When you secretly want to fuck your husband’s best friend

Erotic stories, chating wife, When you secretly want to fuck your husband’s best friend. Of course we were late — because of me. I might suck cock well and hungrily, but god help me to read clock. My husband, Jeff, and I, were visiting the city for the weekend. There was a concert at a club and tables were a steal, so our Friday night was booked. Jeff had a friend in the city, Tom, who we would generally hang out with and get a drink with when we were there. He’d wander and show us around town.

Tonight was different; we were all three going to a club together, with my plans including to drink a bottle of champagne a piece. But since we were running late, I wasn’t quite ready when Tom arrived. Between hurriedly smoking two small bowls of green in the bathrooms, steps in my makeup application, and perfecting my curls, I had missed that my husband had let him in.

I slid open the bathroom partition and saw Jeff sitting on the couch talking to someone. At first I thought he was on his phone, but then I realized that his friend was sitting in the far back right corner from the bathroom. He was nodding along to my husband who was gesticulating, glanced up, made eye contact, and gave me half a smile.

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I covered my mouth with both hands, but not my tits, in shock at the realization that Jeff’s best friend was admiring my naked body, literally behind his back. A blush filled my cheeks and I quietly slid the bathroom’s partition shut. I was breathless. I’d let his friend look at me, proudly. I didn’t shy away or cover myself. In fact, it made my pussy start to grow a little slick.

I finished my superficial preening ritual that we women like to do and realized I had not brought my outfit into the bathroom it me — the room was too small! Briefly, I looked into the mirror at my heavy 38DDD and began to fondled them, pinching gently on my nipples, both elongating and arousing them. I closed my eyes, imagining it was Tom’s hands cradling my tits. In my mind’s eye, I watch his hair fall forward as he sucked my nipples and looked up to kiss me. Sexually frustrated, but realizing I’d not soon find relief, I called for my husband.

“Jeff! Is Tom on his way up yet? JEFF!” I yelled.

“Oh, hey Tiffany!” I heard Tom say (he had to be laughing).

“Oh, my god, guys why the fuck didn’t you tell me…? JEFF, come over here!” I pleaded.

Finally, he got up to see what was wrong. I could smell that he’d made himself a drink while I’d been getting ready, not that I could blame, nor criticize, that choice.

“Hey, I need you to grab my ivory romper and grab some panties that won’t show in it. Oh, and my nude bra. I think I actually left it right there on the bed while I went to get shower really quick and get ready and now… Oh, god.” I groaned.

“Chill, honey, it’s fine. I’ll go grab it, no biggie!” he consoled me.

I think Tom was pretending to do something on his phone, but I heard him laugh. Maybe at my sheer misery at the embarrassment about exposing myself to my husband’s friend of two decades. To add to my stress, my husband yelled to ask about what color panties I wanted. He had no shame! No filter. The truth was he is just a light weight. I told him and he brought me my outfit, though I had to bend over and dig through my bags in front of them to find the cardigan I’d needed.

During the elevator ride downstairs, I noticed Tom’s outfit in the mirror. I noticed his hair, in need of a cut itself, just combed back. It worked wonderfully. There was an outline of a bulge, I think, in his pressed slacks. My husband hailed a cab, but the cabbie didn’t let anyone sit in the front for an arbitrary reason we didn’t understand. So, I somehow ended up between the two men: my husband and one of his closest friends. As the ride went along, I relaxed, leaning more into Tom when the cabbie made abrupt movements with his steering wheel or took turns a little too tightly. Tom pointed out a place that used to have orgies. I didn’t think anything of it, but remarked something to the effect of, “Good to know where to plan my next girls night out,” but not really getting a laugh.

I realized it was because my husband was distracted by watching the map that Tom had been able to stare right down my top while the drive went on. I placed my foot next to his and now my entire calf gently rested against his. I loved the smooth fabric of his pants. The streets were dark, but I thought I saw him adjust himself. Was the exchange of body heat affecting him as it was myself? I knew I wasn’t his type, but I also knew it had been a long time since he had felt that tightness of a woman’s body, most likely. The perfume that I had chosen to adorn my skin with hung ever so slightly in the air, if you were in my personal space, which both men were. I noticed him breathing deeply, eyes closed, gradually speaking less and less.

As soon I started to settle into Tom, we were at the club. We got out and I led them to the table line, where we quickly were led to our balcony table above the DJ. Servers in sexy costumes helped us get settled in and we got acquainted with the list of bottles. Mostly champagne, plus some vodka. Though the servers were dressed like Hooter’s girls, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him watching me, focused on my breasts, while the rest of us discussed prices. Flattering, I have to admit. The champagne bottle was popped, then another. My husband’s best friend used his jacket to clean up a mess I made, even. His hand brushed mine in the process and I apologetically grabbed his bicep.

“Fuck, Tom, I’m so sorry! I guess I’m a little sloppy,” I laughed.

“Don’t even worry about it — it’s a cheap jacket anyway. I wouldn’t want you to get wet — I mean get your phone wet, too, you know?” he reassured me.

Tom smiled at me knowingly. My husband was away, watching the DJ over the second story rail. He wanted to wander the main floor, too. I didn’t want to be alone with Tom. I didn’t want to be tempted because I didn’t know if I could resist. He might not strike you as one, but apparently, he is a gym fanatic. I’ve simply never seen him out of business clothes to say if this is true. His arm felt hard and muscular in my hand, so I could only imagine what his own chest looked like. I chugged the rest of my drink and smiled at Tom, with liquid courage filling my own veins. He smiled back.

“You know, Tiffany, I do have to say you look great tonight. Sexy, beautiful, womanly… Jeff is a very lucky man,” he said, trailing off, obviously looking between my breasts.

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