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Descent into Depravity – Chapter 4.1

Adult story Editor November 16, 2017 Leave a Comment

Latest erotic coupling stories: Descent into Depravity – Chapter 4.1

Author: Bluepen451

Alice, a recently widowed schoolteacher, has discovered her late husband had a porn collection, which she, to her surprise, finds intriguing. An even greater surprise is that her new found obsession with sex seems to have cured her depression over her husband’s death. In this chapter Alice’s descent into depravity continues with a lesbian affair with her best friend.

A week later I was still struggling with my need for a plan to meet Sofia and Juan. It wasn’t like I thought about it every waking moment, but it was always in the back of my mind, especially when I was reliving my voyeur’s experience while I masturbated. I hadn’t abandoned Larry’s porn collection, but my memory of watching Sofia and Juan in the back yard was certainly supplementing it.

Then my life changed. Again. The phone rang—it was Joan calling me.

“Joan, where have you been?” I said. “I haven’t heard from you in two or three weeks.”

“Hervé and I have been in France.”

“Provence?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Just a hunch,” I said thinking back to the time in the grocery store when Hervé had seductively proposed I run off to Provence with him.

“It was lovely. I’d never been there before.”

“When can we get together so you can tell me all about it?”

“Hervé’s gone for a week on business, so pretty much any time you want.”

“Good. Then you’re coming here for dinner tonight. I want to hear all about your trip, and I want to show you what I’ve done with my back yard. Can you make it by six?”

“Sure.”

As soon as I hung up I was asking myself, “What have I done? This is the first time I’ve invited someone over since Larry died.”

The next thought was a very healthy, “Why not. It’s my house now, and I should have people over. And who better to start with than Joan?”

I ran to the bedroom, my around-the-house robe open and trailing behind me. I tossed off the robe and stood naked in my bedroom as I grabbed a skirt and a blouse (as per my usual, no undergarments for grocery shopping). I dreamed up the menu while I was dressing and derived a shopping list from the menu as I drove to the market. I made sure the list included a couple of bottles of wine, as I knew Joan liked her wine almost as much as I did of late. The store had a discount if you bought six bottles, so I of course stocked up.

Two hours later Joan arrived. I was in the kitchen stirring up spaghetti sauce, a glass of red wine in one hand. I had an apron on over the clothes I had worn to the store, but I hadn’t thought about adding any undergarments. “Oops,” I said to myself as I saw her stepping from her car at the street. “Oh well, it’s only Joan.”

My kitchen faced to the front of the house, so as Joan approached the front door I yelled through an open window, “Come on in. I’ll pour you a glass of wine.”

I heard the front door open and close, and as Joan walked into the kitchen I handed it to her.

Joan is several inches shorter than me. Most people would call her voluptuous. Her narrow, pinched waist provides an attractive bridge between her broad hips and her big breasts. Her boobs cover most of her chest. When she wears the right bra they project out from her chest like a shelf. It causes men to stop as they walk by her on the street and occasionally step unexpectedly off a curb they didn’t see. Her ass is not only round but it projects from her lower back—what some refer to, perhaps a bit crudely, as a bubble butt. This afternoon she was wearing a brightly-colored blouse that draped seductively over her tits and a short skirt that covered her butt and a few inches of her legs, but not much more. Several buttons were undone on the blouse, so a good deal of cleavage was exposed. As usual, she wore heels a couple of inches higher than I had ever owned, to augment her height. She had a round face with large brown eyes and thick dark lashes. Her hair was raven, lush, and long. Like mine it hung down over her shoulders, approaching her breasts in front and also down her back. I’ve known Joan ever since my senior year in college and consider her to be my best friend, as she does me.

“Ah, just what I was craving,” she said as she accepted the wine glass. As she leaned across the counter to take it from my hand I found myself looking at her massive cleavage, exposed by a combination of her forward lean and the open buttons on her blouse. I felt just the lightest tingle of lust as I stared for a moment too long at her tits. It seemed she held her forward lean a bit longer than was necessary. Was she showing me her tits? Did she see me looking? Oh Where did that come from I thought? My god, you are obsessed with sex of late I scolded myself.

Joan stepped back from the counter and held her glass up in a toast. “Here’s to us, a couple of abandoned old broads.”

We drank, and I asked, “Abandoned? Where is Hervé?”

“Oh, he’s just off on a ten-day business trip. Left five days ago. Won’t be back until Friday.”

She paused for a moment, reconsidering. “I’m sorry Alice. Hervé being gone for ten days hardly compares with your loss. How are you doing?”

I thought for a minute and said, “I’m doing fine. Just fine.” And I meant it. “Things have changed around here over the last few months,” I told her. “Let’s have dinner and I’ll tell you about it.”

As I turned to refill my wine glass I wondered, well just what am I going to tell Joan about—Larry’s porn collection; his Literotica posts; my obsessive masturbation; my new-found interest in nudism; my voyeuristic encounter with my neighbors. The fact was that all these things had coincided with my recovery from my depression, but was that a coincidence or a cause? Can sex cure depression? I figured my therapist would not support that idea, unless she viewed it as a hobby. She was always recommending I find a hobby, but I somehow didn’t think masturbation was what she had in mind. Strange notion. I hadn’t seen her since I found Larry’s porn collection and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

I let the whole question drift away as Joan and I ate dinner and she jabbered about her trip to Europe. After dinner we piled the plates in the sink along with the pots and pans I had put there to soak. When Joan started to wash up, I told her, “Stop. They will all be there tomorrow, and I can take care of them before I leave to teach my Monday class. Let’s pour some more wine. I want to show you my back yard.” We were into the second bottle by then, and I was feeling it as we headed out back, our glasses full.

We wandered about the yard for a while and eventually wound up sitting at the table and chairs I had put in the pergola. I walked back to the kitchen and brought out the wine bottle to refill our glasses. I liked the way my tits felt as they bounced beneath my blouse. Had Joan noticed? She hadn’t said anything, but I thought I caught her staring once.

I put some bounce in my step as I walked back across the yard with the open wine bottle. Yes, I thought, she is definitely noticing the jiggle in my tits. I wonder? Stop that you naughty girl I told myself. Iwasn’t clear as to whether what I was supposed to stop—jiggling my tits or wondering about Joan. I did neither.

I satoppositejoan on the pergala after filling her and my wine glasses. We each took a long drink. “So tell me how you’re doing,” Joan asked, bringing me back to the question I had ducked when she first arrived. I didn’t want to talk about it then, but I was drunk enough now that it didn’t seem to make any difference.

“I’m doing great. My depression is gone. I get out of the house for things other than work. I talk to people. I admit that you are my first dinner guest, but it’s a start, and I didn’t agonize at all about it. I just asked you.”

“So what caused this transformation?” she slurred the last word just a bit.

I paused for a minute. What the hell, I thought. Joan is my best friend. Finally I spoke up. “I have a new hobby.”

“A hobby? You mean the yard?”

“No, not that.”

“So what’s your new hobby?”

“Sex.”

“Sex?”

“Yes, sex,” I said. I took another big drink of wine, not that I needed it.

“With who?”

“Uhh . . . well mostly myself, so far,” I said. But I have ambitions, I thought.

“Oh . . . Yeah. I get it. I’ll be down to that by the time Hervé gets back.”

“No, no you don’t understand.” I refilled both our wine glasses. It was nice where we were sitting on the pergola. There was a breeze and the temperature was just right. I turned just a bit so the breeze was blowing up my skirt and gently massaging my naked pussy. I had let the bottom of my skirt slide well up my thighs and I was making a point of not holding my knees tightly together.

“Okay. What don’t I understand?” Joan asked. “I mean I understand masturbation. We all do it, but when I studied psychology in college, nobody said it was a cure for depression.” She babbled on about depression and obsessions for a long while, remembering far more from her single college psychology class than I would have expected a liberal arts student majoring in boys to remember.

After a while I stopped her. “Wait. Let me explain. After Larry died, I was depressed. For a long time. But now I’m not. Since I took up sex as a hobby, my depression has gone away, like a fog that clears when the sun gets high. Maybe I’m obsessed with sex now, but as an alternative to depression it’s hard to beat.”

“So what happened?” Joan asked, still giving me a blank look.

“I inherited a porn collection, and it turned out I liked it a lot more than being depressed. It’s that simple.”

“What?”

So I explained about what I had found on Larry’s computer—his porn collection, his Literotica stories, and how I had become so engrossed in all of it that I hooked his computer up to the big screen TV. Then I told her about how I liked to walk around naked or as close to naked as I dared under the circumstances. I didn’t quite get to the part about watching the neighbors fucking before she interrupted.

“Oh, you naughty girl. Were you naked under your clothes when you came to dinner at our house?” she asked smiling lewdly at me.

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