Sara, [M]y Married [F]riend. Part 2.

My name is Dean. I am 32[M], 6’2″, brown hair and blue eyes. I’m taking a walk down memory lane. Back in the day, I was a water polo player. You get the idea. Lean, toned, v-cut abs, etc. These days, I look like I retired from the pool to lift weights, nap, and drink beer. Ya boy got a bit thicker. It happens. However, THIS story is from the glory days.

I met Sara when I was 23. We have mutual friends. Married people seem to hang out with other married people, and in this case, I was invited along to liven things up and generally be that wild and single 5th-wheel. Sara was 28, whip smart (with a freshly minted STEM graduate degree and a promotion), and very married. Basically, she was a functioning adult with her shit together. We kept in touch for the next two years. She would tell me about being a grown up and I’d regale her with my stories of debauchery and sin. Still married, though I eventually heard rumblings of discontent through the grapevine. Her husband never quite warmed up to me. Weird.

Fast forward to 25. I found myself in a new city with a new job. I reach out to Sara to ask her for advice, and what do you know? She also recently moved to the city for a new job AND she was doing a trial-separation thing to get some space from her husband. At this point, it seems fair to describe her. She is 5’6″, almost pale skin, with dark brown hair (with blonde highlights) to her mid-back and dark brown eyes. She can do the doe-eyed thing like a pro. Apparently, she had also taken up running and yoga as a way to cope with stress, so she was…lithe.

See Part 1:

[https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/rv7x6q/my_still_married_friend_blew_my_mind/hrzzyqm/?context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/rv7x6q/my_still_married_friend_blew_my_mind/hrzzyqm/?context=3)

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Writing is a cathartic process. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If it is too long, or in the wrong forum, or you just don’t like it, feel free to tell me to go fuck right off.

—

“I can’t believe I woke up in his apartment. Oops.” Sara is sitting on my couch on a Saturday afternoon, recounting her Friday night to me. I replied with a deadpan “that’s hot.”

“He was alright. Jesus, who leaves hickeys though? What the hell am I doing?”

I busted her chops a bit – “Goddamn woman, how old was this guy?”

After a brief moment of silence, she started to blush a bit with embarrassment. “Twenty-two.”

“Hahah, Sara! Leave the young guns alone. You’re a predator!”

Sara rolled her eyes at me. “Oh yeah, because you’re a beacon of chivalry and upstanding behavior.”

“Fuck you too, you’re the one with bruises. Bad cougar!”

And so it went. Sara and I had really gotten reacquainted recently (as per my previous story) and had started to hang out more frequently. She’d come relax at my place, drink some beer, trade barbs and I’d generally armchair quarterback her forays back into the dating scene. There was comfort and openness in our friendship and now some familiarity courtesy of her exceptional skills in the bedroom.

“But really, Sara, leaving marks on you is something kinda new. Did you want him to?” I asked her with some degree of concern as I joined her on the couch.

“The hickey pisses me off because it’s visible, but I don’t mind the others. They’re like fun little achievement marks, and I think they’re kinda hot.”

Sara had shown up to my place in her comfort-casual uniform of slides, running shorts, and a t-shirt. This always made my day as she was clearly comfortable with me and those little running shorts showcased her legs wonderfully. She had also stopped wearing a bra on those visits. Few things beat having a beautiful woman relaxing around my living room, AND it inspired me to clean my place up (according to the standards of a single 25 y/o man).

“Hahaha, Sara. What the fuck? Others? I see a hickey and dare I say…maybe some marks on your knees?” I unconsciously lowered my voice when I asked about her knees because I had already started my own trip down memory lane. Snapping back, I added “how many more do you have?”

I knew this was a loaded question. I wanted it to be a loaded question, I wanted to see more. Before she even answered, I was feeling a mix of concern, jealousy, affection, and most obviously – lust. This was not the first time I’d been faced with this combo, but I was certainly not doing any sort of reflection on why I reacted. I just existed and rolled with it. Most of my emotional processing went as far as: “Sara is sexy, Sara is present, Sara is Sara. I am Dean.” It was a beautifully stupid time.

“I have some more, Dean.” She was miles ahead of me and I think part of her enjoyed seeing my responses. She locked eyes with me – those beautiful dark eyes – and asked: “Want to see?”

—

For some reason, I struggled momentarily to formulate the right words, so I went with the classic and grunted “mmhmm.” Giacomo Casanova is surely in awe of my prowess.

Sara had been maintaining eye contact and smirked at me. That deceptively dangerous grin. This girl is something else. “Alright, well I have a few. Let me see.”

I had turned to face her on my couch. I leaned back against the armrest, extended my right leg against the back of the couch and kept my left leg on the floor. Sara had turned to face me, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the couch.

She smiled at me again and pulled the leg (I use the term loosely) of her little running shorts up. “Mmm, there it is. Little nibble mark there.” She drew her fingers up her thigh and settled her hand right above her pubic mound, pointing to a mark *very* high up on her thigh. She smirked at me again and waited for a reaction. She had clearly gotten a recent wax and was clearly not wearing any underwear. I tried desperately to feign some level of disinterest.

“Well damn, Sara, that must have been fun. Looks like you had a hell of a night!” I avoided eye contact and just focused on the mark on her thigh and the peek between her legs. I’m not going to give her the reaction we both want.

Given my position on the couch, my own running shorts were not going to hide a goddamn thing, and I am determined to draw this out as long as possible. I sat up and faced forward on the couch. “Anything else?”

Sara stood up and walked in front of me. “Yeah, I think you’ll still be able to see this one.” She turned away from me and mimicked her best impression of the old Coppertone ad, sliding her hand into her waistband and pushing it down to show off the light bruise on her ass cheek.

“This one stung a bit, but it was so worth it. Turns out I like being spanked in bed.” Once again, she tried to gain and maintain eye contact as she looked over her shoulder at my reaction. Again, I tried to avoid it and just kept my eyes glued to her ass and thought to myself *Fuck, this guy got to spank her? Atta boy, well done.*

“Uhh, yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Yeah, Sara, looks like he, uh, definitely left a mark.”

“What, Dean, that’s it? He left a mark? No shit.”

I had achieved dominance over myself and willed my erection away, so I leaned back into the couch and threw my arms over the back of it in a blatant example of manspreading as she turned to face me again. I finally matched her gaze and gave her my best ‘I don’t give a shit’ grin. She stole a quick glance down to my running shorts, and not finding what she was looking for, hit me with “okay, take a look at this one.”

—

Sara took one determined step forward and then got back on the couch and straddled my lap. Her face was maybe an inch from mine as I reflexively leaned back further into the couch. “Right here Dean, he bit my shoulder.”

I mumbled something as she pulled the collar of her t-shirt over and showed me some faint bite marks on her shoulder. I wasn’t sure if it was from when she was riding him, straddling him 12 hours ago just like she was straddling me now, but I understood the appeal.

She kept her shoulder exposed and stared at me. I was now familiar with that look in her eyes that was simultaneously sultry and mischievous. Her eyes were so dark and so bright. Goddamn it, she smelled like some lavender-vanilla Bath and Body Works bullshit and she was straddling me, showing me the marks another man had left on her and grinding intently into my lap and FUCK I am not going to win this contest.

I drew my hands back down from the couch and grabbed her hips, moving them as I lifted my own hips into rhythm with her grinding. Definitely not winning today – I was immediately hard and bit her shoulder in the same place some random fuckboy had hours previously. This was going to get out of hand quickly.

Sara moaned as I bit into her shoulder and started grinding my cock slower and harder. “I have one more to show you, Dean. I think you’ll appreciate it.”

She leaned back and put her hands on her head, hitting me with that beautiful smile again as she continued to grind into me. After that brief little lap dance move, she reached down and began to pull her t-shirt off. On a normal timeline, this wouldn’t have taken but a moment, but I was delighted as I watched the fabric of her shirt slide over her nipples so time seemed to slow.

Once she had tossed her shirt onto the floor, she ran her hands through her long dark hair, flipped it back, and then cupped her breasts. “See? Another hickey, right on my boob! At least this one is not on my fucking collarbone.” She tried to mimic my previous casual indifference, but that wasn’t happening. No, she was topless and grinding against my cock and we both knew what we wanted.

“Fuuuck, Sara.”

“Yeah, it was something. Fuck it, come here.”

—

Sara leaned forward in my lap, grabbed my face in her hands and kissed me deeply. Our first kiss! Everything was still for a brief flash as (I assume) we both processed this development. This was a real kiss. I returned it with all of the untapped and unresolved emotions I was carrying around for her. It was passionate, jealous, yearning, sexy, and we were lost in it.

She kept her hands on my face as I reached for hers. I ran one hand through her hair and behind her head to pull her even closer and traced her cheek with my other. The emotion and need was palpable and our shared kiss continued endlessly. Her tongue danced around mine and though it probably looked ridiculous, it was beautiful.

Eventually, the passionate and yearning parts won over and we broke apart briefly so she could pull my shirt off over my head.

“Goddamn it, Sara. Fuck fucking that fucking guy and just come here next time.” (I know, I know. I am a motherfucking lyrical wordsmith motherfucking genius.)

I offered that timeless affirmation of my desire for her as she was kissing up my chest and running her hands across my abs. She worked her way up to my neck, bit my collarbone, and tried to give me a hickey of my own.

“Hell no, no hickeys, not today.” I pulled her head back away from me and kissed her again as our hands were running all over each other.

She half laughed and told me “well then none for you either.”

She got off of my lap, stood up and gave me her hand. I took it as I stood up and pulled her into another deep kiss. She had to stand on her toes to reach me and as I held her tightly against me, she slid my shorts off. We broke apart, she looked me up and down appreciatively, stripped naked herself and pulled us back onto the couch.

—

We landed next to each other, laying across the couch. Legs entangled, our hands raced over each other and we resumed our enthusiastic make-out session. I traced her jawline as lightly as I could with one hand as we kissed until she bit my bottom lip and then rolled to pull me on top of her. I was torn – my heart was racing and I wanted to lightly plant kisses across her cheeks and nibble on her neck and collarbone and kiss with sentimentality… and I was also getting even harder as she scratched her nails up my thigh and wrapped her hand around my cock. I’d like to imagine that we both felt the emotion of the moment, but were both equally unprepared to fully address it, so we settled on what our bodies knew and wanted. It was a quick decision.

As previously noted, Sara does great work from the bottom position. She wrapped her legs around me, and essentially pinned my cock up against my stomach, and began to angle her hips to slide along my cock without yet taking me into her. She was already so wet and the warmth emanating from her felt phenomenal. This girl knew what she was doing, trying to tease me into to fucking her senseless.

She pushed me back enough for her to grab my cock and guide it to her. This was it, we were rounding third and sprinting towards home plate! With her hand guiding me towards her, she decided to tease me a bit more and play ‘just the tip.’ She laughed as she let me slide into her, and stopped me before we had even gotten half an inch.

“Careful Dean, we don’t have protection.” (Absolute lie, both of us had condoms, neither one of us wanted to use one. Stupid for a variety of reasons, but that was the moment.)

“Whatever. Tell me that you want it. Tell me you want to fuck me.”

She pulled my head towards her, leaned up to nibble my earlobe and in her most breathless whisper said “I need you inside of me, now. Please fuck me, Dean. I need you to fuck me. Fuck me harder than I was fucked last night.”

She knew every trick. She knew to drag her nails across my neck and bite my earlobe and beg me to fuck her and challenge me to do so better than her last partner. I was, undoubtedly, hers for as long as she wanted. However, she’d have to wait.

I laughed back at her and said: “Not yet.”

—

The confusion on her face faded as she registered what I’d told her. “What? Nooo, Dean I want you to fuck me.”

“Not yet. You remember that one, right? “Not Yet.”” I replied.

She groaned as I started laughing. I grabbed one of her wrists, and then the other, before pinning them above her head. I straddled her above her hips, like our last encounter, and she tried to wiggle free. I laughed again and gently tightened my knees against her ribs while keeping her wrists pinned to the couch.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry Sara. Just slow down, relax a little, right? We’ll get there, but not yet.”

She feigned another struggle as I held her in place and began to trace my finger along her hairline, down to her neck, and stopped at the hickey still on her collarbone.

With more of a commanding tone than I’d initially intended, I instructed her to “tell me about this one again.”

I’m not sure why I wanted to hear her tell me about her night with some other guy, but she looked a bit surprised and then very much into being told what to do. So I told her again – “Sara, tell me about this one” and pushed her wrists into the couch harder briefly to emphasize my point. Lizard brain, inner caveman, whatever. I was in control and loved it.

“You want me to tell you more about last night? About how he left these marks?” She wiggled again and tried to pull her wrists free.

“Sara. I’m not asking. Tell me about this one.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sara.”

“Okay.” She began timidly, watching me. “I was riding his cock and he pulled me down on top of him. He wrapped his arms around me, pinned me to him and started fucking me harder.” She asked again if I really wanted to hear this. I nodded. “He was fucking me and kissing me and sucking on my collarbone. I didn’t realize it because his cock felt so good inside of me.”

My heart sank. My expression darkened. I was green with envy. I was jealous of him and mad at her for fucking that guy. I felt betrayed. There was a knot in my stomach and I was shockingly aroused.

“Go on.”

She shifted her hips. She could see my reaction on my face.

“When I realized it, I pushed back up and then he pulled me back down and bit my shoulder. He didn’t even slow down. But it was just what I needed.” She was barely audible when she said “He bit me, fucked me, and I came.”

My heart sank even lower. The knot in my stomach was joined by a lump in my throat.

I whispered a hoarse “Fuck you, Sara.”

She stared up at me. I stared down at her. There was a silent and heavy moment of shared emotion. Pain? Guilt? Longing? A flood of emotions met a tidal wave of endorphins.

She whispered back. “Please.”

—

I wanted to laugh and tease her with “not yet” again. I wanted to be light and flirty and go back to the place where she was my gorgeous friend who also happened to give world-class blowjobs. Because that’s a totally normal thing between people that are *just* friends. I wanted to bury my feelings and bang randoms for sport instead of dealing with emotions. She was doing the same thing, I had no right to feel anything I was feeling. Fuck, she was still legally married too.

I wanted all of those things and got none of them.

I let go of her wrists and she immediately wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me in for another deep kiss. I rolled back next to her and we kept kissing with manic intensity. There were mumbled words – “I” and “you” and “need” and none of it was intelligible. We were drunk on the moment and each other.

I slid a bit down the couch and kissed the mark on her collarbone. She dug her nails into my back and held me tighter. I was going to make my own mark, fuck that other guy. He doesn’t deserve her. I broke free and immediately jumped to bite her shoulder again as I ran my hand down her stomach and placed my hand between her legs.

She said it again. “Please.”

I moved my head down to the mark on her breast. I kissed as hard as I could, then gently bit her again. In my muddled mind, I was making sure those marks were my marks. Fuck that guy, she’s mine in the moment. I took one of her nipples into my mouth and swirled my tongue around it. Sara writhed underneath me, and said it for the third time. “Please.”

I came to my senses for a moment. Can’t let that mark on her thigh go unanswered. So I replied “not yet” as I shifted further down the couch and propped her thighs up over my shoulders.

—

I slid my arms around and put my hands onto her hip bones and lower stomach. The mark on her thigh demanded a response, so I began to kiss up and along the inside of her thigh. I settled on that mark as Sara ran her hands through my hair. I had two days of coarse stubble on my face and I was still mad at her, so I dragged my chin over the mark. She let out a bit of a yelp and then pulled my hair so that my mouth was right on her clit.

“Fuck you Dean, that hurt. You owe me for last time, but not like that.”

I pulled my head back just far enough to trace her lips with my tongue. Sara titled her hips a bit and yanked my head back into place.

She started a sentence with “not yet. dude, fuck…” and then gasped and pulled even harder on my hair as I flattened my tongue against her and licked along her lips and settled on her clit. She had no interest in experimentation and just said “That.”

I repeated myself, flattening my tongue and settling into pressure on her clit. Soon she was bucking her hips and moving my head for me.

“Just like that Dean, don’t stop. Just that, I’m going to cum. Just keep going.”

I could hear her breath quicken the longer she’s grinding into my tongue. “Fuck Dean, I’m close, I’m going to cum. Make me cum.”

This is perhaps even more fun than when I was gasping those same words to her previously. She is back in control, I’m just letting her borrow my face at this point. She tastes exquisite. Everything smells like sex and Bath and Body Works and I’m pleased that I can get her off this way. I’m winning.

It was a moment of glory. Sara is basically face-fucking me and on the verge of what looks like a wonderful orgasm. I can taste her on my lips and her moans fill my ears. And at this moment, I decided to add a finger to press on her g-spot. Just enough to push her over the edge.

I slide a finger into her, curl my finger towards myself and against her, and she fucking winces and yelps.

“Ow, fuck!”

“Oh fuck, what?! Sara, are you okay?”

“Goddamn it, that hurt. I’m still sore from last night.”

“Oh for fuck sake. Goddamn it.”

I am defeated. In my moment of triumph, I fingered defeat from the jaws of victory. Unbelievable.

Sara props herself up on her elbows to look at me and see what can only be a crestfallen expression on my face. “Shit Dean, I was so close. Fuck I was so close. I’m sorry.”

“Sara, why the hell are you apologizing? I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“You didn’t know. Not your fault. That felt incredible, you are great at that.”

I sighed. “Ah goddamn it.”

I didn’t want to make this about me and pout. But I was a bit pouty. Pouting and wiping my face and confused as to what to do with my still very hard cock. So much for fucking her senseless, I’d only just hurt her again.

—

“Keep going.”

“What? I thought I hurt you.”

“Keep going. No hands. I’m so close. It’s not fair, so keep going.”

“Yes ma’am. Want me to shave really quick?”

“Hell no, that looks good on you.”

“Alright.”

The dynamic returned and she is back in control. She set the pace and I just tried to keep from hurting her with stubble.

“Fuck yes. Just like that.” She’s using both hands to hold my head in place while she bucks her hips against my mouth and tongue.

“Dean, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum. Don’t stop.”

I laughed internally. My role in her orgasm has been somewhat reduced. This is the Sara Show and I am the props.

“Yesssss, fuuuuccck” she moaned deeply as she finally came. She held my head in place and let out a sigh. She tasted a bit different after she came. Different, but amazing. I grazed my tongue over her clit again and it jolted her.

“Give me a minute.”

I responded with a slightly muffled “okay. But then let’s go again.”

—

Sara had two more orgasms with the aid of my face. She did the majority of the work, but my neck was tight, my tongue was tired, and my head was tender from her pulling my hair. After her third orgasm, she pulled my face up and smiled at me.

“Come here.”

I crawled back up above her and then kissed her with intention. My face was damp and she held me as we kissed as intensely as before. The kiss was intense, but the emotions were muted. It was less confusing, and bathed in a post-orgasm glow.

“That was great, thank you.”

“Fuck Sara, anytime you want. Best seat in the house. That was awesome. Sorry about the stubble-burn though. Want me to grow it out? Shave it?”

“Haha, whatever you’d like. It’s your beard Dean.”

There was a brief pause. Maybe I’d shown my hand by offering her the choice of my facial hair? We were purposefully ignoring the earlier emotional weight. We definitely ignored the foray into her telling me about her orgasm when getting railed by some random AND how much that simultaneously hurt me and turned me on. Maybe we just didn’t know how to process everything that was silently shared in those prior moments.

So we went with what was comfortable.

—

“I can’t believe you’re still hard. Good for you!”

“Shit Sara, I got to feel you cum. With my face. Fuck yeah I’m still hard.”

“I’m sorry we can’t have sex today. Definitely next time. I still need to know what you can do with that.”

“No worries, it’ll go away eventually. Besides, now we’re even.”

She held the pause for a moment and then smiled ever so sweetly.

“Yeaaaah, but I kind of like it when I know that you owe me one.”

I reached down and started stroking my cock again. There was still pre-cum at the tip, I’d been throbbing the whole time I’d been going down on her.

“Lay down.” She instructed.

—

“Sara, really, it’s okay. You don’t have to. I’ve already had an amazing afternoon.”

“Really? Really? Lay down, it’ll get even better.”

She laid between my legs and propped herself up to look at me again. “Besides, I seem to remember you enjoying this last time. I know what I’m doing.”

I sighed and laid my head back against the armrest as she began tracing her fingers up and down the length of my erection.

“Yes I did, and yes you do.”

As she finished running her tongue along the underside of my cock, she took a quick breath and deepthroated me. Her nose made contact with my stomach and she bobbed her head a few times for emphasis. I’d intended to stay as relaxed as possible and just let her do her thing, but I was compelled to reach my hand down. I ran my fingers through her hair, pushed her head down and tried to thrust myself deeper into her throat.

She pulled her head back and off my cock, glared at me, and said: “Hands to yourself.”

“My bad, I can’t help myself. That feels awesome.”

“Too bad. Hands to yourself or you can finish yourself off.”

I feigned deference and put my hands behind my head.

With that, Sara pulled a hair tie off her wrist (evidently not a bracelet, I am pretty dense sometimes) and piled her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. I guess that meant she was serious about her performance.

She reached back down and began to stroke my cock with one hand and massage my balls with another. She insisted on watching me. I tried to keep eye contact but leaned my head back again and clenching my fists behind my head.

I groaned out “ahh, Sara. God that feels good.”

“I know.”

After stroking my cock for a bit, she grabbed the base and placed her lips on the underside of the head. Her head was tilted and perfectly still as she ran her tongue back and forth on the most sensitive part of my anatomy. This was another new experience for me and I looked towards her with what must have been a surprised expression.

“Holy shit, where do you get these ideas?”

I was clenching and unclenching my fists, cognizant of Sara’s “no hands” rule. I could feel my orgasm building. I just wanted to get away from the emotions and focus on this incredible woman who was drawing me closer and closer to the edge. Somehow I prevailed.

My breath quickened and I tried to grab Sara’s head to push her down on my cock again.

She warned me off with a mumbled “nuh uh” as she increased her tempo on the underside of of cock.

“Sara, I’m right there. Don’t stop. Fuuuck.”

“Mmm hmm”

I grabbed whatever part of the couch I could as my orgasm began. “Fuuuuck, Sara, I’m going to cum.”

She changed nothing. I couldn’t breathe for a moment as the first rope of cum erupted and landed on my chest. In the brief moment between spurts, Sara’s eyes got wide, she let out a triumphant “hah!” and then played her ace.

Sara performed her finest Heather Harmon (God Save the Queen) impersonation and immediately took me all the way into her throat as I continued my orgasm. She squeezed my thighs and somehow managed to stick her tongue out to caress my balls. Two, three, four more ropes hit the back of her throat.

I’m gasping and involuntarily twitching as she bobs her nose against my stomach. I think I hear stars and see sounds. I groaned as she sealed her lips around my cock and quite literally sucked as slid her mouth off of me. She got up on her knees, smiled with her lips closed, tilted her head back slightly and swallowed what certainly felt like an impressive load.

In the warmth of my post-coital glow, I watched as Sara ran her tongue over her teeth and otherwise made sure she swallowed everything she could. My smile grew even wider as she matter-of-factly let her hair down and slipped the hair tie back onto her wrist. What a champ.

“How was that?”

“Sara, that was incredible.”

“You’re welcome. And now you owe me again.”

“Come back here.” I said and opened my arms as a gesture for her to come lay on my chest. She lowered herself back onto me, our naked bodies radiating heat, and kissed me deeply again. Another first, tasting myself on her lips, but fair is fair and it was incredibly sexy all the same.

She laid her head down on my chest and we laid there in silence as the rhythm of our breathing synced. I traced my fingers lightly across her back while she played absent-mindedly with my chest hair. It was a warm and intimate moment.

I reached up to the back of the couch to grab a light blanket to pull over us. As it settled onto us, Sara sighed contentedly and relaxed into me. She was so light and I truly enjoyed how she looked as she began to fall asleep wrapped securely in my arms.

As we faded into a nap, she looked up at me and murmured: “Dean, I got my divorce papers yesterday.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/t8fj6i/sara_my_married_friend_part_2