How I Fucked My Best Friends Wife

This story is pure fiction. It never happened. Although I admit that my best friend has a wife who looks like this and it MIGHT happen if I get my hands on her!

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I've known Mike and Dawn since junior High School. Mike is my best friend and Dawn is his wife and also one of my closest friends. They've been together since we were all juniors at Warren Harding High School, way back when. My name is Randy, by the way.

I guess I've always had a thing for Dawn, but Mike found her first and I stayed out of his way. It was one of those unrequited things, where I spent a lot of time jacking off just from thinking about her while she probably had no idea that I wanted her so badly. But I wasn't going to step on my best buddy's toes. They hit it off right away and started dating as soon as he mustered the courage to ask her out. They went to the prom together and had their first fuck, the first for either of them, that night. I was in the next room in the hotel fucking some slut I never saw again, wishing it was Dawn. They started living together as soon as they were old enough to leave their parent's homes. They've been married about ten years now.

Mike and I played football together, me at Outside Linebacker and Mike at Free Safety. Dawn was a cheerleader. There was a lot to cheer for, for we had a good team and Mike and I were All City in our senior year. After High School, when many friends drift apart, Mike and I were drawn closer. We stayed in the area when many of our best friends joined the service and spread all over the globe. We both liked to work on our muscle cars. He's a Ford guy and I'm into Pontiac. We had the same hobbies. We had the same goals.

The difference was Dawn. Mike had it good. I went through a string of psycho girlfriends and got married twice, neither time very successfully. Mike and Dawn seemed made for each other and they stayed happily coupled all these years. I envied him for that, and surprisingly, he envied me for the variety of women that I had sampled during this time. I suppose even Michelle Pfeiffer would become ordinary if you slept with her every night for almost fifteen years, but it seemed hard to imagine. I would have traded lives with him, anytime.

Dawn is an Irish beauty. She is a bit tiny at 5 ft, 3 in, but she's long legged for her height and well proportioned. She doesn't have big tits, but they're perky, firm and a nice handful. They aren't going to be sagging around her waist when she hits fifty, and you couldn't help but notice the way her nipples pointed upward and the perfect shape of her tits when she wore a thin T-shirt. She has an hour glass figure and a heart-shaped ass that you could bury your face in and never come up for air. Her arms and legs are toned and shapely, even her feet are cute, with long toes and a high arch. I have a foot fetish and I'm pretty sure it got started because Dawn wore these insane fuck-me shoes the summer we graduated. Dawn's skin is an alabaster that was almost translucent, yet she had few freckles. Her eyes are green and her hair is a reddish brunette that had been much redder as a child. Her face somewhat reminds me of the singer, Amy Grant, maybe because they share the same bone structure or maybe because of the sexual innocence they both project.

Mike is a little bit of a troglodyte to look at, a real odd match for Dawn if you measure just by looks. He's below average in height, but stocky, with a barrel chest and thick arms. Strangely, he has bird legs, so he looks like a beer keg on stilts. No one was going to mistake him for Robert Redford, but he was a decent looking guy and one of the nicest guys I've ever known. His only problem is that he likes to drink a bit too much and he doesn't always hold it so well. That didn't bother me in the old days, because I was usually just as hammered. As we got older, though, I slowed down and he didn't.

I'm a decent looking guy myself. At least, I've never had a problem getting a date. I'm a little less than six feet tall, but I'm a muscular 215 lbs. I never stopped lifting weights after I hung up the cleats, and I have the chest, arms and legs to show for it. I guess I never stopped pumping the iron because I hate the way I feel when I stop and I like the way I look when I have a nice V shape to my torso. The clothes hang better, and the women are friendlier.

Dawn and I weren't just friends because I hang out with Mike; we would be friends even without him. I can't recall a single argument that the two of us ever had in all this time. We're completely simpatico on so many things. Politics, religion, sex. Mike has opinions, but mostly he's apathetic about these things. He wouldn't even vote if Dawn didn't drag him to the ballot box every time. Sometimes we would have dinner together and Dawn and I would debate the next election and talk about world events all night. Mike would mostly sit and yawn and drink whiskey. Often, I brought a wife or girlfriend, and she would sit and stare daggers at Dawn all night while Dawn and I talked like we were two pages from the same book. I've never had another relationship with a woman that was so healthy, so I cherish her for that.

This story really begins with the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas a couple of years ago. When I'm not spending my time pumping iron or envying Mike, I work as an event manager for a large Hi-Fi hardware manufacturer, working trade shows and events all over the country. We usually didn't do the trade shows in Las Vegas, but one year the CEO decided to try it. It was a real break from the monotony for me.

As soon as I landed I checked into the Rio and upgraded to a suite with a jetted tub. When I traveled on the company dime, I did abuse it a bit, I admit. But compared to the jerks in marketing, I was cheaper than a Scotsman. I decided to head down to the Casino to watch the crazy Mardi Gras parade the Rio throws about ten times a day. I was catching the cheesy bead necklaces they throw from the floats when I saw a familiar looking body nearby. I knew it couldn't be who I thought it was, but now I was intrigued. Her back was turned to me and I almost drooled at the sight of her perfect, tight little ass. I had to get closer. If her face matched the rest of her, I needed to make a move. I was still fixated on her ass, but her legs were pretty damn fine as well. I could see myself running my tongue up and down those legs, and then tasting her honey. Oh yes, she would be mine. I drew closer, and she turned to the side to catch a string of beads that someone tossed from a float. She missed, but I reached up and caught it. My football skills still served me and I already had about eight or ten of the damn things. And I also got a look at her face. It was Dawn. I walked up and said "Hello, gorgeous," and put all of the beads around her pretty, white neck. She seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

"What the hell are you doing here, Dawn?" I asked. "Where's Mike? Are you guys on vacation again, and you didn't tell me?"

She laughed. "No, Mike's at home. I'm here for the company." Dawn worked for a company that distributed videos. "I'm here for CES – well, not exactly CES. I'm going to be at our booth at the Sahara."

I knew what that meant, and it brought a smile to my face. Dawn was a tad bit of a prude. She's the kind of woman who blushes if her skirt rides up and she catches you looking. The kind of woman who never wore a bikini because she didn't think her body was very good, even though she was the only one who ever thought that.

Well, the Sahara meant one thing; the porn convention. Every year, they held a porn video convention in the Sahara at the same time as CES. They liked to draw from the same crowd. I guessed correctly that Dawn's company was distributing some X-rated material, and sent her to man the booth. Just thinking of Dawn in a room full of porn stars gave me a woody. I had to turn sort of sideways while we spoke, so she couldn't see how tight my slacks had suddenly become. I mean, this is my best friend's wife, practically like a sister to me. A sister I've always wanted to fuck, but a sister nevertheless.

I started to laugh out loud. "You're shitting me! You're going to be at the Sahara hawking porn videos with a booth full of half-naked bimbos? Oh my God! I will be there for sure, I have to see that!"

She was already blushing a little bit. "It's pretty bad. We've got two porn queens who specialize in anal sex at the booth and a hairy guy, known for having a huge penis who keeps hitting on me," she said.

"Well, hell," I said, "the hairy guy sounds just like your husband, except for the big dick part." That got a chuckle out of her. In fact, it was the kind of chuckle that got me thinking; did I hit a nerve right there? Does Mike have a small one? I thought back to our days of football and whether I'd noticed that in the locker room, but I honestly couldn't remember if Mike was well-endowed or unlucky. It wasn't the kind of thing I looked at, you know?

"So are you staying here at the Rio," I asked?

"Yep, I'm on the fifth floor. Where are you?"

"I'm here as well, up on the top floor in a suite. I guess I took advantage of my company's generosity a little bit." I tried to keep my eyes looking into hers, but even with the gorgeous green peepers, I found them sliding downwards and staring at her tits. Like I said, they were perky and nicely shaped, and her blouse didn't do a hell of a lot to conceal it. She had an extremely low cut bra on, and I thought I could see a tiny bit of her pink aureole sticking out, though it might have been wishful thinking. It made me hard just thinking about the contrast of her pale, white skin and the shocking pinkness of her nipples! If there were a hell I'd just doomed myself to living there for eternity, because now all I could think of is whether her pussy was as pink as her nipples. I was almost shocked to see Dawn dressed this way. She was usually in shapeless, oversized sweatshirts and jeans. I hadn't seen her dressed like this since prom night. I figured she had a dress code to uphold for her company, and I was sure going to enjoy it while it lasted.

"Really?" she said. "I'd like to see that. The rooms here are really nice. I can't imagine what the suites are like."

"Come on up, anytime. You'll get a kick out of it. Maybe I can max out the expense report with a table full of room service food and some champagne!" Of course, my dick throbbed at the fantasy of Dawn in my suite, naked and covered with room service food. I could eat that all night.

"Actually, I was about to go look for someplace to eat," she said. You want to go grab a bite?"

Did I want to grab a bite? Oh, what a loaded question. I tried to play it cool, but I could feel my deodorant fighting back the sweats. We were just two old friends who were having dinner and shooting the shit. I had to keep it in perspective before my fantasies got the better of me. "Sure, let's do that!"

We decided to head over to the New York, New York to Gallagher's Steak House. You can drop $60 on a steak there, but what the hell. Here I was, with my best friend's wife, in Las Vegas. There isn't a single person on earth I enjoy having a meal with and talking to more than Dawn, though we had never once done this without Mike and usually I brought a date for the night. I felt like living large, though not without a twinge of guilt. I hadn't done anything wrong yet, but it sure felt like it. I guess I was breaking one of the Ten Commandments right here, big time. I definitely was coveting my neighbor's wife. Worse, the wife of a guy I love like a brother. But I just couldn't help myself and I didn't really want to stop. I was fairly sure she wouldn't let it get very far anyway, but I still felt bad for the evil thoughts that ran through my head. I was having visions of licking her body all night. I'd start on the soles of her feet, work between her toes and slowly up the legs...I was killing myself.

We sat down and had a fantastic meal. Exceptional aged beef and a bottle of Cristal. I wasn't going to be able to slide the Cristal on my expense report, so it was going to hurt a little, but who cared? I noticed that when we sat down, she choose the seat next to me rather than across from me. Was that a sign? No, couldn't be. As we ate and talked, we inadvertently touched a few times, and she never pulled away or acted as if I were in her space. I was feeling the Cristal and smelling her perfume, and it made the meal the best one I'd ever had. She smelled like a mix of forest and oriental spice. Albert Nippon, maybe? Expensive stuff, but well worth it. It was perfect with her skin chemistry, pure pheromones.

As we finished with coffee and desert, I felt her leg brushing mine. Somehow, it was as intense as entering a woman for the first time. She was wearing a sheer red dress that fit perfectly, probably tailored. I wasn't sure if it was couture, but I suspect it came from one of the Japanese designers who are huge in Asia but relatively unknown here. It was very sexy, and rather avant-garde. It fit her form and accentuated her natural curves, as if she needed any help. The dress went to mid-thigh, and her legs were covered in red nylon stockings; not pantyhose, but stockings. I could see her garters when she crossed her legs. I didn't think anyone dressed like that in public anymore, but to be sitting next to a beautiful woman in kinky lingerie was very stimulating, to be sure. Her leg lingered against mine, and her foot rubbed against my calf. Somewhere along the way, she had shed her high-heeled, open-toed pumps. As long as I'd known her, I couldn't remember a time when she had dressed like this. It had to be a work thing. Those shoes and stockings were incredible; a treat for my eyes unlike any she'd ever worn before.

Even as her foot slipped under my pants cuff to touch my bare leg, I was sure she couldn't be flirting with me. Not after all these years, and certainly not when she's married to Mike. Yet I could feel her exquisite toes stroking my leg and my dick was getting stiffer each time she rubbed my calf. I wasn't sure I'd be able to stand up, but I'd already paid the bill and there no excuses for sitting there any longer. I wondered, is this how women are? Do they flirt with old, platonic friends just because they feel comfortable and safe with you, or do they do it just to fuck with your head and make you crazy?

Somehow, I stood, and escorted her back to the car. We headed back to the Rio, where I fully expected a peck on the cheek and a firm good night. Instead, she wanted to see my suite.

I felt like picking her up and carrying her across the threshold, but that would be a little forward of me. So we took a quick tour and she was suitably impressed. I offered a nightcap from the mini bar as a desperate measure to keep her here. I just didn't want her to go, at this point. Even if we did nothing but talk, I was feeling something here and I didn't want it to stop.

Surprisingly, she agreed and we mixed a couple of cocktails. We sat on the edge of the huge round-shaped King sized bed and sipped away. For a minute or two, we talked about Christmas plans and upcoming vacations and such. We locked eyes, and I gently pulled her closer, and we kissed. Her lips were the softest I'd ever felt. Our lips parted, and I felt her tongue, warm and soft, caressing mine. Her mouth was moist and she tasted clean and fresh. This girl was no smoker and I was happy to kiss a mouth that didn't taste like a pile of cigarette butts in a dirty ashtray for a change. I hugged her tightly and she held me firmly as well, and we locked lips for what seemed like ten minutes. I felt my arms moving on their own without conscientious thought, wrapping around her and slipping downward to stroke the curve of her ass. She had such a tight, athletic ass that it rippled with muscle rather than the flabby butt that most women possessed that would someday be covered in cellulite.

We finally retracted our tongues; she sucked mine as it slipped out of her mouth. She pecked my lips a couple more times and spoke. "Why didn't you ask me out when we were in High School?" she asked.

I was taken aback a bit. I hadn't expected this, but it was a topic that I had thought about over and over again for years. I didn't realize that she had thought about it as well. If the cards had played out a little differently we could have been together, instead of her and Mike.

"I wanted to ask you out, badly," I said. "The first time I laid eyes on you I wanted you. And not just for a fuck, like all the rest of those hormonal, tight little bitches that ran around school – it was different. I saw the same thing Mike saw, I guess; that you were not cut from the same cloth as the other girls. But Mike met you first, and he said from the start that you were the one for him. I mean, one day he came to me and said, 'I just met my wife,' and he meant you. He introduced us later that day, and I wanted to shove him out of the way and step in. But he's my best friend, and I couldn't stab him in the back like that. So I stepped aside, and watched him chase you with every move he had. He had designs on marrying you right from the start, and we were, what, 14 years old?"

Dawn nodded as if she had long suspected that I had fallen for her and never had the balls to do something about it. "I love Mike with all my heart," she said. "I will never regret marrying him and I don't want to hurt him." She looked into my eyes and I peered deeply into the green pools of her eyes. I was melting inside and feeling a connection with another person that I'd never felt before. She practically whispered to me, "But don't you know that all that time, you were the one I wanted?" I was stunned into silence, but even as she spoke, she was unbuttoning my shirt. What she had said to me felt like opening a door and finding Ed McMahon standing there with a check for a million dollars.

It hit me like a hammer right then that the reason all of my relationships were doomed to failure was sitting right in front of me at this minute, removing my shirt and kissing my nipples. I love her. I had always loved her but I had done it in silence while my best friend reaped the fruits of her perfect body. It was an epiphany. I had been feeling guilty because I dream about fucking my best friend's wife. But maybe he's the one who's been fucking my soul mate all these years. Son of bitch, when I fuck up, I fuck up entire lives.

I fumbled for her zipper, and then unhooked her bra. She shook her shirt and bra off and swept them to the floor. Her upper body was naked before me, a dream come true. My hands cupped her breasts, which were just as I had imagined. Her areolas were just the right size in proportion to her tits, and they were such as beautiful, light shade of pink. They were natural. No surgical help needed or wanted. Her tits were perfect, like the rest of her, unbelievably perky. We kissed again, as my hands stroked her tits and her back. She loosened my belt and unzipped my pants and then reached in to grab my shaft.

Her eyes lit up as she pulled my member to attention. "You're a lot bigger than Mike," she said.

I'm not Tommy Lee or anything, but I've got a healthy eight inches and a nice girth. She pulled my pants down to my ankles and knelt down and began sucking on my cock, taking in most of it with each stroke. I had reveled in how soft and moist her lips are when we kissed, but on my cock it was indescribable. It felt like I imagined it would feel the first time you shoot heroin into your veins; instant warmth, blood flowing, a fuzzy and powerful, euphoric high. Her tongue lovingly massaged the underside of my shaft. It was heaven. I laid back on the bed, with my eyes nearly shut in ecstasy. Her hands were not idle. One hand squeezed my balls lightly, and the other rubbed my asshole as she bobbed slowly up and down. In just minutes I was near a powerful orgasm, far too soon for the night I was now planning in my head.