My Wife's Best Friend's Desperate Hotel Craving

My Wife's Best Friend's Desperate Hotel Craving

The text came at 1:17 a.m.

Mark, my hotel room is flooded. Pipe burst in the wall, everything’s ruined. Sarah’s gone, I have nowhere else. Please. I’m already in the Uber. Ten minutes out.

He stared at the screen, heart thudding. Sarah was three states away at her conference. The house was quiet, too quiet. He typed back a single word.

Come.

By the time headlights swept across the front windows, Mark had already poured two glasses of the good red. He opened the door before she could knock.

Jenna stood on the porch like a soaked fantasy. The white tank top clung to her heavy breasts, completely see-through now, dark nipples stiff and obvious. Her tiny gray sleep shorts had ridden up between her thick thighs, the fabric darkened by water and something else. Her long chestnut hair stuck to her neck and shoulders. She looked like she’d been caught in a storm and hadn’t bothered to hide how her body reacted to it.

“Mark,” she breathed, voice shaky. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know who else to call.”

He stepped aside. She brushed past him, and the scent of her—warm skin, hotel soap, and unmistakable feminine musk—hit him like a drug. The damp cotton of her top dragged across his forearm. His cock twitched hard inside his sweatpants.

She dropped her small overnight bag in the hallway and turned to face him. The motion made her tits sway, nipples scraping against wet fabric. “I look like a mess.”

“You look…” He swallowed. “Let me get you a towel.”

She followed him into the living room instead. When he offered the towel, she took it but only dabbed half-heartedly at her hair. Her eyes stayed locked on his.

“Wine?” he asked, voice rough.

“Please.”

They sat on the big sectional. Too close. Her bare thigh pressed against his. The damp heat of her skin bled through his pants. She drank fast, then slower, licking a drop of cabernet from her bottom lip.

The second glass loosened her tongue.

“I haven’t been fucked properly in two years,” she said suddenly, staring into her wine. “Not since the divorce. Toys don’t count. My vibrator knows me better than any man ever has and I still hate it.” She laughed, low and bitter. “Pathetic, right?”

Mark’s pulse hammered in his throat. “Not pathetic.”

Jenna turned toward him. Her knees parted an inch. Then two. The tiny shorts rode higher. The seam disappeared between her puffy outer lips. She wasn’t wearing panties. The slick pink of her pussy glistened in the low lamplight.

“I think about you when I come,” she whispered. “I always have. Even when I was married. Especially when I was married. I’d lie there next to him and imagine your cock stretching me instead.” Her thighs spread wider. “Just touch me once, Mark. Please. I’m so fucking wet it hurts.”

The glass nearly shattered in his grip. He set it down.

His hand moved like it belonged to someone else. Broad palm sliding up her smooth thigh until his fingers met drenched, silky heat. Jenna’s head fell back with a broken moan the second he cupped her bare cunt. She was scalding. Soaked. Her lips parted around his middle finger as he dragged it slowly up her slit.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re dripping.”

“I’ve been dripping since the Uber driver asked if I was okay. I kept thinking about you opening the door and seeing me like this.” She rocked against his hand, grinding her clit into his palm. “Tell me you’ve wanted this too. Tell me I’m not the only sick one.”

Mark pushed two thick fingers inside her. Her walls clenched greedily, sucking him deeper. “I’ve jerked off thinking about fucking my wife’s best friend for years, Jenna. Every time you’d wear those tight jeans to our barbecues. Every time you hugged me a little too long. I wanted to bend you over the kitchen island and ruin you while Sarah was ten feet away.”

Her moan was pure filth. She grabbed his wrist and fucked herself on his fingers harder. “Then do it. I’m here. She’s not. Ruin me, Mark. I want to feel you for days.”

He snapped.

Mark yanked his fingers free, grabbed Jenna by the hips, and spun her around. He shoved her forward over the wide, padded arm of the couch. Her heavy tits spilled out of the tank top as she caught herself on the cushions. He ripped her soaked sleep shorts down her legs and kicked her feet apart.

His cock sprang free, thick and veined and already leaking. He dragged the fat head through her sopping folds once, twice, then slammed in to the hilt.

Jenna screamed in pleasure.

“God—yes—fuck me,” she gasped. “Harder than you fuck her.”

He gave her exactly what she begged for. Brutal, punishing strokes that made her ass ripple and her cunt squelch obscenely around him. One hand fisted in her wet hair, yanking her head back so he could growl against her ear.

“You’re my dirty little homewrecker now, aren’t you? Taking your best friend’s husband’s cock while she’s out of town.”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “I’m your whore. Use me.”

He fucked her like he hated her. Deep, savage thrusts that battered her cervix and made her thighs shake. The wet slap of his hips against her ass filled the living room. Her pussy fluttered and clenched, milking him, trying to pull him even deeper.

When he felt her start to come apart, he pulled out, flipped her onto her back on the couch, and shoved her legs so wide her knees nearly touched her shoulders. He drove back in, grinding down against her clit with every stroke. Jenna’s eyes rolled back. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream. Then she shattered.

A hot gush of girl-cum sprayed around his cock, soaking his balls and the couch beneath them. She squirted hard, thighs convulsing, pussy spasming so violently he almost came right then.

“Bedroom,” he snarled, voice wrecked. “Now.”

He dragged her down the hall by the wrist, both of them stumbling, half-naked. The second they reached the marital bed—the bed he shared with Sarah—Jenna pushed him onto his back and climbed on top. She turned around, reverse cowgirl, and sank down onto his cock with one smooth, greedy motion.

“Fuck, you’re so deep,” she groaned, leaning forward so he had the perfect view of her thick ass bouncing. She rode him like she was trying to break him. Rolling her hips in filthy circles, then slamming down hard enough that her ass clapped against his pelvis. “Cum in me, Mark. I want it. I want you to breed your wife’s best friend in her own fucking bed.”

Mark gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and thrust up to meet her. The wet sounds were obscene. Her pussy was a hot, silky vice that kept fluttering and gushing around him. He could feel his balls drawing up tight.

Jenna looked back over her shoulder, eyes wild, lips swollen. “Fill me. Please. I want to feel it leaking out of me when I leave.”

That did it.

Mark roared as the first thick rope of cum erupted inside her. Jenna slammed down one last time and ground her clit against his pubic bone, coming again with a guttural cry. He pumped jet after jet of hot seed deep into her cheating womb, flooding her until it squeezed out around his shaft and ran down his balls.

For a long moment there was only the sound of their ragged breathing.

Then silence.

Jenna stayed on him, trembling, her pussy still twitching around his spent cock. Slowly she lifted herself off. A thick glob of his cum drooled from her stretched hole and landed on his thigh. She didn’t wipe it away. She simply leaned down, kissed him slow and deep and possessive, tongue sliding against his like she was staking a claim.

When she pulled back, her eyes were dark with satisfaction.

“This won’t be the last time I steal my best friend’s husband,” she whispered against his lips.

She climbed off the bed, legs visibly shaky. Cum ran in slow, obscene trails down her inner thighs as she stepped into her ruined sleep shorts. She didn’t bother with the tank top, just tugged it down enough to cover her nipples. At the bedroom door she looked back once, hair messy, lips bitten red, face glowing with fresh-fucked bliss.

Then she was gone.

Mark lay alone in the bed that now smelled like sex and Jenna’s perfume and another man’s wife. The house was completely quiet again. The kind of silence that felt heavier than any moan.

He stared at the ceiling, heart still hammering, as the front door clicked shut downstairs.