My friend thought I'd be angry about her crush on my husband. Instead I whispered to her about what his balls would sound like slapping her ass.

I know the other women at church like my husband.

I see them. The way they hold his gaze a beat too long. The way they find reasons to touch his arm when they talk. The way they laugh at things that aren't that funny. And I'm not a bit jealous. I married him. I get to take him home.

But Marcy is different.

Marcy practically drips. Slides right off the pew, she gets so wet.

She never wears a bra. She might not think she needs to, those tiny breasts barely making a shadow under her blouse, but wow. Her nipples are hard to miss. Little points pressing through cotton, through linen, through everything. And whenever Mark enters a room she just kind of... stops talking. Mid-sentence sometimes. Her eyes drift off and narrow as she focuses on him. Tracks him like a lab tracks a rabbit.

She's always laughing at his jokes. Always finding excuses to touch his arms. Her husband Darryl doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he's just decided not to.

I think it's kind of cute. I trust Mark. And Marcy is hot as heck in a very Laura Dern kind of way, but short and dark and nervous with a perfect round ass that stretches every pair of slacks she owns and doesn't seem to fit on her tiny frame.

We were at dinner in the church hall a few weeks back. Fellowship potluck. Paper plates, lukewarm casserole, the usual. Mark and Darryl were at the other end of the table talking about the game or work or something. Marcy and I were picking at pie.

And out of nowhere she turns to me. Her cheeks are pink. Her voice drops.

"I need to tell you something. I have the biggest crush on your husband."

She looks terrified. Like she's just confessed to a crime.

"Oh, I know," I say. I keep my voice light. "All the wives adore Mark."

"But I'm different." She's leaning closer now, almost whispering. "I mean... I really, really love him. I think about him all the time. I can't stop."

Her eyes are wet. She's shaking a little.

I should be upset. I know that. A normal wife would be upset.

But I'm not upset.

I feel my own nipples harden. A tight little tension between my thighs.

I lean in closer. Our shoulders almost touch. I can smell her perfume and the weak church coffee.

"What do you love about him, Marcy?"

She blinks. Wasn't expecting that.

"I... everything. The way he listens. The way he fixes things. His voice."

"Mmhmm." I nod slowly. "His forearms? The way he just seems to get things done?"

"Yes." She's breathing faster now. "All of it."

I drop my voice even lower. My lips are almost at her ear.

"Do you dream about his cock, Marcy?"

Her mouth falls open. A tiny gasp escapes. Her whole body goes rigid.

I mean, how did she think this conversation was actually going to go?

"Because he's got an amazing cock." I let the words settle. "I'm not saying it's huge. But sometimes it seems that way. My hands fit right around it, and I can feel every vein. And when he gets really hard, that swollen purple head..." I trail off, watching her face.

Her mouth is hanging open. Her lips are wet. One hand has disappeared under the table.

"Is that what you dream about, Marcy?"

She can't speak. She just nods. A little desperate nod.

I glance down the table. Mark is laughing at something Darryl said. Neither of them is looking our way. The rest of the hall is full of chatter and the clink of forks on plates.

I reach over, casual as anything, and brush my fingers across her chest. Find her nipple through the thin fabric. Big and hard now. I give it the softest pinch.

She whimpers. Her hips shift on the folding chair.

"You want to know what his cum tastes like?" I whisper.

She nods again. Her hand is definitely moving under the table now. I can see the rhythm of it in her shoulder.

"Like salted ice cream. It coats your tongue and you don't want to swallow because you want to keep tasting it." I roll her nipple between my fingers, hidden by the angle of our bodies. "And right before he finishes, it pearls up at the tip and drips down off his head like a melting ice cream cone."

Marcy's breath... it's almost like she's holding her breath. Her thighs press together.

My own hand finds my lap. I hike my skirt up just enough, press my the side of my fingers against the heat between my legs, and start to grind. Just rocking my hips against my own hand while I talk.

"He makes this sound when he comes, low in his chest. And his cock throbs. You can feel every pulse as his cum shoots up throguh it."

Marcy's eyes are glazed. She's staring at nothing. Her hand moves faster under the table.

I lean in until my lips brush her ear.

"You've got such a perfect ass, Marcy. I watch it. All the wives havedo. Do you know what it would look like with Mark behind you? His hands gripping those perfect round cheeks, spreading you open, his cock sliding in while his balls slap against you?"

She makes a strangled sound. Her whole body shivers.

"Does Darryl ever fuck your ass, Marcy?"

She shakes her head. Tiny. Almost imperceptible.

"It's tight, isn't it? That little hole." I pinch her nipple harder. "But you'd let Mark in there, wouldn't you? You'd beg him for it. Beg him to stretch you open and fill you up where no one else has been."

Her breath is ragged now. Short little gasps she's trying to hide. I can feel her nipple standing up even harder under my fingers.

I press my palm harder against my clit, grind in tight circles, feel the pressure building.

"Sometimes I suck him until he begs. And then I swallow everything. Every drop. And he stays hard, Marcy. He stays hard and wants more."

"Do you think about riding him?" I whisper. "Feeling him split you open? Your tight little pussy stretched around him? And then when you're dripping with his cum, he bends you over and takes your ass too?"

She makes a another sound as air tries to escape from her lungs.

Down the table, Darryl laughs at something. Mark takes a sip of his drink.

"I could share him with you." The words come out before I even decide to say them. "I could let you have him. Would you like that?"

Marcy's whole body goes stiff. Her mouth opens. Her eyes squeeze shut.

She's coming. Right there at the fellowship dinner. Her thighs clamped together, her hand buried between them, coming to the thought of my husband's cock while I pinch her nipple through her shirt.

And I'm right there with her. The wave crests and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep quiet, grinding down on my palm, feeling myself clench and pulse and soak through my panties.

We stay frozen like that for three seconds. Four. Then Marcy exhales, opens her eyes, and looks at me like I'm something holy.

I pull my hand out from under the table. Smooth my skirt.

"Well," I say, smiling, reaching for my water glass. "That's settled then."

Mark looks over at us from down the table, curious.

"Everything okay over there?"

"Perfect," I say. "Marcy was just telling me about her banana bread recipe."

He nods, turns back to Darryl.

Marcy hasn't said a word. She's just staring at me, cheeks flushed, thighs still pressed together, her tiny breasts rising and falling too fast.

I hold her hand.

"I think we can make that happen." I smile at her.