Wife's Best Friend Begs for My Secret Thrusts

Mark had always known Lisa was trouble. Sarah's best friend since college, she was the wild one—the girl who turned every girls' night into a booze-fueled confessional. With Sarah away on her week-long work conference in Chicago, Lisa had begged to crash at their place for the weekend. "I hate being alone in my shitty apartment," she'd whined over the phone, her voice dripping with that playful lilt that made Mark's cock twitch despite himself. Sarah, ever the loyal wife, had insisted: "She's family, babe. Be nice to her."

Nice. Right. Lisa showed up Friday evening with a duffel bag and a bottle of tequila, her tight yoga pants hugging an ass that could make a priest sin. She hugged Mark too long at the door, her full tits pressing into his chest, nipples hard little points through her thin tank top. "Missed you, big guy," she purred, pulling back with a wink. Sarah waved goodbye from the airport shuttle that morning, oblivious.

That first night, they ordered pizza and cracked open the tequila. Lisa lounged on the couch in a cropped tee and shorts so tiny they rode up her thighs, flashing the edges of her lacy thong. She laughed at Mark's dumb jokes, touching his arm, her fingers lingering. "Sarah's so lucky," she said, biting her lip. "You two fuck like rabbits. I hear everything through those thin walls when I crash here."

Mark choked on his beer. "What?"

She grinned, leaning in, her breath hot with liquor. "Don't play dumb. Last time I stayed over, after that barbecue? I was in the guest room, finger-fucking my pussy to the sound of you railing her. Those secret thrusts of yours—god, the way you grunt and slam deep. I came so hard imagining it was me."

His cock stiffened instantly, betraying him. He shifted on the couch, but Lisa noticed, her eyes dropping to the bulge in his jeans. "See? You like me knowing your dirty little secret."