She's Just a Friend

She smirks, and whispers. "You're telling that to the girl you were fingering, huh?"

I shudder for goosebumps, then slide my middle finger into my mouth too, if not for the remnants of her nectar then for the warm saliva she left there.

"You're dirty." Amber raises her eyebrows at me, then gets to her feet and thrusts the hand that was at my crotch into the air. "Miss. I need to use the bathroom." When she gets the nod of approval, she leans down so that her hair falls in my lap. She talks low. "Ruben, if you want to, stay here and when I'm back I'll comfort you just as a friend. I love being your friend. Or... you could follow me. Your choice."

"Amber—"

She leaves me there, in my seat, with my cock pressing tight against my trousers. The class looks bored as ever, as does the teacher, as does the documentary narrator. My hands are slick with sweat, and one is slick with saliva. That girl is guilty, the one leaving the class now and catching my eye on the way out. Again, that old fashioned film flicking through my mind: Ella, in bed sulking, whose love kept my tank full in the coldest and worst of days, Ella with Amber's face, Amber whose touch and warmth and wetness was more exhilarating than words can do justice. I see her little smile in my mind, and the sour words made sweet with her lips; I think you should tell me how much you love your little girlfriend. Tell me that, while you grope me in plain sight.

My chair scrapes the floorboards as I rise and cross the class. I am hunched, hardly able to walk for my painfully restricted arousal and the feeling that my legs may give out at any moment; rarely do I experience that feeling I might collapse even after my climax, but now it is here in full force. That walk across the classroom, it takes longer than one could put to words, and there is a finality to that walk, a knowledge that what's ahead will change me. It is as though I am walking out onto the motorway, right into the jaws of an oncoming semi-truck.

I have hardly stepped into the corridor when Amber, waiting, grabs my collar and bundles me into the wall. Her breath is all over my neck and mouth as she presses her body right up against mine, her eyes alight. Her breasts, whose feel I recall as though I am groping them now, are tight against my chest as she grinds her body right up against me, her hands linked at the back of my neck. In the embrace, one of my legs is between her legs; I can feel a dampness under her skirt. She must be able to feel my cock pressed against her middle.

"Is this comforting?"

I give a shaky laugh. I can smell hot chocolate on her breath, she is so close. I nod.

"What about Ella?"

"I want you."

"Yeah?" Her teasing act breaks with an involuntary smile, and she edges her face closer. "This is a very public corridor. What if one of our friends—"

I press my mouth against hers without sparing her the liberty of finishing her sentence. With a little noise of ascent, she responds, her tongue parting my lips in an instant and forcing its way in my mouth to knot around mine, right there in the corridor. The guilt I felt for merely picturing Amber sexually is now laughable, as my hands clasp her ass and pull her tighter against me still. She is hot in my mouth, her lips so forceful yet tender. She moans into my mouth, and my cock aches. I can fell it press against her.

"Fuck, Ruben. I can't believe what's happening." She breaks away and cups my cheek with a hand. There is something more than a sexual drive in her face, with her lips apart. "But I don't want to hurt us."

"Why would this hurt us?"

"I want you too," she says. "But not if it means I can't have you after today."

"It won't."

"It might. How can things be normal now?"

"They won't." I move my hands from her ass to her waist, so as to assure her I am not driven only by horniness. "But that's okay. This is better. And we'll still be friends. Just... you know."

I hear laughter from outside, and a teacher yelling at a nearby class. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters, but the girl in front of me whose small features make my stomach ache. She smiles.

"Tell me again," Amber says. "Tell me you love your Ella. It turns me on."

"Are you not already?"

She glares at me. Her panties are wet, pressed against one of my quads in our embrace.

"I love her," I say. The dirtiness of it all works for me too. "I love her—"

Then my friend, who I always told Ella not to worry about, my friend who I've laughed with for however many years, she kisses me again. Still I don't think my mind has quite caught up: Amber, in my arms, her pussy wet from my fingering and her arousal, her tongue exploring every inch of my mouth, and her scent is my scent, her excitement mine too. She breaks apart and spins me around, pushing me back while unbuttoning my shirt. My back hits a door, which opens, and we are in a free classroom.

"This is better," I say. "More private."

"More private?" She snaps the door shut and pursues me. "What did you have in mind?"

Walking backwards, my legs hit a chair and I fall into it. "You know, just a chat between friends."

"Uh-huh." Amber kisses me in the chair for a moment, then crosses the classroom to close all the binds. She locks the door, too. "I had something else in mind."

"Yeah? What's that?"

Her mischievous grin is back, as she unbuttons her uniform shirt right there, a metre in front of me, and pulls it over her head. I stare, as if chained to the chair, my every thought passing faster than ever before, my gut twisting and twisting with such arousal it hurts. She wears a white contour bra. My eyes comb her figure: her breasts in their fabric, sideset and petite, and can hardly believe I was touching them minutes ago; and her stomach, so pale without tan, smooth and set with such a cute belly button; and her arms, in full view now that I can see her shoulders, small and so smooth; and indeed those perfect hands I had admired so many times as she wrote or highlighted in a book, now brushing her hair onto her back as she approaches me.

She sits across my lap and kisses me again, her hands working at my belt between her thighs. She tastes incredible as my entire body erupts with goosebumps, my imagination jamming with the speed at which it predicts what is to happen next. She throws my belt aside, and unbuttons my trousers with one hand. The other I have raised to my mouth, where I kiss her sharp knuckles and soft palm, turning it over in my hands so as to taste every finger, every perfect little imperfection in the way her fingers curve, and her tendons are pronounced on the back, and her fingertips are worn from nail-biting. There is something very human in her hands and arms that captivates me, and hers are perfect: slightly asymmetrical, so warm and so soft. I move my mouth to her wrist, still kissing her, gently pinching her skin between my teeth as I move farther and farther up, to her elbow.

"I can't believe you," Amber says. She unzips my fly, and pries her fingers under the band of my underwear. My legs are tight with tension. She leans in close to kiss me. "Right there in the middle of class, touching all up inside me."

Then her hands are on my cock, and it's out in the open. I let out a ragged breath as those perfect hands close around my shaft, which is so hard with arousal it jerks at the slightest touch, almost painful. It feels bigger than it ever was for Ella. Amber kneels over my thighs, her eyes down at my quivering cock, as she runs her hands slowly down all the way to its base, and slowly back up again. I moan out loud—right there, unstifled, unashamed, unintended. Amber smiles and sets her very bright eyes back on mine. That image of her smiling, her breasts perky in their bra, so much of her body bare, while she pumps my cock with those hands I love, ever so slowly: it is an image that sends goosebumps erupting down every inch of my body, an image tattooed into my mind.

"Fuck." I throw my head back so I'm looking at the ceiling for a moment, overwhelmed. "Amber."

"Don't look away from me," she says. "I know your dirty cheating cock enjoys that."

I raise my head and she kisses me again, our tongues meeting. My hands are at her smooth back; hers are still pumping up and down the length of my member with a deliberate slowness I would never have the willpower to maintain myself. I caress her sharp shoulder blades, then slide my hands to the clasp of her bra. She makes a sound of affirmation into my mouth, urging me forward. I feel more precum forcing its way up, sending shivers all up my back. It slickens her grip, and quickens her strokes. The change of pace heightens my heart rate even more.

I fiddle with her bra for a moment, then feel the tension loosen as it comes free. She breaks off the kiss to let me pull it away from her and drop it aside. I stare at her breasts, less than a foot from my face. They perfectly fit her figure. She stops jerking me off for a moment to grab my hands and press them against her: I respond immediately, cupping her breasts in my hands, treasuring their weight and size and feel between my fingers. The thought that I had been groping them in the middle of class gives my cock another little jerk.

I look into her glowing face. "I think I love them, Amber."

She laughs. "Yeah, you love them?"

"Oh yeah."

"Are they better than Ella's?"

"Why don't you decide?" I say, caressing her as though she might shatter with a heavier touch. She raises her eyebrows, and I smile. "Yeah, I bet that'd turn you on, the way you've been going on about her."

She does not respond. Her lips are slightly apart, her teasing demeanour momentarily broken by my dirty words. With one hand, I don't relinquish my touch on her; with the other, I reach into my pocket for my phone, and navigate to the hidden album in my photos app. Dozens of Ellas stare up at me from the screen, all in various states of nakedness. I enlarge one, in which Ella is lying in her bed—no, those are my covers—with her mouth in a kissing shape and her breasts out.

"There you are," I tell Amber, passing her the phone. I continue the slow touching and loving caress of her breasts. "I bet that makes you horny. Look at her, so trusting of me, with all those little pictures. And here I am, with your perfect tits in my hands."

The mention of other girls might have been a turn-off for some; but I know Amber, and I know it'll work for her, showing her Ella's body, the exact body I have chosen Amber over. And indeed, as I fold and massage her nipples between my fingers, she lets out a little moan. She is scrolling through the pictures of Ella, and I know she feels gratified. As pictures of my girlfriend's naked figure flash past, the knot of guilt in my stomach twists—but with the dirtiness, the swooping, nauseating arousal increases too. The situation is incredible, not the sort of thing one expects to experience in their life.

"Oh, hi Ella," Amber says to a full nude photo. My stomach turns over as I see Amber's free hand slide into her skirt to touch herself, and she says, "Don't mind me. Just hanging out with your boyfriend, actually. We're just friends, you see. Here he is."

She turns the phone so photograph-Ella is watching me. I meet Amber's gleaming eyes and smile, transfixed by her. Then I lean forward and engulf my face in her breasts, breathing deep while the love of my life watches—in a manner of speaking, that is. Still, the thought of Ella cold and untouched while I plant kisses over Amber's breasts and chest is tantalising. I bring one of her nipples into my mouth, exploring it with my tongue and lips, slickening them with saliva. Amber is squirming in my lap as she touches herself, her other hand now caressing the back of my neck in an affectionate way, as though we were true lovers. My hands move to her shoulders, her back, feeling every inch of smooth, warm skin. She is perfect, her gorgeous body scent mixing with that of her juices seeping into her panties in a perfect infatuating blend.

Her hands are back at my cock as I suckle her, gently stroking its length and holding it upright. I can feel the wetness of the hand she fingered herself with, and let out a soft moan into her breasts. Then she guides herself over it and grinds her panties over its tip, under her skirt. The urge to cum is sudden and incredible, and I withdraw from her breasts to throw my head back, my knuckles white at the chair, hardly able to keep myself from drenching the underside of her underwear.

"Hold o-on," she says, her voice sing-song. It is not helpful in the slightest. "We have so much more to do yet."

"You fucking... know talking like that is gonna do the opposite from helping."

She laughs. "Look at me."

My entire body is rigid. She is gently rubbing the tip of my cock back and forth over the wet fabric of her panties, the sensation sickeningly good. To meet her mischievous grin, I fear, will be too much to bear.

"Ruben. Look at me." Her voice is sharp.

Slowly, I raise my head to meet her eyes. The twisting knot of guilt in my gut has been utterly unravelled by her sweet voice and scent and smirk, and her perfect body with all its warm intricacies to explore, and now by the feel of her wet mound on my member through only the thinnest and narrowest layer of fabric. She stares into my eyes, rocking back and forth so that her breasts bounce slightly. I can actually feel the skin of her wet inner thighs on the edges of my tip as she grinds back and forth, back and forth, her eyes on me. She is moaning so softly it is only a breath. She is grinding harder over me. I can feel her through the fabric on my cock, feel the outer folds of her soaking mound moving at the pressure my cock is applying through her panties.

"Don't cum," she says. She smiles, the expression faltering at a gasp of pleasure. "Don't fucking cum, Ruben."

"I'm not going to."

"Good. Don't." She laughs, and kisses me on the forehead, on the nose and mouth, on the neck. She picks my phone up the edge of the chair, where a photo of Ella fingering herself now shines, and tilts it under her dress. "Look at this, Ella. Still not cheating, is it?"

She looks at me, her lips apart, poised for more speech, and I know that whatever's coming will test my willpower more.

Amber shrugs, and says, "Not yet, at least."

I was right. Not cheating yet: the implication is clear, and sends a fresh wave of goosebumps over me. She brandishes Ella's horny photo in front of me, a photo from months ago that made me rock hard when first she sent it. I meet her eyes and indulge in her laugh; this naughtiness we share in is like nothing I've ever felt, and by the way her nectar seeps through her panties and runs down me, I can only assume it makes her feel something too.

"Don't cu-um," she sings. I give a shaky grin.

She cocks her head at me, her eyes electric, then gently lowers her weight onto me with a moan of ascent. Her hands are white at my chest. She continues to lower herself. Through her panties, I feel my cock part the puffy lips of her opening and edge between them. Her body is tense, and she contracts around me as a centimetre or two of my tip slides between the folds of her mound, into her crevice. Her wetness and warmth is astonishing through the stretched fabric. I cannot breathe. My entire body is trembling with the gush of pleasure I usually feel when I finish, but sustained. I quiver. If there had not been that smallest of barriers between our flesh, I would have hit my climax there and then.

"Don't cum," she says. Her tits are in my face.

She raises her weight off me again, and I breathe. Though her panties had been between us, and though barely an inch of my tip passed her puffy lips, my arousal surpasses anything I felt all those times I slid my entire length inside Ella.

I seek to calm my nerves with humour. "Does that constitute cheating, then?"

"Not at all." Amber breaths into my mouth, and I lean into her kiss. "If Ella was sat right there she'd be completely unabashed."

"Why don't we change that?"

She tuts. "That's not very "I still love her" of you, is it?"

I shrug and lean it to kiss her on her neck, on her shoulder, moving farther down again. Then I hook her under the ass with both hands and get to my feet, hoisting her up. I feel her wetness against my waist. My cock is rock hard, and slick with her juices. Still I cannot quite believe it: this morning, the day was like no other. That perfect storm had blown me very off course, though whether that's such a bad thing is a different debate altogether. There's a story that Christopher Columbus was blown off course and that's how he lucked out finding the Americas; I don't think it strictly true, but I feel rather like Columbus now.

Her figure is perfect in my arms. I want to squeeze her; to wrap myself around her and just cling to her heat, scent and feel until I am forcibly pried away. Indeed, in that moment as we kiss some more, my thoughts stray beyond my arousal and her soaked panties, beyond her bare breasts and dirty talk of cheating, and they fall upon a bed in which we lay together; and in that image we are wrapped around one another, content to lay there, and we needn't be wet and aroused, for her scent is enough. Though it is ridiculous, though there's an intense excitement in my gut I have scarcely felt before, there's a loneliness there too. If sour recently, my relationship with Ella was thrilling when it worked, and not restricted to sex. Cold nights would not be fixed by hooking up with my best friend. I want more. This stupid, unbelievable last hour has made me realise that. To pleasure Amber and to be pleasured by her is incredible, but I am greedy for even more. I want someone to love and hold, not just fuck. I don't yet know if Amber could do that, or even if our friendship will survive.

"I'll tell you what," says Amber, still in my arms. "I'll give you something to take back to your dear Ella. Or you can hide it from her. It'll be our little game."

She kisses me down to my neck, where she starts to suck, and knead at my skin with her teeth. If rationality raises its poor head within me, it is quickly beaten back down by the thrill of all the naughtiness and pleasure—as are those doubts and desires for something more. Already a scarlet mark is emerging. I have one hand in her hair, and the other underneath her to hold her up. She works away for some time, pausing for the odd remark: "I do hope you can hide this from her, Ruben. Whatever would she say if she saw it?" The short ebb in our pace suits me well, as it lets me rest. I am not sure how much longer I would have survived her stimulation.

"It suits you," she says. "Oh yeah, look at you. Branded now, as a dirty cheat."

"And whose fault is that?"

Her look is of innocence. "Mm. I dunno."

She is wriggling in my grip, keen to move on. I, so nearly paralysed, cannot help but wonder how she feels of our actions; that glint in her eye, and the wetness of her thighs against me suggest she shares the nauseating, beautiful feeling I hold in my gut. I oblige her, though not in the way she expects. I turn her around and walk to the edge of the classroom to lay her on the ground, my hands pinning hers on either side of her head. Her breasts shake as she hits the wooden floor. As she lies there and stares up at me with a dirty smile, her top half bare and smooth, her perfect arms pinned, I cannot imagine a world in which I wish she were Ella.

"You look incredible," I say.

Amber raises her eyebrows. "Is that why you put me here? Solely to admire me?"

"Not solely," I say, and I relinquish her arms to slide down her body to the floor in front of her. As I go, I kiss her chest, her breasts, her stomach. My hands caress her sides. "But you are fucking beautiful."