Steph - Crossing the Line

Ron was my childhood buddy. We have been there for each other through everything. Literally everything. We were so close, that at one point people suspected that we were partners, and that's why neither of us wanted to get married. It changed when Ron finally found Steph. Steph was a beautiful brunette, petite, and lanky, who always looked a few years younger than her age. Even now, a decade later, no one could have guessed that she had delivered two boys. Ron and Steph were crazy in love, and I was Ron's best man at their wedding. Since then, Steph has been trying to get me married too, setting me up on dates with her girlfriends, none of whom have her grace or beauty, forget intelligence or sharp wit.

I moved out for my job, but I've always been in touch with them. Over the years, I have enjoyed their hospitality, for days at a time, when I happened to be in town ("You can't possibly stay at a depressing hotel!" Steph would insist), as I often have to be for work. And I have seen their love grow from an explosive affair into a steady flame -- they are always physically affectionate in front of me and the kids, kissing each other mouth on mouth, caressing each other, almost unaware of us. I am not a prude, but it's hard to watch a woman so beautiful being with another man, even if it's your best buddy, especially when his hand seems to rest just under the swell of her pert breasts. But friendship has always been extremely important to me, and so despite my reputation as a ladies man, I have always behaved like a true gentleman around Steph. Couple of times, when I was visiting them, Ron had to go on business trips -- leaving me alone with Steph, and I knew he never had to worry about us -- despite knowing about all my history, including my trysts with married women.

As they say, though: nothing's ever permanent. And so it was with them. Cracks began to appear in their once unflappable love. Steph was getting tired of being a homemaker and a full-time mother, with Ron traveling constantly, and rarely contributing at home. She was itching to take up a job, but Ron was not supportive. My visits to the family increasingly bore witness to the stand-offs, and arguments. Just as it did now, as I entered the living room after a bathroom break. We were all watching The Late Show, and drinking, the dinner done, and the kids put to sleep.

"Kids need you," Ron said, as I settled back with my beer. Ron was on his fourth peg of scotch already.

"Kids need you, too!" Steph said, her voice full of cold anger.

"But, we need the money to secure their future, and I have to travel. I can't close deals by calling people," Ron retorted, and there was some truth to it.

"We're living in the 21st century. There is daycare!"

"I don't want my kids to be raised in daycare. I'll retire, you work," Ron almost shouted.

This, he knew, was a clincher, because Steph was unlikely to earn anywhere close to what he was earning, with her qualifications, or lack of them.

Steph's eyes welled up with tears, but Ron was now on a home stretch, all that scotch not helping.

"Why do you always take it to extremes? Why can't we be like normal working couples!"

"Normal working couples have loveless lives," Ron retorted.

This was his favorite theory, and I had tried in vain to convince him all these years. For all the good qualities he had -- loyal, sincere, hard-working, passionate -- Ron was extremely conservative about women's careers, because he had been left alone at home with babysitters by his ambitious mother for extended times. He, of course, never blamed his father, who was more absent. So yeah, basically a sexist asshole.

"Yeah, and we're fucking like bunnies," blurted out Steph, who had had enough of alcohol herself, and not to mention, enough of Ron's bullshit.

An awkward silence descended the room, as Steph stormed out to the kitchen.

"Ron! What is wrong with you?" I asked.

"What's wrong with me? What's this obsession with working? I always was clear about these things when I got married!"

"Ron, you have to change with the times. She's an intelligent person. What is wrong with wanting to have a career for herself? You could use the money, too."

"So you're on her side, now?" he snapped.

"I'm not taking sides between you two. Just giving my best friend my best advice."

He emptied his glass and started to refill.

"I think that's enough, Ron!" I said, sternly.

"I'll bloody well drink as much as I want in my own house," he snapped. But I took away the glass, and he collapsed on the couch. In a few minutes, he was snoring, and I got up to help Steph.

Steph was loading the dishwasher. Bent over it, her skirt barely covering her fabulous butt. Her long slim legs bent at the knees, her oversized t-shirt hanging loose so that I had a glimpse of her bare tummy. I looked away after taking in that sexy image for a few seconds.

"I'll do that, Steph," I said, clearing my throat.

"It's no bother," she said, her voice still angry.

She was standing tall now, the shoulders of her t-shirt dropping down, exposing lacy pink bra straps. A hint of cleavage visible. She raised her hands to tie her hair back. It kills me when women do that, their breasts thrust forward -- as were hers, straining against her T-shirt. The short-sleeved, slightly oversized t-shirt meant that her armpits, which she kept immaculately shaved at all times, as far as I could tell, were partially bare (I love women's armpits, god knows why). Her slender hands raised over her shoulders. Even at the peak of her domestic condition, she was a vision to behold.

I was drunk too, did I tell you? So I didn't avert my gaze from her chest, as I typically would have. And I noticed her noticing. But just as I was about to look away embarrassed, I thought I saw a hint of a smile forming on her face. Just for a tiny moment, and then she turned toward the sink.

"Come on, let me do it," I said, walking toward her, and holding her left hand I pulled her away from the sink, and made her sit on a kitchen stool. She slumped down, and her eyes filled up with tears again.

"Rick, I can't do this anymore," she said, as her tears rolled down her lovely cheeks.

"Steph! Come on, you guys just need a break. Take a vacation, or something."

"I'm not talking about just that. I don't love him anymore. He isn't the man I married."

I wiped the tears from her cheeks, as she leaned her head on me. I patted her back reassuringly, lost for words.

"Why don't you call it a day," I said. "I will take care of the kitchen."

"Rick, did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, I did. Let's talk tomorrow, when both of us are sober."

"This is better. I will be able to say what I really want to!"

"Okay, let's do this. I'll finish loading this darn thing. In the meanwhile why don't you check on the kids. And if you still feel like talking, we'll talk."

She nodded, and walked out of the kitchen.

I finished loading the dishwasher, and cleaned the kitchen counters. I've a bit of an OCD when it comes to the kitchen. I need to tidy it up before I go to sleep, so I am used to it. Just as I stepped out, I bumped into Steph, and my hands grabbed hers, to stop her fall. I was not prepared for what happened next, though. She leaned towards me, her lips inches from mine. Her breath full of alcohol hit me. Her lips parted slightly, as she looked at me with a look full for desire and longing.

"Steph," I said, breaking her trance, "what are you doing?"

"What I should have done long back," she responded, closing the gap between us, as her lips grazed mine.

"No, Steph!" I said sternly, pushing her away a bit with her hands that I was still holding on to.

"Rick, I know you've wanted me from the first time you saw me!"

Fuck me! And here I thought I was being a gentleman around her.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I said, with mock anger.

"You have been undressing me every time you look at me. Hell, you just did it fifteen minutes back right there!" she said pointing to the dishwasher.

"Steph, you're so beautiful that it's hard to take my eyes off you. But I've never thought of you that way. And you know I'd never do that to Ron."

"If you don't, someone else will. Someone else will have this fabulous body, because I'm done!" she said, running her hands along the length of her body to emphasize, thrusting her chest up ahead. Letting her hands rest on her hips. A pose of challenge. A pose of disarmament. Signifying that she was there for the taking.

Did I tell you she had changed into a mini floral nightgown/nightshirt, that barely covered her panties, her cleavage showing through the deep V cut neck with trimmed lace.

"Ron will hear us," I said, in a weak attempt to deflect, not realizing that I had practically acquiesced.

"Ron is asleep in the living room. I checked. And you know how he sleeps when he's drunk!"

That was true. Ron was a sound sleeper. And when he was drunk, like he was today, you'd have to put a bucket of cold water on him, like in the ice bucket challenge, to have any chance of waking him.

"So," she asked, "is it going to be you, or someone else?" she asked, closing the distance between us. Her face inches from mine again.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the desire. Or likely both complementing each other -- one taking away the inhibitions, the other fueling the passion -- but the next moment, I pulled her into me, lifting her up by her ass, and closed my mouth on hers, as I mounted her against the nearest wall. My tongue darted into her mouth, taking in her drunken breath, normally a turn-off for me, but this was Steph -- a woman I had lusted after for over a decade, without ever trying to take a single step to fulfill that lust. Our breaths heavy with desire, and lack of oxygen thanks to a long and passionate kiss, she pinned against the wall, my hands caressing her ass cheeks under her dress, feeling the silky material of her panties that separated her bare skin from my fingers.

A moan escaped her, as my mouth traveled down her throat, licking her soft skin, and further down, as I buried my nose into her cleavage, and then my teeth closed around her nipple pushing through the layers of fabric, grazing it softly, feeling it getting hard almost instantly, just like my cock a moment before.

"Steph, are you sure you want to do this?" I mumbled, hoping she'll stop the madness, because I had gone past the point where I could.

In response, her hand pushed my mouth back to her tit, which she thrust forward.

She wrapped her feet around me, as I let go my hands of her ass, and pushed them under her nighty, cupping her perfect breasts, as she had "forgotten" to wear a bra. My hands groped the naked flesh of her lovely tits, as she let out a muffled moan.

"Oh fuck, Steph, I have dreamed of this, ever since I first saw you walking down the isle in your wedding dress!"

"Oh yeah? What happened to 'I never thought of you that way?'" She chided. Didn't I say she was witty?

In response I raised her dress over her tits, and took her right tit in my mouth while my hand resumed playing with her other tit. I had some idea how they were like, having had a few "accidental" peeks down her low cut blouses that she would regularly wear at home. But I didn't know they were this magnificent. They were a C-cup, but surprisingly firm for a woman who had nursed two children. She let out a big sigh as my tongue flicked against her hard nipple -- pink with a pale brown areola.

Picking her up by her ass again, my head buried in her tits, I carried her to the guest room, and threw her down on the bed. Taking off my shirt, I lay on top of her, our chests touching, as I grabbed her chin and planted a deep kiss on her mouth, my hands moving over her body, her soft tummy, and down between her legs, cupping her pussy and rubbing my palm over it through the material of her panties, noticing that they were already quite damp, and sticking to her pussy lips in patches.

"Oh yes, Rick!" she exclaimed, as I pushed aside the material, exposing her mound, a finger slid over her wet lips. She was soaking wet already. This bitch wants you, and probably wanted you for a long time, I thought to myself.

"Tell me the first time you wanted to fuck me," I whispered in a hoarse voice.

"No!" she exclaimed, between her moans, as my finger was pushing inside her, inch by inch.

I removed my finger from her pussy, and pulled my hand away.

"If you want me, you'll have to tell me," I insisted, moving my mouth away from her tits, and looking into her eyes, resting my chin on my palm, like a petulant kid. She held my gaze, and smiled, like an indulgent mother.

"The first time we went on a double date, and you were fingering my friend Cindy, under the table, right there in the restaurant," she said, "and I wished it was me!"

"She told you?"

"She did the next day, but I could read it in the way she sat stiffly, trying to act normal, right as she was close to an orgasm, and then you stopped."

"You remember all that?"

"Yeah. Ron and I had our first major fight that evening, before we left the house, and I was seething, and there you were, a few feet away, finger fucking my best friend. And while I knew I'd go home to resume the fight, and Ron would sleep on the couch, you would be banging her till late into the night. On the way home, I kept thinking of you fucking her, and in my mind, she kept changing into me."

I rolled her panties down to her knees, and my finger slide deep into her pussy, as I started to finger fuck her.

"Is this what you wanted?"

"Fuck yes, and more!" she exclaimed, locking both her hands over her head.

Clenching my fingers together, I was now fist bumping into her pelvis, as my finger dug deep into her wetness. I circled her nipples with my tongue, one after another, feeling the bumpy skin of her areola, devouring her beautiful tits. I slid down, leaving a wet trail of my saliva, as I licked every inch of the skins on my way down and started licking her clitoris, as my finger moved inside her, and she let out a moan so loud that I was afraid Ron was going to get up, after all.

I started licking around my finger, and could taste her salty juices. Her shaved pussy was dripping wet now.

Soon, I could feel her whole body shudder with pleasure, as she muttered my name, taking no chances with her sleeping husband.

"Oh fuck, Rick, this is beautiful! I've missed this so much. Ron has no interest in foreplay anymore. He's drunk half the time, and wants to get over with it."

I removed my finger from her wetness and started to lick her clean, darting my tongue between her pussy lips, and she dug her nails into my shoulders, a muffled moan leaving her lips.

"Oh fuck," she moaned, arching up her body, her slim thighs clamped against my head, as I continued darting my tongue between the folds of her labia. Her salty taste now firmly in my mouth, as I could feel her body shuddering, and Steph started whimpering like a dog in pain, because she couldn't very well shout with pleasure.

Finally, her body relaxed, as she lay on the bed, her legs sprayed, her tits bared in all their glory, and I wondered if I was in a dream. But a few moments later, she sat up straight and asked me to stand up. Who was I to object?

Looking into my eyes, she unbuttoned and pulled down my shorts, and my boxers, and taking out my thick hard cock, and started to lick the length of it.

Even in my wildest dreams, I had not hoped to have her lovely mouth around my shaft. I wrapped her hair around my palm, and pushed my cock deep into her mouth, holding it there with a firm pressure.

This was my best friend's wife, with her mouth wrapped around my dick, the sexiest women I had ever seen. I was expecting her to gag anytime, but she proceeded to fold her lips over her teeth and started to move her head up and down my cock, as my grip relaxed, my hand still entangled in her brunette hair.

I let out a grunt, and tipped my head back, closing my eyes, enjoying the sensation of her lips on my cock, which was rock hard and wet with my precum and her saliva.

Her tongue and lips moving over my hardness, she cupped my balls, making me grunt more. She continued this for a few minutes, and I knew I couldn't take it much longer -- anyone but her, and I'd have lasted more, but this was years of pent up sexual energy concentrated in those few inches.

She sensed it, my throbbing cock ready to spurt out my cum. She removed her mouth from it and said, I'll swallow it any other time, but today I want you inside me. I pulled her up, and gave her a kiss. I pushed her towards the study table.

"Turn around!" I ordered, and she obliged, thrusting her sexy ass towards me.

I pushed her down on the table, pinning her with my hand on the small of her back, her tits squashed against the wooden surface. With my free hand, I positioned my hard cock at the head of her wet pussy and started to rub the tip between her lips, trying to buy some time.

"Fuck me, Rick!" she said, her voice hoarse.

I pushed my hard cock into her, and it slid in effortlessly, as her wet pussy lips closed around my hardness. I let it enter all the way, feeling her inner walls, and her warm wetness engulf it, as a sigh escaped her lips.

"Fuck, I've dreamed of this so many times," she said, as I started to move inside her. Bumping into her soft ass with every thrust, which I was deliberately slowing down.

"If only I had known earlier," I said, panting now as I continued to pound her pussy.

With my hands sliding under her, I picked her up, cupping her breasts, as she arched her back, and started pushing back her ass in sync with my hard thrusts. We fucked like that for what seemed like eternity, when her body started shuddering with another orgasm. She turned her face towards me and our lips met again. And as if on cue, my cock let out the huge load of cum that had built inside me. Our sweaty bodies entangled, both giving out muffled grunts of pleasure, to keep it all down, as I continued to pump my cum in her pussy.

Finally, I pulled out of her and pressed my limp dick against her ass as I wrapped my hands around her.

"That was amazing, Steph!" I whispered into her ears. I don't want this to be our last time."

"Who's said anything about last time?" she retorted, smiling an sly smile, as she pulled up her panties and pulled back on her dress.

Then, she kissed me tenderly on the lips and walked out of the room.

As it happened, it wasn't our last fuck, but Steph and Ron separated soon after that, and she eventually married a Canadian startup founder, and moved to Vancouver. We remain in touch, and sometimes, we flirt a little, and when she's horny and lonely (her new husband is not a male chauvinist like Ron, but they are both very busy, with Steph working as well) we sext a bit. Of all the women I've slept with, Steph is the one I can never forget. I've been with women more beautiful than her, or those who are absolute maniacs in bed, but that fuck will always be special for me. Maybe because it was with my mate's wife, a line I never thought I'd cross, until she made me cross it. Not that I'm complaining.