Good Friends Go Wild


Sue Jean lay motionless on her stomach on a blanket she had recently spread out on the floor of her newly-rented apartment, shirtless, arms in front of her, relaxed face resting on her right arm, shiny black hair spilling off to the side and onto the blanket. I straddled her deliciously thick hips, still ensconced in a thin summer skirt, and squeezed another dollop of peach-scented lotion onto my palms and gently, firmly massaged it into her skin, gently kneading her soft shoulders, back, sides and upper arms. The slight smile on Sue Jean’s face and the breathy sighs that intermittently drifted from her barely opened mouth indicated that I was doing good work.

Sue Jean’s left breast, big, round and currently squashed under her, was partially visible from my vantage point and I red-facedly admit that I looked at it a bit more than was necessary. Though my position could be best described as straddling Sue Jean, I was actually sort of seated on her ample behind, gingerly ensuring that I didn’t put too much weight on her, or, after checking out her one visible breast all too frequently, making certain my burgeoning erection did not make contact and freak her out.

See, Sue Jean and I were not lovers at the time this happened, or now, for that matter. She’s currently married and the mother of one, but in the early 2000s she was just a single, admittedly lonely girl, living in a new city and apartment, who I’d known and been fast friends with for a few blissful years in a small, sleepy college town in which neither of us lived anymore. I also suspected that we shared a mutual crush that was squelched by me being in a long term relationship.

I am unabashedly a breast man and Sue Jean’s boobs were huge. Her pretty face was framed by straight, long (and as I mentioned earlier, very shiny) black hair. She was a short girl and that made my six foot frame feel close to giant, a fact which made me, on some level, always feel like it was my responsibility to be physically protective of her. Not that I minded. I relished my bodyguard/pal duties.

Back to the massage, purely platonic at this point, the gentlemanly payoff of a musical bet lost (Sue Jean and I were forever arguing about music and offering backrubs to whoever was right, most often me, but not this time). Did I mention that Prince was playing on the portable boombox in the kitchen? As he wailed about 17 days of loneliness and then about a lover who was always, as he put it, in his hair, I continued to massage Sue Jean and check out her exposed fixbet breast whenever I could without being too obvious. And my cock continued to grow, the inflamed head creeping out of my boxers and rubbing against the fabric of my shorts, creating a sensation somewhere between divine and maddening.

I was getting really worked up and the combination of the delightful sensation of my cockhead rubbing against my shorts and the undeniable sexual tension created by Sue Jean’s lack of clothing, my own imagination about the things I’d like to do to Sue Jean’s body, the naked and currently clothed parts, and, let’s not forget, the music of Prince, was leading us (or more specifically, me) down a a perilous path that might forever alter our friendship. I blame all that followed on Prince and his devilishly sexy funk jams with all those racy lyrics which just about demand sexual activity if flesh and spirit are simultaneously willing.

I got up from my partially seated position and Sue Jean stirred as if the massage was over, but I placed a hand on her shoulder, indicating that I was not yet done and she relaxed again. Now that Sue Jean’s ass was not my default seat I began spontaneously rubbing it, ever vigilant for a facial tic or a body wiggle that might suggest that I had grossly overstepped but none appeared. I spent a few minutes squeezing and shaking Sue Jean’s ass cheeks with my now sweaty hands and her demeanor never changed. In fact, I think her intermittent sighing may have increased a bit. And I noted from my ministrations and the resulting easy jiggle of flesh that Sue Jean was wearing no panties.

Emboldened by no physical or verbal smackdown from Sue Jean I reached under her long skirt and massaged her calves, working my way incrementally up her legs till I was kneading the soft flesh of her upper thighs, dangerously close to her pussy. At this point I still felt relatively safe in defending my courageous massage techniques should that they come into question, but I was about to cross the line.

I’ve always wanted to jump from an airplane but never had the balls, but I imagine if I did that that the initial leap might elicit the same physical response (the sensation of my heart feeling as if it had been suddenly catapulted into my throat) that occurred as I reached up and touched Sue Jean’s pussy for the first time. I noted with satisfaction that she was already wet and my digits glided easily across her surprisingly saturated pussy lips, the index and middle finger of fixbet giriş my treacherous right hand sliding slowly and gently into her warm insides.

Sue Jean moaned and got up on her knees, arching her pussy toward me, her skirt falling around her sides. With her elbows on the ground she cupped her breasts and pinched the nipples aggressively until they rose and then tugged on them. Her breastplay looked slightly painful but she was moaning loudly and pushing her sopping pussy more vigorously against my extended fingers so clearly she knew what she was doing. Just as I was coming to multiple dead ends on what the hell I was doing.

With two of my fingers buried inside of her and Sue Jean’s shiny black hair covering her face, which was pressed into the blanket as she roughed up her beautiful, big boobs, we were not communicating at all on the next move. While I wanted to put my cock inside of her badly, I didn’t think that was appropriate. Not that any of this was. Then inspiration struck.

Earlier in the day I had purchased a couple of new toys at a nearby female-positive sex shop that I frequented regularly. One was an extremely flexible footlong purple dildo that was nearly twice my length but not as thick around as my own shaft. Another was a tiny white device with multiple silver vibrating nubs that was intended for clit stimulation which the shop clerk had been kind enough to put batteries in and turn on to make sure it worked. Both were in my backpack near Sue Jean’s bathroom.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I half-joked as I slowly withdrew my soaked fingers from Sue Jean’s dripping pussy and she giggled, flipping her hair off her face, which showed no signs of distress about what was going on. Fierce hard-on poking painfully against my shorts, I sprinted lightly over to my backpack and extracted the desired items, briskly washing the floppy purple dildo with soap and warm water before returning to Sue Jean, who grinned and winked at me when she laid eyes on the sexual gifts I carried.

I got back behind Sue Jean who returned her elbows to the blanket and her ass in the air, her exposed, petite pussy glistening with excitement. I took the extra-flexible purple dildo in my hand and placed the head at the entrance of her pussy and rubbed it around a bit as if I was applying lip gloss, which, now that I think about it, I sort of was. I then pushed the head in a bit until her pussy clamped down on it. I slowly began feeding the footlong flexi-dong into Sue Jean’s pussy, just a few inches at a time, gently establishing a slow fucking rhythm as Sue Jean’s hands returned to her boobs, squeezing and pinching her breasts even more aggressively than she had before.

By this point I had gotten half of the footlong purple dildo into Sue Jean and she was excitedly thrashing around, pushing against it. With my free hand I grabbed the white mini-vibrator and turned it on to a medium setting and placed it against Sue Jean’s clit, which sent her into further paroxysms of sexual joy. As an aside, Sue Jean had always complained about her difficulty achieving strong orgasms, but as I observed her looking like someone in the midst of some sort of pleasurable seizure, I reminded myself to ask her later whether the glass was half empty or half full.

As Sue Jean’s vocalisms increased in volume and frequency and she pushed harder and faster into the purple phallus, I carefully reached up and turned the white mini-vibrator to its highest setting. Sue Jean went absolutely nuts. “Oh fuck, Rob. It feels so fucking good. I’m gonna cum so hard on this big cock.” Always a very eloquent girl, Sue Jean was suddenly reduced to standard porn flick speak. Not that I minded. I would have to tease her about it later though.

And then she came, just as hard as she had promised, backing into the dildo so vigorously that I think she managed to get a couple more inches inside of her and simultaneously threaten some sort of wrist sprain for me as I held onto the purple pseudo-cock for dear life. Then Sue Jean went limp, turning over on the blanket and luxuriating in the afterglow of her transcendent orgasm. I admired the view of her huge breasts bobbing gently and was relieved that, for the time being, we seemed to still be the best of pals.

“Alright, Rob. You’ve been a very bad friend,” Sue Jean teased. “Now I’m gonna have to ask you to step out of those shorts.” The words had barely escaped her mouth when her phone rang. It was, inconveniently enough, my girlfriend, wondering when I was going to be home. She, Sue Jean and I were all friends, so my girlfriend knew where I was that afternoon and it wasn’t an issue. Suddenly I emotionally crashed down to earth like the aforementioned jumper who has just discovered that he has exited the plane sans parachute. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I’ve never been a poker player and Sue Jean is very intuitive, and she kindly attempted to assuage my inner turmoil. “Rob, relax. It’s gonna be alright. Not exactly the afternoon I was envisioning, but definitely memorable and enjoyable. Go home. We’ll talk later.” And with a wink, Sue Jean added. “I’m sure at some point in the future I will lose a musical bet and you’ll be the recipient of a massage.”

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