The house is dark and quiet, her best friend's snoring muffled. Quietly she rises, lifting herself from the bed, pausing to admire her friend's young, naked, satisfied sleeping body before covering her with the blanket against chills and nightmares.

Stealthily she pads to the bedroom door, turns the knob, leaning in to muffle squeaks, pulls the door toward herself, steps out onto thick luxurious carpeting, pads silently, high firm breasts swaying in the dark to the room at the end of the hall where the door is already half open.

The full moon shining through the window provides barely enough light to see the two sleeping people on the bed, curled slightly, their backs to each other, the male form, thank God, nearest to and facing her. She moans quietly in anticipation, checks the hall behind her, and then eases her way in, pausing once more to let her eyes adjust. Her friend's father is facing her, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, wearing only pajama pants.

Silently she steps into the room across the space between door and bed to kneel on the floor beside him.

He is beautiful, square-jawed, smooth-skinned, hair-tousled, broad-shouldered and very, very muscular. She reaches out to touch, with just a fingertip, to feel his strength, to imagine kissing him.

He stirs and mumbles, and next to him his wife stirs too. Briefly panicked she pulls away, prepared to run or crawl or hide or something, realizing suddenly that she has not thought this through completely, that maybe she should have at least put on a robe for the sake of plausible deniability.

But she is here now, kneeling naked on a soft shag carpet, the object of her most intense fantasies half-naked before her, his wife still sound asleep in a slightly different position.

Emboldened, and fully confident in the invincibility of her youth she reaches out again, touches his handsome face, his neck, the muscles of his chest and stomach, and then, through the thin summer pajama pants, the cock she wants inside her.

It is half hard, and growing harder. She runs her fingertips lightly along its length and back, enthralled, remembering the flirting at dinner, the disapproving frown of his wife, the askance look of his daughter, the visible bulge in his pants when he stood to clear the dishes, how much she wanted to stroke it then as she is stroking it now: up and down, alternating between fingertip and fingernail, thrilled at the way it strains toward her, pushing the pajama pants away from his body, back and forth until his much larger left hand closes over her much smaller right hand, and holds it still.

She looks to her left away from the huge bulge in his pajama pants into his open eyes, temporarily afraid that he is angry, or is going to make her stop, but she can tell, even in the dark, that he is smiling as he guides her hand to the top of the pants. She grasps the elastic, pulling out and down, freeing his cock as if in a dream, a dream she has had both asleep and awake, grasping it in her hand, the largest, longest, thickest throbbing cock she has ever held.

She wants to suck it but her friend's father has put his hand behind her head and is pulling her in to kiss him as he rolls toward the edge of the bed to meet her. Their lips meet. Their tongues meet. It is better than she had imagined. Slowly she strokes him as they kiss, until he cannot take it anymore and pushes her head the length of his body, her small mouth barely engulfing the head and first few inches of his cock. then licking the shaft as she had stroked it, back and forth with her warm wet tongue until he begins to twitch.

She stops. For she wants more, wants him completely, here on the floor next to his bed where his disapproving wife sleeps fitfully. Wantonly she looks at him, her eyes glistening, her lips parted, her mussed blond hair falling over her naked shoulders, strokes his cock lovingly one more time before lying back on to the carpet, her legs spread wide in anticipation.

She does not wait long. He leans over the edge of the bed admiring what he can see of her, the lust writ large across his face, his strong hands reaching down to tweak her hard nipples.

She grabs his hand, much as he grabbed hers, pulling him down off the bed on top of her in one smooth motion.

He is over her, his palms on the carpet bearing his weight, his face against her face, kissing her roughly, his body against her body, his hips against her hips, his pajama pants still partly down, his cock between her legs, urgent to enter. She, also urgent and more than willing to be entered, guides him in. It is a moment she will never forget, a filling such as she has never known. She gasps. He moans. His wife grunts in her sleep. He ducks his head, then raises slowly to peer over the edge. "It's OK," he whispers, "still asleep." They both stifle an urge to laugh and then kiss, tongues twining in midair in celebration of their shared depavity, hips beginning to move. Slowly at first, and then more urgent, her legs spread wider than ever before, wrapped around him, holding him tight, her mind lost to the lust, to the fucking and kissing and kissing and fucking, to the awesome, wonderful thick hard cock of her best friend's father on her best friend's father's floor in her best friend's father's bedroom, next to her best friend's father's bed and her best friend's father's sleeping wife, in and out and in again, faster and faster harder and harder, her face red, her breathing shallow, his face contorted above her, the pleasure the pleasure the pleasure too too too much until she comes, about to scream when he kisses her, covering her mouth with his to muffle her from his sleeping wife.

Lying panting on the floor, his weight still on her she realizes that he has not come yet, is still impossibly hard and eager. Completely forgetting the risk she rolls him off and over, straddling him as his wife, her back to them, snores on. His hands go to her her hips, lifting her off, pulling her down, sliding her up and down his cock, setting the pace, watching her face, watching her breasts bounce wildly, tenses, arches his hips into her and shoots into her hard and fast spurt after spurt after spurt.

Sore, tired, ecstatic, and very much in love she slides off, kisses him deeply and crawls to the door, giving him one last incredibly erotic look over her shoulder before leaving.

Out in the hall again, leaning against the wall, collecting herself before returning to her naked friend, she hears him climb heavily back into bed with an exhausted oomph, hears his wife's quiet, unintelligible, muttered question, hears him answer, slightly louder, "It's OK. I fell out of bed. Go back to sleep. I love you."

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