Guilty Conscience Kink with my FWB and Her Perfect Tits [FM]

Two depressed and ancient millennials, 1.5 bottles of extremely shitty wine, and a shared guilty conscience kink. In other words, a perfect Christmas party.

**Skip to the *** if you don’t give a fuck about context and just want to get off to someone’s slightly hyperbolized experience with someone they really should have dated by now.**

Let me start by saying, it’s been a slow year folks. Whether because of the of the never ending pandemic, or because aging and dying is apparently a compound interest sort of deal… see right there. Who the fuck uses compound interest as a commonplace illustration?? A 32-year-old who unwillingly traded hip flexibility for financial literacy somewhere in the last 17 months. I know it was the last 17 months because exactly 18 months ago I was fucking the same girl, in the same place, but in a far more adventurous position. Nevertheless, this time was better. Or at least I think it was. Because alcohol.

Christina was and is a uniquely wholesome person. She’s that person you don’t know super well, but is clearly one of the best people you do know. Because you are actually a person who you wouldn’t like very much if you met yourself. And you still haven’t figured out how to surround yourself with people who you genuinely think are good people. But maybe it’s because you’re the bad person. Or maybe all people are pretty bad people. Or rather, bad at being people? Or maybe it’s the current human experience that’s bad? Or maybe every has always been this way and how would you know otherwise??? Fuck. Anyways. Christina.

Reason 1: An absolute shit talker. Cut’s motherfuckers down with a syllable and a half. Never fails to bring people back to reality when they get a little too confident for their own good. No, really, this is the mark of a good person because it works both ways. She can also pull people from the depths of despair with a word. Hell, one moment of eye contact and she’s got you halfway out of the darkness. Doesn’t matter if it’s her best friend, or just met her.

Reason 2: Tits. Holy shit they’re good (see the above disclaimer about how bad of a person I am). They bounce endlessly. Harness those bitches and solve the fucking climate crisis. Their innate energy needs to be studied. Remember when humanities’ alchemists went through that weird fucking phase of trying to bring god to earth by building a perpetual motion device? Well, call me John Murray Spear because I have studied the hell out of Christina’s perpetual motion devices.

So Christina is actually her real name. Yes, I know, weird to use here. But no one uses it, except me. Cuz ya know, I simultaneously hate myself and think I’m special. It’s dope.When I met her via my sister, she was “Allie” to most folks, myself included. We had instant chemistry. How the fuck could we not? She’s five and a half feet of sexual tension in a perfectly understated way. And what I mean by understated is… with as little douche-baggery as possible… she’s not very pretty. I know I’m a fucking asshole, just gimme a minute.

She’s 100% attractive. Objectively. But she does it without adhering to the current beauty standards. Other than the aforementioned angelic knockers, she’s a very plain looking person. Like the ideal person to play the character that’s used to demonstrate the shallowness of beauty standards. All the while the lead is played by one of the top-100 hottest people ever.

Think somewhere between pre-princess Anne Hathaway in Princess Diaries and like a hot cashier at Walgreens. Some real under-the-radar type shit.

We’d met at a sort of half-friends, half-coworkers, fully-awkward happy hour. We kept meeting in these indirect ways thanks to mutual circles. She kept talking shit. I kept hitting on her in over-the-top ways. Somewhere along the way we became regular friends. And during some bout of infections banter with her, I started the bit of calling her by her real name, Christina.

So I mentioned the shit talking, the tits, and the hitting on her. That’s about all you need to know to get it. The banter continued for a couple years. Privately, publicly, digitally. It continued while we were both single, both spoken for, and when one of in a relationship and the other wasn’t.

Zero lies here, it wasn’t always innocent. Sexual tension was obvious to us and to those who saw it happen. Including a girlfriend or two. And one of her boyfriends. Fuck that dude for real though.

I’m exactly zero percent competitive. And I’m bi so I have no confidence but I’m attracted to everyone. But I don’t do that ridiculous alpha-male dating ritual bullshit.See my previously expressed opinions on motherfuckers named “Ryan.” And their woefully misinformed understandings of wolf-pack social hierarchy.

But this boyfriend of hers and me, damn near fought our way through the front window of some hipster bar. This was after Christina had playfully reminded me of the location of her eyeballs.

Since I’m being all the way honest, that particular incident didn’t go well with my girlfriend of the time either. And I got an earful of silent treatment for my troubles. In addition to wavering our respective toxic relationships, it woke something up. Some dark, self destructive shit. In the both of us.

Christina had texted me a couple days later. We confessed mutual enjoyment of the drama. The perception of unfaithfulness. The taboo of it all. The guilt associated with the flirting… fuck. I don’t remember everything we said that night. But I do remember the slight ache in my stomach as the texts kept coming.

I remember the weird little mental dance you do, trying to draw the line in the proverbial sand before you hit send. The fucking heart pounding excitement when the person on the other side of the keyboard pushes that line.

I remember going into the bathroom just minutes after apologizing for flirting publicly in front of Ryan. I remember locking the door and turning on the shower while my eyes were glued to my phone. I remember taking hold of my cock in anticipation when the three little dots disappeared.

“In case you needed a reminder of where my eyes are not…”

And I remember cuming like a mother fucking gorilla when the pictured popped up. A selfie of her barely covered breasts, peaking out from behind her free hand and forearm.

Fucking hell. I never thought I’d be that guy. The one who cheats digitally, if at all. But what’s her face didn’t last long. Neither did Christina’s fucking terrible decision of a boyfriend. Not that that makes it ok or anything, I’m just saying.

But something new was there with Christina. The occasional trading of nsfw messages continued. But the fire burned fucking hottest when either of us showed interested in literally anyone else.

I remember one night catching a vibe with this ridiculously hot bar tender. I’m 90% certain he was straight too, just good at getting giant tips from average looking drunk people. But the moment he poured me a free drink and winked, Christina dragged me onto a mostly deserted dance floor. She did her very best to get pregnant right through our pants. And I fucking loved it.

Fast forward to exactly 18 months ago and we fucked for the first time, at my sisters house, on a lazy Sunday. Goddamn it was a good time, but nothing compared to this time. And why? Well, earlier I submitted that it was due to the inclusion of shitty wine. Some ridiculous red thing with Snoop Dogg and a serif font on the label.Fuck the person who went to design school just so they could make a picture of Snoop Dogg look original. So that bougie ass holes at Trader Joe’s will pick it up in the name of casual coolness. It’s me. I’m bougie ass holes.Anyways.

It wasn’t just Snoop. It was the shame. The guilt. The kink.

***** This is it you filthy animals.**

Once again, lazy Sunday at my sisters. I brought shitty wine. Christina brought her tits. And her boyfriend.But this boyfriend is no Ryan. No, he’s such a cool dude. Which made this all the worse. And all the better (Jesus, I’m going to hell for sure). He’s so cool in fact that Christina’s slightly intoxicated shit talking got sexual quick, and he thought it was hilarious. He egged it on. Not just with me, with everyone.

54 min in and Christina was making every possible sex pun with respect to unwrapping presents. More puns than one is legally allowed during the month of December. It was painful. But her fucking charisma made it hilarious. So funny that I was slow to the draw when she cornered me with some absolute bullshit about needing someone to lend a finger when tying a bow. Just 8th grade level cringe. But again, the wine and charisma.

So there were were giggling in the hallway just outside the bathroom I had been occupying. Right across from the guest room where I crashed at my sisters on nights like these. The one where 18 months ago she’d ridden me reverse cowgirl till I was terrified she’d slip off and break it. And she’d cum too hard to exaggerate it…

Before I knew what I was doing, I was tugging at her cute baggy sweater. She was pulling me by the belt backwards into the guest room. One of my hands struggled to pinch and twist at the little lock centered on the round door know behind me. The other mirrored the motion under her bra.

Our lips parted quick enough to let the moans leak out. She wanted me so bad. She needed me. She wanted anything she shouldn’t have. And right then, that meant anyone’s dick not attached to the extremely cool dude on the back patio. But especially mine. And she was about to get it.

Christina led us deeper into the room, assured by the click of the lock. She pulled me onto the bed, on top of her. I stopped momentarily to pull off my shirt. She did the same, slipping her sweater over her tangled brown mane.

Listen fuckers, we had maybe like 4 min here before things got suspicious (good thing for your boy). But still. I stopped and stared. Her now uncovered torso of pale skin lay in perfect contrast to the dark green comforter on the bed. Her soft round shoulders were pinched by the shining straps of her bra, pulled tight. Her fingers worked to unclasp it between her tits. My eyes followed the tension, taking note of the countless freckles along the way.

I breathed out heavy, assure by the click of her bra clasp. Her pillow-soft tits hung effortlessly free, support my their own perfection. Hard pink nipples matched her lips. I looked up to them, to her face, framed by wild brown hair. I met her equally wild brown eyes.

Fuck everything I said before. Fuck the beauty standards. Fuck the irony of using her to say fuck the beauty standards. That beautiful motherfucker, she stared back at me.

Her playful, drunken, shit talking pulled me out of the euphoric pre-nut state.

“Put it in” she demanded, dragging the words back across her bottom lip before biting it.

I did not.

I used my Snoop Dogg wine induced smoothness to back up off of homegirl and kneel on the carpet in front of the bed. I reached up and tugged at the waist of her jeans, implying that she take her fucking pants off already.

“We don’t have time!” She shouted in whispered protest, but I could hear the smile in her voice. And she helped me all the same.

I was on my knees fumbling with my own belt, while her jeans slid down her legs. I caught the glimpse of cheetah panties falling with them, that cliche bitch. I lifted one thick thigh over my shoulder, pulling it closer to my ear. The feeling of her soft warm skin up against my cheek fucked me up real good. I shoved my tongue between her lips.

Don’t fucking judge me. I told you we were short on time. And this girl gets off on the rushed thrill. She was wet as a Seattle summer by this wonderful point in our experience.

So I’m eating her pussy.

Fuck it was so goddamn good. Christina is choking me between her perfect round legs. And doing her best to give me a hair transplant sans surgery. She’s whisper screaming my name. Making me feel like a fucking rockstar when I’m snap out of ecstasy again.

This time we both are. Just voices in the kitchen down the hall. Nothing to be afraid of. Yet.

“Fucking put it in!” She screams quietly at me with that big grin on her perfect plain face.

I drop my pants and stand up. I fucking hated how fast and cheap it had to be. But I loved it too. Most self-indulgent assholes would love to look over and see their reflections. Their reflections fucking this most perfect pair of tits. This tease I can see in the sliding mirror of the closet door. But I just saw some uncoordinated caveman with a pair of Levi’s tied around his ankles.

I look back down, just in time to see her small fingers grab the tip, guiding it into herself. Your boy has perfect fucking timing because I tell you what… It’s doesn’t take long for 5.27 inches to bottom out in in a bitch. But in that infinitesimal moment, I catch those pretty brown eyes with mine. I see the flicker, the little flutter, the roll back, and the closing. I’m watched her eyes vanish while my perfectly average dick vanishes in her. But my smug demeanor is short lived.

I fall into her. I drown in her. I give my dick away in that pussy. That perfect, warm place that I feel like a trespasser in. All the excitement and the guilt, the alcohol and the banter, all of it. It all rushes together, headed for the edge of a cliff we were about jump off.

She brings out my best. My stroke game is A1 with the right partner. And we fucked like pro’s on that guest bed.Christina squeeled and moaned in my ear. Some blend of repeating vague porn sounds and actual euphoric pleasure. I don’t give a shit about the distinction.

“fuck Fuck! FUCK!”“YES fuck me like that,” she exhaled onto my shoulder.

Our 4-ish mins were up and we both knew it. I stood up straight and grabbed around her knees. Fucking giving it to her. And she fucking took it. We locked eye again. She told me she was close.

“I’m gonna cum for you,” Christina whined. “I’m cumming for YOU,” she emphasized.

“Cum for me bitch,” I spat back at her. “NOW. Please.” I begged her.

That’s all she wanted. She pinched her eyes shut again and whaled ridiculous dirty sounds. She whispered out the desperate moans.

I kept fucking her. I couldn’t stop, even if I wanted to. lemme put it this way. If Toby Maguire’s Peter Parker was riding on top of my dick, shooting webs in every directions to slow that bitch down, then Sam Raimi’s masterpiece would be about 45min shorter.

I let go of one leg and took a handful of tit hostage. I squeezed and steadied myself while I fucked harder. Christina was falling back down from orgasm. Aimlessly talking at me in panting whispers.

“Cum on them, fucking cum on them…”

I did.

I pulled out and leaned over her as far as I could. Still grasping one of her perfect twin cherubs in one hand, hard throbbing cock in the other. I shot out a respectable, yet realistic load over her soft stomach and onto them bitches. I watched, slowing my jerking, as a perfect bead rolled down into her cavernous cleavage.

She giggled in that half-condescending way that some girls do when you cum. She pushed her tits together, letting her messy hair into the fray. I watched as her tits got shiny and slippery. She laughed, pulling a lock of hair away, not giving a fuck about how sticky it was.

We traded places. I laid on the bed next to her, reaching for my t-shirt. She stood up and picked up her bra. She made of show of getting dressed. Even with my cum all over her tits (and quite possibly I little between her legs), she wasn’t done teasing.

She cupped her breasts in the nude bra, wet and slick as they were. She pulled her sweater back over her head, letting it cling to her chest. She shimmied her stupid cheetah panties and black jeans back on. She didn’t zip them before unlocking the bedroom door and walking back out.

Later that night, once I finally got back in that bad, to sleep off a hell of a Sunday, I scrolled aimlessly through my phone.

*New Message: Christina* flashed across the top.

I clicked over to see video in the chat. I hit the play icon and instinctively reached down under the covers. I watched her POV video of her dropping a shining nude bra, with a couples off-color stains, into a pile of laundry. The camera turned around, rushed over her tits in cruel quickness, up to her perfect plain face blowing me a kiss.

Edit: Format

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/rmjteu/guilty_conscience_kink_with_my_fwb_and_her