulled back on the scarf at the same time, forcing my back to arch hard, my head tilted up. The choke was perfect — just enough restriction that every breath was a struggle, every thrust felt ten times more intense. My tits swung beneath me. My clit throbbed untouched. He fucked me like he owned me, yanking the scarf every few strokes so I’d gasp and my pussy would flutter around his cock. “Take it,” he grunted. “Good girl. Let me choke that pretty throat while I ruin this cunt.”
I came again, harder, face buried in the pillow, thighs trembling, juices running down the inside of my legs. He pulled out, flipped me onto my back again, and climbed over my chest. He fed his cock into my mouth while he held the scarf with one hand, gently pulling it so my head lifted off the bed. I sucked him sloppy and desperate, spit running down my chin, while he controlled my breathing with the satin. Every time I took him deep he’d tug, making me choke on his cock and the scarf at the same time. My eyes watered. My pussy clenched around nothing.
When he couldn’t take it anymore he shoved back between my legs and fucked me missionary again, this time wrapping the scarf around his hand like a handle and pulling upward so my chin tilted back, throat exposed and constricted. He pounded me hard and fast, the bed creaking, my heavy tits bouncing, the red satin shining against my skin. “I’m gonna come,” he warned “Do it,” I gasped. “Choke me while you fill me.”
He yanked the scarf tight as he buried himself to the balls and came — thick, hot pulses flooding my pussy while the satin cut off most of my air. The lack of oxygen made my orgasm hit like a truck. I came so hard I went silent, mouth open, eyes rolling, body locked up around him as he kept pumping cum deep inside me. We stayed like that for a long minute, both panting, his cock still twitching inside me, the red scarf still wrapped around his fist and my throat. Eventually he loosened it. I could breathe properly again. My throat felt warm and used. My pussy was a mess — swollen, leaking his cum, still fluttering with aftershocks.
He kissed the red marks the satin had left on my neck, then my mouth, slow and deep. We fucked twice more that night. Once with me riding him while he held the scarf ends up like a leash, pulling me down onto his cock every time I rose up. Once with me on my side, one leg over his shoulder, the scarf twisted and held so he could control exactly how much air I got while he ground deep and slow. By the time I left the next morning my throat was sore in the best way, my legs were shaky, and that red satin scarf was still around my neck — now slightly wrinkled and smelling like sex and his cologne.
