My Best Friend's Wife's Filthy Weekend Getaway

Mark gripped the steering wheel tighter as the city gave way to winding mountain roads. The late-afternoon sun slanted through the pines, catching on Sophia’s long, bare legs in the passenger seat. She wore a short white sundress that had ridden high during the three-hour drive, the hem barely covering the smooth, tanned skin of her thighs. At twenty-nine, she was even more dangerously beautiful than she’d been on her wedding day five years earlier. Mark had tried not to notice then. He wasn’t trying anymore.

Dave had called him from Singapore two days ago, sounding exhausted. “Bro, I’m stuck here another week. Sophia’s been looking forward to this cabin trip for months. Can you drive her up? I hate the thought of her going alone.” Mark had said yes before his brain caught up with his cock. Now here they were, the silence between them thick enough to taste.

Sophia shifted in her seat, crossing her legs so the dress slid another inch higher. “You’ve been quiet, Mark. Nervous?”

He glanced over. Her full lips were curved in that knowing little smile she’d been giving him for months. The one that said she remembered every lingering hug, every text that started innocent and ended with her sending him a photo of her in new lingerie, captioned Dave never notices.

“Not nervous,” he lied. “Just thinking about how pissed Dave would be if he knew I was driving his wife to their love nest.”

Her laugh was low and throaty. “It stopped being our love nest the day he started choosing conference calls over my pussy.” She reached over and rested her hand on his thigh, high enough that her fingertips brushed the growing bulge in his jeans. “Relax. We’re just two friends enjoying a long drive.”

The tension that had been simmering between them for half a year finally boiled over the moment they stepped inside the cabin. The place smelled of cedar and cold mountain air. Sophia dropped her bag, kicked off her sandals, and disappeared into the bedroom. When she returned five minutes later, Mark’s mouth went dry.

She wore a champagne-colored silk slip that clung to every curve. The hem ended just below the swell of her ass, and the thin straps left her shoulders bare. Her nipples were already hard, pressing against the delicate fabric like they were begging for attention. She padded across the hardwood floor, hips rolling, and bent slowly at the waist to open the small fridge, giving him a perfect view of her bare pussy and the tight pink pucker above it.

“God, I’m so fucking neglected, Mark,” she said conversationally, as if she weren’t deliberately showing him the married cunt his best friend had stopped appreciating. “Dave hasn’t made me come in months. He barely even looks at me anymore. I’ve been touching myself every night thinking about what your cock would feel like stretching me open.”

Mark’s restraint snapped like a dry branch.