My best friend's husband (when younger)

It had taken Sophie a few months to pluck up the courage, or maybe swallow her pride, but here she finally was. Windsor, outside the flat of the blissfully wedded couple. To be more precise, her best friend, Sarah, and her husband, Carl. Carl that she, Sophie, didn't like, or approve of, and the reason for the argument that had lead her not to talk to her best friend for months, since the reception. The best friend from school that she'd grown up with from those first days at school, through the trials and tribulations of the teenage years, sharing so many special moments together. They had been inseparable.

Until now. Until then. She didn't know what it was but he just didn't seem quite 'right'. Not the type of man Sarah had always been drawn to and, furthermore, there was something 'shifty' about him. A look in his eyes. The way he looked at Sophie. The way he looked at Sarah's 17 year old niece, the bridesmaid. Maybe she had been out of turn in what she'd said, but what was done, was done. 'Whatever', she muttered under her breath, and pressed the doorbell.

She heard footsteps down the stairs and the huge door swung wide. Sophie had a big beaming smile prepared for Sarah. An ice breaker. The moment the door opened, she regretted it. No Sarah, just a smiling Carl, towering above her 5'1" and welcoming her inside.

"Sarah's been delayed", he explained, ushering her up the stairs, "but she assured us that she won't be long.".

Sophie tried to maintain the smile as she walked inside then ahead of him up the steep stairs in the regency building, very aware of Carl following along behind. It was a bright summer's day and she'd worn a light summer dress that showed off her petite figure, but right now she wished it was a little longer in the hem, suspecting he got quite a pleasant view of her thighs and bottom as she ascended before him.

At the top of the stairs, the landing opened straight onto a huge, light, airy lounge, with ceiling height french windows that lead onto a balcony that gave a terrific view over manicured gardens and, beyond, the town. Sophie glanced around. The flat oozed class, from the furniture, to the tasteful prints on the wall, the carefully arranged 'objets d'art', chosen by Sarah, she knew. Everything spelled out her name.

Carl offered Sophie a glass of wine and told her to make herself comfortable. She gratefully accepted, needing to calm her nerve. As he poured she moved to one of the white leather sofas that faced each other in front of the windows. It was huge and made more for looks than comfort. She seated herself awkwardly, showing more thigh than she'd intended, and, once seated, struggled for a few moments to get her hem back down and legs arranged in front of her so that she was more comfortable and somewhat decent. Carl handed her the glass, smiling down at her (or was it down her top?), before sitting opposite. She felt distinctly uneasy like this, and moved her knees together and to the side. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she felt uneasy low down like this and somewhat 'on display'.

After a few awkward minutes, though, it seemed her fears were groundless. The conversation seemed to flow and, despite her misgivings, she relaxed in his company. She heard about the extended honeymoon safari and the trip to the Maldives. How everything was panning out nicely with their jobs, their house, their new life together. She actually found Carl quite engaging company and she took him in as he talked. While not classically good looking, there was a certain charm. Physically he looked fit and strong, but wasn't a muscle bound type. His fingers were long (she liked men with nice hands), and he rotated his wedding ring while he talked.

He stopped talking abruptly and smiled at her, and she blushed, realising he'd caught her out. Not paying attention while they talked, her mind wandering. But he just smiled and didn't make a thing about it. They shared a laugh and she stretched out more as he went to fill her glass. 'Maybe I just got him wrong', she wondered.

His eyes flicked over her when he returned with her Chardonnay, and this time she found herself not minding. The sun through the windows played upon her and warmed her. The wine made her feel mellow. Carl smiled across at her as she stretched out and chatted, more animated now. She saw him look at her thigh as she moved around and her dress rode up. She liked that. It was nice. She had a slight tan from her recent holiday and she know she looked good. She was relaxed and felt sexy lying sprawled there in the sun. The wine made her a little daring too. Nothing ostentatious, but she was able to give a hint of knicker as she moved her glass back and forth from the coffee table. He looked. She saw. It felt wicked but good. Harmless fun. Life was good and she smiled across at him.

His phone rang and there was a short conversation. A frown from Carl, but then a smile as he informed her that Sarah had been further delayed but that ' we were not to worry'.

"I'm not worried at all", Sophie thought as she stretched and asked for a refill of her glass. Carl went off to the kitchen but not without a glance down the front of her dress as he stooped above her, collecting her glass. Sophie's nipples, unrestrained by the burden of a bra (she was thankful for her small bust on such sunny days) hardened under that gaze. While he was in the kitchen she pondered on her motive here. Simple harmless fun but she had to keep it in check. He was her friend's husband.

He returned with her glass and she welcomed him with a big smile as he sat next to her this time. She made way for him, her skirt riding up more, and settled into the corner of the expansive sofa as she reclined, warm and mellow, as they talked.

She didn't know when it happened but at some point Carl's hand had moved to her thigh, mid conversation. It registered but she didn't object. She just carried on talking, unmoved. Actually, she realised, she was not unmoved: she liked that hand there, and when he moved closer to her, and the hand slid up her sun dress, there was no resistance.

His eyes met hers, questioning, but the lack of movement from her said it all. His lips moved to hers and she returned his kiss. She opened her mouth in a second, inviting, and he kissed her avidly. Messily. He tasted fresh. Sweet. Good. His tongue moved eagerly into her mouth and she acquiesced, sucking on it, the symbolism not lost, before her tiny tongue darted back and explored his , playfully twirling around it before retreating and urging his tongue back inside.

Carl's hands were quickly up under her dress exploring. Strong hands over her soft brown skin and soon tugging her panties down. Simple white cotton, cooling on a hot summer's day; she giggled playfully as he tugged them down over her kneees and ankles and discarded them on the coffee table next to their wine glasses and the wedding photo.

His kisses were more ardent now and she flexed her knees up and apart as he moved above her, fiddling with the buttons down the front of her dress, her tiny girl breasts soon free. His mouth moved down and kissed each small mound, then circled the tiny pink nipple on each, making them wet and hard, before giving a little nip.

Sophie swooned in the heat of the sun and wine. Although this felt wrong, in this moment, she wanted him. She fumbled with his belt as he kissed her breasts, freeing his trousers and pushing them down before sliding a tiny hand inside his shorts. She found his cock already hard. Big in her hands, she gauged it as he kissed her more forcefully now that she held him. Her small fist didn't quite go all the way around and, as she slid her hands along his length to the top already wet, he was huge. 'Lucky bitch', she thought of her friend, Sarah, as she explored, playing with the foreskin as she exposed the head of his cock.

Carl had her naked now, her summer dress thrown up over her head and onto the floor The leather of the sofa sensuous under her bare little bottom as he lifted her up, his arms under her spread knees, looking down between her legs at her exposed cunt. She was wet for him, such an eager bitch, you could smell her sex, and she blushed at the realisation, even as she grasped his cock and moved the head of it to her.

There was no preamble here as Carl held her wide and penetrated her. He was big and it hurt but he slide inside and she pulled him close, her head on his shoulders, hugging him, a little whimper from her as he his way in.

He withdrew them pushed inside again, deeper this time until he filled her, then leaned back holding himself there, looking into her eyes and letting her enjoy that full feeling. That feeling of him deep inside her. Sarah's husband deep inside her.

The moment didn't last long, though, as, still holding eye contact, he started to move inside her. Strong forceful strokes, back and forth that made her labia burn. Each time pushing deeper with his unprotected ('fuck’, she realised , too late) cock.

The size always did it for her (she and Sarah had giggled about this as teenagers) and she nearly came at just that thought but she freed her hand to find her clitoris and rubbed vigorous as he slowly fucked her. She bucked and grunted as she came easily with her own fingers, her knees clamping him tight.

"Oh no you don't", he protested and grabbed her, turning her into her tummy, mid orgasm. He pulled her to her knees before him and entered her again, this time from behind, slamming into her, making her yell playfully. He grabbed her hips, holding her tight, and fucked her hard. On her hands and knees. Naked on her friend's sofa. The faces of the happy couple smiling back at her from the wedding photo on the coffee table at face height. As he fucked her.

She whimpered in pain and pleasure as his huge penis ravaged her. He rode her hard, pushing her along the sofa until she was bent over the arm at the end. He head fell down to the wooden floor, her arse up in the air; he fucked her like an animal and held her down, a hand on the back of her neck. Possessing her.

"Oh Daddy!", the words out of her my his thrusts.

With one final triumphant grunt, she felt him cum, spewing semen deep inside her, holding her down, using her for his pleasure as he pushed deep and she felt the warm splash on her fertile cervix,

It seemed to go on and on but it must have been but seconds. Then, he withdrew and, spent, Sophie just lay there, gasping for air, bent naked over the end of the sofa with her bottom in the air. Semen ran out of her, down her tanned thighs.

Slowly her breathing returned to normal but still she didn't move, basking in the warm glow of her orgasm and the sunlight streaming down on her nakedness.

It was quiet. Peaceful. And she smiled as his hands smoothed over her little girl bottom.