friends

I've had too much to drink. Both bottles of wine are empty, and we've moved into that part of the night where everything is funny. On your couch we sit shoulder to shoulder, the rest of it left empty, and I'm playing with your hands. They fascinate me. I line up our palms, measuring the difference as you curl the tips of your fingers over my own. We lace them together, as if to see just what that would look like, but it only lasts a moment before I'm pulling away and turning your hand over.

I run the nail of one finger over the lines in your palm, the lines that tell a story even you don't know yet. You ask me what your life line says, teasing me like you always do. I don't know if its the wine or that you smell so damn good, or that I can feel the heat of your body emanating into mine, but tonight I look up at you and I tell you "It says I should kiss you."

And then I do, fitting my mouth over yours, our lips sour from the wine. I'm half afraid to look at you when we draw apart, but you just smile, sliding one of those large warm hands over my cheek and pulling me in for another, deeper, kiss. Your tongue is thick and warm in my mouth, and I crave the invasion. I want any part of you, inside any part of me.

Beneath your hands, both of which are now cupping my face, I feel tiny, fragile, precious. One hand slides from my cheek to my neck, your thumb resting in the hollow of my throat and I am acutely aware the strength of your hand, of the power in it. You continue to slide down, curving over the swell of one breast. You can't see it, but I know you can feel my nipple hardened tight against the lace material.

This is the farthest we've ever gone, our tension always wrought with the worry of friendships ruined, and all the things that shall come to pass if we go down this road. With each sip of the thick red wine, those worries have disappeared, leaving only desire and longing in their wake.

I hear the buttons on your shirt popping, bouncing along the hardwood, but I don't realize it's me until I'm on your lap, straddling you, and my hands are running over the soft naked skin of your chest. You feel exactly like I knew you would.

You growl, your mouth kissing and sucking along my neck as I rock my hips down over your lap, grinding my cunt against the bulge of cock that fills the front of your jeans. I crave the friction, the ache you're building in me needing satisfaction.

I ignore all the final warnings in my head, and focus on the sound of your voice, the tight grasp of your hands on my hips as you how me to you and tell me how much you fucking want me, how much you've always fucking wanted me, wanted to fuck me. Teasingly I crawl off your lap, laughing as you scowl but my fingers work your zipper down, and I motion for you to take out your cock. I admired the length of it as you pull it out of your jeans, your fist wrapped around the base. "Show me how you touch yourself" You hesitate for a moment before you begin, stroking your fist up and down. I watch, fascinated, thinking of all the times you've done this before, of how you know exactly how to touch yourself. "Have you ever thought of me when you do this?"

You nod, a wry smile across your face. The idea pleases me, makes my empty cunt clench to be filled by you. "I think about you too, when I'm fucking myself on my fingers I imagine they are your fingers, pushing into my tight wet cunt. My pussy is the greediest when I think about you. You moan, squeezing tighter at my words, and I see the first pearls of pre-come on the head of your cock. I take the opportunity to lean down and lick the flat of my tongue over the slit, collecting those thick, sweet, drops. I lick again, the first taste not nearly satisfying enough. You rub the head of your cock over my lips, painting them before I look up at you and sink my mouth down over your shaft. That very first noise you make is the sweetest. A half breathless groan, packed with the knowledge that it is ME, bobbing my mouth along your cock. You tell me you've never imagined it could be this good, and you release your cock from your hand, my mouth sinking just a few inches lower until you're at the very back of my mouth. You fist your hand into my dark hair, twisting the curls around your hand, but you are a content to sit back and watch me, your cock disappearing into my hot wet mouth, my perfect pink lips stretched around you.

When I slide my mouth off of you, you groan, but pull me up and kiss me hard, the slight taste of you mixing between our mouths. You tell me it's my turn to show you how I touch myself.

I lie back on the couch, and wiggle my panties down my legs, kicking them at you with the flick of my ankle. You catch them, shaking your head in amusement at how wet they are. I blush when you hold them to your face, inhaling deeply, but I don't quite want you to stop. You run your hands up my legs, pushing them open at my knees. You let out a long, content sigh as you take in the sight of my cunt, bare except for the small patch of hair right above my slit. I can feel my wetness, thick and clinging to my pussy, the insides of my thighs already damp.

I start slow, trailing my fingers over my cunt, petting her just the way she likes. With a solitary finger I circle my clit with slow, torturous movements. But I'm impatient, and I waste no time dipping two fingers between my pussy lips and sinking them deep into my cunt, right to my knuckles. The first thrust of my fingers makes an obscene squishing sound, wet and slippery as I fuck myself faster, barely able to concentrate on the fact that you've started stroking yourself again. "I can't wait. I need your cock inside me." My words are frantic, and you move quickly, kneeling above me, pulling me down to the right spot where we'll fit together. You tell me not to look anywhere but at you, the head of your cock brushing over the entrance to my cunt before pushing into me with one long, hard thrust. I struggle to find my breath, to find words to convey the overwhelmingness of this moment. That you and I are here, half naked, your cock deep inside my cunt. I pull you down into a long, slow, kiss. You bite at my bottom lip, my jaw and you tell me how fucking good I feel as you begin to move.

I can tell you're restraining yourself, because every thrust is slow and measured, but deep as if you want to lose yourself in my cunt. Don't hold back. Please. Fuck me. You groan, loud, your hands tightening on my hips as you begin to thrust faster, harder. I rock my hips up to you, meeting you thrust-for-thrust. Oh fuck, your thumb slides over and finds my clot, rubbing and stroking. Oh god, please. Harder. Faster. Yes. Mmm. Right there. I'm begging you now. Please make me come, please. You tell me filthy things about filling my cunt with your come, about fucking it deep inside me. We're breathless now, sentences unintelligible, just words now, pleas. Mmm, oh god, yes. fuck fuck fuck.  I moan loudly, long, my cunt clenches tight, my nerves spasming as I come around your cock. Oh god, give me your come, fill up my tight little cunt. It's yours, it's all yours. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Mmm, shhh, yes, yes.

We lie together for a few breathless moments, your face buried against my beck and collarbone, your thumb still rubbing over my now bruised hipbone. I take your hand away from my hip and hold it up to me, kissing in the centre of your palm. You ask me, sleepily, what your life line says. I laugh, and kiss you once again.