I
love my ex boyfriend. No, not like that. I'm not in love with him.
I just love how after we split, and a few dozen reminders from me, he
still hasn't come to pick up his stuff.
But
that's okay. You see, I love his stuff more than him. And truth be
told, I look better in half of it anyway.
My
ex boyfriend was a bit of a loser, but to a degree, aren't they all.
He was hot, smoking body, but as far as intellect goes, he was dumber
than a pile of dogshit. In any case, this last one left me with a
pile of clothes, one black fedora, a couple of silk ties and a couple
of CDs.
Staring
at the pile, I began to feel somewhat inspired. I sat down on the
hardwood floors and began to paw through the clothes, seeing if there
was anything worth keeping.
I
picked up a long sleeved white shirt that once belonged to him. I
grabbed one of his black silk ties and the fedora before making my
way back to my bedroom.
I
slipped on a pair of thigh high fishnet stockings, black lace panties
and matching bra.
The
door buzzes and I rush out.
“Yes?”
I ask, breathlessly.
“I'm
here to collect my stuff,” comes a gruff voice from the other end
of the intercom.
“Come
on up,” I say cheerfully as I buzz him in.
I
unlock the door and rush back to the bedroom and slip his shirt on,
doing it up before adding the tie and tilting the fedora so it
covered one of my eyes. I slipped some sexy black heels on my feet
before strutting out into the middle of my apartment.
I
grab the CD and surf through the songs until I find the one I'm
after. The one we made love to that first night. I press play, turn
up the volume before sitting on a backwards chair, arms folded, head
down.
The
door opens and he walks in.
As
the music plays he stops, unsure of what to do. He closes the door
as he sees me.
“What
the - ?” he asks.
My
head rises and I begin my routine. Legs spread, gyrating body
grinding softly against the chair before I stand. It is as though I
were making love to the chair itself.
Skilfully,
I undo the tie, tossing it at him as my body bumps and grinds to the
slow number.
In
awe, he sits, his mouth hanging open as I begin to unbutton the
shirt, pulling it aside so he can see the lingerie that I'm wearing
underneath. I discard the shirt, rubbing it against his chin,
letting him smell my scent on it.
I
returned to the chair, taking a seat. The chair back covered my
breast which allowed me to remove my bra without him seeing anything.
With a seductive look, I tossed it to him, my eyelashes batting at
him. He caught it, confusion crossing his face as he battled his
inner thoughts to come over and take me forcefully against the wall
like he use to.
Pulling
the fedora off my head, I held it in front of my breasts and began
walking towards him. One foot in front of the other causes a little
wiggle in my walk which no man has been able to resist. I slide to
my knees in front of him, turning my back and placing the fedora back
on my head.
I
back up until I'm leaning against him. His hands come up to cup my
breasts, but I stop them, shooting him a seductive glance over my
shoulder.
“Uh-huh,”
I say, wagging my finger at him.
For
the faintest of moments, I could have sworn he whimpered.
I
smiled as I wiggled my backside into his lap, grinding my hips
against his fulsome erection.
As
the song gets onto the last chorus, I stood up. Slowly I walked,
wiggling my ass in his direction.
I
craned my neck so I could look over my shoulder at him.
“I'm
keeping the hat,” I tell him. “The rest of your stuff is over
there.”
He
looks confused.
“You
can let yourself out, can't you?” I ask as I turn on my heel and
walk back into my bedroom, closing the door, leaving my ex-boyfriend
in a state of total confusion.
I
lean against the door, listening to him gather his belongings before
leaving. I smile with satisfaction as I hear the door shut behind
him.
I
catch a glimpse of myself in my bedroom mirror.
“He'll
miss it,” I tell myself, smiling. “It may not be now, or
tomorrow or even next year, but one day he'll wake up and realise
that he misses it.”
I
take the fedora off my head and place it atop my night stand,
grinning like the Cheshire Cat as I think about my little
ex-boyfriend peepshow.
Your exboyfriends must be the luckiest men on earth if you actually do this. Hot story!
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