Sarah: After Tom

Sarah had been a widow for six months now, the weight of loss still heavy on her shoulders. Her husband, Tom, had passed suddenly, leaving her to raise their two grown teenage children—19-year-old Jake and 18-year-old Emily —on her own. The house felt empty without him, and Sarah, at 42, found herself navigating a sea of grief and loneliness. That's when Mark, Tom's old college buddy, started coming around more often. He was a sturdy man in his mid-40s, with broad shoulders, a salt-and-pepper beard, and eyes that always seemed to linger a bit too long on her curves.

At first, his visits were innocent—bringing over casseroles, helping with yard work, offering a shoulder to cry on. But Sarah noticed the way his gaze traced the swell of her full breasts under her blouse or the curve of her hips in her jeans. She felt a flicker of something forbidden, a warmth she hadn't known since Tom. Still, she pushed it away; it felt wrong, betraying her husband's memory with his best friend.

One rainy evening, the kids were out—Emily at a sleepover, Jake at a late-night study session. Mark showed up unannounced, a bottle of wine in hand. "Thought you could use some company," he said, his voice low and reassuring. Sarah hesitated at the door, her heart pounding, but she let him in. They sat on the couch, the wine loosening her tongue as she poured out her sorrows. Mark listened, his hand occasionally brushing her knee, sending jolts through her body.

As the bottle emptied, the conversation turned intimate. Mark confessed he'd always admired her, even when Tom was alive. "You're a beautiful woman, Sarah. You deserve to feel alive again." His words hung in the air, and before she could protest, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a deep, hungry kiss. Sarah pulled back slightly, her breath ragged. "Mark, we can't... the kids... Tom..." But her body betrayed her, a ache building between her thighs that she hadn't felt in months.

He didn't stop, his hands roaming over her blouse, unbuttoning it slowly. "Let me take care of you," he murmured against her neck, his beard scratching her skin deliciously. Sarah's reluctance melted as his fingers slipped inside her bra, cupping her heavy breasts, thumbs circling her hardening nipples. She gasped, arching into his touch despite herself. It had been so long since anyone had touched her like this—possessively, urgently.

Mark pushed her back onto the couch, peeling off her blouse and bra, exposing her pale skin and the faint stretch marks from motherhood that only made her more alluring to him. He buried his face between her tits, sucking one nipple into his mouth, biting gently as his hand slid down her stomach to the waistband of her jeans. Sarah whimpered, her mind screaming that this was wrong, but her pussy throbbed with need. "Please... I shouldn't..." she whispered, even as her hips lifted to help him slide her jeans and panties down her legs.

Now naked before him, Sarah felt exposed and vulnerable, but Mark's eyes devoured her—her trimmed bush, the slickness already glistening on her inner thighs. He knelt between her legs, spreading them wide, his breath hot against her folds. "God, you're soaking wet," he growled, before diving in. His tongue lapped at her clit, rough and insistent, while two fingers plunged into her tight, neglected cunt. Sarah cried out, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer despite her protests. The reluctance faded as waves of pleasure crashed over her; she ground against his face, her juices coating his beard.

He ate her out like a man starved, sucking her clit hard, fingering her deeper, curling to hit that spot that made her see stars. Sarah's body trembled, her orgasm building fast. "Oh fuck, Mark... don't stop..." she moaned, forgetting her hesitation. She came hard, her pussy clenching around his fingers, squirting a little onto his tongue as she screamed his name.

Panting, she watched as he stood, stripping off his clothes. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, and rock-hard, bigger than Tom's had been. Sarah's eyes widened, a mix of fear and desire. "I... I don't know if I can take that," she said softly, but her hand reached out instinctively, wrapping around his shaft, stroking him slowly. Mark groaned, thrusting into her grip. "You will, Sarah. You're mine tonight."

He positioned himself at her entrance, rubbing the head against her slick lips. She hesitated one last time, whispering, "Be gentle," but he pushed in anyway, inch by inch, stretching her wide. Sarah gasped at the fullness, the slight burn turning to exquisite pleasure as he bottomed out, his balls slapping against her ass. He didn't wait for her to adjust; he started fucking her hard, using her body like it was his to claim. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her onto his cock with each thrust, her tits bouncing wildly.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, pounding into her relentlessly. Sarah's reluctance was gone now; she wrapped her legs around him, meeting his thrusts, seeking the solace in the raw, animalistic pleasure. He flipped her over onto her hands and knees, slamming into her from behind, his hand reaching around to rub her clit. She moaned like a whore, pushing back against him, her pussy milking his cock.

He pulled her hair, arching her back, and whispered dirty things in her ear: "Tom would want you to be happy, wouldn't he? Getting fucked like the slut you are." The words stung but ignited her, and she came again, her walls spasming around him. Mark followed soon after, pulling out and shooting thick ropes of cum across her ass and back, marking her as his.

They collapsed together, sweaty and spent. Sarah felt a pang of guilt, but as Mark held her, kissing her softly, she found the comfort she'd been craving. In his arms, the loneliness ebbed away, replaced by a forbidden fire that she knew she'd seek again.