My husband sent a dick pic while I was in the car with my friend

It was Amy’s birthday weekend. She had just turned 40. I was already a year ahead of her.

We’re typical millennial moms. We both look younger than our age, great skin, glowing hair. We were getting ready for her party at my house. We’re childhood friends and, as usual, had no problem changing in front of each other. Amy is tall and thin. Despite three children, she always bounced back to be skinny and toned. I’m not as lucky. I have a pooch. My breasts have always been saggy and have gone downhill since. That’s an area we have in common. Amy had small, perky tits before the kids, and they’d deflated to almost no breast tissue since.

I caught an updated peek as she slipped on her sundress and had me tie it for her. We were going out for a stereotypical girls’ night in Savannah, a two-hour drive. We packed up the bathroom, putting away the flat irons and makeup, headed downstairs, and said goodbye to my husband, who was staying home to watch both sets of kids.

Ryan, also a typical millennial, has a masculine face, a trimmed beard, and a slightly receding hairline, which he is very self-conscious of. He used to be an athlete, but like me has a few extra pounds, though he’s still incredibly fit looking compared to the fat middle-aged dads in our neighborhood. Amy has always told me he looks good. Her husband is a tall, string-bean of a man, as vanilla as you can imagine for a white pediatric dentist. Amy says he has a long pencil dick. We’ll get to Ryan’s cock in a minute, since it’s what triggered everything.

He said goodbye, very obviously checking out Amy’s body, eyes lingering a beat too long on her flat but very on-display neckline. After that, we got in the car and hit the road.

(The birthday bash with Amy’s crew is a story for another time.)

We headed home from Savannah. It was around 3 a.m. I only had a couple of drinks, but Amy was messy drunk. Her dress had fallen off her shoulders many times throughout the night, and at some point she had lost her panties.

We were halfway when I got THE TEXT.

His name showed up on my car’s display. Message from Ryan. I was sure it was about the kids being in bed, or a question about where he put something (he was always losing stuff). I asked Amy to reply so I could focus on the road.

Suddenly I heard her squeal, “Oh my god!”

I panicked. Was everything alright? Were the kids OK? Did the house burn down?

I tried to see what was on the phone, but the screen was just a bright blur as Amy held it close to her face in amazement.

She said, “What the actual fuck, you never told me Ryan’s cock was so huge.”

My brain broke. His what? The what now? How did she? Where did she see it?

Then I remembered what she was doing. I panicked. Oh my god, turn it off, give it back.

She shrank into the far side of the passenger seat.

“No fucking way,” she replied, holding the phone back, revealing a massive cock in her outstretched hand.

It took up the full screen length. Gripped at the base, trimmed hair at the bottom, a strong hand wrapped around it. A vein tracing the length. Unlike most guys where it was straight, it made an unusual corkscrew, which I knew felt incredible when fully engorged. The head was straining with the grip. It was a full helmet, looking ready to burst.

I said, “Amy, put it away before I crash. This is so fucking embarrassing.”

Amy refused again.

“How did I not know this? How have I never seen this? He sexts you, right? How have you never shared this fun fact with me?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, my face flushing.

Then Amy did something. She texted back.

“What did you write?” I asked.

Amy laughed.

“What?!” I repeated.

By then I could see:

“Stroke it for me…”

“Jesus, Amy, knock it off. Turn it off. Give it back.”

“No,” she said. “I want to see.”

I slapped her leg, the whoosh of air moving the fabric of her short dress. I was pissed and embarrassed and annoyed all at once.

Then… a ding.

I couldn’t see what it was other than “a message from Ryan.” Amy clutched the phone like that ugly naked creature from Lord of the Rings.

It wasn’t another picture.

It was a video.

Ryan was stroking his cock. A first-person perspective. Even with his hand wrapped around the shaft, another four inches appeared on the top. And this wasn’t for show. There was no slow stroking. He was going to town, his hand, at times, moving like it was a blur.

Amy was over the fucking moon. It was like the finale of Friends and the sex scenes in Off Campus all rolled into one. She was glued to the screen.

She finally spoke again.

“I know he’s your husband, but this video is exactly what I need.”

I know she had been going through a rough patch with her husband. They’ve had a dead bedroom since her last pregnancy.

She said, “I haven’t been this wet in years. I didn’t even know I could still get wet.”

She moaned and started touching her leg where I had slapped her.

She said drunkenly, “This is my video now. You just drive.”

I said, “What? Just stop,” but she wasn’t listening, and she made it clear I wasn’t getting the phone.

I saw her, in the light of the cellphone, move her hand up her thigh and under her short dress. She was rubbing herself.

This was insane.

Sure, we had kissed playfully a couple of times over the years. We’d talked about our sex lives, vibrators and shower heads over the years.

But this was different.

It may have been the alcohol, but Amy was full-on rubbing herself just two feet from me. I heard her moaning, felt the seat shake. I saw the spread and sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

She watched as Ryan pumped his hand over the vein, moving the skin up and down, toward the end of the video gripping up and under his tight sack.

Amy started panting.

She had moved from rubbing to sliding her fingers in and out of her hot, trimmed pussy. It was in full view now. Her dress was up and over her abs. No shame, just fluid motion.

I finally said, “That’s enough.”

I reached for the phone…

and that’s when Amy grabbed my wrist.

I didn’t expect the next part.

She moved my hand down, away from the phone and onto her pubic mound.

She softly said, “Rub.”

I tried to move my hand, but it was pinned down to her pelvis.

I looked at her, this beautiful woman I’d known my entire life, and started rubbing.

She was already lubricated.

At first I felt her short, wet hairs, then the folds of her vagina, and a tiny tough nub that felt different from the rest. It teased at my fingers, and I teased back, rubbing small circles onto her clit.

With her other hand, Amy was sliding two, maybe even three fingers into her wet hole.

“Keep rubbing,” she encouraged.

I put my eyes back onto the road, and my hand continued. It felt natural, easy. Like I was rubbing my own pussy. The muscle memory was so familiar I started to get wet. The tug and pain of knowing I couldn’t do anything about it, since I had to keep one hand on the wheel.

The video on the phone kept looping.

I would catch a glimpse of the meaty piston pumping, and Amy’s open mouth in the cellphone light.

She was starting to sweat in the Georgia heat, despite the AC running at a blast.

Amy’s dress had fallen down again, and her nipples were rock hard in the icy air.

As this orchestra of moving hands and moans continued, a familiar instrument dinged.

Another video.

This shook Amy’s attention enough for her to scroll down and hit play.

It was a slightly different angle of the meaty shaft.

This time the pumps were more deliberate, slow, erratic.

After four or five…

fireworks.

A thick spray of cum flowed from the tip of the helmet.

There was an initial eruption, then the rest dribbled down to his hand, lubricating a couple of final pumps.

White jizz pooled at the pinnacle.

Then the camera moved to show his handsome bearded face, and he said, “That’s for you. Can’t wait till you’re home.”

The clip played three more times, with Amy getting more deliberate in her own finger thrusts.

She gripped my wrist harder, pinning my fingers up against her clit, lifting them up toward her pelvis.

She shook, shifting her now-closed legs back and forth, bumping them on the car.

And then all of her muscles loosened.

She released her grip, my freed fingers now resting flat on her soft, wet pussy lips.

Her breath caught up and slowed.

We sat in silence.

With the exception of the video looping and Ryan’s words repeating.

I had no clue what to do or say next.

It was Amy who broke the silence.

She asked,

“How long till we’re back at your house?”