Deep Longing

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Deep Longing

I’ve been friends with Carmen for years.

Four years, three months, two weeks, and a day to be exact. I know because that’s the day Mark and I got married. His best man, Steve, brought the stunning Carmen with him to our wedding .

They had only just met, but Steve already “dug the fuck out of her.” He blathered through his introduction and every exchange after that. When Carmen went to the bathroom (and every time Steve managed to get Mark or me alone) he asked us what we thought about her, and if we thought she was really into him. Steve was obsessed, and it was easy to see why. I felt the attraction to Carmen, too.

I’ve never been into girls, but I’ve been into Carmen since the second I met her. She licked her lips and, and even though it was my wedding day — I felt a flush in my cunt and wondered what her tongue would feel like slipping inside me. There was a wink, gleam, or a something in her eye. I replayed it many times, wondering exactly what it was I had seen until the first time we finally found ourselves together in bed, away from our men.

Carmen said it was the same for her — she had never been into girls, but had always been into me.

Carmen and I have been fucking for four years, one month, and three days. We only get the chance every so often. It isn’t easy as you might think, and neither of us wants to get caught, each of us with everything to lose when our combined forevers are all so good. Right now things are perfect. We do it when we can, and know it will be amazing. The four of us all wish we lived closer, wished we could get together more often, Carmen and I for different reasons than Mark and Steve.

Tonight’s dinner had been on the calendar for a month. Carmen and I knew before the entrées were set on the table that we’d be going home ahead of the boys. Mark had started talking fantasy football, which meant if the girls left the men to their own devices — which they certainly would — they would probably suggest swinging by Ale Mary’s and catching up with some of the guys after dinner.

Sure enough, that’s exactly what happened.

Carmen and I raced home, squeezing hands at red lights, each of us nibbling on our own bottom lips when lights turned green and we couldn’t nibble each other.

I have a deep longing for Carmen, like nothing else I’ve ever felt. I love my husband, Mark, more than anything in this world. But there’s a depth to sex with Carmen that’s different, somehow deeper, than it is with anything I’ve ever shared with a man.

I don’t want an affair. I don’t want to sneak whispers in e-mails and letters. I don’t want to trade covert I love yous, or my husband to feel like a fool.

But I must feel the way Carmen makes me feel, and know there is no substitute. So we are always careful when allowing ourselves to collide.

We crashed through the door, kissing.

We couldn’t kiss in my building, so our walk through the lobby, standing inside the elevator — with Mrs. Bueller beside us — and down the long hallway to our apartment at the end was absolute torture. But the other side of the door was safe, and that’s where we exploded all over each other.

Carmen’s mouth tasted amazing. We kissed hard. Sweet and wonderful. I pressed my mouth to hers, pushing Carmen’s beautiful body up against the door. Our lips had barely brushed before she spun me around, mashed herself harder to my mouth and pressed me to the door.

My hands were in her hair, her hands were in mine. We both fumbled at the other’s clothes. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and waited for Carmen to kiss me. She pushed her lips and body to my matching set of each. I sighed, moaned, and wanted more. Her hands found the top of my neck, thumbs brushed my ears at their bottoms. I was wet during dinner, wetter on the ride home, and as she kissed me hard inside my apartment, I was a bucket of water in need of her face.

We laughed while kissing, each of us grateful for the evening’s treasure. Our hands found our centers. We were in each other’s panties, turning fingers hard and pushing them into our respective middles, rubbing one another just like we would rub ourselves, fueling excitement between us.

Her hand stayed at my pussy. Mine went to her tits. We managed to kiss harder and softer, longer, lips lingering until Carmen pulled her face from mine, leaving a long thread of spit between us.

I reached out to peel the shirt from her body. Carmen slapped my hand, held it up over my head with her left, then took her right and vigorously rubbed the black denim over my swollen pussy lips.

I let Carmen do what she wanted, hands over my head, crossed at the wrists, held in place as her hands and mouth grew insistent. Still rubbing, she tasted my lips, then ran her tongue across them.

So wet I was achy, I wanted to devour her. Until then I’d sink into her devouring me. Our time is rare, the night a gem. It had been too long, nearly four months, and I’d felt hollow a while.

Carmen curled her palm up against my cunt and pressed hard. Heat poured from my body, and my screams gained urgency. Carmen grew aggressive, spun me to the other side of the room and pushed me up onto the counter, like she was a man and I was her hole.

Carmen is gorgeous but masculine. Feminine in her hair, skin and eyes, loving touch and longing looks, the softness of her kiss, and the creamy folds between her legs, but she’s a man in her insistence, and occasional entitlement, as if I belonged to her, as if I owed her the pleasure of my body, as both giver and receiver.

My hands were all over Carmen’s top, wanting to pull it off. She yanked off mine, raising the black fabric, but keeping it at the top of my face, imprisoning my eyes like she had imprisoned my wrists a few minutes before.

Carmen pressed her body to my naked tits then drew back. I felt her breath as she hovered in front of my blindfolded face, covered by my half-raised shirt. I opened my mouth and waited.

She filled it first with a finger, then with her tongue. And finally, with the full softness of her lips and a kiss. I opened my mouth wider, letting her taste me. She licked my tongue several more times, slow with long laps across it, then clamped her mouth to mine.

Lips danced, tongues swam. It felt warm, wet, and wonderful between us. Carmen giggled as I playfully struggled at my blindfold, then made a long lap at my neck with her tongue. She finished and came up to kiss me again.

I stuck out my tongue, and she met it with hers. We circled our tips for several seconds before Carmen’s was in my mouth and mine was in hers.

We clamped and parted. She ran her fingers down my breasts, fingers pressing into my nipples. My head lulled back, and my parted lips lost their moan.

I needed my shirt off, along with my pants. And I needed Carmen’s face pressed up into my cunt.

I couldn’t wait, but she was enjoying her game too much to change it. Carmen kept me a prisoner in my shirt. Her left thumb pressed into my breast, her mouth on nipple. She licked me until I could take it no longer.

I moaned and pulled my body from Carmen. I had to take what I needed — starting by stripping the shirt from my body. I tore it from my head, threw it to the floor, and met Carmen’s lips with a kiss.

That kiss was the best of the evening so far, slow and passionate. Long, better now for knowing where it was going. Soon we would be naked, and I would have her lips where I needed them. Soon I would touch and taste and have parts of Carmen inside me. Soon I would be back to making more of my favorite memories, the kind that keep me warm when I’m not.

I pawed at Carmen’s body, she pawed at mine.

She licked my nipples everywhere and repeatedly, finding tiny moles all over my body and painting each with her tongue. Carmen looked up at me the entire time, as if she loved my eyes as much as my skin and hair, titties and nipples, the bald pussy I shaved just for her, though Mark will of course think I did it for him.

I leaned back, head to the wall, ass pressed against the entryway counter, palms slapped at either side of my body, small tits swollen, nipples hard and pointing, one in Carmen’s mouth as she pushed her body between my parted legs.

Carmen glanced up, giving me the look I imagine so often, the one that says she’s hungry, the one that gets me wet whenever I need it. Carmen pulled my pants down by their waistband, slithered her hand down my piping-hot skin, and dipped two fingers into my soaking hole. She started stirring like a spoon inside stew.

Carmen churned, and I moaned to her rhythm.

Four months ago, we made love in what was the riskiest liaison so far. We vowed to slow down, be more careful. We had to. The four of us had a camping trip planned. Carmen and I promised one another we wouldn’t even try — too easy to get caught. Fucking in the woods was stupid, and we weren’t goddamned teenagers.

But we couldn’t help it.

Carmen sucked chocolate and marshmallow with intention around the campfire, pretending she was doing it for Steve, but I knew who it was for. That night after Mark and I went into our tent, and they went in theirs, after I took Mark’s warm milk in my mouth (she did the same for Steve) and they were both snoring, we snuck into the forest, got what we wanted, muffling moans under the moon until we were heaving and spent. We stayed half dressed through the encounter.

We didn’t get caught during the camping trip, but it felt close, and had infected my thoughts as I bounced my ass on the counter and Carmen dug into my cunt with her mouth. Part of me wanted to linger, but most of me was frightened that our men might hit Ale Mary’s and find it closed, or maybe with none of their friends hanging around.

That part trembled in worry more than excitement.

Carmen pressed the heel of her hand to my skin and started dragging her fingers along my juicy folds.

I came immediately.

It was soft (hard would come later) but powerful, rippling through my body and rumbling through my lower back. The hand not inside my pants circled her neck; I pushed my body to Carmen as she churned her fingers inside me.

Carmen went from rubbing to thrusting. I came again, harder than the first time. She added a third finger and plunged the trio into my soaking depths over and over in time with my moaning and whimpers.

Carmen couldn’t make it more than a minute without kissing me. When I screamed loudest — because I was cumming hardest — she gripped me hard with her hand, shoved her three digits in me to the knuckle, and lightly rocked as I came all over her fingers, whimpering into her thrusts.

I screamed, grateful for our apartment’s thick walls and doors, grabbed Carmen’s face and pulled her to my lips.

We scrambled, her pressing my body into the counter, naked from the waist up. She was still in her clothes from the restaurant. I had already cum three times, reduced to a puddle who would smile through anything Carmen wanted me to do.

She wanted me to beg.

Once I did, the world would be better.

“Please,” I whimpered.

Carmen looked up at me, smiling.

Please put your mouth on my pussy. I need it. You made me need it.”

Carmen laughed, victory on her lips.

“Say you want me more than Mark.”

I groaned, “I want you more than Mark!”

“Say you need me.”

“I need you.”

“Say… ”

“I’ll say whatever you want,” I cried out, voice cracking. “But please stop teasing me. Please, Carmen, put your mouth on my pussy.”

Without another word Carmen started to slide my pants toward my ankles. Before they passed my pussy she paused, looked between my legs, smiled at my bright-pink and puffy lips, pulsing and hungry, and lightly kissed me on the pelvis, just above my clit, leaving me with her hot breath and a beautiful promise of more.

Carmen stood straight, dragged my pants over my body and ankles, then dropped them on the floor. She smiled at my naked frame and lifted my legs, then tongue extended, buried her face in between them.

Carmen acted like a man, holding my legs high, shoving me against the wall, and proving her dominance while teasing me with all she might do. From eyes to expression, every motion was a taunt.

I reached out, grabbed the bottom of Carmen’s white top, and lifted it, spilling her tits into my apartment. Once naked, it was easier to see that Carmen was suffering the same hunger as me. Her nipples were bright-pink and rock-hard, hungry for my lips and tongue. I gave her my hands first, wondering if it felt as good for Mark when he’s pawing my tits as it does for me when I’m playing with Carmen’s.

We were still barely inside the apartment, a few feet from the door. I wanted to get to the bedroom. If the boys came home we wouldn’t be able to move fast enough once we heard a key hit the lock. I ignored my instinct to drag us both back to my bedroom because Carmen’s lips had filled me with heat. Her mouth all over my pussy was like concrete at my feet.

I was sprawled on the counter, facing the front door, my legs spread wide as Carmen fell to her knees. My right leg was parallel to the counter, my left draped over her shoulder and dangling. I thanked my lithe dancer’s body as she vigorously licked me.

I petted the back of Carmen’s head, sinking deeper into pleasure.

I’ve been with my share of men — all thought they could eat pussy. I’ve been with exactly one woman — all my men put together could never eat pussy like her.

It’s not that men suck at eating women out, it’s that eating pussy is a learned skill most men don’t care to acquire. The secret, which Carmen clearly knew, was reading your partner’s signs. She was attentive, even when eating like a hog at the trough. Carmen is a woman, with a pink pussy of her own, and she treats mine like she wants hers treated. Her first lick is always slow, especially when compared to Mark’s almost obnoxious vigor. She also moans and groans through her oral, showing me that she loves what she’s doing as much as I love that she’s doing it. Best of all, Carmen knows how to make me feel after I cum.

Mark still doesn’t, and I’ve been telling him for years.

Carmen licked and lapped me, nuzzled deep, fucking me sloppily with her tongue, not better than I would get with a dick, but more soulful, somehow deeper in a way that I craved. Her knees were mashed to the tile floor, hands slithered up under my legs, pressed into flesh. I screamed from my wide open mouth, pushing at the back of Carmen’s head to see if she could go even deeper than she was.

She couldn’t, but did wiggle her entire face back and forth, slopping her cheeks and my inner thighs as I fell back on my right hand and used the other to paw at my tits.

I jerked my head back, thinking this can’t get any better. 

Carmen reached up and squeezed my tit harder as she flicked her tongue into my soaking hole, and everywhere around it. She started going slower as I leaned back and fondled my breasts, both at once, pinching my nipples as Carmen came up for air. She looked up from between my lightly trembling legs and showed me her long tongue, hanging out of her mouth, soaked from spit and pussy.

She gently nudged my inner thighs and dragged her tongue from the bottom of my open lips to the bud up top, then repeated the motion many times, until my body started making involuntary lurches, popping my ass up from the counter.

I whimpered for Carmen. She drifted up to my mouth and kissed my lips, dragging her body against me. Hard nipples brushed my flesh, pointing out from her swollen breasts.

Carmen led me from the counter to my feet, and laid a carpet of kisses along my skin, starting from the back, slowly, one long kiss at a time, just long enough for me to feel her mouth’s moisture before moving on.

Carmen feels most like a man when behind me, when she’s almost predatory. Her stance is like a man’s, though everything else is so perfectly female: how she finishes a row of kisses at the small of my back then drags her tongue back to my neck, the way she runs her palm all over my ass cheeks like cloth across a vintage Ferrari as her other hand snakes to my breasts. How her hand at my ass slips underneath and up, finds my slippery folds, then pets them just as she would with her own.

Carmen’s hand stroked me from behind with long sweeps repeated. Her hot breath fogged my ear, other hand in my hair, teasing me with her touch. She moved faster, sliding back and forth in ever-quickening strokes until two fingers slipped inside me. Carmen held me, then started to rock her hand, pushing its heel against my pussy, two fingers inside as she fondled my tits — right arm sweeping around from the other side as I moaned, clenched, and writhed against her hand.

Carmen pushed her body against me from behind. I moaned louder. Then she dragged her naked top down my body on the way to her knees. Her fingers left me. I whined, wriggled, and waited through another too-long and too-painful second before Carmen speared two fingers back into my hole. Then I felt something else, something new, something Carmen had never made me feel before. Something I never thought I would feel because I had never thought about feeling it before. Yet, from the second I did, I knew I would have to again.

If Mark wouldn’t lick my asshole like a good boyfriend, I’d have to see Carmen again sooner than usual.

After she stabbed me over and over, stuffing her tongue past my slippery lips with a delicious squishing, Carmen drifted to my asshole. I was surprised at first — I made a slight yelp and jumped an inch from the floor — then realized what she was doing, relaxed, and let pleasure bloom inside me.

Every time Carmen pushed into my pussy with her tongue, she made a long lap that also dug into my asshole, different from but no less pleasurable than the digging in my cunt.

Carmen French kissed my asshole as she plunged her fingers deeper into my cumhole. My juices dripped and dribbled onto her knuckles and hand.

I came hard, I’ve no idea how many times.

Part of me wanted to tell Mark all about this, wanted him to know, thought that maybe if I shared it with him, we could find it between us. Maybe then I wouldn’t need Carmen.

But that wasn’t possible.

One secret had led to many. Now there was too much to unravel.

The way Carmen was eating my cunt and ass, I could barely think. It was perfect, and I wanted to make Carmen feel as good as she had made me feel, as good as she always made me feel. I wanted to make her feel better than she had ever felt before, better than anyone else ever could. I wanted Carmen to ache for me, starting the second she left.

I begged Carmen for her mouth. She gave it to me, still turning from behind while cupping my breasts. I gave her more of my mouth, craning my neck into mutual pleasure.

Carmen pushed herself harder against me, putting her lips and hands all over my body. As much as I loved the feel of her warm tits at my naked back, it was too much. I turned and took control, grabbing Carmen and spinning to face her. I kissed her hard, now on top and pushing my face into hers, tasting her as she had tasted me, pawing her body and squeezing her tits, both at once, my fingers tugging at her nipples before sliding down her middle, my tongue dragging her skin on the way.

I had never been hungrier for pussy. I was anticipating her sight and scent, the noise we would make when I licked her, and the one we would make after I’d slipped my fingers inside. I anticipated the feel of Carmen’s juice on my skin, face, and tongue.

I fell to my knees and tugged at her pants. My tongue went to her center. Carmen’s arms flailed behind her, palms landing with a loud slap on the counter. I reached up, grabbed her left tit, and squeezed it hard with my right hand, hoping it hurt in a good way. Carmen grunted, not like a lady.

I clamped my mouth tighter, sucking her harder. Carmen set her hands over mine, pressed them into her skin, then, as if that drew too much attention away from her pussy, returned to the table and ground her hips harder against my mouth.

I flicked my tongue, brushing her lips, darting into the opening, then withdrawing to do it again. She shook, rattled, trembled around my mouth. Shoulders thrashed, whimpers tore through her body.

The harder Carmen screamed, the harder I clamped and suckled. I felt her cum — thighs trembling like autumn leaves on either side of my head — and my face was suddenly soppy.

Sticky, I raised my eyes to her. She looked radiant: falling down from a hard orgasm, laughing. Carmen whispered, “Thank you,” from behind her frayed breath, then climbed back on the counter with one leg up — knee high and foot flat — the other dangling over the side.

She clamped her hand on my head and grunted, “I need it.”

I dove into Carmen, nose landing at the spot where her leg met her yummiest part and tongue hitting her oven-hot clit. Tongue met cunt. I slipped a finger inside her and started to plunge.

I matched thrusts and flicks between finger and tongue. Carmen heaved and moaned, sucking her own fingers because she had nothing else to suck on. I wondered if she thought of my pussy, Steve’s cock, or someone else entirely.

I felt a sudden flush of shame as I ate Carmen harder, thinking about what I knew that she didn’t. She mashed her pussy against my face as I added another finger, straightened both, and miraculously managed to speed my thrusting while pinching her tits. Carmen came on my face, at least as many times as I had just come on hers, screaming louder, breathing even more raggedly, her hand more insistent at the back of my head, pushing my face deeper into her.

She practically yanked me up, desperate for my mouth, and slapped at my hand to make sure my fingers stayed where they belonged.

We kissed hard as my fingers sloshed inside her and I curled them into her sweetest spot. Her whimpers tightened, rang closer together. She smashed herself against my hand, lifting up from the counter and making tiny circles with her cunt around my fingers. She grabbed my wrist, guided my hand, and stirred my intensity, wrapping her arms around my neck, urging me to take over, surrendering into a long moan, like a whistle of air leaving a balloon.

I rubbed Carmen as she continued to cum, softening my strokes as she fell. Our scent was everywhere. I wondered if I should worry.

Her body trembled with aftershocks as she made a few more bucks against my hand. We started to kiss.

We had crashed through the first of our orgasms. We could light candles and move things around, bury the evidence of our beautiful union, open a bottle of wine and maybe do it again before our men came home, softer the second time, less in a hurry.

I told myself to stop thinking of Steve. I never felt guilty for Carmen because it was chemical, it just was. And because she was a woman, it wasn’t really cheating on Mark.

But with Steve I feel like I am to blame.

It only happened that once, and I know it will never happen again — I will never ever let it — but I was the one who let it.

Because I felt guilty.

When he said, “I think Carmen might be seeing someone else,” I knew what had to be done to keep him from digging.

Now I have secrets from everyone.

the end

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