It was a quiet Friday evening. Ryan thought he had the house to himself. 

His wife, Sarah, was away for the weekend with some friends from college. Wine tastings, a yoga workshop, and three days of girl time. He hadn’t expected another living soul until Sunday evening, which is why he was sprawled across the couch, clothes discarded on the floor, laptop on the edge of the coffee table. 

Sarah had left earlier that day, her cheerful wave from the car still lingering in the back of his mind. He’d kissed her goodbye at the door, suggesting he’d “probably order takeout and enjoy a little ‘me’ time,” which was technically true. 

Ryan had the lights dimmed. He stretched out on the couch and pressed the ‘play’ icon in his laptop. The room was quiet except for the low, rhythmic moans playing through his earbuds. 

He wrapped a hand around himself as he watched one woman on screen arch beneath another woman’s touch. He closed his eyes, and for a brief moment, Sarah’s face flickered in his mind. There was an uncanny resemblance between her and one of the two scarlets on the screen. 

Ryan and Sarah had been together for seven years, married for five. No kids. No distractions. Just two adults who’d built something steady and comfortable, maybe too comfortable. Sarah was beautiful. Her long, dark brown hair tumbled over her shoulders and complemented her thin, athletic body, the combination turning heads wherever she went. But she was so much more. She was smart, capable, and grounded.

But Sarah was also careful, conservative. The kind of woman who kept her pleasures private and her imagination guarded. Their sex life was good enough when it happened, but it had become predictable, safe, squeezed in between work deadlines, projects around the house, and polite conversations over dinner. Vanilla, but kind. That kindness was, in a way, part of the problem.

Porn had begun as a quiet distraction. Over time, it had turned into something more. A glimpse into desires he’d never found the words to voice. It wasn’t because he feared Sarah’s judgment. It was because he could already picture the careful, polite smile she’d offer. The smile that said she’d listen but wouldn’t really want to play along. 

He opened his eyes again and turned his attention back to the laptop. He let himself sink into the couch, his hand moving in a steady, familiar rhythm. 

On the screen, the scene unfolded like muscle memory: two women tangled together, building toward the moment he knew by heart. He’d watched this clip several times previously. His cock twitched with anticipation, knowing that any moment, a man would appear on screen, setting the stage for one of Ryan’s favorite fantasies. So many perfect fantasies. None of which he could picture Sarah ever choosing to watch with him, let alone live out.

He was lost, so deep in the moment that the voice felt like a gunshot. 

“Wow.”

Ryan's blood ran cold. 

He yanked out one earbud and whipped his head up from the laptop. 

There, standing by the kitchen island with a reusable shopping bag in one hand and a raised eyebrow on her face, was Emily, Sarah’s best friend. 

Emily looked stunning wearing a light blue sundress that clung to her in all the right places. The thin straps bared her shoulders and the hem brushed mid-thigh, swaying slightly as she shifted her weight. The fabric was thin enough that, in the kitchen’s soft light, it hinted at more than it concealed.

Emily didn’t look away. She didn’t blush or stammer. She just smirked. 

"I came to drop off Sarah’s jacket," she said casually, holding up the bag and stepping further inside. "Didn't expect to walk in on this."

Ryan fumbled, nearly knocking the laptop off the coffee table as he grabbed his shirt from the floor and attempted to cover himself. 

"Jesus, Em. What the fuck... how did you…"

She held up a key. Sarah must have given it to her. 

"I knocked. But clearly you were clearly, um, busy. When nobody answered, I assumed you were out and used this." Her voice was light, but there was a tilt to her head, a curiosity Ryan couldn't miss.

Ryan could feel his pulse hammering.

Emily didn’t move. There was something about the way she stood there, taking in the scene, processing it. 

"I should probably leave," she suggested. But she made no move toward the door.

Ryan swallowed hard, heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it. "Yeah. That’d probably be best."

Emily set the bag containing Sarah’s jacket on the kitchen island. Instead of turning and walking out, she slowly moved in Ryan’s direction. As she came around the coffee table, her eyes flicked to the laptop, still cracked open, video paused. 

“So...” she said, mischief lacing every syllable. "What are we watching?"

Ryan’s mouth went dry. His mind screamed at him to shut this down, to grab the rest of his clothes and retreat into the bedroom, to do anything but sit here, frozen.

But he didn’t move.

Emily didn’t ask for permission. She slid onto the couch beside him, closer than necessary, her thigh brushing his leg. His body jolted up at the contact.

With unhurried fingers, she shifted the laptop so she could see the screen. She then reached out and tapped the spacebar. The video resumed and Emily proceeded to adjust the audio settings. Wet, breathy sounds started coming out of the computer’s built-in speakers. 

Onscreen, a woman with long dark hair and a slim, toned frame knelt between the thighs of a bustier blonde whose build - petite with curves that demanded attention - reminded Emily of herself. The dark-haired woman’s mouth moved hungrily, her tongue sliding deep, her hands gripping the blonde’s hips to hold her in place.

For Ryan, time seemed to stop. 

Emily watched for what felt like several long minutes. Eventually, she nodded toward the blonde on the screen, eyes glinting. “Tell me I’m imagining it… does she look a hell of a lot like me?” Her gaze lingered for a beat before shifting to the dark-haired woman between the blonde’s thighs. “And her. God, she could pass for Sarah. Well, if Sarah were the kind of woman who’d ever do something like that,” she chuckled to herself.

Her eyes stayed on the laptop for a long moment before moving back to Ryan. Emily’s smirk deepened, slow and wicked. “Still. The similarity…” She let out a sharp, shaky breath. “Fuck.” 

A moment later, the camera panned out, drawing Emily’s attention back to the screen. Off to the side, a man stood watching, stroking himself in slow, deliberate pulls. His hair was short and messy, his shoulders broad, his stomach lean. The camera caught him from just the right angle to make the resemblance to Ryan’s own body hard to ignore, right down to the impressive length and girth of the cock she saw when she walked in on Ryan moments earlier.

The dark-haired woman lifted her head from between the blonde’s thighs, lips and chin glistening, and looked up at the man. “It’s time,” she said, breathless. He stepped forward. The dark-haired woman shifted and repositioned herself, straddling the blonde’s face. 

Emily held her breath as the man positioned himself between the blonde’s legs. He slowly guided himself in, the thick head pushing slowly into slick heat. The blonde moaned against the other woman’s pussy, her hips rolling as the man filled her inch by inch.

Emily’s lips curved into the faintest smile. Her lips were slightly parted. Her chest rose and fell a little too fast. She was pretending to be calm, but he saw it, the tiny tremble in her fingers, the catch in her breath. Her left hand had slowly drifted to her thigh, fingers tracing slow, teasing patterns just beneath the hem of her dress. With the deliberate grace of someone who knew exactly what she was doing, she shifted on the couch, folding one leg up onto the cushion, her dress sliding dangerously high along her thigh.

Without looking away from the screen, Emily exclaimed, not quite to Ryan, not quite to herself. “God… I am so wet right now.” Her voice was low, almost thoughtful, like she was simply reporting a fact. The unevenness of her breath, however, betrayed just how turned on she was.

Ryan couldn't breathe.

Finally, her gaze broke from the video and she looked at Ryan again, her eyes eventually dropping to the bunched-up shirt in his lap. It was doing a poor job of hiding the outline of his shaft - thick, rigid, and straining against the fabric. There was a look in his eyes that suggested he was fighting the urge to toss the shirt aside and start stroking himself again, right there in front of her.

Her eyes lingered there, and a sly smile tugged at her lips. “That’s a really nice cock. And that shirt isn’t doing much to hide it.” She let the silence stretch for a beat, her gaze never leaving him. “Tell you what…” She paused, as if daring herself to continue. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding. This is insane,” he muttered.

Emily’s smile was slow, wicked. "Perhaps," she agreed. 

Her gaze shifted between him and the screen, part of her watching Ryan to see his next move, part of her clearly imagining herself in the place of the woman on the screen, taking every hard thrust. With a calmness that made it even more sinister, Emily trailed her fingers up her bare thigh, circling lazily. She brushed the hem of her dress higher still, revealing white lace.

Ryan swallowed hard, his mouth dry. Every muscle in his body was screaming and his mind was grappling with multiple conflicting emotions - tension, need, guilt - but he couldn’t tear his eyes away as her hand continued to move, her fingers pressing against the damp fabric between her legs.

Emily was lost in the moment as she began to move her fingers in slow, tantalizing circles. Small delicate movements. To Ryan, it was absolutely devastating. Her other hand rested casually on the back of the couch, her body leaning towards him in silent invitation.

Ryan gripped the edge of the cushion beneath him, knuckles whitening. His whole world was spinning now. He wanted to bolt. He wanted to give in. He wanted to do a hundred things all at once, some responsible, most varying degrees of reckless.

"This is insane,” he muttered again.“ But his body betrayed him, leaning closer, not away.

Emily tilted her head toward him, finally meeting his gaze. Her pupils were wide, her lips parted. "Yeah, you’ve mentioned that," she whispered, her fingers never slowing. "But yet you're still here."

Ryan could hear his heart pounding. He knew this was wrong. He knew that if he crossed this line… He couldn’t think straight. He could barely breathe. But the truth was simpler, darker, and far more powerful: He did not want this to stop.  

Emily shifted even closer. She tilted her head, her eyes fluttering, daring him.

He hesitated. A heartbeat. Another. He clenched his jaw, torn between loyalty and the need hammering through his veins. Sarah was smart, beautiful, and the woman he’d promised his life to. He loved her. God, he did. 

But only inches away was Emily, Sarah’s best friend, leaning close enough for him to feel the warmth coming off her body, her thin sundress brushing lightly against his knee. She radiated a kind of sexuality Sarah had never possessed, a raw, unfiltered magnetism that felt dangerous and was impossible to ignore. Every tilt of her head, every slow drag of her gaze over him was deliberate, calculated to strip away the last of his resistance.

“This is wrong, Emily,” he rasped, but his voice was thick with heat as he teetered on the edge of giving in to every inhibition he’d ever managed to keep in check. For another moment, he held on, fighting the pull. Then he let go

The decision was small in motion but seismic in meaning, a silent admission that he wasn’t going to stop this. His fingers loosened, letting the bunched shirt slide from his lap. The moment it fell away, his cock sprang free, hard and flushed, slapping up against his stomach with a heavy, eager thud.

"God," she whispered, “Sarah's a lucky woman.”

Silence stretched between them. Ryan couldn’t take it anymore. His hand dropped to his lap, fingers wrapping around himself, slow and tentative. He exhaled a shaky breath, the first stroke making his body jolt.

Her attention was no longer on the video. It was entirely on him. Emily’s gaze dropped to his erection, the slick sheen of precum already visible at the tip. When her eyes lifted back to his, there was no hesitation. There was no hiding. There was just raw hunger.

“That is so fucking hot,” she murmured, her hand drifting beneath the hem of her dress. She pushed it up above her waist without breaking eye contact, hooked a finger under the side of her panties, and slid the delicate fabric to the side. One finger slipped inside her, then a second, her breath hitching as she began to move them slowly in and out. She touched herself without shame, her breath quickening, her thighs parting wider, the couch creaking softly beneath their shifting bodies.

Ryan's heart pounded as he pumped himself steadily, his fist tight, matching the rhythm of Emily’s fingers. The only sounds were the wet, obscene noises from the laptop. And the even filthier ones they were making themselves.

Suddenly, Emily stopped and leaned in, close enough that he felt the warm whisper of her breath against his jaw. For a heartbeat, something shifted in her eyes, a flicker of awareness slicing through the haze. Her smirk wavered, just enough to remind both of them this wasn’t a game.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re married,” she stated, like the words themselves were dangerous. “And Sarah…” She stopped. The name hung between them like a loaded gun. “Sarah is my best friend.”

Emily’s pupils were wide, her chest rising and falling fast. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, the words trembling between guilt and want. Her gaze flicked down to his hand wrapped around himself, her fingers slick and buried between her thighs.

A soft, uneven sigh slipped from her mouth. “But…” Her voice faltered, almost breaking. “What if we just take care of ourselves. No touching. Just… this.” She let out a shaky laugh, the kind people make when they’re trying to convince themselves. “That’s not really cheating… Right?”

The question hung in the air, fragile and reckless. She hesitated just long enough to make it clear she knew exactly what she was doing. Then the smirk returned.

She leaned closer, lips grazing the air near his ear. “Let’s see,” she whispered, voice thick and unsteady with need, “who can make themselves cum first?”

Ryan didn’t speak. His pulse thundered in his throat, hot and relentless. For a moment, his gaze flicked toward the door, like some last thread of restraint might pull him back. It didn’t.

Instead, something in him snapped. Quiet. Decisive. He reached out and pushed Emily back onto the couch. The soft thud of her body sinking into the cushions filled the room. She let out a breathless laugh and her eyes lit up with something dark and eager. Her legs opened, her dress riding higher as if her body had been waiting for this.

He hovered above her, breath harsh against her cheek, the heat between them thick and unspoken. Her eyes searched his, daring him to keep going.

Ryan slid his hand down, fingers wrapping around the thick heat of himself. For a moment, he just held it there, letting the pressure build. Then he spat into his palm. The wet smack of it split the silence, obscene and perfect at the same time. He smeared it along his length, slow at first, coating himself until it glistened under the dim light.

Then he started to move. Long, wet strokes. Greedy. Unapologetic. Each pass of his hand made a slick sound that filled the room, syncing with the shallow rise and fall of her breathing. His hips flexed into his grip, like his body already knew what it wanted, like it didn’t need permission anymore.

He wasn’t imagining anymore. He was right here with her, fully committed. They were doing this.

Across from him, Emily moaned, low and broken. Her fingers moved faster, desperate now, her hips rising greedily to meet her own touch. Every gasp she gave, every tiny whimper, pulled him deeper under her spell.

"You like this," she whispered. A statement, not a question. Her eyes slowly opened and her attention was now completely focused on his rock-hard cock. "Watching me... touching myself, for you."

"Yeah," Ryan choked out, the word torn from his throat.

Emily's hand moved faster between her thighs. Her whole body trembled now, sweat beading along the line of her neck.

Then, without warning, she stopped.

The next thing Ryan knew, she was standing in front of him, breathing hard. 

She didn’t break eye contact as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and drew them down, one smooth motion, letting them fall silently to the floor. 

Her dress immediately followed, slipping off her shoulders with a careless tug. It fluttered to the floor, forgotten, leaving her completely naked.

For a long moment, she stood there, her perfect breasts rising with shallow breaths, nipples hard, legs parted just enough to offer a glimpse of the slickness between them.

Ryan sat frozen on the couch, stunned silent by the sight of her.

Without a word, Emily dropped back onto the couch. She parted her knees even wider, one hand sliding down her stomach, tracing invisible circles as it moved, until it eventually settled between her thighs.

Ryan swallowed hard. His hand was now resting on his twitching member, aching to move but paralyzed by the sheer weight of what he was witnessing.

Emily’s fingers found herself again, a slow, gliding movement that made her hips jerk and a soft, breathy moan escape from her lips. 

Her moans grew sharper, higher, trembling on the edge of breaking, as both of her hands now worked in unison. Her body writhed against the couch, hips shifting, chasing something wild and inevitable. 

The sounds coming from her mouth - small, gasping, beautiful - cracked Ryan open more thoroughly than anything he’d ever watched on a screen.

"Keep touching yourself," she whispered, voice cracking around the edges of a sob, bringing him back into the moment. 

Ryan obeyed without thought, his hand wrapping around himself again with frantic, aching need. He stroked harder now, matching the frantic rhythm of her movements.

Emily’s head rolled to the side, her eyes meeting his through half-lowered lashes. “I’m so close,” she whimpered, voice cracking with need. “Don’t stop stroking that gorgeous cock. Don’t stop watching me. And don’t stop fantasizing that you are fucking me right now.”

And then she gasped, sharp and sudden, her back arching, her fingers moving faster, deeper. 

Her whole body tensed, coiled like a spring. And then it broke. Her climax hit hard and fast. A choked moan tore from her throat as her hips bucked wildly. 

And then... Wet. A sudden gush against her fingers, soaking her thighs and the couch beneath her.

Ryan’s eyes went wide.

But she didn’t stop. Her fingers kept circling through it, riding every last pulse of the release, her mouth open in stunned ecstasy, her body shivering in waves. 

When it finally passed, Emily collapsed back into the couch, chest heaving, skin flushed, legs still twitching from aftershocks. She looked down between her thighs, then up at Ryan with a breathless grin.

“Well,” she said with a laugh, “I guess I really needed that.” 

She reached down, gently touched the mess between her legs, and brought her fingers up to her lips, tasting herself while never breaking eye contact.

Ryan groaned, hard and low. And she smiled wider.

Emily continued to tremble, gasping through the aftershocks, her skin slick, her body utterly spent but still so heartbreakingly alive. 

“Your turn,” she whispered, as she dipped her fingers between her slick thighs and again slipped them into her mouth, sucking them clean with a low, satisfied moan.

She gazed at him with a lazy, smoldering hunger, as if to remind him that they weren’t finished.

"I want to see you cum," she murmured, her voice thick with need. "No,” she said, correcting herself. “I want to feel your hot cum on me."

Ryan’s grip tightened instinctively. Her tone, so calm, yet so commanding, sent a fresh bolt of heat through him.

Emily pushed herself up onto her elbows, eyes devouring every stroke of his hand. 

"Don’t hold back," she whispered. "Let it build. Give it all to me." 

She reached up, dragging her fingertips over her still-hard nipples, across her stomach, and down the inside of her thighs. Teasing him, inviting him, guiding him closer to the edge.

“Do it. Cum for me. Cum on me, Ryan. Cover me,” she commanded, her voice low and breathless. 

That did it. With a strangled groan, he stroked himself faster, hips jerking, pleasure blinding as his orgasm tore through him. 

Ryan surged to his knees on the edge of the couch, his body bucking forward. Hot, desperate spurts of cum erupted from him, splattering across her breasts and her stomach.

Emily moaned softly as the first splash of heat struck her skin, her eyes fluttering shut. When he finally finished, she looked down in awe. With a lazy, sensual motion, she slid her hand through the mess, spreading it slowly over her body, savoring the sensation.

Ryan fell back and slumped into the far end of the couch, hand still loosely resting on his spent cock, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven bursts. 

The room was otherwise silent, the only sounds coming from the laptop, breathless cries as both women on the screen came in unison.

Before he could find his voice, Emily reached down, grabbed the discarded shirt, and casually wiped herself clean. She then casually slipped into her dress, gathered her shoes, and crossed the room as if nothing had happened. 

At the doorway, she paused, turning back toward him as if she was going to say something. Instead, she simply smiled and gave him a final, devastating wink. 

Then she disappeared through the back door.