[MF] I tasted my best friend after 4 years of solid friendship

This is a story from my final year at university, right before the hardest exam of the entire year. Stress levels were at an all-time high. It was a computer science degree, so I'll let you imagine the kind of workload we were dealing with.

With that prelude out of the way, let's get into it.

Let me start off by introducing you to my friend Emma. We met in first year, and like most uni friendships, it started in chaos. We were thrown into one of those massive group projects during the first few weeks of the course. You know the type: six people on the team, two doing all the work, and the rest ghosting harder than a Tinder match after one message. Emma and I were the two who actually showed up and gave a damn. That was basically the start of it. We bonded over late nights of head-scratching and a mutual hatred for lazy teammates.

Oh, and I suppose I should tell you what she looks like too. Painting a picture with words and all that. Emma was the kind of person who turned heads without even trying. She stood about 5'7", with long auburn hair she usually threw into a messy ponytail, like she couldn't be bothered and yet still somehow nailed that "effortlessly hot" look. She had golden brown eyes, a quick wit, and the ridiculous ability to make anyone she spoke with feel at ease. Her build was slim and toned, something between "I go to the gym" (she never set foot in one) and "I have a fast metabolism and good genes."

But what really got attention were her boobs.

I'm a guy. I noticed. Sue me. You would have noticed too, I promise. Full, high, and unapologetically perky, somewhere in the C-to-D cup range, depending on the day and the hoodie. They had that perfect, gravity-defying shape that made you wonder what kind of deal with the universe she'd signed. And of course, she wore these snug zip-up hoodies that hugged her curves just enough to be distracting when she leaned over a laptop or stretched during a study break. Not that she ever brought it up or played into it. If anything, she seemed either unaware or just very good at ignoring the stares, which somehow made it even worse. Or better. Depending on how much work you were trying to get done.

And then there was the matter of her ass. I swear Emma had a personal vendetta against my focus every time she wore leggings, which, to be fair, was basically her entire wardrobe during final year. She had that kind of perfect, peachy butt that made you believe in squats and genetics at the same time. Not huge, not over-the-top, just absurdly well-shaped. This girl seriously had it all. The leggings didn't help; she claimed they were comfy, but they hugged her like a second skin. And every time she stood up from her chair or stretched after a long study session, it took actual willpower not to look. And by "not to look," I mean "try to be subtle about it."

The degree was always hard, don't get me wrong. But final year hit us like a freight train. Between final projects, back-to-back assignments, and the looming spectre of the hardest exam on the course, everyone was running on caffeine and panic. Sleep was optional. Sanity was negotiable. Emma and I were living in the same flat by then, which meant we basically existed in each other's space 24/7. Most of our "study sessions" happened sprawled out on one of our beds, laptops open, lecture slides up, and a pile of snack wrappers forming a sort of shrine to poor life choices.

We spent hours like that. Half working, half complaining. Sometimes just staring into the void while YouTube played lo-fi beats in the background. If you walked in, it probably looked like a crime scene of burnout and bad posture. But somehow, it worked. We quizzed each other, talked through concepts, vented about our professors, and then crashed.

It was during one of those nights, the one just before the big exam, when we were both stretched out on her bed, half-delirious from too much coffee and too little sleep, that the thing happened.

The story I'm about to tell you starts right there. [It's been a few years so all dialogue is approximate, obviously]

Emma let out this deep, frustrated sigh. "I swear, if I have to look at one more past paper, I'm going to throw my laptop out the window."

I glanced over at her, chin propped on my hand. "You've said that every day for the past week."

"This time I mean it," she mumbled, pressing her fingers into her temples. "My brain is mush. Actual, physical mush."

And honestly, she looked like it too. Her eyes were red around the edges, kind of glassy, and her hair was in the loosest bun imaginable, like it'd been redone half a dozen times and finally just gave up. She was still in that old hoodie and the same pair of leggings I'm pretty sure she'd worn all week. And yet, somehow, she still looked stupidly pretty. It was unfair.

"You okay, Em?" I asked after a second.

She hesitated. "Just tired," she said, but her tone gave her away.

I sat up a little. "You've been ‘just tired' for days now."

She gave me this sideways look but didn't say anything. I waited, letting the silence stretch a bit.

Then she flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Okay. I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but… I think I'm genuinely losing my mind."

"Pretty sure that's normal at this point."

"No," she said, and groaned, grabbing a pillow and pulling it over her face. "Ugh, I can't believe I'm saying this."

I blinked. "Saying what?"

Her voice came out muffled through the pillow. "My vibrator broke. Two weeks ago. During exam season. Do you know how long it's been since I've had an orgasm? Because I do. I know exactly how long."

I choked on a laugh. "Wait, what?"

She yanked the pillow away just enough to glare at me. "Don't laugh. I'm serious. I'm so wound up I could probably explode from a stiff breeze."

That shut me up pretty fast. She wasn't kidding — or if she was, it was hiding something very real. Her cheeks were flushed, and her mouth was all tight like she regretted telling me the second it came out.

"I'm not laughing," I said, though the corners of my mouth betrayed me.

"You are absolutely laughing."

"Okay, maybe a little," I admitted, "but only because you delivered that like a tragic soliloquy."

She narrowed her eyes. "This is a crisis."

"I'm not disagreeing."

Then it got quiet. Not awkward, just… charged. I could feel the shift in the air, like something unsaid was hanging right there between us.

"Look," I said slowly, carefully, "you know I'd do anything to help you relax."

She glanced over at me. "Yeah?"

"I mean… we're already glued together every day. What's one more questionable decision between friends?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What, are you offering to—?

I held up my hands, but kept my voice even. "I'm just saying. You're stressed. You haven't had release in two weeks. I have a tongue and a vested interest in your wellbeing."

She blinked. Then again.

"You're ridiculous," she said, but now her expression had changed. Still amused, but thoughtful underneath. Curious. Like she wasn't dismissing it outright.

I shrugged, trying to keep my tone light. "Only if you want to. No pressure. Just… maybe you deserve to feel good for five minutes. Or ten. Or however long it takes."

[Dear reader, I want to interject here to tell you how much I absolutely adore eating a woman out. Once we find a comfortable spot I will absolutely stay down there for more than a few hours if she doesn't tap out]

She exhaled slowly, her eyes searching mine for a moment. Then, quietly, she said, "Okay."

But she didn't move right away.

"…Just so you know," she added, fiddling with the edge of her hoodie, "I haven't shaved in, like… two and a half weeks. It's been survival mode since revision started."

I smiled, just enough to take the edge off for her. "Em, I've seen your code during first-year Java. I've braved worse."

She let out a nervous laugh. Real, and a little shaky. "God, you're such an idiot."

"I mean, yeah," I said softly. "But I'm your idiot, tonight at least."

She looked down at her hands, then up at me again, a flush creeping across her cheeks, part embarrassment, part anticipation, maybe a little disbelief that this was actually happening.

"…Okay," she said again, barely above a whisper. "Just… be gentle with me."

"I will," I promised, keeping my voice low. "You deserve that much."

And she gave the smallest nod, her eyes not leaving mine - nervous, curious, and just a little bit hopeful.

I moved slowly at first, mostly because she was still watching me like she wasn't entirely sure this wasn't a weird stress dream.

"You okay?" I asked again, quieter this time.

Emma nodded, just once, but didn't say anything. Her breath caught a little when I touched her hip, fingers resting gently, giving her every chance to change her mind. She didn't.

"If anything feels off, you tell me," I said. "Promise?"

She let out a small breath. "Promise."

There was silence again, but this time it wasn't awkward. It was heavy. Close. Her eyes followed me as I moved, searching my face for something - reassurance, maybe, or confirmation that this wasn't just some weird moment of panic fuelled chaos.

"Hey," I said softly, just before leaning in, "breathe, Em. I've got you."

That finally made her smile. Small. Nervous. But real.

"You're being weirdly sweet for someone about to make a questionable life choice," she murmured.

I grinned. "Yeah, well… I revise better under pressure. Consider this my practical exam."

She let out a soft laugh, then inhaled sharply as I kissed the inside of her thigh.

"Jesus," she breathed. "Okay, that's… that's not fair."

"Not trying to be," I murmured. "Just want you to forget about the world for a while."

I made sure to keep eye contact as I peeled her leggings down. She was wearing some Harley Quinn underwear and mumbled something about not expecting anyone to see while blushing furiously. To my absolute delight, they were already damp too. She clearly wasn't lying about how easily she could get worked up.

She went quiet again, but her hand slid into my hair, fingers tentative, pulling me in slowly, like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to hold on or not.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," she whispered.

"Me neither," I said against her skin. "But I'm really glad we are."

I wanted to make sure she had no room in her brilliant little head for any thoughts other than what was going on between her legs and I had just the right strategy.

I kissed her other thigh and made her take another sharp intake of air.

I moved closer and closer to her Harley Quinn panties never once touching them. Softly alternating kisses between her thighs.

There were more sounds after that. Her breath catching. A few soft moans that slipped out before she could stop them. And then, more words. Lower, shakier.

"Nick. Please. Enough with... the torture"

I kissed her panties. My first indirect taste of my best friend. Good it was good. Addicting. There was no way we were going to stop now.

"God… you're actually... that feels…"

She wasn't forming full sentences anymore and I hadn't even seen her pussy yet. I knew I couldn't wait any longer, the smell was too intoxicating and her moans were slowly getting less and less reserved.

And then I pulled her soaked panties down. Slowly and making sure that she could see the lust in my eyes. I wanted her to remember this experience - her best friend winding her up and teasing her in the best way possible.

Her fingers tightened a little, not pulling, just anchoring herself. Her voice was barely audible.

"Plea.. pl... please..."

"Yes Em?"

"Nick... please"

Her eyes were rolling back and her grip was getting tighter on my hair but I just kept tasting her lips. Savouring that deliciousness and waiting for her to ask. I had to hear her lose composure and spew some filth.

"Fuckkk... please touch my clit Nickkk. I'll do any... anything!! Pleaseeee!'

Music to my ears.

Almost as soon as I sucked her clit into my mouth she closed her thighs around my ears and started releasing 2 and a half weeks of built up stress and pressure. I didn't realise she sounded so good when she came and I wasn't going to ease up until I felt her thighs relax.

"…I didn't know it could feel like this." she said once she was vaguely in control of her senses

I looked up briefly, just long enough to say, "You've been dealing with exam stress and a broken toy, Emma. You were overdue."

She laughed, breathless, dazed, and then let her head fall back against the pillow.

"Please don't stop."

I didn't. I was never planning for just one orgasm anyway and besides, given how good she tasted I was no longer doing it just to help her relax.

I pulled her to the edge of the bed so I could sit comfortably on the floor and take my time enjoying the moans of the absolutely gorgeous girl in front of me. She clearly wasn't willing to let up on her grip with my hair either and that suited me just fine.

"Em?"

She just moaned in response.

"I'm not going to stop until you ask, okay?"

She just pulled me in harder and would clench her thighs and moan my name in that breathless tone that made me never want to stop each time she came. Emma wasn't willing to stop either for the next almost 2 hours and came another 4 times on my tongue.

When I finally moved back up, Emma was sprawled across the bed like someone who'd been hit by a small, pleasant hurricane. Her chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves, her hair a complete mess across the pillow, her hoodie halfway off, eyes glazed in that unfocused, shell-shocked kind of way. One of her legs was still twitching slightly like her body hadn't caught up to the fact that everything was over. For now.

She blinked up at me, slow and dazed, her pupils wide, lips slightly parted like she'd forgotten how to close them. I leaned in, kissed her gently, and felt her exhale through her nose like her lungs had finally decided to work again. She kissed me back. Tentative at first, then deeper. Her fingers curled into my shirt as she pulled me closer.

She paused against my mouth for half a second, nose brushing mine, and whispered, "I can taste myself."

Her voice cracked a little as she said it, somewhere between mortified and amused.

I grinned. "Not complaining, I hope."

She let out a low, raspy laugh and buried her face in my neck. "God, I feel wrecked. In the best way. Like… medically wrecked."

"That's how you know it was effective."

Emma groaned and rolled onto her side, draping one arm across my chest. Her hair tickled my jawline. I could still feel the heat of her skin everywhere we were touching. It wasn't even sexual anymore, just warm, quiet, messy comfort. Her legs tangled with mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Neither of us said anything for a while. The silence felt earned.

Eventually, she stretched her arms above her head with a groan, then collapsed dramatically onto my chest. "I don't think I can walk. I think you actually broke me. You broke me, and now I'm just going to live in this bed forever."

"You're welcome," I said, brushing my thumb over the back of her hand.

She tilted her face up toward me, eyes lidded, and smirked. "Don't get cocky."

I raised an eyebrow. "Too late."

We both laughed, and then her expression softened into something more serious. Her fingers grazed my cheek before settling against my collarbone. "You know I'm not letting this be a one-way thing."

"I figured as much."

Emma propped herself up slightly on one elbow and looked at me with this unreadable mix of tenderness and determination. "After the exam," she said. "I want to do this properly. Not when I'm running on instant noodles and existential dread."

"Tomorrow night, then," I said. "When we've survived."

She gave a small nod, then curled back into me, resting her head just under my chin like she belonged there. Her breath was slow and steady now, her body melting into mine like every muscle had given up the fight.

"I swear," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "you're going to be the death of me."

I kissed her hair. "There are worse ways to go."

She smiled against my skin, and we just lay there, the weight of everything finally lifting for a few quiet, perfect minutes.