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Bending Boundaries

By: SoraRabbit



He was waiting for an answer. My heart was thudding in my chest and my head had gone all swimmy. I couldn't look at him, at his dark green eyes that seemed to look right inside me. Silent and patient, that was him. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I'd stammer, and I was embarrassed enough without adding that to the situation. At the moment, even though I knew the answer I didn't want to give it. All I wanted was to hide.

The seconds stretched out, and he repeated his question, slowly and calmly. There was no recrimination in his voice, just curiosity. "Vix?" he prompted. My name is Victoria, and everyone except for Sam calls me Vickie. He'd been calling me Vix since we were teenagers. I liked it . . . made me think of vixen, which is not a word anyone would ever associate with me. "Do you want to have sex with me?" 

I knew I was blushing; I could feel it. I blushed any time the talk turned to anything sexual in nature, and the fact that the question was directed at me made it worse. I had to answer, though. I looked down at my hands and mumbled, "Yes."

He didn't respond at first. I was afraid of what he was going to say next. I felt like I was trapped in a spiral, spinning and spinning. How had things gotten so out of control? I blamed myself. This was supposed to be a nice night watching movies with my best friend, joking around and relaxing . . . probably a little platonic cuddling. Maybe some popcorn. But I had to press. I had to ask questions. And now things had gone to a place they were never supposed to go. Times like this are why life should have a reset button.

Sam and I had been friends for most of our lives. We lived next door to each other as kids and spent almost all of our free time together through grade school. His mom used to babysit me when I was five, that's how it started. He was two years older than me, but was always nice. (And not just because his mom told him to be.) He was brotherly towards me. He let me tag along with him and his friends and never left me out of their games. Things started to change a little in high school, as we both found our own friends and romantic interests. But we never completely drifted apart. Whenever things got stressful—break ups, big tests, Sam's parents splitting up—we always found each other and were there to provide comfort and support. 

College was a different case. We went to different schools, him the next state over, me in our home town once I finished high school. We kept in touch mainly by text, with visits on breaks and holidays. After he finished college he moved back and got an apartment. I still lived with my parents, he needed a roommate. He suggested we solve both problems at once by moving in together. I eagerly agreed; I'd missed my friend intensely, and this seemed like the best way to make up for lost time. 

It wasn't long before I started regretting that decision. It became clear early on that nothing had changed for Sam. He still thought of me as a little sister. As for me, the time we'd spent apart only served to intensify the feelings I already had. Only a week into our cohabitation, I had to accept to myself that I was in love with him. When we were little, I'd looked up to him. I don't know when my feelings of friendship and admiration had developed into more . . . probably sometime around puberty. That was when I first realized I had a crush on him, even though I denied it vehemently even to myself. 

And so it seemed the years of infrequent texts and occasional rushed visits had kindled my silly crush into something more. Maybe not love, although it could have been. All I knew was that I thought about him all the time. He made it clear, indirectly, that there was no interest on his side. He'd walk around without a shirt whenever possible, yet didn't seem to notice when I wasn't wearing much. I was too embarrassed to go around in my underwear, although I'd toyed with the idea. But I did find excuses to parade around in front of him in a towel after showers a couple of times. He didn't seem to notice. (Afterwards I would be so self-conscious that I had to hide in my room for the rest of the night.) And my usual nightwear was short shorts and skimpy tee shirts with no bra. 

The worst part was the jealousy. He made no secrets about his lady friends, often inviting them over for sex and sometimes to stay the night. He wasn't the kind of guy who boasted, but I always knew when he was entertaining. Our bedrooms were across the hall from each other, and the walls weren't exactly thick. And whatever it was he was doing to those girls made them happy. Happy and noisy. Still, with my door closed and music playing, I could easily drown out the sounds. But I didn't. Maybe that makes me sound sick, but it's the truth. And for what happened that night to make any sense, I'm going to have to be completely honest. Not that I'm trying to justify any of it . . . 

I admit that I would go out of my way to eavesdrop. When I knew he had someone in there, I'd turn off my music and crack my door. A couple of times I even crept out into the hall so I could hear better. It wasn't good for me in any way, but I couldn't help myself.

So, yes, overall living with Sam was not healthy for me. Much of the time it was torture. I was holding in this big secret attraction to him and I could tell he didn't feel the same. We'd talked about what we were looking for in relationships, sex, that sort of thing. But never in relation to each other. We'd always been just friends.

Well, mostly. Ever since we were younger, there was a little bit of an intimate aspect to our friendship. As we were growing up, we'd share his bed on occasion, for sleep only. Even now, sometimes when we were watching TV or a movie, we would cuddle on the couch. There was nothing sexual about it, just holding each other, and I'd usually fall asleep because it was warm and comforting. And he always smelled so damn good. He never tried anything any of those times, aside from stroking my hair and holding me in his strong arms. Not that I would have complained if he had . . . 

I'd assumed this was going to be one of those innocent nights. But, like I said, I had to push. See, a couple of weeks before, I'd introduced him to my friend Jan. I pretty much tell her everything, so she already knew I was close friends with him. I'd never admitted my true feelings for him, because I knew she'd insist I tell him, and I wasn't ready for that. And I'm sure if I had admitted it, she never would have asked him out. Especially not in front of me. Yes, she'd asked me afterwards if I was okay with it, saying that she would call him to cancel if I wasn't, but I insisted it was fine. He always referred to me as his "buddy", so what claim did I have? And besides, I could see why they'd be interested in each other. They were both tall, slim, good-looking. Jan with long blond hair, big blue eyes and a fit body. Sam was rugged and well-built. Broad shoulders, muscular without being bulky. Rarely clean-shaven, he was one of those guys with perpetual stubble, but it looked good on him.

I thought I'd be okay with it . . . really I did. But I was jealous. Not so much that I didn't press her for details afterwards. One date turned into two, then three. The third date was where she spent the night. Those were the details I was really eager for, and my friend came through with them. Explicitly and with a lot of giggling.

Of course, I'd been listening. That was one of the times I crept into the hall. I sat with my back to the wall next to his door, listening. It's hard to describe how I felt—I was flooded with conflicting emotions, most of them negative. Jealousy was a major one of those, but there was also sadness, frustration, anger at myself and them . . . and at the same time I was more turned on than I'd ever been in my life. They would both have been so upset had they known I was listening. I knew what I was doing was wrong for many reasons, but I think that made it more exciting. 

I was a turmoil of emotions and didn't feel like I could stand them. The arousal won out over everything else. As I listened to my friends moaning and the rhythmic creaking of Sam's bedsprings, I pulled down my shorts and brought myself off right there in the hall, just a couple of feet away from him. The orgasm was explosive—lifted up higher than ever before by the tides of too-strong emotions that threatened to wash me away. It was hard to keep quiet, and I found out later that in an effort to hold in my cry of pleasure, I'd bitten my lip to the point where it bled a little. After I came, I started crying, careful not to make any noise. Not that it would have mattered at that point, as Jan was making enough noise I could have heard her clearly from anywhere in the apartment. She cried out one last time, and the sound mingled with Sam's own deeper moans. I crawled back to my room, my shorts still around my knees. I didn't sleep that night. As soon as I knew she was back home, I called her for the details.

Unfortunately, living vicariously through Jan's glowing descriptions wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be. I couldn't think about anything else for days. I had to know what it was like to be with him sexually. Not that I ever thought it would happen. I'd seen the girls he typically went for, and they were fairly close to Jan's type. I am not. I'm short and curvy, packing a few extra pounds. Quiet and shy normally, but when I'm comfortable with someone I'm quick with jokes and stories. But I still fall into deep thoughtful silences. I wouldn't call myself an overly outgoing woman, and certainly not bubbly and chatty like Jan. Plus, she was his age. I didn't see how I could compete. 

There was also the fact that I was a virgin. I know, I know . . . twenty year old virgin, but it happens, alright? It was my own fault. I'd dated a bit in high school, but never went all the way. My first real boyfriend had talked me into giving him a blowjob, but it hadn't gone right. I didn't even manage to get him into my mouth—two licks was all it took and he was shooting all over my face. Some of it got in my eye. I refused to try again and he dumped me. The next boy got me to give him a clumsy hand job on his parent's couch, but then he wanted more and I balked. When I didn't give in to his whining demands, he dumped me and started going out with a cheerleader. I didn't date much else until college, where I got my fair share of offers, but by that point I'd already waited so long and built up my first time so much in my head that it seemed wrong for it to just be some frat boy. 

When I was young and first learning about sex, I'd decided somewhere along the line that I wanted my first time to be with Sam. I knew it was never going to happen. For all the reasons I've already given, but also because of how timid I was. I could never offer myself to him, both out of fear of ruining our friendship and fear of him laughing at me. (I was pretty much convinced that was how the conversation would end and I was mortified in advance.) I did try to ask him a couple of times when we got drunk together, but I couldn't work up the nerve. (Besides, it seemed to me it would be an awkward request.)

The longer I waited to have sex, the easier it became to just not do it. Easy or no, my persistent state of virginity only added to my shame and frustration. So whenever the subject came up, I'd lie. I even lied to Sam, although I would never own up to it. I told him I'd done it with my first boyfriend, and several random guys in college. He didn't ask for details, of course. He just gave me a grin and we moved on to other, safer topics. The fact that I lied to him was another of my regrets. 

Currently my biggest regret was moving in with him at all. It was a constant reminder of my unrealistic fantasies and our unbalanced friendship. If he was interested at all, wouldn't the cuddles have turned into something more at some point? They always did with the other guys before I'd stop them. But it never ended up going there with me and Sam, even though we'd known each other forever and were closer with each other than anyone else. And then he'd met Jan and almost immediately they were having sex. Why? Why not me?

I was full of questions and doubts, so I suppose that's where I went wrong. When I got home from work that fateful Friday night, he ordered pizza and we spent time together. He asked me to stay up and watch a movie with him (the cuddling was always implied) and I somehow steered the talk to Jan. I'd already gotten her side (not that I let him know that) so I was curious about how he saw it. He glossed over the details like a gentleman. He seemed happy. Even though the two of them weren't serious, he'd stopped seeing his "sex buddies". (Which is how he referred to his friends with benefits.) He told me he'd put them on the back burner after the first date with Jan, saying that he preferred to be with one woman at a time. "But there are two of them," I argued.

He explained that he wasn't dating them. They were just friends he had sex with sometimes. Nothing serious. And if things didn't end up going to a serious place with Jan, he'd start inviting them over again. "It's good to have relationships like that. Mutually beneficial but with clear boundaries. Just an extension of the friendship. It's like with you and me, Vix."

"But all we do is cuddle," I said, and I'm sure I sounded more than a little sulky. That was when he'd asked me. One thing about Sam is that he doesn't beat around the bush. He always goes straight for the answer he wants. He's a blunt one. 

I was brought back to the present by the feeling of his hand squeezing my shoulder. His voice still gentle, he said, "I'm flattered Vix, I really am. But it would be a bad idea. A really . . . bad . . . idea."

"Why?" I demanded, frowning. The sulky tone was back in my voice and I felt petulant. 

"Because that isn't what our friendship is supposed to be," he said. "I'm not one of those guys who ask you out just to have sex with you like those others. I care for you too much and I don't think things could stay casual. It feels like if we took that step, we'd end up losing our friendship. I couldn't bear for that to happen. You mean way too much to me. Always have."

I looked up at him briefly, but when my eyes locked onto his, I had to look away. He had such beautiful eyes. "It almost sounds like you've given this some thought."

"I . . . well, yes. I have," he admitted, carefully tipping my face up with his finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Vix, you know I'd never lie to you. So, since we're talking about it, I have to admit that I am attracted to you. You're my best friend. You know that you are. And I'm pretty sure I'm yours." I nodded, not wanting to interrupt. My heart was soaring at his words. "I just don't want us to make a mistake," he finished, and my heart sank down again. He leaned in and kissed me lightly on the corner of the mouth. It only lasted a second and there was no mistaking it for anything other than a friendly kiss. Still, I felt a trickle of wetness below and it made my belly squirm. He brushed a lock of hair from my eyes and continued, softly. "Look, I'm not saying never. You're very special to me. You're pretty, sweet, and overall an amazing girl. Things have a way of happening. Now . . . how about that movie, huh?"

That was the last he said about it. He pressed play on the remote and put his arm around me. Even though I felt hurt, rejected, humiliated and regretful, I nestled in and let myself be comforted. I breathed in his familiar scent and relaxed a little. After a while I drifted off. It wasn't long before he woke me and suggested I go to bed. He helped me up and led me into my bedroom. A short time later I was settled in, pulling the covers up over me and taking off my jeans under the covers. He leaned down and planted a light kiss on my forehead. He turned to go.

My voice came out way too low. "What? What'd you say, Vix?" he asked, leaning in close.

"Could you . . . stay? Just for tonight?" I asked again, just as softly.

He looked confused and suspicious. "What? You mean in your bed?"

Honestly, I wasn't planning anything. I was just desperate to be close to him. "Yeah. Like when we were kids. I . . . can't be alone. Not tonight, Not after . . . " I trailed off and my face felt red.

Sam was quiet for almost a full minute, looking down at me with those dark green eyes that seemed to cut right into me. His eyebrows were knitted together but otherwise he had no expression to betray what was going through his head. Finally he shrugged. "Yeah, alright. We can do that." 

I watched as he pulled off his shirt and pants. My eyes followed him as he crossed to the light switch. I no longer cared if he caught me looking. It was no secret anymore. It never would be again. I felt like crying—it was like he'd closed and locked a door just as I was planning on walking through. Now I was trapped on the other side for good. The impending tears were chased away as I felt him behind me, laying his arm over me. All I could do for a while was enjoy the feeling of having him so close.

I soon found that I couldn't sleep. All I could do was turn that evening's conversation over and over in my mind as I lay there, listening as his breathing slowed and deepened. I could tell he was asleep. I wondered if I'd ever get over the humiliation I suffered that night. He'd been sweet about it, but a rejection was still a rejection. And this was the worst rejection I could imagine. Still, he did say he wasn't saying never. Did that mean someday . . . 

Even though it was the last thing I wanted at the moment, my mind turned to fantasies of what it would be like to have sex with him. Not that those fantasies were a new thing—I'd been having them since even before I admitted to myself how I really felt. He was always gentle and comforting with me in person, but in my fantasies it was never soft and sweet. No, in my fantasies he was strong and passionate. He ravaged me. Like how Jan had described it. I'd been a little startled at how close her descriptions matched to the movies that had always played in my head.

I had been so ashamed of myself for listening at Sam's door while he had sex with Jan that I couldn't even masturbate anymore. Usually I did it every other night, although my rate of self-pleasure had increased dramatically since moving in with Sam. It had gone to every night, sometimes twice. Some nights it was the only way I could get my lovesick, lust-struck mind to shut up. But after that night of voyeurism, any time I tried to get myself off, I felt ashamed and regretful. I kept trying, just adding to my growing frustration. So by this point, it had been almost a week since I'd had any release. (Again, not trying to justify . . . )

Lying there, I ran over Jan's descriptions again. She'd said he was "all man" . . . strong and insistent. He instinctively knew just where to touch her. She'd cum almost as soon as his tongue had first touched her pussy. He'd kept going, giving her two more orgasms before stopping to let her catch her breath.

I realized I'd started to get wet again, thinking about it. The wetness went from a trickle to a gush when my disobedient mind substituted myself for Jan and in my fantasies I was the one he was licking. I squeezed my legs together, but that only intensified the pressure that was building up inside me. I had taken off my jeans when I got into bed and removed my bra immediately after getting home from work, so I was in nothing but my tank top and panties. I could feel Sam's legs against the back of my legs, and after he'd fallen asleep, his hand had dropped to my bare belly. At some point my shirt had ridden up a bit, exposing skin. The pleasurable feelings between my legs made me squirm, and he suddenly held onto me more tightly. It felt lovely to have him holding me so firmly, skin on skin, even though he didn't realize he was doing it.


Bending Boundaries



That was the thought that made me cross the line, I think. He didn't know he was touching me—he was such a deep sleeper—what would be the harm? The fragments of thoughts came at me faster and faster. What if I could feel a little more than I was now, add fuel to the fantasy, and then take care of myself so that I could get some sleep . . . It felt wrong, but I was having trouble focusing on the morality of it at the moment . . . at the moment this was what I wanted more than anything else. I'd always had trouble controlling my impulses, but never to this extent. The tingles between my legs forced me into a decision.

"Sam?" I whispered. No answer. Again I whispered, and the only response was his steady breathing. My heart racing, my panties getting more soaked, I carefully put my hand over his and slid it over my skin, moving it up . . . up under my tank top and further up until it was resting on my right breast. Again I had a nagging voice in my head telling me this was wrong. He'd said we had boundaries. But then I heard a different voice. A sly, brave voice that said 'This isn't crossing the boundaries. You're just . . . bending them a little.' I smiled, deciding that was the voice I was going to listen to, at least for a while. I pressed Sam's hand more firmly onto my breast and he gripped it reflexively, squeezing. Pleasure shot through me as he unconsciously groped me. I stifled a moan as his finger brushed my nipple. 

Slowly I rolled onto my back and moved his hand over to my other boob. I let him touch me on his own so I could reach down between my legs. But on the way down, my hand brushed the fabric of his boxers. The new voice in my head suggested I bend things just a little more. 'Why not? You've gone this far,' it said. This seemed reasonable to me in that state of mind. Tentatively my hand crept over, my fingers lightly searching until I found the slit in the front of his shorts. My heart kept beating faster and my breathing was rapid and shallow. I was worried . . . worried I'd wake him, which would bring an end to things. I realized that I was even more worried that I would wimp out. So I slipped my fingers in quickly, gasping when they touched his dick. ('His cock,' the sly voice corrected me. 'And his hand is on your tit, not your boob.' I could feel myself blushing at the dirtier words. Words I couldn't bring myself to even think, let alone say out loud.) I took his penis carefully into my hand and pulled it through the slit. It was growing as I held it. Jan's descriptions hadn't prepared me for how big it felt in my small hand. I couldn't imagine it fitting inside me, but at the same time I wanted it in me. Of course, that would be going too far. I wouldn't be bending the boundaries anymore—I'd be snapping them into pieces. 

So, with regret, I let go of his hardening dick and put my hand over his again. I knew I was still going too far, but I was so wet and my pussy was aching for attention. The rational part of me (the tiny rational bit I still had access to) knew I should have let go of his hand and just used my own, that it was time to stop taking risks. But that voice was so persistent, and it had formed a chorus with my throbbing clitoris. I guided his hand down over my belly, down to the soaked crotch of my panties. I spread my legs and pressed his palm onto my mound, his index and middle fingers against my slit. I could feel the heat coming even through his fingers. He didn't grip me this time, so I moved his hand around for him, rubbing myself with him. 

I bit my bottom lip hard to keep from making a sound. I was flowing more now, and the combined pressure of our hands, along with the overwhelming feeling that I was doing something forbidden was bringing me quickly to the point of no return. No longer thinking about consequences, I reached down with my unoccupied hand and pulled my panties to the side. One quick press and his fingers sank into me along with my own, running up and flicking unexpectedly against my clit. My fingers gripped his hand involuntarily and a low moan escaped from me as my muscles clenched and I came explosively on his hand. I don't know how loud I got while I was in the grip of my orgasm, but it must have been loud enough to wake him. I heard Sam gasp suddenly and he pulled his hand away.

"Noooo, please," I whimpered, grabbing for his hand to bring it back to where I wanted it. Instead my fingers closed around his exposed erection and he gasped again. Not able to help myself, I stroked him again and again, knowing this was probably going to be the only chance I'd have to do it. He was awake now, he knew what I'd been up to as he slept. He was going to hate me. "Please," I whispered into his ear as I continued to caress him. "Just once. I won't ask for any more. I need it. Need you. Pleeeease." I didn't even know what I was saying, it was like listening to someone else speaking. My brain had checked out and I was speaking with the new, braver voice from inside my head. For once I wasn't letting things happen—or not happen. I was making them happen, for good or bad.

Sam abruptly grabbed me by the wrist and pulled my hand off his penis. He leaned up, propping himself up with his hands on either side of me and brought his face close to mine. I could feel his hardness pressing against my side. His breathing was rough, ragged. "Vix, no. This is a mistake." 

I moaned softly and whispered, "I want to make this mistake." I leaned over and kissed him, letting my tongue shoot into his mouth. He pulled back at once.

It was too dark for me to see him, but I could still tell what expression he was wearing—I knew him that well. His face was most likely drawn into that stubborn look he got when he had his mind made up. The one that never failed to draw a whine from me as I tried uselessly to get my way. There was no whining this time—I'd gone past that point. This time, I decided, I wouldn't ask. I'd already gone too far and probably ruined our friendship, so what would it hurt to push even further? That was what the insistent voice in my head told me anyway. And I'd listened to it this long.

I felt Sam shift and the bedsprings squeaked. He was getting up! I knew I was delving into more dangerous territories and was on the verge of making another mistake I couldn't take back, but at that point I didn't care—I had to keep him in the bed with me. I rolled over on top of him and straddled him, holding him down. We both made gasping noises at the same time—his of surprise and mine because his rock-hard penis was still sticking out of the hole of his boxers and pressing up against my seeping slit. I pressed down, rubbing myself against his length.

"Vickie stop—ohhhh," Sam's stern protest became a low moan that was almost a growl. His penis flexed against me and his hands clamped on my upper arms. He tried to pull me off of him and then stopped when I refused to budge. I weighed more than him, but he was much stronger and I knew I couldn't hold out if he used his full force on me. But he didn't, beyond that one attempt. I pressed down again, rubbing my pussy against him over and over, trying to use him to make myself cum again. "Unh, fuck it," he growled. "I give up Vickie. Do what you want."

That was plenty enough consent for me. I reached between us, stroking him. His penis was wet from me rubbing my crotch against it, allowing my fingers to slide easily. I was shocked at how wet I was, even through my panties. I could feel more of it dripping onto my fingers as I stroked him. 

I couldn't tease for long, though. I needed him inside me, needed to finish what I'd started. So I moved my panties aside and aimed him at my opening. Feeling clumsy, I eased him just inside. There was a moment of panic as I wondered if he'd encounter resistance, if it would hurt. If I would bleed. If he'd realize I was a virgin and push me off him, changing his mind. I'd coerced him this far as it was, it wasn't a stretch to imagine him calling it off, hard-on or no hard-on. 

I decided that I was more scared of losing my chance to have sex with him than I was of going through with it. I wriggled on him, feeling him sliding inside with agonizing slowness. And it did hurt, a bit. But it also felt good . . . really good. The things I'd done to myself couldn't have prepared me for this. He was much bigger and longer than my fingers, which were the only things I'd had inside me before . . . and only two at that when I was feeling adventurous. It felt like more and more of him kept sinking into me, pushing deeper and deeper—it felt like it would never stop. It turned out the sensations were lying, however, and he wasn't as deep as it felt. He came up against my barrier. Holding my breath, I pushed down harder, determined that he not find out this was my first time. With a sharp stab of pain, the thin skin gave way and he drove all the way in. I cried out at the brief pain.

Sam started to say something, but I ground my crotch against his, moving him inside me. His words—whatever they were going to be—became a long moan. I moaned along with him, planting my hands on his chest and rocking atop him. The last throbs of pain were eclipsed by pleasure, spurring me on. I fell into a rhythm, shifting my hips and moving him most of the way out of my pussy and then back in, rubbing my clit on his shaft along the way. 

I got so much into this steady rhythm and the mounting pleasure it was bringing me that I almost forgot he was there. He wasn't helping, he was just laying back and letting me screw him, which admittedly turned me on even more. I could feel myself getting close so I continued the same pace, running my hands over the delicious chest I'd discretely stared at for months. 

His hands were suddenly on my waist and he started thrusting up, staying within the rhythm I'd set. The fact that he was joining in and the suddenness of his movements made my orgasm burst—a bigger one than I'd given myself using his hand. I moaned in a high-pitched way, forming a chorus with his deeper groans and the creaking of my bed.

"Uhhh!" he grunted, his hands pushing me away as he squirmed under me. I realized he was trying to pull out of me, but I was still cumming and didn't want it to stop. "I'm—ahhh!" he gasped. I had him trapped and was too busy with my own climax to let him escape me. I could feel his dick stiffening even more and I buried him as deep as he would go. I could feel it spasming and knew he was cumming. My best friend was shooting his seed into me . . . this was Sam's dick—no, Sam's cock inside me . . . the idea of it was too much. It pushed me over the edge again before my first orgasm had even stopped, hitting me with a frightening force. I clawed at his chest as I shook with the explosive force of it, my entire body shaking and quivering on top of him. 

It seemed like a very long time before I could think again. I unclenched my fingers from his chest hair and rolled off of him. I peeled off my uncomfortably soaked panties and tossed them over the edge of the bed. Then I laid back, still breathing hard. Now that the fever of my lust had broken, I was able to think about what I'd done. I didn't want to think. I was spent, and exhausted from the exertion. 

I rolled over onto my side with a small happy sigh, still feeling the tingles throughout my body. Neither of us said a word. After a couple of minutes of silence and catching our breath, he put his arm around me and settled in closely behind me. I clutched his hand with both of mine and pulled him even closer. I smiled, feeling warm and satisfied and cared for. It wasn't long before his breathing told me he was asleep again. This time I felt sleep encroaching on me too. I couldn't remember ever feeling so relaxed and fulfilled. I had no idea what I'd say to him in the morning, or what he'd say to me, but at the moment it didn't feel like it mattered. The fact that he was holding me was proof enough for me that he wasn't mad at me and that we could stay friends. Or at least try to. If I'd known how wrong I was, I wouldn't have slept at all.

The last thought I had before falling into a deep and contented sleep was, 'Things do have a way of happening. But sometimes you have to give them a little push.'

***

I woke with a hand on my boobs. At some time during the night my tank top had worked its way up, mostly exposing my breasts. Sam's hands were hungry as they explored my soft, firm breasts. His fingers pinched one nipple, rolling it between index and thumb. I gasped at the sudden surge of pleasure his manipulations brought. I could feel something hard poking my backside and realized it was his dick. He was hard again. I wriggled against it whilst making content murmuring sounds. 

Sam's breathing was hard and rough, warm against my neck. His right hand slid down my belly and to my groin, his fingers expertly parting my trimmed pubic hair and finding my clit. I tensed against him, spreading my legs enough to allow him access. His hand went to work, his finger dipping inside, then dragging up to my hard bump. He teased it, his fingers moving in circles. He spread my pussy open with his thumb and middle finger, his index finger thrumming directly on my exposed clit. 

I reached up and clutched my breasts, one and then the other, flicking each nipple with my fingers, then gripping harder. Sam knew what he was doing—he drove me directly to an orgasm, much faster than I was able to do to myself. 

While I was still spasming, he took his hand back and flipped me onto my back. With a small growl he pressed his mouth to mine roughly and this time it wasn't friendly. It was a real kiss—hungry and powerful. His tongue thrust between my spread lips, pressing against my tongue. At the same time he climbed atop me, spreading my thighs with his knees and pressing himself into me. He went in smoothly and effortlessly due to how wet I'd become. I cried out as he filled me up, all the way to my core. There was no pain this time, just the amazing feeling of fullness. I wrapped my legs around him, bucking against him as he started thrusting. There was no hesitation now, just pure need. It was just as I'd always imagined in my fantasies—animalistic and primal. "Ohh, Vickie," he growled.

The sound of him saying my name, the lust in his voice—I cried out again as I came. The orgasm drew out, becoming another and then another. And still he ravaged me without pausing, pumping harder as his moans got louder. It was an incredible feeling to know that I'd driven him into such a frenzy, made him lose all control just like I had only hours before. "Unh, yessss," I moaned, feeling the waves of my multiple orgasms rippling through me.

"Ohhh," he gasped, sounding desperate. He groaned and thrust into me hard, burying himself deeply inside as his dick grew even harder and he spurted into my depths. The base of his spasming penis pressed against my clit and brought me to another climax. Our moans mingled as we came together. It seemed to go on and on, but finally it was over. 

Sam slowly pulled out of me and sat back, breathing hard. His seed flowed out in a rush, running over my bottom and seeping into the sheets. I felt very empty without him inside me, and was still tingling. I looked up at him nervously. Were we finally going to talk about this? I watched as he looked off to the side, running his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. He looked good in the dawn sunlight. He was flushed from the afterglow of sex, and his face had a day's growth of stubble. Even though he looked worried and uncertain, he still looked incredibly sexy and manly. Seeing him like this, it was hard to feel bad about what I'd done. I felt fresh desire squirm in my belly. I wanted to hide under the covers, but forced myself to be brave and continue looking at him. His eyes darted to mine for just an instant and then away again. He scooted back and swung his long legs over the edge of my bed, standing up and striding immediately for the door. At first I was so distracted by the sight of his tight backside that I almost didn't call out to him. "Sam, wait!" I pleaded.

He didn't answer, didn't slow down. He threw open my bedroom door and left. I didn't know whether to rush after him or give in to my impulse to hide under the covers. I tried to get out of bed but my legs were wobbly. I could hear him clattering around in his room. I managed to get up and grabbed my robe from the floor where I'd left it a few nights before. I threw it over my shoulders and peeked into his room. It was empty. Confused, I turned as I heard the front door clicking closed. 

Frowning, I returned to my room, letting the robe fall as I walked. The previous night's shame crashed into me again, much bigger now, and I could feel tears threatening. I stopped next to the bed, looking down at the rumpled, sweat-soaked sheets and the spreading wet spot our mingled cum had left. The air of my room was heavy with the smell of sex. Then, the final straw—more of his semen oozed out of me and ran down my inner thigh. I crumpled into a ball on my bed and started crying.

***

After Sam left, I spent a miserable Saturday alone. I confined myself mostly to my room, only leaving long enough for a shower and a bottle of water. I kept running the events of the previous night and that morning around in my head. I tentatively texted Sam, but he didn't respond so I gave up after three. I had ruined everything, taken advantage of him, and destroyed a lifetime of friendship. All because I hadn't been able to control my impulses. I couldn't imagine feeling worse . . . but I knew I would when he finally came home. As the hours went on, depression and regret gave way to panic. I became desperate . . . I didn't want to be there when he came back. I didn't think I could ever face him again. I decided I would have to move out. I didn't know where I would go. I couldn't stay with Jan . . . I couldn't imagine facing her either.

It turned out I had waited too long as I wallowed in depression and uncertainty. I was just starting to throw things into my suitcase when Sam came back to the apartment. Most of my things were still in boxes—I'd never bothered to fully unpack, even though I'd been there for about eight months—and my room was a mess. I was so intent on making my escape that I didn't even hear him come in. I turned with an armful of clothes from my dresser and saw him standing in my doorway. I made a squeak of surprise and dropped the clothes. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice dull and with a tinge of annoyance to it.

"Leaving," I said with a huff, kneeling to start picking up the clothes I'd dropped. "And what, you don't answer texts anymore?"

He ignored the question and countered with one of his own. "So you're just going to run away?" he asked peevishly, taking a step into my room. 

I felt a sudden surge of anger that flared up past the other emotions I'd been dealing with the entire day. "It's what you did!" I snapped.

He clenched his fists and jaw, stiffly replying with, "I had to figure things out."

"Yeah?" I asked, huffy again. I dumped my clothes into my suitcase and went back to the dresser for more, mostly just for something to keep me from looking at him. As angry as I was, I didn't want to fight . . . I just wanted to slink away and hide. "And did you?" I asked. 

"Yeah. I figured out that I'm pissed at you."

I froze, hands still in my dresser drawer. All the fight went out of me. He'd never been mad at me before. This was a side of him I'd never seen before. It frightened me; I didn't know how to deal with it. And besides, I was feeling foolish for being angry at him when I had started the whole thing. This was my fault. I fought back the fresh tears. It wouldn't help anything to start bawling.

"I have one question," he said. I couldn't answer, so after waiting a couple of beats, he continued. "You were a virgin, weren't you?"




Bending Boundaries



I squeaked again, unable to answer. My face went hot. I didn't think he'd noticed.

"That's what I thought," he said, sounding angrier the more he vented. "So you've been lying to me for years." I nodded, still silent and turned away from him. "And you lied about being okay with me seeing Jan. And who knows what else you lied about. Shit . . . I've always been straight with you Vickie." He made a frustrated sound and continued. "You just had to push, didn't you?" he spat, his voice vicious. "You pushed too far and made me into a cheater and I don't know how to feel about you anymore!"

I couldn't turn around, couldn't face him. He was right. But did he have to be so mean about it? In the fifteen years that I'd known him, he'd never been a jerk to me. Not ever. He'd always been gentle and sweet. Sure, we teased and insulted each other, but we knew it was just joking around and it never went far. This was clearly not joking—he was aiming to hurt me. I had to say something, get him to stop. I turned and with tears standing in my eyes I said, "Sam, I'm sorry."

"You were selfish Vickie," he said, stabbing his finger towards me, his voice flat again. He was glaring at me and his other hand was still in a fist.

The anger surged back up and I took a step towards him, batting his finger away. The words left my mouth before I realized. "Yeah? Well YOU screwed ME this morning! What the hell was that?"

He took a step too and we were right up against each other. I was forced to look up because there was at least seven inches difference in our height. "That was ME being selfish!" he shouted back. "I didn't say I was the only one!"

I was stunned but didn't want to take the time to figure out what he meant by that. I wasn't going to back down. If I did, I'd just go back to feeling weak, and it felt better to be angry. "I said I was sorry! What the hell do you want from me? I was stupid and it was wrong but you fucked me too and now you're just being an asshole about it!"

He grabbed my upper arms tightly, still yelling. "That's because you mean everything to me and you threw it away! I can't deal with the fact that I'm not sorry about it—I should be sorry! But it was fucking good and I was supposed to be the strong one but you made me give in and I fucking liked it!"

"You . . . what?" I asked, bewildered.

His answer was to kiss me. Hard. He let go of my arms and grabbed my face, pressing his mouth against mine. We both moved back from the momentum of his movement until I hit the wall. After a few seconds, I recovered enough from the shock of the kiss to return it, parting my mouth and letting his seeking tongue brush against mine. His hands dropped to my breasts, which he gripped eagerly. I hadn't bothered to put on a bra, so the only thing between his hands and my boobs was a thin tee shirt. I gasped into his mouth and his tongue touched mine again.

My right hand dropped to grab his dick through his jeans. He was already hard. Taking control of the situation for a moment, I put both hands on his chest and walked the two of us to my bed. I broke the kiss and swept my suitcase onto the floor. While I was distracted, he grabbed the hem of my tee shirt and with one smooth movement pulled it over my head. He attacked my breasts with his hands and mouth, sucking, licking, nibbling. I enjoyed the attention, but his enthusiasm made me topple backwards onto the bed. Wasting no time, he climbed on top, nestling between my legs and continuing to maul my boobs. I tilted my hips and pressed myself against his bulge, letting out a groan. He thrust back, increasing the pressure on my pussy. 

It was enough to take my breath away, but I needed more. I started shimmying my shorts and panties down. I only managed to get one leg out before he distracted me by letting go of my breasts and sitting back. He undid his jeans and yanked them down, just over his hips. His dick ('cock,' I reminded myself, feeling silly for still being too embarrassed to use dirtier words in my own head) was jutting up at an angle. It was the first time I'd seen it clearly, I realized . . . it looked huge, hard and ready. And it was about to be plunged into me again. I couldn't wait to feel him inside me and wasn't able to hold back a whimpering noise. 

Sam pulled his shirt over his head and settled back on top of me, kissing me again. His every movement was manly and insistent. He rubbed the head of his penis up and down my slit, brushing against my clit. I quivered and pressed myself to him, feeling him slide back down and start to enter me. There was no teasing, no waiting—he needed to be inside me and wasn't going to take his time getting there. Which was fine by me—I couldn't wait either. I couldn't get enough of him. 

He thrust in hard and I gasped. There it was—that fullness I'd been craving ever since he pulled out of me that morning. I bucked against him as he started thrusting into me. We moved together perfectly but erratically, losing ourselves to lust. Everything we'd just been shouting at each other just didn't matter anymore—all that mattered was this . . . our two bodies entwined, his cock invading me, both of us rushing towards climax. Just two childhood friends fulfilling their needs, taking pleasure from each other. It was intense . . . breathtaking . . . and all too brief. 

Before long, Sam was slamming into me with everything he had, me returning every thrust with movements of my own as I climbed the peaks towards a massive orgasm. The sounds we were making were animalistic—growls and howls of pleasure, guttural noises, grunts and whines. I exploded suddenly, crying out with the force of it, my insides clenching and releasing . . . I felt the orgasm throughout my entire body. 

"Ohh Vix," he gasped, and I felt myself rising to another orgasm immediately, just from the desperate sound of his voice.

"Yes," I breathed, clinging onto him, my heels digging into his ass, my hands running over the tight muscles of his back and shoulders. "Yes, give it to me, Sam. Give me all of it." I think I said more than that, but I don't know if the rest made any coherent sense—my mouth and brain were still on auto pilot. All I knew was pleasure. I started spasming again and Sam stiffened, letting out a long, deep moan as he shot into me, filling me with his cum. 

I felt warm and full, content. He stayed where he was for a couple of minutes, stroking my hair and looking down at me. His eyes held none of his former anger . . . they were back to being those soul-piercing green eyes I'd loved for most of my life. Eventually he pulled back, sliding out of me. His semen flowed out in a rush, like the cork being removed from a bottle. Sam flopped down beside me on his side, propped up on his elbow, still regarding me silently.

"What . . . what are you thinking about?" I asked tentatively. I didn't want to know, but I had to know at the same time. This time it had felt different. Maybe . . . but no, I couldn't let myself hope that things could possibly be okay until I heard it from him.

"I ended things with Jan today," Sam said softly.

"You did?"

"Yeah. I didn't tell her about you and me. I just said there was someone else and it wasn't fair to her. I know her and I weren't really exclusive or anything, but . . . well, it still felt like I cheated. So I couldn't keep dating her."

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. 

"I'm still not," he said with a sigh. "You, uh, still moving out?"

"Do you want me to?" I asked, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. 

He was quiet for a time, then said, "I don't want you to. I'm not okay with how this all went down, and it still hurts that you lied to me, but I do care about you. More than I've ever admitted to you. You've been my best friend since we were kids, and I can't imagine not having you in my life. There's something here and if I'm honest, there always has been."

"But we had the boundaries up?" I offered.

"Uh huh. I guess if you hadn't pushed, they would have stayed up. I have no idea what's next, though, Vix."

"We build new ones?" I suggested. 

He looked down at me and smiled. Something in his eyes and voice made me think that everything was going to be okay. With time. "That sounds like a really good place to start." He kissed me again, this time gently, tenderly.

It would take awhile to rebuild things between us, but I knew we could do it. It was important. We were important. And now I knew he felt the same.

*****

Author's Note: This one goes out to my friend M. She's always been one of my biggest supporters. I probably would have stopped after four stories, if not for her enthusiastic fangirling. I hope she likes the improved version of this story. Also to L. and K., two of my favorite Literotica authors. I took a lot of inspiration from the two of you for this one.