Forbidden Fruit

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Looking back, it’s hard to say what sparked my interest or when it began. And really, to call it interest would be a lie – and why would I lie to you now, after all that I’ve been through. All that we are going to go through. I’m done with all the lying. Honesty. It’s the best fucking policy.

So, where did it begin. There are many possible starts to this, some more false than others. We met for the first time, briefly, me coming in the front door of my new friend’s house, him leaving in a hurry to get to work. I remember his smell that day – piney, fresh with a musky undertone of hangover and stress. I don’t remember what else – there was no jolt of attraction then, no lurch in my belly. He was tall, unremarkable in build, sandy blonde – the husband of my new friend. The details are lost – I was there that day to drink tea and enjoy a little female friendship, not to ogle the menfolk.

There were more brief meetings that gave way to double dates over dinner, board games and whiskeys, a little drunken half hearted flirting mostly because I was bored and flirting helped pass the time. Not that my husband noticed. Not that my husband would mind.

I remember a summer’s day spent by the beach, when I noticed how broad and lean he was. How lithe he looked as he carried his paddleboard down to the water. He drank a lot of beer but it didn’t show at all. I remember watching him and my husband strike out into the waves and thinking, how lucky we were, a pair of cougars who had caught two fine lions in their prime.

Maybe it was the day we went to that big music festival, and while I was standing in line to get another round of beers, he came up behind me, and squeezed my ass. His touch sent a surge of electricity straight to my cunt – I was as offended as I was aroused. How dare he. I was married. He was married. And then, I wondered, who saw that? And why did he do that?

I didn’t respond at all to his ass grab. And in fact, pointedly ignored him for the rest of the day, even though my palms and crotch were damp, and my ass yearned for another caress.

Or maybe it was the day we slept over after a big house party (was it the fourth of July, perhaps). I had woken first and was slowly sipping my first cup of coffee when he strode in, forgetting perhaps that we had slept over, wearing nothing but a thin pair of boxers that failed to disguise a truly massive morning erection. I cleared my throat. He met my gaze for more than a second, before ducking out for a pair of sweatpants that did nothing to cool the new fire in my loins.

But it had definitely started by Halloween. Here’s how it went:

I was at the bar, kurtköy escort another long line up for beers, and another hot hand on my ass. This time, I didn’t freeze. I slowly turned and looked up at him, standing there, with a small smile on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t resist, not with you dressed like that.”

I was a very sexy Wilma Flintstone and my skirt was very short. But that was in no way permission for a groping. So I told him that, watching him get cutely red with embarrassment. “We’re married. To other people. Stop molesting me,” I chided him. “… cause it turns me on.”

At that last phrase, his blue eyes darkened. He took a step closer. I could smell him, piney fresh, but this time with a touch of something. Heat. Arousal. Sweat. In the crush of the bar, we had absolute privacy, with our significant others outside on the patio, half drunk already.

I stepped towards him, nestling my butt cheek in his hand. “Do it again.”

His eyes darted outside, no one had noticed us, and slowly slid a hand over my almost bare ass. All I was wearing under that short, flimsy Flintstone skirt was a pair of lacy French cut panties. I knew they made my ass look smoking hot, and I knew they made my ass feel extremely grabbable. As his fingers slowly slid along my pantyline, I took another step backward into him, nestling my butt into his crotch, prompting a sharp inhale from him. I could feel his hard erection poking against my butt cheeks, straining against his pants. I wiggled against it, teasing him. Teasing myself. I was dripping now, arching my back, hoping his fingers would slide under my panties … begging …

The crowd at the bar surged, pushing us apart, breaking the spell. I ordered and paid for another round of beers. Inspired – I ordered a round of tequila shots as well- and with his help, carried them back to our table, where we were greeted with hoots of drunken laughter. Shooters! For everyone! Except me – I offered mine to my husband who chugged it without a second thought. Adam had never turned down a spare drink – why would he now?

As we sat, drinking and laughing, I noticed a hand on my thigh. It wasn’t Adam’s, but Joe’s. I looked up, caught his steady gaze, and said nothing. Joe’s wife, Amanda, was busy giggling over something a friend had said. It was a round table that sat six comfortably, and we were cosy group of eight. Very cosy.

There was lots of banter and conversation, but I couldn’t follow any of it. All I could do was think about Joe’s huge cock and how it would feel inside me. I could feel my damp cunt lips slide against each other – I had waxed the day aydıntepe escort before and nothing made me hotter than wearing my lacy French cut panties over my totally bald pussy. I could feel the heat of Joe’s hand on my bare thigh. I could feel every drop of moisture oozing out, I could feel the rub of the lace over my mons, I could feel how badly I was soaking the crotch of these expensive underthings. I was so wet I hoped I wasn’t leaving a big creamy stain on the patio seating.

A sharp voice startled me out of my erotic reverie. “Hey Yves, whassamatter? You been so quiet over therrre …” It was a very drunk Amanda, who had somehow noticed I hadn’t been as chatty as I normally was.

“Oh, nothing much. I have a headache from this beer, that’s all,” I lied quickly. “And it sounds like maybe we should all head back.”

“Yes,” echoed Joe. “Let’s go back. We can continue the party at ours – maybe Yves and Adam can stay the night?”

I looked up at him. His face gave nothing away. Amanda – four beers and a shooter in – yelped in approval. “Wheeee! A party! OK! Adam, you in?” And of course, Adam, bless his drunk heart, agreed as well.

Joe drove, with me in the front seat, and Adam and Amanda in the back, both still burbling away in their overexcited and intoxicated state. I studied Joe’s side profile, and decided I liked what I saw. I couldn’t tell if a handful of my ass was all he wanted, or if there was more he wanted. All I knew was that I was incredibly turned on either way, and wanted nothing more than a little relief.

Soon enough, we got home. The drive wasn’t that long, but long enough for Adam and Amanda to fully feel the effects of the night’s fun, and we all decided to call it night. Adam and I headed to the guest room to crash, and Joe carried Amanda upstairs to their master bedroom.

With Adam passed out on the bed, I decided to head to the kitchen for a drink of water to stave off a hangover tomorrow. From the kitchen, I could hear Adam snoring, so I decided to spend the night on the living room couch and hopefully get more shuteye that way.

I figured Joe must have passed out too – the house was silent except for the snores – so I resigned myself to just remembering the flirting, the feel of his hand on my ass, the sudden rush of desire. My hand drifted towards my panties – my clit was aching to be touched and if no one was around to do it, then I guess it would have to be me. I decided to be a good lover for myself though, and do it properly.

Years of masturbation meant I knew my body inside out. I knew how to make myself come hard and to come quickly; I also knew how to tuzla içmeler escort slowly make love to myself, to have my cunt aching for release and then delivering a quivering orgasm that would leave me breathless and gasping. Tonight, I thought, I deserved a good one.

So, I took my time. A slow finger stroked the edge of my panties, brushed my swollen mound, circled back to stroking my panties. Then stroking my lips. I dipped a finger into my slit – god, I was sopping – and dragged some of that wetness up to the tender bud at the top. I circled it once, twice, then dipped my finger into my pot of wetness. Circle, circle, dip. Circle, circle, dip. I was getting excited and my breath was getting quick. Not too fast, my love, I told myself.

My other hand drifted up to my breasts – I’m a lovely 36C if you were wondering – and tugged on my long brown nipples. I squeezed one, hard, pretending it was Joe biting them. A man who would grope his wife’s friend would be the callous sort that would bite your nipple, take you roughly, pull your hair as you came, screaming his name, I reckoned. And with that thought, my sticky fingers circled my clit faster and faster.

I thought about Joe. His lithe body. His broad, sinewy back. His huge, hard penis. I wondered if he was circumcised, like Adam, or uncut. I pictured a fat, uncut monster dick, veiny and bulging, purple and hard. My fingers circled faster. Two fingers now dipped, deeper and deeper. Circle, circle, dip. Circle, circle, dip, more deeply now. Three fingers. Jamming them in there, hooking my fingers to feel for that special spot inside, the one that makes my toes curl. Mash my thumb on my clit, hard – felt the sensation in my belly grow.

I panted. I mewed. Part of me remembered I’m in a living room and must be quiet; another part of me, the part that got waxed on a whim and a prayer the other day, the part that wore slutty panties tonight, the part that told another man who wasn’t my husband to do it and do it again – that part wanted to mew louder. I spread my legs to let my fingers dig deeper, one foot up on the couch, the other dangled off it. My skirt had ridden up to my waist, my panties had been pushed to the side. Fingers danced on my clit, faster, faster. I was close. So close.

I closed my eyes – I could see Joe, imagine him standing naked, with a proud erection pointing at me. I imagined him sucking on my nipples. Stabbing me fiercely with his huge cock, stretching me, filling me. How delicious it would be to feel so full, that point where pleasure and pain meet. I crammed four fingers in there. My fingers rubbed harder. This was no time for a delicate love making, I wanted to come. I needed to come. Harder. More. Then, the wave hit. Pleasure filled my belly. I gasped, loudly as my pussy spasmed again and again and again.

Then I opened my eyes and saw Joe. And that’s how it began.

(to be continued!)

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