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I’m still flabbergasted I can’t believe what I just did!

I put my hand to my mouth and laughed.
“What the hell did you just do, Denise?” I asked out loud to no one but myself.
Looking in the rear view mirror, I saw John watch me pull out of the parking lot, then walk to his own car.
I had just given a friend’s husband a blowjob. I could still taste him. But as flabbergasted as I was at my own behavior, I couldn’t stop smiling.
I always liked John. He was attractive and fun, though I never really thought about him sexually. But something about sitting in that restaurant with him and having him pour his heart out to me about his sexless marriage made me see him differently.
“Your turn next time,” he’d said as he left my car.
I found myself wondering when “next time” might be. I didn’t have to wonder for long.

Two days later, there I was, walking the mile or so to John and Stacey’s. I wanted to drive, to get there faster, but I didn’t want anyone to see my car there.
Wanna do lunch again? read the text message. Come over. I’d love to . . . have you.
I know. Cheesy. But it gave me a chuckle.
I knew that John was very good in the kitchen, as I’d learned from years of potluck dinners. Made me wonder what else he was good at. (Oh Denise, you slut.)
He had a lovely charcuterie set up, along with some lobster bisque he just “whipped up.” (The only thing I ever whipped up was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich). A nice glass of wine completed the meal. The bisque was outstanding, as was the conversation. Just small talk for the most part, but with an air of flirtation behind it.
Stacey was at work. John had taken the day off. When I asked why he’d taken the day, he answered, “For this. For you.”
God, what a sweet thing to say. I felt a tingle. I smiled. Then I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. Tongues were involved.
I whispered in his ear, “I’m ready for dessert.”
“My dear, you are dessert,” he said, then took my hand and led me to the bedroom.
I realized that in the several times I’d been in his house, I’d never seen the bedroom. But I noticed very little of it now. My attention was otherwise engaged.
He pulled me back in for more kisses, and I reached my hand down to his crotch, but he pushed it away.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he said. “I was the recipient last time. It’s your turn.”
He began by kissing my neck and I shuddered with excitement. Or was it the anticipation of what was to come? His hands explored me, his fingers tracing lines across my back and down my sides.
Fuck, when did every part of me become an erogenous zone?
As he undid the buttons of my pale blue, collared shirt, he kissed every newly exposed bit of flesh. Down between my breasts, my stomach, and when at last the final button was undone, he kissed the crease of my hip, then slipped the top off and let it drop to the floor.
He removed his own shirt, then reached around and undid my bra, letting it fall in the growing pile of clothes. He pulled me close in a tight embrace.
“Chests together is nice, don’t you think?”
A whispered “yes” was all I could manage.
He planted kisses on my shoulders and down my front again as his deft hands moved to undo my jeans. He slid his right hand inside and started playing with my cunt, which was becoming wet and warm, while his mouth found my right nipple, gently sucking and nibbling with such tenderness that I think I stopped breathing for a moment. The left got plenty of attention as well.
He slid my pants down and I stepped out of them. I hadn’t worn panties, so I now stood before him fully naked, vulnerable to his glance and his touch.
“You are exquisite,” he sighed. “I always suspected as much.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you like.”
He had me sit on the edge of the bed, then kneeled on the floor in front of me and pushed my knees apart.
I watched as John’s hands and lips and tongue slid over my knees and my thighs, until I had to just close my eyes and enjoy the feeling.
“You taste so good,” he said.
“Tastes even better if you go a little farther up.”
With a little smirk, he accepted the invitation.
As it turned out, his pussy-licking skills were every bit as impressive as his expertise in the kitchen.
The way his tongue circled and flicked my clit made me crazy. He slipped a finger inside me and I moaned as he found my g-spot. Then he added another. His fingers were magical. My husband, Mitchell, is a good lover, but John had a totally different technique that elicited entirely new sensations. And those new sensations soon caused me to buck and grind into his face with abandon. It was a torrent of an orgasm.
He raised his head, licking his lips.
“There’s my dessert,” he chuckled.
I laughed, then let out a little scream.
“What is it?” he asked, “Did I hurt you?”
Shaking my head, I started to laugh and pointed over to a display in the corner. It was one of those tall vases, featuring two peacock feathers. It looked as if two purple-blue eyes were staring at me.
“For a second, I thought we were being watched!”
“Oh, jeez,” he said. “The feathers. I never notice them anymore.”
Then John got a mischievous, dare I say diabolical, look in his eyes. He went over and pulled one of the feathers out and started back to me.
I smiled. “And what do you plan to do with that?”
“Slide up on the bed,” he said. I obeyed, tingling with anticipation. John kneeled next to me.
With the feather, he traced the contours of my body and I welcomed the touch. I closed my eyes and relished the soft tickles across my erect nipples. So soft, so exciting. I couldn’t help twitching a little as it teased my belly button. I was getting even more wet between my legs waiting for that plume to make its way south. I spread my legs a little wider, signaling John as to what I wanted. He’s a smart man and took the hint.
Have you ever had a handsome man tickle your pussy with a peacock feather? I highly recommend you try it. The gentle flicks of the fingerlike appendages brushing my labia and the tip of my clitoris was a feeling that’s hard to describe. Kind of like getting a relaxing spa treatment on a rollercoaster.
I came again.
“Holy shit, John,” I sighed. “That was incredible.”
I took the feather out of his hand and ran it down his chest. “And now I really need you to fuck me.”
He smiled at me, but there was a look of melancholy behind it.
“What is it?”
“Oh, Denise, don’t get me wrong. This is great. Just fantastic.” He let out a breath. “But I miss Stacey. I miss doing this with her.”
“I get it. She’s your love.”
“She is.”
I hugged him. Tight. I tried to think if there was any way I could broach the subject with Stacey without spilling the beans about John and me. John was such a great guy. He deserved a real marriage.
“Thank you so much, Denise. I needed this.”
“You are very welcome. Maybe I did, too.”
“And if it’s OK, I’d still like to make love with you.”
It was more than OK with me.