Latest erotic coupling stories: Descent into Depravity – Chapter 5.1
Author: Bluepen451
This is the fifth in a series of stories about a schoolteacher, Alice, who sinks into depression after her husband’s death and then discovers sex at a level she never knew with her late husband. Her depression cured, she moves from an affair with her best friend to include her friend’s husband in a night of debauchery.
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As Joan drove away I turned and walked back into the house. I flopped down on the couch and drew a deep breath. I was exhausted. The last four days had been more sex, sex with a real person, than I could ever remember having had in a similar period. Hell, it was more sex than I had in a year with my late husband, Larry.
“Am I in love?” I asked myself, reverting to my habit of speaking my thoughts aloud in my empty house. There was a long silence while I thought.
“No, not in love,” I eventually responded to myself. Joan was my good friend and had been so for years, and after the last four days I could think of her as my lover, but it wasn’t that gooey, can’t live without her, when can I see her again kind of love. Did I want to jump into bed with her again? “Sure, but not tomorrow,” I said. “It needs to rest. . . . whatever it is,” I laughed aloud at my ambiguity.
“Do I love her?”
“No.”
“Is she my friend?”
“Yes.”
“Do I lust after her?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, maybe not right now,” I told myself. After the last four days, I wasn’t lusting after anyone or anything.
“I’m satiated,” I said aloud. “I don’t want sex now. Not with Joan, not with Larry’s porn collection, not at all.”
So what did I do? I cleaned house. Frankly the place was a mess after four days of more our less non-stop sex all over the house. I worked at it until midnight and then, when I had finished putting on my freshly washed sheets, I fell into bed and slept until seven. That was hours earlier than Joan and I had been climbing out of bed, but it was a full seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. The sleep with Joan was far from uninterrupted. It was more like a series of longish naps punctuated with more sex.
The next day was more of the same. The house was clean, so I tackled my yard: trimmed and mowed the lawn; dead-headed rose bushes; and pulled weeds in a bed or two I had missed earlier in the summer or where the nasty little buggers were making a comeback. I even got out an edging tool and cut back the grass that had been encroaching slowly onto the front walk for years now. The amazing part was that I didn’t think about sex the entire time.
I wore a baggy old pair of jeans and a T-shirt (with appropriate undergarments) so I wasn’t showing anything off to the neighbors. When I finished the yard work and cleaned up everything I had pulled or cut, I had a sandwich and a glass of milk for lunch (no wine). I took a nap (just sleep, no masturbating) and then went for a long run.
During the run my mind stayed on my running, focused on the sensations of my body arising from the exercise and the heat. Walnut Creek really can be hot this time of year. I was working totally different muscles than I had been using during the last four days. Unlike my more customary running, my mind didn’t drift off to sex and there certainly wasn’t any masturbating in my favorite secluded copse in the park.
After the run, I showered (just a shower, nothing else). Then I dressed conservatively (i.e., with undergarments) and went to the market. There was a lot to buy. Joan and I had eaten everything in the house. I put away the groceries, fixed a healthful dinner (Joan and I had been living on microwave oven food and ice cream the last few days) and then I turned on the TV and watched a baseball game. I hadn’t seen one since Larry died. It was almost interesting. The Giants won 5 to 3 with a two run homer in the ninth.
Sunday was more of the same, and on Monday I was actually looking forward to teaching my midday remedial English class. I was so enthused about Hamlet that I’m sure the kids thought I had lost my mind, not that they cared.
Then on Tuesday afternoon Joan called me and things changed again.
“Joan?” I answered seeing her identity on my cell phone screen.
“Hi lover.” Her voice was low, seductive. Apparently she wasn’t satiated.
Suddenly neither was I. Just those two words spoken in her low husky voice sent a charge of lust through me. After four days of not even thinking about sex, I wanted it again. I wanted it badly.
“Hi,” I responded trying to match her tone. “Did you miss me?”
“Yes.” Her tone was breathy now. I was being seduced over the phone. But who was going to ask first? Did I come out and say what I was thinking—I want to fuck you? Or did I wait for her.
“Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll be right over.”
Yes, I thought. Yes, yes, yes! She’s coming over and she asked first. I didn’t have to beg for it. I could feel my pussy starting to dampen. I wanted to do a little dance like a football player in the end zone after scoring a touchdown.
“We have to talk.”
Oh, oh! My lust evaporated, and now there was a knot in the pit of my stomach. It’s never good when a lover says, “We have to talk.” Never.
“About Hervé.”
“Hervé? Did you tell him? About us?”
“Yes.”
I was silent, fearing the worst.
“He’s not mad.”
“Okay . . . what does he want,” I asked. “It’s about us, isn’t it?”
“He wants to fuck you.”
I laughed. After a years’ long drought in my sex life I suddenly had a surplus of suitors.
“Do I get a say in this?” I was feeling a little taken for granted. Had she just volunteered my services to placate an irate husband?
“Of course. It’s complicated, but it’s going to be fine. I’ll explain when I get there. Right now I want to eat your pussy more than anything in the world. See you in fifteen and you better be naked when I get there.” The phone went click without a response from me.
I didn’t know whether to be excited or pissed. I paced back and forth waiting for Joan to arrive. Without even giving it any real thought, I stripped my clothes off, leaving them scattered about as I walked. Every minute or two I peeked through my curtains looking for her car.
When she arrived I stood nervously by the door. I didn’t even let her knock. I just opened it, pulled her in, slammed her against the wall, and began to rape her mouth with my tongue. Fuck Hervé, I thought. We could talk about him later.
Joan must have been of the same mind, because it was only moments before we lay naked in bed in a long kiss, our bodies entwined so that each was massaging the other’s pussy with a thigh. God, she was wetter than I was. She must have been planning this all morning. We thrashed about, soon finding ourselves in a 69, each lapping at the others sex, panting and groaning with passion. Within what seemed like forever, and still like just minutes, we had both climaxed and were lying gasping next to each other.
I sat up and crossed my legs, facing the still prostrate Joan. “Now,” I said, “there was something you wanted to talk about?”
Her look was blank.
“Hervé? I prompted”
“Hervé?” she responded, her brain still fogged with lust.
“Yes, Hervé,” I said. “Your husband. Your husband who apparently wants to fuck me.” My tone was perhaps a bit harsher than I intended, but it did bring Joan out of her post-coital fog. She sat up and leaned back against the headboard, pushing her long dark hair out of her face.
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