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

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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.

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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.

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.

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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.

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