My Girlfriend's Best Friend — pt.2

Taking an opportunity to cheat on my girlfriend with her hot best friend. Based on a true story.

The door clicked shut, a sound of profound, echoing finality. For a few heartbeats, the only noise was the low hum of the PlayStation’s idle screen and the ragged syncopation of our breathing. Then our mouths crashed together in a frantic, hungry kids.

Her lips were soft, pliant, eager. My tongue swept into her mouth, tasting the sweet remnants of vodka and the unique, addictive flavor that was purely Sophie. Her fingers tangled in my shaggy, dirty-blond hair, pulling me closer with a desperate strength that belied her slender, fourteen-year-old frame. My hands were everywhere—cupping her face, sliding down her back to grip the firm swell of her ass through her damp shorts, roaming over the thin cotton of her shirt to reclaim the perfect weight of her breasts.

We kissed like we were drowning and the other was air. It was messy, sloppy, passionate. A low, continuous moan vibrated in her throat, humming against my lips. My cock, still trapped in my shorts, throbbed with a painful urgency, a persistent, heated reminder of what we’d started and what we’d yet to finish.

After a minute of this frantic, breathless making out, Sophie pulled her mouth from mine with a soft, wet smack. She was breathing hard, her beautiful face flushed, her lips swollen and glistening. A mischievous, utterly seductive grin spread across her features.

“Lock the door,” she said, her voice a husky command.

The words shot through me, a bolt of pure, illicit electricity. Yes. I threw the comforter off us in one swift motion, the cooler air of the room hitting my feverish skin. I sprang from the bed, my legs a little unsteady from the booze and the adrenaline, and stepped quickly to the bedroom door. My fingers fumbled with the simple lock on the knob, the click sounding impossibly loud in the quiet room. Security. Secrecy. We were locked in.

I turned back to face the bed.

Sophie hadn’t moved. She lay on her back amidst the rumpled sheets, propped up on her elbows, smiling at me with a look of wide-eyed, fourteen-year-old excitement. She was a vision of teenage temptation. Her long brown hair was tousled, her makeup slightly smeared from our hidden escapade. Her smile was wide, excited, pure fourteen-year-old mischief. The TV’s blue glow painted her in ethereal light, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the long line of her throat, the tantalizing swell of her breasts against her shirt. Her legs were slightly parted, just as I’d left them. The sight was a punch to the gut, a visceral, breathtaking claim of ownership. She was waiting for me.

But as the initial surge of lust subsided for a split second, a cold, sharp twinge of guilt pierced through the heat. It wasn’t for Jessie, my girlfriend, whose purple hair and cute smile flashed unwanted in my mind. It wasn’t even for Logan, Sophie’s oblivious boyfriend. This guilt was more complicated. It was for Rob.

Rob, my friend and old roommate. Rob, with his shy smiles and hopeless crush. Rob, who had loved this girl since they were kids, who carried a torch so bright it blinded him to her casual cruelties. And here I was, in his room, on his bed, about to fuck the living fantasy he’d cherished for years. The girl who’d fucked his other friends, who’d laughed and teased and kept him firmly in the friend zone, was now spread out for me. I was about to become another name on that list, another betrayal he’d have to swallow with a forced smile. The complicity of it was a sour taste at the back of my throat.

But then Sophie shifted. She arched her back slightly, making her shirt ride up, exposing a strip of smooth, tanned stomach. Her gaze traveled down my body, then back up to meet my eyes, and that look—pure, unadulterated, slutty desire—burned the guilt away like paper in a flame. It was replaced by a darker, more exhilarating thrill. This was wrong. And that made it so much hotter.

“Come back to me,” she purred, her voice dripping with seduction. She wiggled her hips, a subtle reminder of the wetness soaking her shorts.

I approached the bed, my eyes dropping to the damning evidence of what we’d already done. With the covers thrown aside, the large, dark wet spot on Rob’s sheets was unmistakable. It glistened in the low light, a reminder of her explosive orgasm. Her little spandex shorts were soaked through, the dark fabric clinging to her skin.

“Holy shit,” I muttered, walking toward the bed. The covers were thrown aside, and the evidence of our earlier secret was stark.

She followed my gaze and let out another light, airy giggle. “I can’t believe you made me squirt,” she said, her tone a mix of awe and embarrassment. “I was so fucking horny!” She shifted her hips, and the wet fabric made a soft, damp sound against the sheets. “I feel like I peed myself!”

Her explicit words sent a fresh jolt to my cock.

But reality came crashing back. Time. We didn’t have much of it. The restaurant would close. Rob would come home. The thought lit a fire under me. We had to move.

I didn’t speak. I just hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts and underwear and pushed them down in one motion. My cock sprang free, a thick, twenty-six-year-old length that was already fully hard, aching with unmet need. I tugged my shirt over my head and discarded it, standing naked before her.

Her playful grin vanished, replaced by a look of rapt, hungry attention. Her eyes did a slow, appreciative sweep of my body—my lean torso, the definition of my abs from working out, the lines of my hips—before locking onto my cock. Her eyes widened, her lips parting in genuine surprise. “Holy fuck…” she half-whispered, a breathy confession to herself. “Jessica wasn’t lying!”

A surge of male pride flushed through me. Jessie had bragged about me to her best friend. The ego boost was a potent aphrodisiac, mixing with the illicit thrill.

Sophie reached a hand out, her fingers beckoning. “Bring that thing over here, mister,” she said, her gaze not leaving my shaft for a second.

I moved to the edge of the bed. Her small, warm hand closed around me, and she let out a soft sigh as she felt the weight and girth of me. She marveled at it, stroking slowly from base to tip, her gaze fixated on its size and weight. “It’s so big,” she murmured, more to my cock than to me.

With my free hands, I grabbed the soaked hem of her spandex shorts. They were stuck to her skin, but I peeled them down, taking her drenched, soiled panties with them in one pull. The scent of her—musky, sweet, intensely female—wafted up, mingling with the stale smell of weed in the room. I threw the wet bundle aside, where they landed with a damp plop on Rob’s floor.

She didn’t need any instruction. Like the good little fourteen-year-old slut she was, she spread her legs for me, a giggle bubbling from her lips. One hand continued its slow, exploratory stroking of my cock, while the other drifted down between her own legs. She used her fingers to part her outer lips, giving me my first unobstructed view of the pussy I had just finger-fucked to a squirting climax.

My gaze dropped to the sight I’d only felt. My girlfriend’s best friend’s fourteen-year-old pussy, fully exposed. It was perfect. Completely hairless, a smooth, tanned landscape. Her outer lips were swollen, a puffy, wet frame. Her inner lips glistened, pink and slick, soaked in the translucent juice that still seeped from her tiny hole. The scent of her—musky, sweet, intensely female—wafted up, overwhelming the residual smells of weed and alcohol in the room.

The guilt surged again, sharp and acidic. My girlfriend’s best friend. This was her most intimate place, exposed and glistening for me. The taboo of it was a dark, thrilling current under my skin.

And God, she was beautiful. Her tiny, fourteen-year-old vagina was completely hairless, her inner lips glistened like pink dewy petals. Her clit was a hard, eager pearl, peeking from its hood. The entire area glistened, wet and inviting, a testament to how fucking horny this little fourteen-year-old slut was.

I reached down, unable to resist, and ran two fingers through her slick folds. She was drenched, her juices coating my fingers instantly, warm and silky. A soft moan escaped her as I brushed her clit.

“Fuck me,” she breathed, her hips lifting off the bed in a tiny, desperate thrust. “Please, Marcus. I need it.”

The sound of my name on her lips, in that begging tone, was almost enough to make me come right there. “Do you have a condom?” I asked, my voice rough.

Her face fell into an exaggerated pout, her expression shifting to disappointment. “No… Do you?”

“Rob might have one around here,” I suggested, the statement feeling absurd even as I said it.

Sophie burst into another giggle. “Rob? He hasn’t even kissed a girl in like, five years.” The casual cruelty of it, the dismissal of our friend’s lonely existence, made the guilt twist inside me again. She was so casually cruel about his hopeless devotion. But it was quickly smothered by the heat in her eyes as her gaze hardened with determination. She looked directly at me, all pretense of playfulness gone. “Forget the condom. Just fuck me. Raw. I wanna feel this cock in me. All of it.”

Her explicit, direct words shattered my last shred of hesitation. A devilish smile spread across my face. “You’re a naughty little slut, you know that?” I growled, the derogatory term feeling right, fitting.

“Right now I’m your slut,” she whispered back, her eyes blazing. “And we don’t have much time.”

I climbed onto the bed, settling between her spread thighs. Her knees were bent, her feet flat on the mattress. But before I took her, I needed a taste. I had to. I leaned forward, my hands going to her thighs, pushing them wider. I used my thumbs to part her glistening folds, exposing her tiny, pink entrance and her swollen clit. I needed to claim her with my mouth, to have the flavor of my girlfriend’s best friend on my tongue.

“What are you—oh!” she gasped as I leaned down, my hands sliding under her thighs to hook behind her knees, spreading her wider.

I didn’t answer. I just lowered my face and took a long, slow, deliberate lick from the very bottom of her slit, where her tight little hole still leaked her juices, all the way up to the throbbing bud of her clit.

The taste exploded on my tongue—sweet, tangy, musky, perfect. It was the taste of secret sin, of wet, fourteen-year-old pussy. I groaned against her, the vibration making her jerk and cry out. Her nectar was warm, sweet with a tangy edge, delicious. I savored it on my tongue, then dove in. My mouth engulfed her, my lips sealing around her pussy. My tongue flicked and pressed against her clit, then dipped lower to probe at her entrance.

Then I feasted. I buried my face in her, my tongue plunging deep into her hole, lapping up the abundant nectar that flowed from her. I sucked on her inner lips, licked broad, flat stripes over her entire mound, then zeroed in on her clit, flicking it rapidly with the tip of my tongue.
“Oh my GOD!” she shrieked, her hands flying to my head, her fingers clutching fistfuls of my hair. Her hips bucked off the bed, trying to fuck my face. “Yes! Right there! Your tongue… fuck!”

I devoured her. I ate her pussy like a man starved, slurping up her juices, sucking her engorged clit into my mouth, fucking her with my tongue. The sounds were obscene—wet, sloppy, noisy squelches and her uncontrolled, high-pitched moans. Her legs trembled violently around my head.

“You’re so much better than Logan!” she wailed, the confession torn from her in the throes of pleasure.

The comparison, the betrayal, sent a surge of possessive pride through me. The confession was a gift. My ego swelled, my cock pulsed against the mattress. I ate her with fervor, my tongue working her clit in rapid circles, then plunging shallowly into her wet hole, drinking the fresh juices that flowed. She writhed, her body trembling under my mouth, her moans becoming a continuous, desperate soundtrack. Her legs shook. I felt her inner muscles begin to flutter around my tongue.

“Please! Please, just fuck me!” she begged, her voice breaking. But I could tell she was so close.

I redoubled my efforts, sucking hard on her clit while sliding two fingers back inside her tight, sopping channel. I curled them, searching for that sweet spot inside her.

I found it. The moment my fingertips pressed against the spongy front wall of her vagina, her body went rigid. A guttural, broken scream tore from her throat. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna—Marcus!”

I didn’t let up. I finger-fucked her G-spot with relentless pressure while my mouth worshipped her clit. It only took three more strokes.

Her orgasm hit her like a train. Her back arched clear off the bed, a stunning, graceful curve. Her scream was muffled as she bit down on her own wrist. Then the gush came—a hot, copious flood of her juices that spilled over my chin, my mouth, my fingers. Her body convulsed, her thighs clamping around my ears, her heels digging into my back. She rode the wave for what felt like an eternity, her cries devolving into sobbing, breathless whimpers.

As the tremors subsided, she went boneless, collapsing back onto the mattress with a ragged gasp. She was oversensitive, spent. When I gave her clit one last, gentle lick, she flinched with a soft, pained cry. My chin was slick with her. I gazed up her body. Her perfect, fourteen-year-old tits strained against the thin fabric of her band shirt, her nipples like dark pebbles. Her stomach was heaving, her eyes were clenched shut, her face a mask of overwhelmed ecstasy.

I sat up, wiping my slick chin with the back of my hand, savoring her taste on my skin. Her eyes were glazed, unfocused, her chest heaving. She looked utterly wrecked, beautifully used. A vision of teenage temptation. But I was far from done. My cock ached, a thick, painful throb of unmet need.

“Please,” she panted, opening her eyes to look at me with pure, desperate need. “Please, just fuck me. I need it. I need you inside me.”

I knew the rumors. Sophie was a true pillow princess. She only liked to lie back and be fucked in missionary. She didn’t like putting in the work. That was fine. Perfect, even. I wanted to dominate her, to loom over her, to watch every expression on her fourteen-year-old face as I took her.

I moved up her body, kissing a wet trail up her stomach, over her shirt, to her neck. I pushed her knees back, toward her chest, spreading her even wider. Her little pussy, red and puffy and glistening, was fully exposed, her tight hole ready for me. I positioned myself, leaning over her, bracing my hands on the mattress on either side of her head. My cock, heavy and eager, rested against her wet slit. I rubbed it back and forth, the broad head catching on her clit, smearing both of us with her combined juices.

She whimpered, a sound of pure need. Her hands flew down between us, her small fingers wrapping around my shaft. “Please, please, please,” she chanted, her eyes wide and pleading. “Just fuck me already! Please just put it in me!”

I let her guide me. I was too turned on to tease any longer. She pushed the head of my cock against her entrance. The feeling was exquisite—the heat, the wetness, the slight resistance of her incredibly tight, fourteen-year-old opening.

I pushed.

The head popped in.

She gasped, a sharp, shocked inhalation that cut off into a long, low moan as her body stretched to accommodate me. Her eyes flew wide open, locking onto mine with a look of stunned, overwhelming pleasure. I was only halfway in, and she already felt impossibly tight, a silken, wet, clinging vice.

“Oh… my… god…” she breathed, each word a separate exhale.

I leaned down and kissed her, swallowing her moans. I pulled back slightly, then sank back in, pushing another inch deeper. She whimpered into my mouth, her hands releasing my cock to clutch at my shoulders, her nails biting into my skin. I kissed her deeply, my tongue mimicking what my cock was doing, as I slowly, relentlessly, fed myself into her.

With each gentle thrust, I felt her inner muscles relax and then clench, a rhythmic pulse of acceptance. I went deeper, and deeper, until I felt the soft, firm press of her cervix against the head of my cock. My balls rested snugly against the curve of her ass. I was buried to the hilt. I was fully inside my girlfriend’s best friend.

I broke the kiss, pulling back to look at her. Her beautiful face was flushed, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes hazy with a mixture of pleasure and slight discomfort. She was so young beneath me. So small. And I was filling her up completely.

“You’re so fucking big,” she moaned, a giggle escaping through the haze. She was marveling at it, at the feeling. “You’re so much bigger than Logan. I can’t… I can’t even handle it.”

I smirked, shifting my hips minutely, making her gasp. “What do you mean?” I murmured, my voice rough. “Look at you. You’re taking my cock so well. You’re a natural, baby. A perfect little slut for my cock.”

She beamed up at me, the adoration in her eyes making my heart clench with a twisted kind of affection. I leaned in and kissed her again, a softer kiss this time, and began to move.
I started slow. A long, dragging withdrawal until just the head remained inside her clinging heat, then a smooth, firm push back to the base. I set a gentle, deep rhythm, letting her body adjust to my size, to the full, stretching feeling of being so completely filled. Her tight, wet heat was paradise. Every nerve ending in my cock was screaming with pleasure.

Her hips began to move tentatively at first, then with more confidence, rising to meet my slow thrusts. Her moans became a continuous, breathy soundtrack. Her legs, still hooked over my arms, tightened around me. The guilt was still there, a cold knot under the heat—Jessie, Rob—but it was being smothered by the overwhelming physical reality. The feel of her fourteen-year-old body under mine. The sight of her perfect tits straining against her shirt with each of my movements. The wet, slick sounds of our sex.

She was getting impatient. Her movements became more frantic, less coordinated. “Fuck me harder,” she pleaded, her voice breaking on the words. “Please, Mark, fuck me harder!”

The low, guttural command from her lips—“Fuck me harder”—was all the permission I needed. The slow, deep rhythm I’d been maintaining shattered. A switch flipped inside me, primal and raw. I planted my palms on the mattress on either side of her head, my arms locking straight, and I drove into her with a new, punishing force.

I couldn’t believe it. My cock was buried deep inside my girlfriend’s best friend, Sophie. The feeling was a raw, electric current of pure taboo. Her tight, fourteen-year-old pussy was a slick, hot vice around my length, and the rhythmic, wet squelch of our sex filled the quiet room.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound of our bodies colliding echoed around the room, a wet, meaty percussion that underscored her sharp, gasping cries. Her little fourteen-year-old body jolted with every impact. Her firm, perfect ass cheeks flattened against the sheets on each downstroke, the soft flesh spreading wide under the brutal force, then clenching tight as I withdrew, only to be battered and spread again.

“Fuck me harder,” she moaned, her voice already losing its dreamy quality, sharpening into a command. Her big, dark eyes were locked on mine, glittering with a challenge.

I obliged. I lifted myself up on my hands, my arms straight, and began to piston into her with deeper, more forceful strokes. The sound changed—from a wet slide to a sharper, rhythmic slap of my hips against her thighs. Her body jolted with each impact. Her perfect, perky breasts, still confined under her thin band shirt, bounced enticingly with every drive.

“Yeah, like that!” she cried out, her head tossing back. Her hands wrapped around me, her nails digging into my back. “Don’t be gentle! Fuck me like you mean it!”

I grunted, my own pleasure coiling tight in my gut. The sight of her beneath me, this beautiful, fourteen-year-old girl who was Jessie’s best friend, Rob’s obsession, was almost too much to process. The guilt was a phantom ache, but it was drowned, utterly consumed, by the exhilarating, primal rightness of her tight little cunt milking my cock.

“Yes! Oh, fuck, yes!” she screamed, her head thrashing side to side on Rob’s pillow. Her hands scrambled, nails digging into my biceps. “Harder! Don’t stop!”

I grunted, the effort and the overwhelming sensation tightening my gut. She was so fucking tight, a silken, vice-like heat that threatened to milk my orgasm from me far too soon. I focused on the brutal, physical truth of it: my twenty-six-year-old cock, thick and experienced, ravaging the impossibly tight, soaked pussy of a fourteen-year-old girl who wasn’t mine to take.

“You like that?” I growled, my voice strained. “You like getting your cheating little pussy pounded?”

“Yes! I love it!” she wailed, her eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy. Her hips began pistoning upward to meet my thrusts, a frantic, uncoordinated counter-rhythm. She started talking back, her words tumbling out in a breathy, dirty stream. “You like that? You like fucking your girlfriend’s best friend’s cheating little pussy?”

I dropped my weight onto one forearm, bringing my face close to hers. My thrusts never faltered, becoming shorter, harder, deeper. “I love it,” I grunted into the shell of her ear, my breath hot. “You’re so fucking tight. You’re such a little slut.”

She beamed, thrilled by the degradation. “Tell me,” she gasped as I drove into her particularly deep. “Am I better than her? Is my pussy better than Jessica’s?”

I didn’t hesitate. The alcohol, the weed, the sheer, illicit thrill of the moment stripped away any filter. I gazed straight into her eyes, my thrusts never faltering. “So much fucking better,” I grunted, the words feeling both like a betrayal and a thrilling confession. “You’re so much tighter. You take my cock like you were made for it.”

A squeal of pure, mischievous glee escaped her. It was a sound of victory, of one-upmanship against her best friend. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me down into a sloppy, passionate kiss. Our tongues tangled as I pounded into her, the kiss muffling her escalating moans. Our tongues dueled as I fucked her, the kiss as aggressive and claiming as the act itself. She tasted of vodka and shared sin. Her moans vibrated into my mouth, and I swallowed them greedily.

We stayed like that for timeless minutes, a tangle of sweat-slick limbs and desperate, connected mouths. I felt her body begin to coil tighter beneath me, her inner muscles fluttering erratically around my shaft. Her breathing became ragged, stuttering gasps against my lips. She was climbing again, and quickly.

“I’m… I’m gonna cum,” she whimpered, breaking the kiss. Her body trembled, a fine vibration I could feel through every point of contact.

“Cum for me, you little slut,” I commanded, my own control fraying. “Cum on my cock.”

A guttural, broken sound was her only reply as her back arched sharply. Her orgasm crashed over her, a violent, convulsive wave. Her pussy clamped down on me in a series of rapid, intense spasms, each one milking my length exquisitely. She cried out, a raw, loud sound that echoed off the walls, her body shuddering uncontrollably beneath mine. Her pussy convulsed around me in a series of violent, fluttering spasms, drenching my cock in a fresh flood of her hot juices. Her legs locked around my waist, her heels digging into my ass, holding me deep inside her as she rode out the orgasm. Her whole body shuddered, a beautiful, uncontrolled wreck. I kept fucking her through it, my pace relentless, drawing out her pleasure into a sobbing, writhing mess.

As the last tremors subsided, she went boneless, her arms falling away from my neck to flop onto the bed. She panted, staring at the ceiling with dazed, blissful eyes. “Fuck,” she breathed, a giggle bubbling up. “You’re gonna ruin me for anyone else.”

The arrogance of the statement, the sheer casual ownership she was implying, sent a fresh surge of heat to my groin. But I needed more. I needed to see her, to claim her more completely. I wanted her legs out of the way.

I pulled out of her, the sudden emptiness making us both gasp. Her slick, swollen pussy lips glistened, parted and inviting. Before she could protest, I hooked my hands under her knees. Her eyes widened in surprise as I lifted her skinny, fourteen-year-old legs, folding her nearly in half, her knees pressing toward her shoulders. I settled my weight back between her thighs, now positioned at a steep angle that opened her impossibly wider.

“Oh, wow,” she whispered, looking down the length of our bodies at where I was notched at her entrance again.

I didn’t tease. I pushed forward.

The angle was transformative. I felt every millimeter of her inner passage in excruciating, exquisite detail. The head of my cock breached her, then pushed deeper, sliding along a new, breathtaking path. I sank in slowly, watching her face.

Her mouth fell open in silent shock. Her eyes went impossibly wide, the playful glint replaced by pure, overwhelming sensation. As my balls finally met the curve of her ass, now lifted off the bed by the position, her hand flew to her mouth, clamping over it to stifle a scream.

I held there, buried to the hilt, feeling her tight, fourteen-year-old channel stretch and adjust to this new, profound depth. Her gaze was locked on mine, wide with a mixture of awe and shock.

I pulled back slowly, then drove in again with deliberate force.
The scream she’d been holding back broke free, a short, sharp cry that she muffled against her own palm. Her eyes rolled back, her head pressing hard into the pillow. Her hand fell away, limp. A low, primal groan tore from her throat as I established a new, devastating rhythm.

“You’re so… fucking… deep,” she groaned between thrusts, each word punched out of her. Her hands, having nothing else to grab, flew to her own breasts. She gripped them through the thin fabric of her band shirt, her fingers digging into the soft flesh.

The sight was unbelievably hot. Her small, developing fourteen-year-old tits were pushed together by her own desperate grip. “Show me your boobs, slut,” I groaned, my voice thick with lust.

She didn’t hesitate. With clumsy, eager hands, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it up, over her head, and tossed it aside. Her fourteen-year-old breasts were fully exposed for the first time.

They were everything I’d imagined and more. Perfect was the only word. They were the ideal handful, round and pert with a youthful, gravity-defying lift. They were topped with small, dark pink areolas and nipples that were hard, pebbled beads. As I fucked her, they bounced and jiggled enticingly with every deep, driving thrust of my hips. The motion was a beautiful, erotic counterpoint to the brutal penetration—soft, yielding flesh dancing to the rhythm of our joining.

“Fuck,” I breathed, mesmerized.

Emboldened, she pushed them together, creating a tantalizing cleavage, her thumbs rubbing over her own nipples. “You like them?” she panted, a seductive, knowing look returning to her face despite the overwhelming sensations.

“I love them,” I grunted, my pace increasing. The wet, slapping sounds grew louder, more obscene. Her soaked pussy was making a mess, her juices coating my cock and dripping down onto her ass and the sheets below. “You’re a perfect little fucktoy.”

She moaned in agreement, her hands still busy on her tits. “I’m gonna cum again,” she announced, her voice climbing in pitch. “So close… please…”

“Cum for me,” I urged, never breaking my stride. My own orgasm was a gathering storm in my balls, an urgent pressure building with each plunge into her incredible heat. I needed to push her over. Reaching down between our bodies, my fingers found her swollen, slippery clit. I pressed my thumb against it, rubbing firm, fast circles.

The effect was instantaneous and explosive.

“OH, GOD! RIGHT THERE!” she shrieked, her body bowing off the bed in a violent arch. Her legs, hooked over my shoulders, trembled violently. Her grip on her own breasts became punishing. Her back arched so sharply it almost lifted her ass off the bed, threatening to dislodge me. I slapped a hand down on her hip, pinning her firmly to the mattress, my other hand a blur on her clit, my cock never ceasing its deep, pounding rhythm.

Her second orgasm wasn’t a wave; it was a tsunami. A guttural, continuous scream was torn from her lungs. Her pussy clenched around me in a rapid, fluttering series of spasms so intense it was almost painful. And then I felt it—a hot, gushing flood that erupted from her core, splashing over my grinding thumb, my thrusting cock, my lower abdomen.

She was squirting. Again.

A torrent of her release soaked us both, a hot jet that pattered onto the already-damp sheets beneath her with a sound like rain. She was convulsing, her whole body seizing with the force of it, her cries devolving into wordless, sobbing wails of ecstasy.

I fucked her through it, my own senses overwhelmed by the feel of her pulsating channel, the sight of her beautiful face contorted in pleasure, the smell of sex and sweat and her unique, musky scent, and the incredible, hot wetness everywhere. It was the single most erotic moment of my life.

As the last pulses of her climax faded, she became a trembling, oversensitive wreck. Her hands came up and pushed weakly against my chest. “Stop… please, stop… fuck, it’s too much!” she begged, tears of overstimulation glistening in the corners of her eyes. “Please, Mark, I can’t… slow down!”

Her pleas, so desperate and genuine, cut through my own frenzy. I relented immediately, my thrusts slowing to a gentle, almost imperceptible rock. I leaned down, my sweat dripping onto her chest, and kissed her deeply, swallowing her ragged breaths and soft, pained whimpers. Her hands came up to cradle my face, her touch tender amidst the wreckage of our fucking.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” I murmured against her lips. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

She panted into my mouth, her body still trembling with aftershocks. I kept my cock buried inside her, not moving, just letting her feel the full, stretching presence of me as she came down. The guilt chose that moment to come rushing back, cold and sharp. Look at her. She’s only fourteen. She’s Jessica’s best friend. And here you are using her body, hurting her sexually, in Rob’s bed of all places. I pushed the thought away, focusing on the feel of her soft lips, the taste of her, the incredible heat surrounding my cock.

We stayed like that for a long moment, connected, breathing each other’s air as she came down from her explosive peak. Her body gradually relaxed beneath me, the violent trembling subsiding into occasional shivers. I kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her swollen lips.

Eventually, I pulled back just enough to look down between our bodies. The sight was breathtakingly lewd. My cock, slick and glistening with her mixed juices, was still buried to the hilt in her tiny, fourteen-year-old pussy. Her outer lips were puffy and flushed a deep, spent red. A puddle of her release had pooled on the sheets beneath her ass, a dark, spreading stain on Rob’s light grey bedding. More of it gleamed on my stomach and thighs.

“Fuckkk,” I cursed, the word full of awe.

She followed my gaze and let out a weak, breathy chuckle. “You made me squirt again,” she cooed, a note of pride in her hoarse voice. She shifted slightly, and I felt her inner walls flutter weakly around my still-hard cock. “Jessica was right… you fuck like an animal.”

I chuckled, the sound dark and satisfied. I began to move again, just tiny, shallow circles of my hips, letting her adjust to the renewed sensation. “Yeah, but I’ve never made Jessica squirt like this before,” I said, the comparison slipping out easily, feeding the taboo. “You’re such a hot little slut. I love it.”

Her eyes, half-lidded and sated, gazed up at me with pure, unabashed adoration. Her legs were still hooked over my shoulders, her body folded in a submissive, vulnerable pretzel. “Yeah,” she whispered, a dirty smile touching her lips. “Fuck me deep, daddy.”

The word hit me like a jolt of electricity. Daddy. Jessie called me that sometimes in the heat of the moment, and it always drove me wild. Hearing it now from Sophie, from my girlfriend’s best friend, while I was buried inside her… it was the final key turning in the lock of my control.

A predatory growl rumbled in my chest. “That’s right,” I snarled, my gentle movements transforming back into powerful, driving thrusts. “Take it, you little slut.”

“Harder, daddy! Right there!” she cried out, her oversensitivity seemingly forgotten, reignited by the dirty talk and my resurgent pace.

We found a brutal, perfect rhythm. The room filled with the symphony of our sin: the wet, squelching sound of her thoroughly used pussy taking my cock, the sharp slap of skin on skin, my grunts and her high, keening moans, the creak of Rob’s bed protesting under our frantic weight. I was a man possessed, chasing my own climax with single-minded determination, fueled by the illicit thrill and the incredible, clinging heat of her.

The minutes blurred into one continuous, carnal act. I was everywhere—kissing her mouth, biting her neck, sucking her nipples, whispering filth into her ear. She was responsive and vocal, urging me on, chanting “daddy” like a mantra, her nails leaving red trails down my back. The guilt was a distant ghost, flickering at the edges of my consciousness, utterly powerless against the tidal wave of physical sensation and dark excitement.

I’m fucking my girlfriend’s best friend.

I’m deep inside her fourteen-year-old, hairless pussy.

I’m defiling Rob’s bed, fucking his dream girl.

I’m going to cum inside her.

The thoughts cycled, each one pumping my cock harder, driving my hips faster. I could feel the unmistakable, tightening coil in my groin, the tingling rush up my spine. I was so close. So fucking close. I buried my face in her neck, my thrusts becoming shorter, harder, more erratic.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” I grunted into her skin. “You want that? You want my cum in your cheating little fourteen-year-old pussy?”

“Yes! Please, daddy, cum in me!” she begged, her own hips meeting mine with a frantic urgency. “Cum inside my little fourteen-year-old pussy! I need it so badly!”

Her words were the final trigger. My vision whited out. A roar gathered in my throat—

Screech.

The sound was alien, wrong. The faint crunch of tires on gravel, an engine shutting off. A car door opening.

My entire body froze, my cock throbbing painfully at the very brink of release. Sophie felt my sudden stillness. Her eyes, glazed with pleasure, snapped open and met mine. We both listened, hearts hammering in unison.

Clunk. The distinct sound of a car door shutting.

“No,” Sophie whispered, pure horror dawning on her beautiful, fucked-out face. “No, no, please no!” She squirmed underneath me, in a desperate panic. “I’m so close to cumming again!” she whined, a pathetic, desperate sound.

“Fuck!” I grunted, the urge to orgasm warring with sheer survival instinct. I peered up over the headboard, craning my neck to see through the slats in the blinds. I snarled in frustration, the agony of blue balls a physical pain.

Outside, in the dim evening light, Rob’s familiar beat-up sedan was parked haphazardly in the driveway. The driver’s side door was open, and Rob himself was stepping out, stretching his back after his shift. He was home.

The crash back to reality was violent and cold. “He’s home,” I grunted, the arousal in my voice replaced by stark fear.The thrilling pressure in my groin immediately began to recede, my cock softening slightly despite being encased in her delicious heat.

“Nooo!” Sophie cried, a genuine sob of frustration. Our stolen time was violently ripped away.
Adrenaline surged, cold and clean, washing away the lust. I pulled out of her with a wet, sucking sound that now seemed horrifically loud. My semi-hard cock, slick and glistening, felt suddenly vulnerable. I scrambled off the bed, my legs shaky. “Clothes! Now!” I hissed.
We exploded into motion. It was a frantic, silent scramble. I lunged for my clothes, my fingers fumbling with my boxer briefs. Sophie rolled off the bed, wincing as her feet hit the floor. She grabbed her soaked spandex shorts and the drenched panties from the pile on the floor.

“Fuck, these are soaked!” she cursed, holding up the dark, wet fabric.

“Just put them on!” I grunted, pulling my own shorts up over my still-throbbing, unsatisfied cock. The discomfort was maddening.

She shoved her legs into the damp garments, the cold wetness making her gasp. She pulled her band shirt back on, her hair a wild, sex-mussed cascade around her shoulders. Her lipstick was smeared, her eyes were heavy-lidded and dark. She looked exactly like what she was: a slut who’d just been thoroughly fucked.

I glanced at the bed. The sheets were a disaster—rumpled, stained with two large, overlapping wet patches from her squirts, the scent of sex and pussy thick in the air. “What about Rob’s bed?” I chuckled, a hysterical edge to my voice.

Sophie followed my gaze, then snatched the discarded comforter from the corner of the bed. She threw it over the wet spots in one haphazard motion, covering the evidence. “He’ll notice eventually,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady now. A dark, cruel giggle escaped her. “Honestly, he’ll probably jack off to the smell later.”

The joke, so casually cruel about our hopelessly infatuated friend, was the final, twisted knot in the tapestry of our betrayal. I shook my head, a wry, guilty smile touching my lips.

Then the doorknob jiggled, finding it locked.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A knock on the door.

“Hello?” Rob’s voice, confused and tired, came through the wood. “Can I get into my room please?”

Sophie’s eyes met mine. A silent understanding passed between us. Act normal. She immediately plopped down onto the couch, grabbing a controller. Her movements were smooth, practiced. She hit a button, and the paused game on the TV screen sprang back to life, the sounds of zombie groans and gunfire filling the room. She stared at the screen with intense, fake concentration.

I took a deep, steadying breath, my heart still trying to beat its way out of my chest. I walked to the door, my movements deliberately casual. I unlocked it with a loud, deliberate click, and pulled it open.

Rob stood there, still in his chef’s whites, looking rumpled and exhausted. His blue eyes behind his glasses blinked in the low light.

“Oh, hey buddy,” I said, my voice too bright. “I don’t know how this got locked!” The lie felt pathetic and transparent.

He just looked back at me, a slight frown on his face as he stepped past me into his own room. His nostrils flared slightly as he entered, and I saw his gaze sweep the room—the hastily made bed with the comforter lumped oddly, Sophie on the couch looking like she just got fucked, me standing by the door in disheveled clothing, the potent, unmistakable scent of sex and pussy in the air that laundry detergent and video game sounds couldn’t hope to mask.

“Hey Rob,” Sophie said, not taking her eyes off the TV out of embarrassment. Her voice was casual, but there was a new, throaty huskiness to it.

“Hey,” Rob replied, his voice flat. He walked over to his bed and sat down heavily on the edge, right on top of the hidden wet spot. He didn’t notice the dampness through the thick comforter. I asked him how work was and he just started rambling about a difficult ticket at the restaurant, a rude customer, Logan burning a sauce.

I sat down on the couch next to Sophie, leaving a careful few inches between us. I nodded along as Rob spoke, but I didn’t hear a word. My entire being was focused on the agonizing, unsatisfied ache in my groin. The weight of what we’d done—what we’d almost finished—settled on me. Guilt toward Rob, sitting obliviously in the physical proof of our betrayal. Guilt toward Jessie, whose best friend’s taste was still on my lips. It was a cold, sickening weight.

But beneath it, like a banked fire, was the thrill. The memory of her screams, her squirting, the feel of her tight, fourteen-year-old body yielding to mine. The intoxicating power of being the one she chose, in this moment, over everyone else.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. As Rob droned on, I subtly pulled it out, keeping it low between Sophie and me.

Me: You owe me an orgasm.

I saw her glance down at her own phone, which she’d tucked beside her on the couch. A second later, my screen lit up.

Sophie: I’m sorry, you were so close and I made you stop. I do owe you an orgasm, I promise <3

I looked up from the phone. She was already looking at me, a secret, knowing smile playing on her swollen lips. Her eyes held a promise—of more, of risk, of the thrilling, taboo game we had just begun. She gave me a slow, almost imperceptible wink before turning her attention back to the TV, where her character was dying on screen.

Rob was still talking, completely unaware of the silent exchange happening two feet away from him, unaware of the puddle he was sitting on, unaware that his oldest friend and the girl of his dreams had turned his sanctuary into a brothel. The normalcy of the scene was a surreal, fragile mask. And underneath, my cock still ached, and Sophie’s promise glowed on my screen, a beacon of illicit, unfinished business.

~~~

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