She was sweet to the taste. She tasted like honey and molasses or so my best friend described. He should know better than me right? He had her in his bed every night. I was his best friend and so I had to listen every time he wanted to talk about her. Whenever they would fight, he always wanted to vent about their problems and how much of a bitch she could be. I always asked him why he stayed with her if she was so awful to him. In the beginning I didn’t like her and could not believe he was with her in the first place. He didn’t have to tell m she was a bitch.
That is when he would lean back on the couch or the hard seats in our favorite bar and smile. I knew that smile. It was the smile of a sexually satisfied man, a whipped man. That is when he would begin to describe the chocolate beauty he was fortunate to call his wife.
He always started with her amazing curves.
“I love to run my hands up the silky thighs and watch as she giggled because it tickled,” he would say.
I listened intently as his words turned me on beyond my own comprehension. I never asked him to stop as he became completely forthcoming with his sex life. He then moved on to her juicy plump lips.
“I love to kiss her. Her perfect lips always stay so moist. And when they finally wrap around my dick…”
His eyes said it all as his hands drifted to his crotch and I pretended not to notice while I wished I could touch myself.
Lastly he will talk about the way she tasted. This was my favorite part. I could feel my body tingle in anticipation of hearing of her. He always starts with how good she tasted as he sucked her beautifully large breasts. He said she tasted like sweet vanilla and he loved to rub on one while he sucked the other.
“She goes crazy when I do that,” he said smiling. “She doesn’t know I go just as crazy. I get so hard…”
I could tell because I could see the bulge in his pants as he told his tale. Occasionally his hand would go to it and stroked it slightly. I wasn’t sure that he was aware of what he was doing.
I didn’t budge and listened intently as my mouth watered. Though his entire story turned beyond, I loved to hear about her dripping wet pussy.
“I love to spread her beautiful legs and gaze at her pussy before I get started.”
He would pause for a second looking off in the distance as if he could see her spread eagle just across the room. In my head I would pray for him to continue the story though I would never say the words out loud.
“I love the first contact between my tongue and her clit. She always moans as I draw circles making a pattern on her sweet bud.”
My hand slid down my thigh slowly almost touching my crotch. I quickly snatched my hand back hugging it to my chest.
His story always gets me riled up and oh so hot. I couldn’t take it anymore. It drove me crazy to hear of her and not being able to experience it on I didn’t think he realized how often he told me the story and my reaction to it. I eventually wanted more than words. I wanted her body. Whenever I got the chance to be alone with her, I would flirt just a little wondering if she would refuse me or if she would engage me. I played this game with her secretly as my best friend continued to tell me how good his wife was in bed.
I flirted and engaged her to a point where she became just as curious as to what I had to offer. She’d never been with anyone like me before and soon she wanted more than words. She wanted me as much as I wanted her.
When I finally had her in bed I follow the map my best friends, her husband, laid out for me. I started with her curves trailing my hand up and down her silky thighs. My hands had a mind of their own. I explored her body like I was a painter and she was my canvas and sensuously traced every nook and cranny.
Not just satisfied with that, I then focused my attention to her large beautiful breasts. I took my time sucking and licking her nipples. I could just a stay there forever but there sweet honey I wanted to taste. I wanted to devour every inch of her pussy and devour it I did. I sucked on her clit as I fucked her with my fingers. She moaned loudly and placed a tight grip on my head daring me to rise.
Not like I wanted to. She was too sweet, more like brown sugar shook than honey and molasses. I ate her until she came hard and I licked and licked until I had every drop of sweetness cascaded down my throat.
And so, I always felt guilty listening to my best friend tell stories about his wife. Yet, not guilty enough to ask the same question I would always ask and let him begin his tale once again. And soon I began to correct him in my head jumping in with things she really does like people to do to her.
Finally after listening to his tale for so long, I decided to ask the question that had been bugging me from the very beginning.
“Why do you always tell me these stories about your wife?”
He leaned in and look at me with a smile on his face while he patted me on the back.
“Because you’re my best friend. It’s not like you would sleep with her. I trust you.”
With a new wave of guilt invading my body I smiled and hoped my eyes wouldn’t give me away.