The edibles came on stronger than I thought, but it felt nice to just let myself lean on my friend’s shoulder and melt into the couch.
It seemed like everyone else in the house had gone to bed, but that suited me just fine as long as I wasn’t totally alone.
My friend was content to stay with me, at least, though I couldn’t help but notice how her arm slipped around me after I slumped to the side. It was almost comforting, though her fingertips repeatedly grazing the side of my tit did not show any intention of offering comfort.
Everything felt so fuzzy. I didn’t know what to think about my friend’s increasing boldness, hand resting on my side, fingers gently curling around to brush against my chest. I wasn’t sure if I wanted this, but I couldn’t bring myself to do more murmur softly.
Abruptly, her hand stopped creeping forward. “You awake?”
No words came to me. An even weaker sound slipped from my throat.
She shook me gently to see if I would rouse. I couldn’t stop myself from slumping farther, head landing in her lap.
“You’re okay with this, right?” she asked, and I had no more sounds to offer, which seemed to be exactly the answer she wanted.
Her hand slipped under my shirt, and as she explored my skin, I could feel her dick stiffening, pressing into my face through her skirt.
Time turned to mush. She wasn’t satisfied squeezing my tits, and I felt her hands roam over my ass. I was dimly aware that at some point she slipped away, leaving me face down on the couch.
Pressure, weight atop me, hands on my body again. Something warm and firm pressing between my thighs.
It took me a moment to parse the sensations, but soon I recognized her dick, recognized her hips moving back and forth, grinding herself into me.
Soon she was done.
I felt something soaking through my shorts, and she was hissing to herself, “oh fuck oh god what have I done oh shit—I have to clean her up.”
My eyes had long since drifted shut. I felt soft and fuzzy, even if I wasn’t sure how I felt about what happened.
There was something about how sweetly the sounds of her panic fell upon my ears, bringing a smile to my face. It stuck with me as I fell asleep.
My friend was all the kinder the next day, helping me through an extra-bleary morning, never giving me even a moment out of her anxious sight, even offering to drive me home.
Oh, she was making sure I didn’t have a moment alone to tell someone what happened.
She was at least tentatively reassured by the way I smiled so brightly at her and said nothing. It was awfully cute how nervous she acted, and I loved the constant attention. Of course I accepted a ride home with her.
I waited until we were alone in her truck to comment on the strange crusty stain on my shorts.
She stammered, telling me, “you must have spilled something on yourself at some point.”
I laughed. “Of course, that sounds like me. I guess I don’t remember much of last night.”
Her exhale seemed to release a breath she’d been holding all night. I could almost hear her internal monologue reassuring herself that it’s okay, how no one needs to know about her lapse of judgment.
“I do remember one thing,” I said, savoring the moment of renewed tension. “I remember how safe I felt hanging out with you, even when I was totally zonked.”
“Oh, no problem!” The corners of her eyes tightened. Guilt.
I leaned into it. “Honestly, of all of them, you’re probably the one I trust most to take care of me when I’m vulnerable.”
She didn’t respond, but I could see the warring emotions on her face. Relief and guilt and shame and hope flickered across her features.
“We should hang out again, just the two of us,” I offered. “I’ll try to be more careful next time, but…” I shrugged. “I at least know if I overindulge, I’ll be safe with you.”
She was so easy to read. I could see the spike of excitement followed by her realization that she’d encounter the same temptation again.
And again. And again.
And after getting away with it once, wouldn’t it be so easy to justify doing it again? Maybe going even further?
I wondered how much the guilt would build, or if she’d find a way to justify molesting me, her dear friend, every time I overindulged.
She was such a nervous thing. I wondered how much control I could have over her if I told her what I remembered.