Jules 09 - Ex Games

Author's Note: This is a chapter in a multi-part story and is not intended to stand alone. This is my first attempt at writing erotica, so feedback is highly encouraged.

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J doesn't complain when I stay in my sweats and t-shirt. I refuse to dress for Paul's pleasure. But she takes a firm stand on hair and makeup, insisting that we maintain some minimum standards. I do my best to tame my bed head, still blushing slightly each time I reach for the hairbrush. Meanwhile, J goes to work on my makeup. The eventual effect is flirty, cute and almost wholesome. This seems incongruous with my task for the morning. As we walk out the front door, she hands me a shopping bag. "Packers t-shirt" she states in response to my questioning look.

I drop J off at the coffee shop from yesterday, presumably to retrieve her car. I then make my way to Paul's apartment, trying to ignore the shame that is forming in the pit of my stomach. "It's just a blowjob," I tell myself. "You've done this before." Paul answers the door wearing only a pair of sweatpants of his own, obviously opting not to dress for the occasion either. "Hey babe, fancy meeting you here."

His smarmy manner is a turn off. His bare, toned chest isn't. I'm reminded that, aside from James' awkward fumblings the day before, I haven't enjoyed a man's touch in quite some time. And while Paul has a laundry list of faults, too many to name, sexual prowess is not one of them.

I stop myself before my thoughts stray too far down that path and don an expression that I hope portrays unconcerned confidence. I need to reclaim power in this transaction, and fawning like a schoolgirl won't help. "We have business to attend to." I say wryly, pushing past him into the apartment.

"You look good," he says, giving me a once over as we make our way to the living room. I let his gaze linger on me for a moment, silently wishing I had worn something a little more flattering. Whether that's to shift the balance of power or gain his approval, I'm not certain.

"Thanks. Here's your shirt." I toss the bag to him. He acknowledges it with a quick chuckle before depositing the bag on the coffee table, amongst the snacks that are set out for the game.

I want this over with, so I get right down to business. "Let's agree to terms. I'll give you one blowjob..."

"To completion," he interjects with a cocky smile.

I roll my eyes. "One blowjob, to completion. I then watch you delete the pictures and the whole text exchange from your phone."

"Wait, you're serious? You're really here for a blowjob. I thought this whole thing was a joke, like you wanted to get back together or something." He shakes his head in amusement.

"We are NOT getting back together!" I say a little too forcefully. "So, you'll delete the pictures?"

"Well now I know you're willing to blow me for them." I make a mental note to kill J the next time I see her. I hadn't even considered that he wasn't serious, but of course he wasn't. What woman in her right mind would agree to this? Apparently I would... and did. Am I actually still considering it?

I shake my head to try to clear my thoughts. I tell myself that I came here intending to go through with the bargain, but I know that's just a rationalization. The truth is that J wants me to play the game, so I'll play it. So much for 'in my right mind.'

"Can I trust that you have no other copies of them?"

"Scout's honor." He holds up three fingers. I scoff, but have no real choice but to trust him.

"Afterwards, we never speak of the pictures or the blowjob again. The slate is wiped clean, like none of this ever happened."

"Whatever you say, babe." I wish he would stop calling me that. It's way more demeaning than endearing. Did I really find him charming at one point? "One more thing, though."

"What?" I ask flatly, fixing him with an untrusting stare.

"The Packer's home opener is in an hour. Wear the shirt." He nods to the bag on his coffee table. "For good luck." He flashes me his biggest, shit-eating grin. I want to refuse. I want to tell him to go fuck himself and storm out. I want to knock that fucking grin off his face. But I relent, telling myself that it's a stupid hill to die on.

"Fine." I grab the bag and head to the bathroom to get myself ready.

"Thanks, babe. You're the best!" Ugh!

I hear J's voice in my head. "You know that you'll play the game."

Safe for the moment in the privacy of the restroom, I pull the t-shirt from the bag. Paul is a big guy, well over six feet tall, and his clothes are equally big. I used to wear his t-shirts as a dress around the house. I know he likes the look, so I slide off my sweatpants. I hold up the shirt, and immediately realize that J made some modifications. The neckline is cut into a V-shape, both deep and wide. The sleeves have been removed, leaving large, gaping arm holes. As a final indignity, the seams on the sides of the shirt have long slits rising several inches from the hem. A narrow triangle of material has been removed around each seam, mimicking the neckline and emphasizing the effect.

"Of course" I mutter in resignation as I exchange my own shirt for the remains of Paul's. There's no pretending it's anything but obscene. Any move brings my bra-covered breasts into view. "Tits," I correct myself. Lisa's admonitions ring firmly in my mind. No one is tempted by 'breasts', they want 'tits'. I consider the look for a moment and decide to lose the bra. The bolder my display, the more I'll be able to shift power in my favor. If he wants tits, he'll get tits.

The seams are cut high enough that the sides of my panties are on display. I'm wearing some of my old, utilitarian panties which seem out of place with the rest of the 'ensemble'. With a wicked thought, I slide the panties off of my legs as well. In for a penny, in for a pound. Paul's not going to know what hit him. Holding up the hem of the shirt, I look at my hairless sex. 'Pussy' I decide. Or maybe even 'cunt.' I run one finger up the length of my slit, gently parting the lips. Moisture starts to form and I shiver in arousal. Definitely 'cunt.'

I realize that I've spent way too long in Paul's bathroom to change into these tiny scraps of clothing. I neatly fold my discarded outfit and take one last pause to reset my nerves. "Take back the power. Show him what he lost. Make him rue the day." I repeat J's words in my mind and step out of the bathroom.

"Took you long eno... Wow!" I smile inwardly as my appearance has the desired effect.

"Miss me?" I challenge as I perform my best catwalk strut over to where Paul waits by the couch. He can't hide his surprise as his eyes drink in my form.

"What's all this?" he asks, unable to pull his eyes from my body. My outfit, and my behavior, are shockingly out of character for me. At least, they were 48 hours ago. Standing here like this, anticipating wrapping my lips around my cheating ex-boyfriend's penis would have been unimaginable a few days ago. It's amazing how much my frame of reference has shifted in so short a time. Not 'penis'. 'Dick'. Or 'cock'. Lisa would be proud.

"This," I spread my arms wide to give him an uninterrupted view. The shirt slips off of one shoulder and the neck is cut deep enough to allow my full tit to pop into view. I stand there defiantly, making no move to cover it. "This is what you gave up when you fucked that little tramp." I do my best to keep the pain out of my voice, not wanting to remind him how much he hurt me. I'm not sure I entirely succeeded.

The jab apparently hit home, as Paul's voice takes on an edge. "Where was this a few months ago?"

"You didn't deserve it." I say flatly. But I know the truth. I didn't have it in me then.

"And I do now?" He laughs incredulously.

"Now it's just business." I fix his stare with mine and promise myself I won't be the first to look away.

A moment passes and Paul drops his eyes back to my body with a short huff. "Well, I do like your business suit." Before I can respond, he reaches a hand under the hem of my shirt and cups my mound. His eyes widen as he feels my smooth skin. "Nice" he whispers as one finger slips easily between my folds.

"But not part of the deal." I push his hand away with more reluctance than I care to admit.

"You're soaking wet." He smiles, daring me to deny it. I feel the power shifting back in Paul's favor. I make a desperate play to get it back.

"What can I say? I get off on watching you squirm."

He laughs loudly, shattering my confidence. "Squirm? You're here to suck my dick!" He may as well have slapped my face. I hate him. But I hate myself more. All of the fight drains from me.

"We may as well get to it, then." I say dejectedly.

I've sucked his dick before, several times over the course of our relationship. Blowjobs seem to be a favorite of his. Each time he would have his cock out, hard and ready, before the words were fully spoken. He probably didn't want me to have a chance to come up with an excuse to bow out. So I watch him, unmoving, waiting for him to pull his cock out, to stroke it hard, to do something. But he just stands there with his hands on his hips, until he finally says "Go right ahead. It's not going to suck itself."

I am completely defeated, and Paul is apparently going to do me no favors. He is standing in front of his couch expectantly. I sink to my knees, dragging his pants down as I go. He hadn't bothered with underwear. He sits on the couch, making himself comfortable as I wrap a numb hand around his semi-erect cock, and stroke it absently. "The deal wasn't a handjob." I glare up at him, before taking his hardening dick into my mouth.

I swirl my tongue around the tip a few times and feel it start to come to life. "That's it, you know how I like it." I have to remind myself that he wasn't this much of an asshole when we dated. A few slow bobs of my head along its length and Paul's member grows to its full size. I pull his dick out of my mouth and run the tip of my tongue along the underside, from balls to tip. "You're a bastard, you know that?" I hiss before taking him back into my mouth.

"Such language," he laughs. "Do you kiss your mom with that mouth?" I am awash in humiliation, but manage to press on. I find my rhythm and am rewarded with small grunts of pleasure.

I don't really like giving blowjobs. I don't begrudge them too much and I want to give my partners pleasure. But the act itself never turned me on. This one is different. The entire situation seems completely depraved. I'm kneeling, effectively naked, in my ex-boyfriend's living room wearing an outfit designed to display my body as lewdly as possible. And as he makes degrading comments about me, I'm busy sucking him off. And all of this in an effort to get him to delete pictures of me fucking myself senseless with a hairbrush in a public restroom. I should be petrified with shame. I should be curled up in a ball unable to face this reality. I should probably be in a fucking institution. Two days ago, I was worried about showing little glimpses of my bra in public. Two days ago, even using this kind of language was unimaginable.

Now, I feel my juices start to run down my leg. My shame is an aphrodisiac. Each insult, each disgusting remark, sends a jolt of electricity straight to my pussy. I remove one hand from Paul's thigh and tease it along the length of my sex. My cunt. This move does not go unnoticed. "You know, after you suck me off I would be happy to take that freshly shaved pussy for a test drive. I'm sure I'm good for a second round."

If he wasn't being this much of a prick, I might have taken him up on it. If he wasn't being this much of a prick, it wouldn't have turned me on so much. "Not a chance in hell!" I fire back angrily, removing my hand from my cunt.

"Your loss, babe. But it's probably for the best. The guys will be here in a few minutes to watch the game. It might be embarrassing for you if you're bouncing up and down on my dick when they arrive."

My eyes go wide with panic. A glance at the clock tells me it's 20 minutes to game time. They could show up any minute! I need this done, NOW. I take Paul's hand in one of my own and guide it to my exposed tit. He starts to grope and fondle it harshly as I return my hand to his cock. With my other hand, I pull up the hem of the shirt, exposing my dripping cunt to Paul. I hear an appreciative "Ooh" as I start to slide two fingers in and out of my engorged pussy.

I pull Paul's dick from my mouth and lock eyes with him. I pump him furiously with my hand and conjure the sluttiest voice I can muster. "Cum for me, Paul. Shoot you seed down my throat!". I plunge his cock back in my mouth as my other hand starts to furiously rub my clit. Paul's appreciative moans tell me he's getting close. But I'm racing against the clock, as well as my own impending orgasm.

"Do it! Fill my belly with your cum." I'm getting desperate. Desperate for Paul to finish. Desperate for my own release. "I need it, Paul. Cum for me." As I say the words, I feel my orgasm welling up inside me. I try to push it back down, to focus on Paul, but the need is overwhelming. I practically attack him with my mouth while never stopping my relentless assault on my pussy. Paul drops my tit and grabs the sides of my head. I feel him quiver as I pull back to give him one more round of encouragement.

"Use me! Make me your slut! Make me your whore!" I lean forward to take him into my mouth once more, but he holds me in place. As the first rope of his semen hits my forehead, my own orgasm takes hold. I feel a torrent of shame-fueled ecstasy as Paul's spunk splatters across my face and hair. I take a moment to regain my senses and let go of his deflated member.

"That was awesome!" Paul's as giddy as a schoolboy. "I haven't cum that hard in, well... ever!"

"Delete the pictures! NOW!"

"Okay, okay. Keep your pants on, babe." eyes my naked pussy as he pulls his own pants up and reaches for his phone on the end table.

"Very funny." I grab a napkin from the coffee table to get the worst of the mess off my face.

"There, all gone. See?" He holds his phone up to show me the screen. I can't really see as I'm still cleaning his sperm from my eyes, but I don't press the issue.

Just then, there's a knock at the door. "Oh no!" Paul giggles, his face a mixture of mock surprise and genuine delight. "Coooomiiing!" He calls out in a sing-song voice, the pun intended. Paul heads to the door, barely able to contain his laughter. I leap to my feet, grab my stack of clothes and am hot on his tail.

Paul opens the door and stands aside so as not to obstruct the view. "Hi, guys! You remember Jules..." I bolt through the doorway, the mockery of an outfit not covering anything of consequence. I shove past the two confused men standing there, and sprint to the parking lot. I hear Paul call out behind me. "What about my Packers shirt?"

So much for reclaiming power.