Natasha and I have been friends for years, good friends, but in a strictly plutonic way. We talk about anything and everything, but not sex simply because while she is divorced and singled, I am divorced and remarried.

Though I am remarried, my wife and I live in separate states. A product of travelling years ago with my Tinder profile active. My relationship with my wife works. We have a happy marriage, albeit one based on a long-distance relationship.

Among the topics that Natasha and I discuss is our personal health. We are both professionals with kids from our first marriages, and as a result, we both strive to get ourselves in better shape. As the years of middle-age fly by, neither of us is happy with the physical realities of aging, but we both lack the time and motivation to invest the extra effort.

One night Natasha sends me a text, “I need your help getting in shape.”

Recognizing my own fading willpower, I immediately consider the benefit of mutual accountability.

“How about a fitness challenge?” I suggest.

“I’m in,” is her immediate reply, “What are we going to do?”

Thinking for a moment, I decide upon a 'one-million-step-challenge' that I set up on the Stava app. We commit to achieving the target by Christmas, which is four months away.

A few weeks go by, and the challenge is doing what was intended. Our daily steps have tripled over previous months. We text each other back and forth each day, encouraging sometimes, boasting others as the leaderboard between us goes back and forth.

“Let’s do an epic challenge together this weekend,” I text her waking up one morning.

A few minutes later she replies, “I can’t this weekend. I have the kids, but I’m free next weekend. What do you have in mind?”

My response was, “Not sure yet. Let’s brainstorm a few ideas.”

Over the next couple of days, we decide to get away for the weekend to do a long hike at the state park. I reserve an interesting AirBnb property with a sauna and cold plunge pool in the backyard and separate bedrooms.

When the weekend arrives, we drive three hours to arrive at the Airbnb.

As we are sitting on the patio the first evening, we are talking about our challenge. She asks, “What should be our reward if we accomplish our goal?”

“The reward of a healthier mind and body is not enough?” I say in a sarcastic tone. In my mind, I have fantasized a much more interesting reward, but I was too shy to say it aloud to my friend.

“I want to get my weight under 140,” she tells me, adding clarity to the objective. “135 would be the stretch target.”

“You’ll be so hot. You’ll be beating the men away with a stick.” I joke with her, though she would not have to try that hard even now if she really wanted a man.

“What sort of reward do you envision?” she asks.

Impulsively, I blurt out, “Sexual.”

Her expression feigns indignant shock.

“Something, for your wife?” she says cautiously, redirecting me.

A momentary pause before I take the position. “No, this challenge is between you and me. I think the reward should be between you and me.”

“You are married!” she reminds me. “We can’t use that as a reward.”

Another pause before my next suggestion, “Okay, maybe it’s not a reward, instead, think of it as a punishment. We need leverage to see this challenge through and the leverage has got to be interesting or we both know we will lose interest and go back to being sloths.”

She looks back at me with a puzzled, but curious look, so I go on, “If we get our million steps in by Christmas - no harm, no foul. We shall let our work be the reward of our labors. However, if we fail to get a million steps, he or she who has the fewest steps must give the other person one-complete, mind-bending blow job.”

Natasha initially scoffs at my idea, but after a minute or two of silence and no alternatives being tabled, she says, “We are definitely going to get a million steps by then. I’m sure of it.”

“Of course we are,” I reassure her. But inside my shorts, my cock is already hard betting against those odds.

The next day, we endure a grueling six-hour hike through the wilderness. We arrive back at our rented house late in the afternoon.

“We should do the cold plunge and a sauna before dinner,” Natasha suggests.

I agree, even though I hate the idea of submerging in a pool of freezing water. We adjourn to our separate rooms to put on swimsuits and reconvene in the backyard.

“Ladies first,” I tell her, hoping she will chicken out plunging into the small natural pool of clear, chilly water.

Dropping her towel, she walks down the steps in her two-piece suit like it is nothing and lowers herself up to her neck.

“How is it?” I know I am not going to enjoy this.

“Your turn. Get in here.”

I drop my towel and timidly force myself into the icy pool. I will be damned if I going to stand down in front of her.

“Oh my fucking god, this is cold!”

I last less than thirty seconds before retreating to the warm summer air. She follows.

“Now the good part,” she says as she leads the way to a small outbuilding that is the sauna. We enter and its one extreme to another. A wave of intense heat hits us all at once as we enter. We sit across from each other on the wooden benches inside.

“I think my dick has shriveled and died back there in the pool,” I whine as I show her the empty groin region of my swim shorts.

She laughs and then reassures me, “I don’t see anything wrong?”

I nonchalantly lower the waistband, showing her the shrunken remains of where my proud cock once stood.

“That is more serious than I initially thought,” she says, playing along. “Maybe the sauna will resurrect the dead.”

“I don’t think we should have any swimsuits on at all in a sauna,” I state like it is a rule I read somewhere.

“You’re dying to get naked, aren’t you.” She says seeing through the rouse, but she's knows she's been warned.

“This is about making memories and having an adventure,” I remind her as I take off my swim shorts and spread the towel across the bench. I lay down across it pretending not to care of her opinion.

I lay back and close my eyes, hearing nothing—no objections, no judgement.

A minute or two later, I hear movement across from me. I half open an eye to look over her way, she is peeling her swim top off over her head and sliding her bottoms to the floor before doing the same, laying on a towel bare naked.

“Feel better?” I ask after a few minutes.

“This is so relaxing,” she admits.

I tilt my head to catch a look at her. She truly is a beautiful woman. Maybe she has a couple of pounds to lose, but not many from my vantage point. Her legs are slim. Her ass is tight. Her breasts are perfectly shaped from the boob job she gave herself several years earlier. My cock begins resuscitating.

Getting that feeling she is being watched, she glances in my direction and notes, “Looks like your little joey isn’t so dead anymore.” She leaves it at that and I respect the boundaries.

After twenty minutes relaxing and resting our aching bodies in extreme heat, we have had enough. We wrap ourselves in the towels and head back up to the house.

“I’m going to grab a quick shower before I make dinner for us,” Natasha announces.

I casually ask, “Do you mind if I join you?”

Natasha instinctively replies, “I’m not sure that is a good idea,” with a slight pause before adding, “Do you?”

“Of course not,” I agree, “but you only live once. Right?” I continue to push my luck and straddle the line between flirt and pervert.

Letting that thin logic linger in the air, Natasha goes into the bathroom without shutting the door. Her towel drops to the floor, she enters the shower, and calmly adds from over her shoulder, “Well, suit yourself.”

I had not expected her to say that, but I am not about to pass on this opportunity. Seconds later, I join her in the shower.

My cock, or 'joey' as she called it, is now fully awake as I stand inches from her. I admire the warm water dousing her body with streams traveling from her shoulders, down her torso, across her mid-riff, and down her legs before pooling in the basin.

She grabs a bar of soap to lather herself. She passes the bar to me and ask, “Can you do my back?” She uses the same tone that one might use to ask to 'please pass the butter.'

I approach carefully, my left hand goes on her hip while my right with the bar slowly applies the soap across her soft skin. Touching her so intimately like that sends sexual waves between us. She involuntarily steps back a half inch toward me.

The tip of my outstretched 'joey' brushes the crack of her butt. I pretend it is unintentional, but then she takes another innocent half step backward. At this point, I find my fully revitalized member laying along the crevasse of her perfect ass.

Now fully lathered in soap, I pass her back the bar of soap and replace my hands on her hips without objection.

She instinctively takes a third tiny step back. My fingers squeeze her body every so lightly so as to indicate intent.

We are quietly and without any words rubbing our bodies against each other. My chest is pressing against her back and my groin spooning her butt.

“Plenty of soap for us to share,” she attempts to say in an obvious, nervous tone. She happily uses her body like a human loofah sponge spreading soap all over my body.

Slowly, both my hands curl up her sides and cup under her breasts. She sighs a heavy breath as my fingers graze her hardened nipples.

She turns around to face me. Her body flush against mine.

“We can’t be doing this,” she reluctantly whispers.

My fingers spread across her ass as if to ask for reconsideration.

She reaches down, wrapping her soapy fist around my shaft, sizing its fullness and diameter, as she lathers it up.

“Can you take it?” I respond in a soft, seductive tone, begging her to accept my appeal.

She strokes it a few times, assessing it, pumping it hard before saying, “We will have to see how our little bet turns out at Christmas.”

With her free hand, Natasha reaches behind herself and turns off the shower.

We disengage from our precarious and compromising position and exit the shower to gather towels. Disappointedly, her willpower is much stronger than my own.

Fifteen minutes later, I come down to the kitchen. She is chopping up vegetables for dinner. She is wearing nothing but a baggy t-shirt. Her long, dark hair, still damp from the shower, falls over one shoulder. I have always found her attractive, but never more so than at this moment. It didn't help that I am still reeling from the near miss in the shower.

“What can I do to help?” I ask her politely.

“I think you’ve done plenty already,” she says back to me in a knowing and mocking tone.

I come up behind her and place my hands directly on her hips once again. I begin sliding her baggy t-shirt up her body.

“You know I have a knife in my hands right now,” she says, half jokingly believing I am just playing with her.

Saying nothing, I do not stop lifting the t-shirt until her bare ass is fully exposed. The moment hangs suspended in time. Then, without any indication, she bends over the counter ever so slightly, yet noticeably, as she continues chopping her vegetables into tinier and tinier chunks.

Fractionally encouraged, I slide down my gym pants to my knees. My cock springs out immediately and taps against her ass once again. Nary does she flinch.

I bend lower to get behind her. I paint the back of her thighs with the leaking head of my cock.

Natasha’s head nods forward, her eyes close, and she falls to her elbows on the counter. She sticks her ass out ever so incrementally further. Her legs part naturally widening her stance.

In a moment of truth, my left hand leaves her hip to direct the fat, dribbling, swollen head of my cock between her legs. Natasha bites her lower lip and sighs surrender.

It takes two tries between us to position my pulsating bulb against the entrance of her own greasy slit. Finally, we are both fully aligned.

Natasha gives a gentle push away from the counter. I reciprocate in kind with a gentle tug on her hips toward me. She impales herself willingly onto my thick appendage. It glides effortlessly inside her warm pussy. Three movements later, I am completely buried inside her.

“Oh my god!” she exclaims. “That feels so fucking good. We are so bad.”

It has probably been a few months since she was last with a guy. It became instantly clear that she missed being stuffed with a man’s cock and she was relishing the sensation of being filled.

I guide her body on and off my cock by grabbing her hips. She drops the knife and grabs the edge of the counter to leverage her body against mine and gather pace.

“Give it to me deeper!” she begs me.

Our bodies start slapping against each other. The slurping suction of wetness is pouring from between her legs. We moan our pleasure together.

“Do you want me to reward you or punish you now?” I ask her in a serious, in-the-moment tone.

“Punish me!” she shouts. “Fuck me hard!”

I spank her ass cheek with the inside palm of my hand.

“Like that?”

She whinnies a small cry, and I do it again.

“Do you like it a little rough?”

Natasha nods affirmatively and continues to beg, “Just keep fucking me.”

Extremely happy to fulfil her wish, I reach up and grab her hair, pulling her head back and toward me. I put my lips right next to her ear so she can listen to my moaning instructions. We go back and forth, encouraging each other as well as any accountability partners ever did for one another.

I whisper to her, “I can’t wait to taste you.” She squeals in delight at this little bit of news.

We have given up on willpower to suspend pleasure and reward until the challenge's completion.

We pause from our fuck fest long enough to strip away what little loose clothing we are wearing. We confront one another completely naked in the middle of the kitchen.

I take each of her arms and drape them over my shoulders and press our bare chests together. My hands fold under her buttocks. She points her toe and slides the inside of her leg up the outside of my thigh. I begin squatting and then in an instant, lift her off the floor until we are eye-to-eye, shoulder-to-shoulder, and hip-to-hip.

She intuitively wraps her legs around my waist. Joey is fully engorged and now prodding along her juicy folds. I grind into her labia and rub her clit, sending her into a frenzy. With one extra inch of hoist, my cock hooks with her and instantly fills her aching gap.

A sudden expression of guilt crosses her face as we look each other eye-to-eye for the first time as fuck buddies. I immediately spank her again to snap her back into focus on the moment and not the implications. She relinquishes her objection.

Soon thereafter, my cock services her wanting and willing cunt. Before long, she is again cooing, “Please don’t stop fucking me Alex!"

“I'm not going to last," I warn her.

She is now climbing my body, taking pleasure, and clawing my back. Her rational defenses are hopelessly overwhelmed by the forces of ecstasy and getting thoroughly fucked by her newest best friend.

She tries to stammer something about, “We should…” as she is panting and now sensing an impending climax. I am too deep inside her now to care and we pass the point of no return.

She tightens around my stem. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and she arches her back. I bite her neckline and she moans a violent release.

Her body is still shaking and spasming just as my own fuselage fills. I clutch her ass and ram my cock deep inside of her as I shoot several jets of hot cum seeding her from within.

We hold fast against each other, like a frozen statue, our overly sensitive organs still buried and our chests heaving against one another.

My cock weakens and I lower her back to the floor. Our clutching embrace loosens as we reconsider our proximity and reality. A white stream of milky liquid seeps down her inner thigh as a souvenir of our adventure together.

But before the awkwardness can be broken, my phone rings on the nearby counter.

Natasha looks over at the screen and announces, “It’s your wife.”

"Shit."