The Morning After the Betrayal

I stirred under the creamy cotton sheets, the soft fibers brushing gently across my naked body. Flickering memories of the night before slowly played across my closed eyelids. Just as I reached between my legs to touch my slick wetness I returned to full consciousness and sat up, startled. I had basically had sex with my friend’s husband and, even if they were swingers, I felt like I had betrayed her.

There would be no postponing the facing of the proverbial music. I walked across the beige carpet to the curtained window, wondering what on earth I was going to say when I saw her. But when I looked down from the second story view, I inhaled sharply. Her car wasn’t in the driveway. What did that mean?

After hurriedly tossing on a black slip that lay discarded beside the bed, I padded silently down the stairs. All was quiet. I bravely walked to their bedroom door and gently turned the knob. In a tangle of burgundy blankets Damon lay sleeping, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. I tiptoed to the edge of the bed and whispered his name.

“Damon. Damon… Wake up. Please wake up.”

His reply was to reach out with a massive arm and drag me under the wine colored covers.

“Where’s April?” I asked.

“She didn’t come home,” he mumbled, nuzzling my neck and pulling me tight against his warm, hairy body.

“Why on earth not?” I said, wriggling away.

“She got drunk and, rather than driving, stayed at her friend’s house. Don’t worry. She and her friend go down on each other when they are tipsy. I’m sure she had fun. Now, stop trying to get away from me. You aren’t going anywhere.”

With that statement he ran a hand up my thigh and, upon discovering my lack of panties, dipped a large hand between my legs and began rapidly plunging my depths with a thick middle finger. My thighs relaxed and spread as I warmed to his ministrations. With each stroke I became wetter and more willing, the desire building and flowing like molten lava. Damon felt my inhibitions fall away and carefully changed our position so that, instead of cradling like we were two matched spoons, I was on my back, knees bent and falling open, while he lay between them, his head on my inner thigh.

He studied the petals of my sex, taking his time and using both hands to explore. I felt his body weight shift as he dipped his head to taste what he’d been teasing. One of my hands tenderly patted the top of his head while the other toyed with my nipples, my fingers drawing light circles around them, bringing the rosy circles to stiff, sharp points. And that is how I came, his fingers curling deep within my channel, pressing hard against my g-spot while his mouth played a sweet symphony on my clitoris. My hips bucked up and down the bed as I spasmed and clawed at his shoulders, dragging him up my wanton self.

I grasped his hard tumescence, pressed it against the crest of my mound and came again, this time gushing a little. Our lips met, tongues mingling as mouths opened in a scorching, passionate kiss. He moaned, tossed on a wrapper and drove his cock hilt-deep inside me. Again he plunged. And again, until the steady beat of balls slapping arse filled the room. I came once more, clutching at his member with my strong interior walls. Just as my shaking ceased, he withdrew, pulled off the condom, took himself in hand and spurted his hot, white fluid across my stomach and breasts.


So what about April you ask? Damon assured me he would handle it and said it would be best if I left before she got home. So I did. But not before asking him what he was going to tell her.

“I’ll tell her we messed around, that I played with your boobs, that we had fun. But I crossed several of our lines. And I won’t be telling her about that.”

“Which lines?” I asked.

“Well,” he looked at the floor before meeting my eyes, “I was intimate with you. The talking, the cuddling before anything happened, the spooning in bed, the kissing, that’s what would hurt her the most.”

“Oh,” I said softly, “I think I understand.”

“Yeah, you weren’t just a fuck. You got in my head.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. And just so you know I won’t be telling her about going down on you or the penetration either.”

“Why tell her anything at all if you are just going to lie by omission?” I asked quietly.

“Because she knows something will have happened. I just can’t tell her how much.”

So I went along with his lie. April texted me that afternoon to let me know Damon had talked to her. I immediately called and apologized. It was agonizing. She admitted that she was hurt because he hadn’t cleared things with her up front, but said she didn’t blame me. She knew she had painted a clear picture of their loose sexuality and understood how the lines could be blurry for me. When we hung up I knew our friendship would never be the same. There was a lie between us, one she might suspect, but wouldn’t openly address.

All this happened about a year ago, but several months after that night, they separated. I found out about the separation because April called me in tears asking if I had heard from Damon, if I knew where he was. I hadn’t and told her so. She wept through the phone lines about their troubles while I made soothing sounds and again felt the guilt of my betrayal.

Damon called a week later. He wanted to see me. I told him no. That wouldn’t be the last time he asked, but my answer never changed. In fact, I haven’t seen either one of them since that fateful night, but thankfully they seem to have weathered a rough patch in their marriage and are back together again. But this time without the swinging lifestyle.

38 thoughts on “The Morning After the Betrayal

    • I agree. I know people say you can do it, but I don’t know how. It seems like a strain on a relationship that should be exclusive. Plus, I’m entirely too possessive to share.

      At least they got back together. But that stuff has to hover like a ghost between them

  1. It’s bad enough when you have to lie, but worse when the lie is to protect the person you are lying to from the full truth knowing how much more devastating that would be. Bad feeling.

  2. I’m sorry but this guy was a complete ass! He told you he “crossed several of their lines” to make you feel more at ease with the whole mini-affair.Not that you did anything wrong; you’re not to be faulted for being a beautiful, sexually adventurous, vivacious woman with a thirst for flesh ‘n fun!

    But this guy knew he had wounded his wife deeply, he just didn’t care one bit. Thank God you steered clear of this loser!

  3. Pingback: I Had Sex With My Friend’s Husband | Creative Noodling

  4. Swinging is a complicated web of emotions….I prefer to be the “add on” rather than being in a relationship and bringing someone in. Strangely, I have 2 lovers (ridiculous, I know) that want to swing with me, and I probably wouldn’t be bothered a bit to share them since I’m not deeply emotionally invested in them. Now what does that say about me? Ugh…..

  5. “I was on my back, knees bent and falling open”

    “He studied the petals of my sex”

    “toyed with my nipples, my fingers drawing light circles around them, bringing the rosy circles to stiff, sharp points”

    Even though from our conversation I knew how this was going to end before I even read it, the snippets above are just a few examples of why I’m still thoroughly aroused by reading it :-)

Talk to me. Please.

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