My âbestest friendâ at work said she needed a girlsâ night out, and I told her Iâd take her. I made sure to show up early so her husband could check out my Little Black Dress while she finished getting ready. I told him my tits in this dress would get us so many drinks bought for us that weâd probably get totally trashed without having spent a dime. Iâm sure he would have agreed with me... if heâd been paying any attention to what I was saying and not just staring at my tits. When she saw what I was wearing, she laughed and called me a slut. I shrugged and said I didnât believe in false advertising.
I was right about the drinks, by the way, and I was also right when I guessed that a skinny little thing like her couldnât hold her alcohol. Less than an hour in, she was swaying any time she tried to stand still. Half an hour later, she couldnât stand or walk on her own, but there were plenty of men willing to put an arm around her to support her. Finally I decided she was about to just hit the floor, so I called her husband to come pick us up.
I sat in the back with her, and she laid down with her head in my lap and promptly passed out. I was only slightly drunk, but I played it up for him. The whole drive back to their house I babbled about the things she did, like dancing and making out with lots of different guys, letting them feel her up, and teasing them until their cocks were hard. OK, that was me; all she did was dance and drink, but he didnât know that.
Back at their house, I helped him get her into the house and into bed. As we struggled to get her through the door, one of my tits âaccidentallyâ popped out of my dress, and I left it out as if I didnât notice. Between that, the priming I had done in the car to make him jealous, me pretending to be almost falling-down drunk myself, and finally me complaining that his lightweight whore of a wife meant I hadnât been able to find anyone to fuck... well, it was almost no time at all before he had me pinned down on the bed next to his wife with my dress bunched around my waist, growling that his wife wasnât a whore and showing me how men treated a real whore.
After he was done, he slept on the couch to try and look like the good guy, but when I woke up I rolled over and woke his wife up. I asked her if the guy I fucked at the bar was cute, and she asked what guy, and I insisted that there must have been a guy at the bar that I fucked. She of course said I hadnât fucked anyone at the bar, and I insisted that I must have, because I was sore in a way that always comes with a good hard fucking.
She asked if I fucked her husband, and I said I would never do that to her! I said that we brought her home and got her into bed, and then I got into bed with her and immediately passed out myself, and didnât remember anything after that. By the time we got up, I had her at least mostly convinced of my innocence, and she confronted him about it, essentially accusing him of raping me while I was passed out. I jumped in to defend him, saying I was sure he wouldnât do something like that because he was too nice of a guy. I think he figured out that I had played him, that he either had to constantly deny her suspicions that he had raped her best friend, or attempt to implicate me in it and admit that at the very least he had cheated on her with me, no matter the reason.
After that, every time I was around him heâd get irritable and agitated, and he always looked at me with what I believe to be a mix of anger at what I did to him and a desire to hate-fuck me again in retribution. She noticed his mood changes when I was around, and confided to me a couple times that it convinced her he did something to me that he wouldnât admit to. They were divorced just a few months later, and not long after that I got another job and eventually lost touch with her.
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