Wild Riding to Dublin - A Sequel - Sex Stories

Wild Riding to Dublin - A Sequel

Let me first inform you all that shortly after my true story entitled ‘Wild Riding to Dublin’ appeared online I received an unannounced visit from my seriously estranged ex-husband. This visit was in direct violation of the terms of our divorce and he was no longer supposed to have a key to my home (previously our home). So James, I am herewith publicising my intention of securing an injunction to prevent you harassing, assaulting, threatening or coming near me or my home should you ever try anything like that again. Believe me, I am still fucking fuming, you bastard! Other than that, my online readers and friends, the account of my encounter on the way to the airport was a raging success – it inflamed James (my ex) to total, raging incandescence. He didn’t phone me, email or even publish some sort of rebuke to my story on the website itself – which I suppose surprised me (he can tend to be an underhand, crafty fucker). On the day the story went live I checked the website and found myself quite pleased with how it looked, not to mention pleased with some of the comments. On this evening I’d been out for a few drinks with some friends and was just tidying up before going to bed when I heard the front door open and close. I panicked and grabbed a kitchen knife just as the door opened into the living area. I would’ve thought I was already at an emotional crescendo until James appeared into the room, whereupon I accelerated into a frenzy of screaming at him. He threw a cushion ...

... from the settee at me, yelling, ‘Don’t’ over-react! You didn’t behave like that when you were supposedly gang-raped on the way to the airport!’ I flew at him, knife still flailing in my hand. He stepped behind the settee, lifting another larger cushion, using it as a shield. I may have been seething with anger but I was aware I didn’t want to damage the fabric so I dropped the knife to my side. ‘What do you mean, “supposedly”,’ I yelled back at him, ‘It happened – you saw the result. I was a sodden, fucked mess!’ In a flash he was beside me, grabbed and disarmed me, then twisted my arm up my back. The pain was agonising as his other hand grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. His voice was trembling with anger as he whispered, ‘You’re a fucking disgrace, either way. Have you no self-respect, publishing shit like that for anyone to read? Someone could work out who you are – who I am. You could mess up both our lives and our careers. Do you not care?’ I didn’t answer until he released his grip on my arm, then I moved a little distance away and faced him. ‘You’re getting even more paranoid,’ I spat at him. ‘There was nothing in my story that could’ve pinpointed anyone, not even the soldiers, that night…’ He laughed. ‘Fucking soldiers! Where did you get that idea from – some of that trash you read?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Everything I wrote was true,’ I said, ‘I left hardly anything out.’ He paused, looking at me. ‘What do you mean – hardly anything?’ Yes, that stopped ...