She talked me into it! - Sex Stories

She talked me into it!

... dry. I couldn't look away. Adrenaline hit me like a slap in the face.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

"Now do you believe me?"

I wanted to say no, wanted to keep the lie alive, but my eyes were fixed on that shape. I'd seen plenty of cocks in my life—Brandon's, a few others. But,this one looked big. Really big. My hand went to my chest without thinking. I tried to regain my composure.

"Sarah... I don't... I mean, I'm flattered you told me, but—"

She stepped closer, her thighs brushing my knees. I was still sitting on the sofa. She was standing over me, that bulge at eye level.

"It's okay," she said softly. "You can touch it if you want."

I jerked back. "No! No, Sarah, I'm married. I'm not interested in your—in that. In anything. You're my friend."

"I'm still your friend." She bent down in front of me, her hands resting on my thighs. My terrycloth shorts. "But you're curious. I can see it in your eyes. Don't lie to yourself, Miranda. I've seen how you look at me sometimes."

I tried to push her hands away. "Stop. Please. Don't."

She didn't stop. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shorts, rubbing the soft cotton against my skin. I felt a shiver run through me—part fear, part something I didn't want to name.

"Your body is saying something different," she murmured. "You're breathing faster. Your cheeks are flushed. And down here—" Her hand slid between my legs, pressing against the shorts. I gasped. "You're getting wet, aren't you? I can feel it ...

... through the fabric."

"No. I'm not."

She laughed softly, a dark sound. "Liar." She pressed harder, her palm cupping my mound through the terrycloth. I could feel her warmth, the pressure. I grabbed her wrist.

"Sarah, stop. This isn't right. Brandon—"

"Brandon isn't here," she cut in, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "It's just you and me. And I've wanted this for so long, Miranda. Do you know how many nights I've touched myself thinking about you? About touching you like this?"

She leaned in and kissed my neck, just below my ear. I shivered. Her free hand came up and pulled at the waistband of my shorts, slipping inside. I felt her fingers brush my panties—thin cotton, damp already.

"Please," I whispered.

"Please what? Please stop? Or please don't stop? Be honest with yourself, Miranda. Be honest with me."

I couldn't answer. Her fingers traced the outline of my pussy through the soaked fabric, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning. She felt the moisture.

"You're so wet, Miranda. Your body wants this. Let me show you what it can feel like. Let me make you feel things Brandon never could. You love your husband. Sure. But, wait until you see what I have to offer."

She pulled her hand back. I thought she was giving up. Instead, she gripped the waistband of her own panties—I watched as the fabric slid down—and then I saw it. Her cock sprang free, thick and veiny, the prominent head slick with pre-cum. It was huge. Easily nine - ten inches, maybe ...