Helping My Best Friend Move [MF]

Kristen and I had been friends since seventh grade, when I moved to a new school and found that as my assigned partner to build a diorama of the Parthenon in Social Studies, she shared the same taste in music that I did. We’d been as thick as thieves ever since. Strictly friends, but the best of.

Now, both of us 22, she was driving through the town where I lived, on her way to her first job and first apartment out of college.

Her parents had helped her load up the small Uhaul truck at their home, but couldn’t make the four-hour trip with her to help her unpack on the other end. The plan was for her to swing through my town halfway there, pick me up, and I’d contribute some muscle toward getting everything unloaded and into her new place. The next day she’d drop me off back at my place on her way home to return the truck.

Her new place was a first floor apartment with one short flight of stairs from the street to the front door. After getting keys and filling out paperwork, it took about three hours to get everything moved in, with more than a few curses at the front door that wouldn’t stay open. Once everything was in, Kristen started unpacking the kitchen while I dug out the tool box and started putting back together half-disassembled IKEA furniture, a futon couch for the living room, and hooking up the tv.

For dinner she made some simple pasta with olive oil. Nobody was trying to impress anyone here, after all, and the kitchen wasn’t even completely unpacked. We ate in the living room, bowls in our laps, flipped through the tv, and quickly polished off a bottle of wine.

By the time we finished eating, we’d settled on watching the last half of *Titanic*. She swung her legs across my lap. Kristen and I had always been comfortable physically—think hugs, shoulder rubs, leaning on each other—but never intimate beyond that. I think we both had a sense that a relationship wouldn’t work, so we never went there, instead just complaining to each other about our own relationships.

“Are you as sore as I am?” she asked at the next commercial break.

“More. I made at least two trips for every one you did.”

“Hey! Organization is important! Somebody had to get the boxes into the right places once they were inside!”

“Legs or shoulders?”

“Both?”

I started massaging the top of her thighs. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“Ohhh, that’s it.”

“Turn over for more.”

She rolled over and stretched the full length of the futon, shins across my lap.

I started at her ankles, slowly working my way up her calves (still in jeans). With some kind of feigned propriety, I stopped just before her ass. It wouldn’t be right to outright squeeze my friend’s ass, would it? Teasing my fingers along her inner thigh, though, all the way up to the seam of her crotch—that still seemed within whatever unspoken, invisible lines we had between us.

Crawling out from underneath her, I put a knee on either side of that off-limits ass and started to work my fingers around her neck and shoulders, down her back to her shoulder blades. Before long, her shirt had worked up to reveal the small of her back. I pressed my palms in there, eliciting a quiet gasp at the touch of skin on skin, but then a soft moan. I took that as clearance to proceed, and moved my hands farther up, under her bra strap, working through the knots there. I’d never touched Kristen this much before, and I was so hard there was no way she didn’t feel me pressing against her ass.

“I really need to go to bed,” she said abruptly. “Do you need help making this into a bed? There are sheets in that box.”

“No, I’ve got it.”

Kristen padded the few steps down the hallway to her room. Not even a “good night.”

Well, then. That was that.

​

I threw a sheet and blanket on the couch and turned out the lights. I lay in the dark, touching myself through my shorts and listening to the sounds of the city outside the windows.

A few minutes later, I heard noises from the direction of Kristen’s room: the sound of tape being peeled off a box, the flaps folding, a few moments of quiet rustling and creaking.

And then I heard a buzzing sound. Was it what I thought? Softer, louder, muffled, clear, then muffled again. I rolled off of the futon to the floor and shuffled quietly over to her bedroom door, trying to quiet the ever-louder beating of my heart to better hear. Bzzzzzzzzz. Then a moan. Yes, definitely what I thought it was. I listened for a minute, my ears and my cock both straining.

Here goes nothing.

I knocked. The buzzing stopped.

“What is it?”

Deep breath. Just put it out there. If it bombs, claim you were drunk.

“I think we’re both doing the same thing right now. I was wondering if, maybe, we wanted to help each other?”

For the longest wait in my life, no response, then “Come in.”

“No touching, just watching,” she said.

I sat at the foot of the bed, leaning against the footboard I’d assembled a few hours ago, and pulled my shorts off over my throbbing cock. Average length, but thick and girthy. She watched from her spot at the head of the bed.

When I came in, she had the covers pulled up to her neck, and she dropped them now to reveal a t-shirt over her top and her panties off. There weren’t any drapes on the windows yet, and a streetlight outside cast a sodium-vapor glow through the room. I could see her pubic hair was trimmed to about half an inch long, but not shaped in any way. No landing strip, no heart-shape. Knowing Kristen, I wasn’t surprised.

A Hitachi massager lay beside her. No wonder I’d heard it all the way through the door. She picked it up while shifting her gaze nervously between my slow strokes and my eyes.

Bzzzzzzzzzz.

With the massager in her right hand hovering over her clit but not making contact yet, she ran her left hand up the inside of her thigh. Her legs were mostly closed, and I couldn’t see much. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and started working herself hard with the Hitachi. Her left hand wandered more, eventually ending under her shirt.

“Can you take your shirt off?”

She didn’t reply, didn’t even open her eyes, but instead arched her back and pulled her shirt up to her neck to bare her chest. B cups, maybe? Her nipples were small and pink.

“I’d always wondered what they looked—”

“Shhhh,” she interrupted.

With that, she turned over to reveal her alabaster ass, and started grinding against the vibrator now sandwiched between her pussy and the bed.

“Nah, that feels good but I like this view more,” she said as she flipped back over. With the last vestiges of shyness now long gone, she set the vibrator down, got on her knees and leaned inquisitively down to within a few inches of my dick. Oh my God, how I wished she would take me into her mouth. I slid my hand down to the base of my shaft and held it there expectantly.

“Don’t stop—I’m only watching,” she teased. I stroked—dangerously close to exploding all over her face—for another minute with her hovering there.

She pursed her lips and kissed the air, then blew it toward me. My senses were so heightened that even the feel of that air felt like her touch. It was a goodbye kiss, of sorts, because she leaned back against the headboard.

Staring right at my cock, she spread her legs wide this time, then slid a finger past her pink lips. In and out, in and out. Soaking wet, glistening in the streetlight. Her other hand danced over her clit.

After a few minutes, her toes curled and the muscles in her neck tightened as the waves of her orgasm overcame her. Shivers, then collapse. Panting.

That’s all it took to put me over the edge, too. String after string of cum launched onto my chest, then my belly. I lay back, eyes closed, exhausted.

My reverie was interrupted by a touch like a spark of electricity. Kristen was running a finger from the base of my cock to the tip, then looped it around the head to coat her finger in cum. I shivered involuntarily at the touch. She popped it into her mouth while staring my right in the eyes, and whispered:

“I’d always wondered, too.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/9q1926/helping_my_best_friend_move_mf