His Best Friend's Wife Gets Bred

The house still smelled like Sergio’s cologne when Mateo let himself in with the spare key. Twenty-eight, broad through the shoulders from years swinging a hammer, he dropped his duffel in the guest room and stood listening to the suburban quiet. His best friend had left at dawn for the two-week close in Chicago, clapping him on the back and saying, “Place is yours. Corinne gets restless when I’m gone this long. Keep her company.”

She was in the kitchen when he found her. Corinne, twenty-six, real-estate agent, former college cheerleader whose body had only grown more generous since the pom-poms: heavy breasts straining a thin white tank, wide hips and a round ass filling tiny cotton shorts. She turned, glass of water in hand, and the look that passed between them was the same one that had lived under every barbecue and birthday for the last three years—since the wedding, since she was already a grown woman with a ring and a mortgage. Forbidden. Obvious. Neither of them had ever touched it.

“Guest room’s made up,” she said, voice lower than it needed to be. “Sergio said you’d be here by dinner.”

“Traffic.” He couldn’t stop staring at the way the tank clung to the undersides of her breasts. “You look good, Corinne.”

Her mouth curved. “So do you. It’s been a while since it was just us.”

They ate leftover pasta standing at the island. Every time she reached past him the heat of her arm brushed his. She talked about open houses and he talked about the reno on Maple Street, but underneath it the air thickened. When she bent to load the dishwasher her shorts rode up and he saw the crease where thigh met ass, smooth and bare. His cock thickened against his zipper. She straightened, caught the shape of it, and didn’t look away.

“He’s going to be gone fourteen days,” she said quietly. “That’s a long time to pretend we don’t both know what we want.”

Mateo’s pulse kicked. “What we want would blow up everything. You know that.”

“I know.” She stepped closer, close enough that her nipples brushed his chest through the thin cotton. “That’s why it feels so good just standing here.”

He didn’t kiss her. Not yet. He went to the guest room with his cock aching and lay awake listening to her move around the master bedroom down the hall, picturing her peeling those shorts off in the bed she shared with his best friend.

The next night she came downstairs in a silk robe the color of cream, belted loose. It gaped when she sat on the opposite end of the couch, one leg tucked under her, and he saw the inner curve of her breast and the fact that she wore nothing underneath. They put on a movie neither of them watched. Halfway through she stretched, robe falling open farther, and said, conversational, “I’m ovulating. Doctor confirmed it yesterday. Peak window.”

Mateo’s mouth went dry. “Sergio know?”

“Sergio’s count is shit. We’ve been trying for eight months. He finishes in two minutes if he finishes at all, and half the time he can’t even get hard.” She turned her head, eyes dark. “I haven’t been properly fucked in months, Mateo. I lie there after he rolls off and I think about you. About how thick you looked in those swim trunks last summer. About you holding me down and actually breeding me.”

His hand fisted on his thigh. “You can’t say shit like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” She let the robe slip off one shoulder. The nipple that appeared was dark, tight, already peaked. “I’ve wanted your cock since the wedding reception. Wanted you to pull me into the coat closet and ruin me while he gave the toast. I’m his wife and I still get wet thinking about his best friend pumping me full.”

He was on his feet before he decided to move. She rose with him, robe hanging open now, body bare from collarbone to the neat strip of hair above her pussy. She was soaked; he could smell it. “Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough.

“Don’t you dare.”

She sank to her knees on the kitchen tile, robe pooling, and looked up at him with her lips already parted. “Please. Give me the baby Sergio can’t. I’ve been dripping all day thinking about your cum. Breed me. I want you to ruin my married pussy so I feel you for days.”

The last thread snapped. Mateo yanked his belt open, shoved his jeans and boxers down, and his cock sprang out thick and already leaking. She moaned at the sight of it, bigger than she’d imagined, vein ridged along the underside. “Fuck, yes. That’s what I need.”

“Open,” he growled. She did, tongue out, and he fed her the head, then more, until her lips stretched and her eyes watered. She sucked like she’d been starving for it, cheeks hollowing, one hand working what she couldn’t take while the other cupped his balls. Spit ran down her chin. He fisted her hair—not cruel, just enough to hold her where he wanted—and fucked her mouth in short strokes while she gagged prettily and reached between her own legs to rub her clit.

“Always wanted this,” he rasped. “Always wanted to shove my cock down my best friend’s wife’s throat and then breed that greedy little cunt. You gonna let me? You gonna take every drop and keep it in there till it takes?”

She pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting her lips to his cock. “Yes. God, yes. Do it. Ruin me. I want your baby. I want to walk around this house full of you while he’s gone and know I’m carrying what he couldn’t give me.”

He hauled her up, spun her, and bent her over the kitchen island. The silk robe was shoved to her waist. Her ass was perfect, heart-shaped, and when he kicked her feet wider her pussy opened, pink and glistening, clit swollen. He dragged the head of his cock through her folds, coating himself, and she pushed back with a broken sound.

“You sure?” Last chance. His voice was gravel.

“Fuck me. Breed your best friend’s wife. I want it. I’ve wanted it for years. Put it in.”

He drove in to the hilt in one savage stroke. She was tight, soaking, and the cry she let out echoed off the cabinets. “Oh fuck—Mateo—so deep—”

He didn’t give her time to adjust. Hands locked on her hips, he pounded her from behind, long brutal strokes that slapped his balls against her clit and made her tits swing. The island rattled. Her pussy clenched and fluttered around him like it was trying to pull him deeper, milking already.

“Listen to that,” he snarled. “Married cunt sucking me in. Sergio ever hit this spot?” He angled his hips and ground against the front wall; she sobbed. “No. He doesn’t. This pussy’s been waiting for a real cock. Tell me whose it is.”

“Yours,” she gasped, cheek pressed to the cold quartz. “Yours. Fuck, harder—want your seed—want you to knock me up—fill your best friend’s wife—”

“Gonna ruin this pussy,” he promised, voice filthy and low. “Gonna stretch it out so when he gets back he feels the difference. Gonna pump so much cum in you it leaks for hours. You want that? Want me to breed this hot little married hole?”

“Yes—please—breed me—make me pregnant—I need it—”

He reached under her and rubbed her clit in tight circles while he fucked her even deeper. She came with a wail, pussy spasming so hard he had to grit his teeth not to follow. Juice slicked his cock, ran down her thighs. He didn’t stop. He kept pounding through the aftershocks until her legs shook and she was begging in broken fragments.

Then he pulled out. She whimpered at the loss. He flipped her, lifted her onto the dining table Sergio had refinished last spring, and shoved her onto her back. Plates rattled. He yanked her to the edge, threw her legs up and wide, and folded her nearly in half—mating press, knees by her ears, pussy presented and gaping from the fucking he’d already given it.

“Look at me,” he ordered. She did, eyes glazed, mouth open. He slammed back in and the new angle let him hit her cervix with every thrust. She choked on a moan, words tumbling out between gasps. “Better—fuck—your cock’s so much better than his—thicker—reaches places he never—oh god I’m gonna cum again—don’t stop—breed me—Mateo please—”

“Say it,” he growled, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, the other spreading her wider. “Tell me how much better it feels to get fucked by his best friend.”

“So much better,” she sobbed, voice cracking as another orgasm crashed through her. Her pussy clamped down, milking him in rhythmic pulses. “His cock’s nothing—yours ruins me—I can feel you in my stomach—want your cum—want you to knock me up on his table—please, Mateo, give it to me—”

He fucked her through it, savage and deep, watching her tits bounce and her face contort with pleasure and the delicious shame of it. When she finally went limp he pulled out again, cock gleaming, and carried her—still wrapped around him, still begging—down the hall to the marital bed.

He dropped her in the center of the sheets that smelled like Sergio’s detergent and climbed between her spread thighs. This time he went slow for three strokes, letting her feel every inch, then settled into a deep, grinding rhythm that rubbed her clit with his pelvis on every push. Eye to eye. Her nails raked his back.

“Look at me while I breed you,” he said. “Want you to remember whose cock put this baby in you.”

“Yours,” she whispered, then louder as he bottomed out and held there, grinding against her cervix. “Yours. Fuck, I can feel you there—so deep—cum in me, Mateo. Pump it all the way in. I want to feel every rope. Knock me up. Make me pregnant with your baby while my husband is gone. Please—please—”

He lost it. Hips snapping, he drove in to the root and started to cum, thick hot pulses jetting directly against her cervix. She felt every one and came again with a shattered cry, walls fluttering, milking him, pulling the seed deeper. He kept thrusting through it, grinding, making sure nothing spilled, flooding her until it leaked around his shaft anyway and soaked the sheets beneath her ass. Four long ropes. Five. He stayed buried, cock jerking, until he was empty and she was overflowing.

They stayed locked together, breathing hard. Cum seeped out around him when he finally softened enough to slip free; she reached down immediately and pushed two fingers in, stuffing it back inside with a desperate little moan.

“Stay,” she whispered. He rolled to his side and she curled against his chest, one leg thrown over his hip so his softening cock rested against her messy pussy. Her lips brushed his ear. “This is only the beginning. Two weeks. Every night you’re going to creampie me until it takes. I’m going to ride you in this bed, bend over for you in the shower, let you breed me on every surface in this house. And when he comes home I’ll still be full of you.” She kissed him deep, tongue slow, already planning.

Mateo kissed her back, hand sliding down to cup her ass and keep her close, feeling the wet heat of his own load smeared between them. She didn’t know. His phone was still in the pocket of the jeans he’d kicked off in the kitchen, screen lit with the message he’d read an hour before she dropped to her knees: Sergio’s flight had been bumped. Red-eye. He’d be walking through the front door at dawn, wanting to surprise his wife. Mateo had fourteen hours, not fourteen days. He held her tighter, let her whisper filth about the nights they wouldn’t have, and kept the secret behind his teeth while her pussy fluttered, already trying to keep what he’d given her.