The Games We Play

I chuckled and continued my poking around, finding a green pepper and
a couple of onions, which I juggled in the air as I straightened and
winked at her. "I've tasted John's cooking. So, you eat out a lot,
huh?"

More delicious laughter. No doubt about it, I was completely addicted
to that laugh; I would do anything to keep it coming.

"You know what I'd reallyyyy love to do?" I asked, popping my head in
the freezer, spying, to my joy, a two pound bag of frozen shrimp.

"Hmmmmm?" Even though I couldn't see her with my head stuck in the
freezer, I could practically hear her eyebrow raising playfully.

"I would soooo love to cook us a nice big pot of shrimp gumbo." I
pulled the bag of shrimp out of the freezer and plopped it onto the
counter. "You know how much I love to cook, and it's not everyday that
I have such a lovely victi... er... audience to cook for."

"Oh Mark... goddddd... That sounds soooo yummy! I told you I haven't
had a decent gumbo since I left Lousiana, and I would LOVE to taste
your cooking. But there's no wayyy I want to put you to work on the
first night you're here. Let me take you out, let someone else do the
cooking. Or we can just order a pizza and kick back here...?"

"I can whip it up in a flash, and cooking always relaxes me. I have
everything I need right here; we won't even have to go to the store.
Plus," I continued, when she didn't relent right away, "it's a one pot
meal... well, two, if you count the rice. There won't even be many
dishes! Please please pleeeease let me cook for you?" I flashed her my
best puppy dog expression, which made her laugh and raise her hands in
mock surrender.

She opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses while I got to work
on the gumbo, chopping up the vegetables and then starting on the
roux. Cooking has long been a passion of mine, and the prospect of
seeing the pleasure on her face as she tasted one of my favorite
dishes to make, and one that I knew she would absolutely LOVE, was
incredibly exciting. As I busied around the kitchen, feeling her
smiling eyes watching every move intently, we chatted as we always
have, like we've been doing it our whole lives; sipping our wine,
laughing, sharing, just completely at ease in each other's presence.
Before I knew it, we were seated at the table with steaming pots of
gumbo and rice in front of us, accompanied by a freshly opened bottle
of wine and a loaf of french bread.

My eyes locked on her face as she raised the first spoonful to her
mouth, and my heart raced as she let out a yummy little moan, a look
of pure bliss crossing her face. "Oh my GOD! MARK! This is absolutely
DELICIOUS!" After a few more spoonfuls, I could tell she was totally
serious when she said, "This is by far the best gumbo I've ever had...
it's like an orgasm in my mouth!"

I just blushed, beaming, and started to shovel gumbo into my mouth to
disguise the fact that my heart was threatening to pound its way out
of my chest. The look of pleasure on her face was absolutely
breathtaking, and caused my cock to once again swell and thicken
inside my boxers.

We eached finished off several bowlfuls of gumbo and completely
polished off the wine, chatting about whatever came into our heads. I
asked her to tell me how she and John had met. I had heard the story
before from him, of course, but I wanted to hear it from her, partly
to keep the neon "OFF-LIMITS" sign on her forehead flashing brightly.
I think she understood exactly why I shifted the conversation to John,
and I could see her make a conscious effort to bring their love to the
forefront of her mind. I knew she didn't want to hurt him any more
than I did.

"Oh, he came into the office one day, looking to fly his parents down
for a visit." (She was a travel agent, and loved her job, the ease and
routine of it.) "He was funny, and charming, and sweet, and... well,
you know, he was John." I laughed, nodding. "We hit it off
immediately, and I could tell he was trying to gather up the courage
to ask me out, but... well... he chickened out. But the next time he
came in, he finally just blurted it out: 'would you like to go to, um,
dinner sometime?' It was adorable." More musical laughter. "So, well,
we went out, then went out again, yadda yadda yadda. We got married in
Vegas six weeks later."

I shook my head playfully, grinning. "You crazy kids!"

Her story, brief though it was, had the effect that I was looking for,
and I could feel my resolve once again strengthen, and I could hear a
wee voice in my head chanting, mantra-like: "your best friend's
wife... your best friend's wife..."

I tried to help with the dishes, but she was having none of that. "No
sir. You march right into the living room and park that cute butt of
yours on the sofa. Go on, scoot!" she barked, swatting my ass. As I
marched in compliance with her direct order, she called out after me,
a twinkle in her voice "Oh... Food Network is channel 69, Cartoon
Network is channel 99." I just shook my head and laughed. She knew me
all too well.

I collapsed onto the sofa, pretending to channel surf, but really
listening to the sounds emanating from the kitchen, letting my mind
wander. When she finished slicking up the dishes, she bounced in and
plopped onto the sofa next to me, on my right. I tried, with limited
success, to ignore the fact that her sundress was riding up a little,
offering a tantalizing view of her silky thighs. I wondered, not for
the first time, what she had on under the dress. "So, ummm, wanna
watch a DVD or somethin?" God, she was adorable.

"Sure! Got any porn?" I quipped, jokingly, and was startled to see her
blush.

"Well, actually..."

"Mmmmmmmmmmm yummm. But," I sighed dramatically, "I guess we should
stick to something a little tamer. How about Moonstruck?" I knew it
was one of her favorite movies; I had bought her the DVD for her last
birthday. "I love that movie, and it's been years since I've seen it."

She squealed with delight, hopped up to pop it in, then settled back
in next to me. It was a big sofa, but she sat so close that the
outside of her warm thigh pressed lightly in to mine. I could feel the
warmth of her body clearly on my right side, and the sweet scent of
her filled my head, making me dizzy. I nonchalantly (yeah, right)
reached for a thin green velvet throw pillow and quickly plopped in on
my lap, just in time to hide the inevitable bulge that resulted from
such torturous proximity. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her
eyes lock for a long moment on the pillow, narrowing with lust yet
again. I felt like she could see right through the fabric and thin
stuffing of the pillow, through the stretchy fabric of my knit cotton
shorts and boxers, to my rock hard, throbbing cock. I could feel her
eyes caressing the length, the thickness, the head, my loose hanging
balls. I felt her thigh quiver almost imperceptibly before her eyes
returned to the screen, and my heart once again threatened to leap
from my chest. I was utterly amazed at the effect that she had on me,
completely intoxicated by her proximity.

My eyes were pointed at the images appearing on the screen in front of
me, but they didn't make the slightest dent on my conscious mind. My
peripheral vision and my complete attention were both locked on the
delicious creature to my right, all of my senses drinking her in. The
sound of her breathing, the smell of her perfume combined with the
heady underlying scent of HER, the warmth of her thigh pressed to
mine, the teasing view of the top of her breasts as they swelled out
of her gossamer cotton dress... all of it combined to drive me wild,
making me absolutely feverish with lust. My cock had swollen at a
slightly awkward angle, and it was becoming painful as it grew harder
and harder, so I slowly moved my left hand under the pillow and
adjusted it through my shorts, guiding it up along my belly, relieving
the discomfort but not the erection, which continued to beat in time
with my heart. I could feel my pulse clearly along the entire length
of my hardness, and that pulse quickened when I felt her eyes once
again settle on the pillow. Scooting in to lay her head against my
arm, she pressed her thigh to mine more firmly. My cockbeat was
pounding so hard that I was sure that she could see the pillow moving,
vibrating rhythmically. After quick but heated internal debate, I
decided to slip my arm around her, pulling her gently into its crook.
Just a friendly, comfortable gesture, I tried to tell myself, but I
could feel my rational mind rolling its eyes. She settled in, making
delicious little sleepy noises. Before long, I could feel her
breathing become slow and regular.

I'm not sure how, but I knew she wasn't really sleeping, though that
was clearly the impression she was trying to convey. Somehow I could
still feel her gaze locked on the pillow, her mind locked on the
throbbing cock trapped beneath. Her feigned sleep gave my eyes the
freedom to travel freely over her body, which they did hungrily,
ravenously devouring every detail of her, finally settling on her
right hand, which, the moment my eyes locked on it, suddenly moved,
landing on the pillow and pressing down with a steady, gentle
pressure.

I let out a quick involuntary gasp and my hips pressed upwards of
their own accord, increasing the pressure on my cock, which was
twitching like mad. I knew that this was the point where I should
remove her hand, sending a clear but gentle signal that things had
gone far enough, that yes, we both felt the overwhelming hunger, but
we simply could NOT give in. I knew that it was still early enough in
the game that I could end it without hurting anyone; her feelings
wouldn't be bruised, nor her pride, as we both could easily keep up
the pretense that she was sound asleep, and, most importantly, I would
not be betraying my best friend. I willed my hand to move, to gently
but firmly remove hers from the pillow, from my cock pinned beneath.

My hand was not obeying my brain. Her right hand remained still,
giving mine ample time to end the game gracefully, no hard feelings,
no betrayal. But I just couldn't end it. The hunger was too strong,
the desire too overwhelming. If it had just been a matter of lust, I
think my hand would have obeyed my brain's orders. But my hand knew
full well what my brain would not yet admit, that I loved this woman,
loved her with a passion that I had never even imagined was possible.
So, my hand stayed put, and I completed this initial surrender by
willing my breathing to become slow, deep, and regular as well. We
both knew that the other wasn't sleeping; we both knew, as clearly as
if we could read each other's minds, EXACTLY what was going on, but by
each feigning sleep, we were creating a game, a game in which nobody
was responsible for what happened, in which nobody would get hurt.
Just a couple of sleeping bodies, allowing our subconscious desires to
take complete control.

When it became clear that my hand wasn't going to extricate hers, and
when she felt me pretend to fall asleep, she took it for the surrender
that it was, and she immediately began to increase the pressure of her
hand on the thin pillow. Her hand moved in small circular motions,
then, finding the exact location of my shaft bulge, began to slide up
and down the rigid length of it. My hips responded, rhythmically
grinding against the firm stroking pressure. She worked the whole
length of my shaft, pressing into the ridge, stroking from the base
up, rubbing her fingertips firmly on the sensitive V just under my
head, then sliding down again, curling up under my balls, cupping the
cushion up into them, rolling them, pressing them up into my body.

Suddenly, she shoved the pillow aside, and I gasped as I felt her
hand, clutching and squeezing my aching cock through the thin fabric
of my shorts and boxers. She resumed the stroking motion, her four
fingers running parallel to my shaft, pointing towards my pulsating
head, pressing firmly into the underside of my ridge, sliding up and
down the length of the tube rhythmically. My hips were grinding
uncontrollably now, fucking up at her hand as she wrapped her fingers
around the shaft through the fabric, squeezing my cock firmly,
stroking the entire thickness. Her hand then released my cock, slid
down my thigh to the legband of my shorts, then slipped under my
boxers. I groaned loudly and spread my thighs wider as her hot hungry
hand first came in contact with my skin, pressing, sliding up the
inside of my muscular thigh, finding my loose hairy ballsack, cupping
and lifting it, rolling my heavy balls with her fingers.

I cried out loudly as I felt her hand come into direct contact with my
cock for the first time, feeling her fingers wrap tight around the
base of my engorged shaft, squeezing, pulling it, then stroking
firmly, smearing the pre-cum that was oozing out of the tip, coating
my thick shaft with it. I could see her hand sliding steadily through
my shorts, the fingers clearly visible as they caressed my prominent
ridge. After just a few strokes, though, she released me and slid her
hand back out. My heart sank, fearing that she had changed her mind,
but her hand immediately began finding its way to the waistband of my
shorts, gripping and yanking. I lifted my hips to help her, and I was
expecting her to reach for the band of my boxers as well, but she just
slid my shorts down far enough to expose the fly, which she
immediately invaded with her hot searching fingers, grasping my cock
and working it through the opening. This took some doing, as my
engorged shaft refused to bend more than a fraction of an inch.

As my glistening cock finally sprang into view, she shifted on the
couch, sliding her head down my body so she could stare directly at my
cock, but keeping her head pressed against my belly, still keeping up
the pretense of sleep, which we both knew wouldn't, couldn't last much
longer. As she moved her head within inches of my wet hard cock, she
slid her ass away from me on the couch, twisting so that she was lying
on her belly. This made her sundress slide completely up and over her
ass, exposing it in all its perfect sculptural glory, and I gasped as
I finally received an answer to the question that had been in the back
of my mind all day: she was wearing absolutely nothing underneath.

She began to jack me off steadily now, her tight fist sliding up and
down the length of my slippery shaft, setting up a steady, firm
rhythm. My eyes locked on the twin jutting globes of her ass, drinking
in every detail. It was even more perfect than I had imagined,
absolutely breathtaking in its smooth firm ripeness. My eyes traveled
slowly, hungrily down the steep swell of her butt, mentally exploring
the smooth, delicate valley of her spine. My hand twitched, absolutely
aching to reach out and explore this perfect landscape. I knew, with
the certainty of an epiphany, that we had once again come to a
crossroads in the game, and that the next move was mine to make. Our
connection was so absolute at this point that I knew we were both
thinking the exact same thing (if these primal lustful urges could
rightfully be called thinking). If I reached out and actively took
possession of that delectable ass, it would be a signal to both of us,
a final surrender, and the pretense of sleep would be no more. Up to
this point, I had let her call the shots, set the pace, define the
rules of the game. If I touched her now, I would become an active
participant, and the game would end, thrusting us into reality, into
culpability. I knew that the instant my hand came in contact with her
ass, her hungry mouth would immediately descend and engulf my cock in
its warm wetness, devouring me hungrily, sucking my cock furiously
until I erupted, spilling my thick white seed into her hot waiting
mouth. Clearly, if I reached for that beautifully beckoning butt, I
would be consenting, once and for all, to fuck my best friend's wife.

---

Yes, dear reader, this is where you came in. I surrendered completely,
of course, and almost immediately, my firm, unwavering resolve to
NEVER betray my friend crumbling like so much chalk. My hand hungrily
reached for her tight right ass cheek, sliding over its silky
roundness until my fingers found the spot where it met the back of her
thigh and pressed, curling, clutching, squeezing the delicious mound
of flesh with a loud, groaning sigh, finally making deliberate contact
with the object of my lust, my love. Her hand slid down to grip my
shaft at the base and her mouth, as I knew it would, immediately dove
toward my pulsating cock, emitting the aforementioned groan, when, you
guessed it, the aforementioned FUCKING PHONE RANG!

She immediately bolted up, panic-stricken, yanked my shorts back over
my wet throbbing cock (which still jutted through the fly of my
boxers), and ran to the phone, smoothing her dress back down over her
ass. She stood by the counter, trying to catch her breath, as it rang
a third, then a fourth time, then she yanked the receiver to her hear
and stammered "H...Hello?"

Of course, we both knew who it was, and we both knew that the game was
over, ending in a stalemate. She regained her composure remarkably
quickly, whispering calmly into the phone with that silky smooth voice
of hers. "Yes, baby, I know I'm out of breath. The phone woke me from
a yummy lil nappy. We were watching Moonstruck and we both fell
asleep. Mark's still out cold; the phone didn't even wake him." This
last was mostly for my benefit, signalling once and for all that the
game was indeed over, and that I should keep up the pretense of sleep
so that we could end it gracefully. I "sleepily" reached for the
pillow and pulled it back over my cock, signalling my compliance, then
once again settled back into my "sleep."

"Oh baby, you must be exhausted. Are you sure you don't want me to
wait up for you?" So, he was calling to tell her that he was going to
be even later than he thought, that she shouldn't wait up. Sweet,
sweet John. My stomach tightened like a fist, and my right hand felt
hot where it had touched her, like it was glowing. Is that what they
mean by "caught red handed?"

"Okay, love. Please be safe driving home. I can hear how tired you
are. I love you, too. Night night baby."

As the phone clicked back into the cradle, she stood by the counter
for a long time. I knew her thoughts were probably mirroring mine, a
confusing mixture of shame, guilt, arousal, excitement, and hunger,
combined with the overwhelming certainty that the game would go no
further tonight.

After what seemed like an eternity, she walked back over to the sofa
and placed her hand lightly on my shoulder, squeezing tenderly. "Mark,
sweetie, why don't you go on up to bed? I'm going to shut everything
down and head up myself in a few minutes." As I pretended to wake up,
she smiled at my "sleepy" face, a sweet heartfelt smile, but one that
had a secondary message underneath it: "we'll figure this thing out,
but... not tonight." She then zipped into the kitchen, no doubt to
allow me to make my exit gracefully, without having to hide my
"condition." As I stood, I realised that said "condition" was made
even more prominent by the fact that it still protruded through the
fly of my boxers, trapped between them and my shorts. I adjusted
matters, then made my way upstairs, calling out sleepily "G'night,
Claire. Sleep well."

"Night night Mark, you too!" Her voice was bright, cheerful, perfectly
composed.

As I closed the guestroom door behind me, I stood for a while,
thinking. No, not really thinking, it was more like zoning. My mind,
weary from all the spinning I had subjected it to all day, was numb,
blank. After a few minutes of this, I realized that zoning in bed was
probably preferable to zoning in the doorway like a statue, so I
stripped off my minimal attire, stripped the bed of its blanket (it
was definitely a night for just a sheet), and collapsed back on the
bed, pulling the deliciously cool sheet up to my waist.