Cory, First FWB

Diane had carved out a niche in this glittering pocket of Aspen, where the air smelled like pine resin and overpriced espresso. She'd been here a few years, trading the chaos of urban nursing shifts for the rhythm of high-altitude emergencies at the local hospital. Her circle was a tight knot of single pros—nurses like her, sharp-witted and quick with a laugh—and a handful of guys who orbited them like satellites. Doug was one of the originals, a laid-back ski instructor with a grin that could melt fresh powder. He'd been through half the women in the group, including Jay and Lisa, Diane's closest friends from the ER. No drama, just easy hookups that kept things lively.

Then Cory showed up, fresh off some trust fund adventure, looking like a young Chevy Chase with that tousled hair and perpetual smirk. He slotted right in, dating Jay, Lisa, even Kelly, the yoga instructor who moonlighted as a bartender. The whole crew had an unspoken vibe: Friends with Benefits, or FWB as they joked over beers. No strings, no jealousy, just scratching itches when the mood hit. Diane's own fling with Doug had been a one-off—hot, sweaty, in the snowy woods behind a trailhead one night after too many shots at the après-ski bar. They'd laughed about it later, stayed pals. Doug, ever the connector, had introduced her to Cory at a group hike, watching with amusement as Cory's easy banter made her roll her eyes and smile.

Tonight, the Belly Up was packed, the small venue pulsing with the sultry jazz-pop of Pink Martini. Diane's favorite. She'd come with the group—Jay and Lisa nursing cosmos, Doug cracking jokes, Cory holding court by the bar. The drinks flowed strong: whiskey sours that burned just right, loosening the knots from a brutal week of double shifts. Diane swayed to the music, her black jeans hugging her curves, a fitted top showing off the tan she'd earned from summer hikes. The band's loungey vibes wrapped around her like a warm blanket, and by the third song, she was buzzed, loose, eyeing the crowd.

Cory appeared behind her during a slow number, his hands sliding onto her hips with casual confidence. His breath was warm against her ear, carrying the faint scent of bourbon. "Hey, gorgeous," he whispered, voice low and teasing. "This music's got me thinking we could make our own soundtrack. Want to get out of here? My place is five minutes away."

She turned her head, catching his eye—that playful glint she'd noticed before. He'd made her laugh at group dinners, dropping dumb one-liners that cut through the small talk. Sure, he was a trust fund man-boy, coasting on daddy's money with no real drive, but right now, with the bass thrumming through her body and the alcohol buzzing in her veins, that didn't matter. She was ready to play. "Yeah," she said, a smile tugging at her lips. "Let's go."

They slipped out hand in hand, the cool mountain night air hitting them like a splash of water. The walk to his apartment was a stumble of laughter and stolen touches—his arm around her waist, her fingers brushing his as they dodged late-night revelers. His place was a short stagger from the venue, a sleek one-bedroom in a building that screamed bachelor pad: leather couch, minimalist shelves with ski magazines and a forgotten guitar, walls bare except for a neon sign that said "Powder Days." No frills, obviously decorated by a guy who prioritized function over flair.

Diane kicked off her boots inside the door, the buzz from the drinks still humming. "Put on some music," she said, already swaying a little. "I want to dance more."

Cory grinned, fiddling with his phone until a playlist kicked in—slow R&B beats with a thumping bass. He poured them fresh drinks, scotch neat, and leaned against the kitchen island, watching her. Diane moved to the center of the living room, hips rolling in time with the rhythm. Her body was all curves and confidence—small pert breasts straining against her top, ass swaying in those tight jeans. She let her hands trail up her sides, arching her back, knowing his eyes were on her. The alcohol made her bold, the music pulling her deeper into the moment.

He shifted, adjusting his pants as his cock stiffened, the outline clear against the denim. She noticed, heat pooling low in her belly. "Like what you see?" she teased, stepping closer.

"Fuck yeah," Cory said, voice rough. He crossed the room in two strides, hands finding her waist again. They danced together now, bodies pressing close, his hardness grinding against her thigh. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her flush against him. Diane tilted her head back, and he captured her mouth in a hungry kiss—tongues tangling, breaths mingling. She tasted the scotch on him, felt the scratch of his stubble.

Clothes came off in a frenzy. Her top hit the floor first, revealing a lacy black bra that cupped her tits perfectly. Cory's shirt followed, exposing a lean, toned chest from all those lazy gym sessions funded by his inheritance. He unhooked her bra with practiced ease, letting it drop, his hands immediately cupping her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened into peaks. Diane moaned into his mouth, her own hands yanking at his belt, freeing his cock. It sprang out, thick and veined, already leaking pre-cum at the tip.

They didn't make it far. Cory backed her against the living room wall, the cool plaster a shock against her bare skin. He hiked one of her legs up, jeans shoved down to her ankles, panties tugged aside. "You want this?" he growled, rubbing the head of his dick along her slick folds.

"Fuck me," she demanded, nails digging into his shoulders.

He thrust in hard, filling her pussy in one go. Diane gasped, the stretch delicious, her walls clenching around him. He pinned her there, hands gripping her ass, lifting her slightly so her feet barely touched the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he pounded into her, the wall scraping her back with each slam. His fingers spread her ass cheeks, one thumb circling her tight hole, teasing without pushing in. The sensation sent sparks up her spine, her clit grinding against his pubic bone. "God, you're so wet," he grunted, hips snapping faster.

Diane's head fell back, moans echoing off the bare walls. The angle hit her just right, his cock dragging against that spot inside her. She came first, hard and shuddering, her pussy pulsing around him, juices dripping down her thighs. Cory followed seconds later, burying deep and flooding her with hot cum, a cream-pie that leaked out as he pulled back.

They slid to the floor, panting, but the night was far from over. Cory kissed down her neck, sucking marks into her collarbone, then lower to her breasts. He lavished attention on her nipples, biting gently, making her squirm. Diane pushed him onto his back, straddling his chest. "My turn," she said, grinding her soaked pussy against his skin.

She slid down, taking his semi-hard cock in her mouth. It twitched back to life as she sucked, tongue swirling around the head, tasting their mixed flavors. Cory groaned, fingers threading through her hair. She deep-throated him, gagging slightly but pushing through, saliva dripping down his shaft. When he was rock-hard again, she popped off, grinning wickedly. "On your knees."

He obliged, flipping her onto all fours on the rug. But first, he dove between her legs, tongue lapping at her pussy from behind. Diane arched, pushing back against his face. He ate her out like a man starved, sucking her clit, fingers plunging in and out. She was dripping, the cream from earlier mixing with her fresh arousal. "More," she begged, and he added a third finger, stretching her.

Emboldened, Cory tucked his thumb in too, working her open. Diane's breath hitched—this was new, intense. His hand formed a loose fist, easing in knuckle by knuckle until his whole fist was buried inside her pussy. The fullness was overwhelming, pressure building as he twisted gently, his tongue still flicking her clit. She rocked back, fucking his hand, the obscene squelch filling the room. "Holy shit, Cory," she gasped, another orgasm crashing over her, squirting a little onto his wrist.

He pulled out slowly, her pussy gaping for a moment before clenching. Cory positioned himself behind her, sliding his cock back in—this time gentle, bent over her as he thrust slow and deep. His chest pressed to her back, one hand reaching around to rub her clit in circles. They moved together, bodies slick with sweat, the music still playing softly. He kissed her shoulder, nipping the skin. "You feel incredible," he murmured.

Diane came again, softer this time, waves of pleasure rolling through her. Cory sped up, chasing his release, until he groaned and filled her once more, cum spilling out around his dick as he stayed buried deep.

They collapsed in a tangle, breaths slowing. The rest of the night blurred into lazy touches—oral on the couch, her riding him slow until they both dozed off. Morning brought coffee and awkward laughs, but no promises. Just a nod to keeping it casual.

For months, that's what they did. Diane and Cory became a reliable FWB pair, nothing formal, no heavy talks. She'd text after a brutal shift at the hospital—patients crashing, endless charts—and he'd invite her over for a release. Sometimes it'd be quick, her bent over the kitchen counter, his cock slamming into her from behind while she gripped the edge. Other times, slower, like the night he tied her wrists with his belt, teasing her pussy with his tongue until she begged, then fucking her ass slow and careful after working her open with lube and fingers. She loved the variety, the way he could switch from playful to intense, always leaving her sated.

But Diane kept her distance emotionally. Cory was fun, sure—his Chevy Chase charm cracking her up during pillow talk—but he lacked drive. No ambition beyond the next ski trip or bar crawl. She wanted more: a partner with stability, someone who could match her career hustle, provide the life she craved beyond these mountain flings. Remnants of her past encounters lingered in her mind—Doug's easy confidence in those snowy woods, the way he'd pinned her against a tree and fucked her raw under the stars. Or the après-ski dance with that guy from the bar, bodies grinding until they stumbled to her place for a night of massages turning into marathon sex. Cory was a great lay, but not the future.

The end came unexpectedly one crisp fall evening. Diane had wrapped an early shift, her body tense from a code blue that dragged on too long. She craved the distraction, so she headed to Cory's without texting, keying the code he'd given her months back. The door creaked open to moans—familiar ones. Jay, her friend from the group, the one who'd dated both Doug and Cory before.

Diane froze in the entryway, peeking around the corner. There they were on the couch: Jay naked, straddling Cory reverse cowgirl, her ass bouncing as she rode his cock. Cory's hands gripped Jay's hips, guiding her, his face twisted in pleasure. "Fuck, Jay, your pussy's so tight," he grunted, thrusting up.

Jay laughed, a breathy sound Diane knew well from their gossip sessions. "Harder, baby. Make me cum."

Diane should have been pissed, but curiosity held her. She watched, hidden in shadow, as Jay leaned forward, giving Cory a perfect view of his dick disappearing into her. He slapped her ass, the smack echoing, and Jay ground down, circling her hips. Diane's hand slipped into her jeans unbidden, fingers finding her clit, rubbing as heat built. It was hot, voyeuristic—seeing Jay's tits bounce, Cory's balls tightening. She bit her lip to stay quiet, her own arousal spiking at the rawness of it.

Jay came with a cry, body shuddering, and Cory flipped her onto her back, pounding missionary until he pulled out and shot ropes of cum across her stomach. Diane slipped away before they noticed, heart pounding, pussy throbbing unsatisfied. She walked home in the chill air, the scene replaying—strangely thrilling, not heartbreaking.

That was the last time she and Cory fucked. The group dynamic shifted subtly; no blowups, just a mutual fade. Diane threw herself into work, then a new hobby—volunteering at a local clinic for underinsured skiers. It grounded her, reminded her of her drive.

Weeks later, at a group bonfire up in the hills, Doug sidled up with two beers. "Heard about you and Cory," he said, handing her one. His easy charm was still there, the same that had led to their woods encounter years back.

Diane shrugged, sipping. "Water under the bridge. I'm good."

"You deserve better than that trust fund bullshit," Doug said, eyes lingering on her. "Someone who keeps up."

She laughed, clinking bottles. The fire crackled, stars sharp overhead. Later, as the group thinned, Doug pulled her aside, kissing her with that familiar hunger. They didn't go all the way—not yet—but his hands on her, confident and sure, promised more. Back home, Diane texted Jay, no grudges, just a shared secret laugh over the Cory overlap.

In the end, the FWB life had been a wild ride, teaching her what she wanted and what she didn't. Now, with Doug's number lighting up her phone for real dates—not just hookups—Diane felt the shift. Passionate intimacy, charm, and maybe even stability. She smiled into the dark, ready for whatever came next, her body humming with possibility. Life in this posh ski town? It was just getting interesting.