Chapter Fifteen
E mma
“Beg your pardon?”
Emma gasped, feeling the bed quake beneath her sore, aching belly as Mitch slid into position. “You heard me,” he grunted, sounding more masculine than playful, more demanding than teasing. “What would spring break be without a little face sitting, huh, babe?”
“Jesus!” All the same, Emma could hardly deny her body’s response, nipples stiff from the light spanking and pussy drenched from the velvet promise of Mitch’s long, hot body splayed out atop the bed. She admired the way his skinny prick danced atop his belly button, even as she rose to a kneeling position atop the big, king-size mattress.
“You know you want this,” Mitch murmured, breath warm across her thighs as his face appeared almost gaily between them. “My lips against yours,” he encouraged, making more than just her mouth weep with every salacious syllable. “My tongue dancing along your folds. You screaming out my name as you come, over and over again. It’s the perfect way to break that record of yours. Maybe even set a new one?”
“But I’ve never...” Even as she said the words, she watched Mitch’s eyes widen.
“Never?”
She shook her head, trembling hands gripping the headboard for some support as she came to terms with the utter, late-night debauchery he was offering. “No,” she confessed. “He wasn’t into ... my pleasure. Only his.”
Mitch winked, his cheerful face somehow at odds with his sexy suggestions. “His loss, babe,” he said, convincing her that it was, indeed, her ex’s loss. But would it be Mitch’s gain? she wondered, kneeling above the poor boy’s face and hovering mere inches away from his big, puffy lips.
“Mitch, are you ... sure?”
Their eyes met despite the ridiculous position, Emma kneeling over her young lover’s face, Mitch peering up with a leering grin, literally licking his lips as he nodded eagerly, mussed brown curls framing his chiseled features where his head rested atop one of her fussy white pillowcases.
“Were you sure about being spanked?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not in the least.”
“But you liked it, right?”
“Fuck, yes,” she conceded, gently slithering lower as the heat of his breath washed across the folds of her overeager sex.
“Well, this is going to be the same, trust me.”
She nodded and sank gently lower. He hadn’t been wrong yet, Emma had to admit as, before she could smother him completely, Mitch rose to the occasion—quite literally—and pressed a fat, wet kiss against her already weeping labia.
She froze in place, hands gripping the headboard, body seizing from the sheer, utter pleasure of a man’s lips against her own. So warm, so wet, so thick and plump against her own. “Damn, kid, you weren’t kidding!”
Mitch ignored her, tongue slithering through those same, creamy lips to press atop her desperate mound and slather it with an intense, otherworldly heat. “Oh. My!”
Like his skinny fingers or banana cock, Mitch’s long tongue proved adept at turning Emma into a whimpering, weeping, gasping, cursing little tramp, sinking ever lower until at last his mouth could caress and suck, kiss and lather her pussy with sweet, tender, persistent affection.
Her thighs burned with the effort of hovering just above her lover’s face, even as Mitch murmured and moaned for more. She sank gently lower, until there was no distance between them, her lover’s mouth mining the pink, shimmering folds of her sex for every ounce of pleasure it could provide.
Her curses grew more profane, her throat tight with desire as her ecstasy mounted and, feeling the intense heat and pressure of Mitch’s lips pressed tight against her bud, her first orgasm approached. “Baby, I... I...” Her words died away on desperately parted lips, overshadowed by squeals of sheer delight as she came at last. Hard, fast, loud and shameless, as if she wanted the whole damn town to hear or, at the very last, couldn’t care less if they did.
The tremors were as intense as the foreplay that preceded them, unleashing in her a tidal wave of desire untapped despite all those years spent lying next to another man, night after sexless night. Mitch moaned in reply, the warmth and vibration of his expression teasing her into a second climax so fresh on the cusp of the first she struggled to decipher where one ended and the next began.
All the same, she slid from atop him to await the tremors and aftershocks of desire. Her record could wait, Emma realized, deadly afraid of smothering her poor, eager, expert lover with her own greedy, insatiable desire. But Mitch was persistent, rolling over onto his belly between her legs and taking up where he’d just left off, cheeks blushing, lips iced with her liquor and tongue greedily lapping at the excess as she wriggled onto her back to meet them as greedily as she had while, well ... while sitting on his face!
“Baby, Jesus,” she protested, weakly of course, even as Mitch slid those big hands beneath her still tender flanks to hoist them gently into his palms. Gulping and reaching up to cling to the headboard and hold on tight, she gasped, “Who? The fuck ? Are you?”
Mitch merely winked in reply, mouth full of her sex as he feasted on her desire as if he was a starving man finally invited to table. She came untold times, pressed against his lips, his tongue and, more than once, the gritty rows of his perfect white teeth, hard and unyielding against her throbbing clit. Her pussy wriggled and wept, its folds glossy with excess as Mitch’s tongue ringed them with an expert’s touch and soft, thick, wet kisses that grew wet, thirsty and louder with every orgasm. As if reading her mind, her sweet, sexy College Boy ramped down instead of up, the more gentle he grew, the more patient and observant, tender and eager, the more powerfully—and copiously—she came.
At last she crept away, shivering, trembling, sweating and in fear of overexerting herself before their week really began. The last thing she needed, Emma knew, her mind reeling with the endless possibilities her fake spring break held, was to literally sprain her pussy before she could wear it out the good, old-fashioned way.
Gradually, drawing herself higher, Emma sank with her back against the headboard, folded at the waist as Mitch knelt before her, admiring her naked body, flushed and sticky and spent.
“Lay your pretty ass down, College Boy,” she teased, patting the bed beside her as her mind grew wicked and wanton with pure, pent-up desire.
“You’re done already?” he teased, stretching those long, sinewy arms overhead as if ready to take a nap. “I mean, I was just getting started.”
“Silly boy,” she murmured as Mitch did as he was told, sprawling across the bed like a canvas about to be turned into a masterpiece of swollen desire. “If you pleased me anymore, I might not be able to get out of this damn bed.”
His surprised chuckle shook the bed beneath them. Then again, it might have been the way she wriggled herself atop him, kneeling on either side of his lean, narrow waist. “Would that be such a bad thing?” he asked quietly, peering hungrily up into her sated eyes.
“I mean, this place has a whole lot of rooms,” she teased, gently sliding her still quivering body down atop his washboard hard flesh. “Can’t consummate them all if we’re stuck in here now, can we?”
His chuckle belied the nervousness just beneath, but she heard it just the same. Felt it, too, his body aquiver beneath her own, rock hard in more ways than one. She kissed him quietly, softly, slowly, wriggling atop his torso as she let the soft, sticky warmth of her suffuse him from head to toe. Her lips slid from his, peppering his jawline, then his chin, then his Adam’s apple, bobbing beneath her lips as he swallowed hard in desperate anticipation.
She took her time, knowing full well the effect her slow drift down the length of his taffy-stretched body was having on his stiff, straining cock, hot like welded steel and just as hard beneath her panting belly.
The night grew quiet around them, Emma turning her ear to listen to Mitch’s racing heart as it all but pounded against his chest, the sound so flattering she could hardly put off his pleasure for another moment. The sound of her body came next, slick and slithering across his own, Emma’s lips making no secret of her appreciation as they lapped and slathered at his young, taut flesh beneath them, a kiss here, a lick there, a nibble and a peck before at last the bulk of her body slid atop the mattress, leaving her face to face with the pulsing tip of his manhood and the pre-cum drizzled belly beneath it.
“Poor baby,” she teased, addressing the cock, if not the man attached to it. “What have you been doing down here all by your lonesome this whole time while your daddy was pleasuring me, huh?”
Mitch squirmed and chuckled. “What’s so funny?” she teased between laboring kisses up and down its veiny girth, covering it in lust and appreciation until it all but glowed with hot, wet lust.
“You called me Daddy,” Mitch murmured as Emma’s tongue drifted to the ridges and rind of his twitching sac.
“I didn’t call you ‘Daddy,’ Mitch,” she murmured, nibbling at the musky thatch that covered his throbbing balls. She took him in hand, admiring the statuesque beauty of her lover’s prick. “I called you this guy’s Daddy.”
“Is that ... the proper terminology, though?”
Her breath washed across his balls, then his shaft as she propped herself up on twin elbows as if dishing with her bestie over late-night pizza, legs bent at the knee and ankles crossed, slumber party style. “Is that really what you want to talk about right now? Grammar?”
Emma’s lips had trailed the length of his veiny shaft until they all but rested atop its fat, mushroom head. Peering down the valley of Mitch’s concave belly, she watched as he shook his head. “Just nervous, I guess.”
“You? About what?”
“You,” Mitch croaked, head propped up atop a pile of pillows and wreathed by his luscious brown curls. “ You make me nervous, babe.”
She winked and let her warm, eager breath dance across his creamy, iced cockhead. “I hear sexual release can help with anxiety,” she teased back, winking before slithering her tongue through the ragged slit in front of it. He sucked in air with the delicate dance of bittersweet sensitivity and sexy eagerness, body writhing in reply. “Let’s see what we can do about that, huh?” she purred.
Emma heard the prelude of words build on her lover’s tongue before her own danced around the jagged flesh beneath the tip of his raging hard-on. Then he could only gasp, young body seizing as her lips enrobed him at last. The flesh was smooth and fiercely hot, iced with desire that soon dissolved atop her greedy tongue, circling the tip as she wriggled those same lips down, ever down, inviting more of Mitch’s delicious manhood deeper inside.
His gasps echoed through the dimly lit room, the only other sound being Emma’s unleashed desire, loud and moist and sticky as it slathered Mitch with swollen affection. The bed creaked as he writhed beneath her, or perhaps that was Emma, too, grinding her still swollen pussy atop the damp sheets as she indulged in the delights of young, manly flesh wedged between her greedy lips.
“Jesus.” Mitch’s tone was soft and taut, as if afraid to speak too loudly, or even too long, lest he lose control and finish before they even got started. She felt the same tenseness in his body, rigid beneath her hands as she gripped his flexing thighs as if to hold them both in place or, as he began to gently thrust between her puffy lips, spread them gently wider. Her eyes drank him in even as her lips did the same, both devouring the same sexy lover in equal measure.
All the same, Emma sensed the surge coming and approached it with aplomb, giving her long, lanky College Boy the spring break blowjob that fantasies were made of. After all, she mused bittersweetly, sucking loudly and languidly even as poor Mitch began to thrust almost primally, if a week was all the time they had together, better make the most of it.
Mitch sure did. His smooth, satiny flesh slithered in and out of her more than willing lips, slick with lust and eager with anticipation as his grunts began to rival the squeaking bed or slick, wet sucking sounds that filled the room with hot, sordid temptation. Caught up in the moment, grinding her own sticky loins against the mattress beneath them, Emma feasted her eyes on the sordid details that only added to her innate horniness—the peak of Mitch’s thick, puffy nipples, the way his flat belly danced up and down as he struggled to keep control, the drag of his thick, furry balls against the sheets beneath him and, of course, every ridge and bump and vein of his glistening cock as, at last, his desire proved greater than his willpower.
“Shit, Emma, I’m... I’m...”
She released him then, if only to admire the way his sumptuous cock spit thick, glistening ropes across his fluttering belly and panting chest, icing the very scruff that covered his chiseled chin with a sumptuous frosting that proved too tempting to resist.
She waited between thick, pulsing jets to slither her lips stealthily around the pulsing tip, only to savor his musky flavor and friskily devour his seed, basking in its savory warmth and swallowing the last of his boyish load.
Mitch was giddy when at last she released him, admiring his pretty shaft even as it softened in her grip, holding it as if they were teenage lovers sneaking away guiltily to indulge in a little extracurricular activity after football practice. The fantasy thrilled her to no end, much the way Mitch’s arms reaching down to gather her inside them and drag her effortlessly up the mattress to settle in the familiar crook atop his shoulder did.
“A guy could get used to this,” he teased, slithering one thigh beneath her own so that they formed a human pretzel, sticky with lust and salty with sweat.
“So could a girl,” she gushed, no longer afraid to reveal more than just her physical side to the young man she was quickly growing far too attached to, far too soon. His long fingers began twirling a stray lock of hair around them, tugging at her heartstrings all the while. “In fact, I was thinking...”
He pretended to be shocked, turning to favor her with a hurried kiss before murmuring, “Whenever did you find the time?”
They chuckled lazily, as lovers so often did, the bed creaking for newer, different reasons this time. “I mean, we have had a few quiet moments between nonstop sexy times, right?”
“Very few,” he murmured throatily, inspiring her in new and unique ways despite her poor, overworked libido.
“Still, the thought of you, over there, bunking in that cramped pool house got me to thinking...”
“Thinking...” He started to finish Emma’s sentence for her. “How much more comfortable it would be for me? Here in your big, king-size bed? Fucking you silly for the rest of the week?”
She snorted indelicately, but couldn’t deny the accuracy of his prediction. The old Emma would have demurred, balked, hell, at least blushed. The new one? Didn’t want to miss a moment of such an awe-inspiring, mattress frame breaking opportunity. “Would that be so bad?”
“Bad?” Mitch slithered gently down, unfurling from their liquid embrace to face her, their knees touching in mirroring fetal positions. “I’ve literally never thought of anything so good!”
“It would be good, right?” Emma felt giddy at his response. Far too giddy for her own good.
“Better than good,” Mitch insisted, voice low and calm and eyes unreasonably clear. “It would be ... right, I think. To see what might happen, and not just during sexy times.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, Emma, gheez, just because I’m young and can go like three, four, maybe even five times a night doesn’t mean I don’t like spending time with you between, uh ... other things.”
Emma merely nodded, wondering what she was getting herself into, and not just the nonstop sex machine part. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“It’s not me I’m worried about, Em.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, slugger.”
“You sure about that?” His voice was hoarse and low, his eyes wide and plaintive, as if playtime was over and this was time for real talk .
“Sure,” she muttered unconvincingly, avoiding his eyes. He reached out to clasp her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up until their eyes met in the dark.
“This is more than just fake spring break for me,” he insisted, going her one better. “It’s more than fake, period. This feels real to me, you know?”
Emma nodded. Oh, how she knew! “I know,” she insisted. “And you must know by now, this isn’t fake for me either, right?”
He nodded eagerly. “So let’s see what happens this week and, then, well...”
“It’s the ‘then’ part I’m worried about,” she insisted. “Not to mention that sticky little ‘well’ part there at the end.”
His eyes grew moist and, instinctively, Emma knew it wasn’t just a trick of the admittedly dim bedroom lighting. “And I’m not?” His voice broke, too, a soft, quiet creak like an old floorboard being stepped on in the dead quiet of a long, lonely night.
“We’ll face it together?” she practically begged, voice more than taut. “The ‘then’ that’s waiting at the end of this week? The ‘well’ that’s keeping me up at nights?”
He nodded, kissing her forehead lest they break the stillness of the emotional moment. “You and me, Emma. Together. And maybe...”
“Maybe what, baby?”
Mitch shook his head. “It’s too soon to dream that way,” he insisted, crooked smile curling up one corner of his thickly bruised lips.
“I have dreams too,” she insisted hopefully. “Maybe, after all this, I can share them with you.”
He beamed. “I’d love that,” he insisted. “Maybe, on the way back to school?”
His offer hung in the air, Emma wondering if she’d heard him right. “But ... Reggie? The van? Your friends?”
“You mean, the ‘friends’ who ghosted me to go to some stupid concert together in South Florida? The same Reggie who insisted I had to sleep in the pool house and made me promise to lie and say I broke in if his precious mother ever found out? Yeah, it’s either you or Greyhound.”
Emma stirred with excitement. “I couldn’t let you ride the bus, Mitch,” she insisted.
“No?” His voice was equally hopeful, big round eyes to match.
“Of course not, I mean ... what kind of friend would I be then?”
“The kind who’s ... more than a friend, I suppose?”
“Silly boy,” she whispered, pulling him into her arms and wriggling into place against his lean, hard body, still sticky with their lust. “I’ve been more than a friend since we met. And no matter what happens, I’ll be more than a friend until the end.”
She thought it would be her mic drop for the evening, but as always, Mitch had even bigger things in store. “I mean, sure, unless...”
“Unless what, baby?” she cooed, body slipping into sleep mode even as her mind tripped through Fantasy Lane.
“Unless ... it doesn’t end?”
Emma seized, then softened, arms lacing around his neck as words unspoken swirled around her head, their breathing growing heavier even as her heart grew a thousand pounds lighter with each passing breath...