"Well, how was he?"
That was the first thing my best friend Kelly asked me when she finally returned to work, and it was the last thing I wanted to hear.
I gave her a blank look, the body language equivalent of, "What?" as though I had no idea what she was asking about.
I knew exactly what she was asking. Her husband Jack had seduced me at a Department Christmas party almost a week earlier. I had just given him a blow job at the party, but I had spent much of the time she was gone having almost continuous sex with him. He came by my house every day and spent several hours there, most of it with his dick in my pussy, or my mouth, or between my tits, or somewhere else it shouldn't have been, and if not his dick then his tongue, or his fingers. And it was marvelous—all of it. Yes, he was my best friend's husband, but I had been doing without sex for the two years since my divorce, and I just couldn't get enough of him.
He had told me that Kelly wouldn't care, but doesn't every philandering husband say that? Of course they do. I had spent almost a week vacillating between feeling tremendous guilt about the sex I was having with my best friend's husband, the lust I felt for him and his seductive ways, and the wild excitement I experienced when he brought me to climax after climax with his dick, his fingers, his tongue, and, oh god, even his toes. The sex had been like nothing I had ever imagined, much less experienced. But how could I tell Kelly that?
So now my lover had left town for an extended business trip and I was standing face to face with his wife, and my best friend, in the line to get coffee at a campus Starbucks. We were both due at our jobs in the University's admissions office, and she wanted to know, "How was he?" How the hell could I answer that?
I was still in the blank stare mode when the barista asked for our order. Kelly let the moment pass, and we focused on our coffee order. The walk back to our office was occupied with discussion of her trip and her mother's health condition. At the office it was crunch time. We had to get the first round of early admission letters out, so the topic of Jack didn't come up again.
We worked until 8 getting the packets assembled and ready to mail first thing the next day. When we finished, Kelly said, "God, I'm bushed . . . and I'm starved. How about a pizza. Let's go to my place and order out. I've got some cheap red wine to go with it, and I can get out of these work clothes. My feet are killing me."
"Where's Jack?" I asked, feeling a knot in my stomach. I wasn't ready to face both of them at once.
"Oh, he's in Paris for at least a week. Presenting a paper at some conference. He let me see a draft and I couldn't understand a word of it. I guess that's what I get for marrying a techie."
I felt the knot in my stomach unwind. I paused for a moment and then said, "Yes, that sounds like just what I need." I still didn't know what I was going to say if she came back to the question she had asked when we were in Starbucks in the morning, but like her, I was tired and hungry, and I wanted a drink.
Kelly and her husband lived in a beautiful little cottage that was just off the University grounds. It was only a couple of blocks from where we worked. As we came out the door, I started toward my car, and she said, "Come on, we'll walk. I could use the exercise." Before we walked the two or three blocks to her house, she sat on a bench and exchanged her tall stylish pumps for a pair of running shoes she kept under her desk during the day.
"Thank god Jack left Boston and moved out here," she said. "We would be freezing in Boston right now."
"Palo Alto's hard to beat," I responded, "But why did he leave? That was a pretty big job he had there. He was a rising star."
"Well, he has his own lab here, and that's important." She paused for a minute and then chuckled.
"What?"
"There was a problem in Boston. I'll tell you about it, but let's get back to the house and get a drink first."
"Okay."
As we walked she was humming and swinging her heels. "Jack calls these my 'fuck me' heels," she said. Kelly always wore tall sexy looking heels. I had given up on those during my marriage when my sex adverse husband called them my "slut shoes." When Jack called me a slut it sent a surge of lust through me. It was intended as a compliment—the nastiest kind. When my ex-husband had called me a slut he intended to put me down and make me feel worthless, and it did. I loved it when Jack called me a slut. I hated it when my ex-husband did it.
I laughed, saying, "That sounds like Jack." I thought about how he had insisted I wear some tall heels I had left in my closet during some of the sex games we had played during Kelly's absence.
"And does he?" I continued aloud.
Now Kelly laughed. "Oh yeah," she responded stretching out the words for emphasis. "He seriously fucks me when I wear these." She paused for a moment. "But then you should know, shouldn't you? About how 'fuck me' heels get him going?"
The knot in my stomach returned instantly. There we were standing in front of Kelly's house and she had just accused me of fucking her husband.
"What?"
I said, "You should know how good Jack is in bed and what some of his kinks are. You've been fucking him ever since the Christmas party, . . . haven't you, Susan?"
She knew. But how? Jack must have told her. I couldn't begin to respond. I broke into tears and stood there in the middle of her front walk sobbing."
"Susan, Susan, stop crying, There's no need for that," she said. "You are far from the first woman he has seduced since we have been married. He told me all about it."
"Really," I sniffed. "Th, th, then," I stuttered. "Then you're not mad?"
Kelly laughed. "Hardly. If I got into a jealous rage every time Jack seduced another woman, I would have probably succumbed to a stroke or something along time ago. Come on inside and let's talk about it."
"Uh . . .okay." I was still sniffling.
Kelly unlocked the front door and let us in. As soon as we stepped in, the lights throughout the main area of the house came up. I kind of spun my head at the change.
"It's the sensor system Jack put in. It's useful to have an engineer for a husband. Even if he is a horn dog," Kelly said with a laugh. She certainly didn't seem troubled by my admission that I had been fucking her husband.
We walked on through to the kitchen where the lights again came up as we entered. I found it a little unnerving, but then I was in a fragile state anyway.
"Now," she said. "I think we need something to drink and it needs to be a little stronger than the red wine I suggested earlier." She opened a liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of gin. Within minutes we were sitting in the living room, each with a gin and tonic. I took a long pull on mine, thankful it was far more gin than tonic. We were sitting at opposite ends of a couch, shoes off and our legs pulled up and curled beneath us, which pushed her dress and mine well up our thighs.
"Susan, let's talk. I can tell that rotten husband of mine didn't do a good job of explaining our relationship to you."
"Well," I said. "He told me you wouldn't care, and you both had sex with others. But that's the kind of thing lots of cheating husbands say." I could feel my guilt creeping back. If I didn't believe him why hadn't I said no, I thought? "He also said you were bi."
"Okay, well that's all true but it doesn't sound like you were convinced."
"Uh . . . no . . . not for sure." I was holding my drink in my hands in my lap unable to look my best friend in the eye.
There was silence and then I said, "But I fucked him anyway. Oh Kelly I'm so ashamed. It had been so long and I just couldn't resist."
"Don't be," she said. "You just described a classic Jack Mortensen seduction, and I'm a little pissed about it. Not at you, but at him, for treating my good friend that way."
I looked at her and shook my head. "I don't understand?"
"Let me refill these drinks, and I'll explain."
She was back minutes later with two new tumblers of gin vaguely touched by tonic. I didn't care. I needed a strong drink now. The other thing that was missing besides the tonic was Kelly's bra. Her big tits were bouncing freely as she walked across the room.
She took a long pull on her drink as she sat down, leaning against the arm of the couch opposite the end I was at. "Oh yes, I needed that," she said. "And," she added, "You may have noticed, I let the girls out to play." She shimmied her big soft boobs at me. "I do get so tired of that bra some days."
I also noticed that the stockings she had been wearing had gone missing, but I said nothing about that.
"Now," she said. "Let me explain. Jack has this strange idea that if a woman is wracked with guilt about having sex with him, but none-the-less gives in, she will enjoy the sex a great deal more. He says that when people believe they are getting away with something the sex is so much better."
There is some truth to that, I thought as I sipped my gin.
I knew before you ever went upstairs with him that he was going to try to seduce you. As soon as we walked in the room, he asked who you were, a clear sign he intended to seduce you. Later, of course he told me everything that happened. We always do that."
"Just the Christmas party, right . . . or did he tell you about everything . . . else?"
