The Breaking Point

A friend came over to work on a mutual project. The wife was away at a conference and I was home taking care of a number of the household duties neglected over the past few of. As I was vacuuming the rug one of our mutual friends, a single woman, texted asking what we were up to tonight.

"Nothing," I replied. "My wife is at a conference. So, I'm just doing dishes and vacuuming the carpet."

"That doesn't sound very fun."

"No, but it needs done and it gives me something to do."

"Tell you what," she replied back via text, "I'll buy dinner if you buy the wine."

"Doesn't sound like a very fair deal as you know we have lots of bottles on hand already."

"Yeah, but you've paid for them. The least I could do is buy dinner."

"I wouldn't say no."

A half hour later she arrived at the doorstep with a nice takeout dinner in hand. I opened up a bottle of wine and we sat down for dinner.

The conversation was lovely, covering a variety of topics. Every so often we would return to how amazing my wife is and incredible it is her work has sent her from conference to conference promoting their products. We are definitely a fan club.

The friend and I finished off a bottle of wine and started on another. After dinner we moved to the living room, her on the sofa and I on a chair.

We talked about her relationship, or lack thereof, with a man nearly half her age. She was struggling with the idea the he would be in any way interested in her. Never mind the find that, even at in her late 40's she was well built, a tall slender frame with dark hair. Her breasts here full, not over larger, and still firm. Any single man would be crazy not to consider her a catch.

Add to this she's smart, kind and focused on being a writer. She has a job as an office manager, but spends much of her free time writing with the idea of being a novelist someday. Conversations with her are always interesting, she's good looking, and she's single, but not willing to just accept anything.

As the evening progressed, we both got drunk, more so than was intelligent. She was beyond the point of driving home, and I was drunk to the point of being open and honest. The conversation progressed and I admitted to finding her sexy, even to the point of masturbating to her.

"You do?" she asked?

"Yes, I have. I was sitting with my wife watching TV one evening when she asked what I thought about sleeping with you. My mind immediately went to you and I naked in the bed together and my cock sprang to life. I didn't get a chance to answer before she replied,

"I didn't mean having sex."

"You said sleeping together."

"I meant sharing a house. Where she is living now is not a good situation and I thought she could move it with us. It would help out with the rent and give her a good place to be."

However, my cock had already broached the topic, so my wife continued...

"But I take it that you find her sexy."

"Yes, not that I would, because I love you, but..."

"But," my wife said as she reached under the blanket covering our laps, "You find her sexy."

She started to massage my cock as she described you in detail."

"Oh, my god," our friend exclaimed. "She described me?"

"Not only did she describe you, but she went so far as to describe your pubic hair, dark and full, with your vulva lips visible between your legs."

"How would she..." our friend began, but then she realized they had been taking swim aerobics classes together, showering afterwards. So my wife would have a pretty good idea as to what our friend's pubic hair and vulva lips would look like. "I never realized she paid that much attention."

"So, you're saying her description is accurate?"

Our friend hesitated, but realized there was no escape. "Yes, that's a pretty good description of what my cunt looks like. "

"My wife continued the story as she pulled at my cock. She described me going down on you, one of my favorite things, and that's what got me off."

"You came?"

"Yes, thinking about eating you out, with my wife's hand around my cock."

"Oh my god."

I just smiled, my cock growing with the memory.

Trying to minimalize the realization she retorted, "...but that's just biology," never mind that I was sitting across from her with a raging hard on. Thank god for jeans!

I needed to pee, or actually I needed to cum, but peeing would be a good release. I excused myself to go to the bathroom. When I was done our friend need to go. While she was in the bathroom, I changed from jeans to my pajama bottoms. They are less restricting and I'd gotten rid of the underwear too, so should my cock decide to get happy, it would have no impediments.

The wine continued to flow through another bottle as did the conversation.

"When was the last time someone went down on you," I asked.

"Too many years. I can't remember."

"That's said," I said as I thought very specifically of doing just that to her, my cock making itself evident in my pajamas. "Do you masturbate?"

"Of course," she replied. "There are two types of women: Those who masturbate and those who lie."

"Do you prefer images or stories?"

"I like both. It depends on the mood. You?"

"The other day I was masturbating to a video. I really like oral sex, so either I masturbate to a woman being eaten out or her part are on display."

"Eat by a man or a woman?"

"It doesn't really matter, as I put myself in the situation. If a woman is doing the eating, I'm still imagine I'm the one doing the eating."

"Interesting"

I continued the story,

"Just as I'm about to cum I realize the curtains to the window behind me are open. The window faces out to the street. So, while I'm facing away from the window, what's on my computer screen is very visible.

"I don't stop. I finish off the session. But then I clean up (put on a pair of jeans), close the browser screen, and head out into the street.

"Yup. From across the street it is still pretty clear what I am (or was) looking at."

"Have you ever been caught by your neighbor?"

"I don't think so, but she's never said anything, so I have no real way of knowing."

"Is she sexy?"

I had to stop and think for a moment. "Yes, she's sexy, but I've never really thought of her in that way."

"But you've thought of me?" She squirmed a bit and shoved her hands between her legs.

I didn't blush, but I did become aware that yes, our friend was different. It wasn't just any woman I was attracted to. She was definitely a type I was interested.

As the conversation continued, she mentioned half a dozen time her masturbation stories, and I reciprocated. The evening and digressed into a steady stream of stories about masturbating, fantasies, and conversations we'd had that were fodder for either of the above. My cock hovered around half mast for the entire time. Occasionally, I would reach down and give a good grip of my cock and back and shake them to try and ease some of the tension. But, if I'm being honest, this was more an opportunity to wave them at our friend to ensure she was aware of my semi-erect state.

As our stories continued, I commented, "I have a friend who admitted his wife is extremely hairy in the pubic area."

"He told you that?"

"He did more than that. He went into detail about his what his wife looks like naked, the color and shape of her pubic mound, the way her vulva opens when she gets excited. Even to the point of the various stages of arousal, from completely closed vulva lips, partially open vulva where her vaginal folds are on display, all the way to full arousal when her vulva separates to the point her vaginal opening is visible. I think he knew it was turning me on and he was getting off on my getting aroused by his wife."

"That's pretty graphic."

"I've masturbated to that description on several occasions."

"Does he know?"

"I haven't specifically told him I masturbate think about his wife, but... He mentioned, in this conversation, how much he admired my wife and I. How, we are living the life he wants. He and his wife share their flat with another person. So, while both he and her would love to walk around the house naked, they don't out of respect for their friend. But, if he were living with my wife, who often struts about the house naked, he'd be fucking her every day."

"So, he wants to fuck your wife?"

"No, I don't think that's it. I think it's more that if he and his wife were able to run around the house naked, he'd be more inclined to have sex on a daily basis."

"Do you and your wife fuck every day?"

"No. But that's more to do with life getting in the way. I still get hard every time she undresses. If I'm sitting on the sofa or in bed reading a book, and she starts to take off her clothes, I can't concentrate on the words on the page anymore."

"So, why don't you have more sex?"

"I have work in the morning, or, while her getting naked makes me moderately horny, it's not really to the point of having sex. It's more just an appreciation of her naked body."

Our friend shook her head, "If I had a man that got hard every time I got naked, we'd be having sex every day. I could use a good fuck!"

All of the sudden I was not thinking about my friend's wife, but about my friend sitting across from me. She was wearing a dark gray track suit. It wasn't the most flattering outfits, but it clung to her thighs. When she sat with lower legs crossed on the sofa, and her knees out to either side, I had no trouble imagining the non-shaved pubic mound across from me. "Just so you know, I have masturbated thinking about you more than just that once."

"Really?"

"Ah, yeah! I can't count the times I've cum thinking about diving into that muff of yours."

"You've been given a description. That's not the same thing."

"I know you have dark hair and don't shave, and you certainly don't look fourteen."

"No."

"I have a pretty good idea what it would be like."

"You've never tasted it."

I had to admit, she was right. As much as the visual impression was there, I did not know what she smelled like, what she tasted like.

There was a long pause. My cock was more than just half mast, if not quite fully hard, sticking up against my pajama bottoms. Our friend sat across from me and squirmed. I'd love to say she was checking out my hard-on, but honestly I was too drunk to know.

The conversation changed gears and we moved to safer topics. But hormones got the best of me and eventually it turned back to sex.

I got up to get another bottle of wine and decided it was time to take off my pajama bottoms. As I poured more wine into our glasses I could feel my cock enjoying the freedom. We continued to talk, this time, with my pajama pants slung over my hip pretending some sense of modesty, but we both knew better. I was hard, she knew it and I knew she knew it.

Eventually, the evening wore down and we both needed to get to bed. She was obviously not going to drive anywhere, so I asked, "Do you want to sleep downstairs in my bed, while I go upstairs? Or do you want to try and tackle the stairs? I will make the bed upstairs either way?"

"I have to go to the bathroom, but I'll take the upstairs." She headed to the bathroom and I headed upstairs to make her bed. Once I was done I returned downstairs to find her still in the bathroom.

"Are you ok?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Do you need help?"

"No, but I do need to go to bed."

I opened the bathroom door to find her sprawled on the floor. She grabbed my hand as I helped her stand up. At this point I was fully naked, my cock at half-mast. I am sure she was aware of my state of dress, but she was also very drunk, so not focusing on any details.

We got her upstairs to bed. As she lay there I confessed, "I really want to eat you out."

"Don't," she replied, "Think of your wife."

I wanted to, I was, but I was also thinking of our friend's dark bush and how much I wanted to taste it.

Naked and erect, I kneeled down on the bed and began caressing her butt. Her body responded, but her mind kept her mouth say, "You shouldn't."

Eventually, her body gave in to the point I slid my hand between her legs and could feel the wet heat pulsating from her cunt.

Still, she continued to remind me, "Don't. Think of your wife."

I moved up to where my knees were up by her face. My hard cock laying against her face. Her hand reached out involuntarily to grab my cock and begin stroking it. My hand was between her legs with my fingers gyrated the folds of her vagina. She was close to cumming. So was I.

"No," she muttered, pleaded, physically wanting to continue but mentally knowing she would hate herself in the morning.

That was the breaking point for me. To continue would be rape. I would be forcing her to have sex with me, even if it was just to go down on her, have her suck me off or just masturbate myself while bringing her off. Any of those situations was too far. I'd already gone too far. Yes, she had given me all the signals that society said I should continue, but she said no. As close as I was to cumming, she said no, and that was enough to end it.