I let my husband’s best friend fuck me while he slept in the other room

It started with something innocent—a few casual drinks, some laughter around the firepit, and my husband falling asleep early, passed out in our bedroom after one too many beers. I should’ve left it at that. I should’ve said goodnight and gone to bed, but his best friend stayed behind with me in the living room, eyes lingering too long on my bare legs, tongue flicking over his bottom lip like he wanted to taste every inch of me.

I don’t know if it was the wine or the months of sexual tension that had been building every time he came over and I caught him staring, but something snapped in me that night. He sat closer than necessary, thigh brushing against mine. We laughed too loud, leaned in too close. When I stood up to get more wine, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. My breath caught, but I didn’t pull away. His hand slid up my thigh, under the hem of my shorts, fingers grazing my panties. I gasped—and I didn’t stop him.

He kissed me, slow and deep, tasting of bourbon and sin. And I let him. I climbed on top of him, grinding against the hard bulge in his jeans, our mouths locked in messy, hungry kisses. I whispered that my husband was just in the next room, but he didn’t care—and neither did I. We stumbled to the couch, hands ripping at each other’s clothes. He pushed my panties aside and slid his cock inside me like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.

Every thrust made the couch creak, every moan I let out was muffled into his neck. The thrill of betrayal made my pussy clench around him so tight I swear he was about to cum too fast. But he didn’t. He pulled my hair, bit my shoulder, whispered filthy things in my ear about how I was his now, how he’d been jerking off thinking about me for months. I came hard on his cock, biting down on his shoulder to stay quiet, and he followed right after, spilling deep inside me with a low groan that sent shivers through my spine.

When it was over, we laid there panting, the TV still flickering in the background. I looked toward the hallway where my husband was still asleep, completely unaware that his best friend had just ruined me on our couch. I should’ve felt guilty. But all I felt was wet, sore, and completely, shamefully satisfied.