My Ex F*cked My Face The Day After He Made My BFF Blow Him
I’m a bit of a submissive.

The morning after my ex fucked me so good that I thought about getting back with him, I woke up alone. He’d sent me a text telling me that he had work and couldn’t stay. I cried a little more.
My roommate, my best friend, I heard her blowing my ex-boyfriend in our kitchen. After I got all dressed up and looked nice for him. After he came into my mouth.
It was awkward.
First, because I was still wearing the lingerie he had fucked me in. I couldn’t be asked to take it all off, so I put a pair of sweatpants over my bottoms and went out to make myself a cup of coffee.
That was more awkward. Because my best friend was sitting at the island in the kitchen (the island that my ex liked to bend me over when we were alone in the apartment and, sometimes, when we weren’t). I looked at her and expected her to fess up right away.
When she didn’t I felt so guilty, like I shouldn’t suspect my best friend in the whole world of blowing my ex. We aren’t 16, after all.
She has options.
But as we pretend to make small talk and I drink my coffee, I’m totally certain that she did it.
She looks guilty and I remember the sound too well.
That gluck gluck gluck. I just couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t confront her, either, didn’t have the guts.
At around 3 in the afternoon, I get a text from my ex saying he forgot to take his sweater when he left. I’m furious at him. Is he going to just keep pulling this shit, coming over to “get his sweater” whenever he wants his dick wet?
I typed out a long, angry message that didn’t QUITE say I knew what he did, but I didn’t send it. Instead, I said it wasn’t a good time.
There were only like three hours between me saying it wasn’t a good time and texting him to say he could come over. It was still light out when he got here. Looking all smug, still dressed for work.
He asked me where the sweater was. I pointed to the chair and clearly meaning for him to take it and go. And then the bastard fucking kisses me. Right on the lips, all romantic as usual. I call him a lazy piece of shit.
He kisses me again. I kiss him.
My hand is on his dick.
I didn’t mean to start stroking him through his pants but I did. And then we were making out on the couch, and he was straddling me, and he pulls his dick out while he’s basically sitting on my chest. With his dick an inch away from my mouth, fully out in the open, I can’t take it anymore.
“Did you make Jessica suck your fucking dick, asshole?” I say.
His hand is still on the back of my head when I say it. My tank top is pushed up over my tits and my sweats are around my knees. Not the most dignified position.
He stops. At least he stops. “Yeah,” he admitted.
“Is that gonna be a problem?”
I’m so upset. It feels like there’s something in my stomach. But I’m fucking aching for it. I’m all wet, and I can feel his whole weight on top of me. I’m ashamed to say that I grabbed his ass and pulled him closer until his dick was in my mouth.
And he fucked my mouth there on the couch.
Hard.
Not romantic like it was the night before.
I was crying and gagging as he fucked my mouth, sitting on top of me. And I was fucking myself, too. He came into my mouth. He almost always does with me, and when he got up I struggled to swallow it all down.
“So if you know she blew me, are you good with it?”
I didn’t want to look like a bitch.
I had just had him fucking my mouth, and all. So I did that classic angry girl thing and pretended I wasn’t angry to save face.
“Whatever. I’m not the boss of you.” I said.
That’s how a six-plus month of near-daily sex started. He was staying with us more, and I’ll admit it, it’s started to turn me on.
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I’m sending you so much love 💋 Olivia
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