Dirty Laundry

Gemma bucked her hips up to meet my mouth, grinding as best she could into my face. But I held her down fast. Once I had eaten her clean, I sucked her labia, nibbling on the swollen petals until I was circling her clit with my tongue. Her twitching and moaning intensified, and I redoubled my efforts.

"Remember, you don't come until I tell you." My tone was low and menacing.

Gemma whimpered despairingly, almost sobbing. I eased two fingers into her pussy as I took her clit back into my mouth. I stirred her gooey depths before finding that subtle change in texture on the front wall of her vagina and sawed furiously in and out.

The sloshing of my fingers struggled to be heard above Gemma's restrained grunts. She bucked and twitched spasmodically, bristling my nose with her dark pubic hair. But somehow, she found her balance under my ministrations, if only just.

"Do you want to come?" I growled, giving her engorged clit much needed respite.

She squeaked through her panty gag, "Uh-huh."

Sucking her clit and flicking it roughly with my tongue, as I had done with her nipples, I slipped my fingers from her gaping cunny.

"Wait," I commanded. "Hold it." I loved watching her in such blissful agony, almost vibrating with rapid tremors.

"Come for me, Gemma." At the same time, slick with her juice, I shoved my middle finger straight up her ass.

The shock threw her off balance, and she screamed into her panties with her release. Gemma was racked with wave after wave of pleasure, spasming uncontrollably beneath me in violent convulsions. Her swollen pussy dribbled with ecstasy.

I sat back, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, enjoying the spectacular view of my submissive prize, spread out before me. Gemma was squeezing her eyes shut, blushing. She tried to close her legs, but I pulled them back apart, keeping her on display.

I watched Gemma whimper as she slowly settled, somehow arousing me beyond belief. Closing her left leg over to her right, I picked her up by the hips and shuffled her forward until she was on all fours. Then snatching her dark curly hair up into a messy ponytail, I wrenched her up as far as the leg of the couch would allow.

I groped her perfect, heart-shaped ass, slipping my fingers into her. Then I raised my hand and smacked her right cheek with a loud crack, leaving an angry, red handprint. Gemma yelped through her panty gag, snorting heavily through her nose. She shot me a quizzical look over her shoulder, confused.

"I know you did what you were told. You're a good girl, Gemma." I slowly inhaled the sex in the air. "But I was always going to punish you. Just because."

Revelling in her tortured squeal, I spanked her again. And again, and again, alternating from one cheek to the other until both were bright red in the flickering glow of the television behind us.

My hand stung from the spanking, and my cock was rock hard from the control I was exerting over her. I slid my full length into Gemma's sodden snatch once more, thrusting in and out a few times to coat my shaft with her wetness. Then I pulled out, positioned my head at her puckered asshole, and forced my way inside.

Her tight, muscular ring fought my entrance, but was soon rolling tightly up and down the full length of my cock as I fucked her ass like an animal. I held her hips, digging my fingers into her soft flesh. Gemma's panty-muffled grunts were deafening. Combined with the sound of my hips slapping into her ass, I was sure we would get the neighbours calling the police.

But I didn't care.

I felt my orgasm build. I pulled Gemma up by the hair again, and bending over her, I bit down hard on her shoulder as I came deep in her core, filling her bowels with my semen. We both collapsed to the floor in a sweaty, panting mess.

Once composed, I pulled out and wiped my cock on the back of her thigh. It was the final, degrading act. I don't know why it thrilled me, it just did. I savoured the feeling as I tucked myself back into my pants.

But when Gemma rolled over onto her back, it was most definitely over. I gently took the panties from her mouth and slipped them back up her long legs. I lifted up the corner of the couch to release her hands, and tenderly helped her pull her t-shirt back down over her body. We didn't exchange eye contact at all. I just couldn't. And as soon as she was reasonably covered up, I left her there on the floor and retreated to my room.

Despite having so magnificently found my sexual release with Gemma, an absolute torrent of guilt and shame washed over me. I had just fucked the shit out of my best mate's girlfriend

"What the fuck did I just do?" I held my head in my hands as I fell back on my bed. It was the last thing I remember.

I woke the next morning to the sound of breakfast dishes and pleasant conversation. Stumbling out into the living area, I saw Paul sitting at the kitchen bench in his football colours, while Gemma stood with her back to me at the hotplate.

She was wearing a pink, long sleeve turtle neck over a pair of low slung blue jeans, which accentuated every delicious curve. She had straightened her hair, and the tight, chocolate ponytail hung down almost to the small of her back.

My heart thundered. The fear that I had gone way too far the previous night consumed me. Well, the realisation that I definitely had. The dreadful consequence of probably losing my two best friends over it was what I really feared.

"You want an omelette, Will? Gemma chirped, like nothing had happened.

"Get on it, mate. They're good. You taught her well." Paul got up, taking his empty plate around to the dishwasher.

"Sure," I said, a little confused. They must have made up, I thought. "Thanks, Gem."

"Right then," Paul announced. "I'm off to the footy. See you tonight, Sweetie." He kissed Gemma, giving her ass a playful smack and eliciting a wince that caused both of us to hold our breath. Then pointing at Gemma, he said to me, "Enjoy that, mate."

I'm sure he meant the omelette, but I couldn't help but choke on a laugh at the double meaning.

As soon as the front door clicked shut, I skulked into the kitchen, moving up behind her. She sensed my presence and turned around, keeping her gaze cast down. I reached up and peeled down the top of her turtle neck. Gemma's throat was covered in dark, angry love bites. I gasped, my blood running cold.

Then taking her hands in mine, holding them delicately between us, I rolled back her sleeves. Gemma's slender pale wrists were heavily bruised from the twisted t-shirt I had used to restrain her.

"Fuck. I'm so sorry," I whispered, racked with guilt at the marks I had left on her.

"It's okay," she whispered back. Then looking up to meet my gaze, her eyes twinkling and the corners of her mouth curling up in a wicked smile. "I told you last time, he won't notice anything during football season."