Misery Loves Company

***If you enjoy the story I greatly appreciate your ratings***

The party was in full swing and I realized the beer was starting to run out. It would never do to have my guests left parched. There were a few more cases down in the basement.

I trotted down the basement stairs but discovered someone had beat me to it. My friend Sean already had a case of beer slung over his fingers.I had dated Sean a few years back before we both were married. Things had ended between us on awkward terms. We never talked about it but it was there.

The one thing that had worked flawlessly between us though was the sex. I was the most exhausted I had ever been during the three weeks that I dated him. He would come over late at night, we would make an attempt at a cursory conversation but we would end up fucking before long. On the couch with my skirt rucked up around my waist. We'd start towards the bedroom and I would have rug burns on my elbows and knees by the time we got there. Gripping the top of the headboard with his lithe body pressing against my back. Then eventually I would fall into an exhausted sleep only to be awakened as he opened my knees and lowered his head between my thighs.

He had a wicked tongue and he loved to use it. I would look down to see his startling green eyes peering up at me as his tongue lapped my pussy. He never came up on his own. I always had to pull him up by his ears when the urgency became too much for me. I never caught more than a couple of hours of sleep when he was in my bed.

But there wasn't much to say outside of bed. Before long, I just stopped returning his calls. Not very nice of me but he moved on quickly and was married a year later. It took a couple of more years before I married. I was friendly with his wife. He and my husband would often go out drinking. We didn't talk about it but it was there.

My train of thought must have shown on his face because he shook his head. "We can't, we're married."

I nodded once. We stood at a distance from each other, not speaking. Finally, I broke the silence.

"I don't think I ever apologized for being a bitch at the end."

He shrugged. It was water under the bridge.

I bit my lip. He was tense, his body like a tightly strung bow. I could feel the same tension in my body and a little more. My nipples were tingling, rising at his remembered touch. But I made no move towards him.

Finally, I lowered my eyes as I spoke softly. "I'm not going to touch you. I'm not going to let you touch me. But if I have to suffer with this wanting then you will too. Misery loves company so I'm going to tell you." His nostrils flared just a bit but he didn't say anything. "I love my husband and I like your wife. But, later, I'm going to cup my tits in my hands and roll my thumbs over my nipples and I'm going to imagine it's your hands. Just standing here, looking at you, I'm already wet. And sometimes I still think about it. Sometimes I want it slow, soft, your feather touch. Other times I dream about rough passion, scratching, biting, having you bend me over and fuck me til I scream. I imagine your hands on my shoulders pressing me down until your cock slips between my lips. Sometimes, it's your wicked tongue rasping against my pussy until I want to scream. Sometimes you sit back in a chair and I remember climbing on top of you, lifting your cock out of your pants and guiding it into my slippery cunt under my skirt."

He was grimacing, becoming physically uncomfortable. I leaned forward and he flinched as if he was going to move away. But I just stooped a little and lifted the case of beer out of his slack hand careful not to touch him. I turned my back and climbed the stairs.