Licked a friend's drunk girlfriend

The whole gang left around two o'clock. Andrey went home—"early tomorrow, bro, you'll figure it out yourself." Katya stayed behind. She said it was scary to catch a taxi looking like this, that the sofa was fine, that "I'll just lie down for half an hour." I was sitting in the kitchen, finishing my beer and staring into the dark crevice of the living room. She was lying sideways on the couch, facing the back. Her dress had ridden up almost to her thigh. One leg was bent, the other slightly extended. Between them were black panties, a thin strip of fabric that concealed nothing if you looked long enough. I watched long enough. Katya is Andrey's girlfriend. Not just an acquaintance. The one he kissed in the kitchen an hour ago, the one whose waist he held while she laughed. And now she's here, drunk, warm, sleeping on my couch, my hard-on already pressing against my crotch. I didn't realize it right away. She'd truly passed out. Then I saw her chest rise evenly. Her fingers on the pillow were completely relaxed. And when I stood up and stepped closer, she didn't react at all. I stopped at the edge of the sofa. “Katya,” I said quietly. “Are you sleeping?” Nothing. Just this steady inhale and exhale. Her dress slipped a little further as she tossed and turned in her sleep. Her panties were pulled up over her pubic area, the fabric already dark in the middle. Wet. Clearly not from the heat. I stood there, jerking myself off through my pants, watching this. Dirty, brutal, with the thought: this is someone else's woman, you're going to break everything. And at the same time: she's lying here. She unconsciously spread her knee. I knelt down by the sofa. My hand landed on her thigh—hot, smooth. She didn't flinch. Only her breathing faltered for a second, and then she quickly caught it again. I ran my fingers higher, under the hem of her dress, to the elastic of her panties. The fabric was already clinging. I pushed it aside with my thumb. Her pussy was smooth, swollen, the slit glistening. I leaned down and simply inhaled—the sweet and sour scent of arousal, not the dryness of sleep. "Fuck," I breathed almost into her cunt. "You're wet, Katya. Too wet for someone who's sleeping." She didn't respond. Her hips barely moved forward—so little, you could almost chalk it up to a spasm. I licked her from bottom to top, slowly, with a flat tongue across her entire slit. She clenched. She didn't pull away—she clenched, the way people do when they want more but can't show it. I grabbed her hips and pressed my face against hers. I licked her while she slept: my tongue circled her clit, then down, parted her lips with my fingers and thrust my tongue inside, wetly and sonorously. Saliva and her precum dripped down my chin. She breathed through her nose, her lips slightly parted, but didn't move at all. I unzipped my fly and pulled out my cock. Hard, already wet at the tip. I jerked myself off slowly, in the same rhythm as I licked her. The thumb of my other hand found her anus—clenched, hot—and simply pressed against it, without entering, swirling it in circles, lubricating it with what was flowing from her pussy. Katya arched her back slightly. The bitch was still sleeping. I raised my head, my lips were shining. "If you don't stop now, I'll stick my finger up your ass. And cum all over your panties. You'll tell Andrey later that's how it happened, right?" She remained silent. Only her knees moved apart another centimeter. I licked my finger and started pressing. I pressed the pad of my finger against the clenched ring. The skin there was hot and dry on the outside, and immediately became slippery from saliva and from what was flowing between her legs. Katya didn't open her eyes. Only her buttock hardened under my palm—and then, as if suddenly realizing it, went limp again. Her breathing faltered for two beats and then evened out again. I twisted my finger, stretching it, without entering right away. With my other hand, I held the base of my cock and slowly moved it along the shaft, lubricating the head with what had already leaked out. I pulled my panties even further to the side—a thin black strip cut into the crease of my thigh, soaking wet. "Hush," I whispered almost into her pussy, although she was already silent. "Go back to sleep. I'm just trying." I licked her clit briefly, harshly, and at that very moment my finger sank inside, right up to the knuckle. Tight. Hot. She clenched around my finger so tightly that for a second I thought she'd pull out. She didn't. Her hips trembled. A sound escaped her mouth—not even a moan, but the wet exhalation of a sleeping girl. I began to move my finger in and out of her anus, briefly and gently, pressing my mouth against the slit. My tongue slid flat across her lips, then sharply across her clitoris, then back inside—so she could feel it both ways. The precum was already oozing out in threads. I licked it off, deliberately quietly, so she wouldn't hear it in her sleep. My cock throbbed in my fist. I jerked faster, the head slapping against my palm, lube squelching. My knees were pressed against the edge of the sofa, my face between her legs, my nose pressed against her pubis. Her dress was bunched at her waist. One of her feet had slipped off the pillow and hung there, her toes curled. I added a second finger to her anus—slowly, forcefully, stretching. She sobbed into the pillow and slightly moved her backside toward me, then froze, as if this, too, were a dream. I licked her pussy without any tenderness now: my tongue deep, my lips around the clitoris, my teeth light. She trembled slightly, her thighs trying to close together and then spread wider. "You're so fucking tight in the ass," I said out loud, not caring whether she woke up or not. "Andrey didn't get in here, did he? Just me." The finger in her anus moved more freely now, wet to the palm of my hand. I bent it inside, searching, and her whole body jerked—briefly, treacherously. I didn't stop. I licked and fingered her ass, jerking myself off to the same rhythm. Saliva dripped onto her hole, mixing with the lubricant, making a squelching sound indecently loud for a "sleeping" house. Katya was already breathing through her open mouth. Her eyes were closed, her eyelashes wet. Her chest rose and fell under her dress. She still hadn't woken up. She still hadn't said a word. Only her hips rose up to meet me whenever I took my mouth away for a second. I pulled my fingers out of her anus, spread her cheeks, and spat right there. Then I inserted both at once again, deeper. She moaned softly. Quietly, but it was a moan, not a breath. I sat up straight on my knees, my penis in my fist, the head dark and taut. My panties were still hanging down, my pussy open and glistening, my clitoris swollen. My anus, pink, slightly open from my fingers, glistened with saliva. "I'm going to cum," I said hoarsely. "All over your pussy. All over these wet panties. Don't wake up." I jerked off quickly, briefly, my thumb on the frenulum. With my other hand, I held her hip to keep her open. She lay there, fast asleep, only her stomach trembling. I came with a low exhale—heavy, in spurts. My sperm hit her open slit, ran down her lips, toward her anus, and whitened the black fabric of her panties. Another stream hit her clit, then another on her lower abdomen, where her dress had ridden up. I ran my head over her pussy, smearing the residue. She cringed as if struck by electricity, and for the first time in a long time, she quietly, almost soundlessly exhaled: — …don’t clean it. The eyes are still closed. The voice is sleepy, drunk, deliberate. I froze above her, my cock was still twitching, sperm glistening between her legs. “So you’re not sleeping,” I said. She smiled slightly at the corners of her lips without opening her eyes. “I’m sleeping,” she whispered, falling asleep again.