“I’m not interested in cheating on Carolyn, Trisha.”
Your words, each time I’ve tried to win you over, aren’t always the same, but your meaning is: “You know I find you attractive, but I can’t do that to her.” I see you fight the yearning if I brush against you. And that time I kissed you hard on the mouth in the kitchen last year while Carolyn was charming everyone at the dinner table? Your mouth told me all I needed to know. But I don’t try any of that cheap shit any more. You won’t give in to me.
I had no other choice than to get to you by seducing Carolyn.
I wasn’t sure I’d be able to. You both had given me clues by joking about your “wild days” in college. I couldn’t be sure Carolyn would yield to me, or if I could pull it off. I’d had a few experiences with other women, but never actually gotten off with a woman.
“You’re too voluptuous to be gay!” It was another one of their dinner parties. The three of us were joking in the kitchen while you cut up luscious red peppers for the shish kebab. I had said I was thinking about giving up men (not adding “if you don’t sleep with me”). You weren’t buying any of it: “Men always buzz around your magnificent tits; you don’t need a woman.”
After you made it clear you’d never cheat, you and I became great friends, almost brother and sister, and so casual that Carolyn never shows any jealousy. She not only invites me to your house (for dinner, in groups), she and I talk about you at work. You telephone me; we instant message at home and at the office (I make sure your screen name is different from the one you use with her). There’s nothing we can’t tell the other, and nothing we haven’t. I even quizzed you about her past sexual experiences or inclinations to women. You couldn’t realize I had a plan, and that all your confidences were duly noted and filed away. Hers as well.
“So you like my tits?” It was my turn to skewer you like those peppers.
“How can you call them tits?” Carolyn objected from beside you where she was putting the frosting on a red velvet cake. I felt touched – and surprised – by her coming to my defense. Her smoldering displeasure with you made me see in yet another way why you were so in love with her you’d turned me down flat.
I knew she’d be a tough assignment. Beautiful, in a quiet way. Easy to see how you’re so in love with her long after the “seven-year itch” has passed. At first I thought being ten years younger than both of you would be an advantage, but I was up against her easy conversation, her confidence and poise. She’s so much my opposite: dark hair cut to the nape of her neck, smallish breasts that look firm and shapely in whatever she wears.
It’s her poise I can never match. Not just the boss/secretary thing (she never lords that over me). We’re not girlfriends exactly, but we laugh way too much for unequals. And the longer I know you both, the more I feel like a rookie in matters of love. You two are special, still holding hands in public and stealing kisses at dinner parties.
I don’t mean it to sound conceited, but there’s no point in false modesty. I’ve had pretty much any man I’ve ever wanted. God knows, I’ve been lucky, with all the assets men want: large breasts; good, shapely legs and a closet full of minis, along with a drawer full of stockings and garters. A little-girl voice that turns men into stammering children and makes women hate me. I’d trade that voice for a news anchor’s in a heartbeat, but the boys like it fine.
Some features I’ve enhanced, including hair that I let cascade down to my ass and lightened to the color of honey. And I make sure of enough sun to keep the legs tan and the tits golden. The pièce de résistance, though, is my pubic hair, shaved to an inch-wide landing strip pointing to the goal. I modeled for, and shared, some nude photos just to make sure you both knew about that.
Carolyn thought the pictures were marvelous – and even purchased a couple to hang in your den. Oh, they were artfully done, the kind of thing she could show dinner guests and tease you with.
“Will’s particularly fond of this one,” she’d say, pointing to the one of me with my back arched, face hidden by shadows.
“You have such good taste in art,” one of the guests would always insist.
“Trisha here is the model.”
The first time she did that, I thought I’d die. Not from embarrassment, but because I’d seriously underestimated her as a rival. The first few times she shone that spotlight on me, I’d just smile. Finally I asked Carolyn to stop telling people.
But as my intentions shifted from stealing (or at least borrowing) you to getting at you through her, I waited for the right opportunity. Tonight.
“That’s me in the photo,” I offered unprompted to a couple who was admiring my attractively lit black and white breasts displayed on a Victorian fainting couch. Carolyn turned to me with real surprise. I felt a bit of shame for being so scheming, but finally besting her at this made me quickly forget my scruples.
“You’re so sophisticated,” I whispered to her later in the bathroom.
“What makes you say that?” She blushed.
“You’re everything I wish I could be: successful, beautiful, smart.”
“Trisha! You’re so much younger and sexier than I am.”
“I’d change places with you in a minute.”
She dismissed me out-of-hand, saying she was the one who wished she was me. We hugged. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to slap her or if the heat in my cheeks was something more than simple jealousy.
“So, Will,” I asked later, finding you alone in the kitchen washing up plates. The night was turning into nightcaps; most of the guests had left. My date was drunk in the living room, probably because I’d ignored him the whole evening. “You’re telling me you never want to fuck another woman?”
Your answer surprised me. “Wanting to fuck someone and wanting to make love are not the same thing.” My question had been said in a light-hearted way, but you got all quiet and sober. “I’m still young enough to feel attracted to a good-looking woman, but I know that cheating isn’t something I’d like to do. Ever.”
“You’re getting serious on me.” Joking is one of the least-understood aspects of flirting. But then I shifted: “What about swinging?” My heart was pounding; it took real effort to keep my voice off-hand and quiet.
“No, we tried that years ago.”
“Really?”
“First of all, none of the women were half as good-looking as Carolyn. And the men seemed sleazy. But the real reason was that without an emotional connection, the sex wasn’t very good.”
“Funny how love ruins everything.” I tried, I swear I tried not to let my bitterness come out like that. You said nothing. Maybe you felt awkward at the sexual turn the conversation had taken?
To ease the strain, you smiled. “I should check on the other guests.” You headed into the living room.
“Is Will boring you with stories about our wild and crazy days?”
Carolyn was suddenly behind me, with her hand on my shoulder. Was it the wine? Or did I just throw my usual caution out the window? I don’t know, but I turned around and kissed her on the mouth. She was shocked, gave off a little “mmmph” of surprise – but then put her arms around me. The kiss went from soft and gentle to firmer pressure . . . to something more like what happens between a man and a woman.
“Excuse me, ladies.” We broke our clench and turned in the direction of your voice. I could see surprise, discomfort and amusement in your half-smile.
“Can’t a girl get a drink in this place?” Hoarse from the passion I could feel building inside me, I could barely manage a whisper. Carolyn turned without saying a thing and walked out of the room. Shit. I never let myself go like that, and now look what happened. I wanted to bolt and head home, but it turned out my “date” wasn’t so drunk he hadn’t managed to slip away, leaving me stranded.
“Can you drive me home?” The last couple was saying goodbye to Carolyn at the door. “It seems my date and I, well, it didn’t work out, and I’m a damsel in distress, and—”
Car
olyn interrupted. “You can stay here tonight.”
“I’ll drive her home,” you called as you picked up dirty plates. I felt like a piece of discarded pastry, without a say in the matter.
“Will, you’ve been drinking.” Carolyn was insistent in the easy, firm way that always gets her what she wants. “I want her to stay over. I won’t sleep if either of you leave tonight.”
There was no point in pretending any longer: I’d set my trap for her, and she was willingly walking into it. Putting my arms around her waist, I began by nibbling her neck. Her shudder of desire caused her to drop the half-full wineglass she’d been taking to the kitchen; it shattered on the hallway marble. Neither of us made a move for it. My lips made their way up her neck and onto her soft, yielding mouth.
We kissed, and kissed some more, my hands gradually moving from her waist to her breasts. No bra, I discovered, just a camisole underneath her silk shirt, her tits hard under my rubbing. Her tongue was thrusting into my mouth with an eagerness I hadn’t expected. I fumbled with her buttons, but she simply pulled them apart, several popping onto the glass fragments at our feet. The blouse open, I bent down and pulled up the camisole, exposing nipples already dark and hard.
As I sucked each breast, I could feel my cunt sliding in my panties from the growing wetness. I could have wondered if you were watching, but I was too intent on the work at hand. I led her into the bedroom – the bedroom I had fantasized about so many nights as I masturbated before sleep, but about being taken by you.
On the way, we giggled like best friends from school, but once in the bedroom pulled off our clothes like whores ready for business. I pushed her onto the bed, heading straight for her pussy. It was shaved into a Brazilian, like mine! Her own idea, or from seeing my photos?
No matter, my tongue was in her wetness. Within seconds she was moaning, grasping my hair, pulling my face into her cunt.
My experiences with other women had been furtive, both of us too awkward and inexperienced to do things properly. Carolyn clearly felt no awkwardness, and her orgasms emboldened me. I tried one finger, then two, then three, and with each, her intensity went through the roof of the one before.
My own cunt was dripping – hurting. I needed to fill it soon. I discovered you sitting in a chair by the bed, fully dressed, watching us. I couldn’t read your expression, and for a fleeting second I worried that even this wouldn’t break down your wall of virtue.
Carolyn saw me look over at you. She sat up and dove on top of me.
“Roll over!” she commanded in that forceful way that makes her so good in everything she does. The instant my back hit the bed, she grabbed my thighs and parted them. Her tongue plunged in with no hesitation and in the same moment an orgasm sucked the breath right out of my lungs. It was the first time I’d ever come with a woman.
No time for reflection. Carolyn tongued my labia, then switched to fingers, moving her tongue to my clit. My thighs began to shake as surges of pleasure short-circuited my brain.
“God, Carolyn.”
“I’m going to fuck you, Trisha. Fuck you hard.” And she did.
When it was over, I lay there spent. Then I felt you sit down on the bed, naked. Carolyn began kissing you, hard. I was jealous. How lucky! A thorough girl-fuck, and now she gets you.
“I think our guest should be first,” she whispered in your ear, the flush of orgasm still on her cheeks. The words made my heart pound in my chest.
Your touch was superb, as if we’d done this a thousand times. Was it how you make love to Carolyn? I felt no jealousy asking myself that question; it was intensely arousing to think I might be trading places, even for a few moments, with the woman you love. Your hands slid around my waist and glanced across my belly. I spasmed when you kissed me hard.
I yielded totally to your touch. I could feel your hard cock pulsing against my thigh, its pre-come dripping onto my skin. I broke from your embrace and pushed my mouth onto it, your groan of pleasure the only sound in the room. Was Carolyn watching? Would she object? I saw her massaging her clit, her eyes threatening to roll back into her head.
How long had I dreamed of having your cock in every opening of my body? I ran my tongue along its ridges, feeling your excitement. Pre-come leaked from it in a steady salty stream. I twirled my hands, bobbing my head up and down.
I might get only one shot at you. On my back or on top? You were on your back as I sucked you, so the choice was easy: I slipped my thigh over you, pushing your cock inside my open pussy. Your wide cock perfectly filled my cunt, and the first few thrusts brought me to orgasm again. Sitting, I could control the thrusts, regulate the rhythm. I rested my hands on your shoulders, angling my cunt just right: G-spot, clit, labia . . every inch of my pussy was being rubbed. It was the perfect complement to the fingering and tonguing I’d received from your wife.
But wait! Why was I thinking about Carolyn at the very moment when I’d finally gotten to you?
“Shouldn’t I put on a rubber?” you asked.
“I want you bareback,” I croaked, barely able to speak.
Your thrusts were gaining force. I knew you were about to come, and in that moment your cock contracted like a hand making a fist, and a stream of hot come burst inside me. Oh God, it was like I’d never felt another man before. The room began to spin, and I collapsed on your chest, kissing you furiously.
After a while, I remembered where I was. Carolyn slid her right arm under the small of my back, kissed me hard on the mouth, and then thrust her left hand deep into my pussy. No sooner did her fingers slide in, sticky with the mix of your come and mine, than I was climaxing again.
When I couldn’t come any more, she swung her hips over my face and ate me again. I worked on her with my mouth and fingers while she lapped my cunt like a happy cat enjoying the milk you and I made. Soon she could no longer lick me at all. Instead she grabbed my legs and held on for dear life. Orgasms flooded over her in waves, and I felt as if I were at the beach surfing her sexuality. She called my name before she melted into shrieks of passion.
When finally her body could take no more, she pulled herself off and lay beside me, clutching my legs like she was about to be washed overboard.
“That was wonderful.”
At first I thought it was Carolyn, but then I realized it was your voice.
After that, I watched the two of you. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a married couple fuck, but it was the first time I’d seen this kind of love. I’d thought I might feel jealous as I watched you kissing her lips, whispering in her ear, “Oh, Carolyn, I love you so much,” or “You’re so beautiful tonight, so exciting when you come.” Instead I felt only longing. I wanted to carry away a few crumbs of what you feel for her.
Carolyn remained quiet the whole time, but I saw her body reach one last height of passion as she wrapped her legs around your beautiful ass, shuddering as you climaxed inside her. At the moment you spurted inside her, I watched you raise yourself up on your hands, watching with strange fascination as your beloved came again, her head whipping side to side as your body released its last drops of love and lust.
As guests go, I’d made out pretty well. It was better than I could’ve hoped for, and certainly more satisfying than if you and I had rented a motel some afternoon. I drifted into sleep content that things had begun so well.
The sun was up and the room bright when pitiful weeping somewhere outside the bedroom woke me. I found Carolyn in the living room with her head in her hands, weeping like someone had died.
“What’s the matter, sweetie? What is it?” I sat beside her on the couch. As I put my arms around her shoulders, she turned and hid her face in my breasts. The hot tears tingled my nipples.
“I can’t,” she sobbed, “I can’t share.”
I was stone sober now, the intoxicating night evaporating in her words. My heart felt as if it would crack like cold iron plunged into boiling water. I had gotten all that I had wanted and more, but now it was slipping out of my gra
sp.
“Hey, no big deal.” I tried sounding casual and light, but the words were struggling to escape a quicksand of panic. “We just fell into it. I know he’s your husband and all—”
“No, Trisha,” she wailed, “it’s not Will. It’s you I can’t share.” The tears dripped down her face in a steady, wretched stream. “I love you.”
That sort of shit would send me screaming from the room with a man. And in another circumstance, it might have with anyone else. I only had a few seconds, or I’d blow it all. So I did the only thing I could: I let myself go.
“I love you, too.”
Our kisses roused our cunts to superwoman sacrifices. Later, when you walked in on us, the cuddling you saw was only the smoke from spent fires. I’m sure you thought we looked “cute” or “adorable” or one of the other things men say about two naked women lying in each other’s arms.
And so we never slept with you again.
Carolyn tells me that sex with you is still wonderful, though different now because of me. Oh, I mention from time to time how nice it would be to bring you into our bed. But her response is always the same: that look of pitiful vulnerability that makes me hate her. I know without Carolyn saying it that if I stop sleeping with her, she would probably turn her fury on me. I’d never see you again. The sex between us is still hot, especially if I imagine that her fingers in my pussy are your fingers, her tongue is your cock.
It’s hard. What other word would suffice to say how it is being around you now that I’ve felt your touch, tasted your cock, felt its thrusts inside me? I still masturbate thinking about that night.
This is a letter to you that I can never send. It helps writing it, though. I’m not looking for sympathy. Each time I part her pussy and thrust my tongue in where that cock of yours goes, each time I kiss that mouth where yours still plants passionate kisses, I realize that sometimes a girl has to make do with what life hands her.
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