Old Friend

Husband is out of town, you knew that when old friend contacted you, a guy you hadn't seen since your college days who was visiting for a conference. Your Mom has the baby and your original plan had been a lazy weekend, pampering yourself and relaxing. You didn't tell husband about old friend. Why not? Were you worried he'd be jealous? Did you think that old friend might be interested in you? Had he been in College? You'd been close but... Was it that you enjoyed the secrecy? The slight feeling of guilt. After all. You could have met old friend in a bar, somewhere neutral. But instead you'd invited him to yours. You'd annoyed yourself by choosing your clothes too carefully. Of course you wanted to look your best, but maybe you also wanted him to find you attractive. To want you. Why shouldn't you? Just because you're married shouldn't stop other men finding you attractive. A dress that was fitted, showing your slight curves and slim figure. A little bit of pride that despite childbirth and work you were still fit and lean. You cupped your breasts and for a second imagine other hands.

You shake your head, foolish pride. He's just an old friend. You'll catch up. Talk about old times. Feel comfortable. He is at the door. Smart, perhaps a little coy but still charming. The flowers are simple but elegant. He moves easily and you blush. A glass of wine and you both begin to relax. The conversation flows and dinner is joyful. There is the pleasure of company. Stories interweave with laughter. Then you move to the sofa and sit, turned towards each other, his hand lain across the back and so near to you that you can feel the tingle. But that is all. Except... his dark eyes pour into yours. The air is warm and you feel the heat between you. You move slightly, aware that your dress is above your knees and showing more thigh than you would normally wish.

The talk mellows. Recent times. Twists and turns in what you both wished were smoother trajectories. Then onto dreams and hopes. Eyes sparkle and lips moisten. He touches your knee, for less than a second while agreeing with some fanciful notion and it is like an injection of heat. It touches you in the place it shouldn't. Your stomach tightens. There is a pause. You both sip. Something unspoken hangs in the air. There is an invisible line. Will it be crossed? If so, how? By whom?

Old friend yawns and apologises. You sense a spell broken and have a rush of sensibility. You stand and suggest he stay the night, sleep on the couch and he accepts without any attempt to leave. Should he have protested a little first? You wonder if you have misread the signals. Is he just tired, does he have an early start, was this just two old, close friends enjoying shared memories? Or is he hoping to prolong the situation, without transgressing in such a way that it would become awkward before the night truly sets in?

When you give him the pillow and sheet he is standing and touches your hand briefly with that beautiful smile he has. There is a glint in his eyes and he lowers them a little too shyly. You smile back, broad and white and genuinely happy. You retire to the bedroom and listen for him to finish in the bathroom. While waiting you slowly strip and look at yourself in the mirror. You're still attractive. You cup your breasts once more and feel your nipples harden. You quickly slip into white briefs and a strapped cotton vest top. Cute, without being too sexy. You shake your head and smile. He didn't make a move earlier, he'd probably just be embarrassed now.

You open the door slightly and hearing no noise move to the bathroom and clean your teeth. Even without makeup your skin is smooth and your eyes look bright. You turn, switch off the light and leave, but cannot resist one quick glance in the living room. Old friend is sitting up and looking straight at you. He stands and walks over, standing just in front of you. Not touching, but still in your intimate space. The silence hangs heavy.

You incline your head almost imperceptibly. One hand lightly touches your waist and he moves his head forward. You respond, a small movement, your lips just parting. Then the softness of his lips, gentle, pressing. Nothing and everything. Wrong. Unacceptable. Delicious. Your head spins, you should stop. But you know you won't. Not yet.

Your tongues explore each other gently, your lips brush softly, neither of you wants to stop, neither of you seems certain what to do next. You feel a hand rest against your hip and you return the gesture. The space between you closes and now your breasts are slightly flattened against his chest. Your hips almost touching. The kiss ends slowly and you look into each other's eyes. The silence is deafening. Your heart is racing. This is wrong. You shouldn't do this. The darkness and the wine make it feel other-worldly.

He dips his head and kisses from under your ear down the side of your neck and onto your shoulder, while his other hand moves to your other hip and his first rises gently over your waist and ribs towards your breast. You are frozen. You're married! A mother! A wife! A good person who always does the right thing. But you don't want to stop him. He cups and gently squeezes, his thumb brushing across the erect nipples that give away just how turned on you are. Your briefs are already wet. You blush at how easily your body betrays your carnal feelings.

His other hand moves in a similar trajectory to the first, but this time under the vest top. His hand feels powerful against your skin, sending tingles radiating out across your chest and stomach. You can feel yourself tighten. You should stop this now, before it goes too far. You've both been drinking and it was lovely to relive old memories. Sometimes friends find an extra closeness. It's okay. No harm, no foul. You should be sensible. Yes, sensible, like a proper adult. And then his hand moves across your naked breast, having lifted the material of your top so your midriff is exposed. He holds you.

His head moves down and he flicks his tongue across your nipple before opening his mouth and pressing it to your breast, gently drawing you in. Your free hand grasps his hair, your arch, throw your head back slightly and say his name. You mean to ask him to stop, but the words do not come. His tongue and mouth and hands convey desire and right at that moment it feels wonderful. He stops, lifts his head and kisses you tenderly. Then his hands carefully slide the hem of your top up and without thinking you raise your arms above your head and he lifts it slowly above you until it falls and both of you return to standing with arms at your side.

Now! Stop it now! He sees your breasts, but guys steal looks all the time. If this were a topless beach... the thoughts swirl and you feel ashamed at trying to justify something that would kill husband. If he knew, how crushed would he be? Does he get jealous when other men look at you? Does he secretly enjoy it, because he has you and they don't? Does he fantasise about watching other men take you? What does he fantasise about? Perhaps you should have had that conversation already.

He puts his hand on your hips, draws you close and kisses you again and still you don't resist. You know you should. His hands move across your back and your ass cheeks in large firm sweeps pulling you against him. And still you respond to his lips. But your hands don't move, because if you touch him now you may not be able to stop and you know what happens after that. This is wrong, sex would be a thousand times worse. A betrayal of everything.

Yet you cannot help wonder what it would feel like if old friend were inside you.

Your body is fighting your brain. Your skin tingles as his broad hands move across, stroking, squeezing, your nipples stiffen, your pussy swells and your cunt begins to produce juice in preparation. Your brain argues that you made a vow, that you are not cruel, that you have responsibilities, that you are a wife and a mother and... you are a sexual being who is desired, and it feels fantastic. The balance swings, your hands rise, one up his back, one over is shorts, feeling the large long bulge that makes his response crystal.

You rub his cock and become transfixed by the idea of seeing it. You suddenly feel the need to be dirty, to do what is wrong and enjoy the excitement of giving in to a fantasy. Your kisses become more passionate, tongues wrapping, saliva exchanged. You slip your hand inside his shorts and grasp his length, it feels warm and thick and hard. His hands slide down to your hips and grab the edge of your briefs, pushing them down so that the flimsy material slips over your thighs and they drop to your knees. A small adjustment and you are completely naked.

He backs away, holding your free hand, pulling you towards the sofa. He stops, pushes down on his waistband. The shorts fall and his cock rises. Large, thick, long and pointing at you. Sometimes you see guys who are cute and wonder what they look like. There was that guy you met in that hotel once. You knew he liked you. You enjoyed the attention. It was flattering to be flirted with. Then he'd asked if you'd like to come to his room. You'd declined. He was cool. You both walked to the lobby and took the lift. And when you stepped out and stopped to part he had leant forward and kissed you on the lips, and you hadn't pulled away. Nothing else happened, but you wondered what it would have felt like to have had sex with him.

You drop to your knees! Fuck woman, what are you doing? This is crazy. This isn't just drunken sex. He wouldn't be expecting a blow job. Would he? But you have a strange need to debase yourself. Perhaps if you are going to cheat you need to make it sordid, not loving. You hold his shaft and lick the glistening head. His pre-cum is quite sweet, a relief, it would have not have been good if he felt musky and you had had to try to stop yourself gagging. You lift him and lick from the base to the tip. Now you really appreciate his length. Husband is not small, but this is larger. Then you place your lips to the head and slowly parting draw him in your tongue sliding underneath. You feel him filling your mouth until you dare not go further.

His hands rest gently on your head. You move away slightly, then back. The rod slides smoothly between your lips though it pushes your mouth wider than you would like. You take him as deeply as you can, feeling the engorged muscle flex. Will he cum in your mouth? What would that taste like? Would you swallow? Of course you would. And you realise that you would be slightly disappointed. If you're going to do this you want to feel him in you. You draw back and allow him to pop out, holding him to your lips. You kiss the end of his cock gently and then you rise.

The room is quite still and this still feels like a scene playing out. Not real. Slightly fuzzy. He doesn't move. You place a cushion at one end of the sofa and carefully lay on your back, head slightly raised and legs slightly parted. Your body is saying "fuck me". You don't think he'll say no. You want to feel him in. New, different, dangerous. But you don't want this to be soft and romantic. You want it to be hard and brutal. If you're going to cheat you want it to be punishment. You raise one arm above your head while your other hand squeezes your left tit, slides down over your belly and then parts your hungry, wet lips.

This isn't falling into gentle love making, slowly sliding over an invisible line unable to resist each other, alcohol induced. This is "I'm a horny bitch who wants to be fucked, and you happen to be the lucky guy." It's so unlike you, are you playing? You aren't this brazen with husband, even in your most adventurous moments. Yet all you want now is for him to fuck you... hard. Old friend seems to hesitate. Perhaps he senses this isn't the sweet coy you of previous times. Perhaps he suddenly realises the ramifications. Who wants an angry husband causing a scene and creating embarrassment, maybe worse, in your previous solid and unremarkable life.

Then he kneels between your legs, takes the wrist of the hand that dwells between your thighs and lifts it up to meet its twin, holding both in one hand, your elbows slightly bent. His cock presses against you. Your lips are wet. Your body wants him. He is against your labia, sliding, stimulating, pushing down, rubbing the soft sensitive skin. Then he slips into the well of your inner lips and his smooth pink head disappears, enveloped by the soft wet walls of your pussy.

You feel him press aside the passage, filling you more completely than you can recall being filled. Penetrating you more deeply than you can recall. It is not painful but it makes you feel as if your stomach is having to contract to make way for his cock as it slides deeper into you. Like all such internal invasions it feels much greater than you expect. It seems to take longer for him to fill you and you begin to wonder if he'll stop. Then his pubic bone is pressed to yours and now you are impaled on him. You watch each other's eyes sparkle, expressions neutral.

He pulls back, his muscles well defined with each movement, and you feel the sensation of void and inner tingle. The withdrawal is long but before you can adjust he plunges back in. This time he dips his head and suckles fiercely on your nipple, first one, then the other. Licking, pinching, pulling. All the while matching this with ingress and egress that excites your nerves. His spare hand strokes your hair, brushes your lips, slips over your chin, squeezes your throat, slides over your chest, dragging itself across your free nipple, down your ribcage, to your hip and thigh and toward you knee, then journeys in reverse as if he wishes to touch ever part of you.

His thighs push yours apart and his thrusts become more determined, your bodies slap against each other. You know that he will not stop until he reaches climax. This is not for your benefit. This is his greedy desire. You are a play thing, a body. Oh his excitement may be because you are slender, well-proportioned, firm, forbidden. But he is taking from you. Only as he does so you don't care. This is not the gentle or compassionate love-making of your life-partner. This is brutal and visceral fucking and sometimes you just want to feel that, you want someone else to be in charge and dominate.

He lets go of your wrists and places a hand on your throat, he isn't choking you, but you can feel the strength in his palm and fingers. He could, if he wanted to, really hurt you. And this makes your groin tingle. His other hand grasps and kneads your breasts. It doesn't really hurt, though it is a little uncomfortable. But it makes you an object for him to enjoy and you find yourself moaning slightly at the thought.

Your thighs are wet, your pussy sore, your cunt is being pounded. He arches, grunts, thrusts and you can feel him spurt his thick cum into your body. He doesn't know if you're using contraception. He doesn't care. You are fucked and, though your own orgasm is still a way off, it feels ecstatic.