A sliver of sun cast its gaze through a slit in the blinds, cutting through the heavy atmosphere of sex to land directly upon my flushed face. I opened my eyes and looked at the clock, realizing this was the evening's setting sun. It was still Saturday, the day after that crazy bachelorette party of Samantha's. And I was still at her place. In her bed, in fact. Turning my head, I could see she was there too, curled beneath the white comforter, one knee bent. She looked angelic with that smile plastered across her dreaming visage. I could not bring myself to disturb her.
Instead, I laid back, completely nude just like her, thinking about the events that had occurred since I woke up that very morning to find my new goddess, the perpetrator of my secret seduction, that night-time visitor, had in fact been my best friend. Not my crush, Heather. Everything, truth be told, had happened in a fever-fit of lust, so until this very moment, this interlude to the madness, I had not had time to really think of it. She was my best friend since college. She was getting married. She was not even the woman of my dreams. But none of that stopped my heart from racing.
Several hours earlier, Samantha had whispered in my ear: "I still think the shirt looks better on you. Why don't you help me slip out of it, Jen, sweetie."
That was all the invitation I had needed. I was still reeling from the revelation that standing before me, offering herself to me, was my old college roommate, not my dream girl Heather. I moved toward her, softly laying a palm on her knee, letting it slide slowly up her thigh as I leaned in. I remember how our noses almost touched, how I could feel her sweet breath buffet against my lips as it deepened. I began to unbutton my shirt from her body, to open it and reveal the two beautiful pillows of flesh buried beneath. I slid the pink plaid shirt from her shoulders, peeling it from her body for the most part. As each sleeve slid down her arms, I pushed them behind her back, planting her hands on the counter upon which she sit, leaving the shirt puddled around her wrists. I then leaned in and finally tasted her soft breasts, kissing both, slowly, gently, one at a time, letting my tongue caress her nipples.
I can remember the way she shuddered, the sound of that amazing moan escaping her parted lips, her legs parting, wrapping around my waist, and pulling me closer in an intimate hug. I swear, I think we spent at least half an hour doing just that, me kissing, suckling at her breasts, her pulling and holding me close. I could hear her heart pounding in her chest. I could taste the sweet nectar of her perspiration. I could feel the heat generated from between her legs as the crouch of her wet panties pressed softly to my stomach. I had never felt closer to her than at that moment.
What choice did I have, really? I had to return the favor, the treat she had given me the night before, right? I knew she was getting married. As far as I could tell, she loved her fiancé very much. I had not forgotten that simple fact even as we made love in the kitchen this morning. I had the excuse of not knowing it was her last night, of thinking it was Heather. But in that moment, as well as now, there was no such excuse. I was with a taken woman. I think part of me found that fact all the more exciting. I had never been with a taken woman. Especially one that, as far as I knew, had been in nothing but straight relationships up until that very moment.
But there in the kitchen this morning, I had made a choice to do just that. I had danced my fingers up and down Samantha's side, resting them on her hips after having my fill of her supple breasts. I had needed more. And so I had started to trace my lips down, all while keeping my gaze turned up, just having to see her face. She had denied that last night, had prevented me from looking into her eyes. She would not do that anymore, I had determined. As I traced my lips down between her breasts, circling her small, cute little navel, I watched her, looked up at her, admired every gasp drawn from her lips, the way they puckered, the way she looked back down at me.
Then I reached it. The sweet, wet spot between her legs, covered only by a thin layer of fabric that I made quick work of by pushing aside. The smell of her arousal alone was enough to send a thrill through me. So I attacked it. I devoured that sweet flower. But I did so in the way a lover would. My lips kissing her own, my tongue sliding up between them, peeling her folds to find her sweet, hard, little nub and toy with it. And toy with it I did. I flicked it with the tip of my tongue, I squeezed it between my lips, I moaned as I suckled on it. I did everything to it that she had done to me the night before, all while looking up into her eyes, watching all the contortions of her pleasure-filled face as I drove her to one orgasm after the next.
***
Before I could think on it more, I felt the sleeping angel next to me stir. I looked over to see her turn and face me with half-opened eyes.
"Mm, hello there, princess," she smiled. She had never called me that before, but I did not exactly mind. "Getting started without me?"
I was a bit confused at first by this remark until I looked down and realized I had my hand between my legs steadily rubbing myself in slow circles. I had not realized just how into the memory of recent events I had dove, but it was apparently enough to enjoy it.
A blush rose to my cheeks and I quickly pulled my hand away. Being embarrassed by this did not make sense. I knew that. I had made love to this woman. I had known her for years. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. But it was instinct. I had never been caught masturbating before.
Samantha scooted closer, pressing her breasts against my shoulder as she cuddled with me. "We still have the rest of the night and all of Sunday for that," She said, kissing my cheek and resting her hand on my flat stomach.
"I was thinking though. What about, well, your fiancé?" I was nervous to ask this question. She probably did not want to mention him. I was still not even sure why she had done this. My best guess was that this was just some silly one-time fling before she tied the knot. I think I would be okay with that, if only because she was my friend and I wouldn't want her getting hurt by doing this with some stranger, but my heart kind of ached at the prospect of being used like that even by her. Perhaps especially by her.
"Like I said before. He doesn't ever have to know."
"But, I mean, why me? Why not another guy? I thought you were straight," I said, immediately regretting it. I did not want to ruin what might have been a fantastic weekend.
"I am straight!" She replied, sort of confusing me even more, though part of me was starting to connect the dots.
"You are just my best friend, and, also, I knew you were lonely, so, you know, two birds with one stone sort of thing." She said, kind of making sense, but I knew no straight girl—no truly straight girl—would hook up with another woman so easily—not to the point that she actually played the role of seducer anyway.
