Wild Riding to Dublin - A Sequel - Sex Stories

Wild Riding to Dublin - A Sequel

... him in his tracks. ‘There was a bit more,’ I said. ‘In a way, quite a bit more. A sequel, if you like – you even played a minor part in it.!’ His eyes flared; I could see he didn’t know if I was just baiting him, goading him. ‘Yes, in fact you could, in principle, have my story confirmed – for you met one of those soldiers some time later,’ I added. I could see his grip stiffen on the knife, but he still challenged me. ‘You could tell me any shit now that we’re out of one another’s life,’ he said, falling silent. The resentment in me was rising; the awareness of his blatant trespass into my new life seared my rationality forcing me to break a confidence I had always intended to keep. I drew myself upright and thrust out my bosom in defiance. ‘You remember the bit in my story where the young soldier took my skirt and top and said he would leave them to dry at the bulkhead heater?’ James said nothing, simply glared. ‘Well, the same soldier helped me down from the back of the truck before handing them back, and in the process pressed a piece of folded-up torn brown envelope into my palm. He told me his name and said that as he was getting married soon he desperately wanted to talk to me. Just talk, he said. He looked so desperate, I nodded and said I would. I also told him that his fiancée was a lucky girl to be having someone who gave a girl as good head as he did. Yes, he was the anonymous boy that had me creaming and squirting all over his face!’ ‘You’re making it all up!’ ...

... ‘Not at all. You’ve met him – you’ve even been at his wedding, the one in Dundalk…’ ‘What! You mean that young boy, hardly out of his teens who married the glamour-puss who looked as though she could eat him alive! What’s his name…? Dennis?’ ‘Dermot is his name; he’s nearly thirty now, and as for the glamour-puss – looks can be deceiving, she was more of a glamourous church mouse.’ ‘You told me that guy was referred to you through one of your private clients.’ ‘That’s right, I told a porky. No, I did as he’d asked, I phoned him the following week, and I’ll just tell you, without breaking any more confidences, that I tried to help him with their relationship problems. I might add that my advice helped them a great deal – he was very grateful.’ I stretched back and drew my right hand languorously from between my legs, under my skirt, then onto my crotch and ground into it. I laughed in his face. ‘No money changed hands between us, but let’s say he spent most of his time thanking me on his knees. Anyway, you never did enjoy eating cunt.’ ‘You were fucking that kid in my own home! You bastard!’ He started moving towards me, the knife raised. I stood my ground. ‘No, my dear ex-husband,’ I scoffed, ‘the only bit of him that ever penetrated me was his tongue – which is more than you can say!’ He looked as if he was about to argue when I added, ‘You should see all the motion-activated videos I have of you tying up and riding that whore who’s married to your boss – right in our own ...