Unexpected sex with wife's friend

My wife's call came like a saving grace, announcing the end of the work week. "Lyosh, could you stop by the store, buy us some more beer?" There was that specific, Friday, relaxed note in Irina's voice. A great idea. Our son was at his grandmother's dacha, two days of freedom ahead. Irina had invited Lena, her friend from kindergarten days, and concurrently – the eternal companion of our relationship.

My marriage to Irina – that's 8 years of marriage and 4 years before it. 12 years. Half a lifetime. We grew up together, from seventeen-year-old teenagers whose fingers smelled of cigarettes and cheap beer, to adults with a mortgage and a work schedule. Lena was always nearby. Her life

was like a rollercoaster: Pavel, Max, a string of others, a brief marriage and a painful divorce. She would come to us when she was lonely, and vanish into her new romances when things got better. When she was waiting for my friend Pasha to return from the army, we were an inseparable trio, and my skinny student wallet groaned under the assault of her appetites too. But what can you do – the wife's best friend, almost family.

Lena had always been attractive. There was a kind of inner spring in her, an energy bordering on defiance. But I had long since learned to put an invisible barrier between us. First, she was with my friend Pasha, and then respect for my Irina... It was a skill honed to automaticity. Until today...

At home, I was met by a drunken haze. The air was thick with the smell of sushi rolls, perfume, and something carefree and festive. The girls were quite "under the influence." My Irinka could allow herself to relax on a Friday, and here was Lena's latest breakup – a double reason. By the time I arrived, the sorrow had already successfully drowned in the foam of "Klassicheskoye."

I brought more drinks and joined their noisy company. And the first thing that struck me was Lena. She hadn't just gotten prettier. She had blossomed. The divorce had done her good, like an expensive spa retreat. 4 months at the gym had sculpted her already decent body into a real statue: firm muscles, toned skin, perfect curves. Makeup, hairstyle, a light tan. And her outfit – a short, sand-colored summer dress with daring cutouts on the sides revealing a flexible waist, and a deep neckline hinting at temptation.

— Wow, what a transformation!" escaped me, and I, giving her a friendly hug around the waist to assess the firmness, pecked her on the cheek. The skin under my fingers was smooth and hot. Lena laughed smugly: "Eight kilos gone! Four months of work!" Irina pouted: "I want that too... well, maybe not eight, at least four..." "Come on, you're perfect as you are," I cut in honestly and kissed my wife on the lips, feeling the sweetish taste of a cocktail on her tongue.

After changing into home shorts and a t-shirt, I sat on the kitchen sofa, wedging myself between the friends. I drank a little, trying to keep myself in check – I had a work meeting tomorrow. But the girls were going all out with firm determination. The beer soon ran out and was replaced by vodka and coke cocktails. We sat close, knees touching knees, shoulders touching shoulders. And that damn Lena... Every movement of hers was a provocation. Whether it was the two-week abstinence, or that dress, or the fact that Lena was free again, or the kisses with Irina, but I felt the blood rush to my groin, and my cock began to rise steadily, pressing against the fabric of my shorts. I tried to discreetly adjust it, but at that moment Lena, gesturing, put her hand on my thigh. And her fingertips touched the hard, tense flesh. She didn't pull her hand away, but kept holding it through the thin fabric. Her gaze darted down, then met mine. In her brown eyes, not a spark – a whole bonfire flared up. A quick, sly, understanding smile touched the corners of her lips. And she continued her story as if nothing had happened. I felt my face burning and frantically tried to tuck my cock in a different direction. Irina, at that moment, was passionately arguing something about property division and didn't notice anything.

The tension didn't subside. It grew. Lena seemed to be playing with me: her knee kept touching mine, her hand "accidentally" brushed against the swollen bulge in my shorts, she bent over to pick up a napkin, opening her entire chest to me, her hair smelled of expensive shampoo and something sweet, and her dress rode up so high that I could already see the edge of her white lace panties.

We had known each other for a hundred years. We'd seen each other in bikinis, in bath towels, slept in the same room. And it had never caused anything but calm familiarity. But now everything was different. I desperately wanted to fuck my wife to release this tension. I escaped under the pretext of going to the toilet, trying to quell the rebellion in my pants, and, returning, sat closer to Irina, ignoring Lena. But my wife was already too drunk. She pushed away my caresses: "Lyosh, don't bother!" and, raising a toast to "adequate bosses" from another story, drank more and finally drifted off. Getting up from the table, she swayed. "Whoa! I think I overdid it a bit!" – she staggered off to the toilet, leaving me alone with Lena.

She sprawled on the sofa, throwing her legs up on it. The dress rode up to her very hips, revealing long, tanned legs and those very white lace panties clinging to the firm flesh. "You really have gotten very beautiful," escaped me, against my will. She smiled the smile of a cat that got the cream. "Thanks! I tried. It's just I can't find a decent man." "Come on, no one ever leaves such beauty," I laughed falsely.

At that moment, Irina's voice came from the bedroom: "Boys and girls, I'm wasted, I'm going to sleep! Lyokh, make up the bed for Lena in the living room." I brought my wife back to the table, offered her tea, but she, finishing the remains of her cocktail, just collapsed headfirst onto the table. It was about one in the morning. I carried Irina to the bedroom in my arms and put her to bed. Lena, meanwhile, cleared the table.

— Taxi or are you staying?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral. "I'm staying. Nowhere to rush tomorrow," she replied, and that same spark flashed in her eyes again. "Can you find me something to wear?

I unfolded the sofa in the living room, brought her underwear, a t-shirt, and, wishing her good night, went to the bedroom. Irina was already snoring, turned to the wall. I stripped down to my underwear and lay down next to her. There was no fatigue – there was nothing but a persistent, obsessive desire. I heard Lena go to the shower. I imagined water running down her back, over her firm buttocks... My cock stood up hard again, not fitting in my underwear. I reached for Irina, stroked her round, familiar ass, but I knew – a drunk wife wouldn't be of any use. In the morning – yes, she'd be active, but now – no. I took my cock in my hand, deciding to help myself.

And suddenly – a whisper from behind the door: "Lyosh, where's the towel?" "Coming!" – I jumped out of bed, grabbed a fresh towel from the closet, and carried it to the bathroom. "Len, here," I knocked. The door opened a crack, and a wet hand emerged from it. I lingered for some reason. "Are you going to shower too?" – she asked, and the door opened wider. She stood wrapped in a towel that only covered her to mid-thigh. In her hands, she held a ball of lace underwear. Her makeup hadn't run, her hair was dry – she apparently hadn't wet it. Her gaze slid over my body and lingered on the bulge in my underwear, which was impossible to hide. "Yeah, just a quick rinse," I muttered and slipped into the bathroom. We passed each other in the narrow doorway, our bodies touched. I felt the firmness of her breasts through the thin towel, her damp skin. I covered my cock with my hand so it wouldn't pop out and walked past. Lena went to the living room.

I took off my underwear and stood under the shower streams, trying to cool the ardor. I came out, all wet, and realized I'd forgotten the towel. Without thinking, naked, I went to the living room.

She was lying on the unfolded sofa. Completely naked. The nightlight softly illuminated her body: long legs, a flat stomach with a light definition of abs, high breasts with dark, swollen-from-arousal nipples. Her eyes were fixed on my cock, which stood hard and ready for action. "Can I take your towel?" – I asked, but didn't move from the spot. "Yes... take it..."

I approached the sofa, unable to resist. I knelt down, put my hand on her hot, firm stomach. She shuddered. My lips touched her lips, my nose touched hers. My hand slid upward, encountered a hard nipple. Her breathing became rapid and ragged. We merged in a long, deep kiss that contained everything: years of acquaintance, forbiddenness, and wild, animal passion.

— How I want you... I've always wanted you," she exhaled, and her words sounded like both a sentence and permission at the same time.

I covered her body with kisses, lingering on her nipples, sinking my lips into them, feeling them harden even more. Her pelvis began to move in rhythm, seeking contact. She writhed beneath me, and her hand reached for my cock, grasping it. She slid up to the back of the sofa and spread her legs wide, opening herself completely to me. Perfectly shaved, wet, pink. With a tiny, delicate tattoo below her navel, which I couldn't have seen before. I ran my tongue along the inside of her thigh, feeling a tremor run through her body. Touched her outer lips, inhaled her clean, tangy, arousing scent. And buried my face in her.

She was salty and sweet at the same time. She moaned, her hands dug into my hair, pressing harder. I ate her, drank her, fucked her with my tongue, feeling her hips convulse. Lena moaned louder and louder. And suddenly a terrible thought pierced my brain: What if Irina is watching? I turned sharply. The doorway was empty. We hadn't even closed it. My wife was sleeping behind the wall – 10 steps away through the hallway. "Quieter... please, quieter," I whispered pleadingly and pressed against her again, trying to muffle her moans with my caresses. I entered her with two fingers, feeling her insides clench in a spasm. Her movements became sharp, jerky. She threw her head back and hissed: "Enter me! Fuck me, please!"

I pulled her by the hips to the edge of the sofa and entered. Gently, at first halfway. She was wet but incredibly tight, much tighter than Irina, who had already given birth. Feeling every fold, every muscle, I began to move deeper, and her moans grew louder, turning into stifled cries. "Does it hurt?" "Yes... it hurts... and insanely good! Don't stop! Yes!" – she moved her hips to meet mine.

I switched to frank, hard fucking and, afraid her cries would wake Irina, covered her mouth with my palm, still wet from her vaginal juices. A few more hard thrusts and Lena tensed, her eyes rolled back, her body arched, and she thrashed in a silent orgasm, her legs convulsively trembling. The waves of her spasms squeezed my cock. She went limp, breathing heavily, and pulled me to her, hugging me.

— That was unreal," she whispered, "I was always sure you fucked great." I started moving inside her again, kissing her neck, ears, lips. She responded, her hips finding the rhythm again. "Lie down," she pointed to the sofa with a smile. I obediently lay on my back. Lena, like a proprietress, straddled me, lowering herself onto my cock with such confidence, as if she had always done it, as if we had been fucking for all the 12 years I'd known her.

Now I could see all of her. Her face with half-closed eyes and full lips. Her breasts, trembling in time with the movements. Her flat stomach and the tattoo. This was Lena. The same Lena I had known forever. Who caught the bouquet at my wedding. Who waited for my friend from the army... And now she, all sweaty, wild and beautiful, was riding me, fucking me. And behind her back gaped the black doorway to the bedroom where my wife slept. That sight, that awareness of risk brought me to the edge in a matter of minutes.

I slipped out of her. She instantly understood, took my cock in her hand and brought it to her mouth, but the first hot jet had already splashed onto her chin, cheek, and hair. She took the rest in her mouth, wincing with each new pulse. When I finished, she swallowed and didn't let me go for a few more seconds, playing with her tongue. "I don't swallow cum often," she exhaled quietly, "but today it's better not to leave evidence." And, as if emphasizing her words, she ran her finger over her cheek, collected a drop and licked it with the look of a connoisseur. Then she flopped onto her stomach. "I'm satisfied and can sleep."

And at that moment I heard a rustle in the bedroom. We froze. Lena pulled the blanket over herself. I, like a thief, crept to the bedroom and peeked in. Irina had turned onto her back and was sleeping peacefully. I closed the door and returned. "Asleep?" "Yes, all good." "Let's wash up and sleep," she suggested practically. "I don't want to finish... can't get enough of you," I muttered, covering her shoulders and neck with kisses again. But we still took turns going to the bathroom. She stayed in the living room. I lay down next to my wife. Sleep overcame me instantly, like a black, empty abyss.

Morning began with Irina's hand wandering over my stomach: "Lyosh, how did I fall asleep yesterday? Is Lenka here? Don't remember anything... Let's fuck?" I wanted to brush her off, but her hand had already slid down and encountered my morning erection. The thought of yesterday exploded in my brain. I pounced on my wife with a passion that held no remorse, but excitement and desire for sex. We tried to be quiet, muffling moans, while the culprit of this passionate sex slept behind the wall, but now it was Lena behind the wall.

After the shower, at breakfast, she appeared. In my old t-shirt, barely covering her panties. Sleepy, but still beautiful. Irina, smiling, began with an apology for yesterday: "Hi! I got seriously drunk yesterday, don't even remember going to bed. Sorry. How are you?" Lena smiled that same, knowing smile: "Oh, stop apologizing. I was drunk too, but I really remember everything. We had a really good time." And her gaze caught mine for a second, full of secrecy and mutual understanding. "Good morning," I grunted as neutrally as possible.

And then Irina, laughing, reached out to her friend: "What's this in your hair, drunkard?" She poked her finger at her bangs, trying to separate a dried strand. Icy horror pierced me. Semen. My semen. Lena instantly oriented herself: "I'll go take a shower, tidy up, because I feel as crappy as I look," – and quickly retreated to the bathroom.

I watched her go, then kissed my wife, pretending nothing had happened, and left the house.

Outside, the sun was shining brightly. But inside I had a strange, dual feeling. The satisfaction of a predator who had sated itself on sudden prey. And a heavy, cold sediment of betrayal that could no longer be washed away. We had crossed some invisible line. And I understood there was no way back. The crack had run not only through our shared past with Lena, but through the foundation of my marriage. And the most terrible thing was that, despite all this burden, I felt only a wild, animal desire for one thing – for this to happen again.

P.S. This story really happened to me and I described it as accurately as possible. The marriage survived – everything remained a secret. )