Emily: The Risk (Ch. 2)
Family trips to the beach were like a double edged sword.
The benefit was clearly Emily in a bathing suit. She'd never wear anything like a g-string with those tiny tops that barely cover the areola. But she did wear very nice bikinis. They accentuated every curve, letting my imagination run wild. Her tits hung in them, giving them that slight sag but also proving they had plenty of perk left in them. Beach visits also always meant rock hard nipples. Like little bullets just tempting to be played with in however many ways. I'd picture what they were like. The color, how they felt to the touch not only between my fingers but with my tongue.
Her bikini bottoms would also drive me wild. There they were, those thighs and that bubble butt. Skin exposed and so damn smooth. When she lay out tanning all I could picture was me on top of her, pulling down those bottoms and sliding my fingers into her. I can picture her face, moaning with her eyes closed tight while I slid more fingers in, sliding them in and out. Playing with her clit.
The downside to these visits, of course, was a constant raging hard on. I'd have to shift and use a beach chair to try and hide it. And sunglasses were a must. To stare at Emily, and hopefully keep people from watching me doing it, but also letting me shift my head around if hot girls went up and down the beach. To play the game of masking were my attention really was.
Naturally, my Dad would be along for the ride, bring all the beach gear and cooler full of sandwiches, snacks, beer and soda. He was by all accounts a good guy. He raised me and my brother under that fatherly figure style most kids need. I say he'd taught us right from wrong, but based on my near crippling infatuation, I say he tried his best. He was good to my Mom. No violence, no real yelling. It was a typical marriage. He did work a lot though. As a lawyer he had a lot of research and prepping for his cases. As I got older, he became more successful, and that time away meant a whole lot of very long nights.
Unfortunately, this inevitably lead to the one thing Mom feared. She found out my Dad was having an affair with his paralegal. I guess she suspected it, but one of Dad's co-workers called to let her know. She cried most of the night. I left her alone, and felt awful for her. But then a little idea started. Just a flicker, and it was to maybe use this as an opportunity. To possibly use this event to do what I want to do for so long, and to take the risk.
A few days went past and Emily was still a bit of a wreck. She had told my Dad to go to a hotel until they could talk, and to, as she put it, "give you plenty of time to fuck your whore". One night she was on the couch, the TV on, but muted. She clearly wasn't watching it. I asked her if she was okay and decided to move around behind the couch and start rubbing her shoulders. "You don't have to do that" she said, gently putting her hand on mine. I told her I didn't mind, and I could feel how tense she was. I could not believe I had my hands on her, massaging her sun-kissed skin, feeling in on the tips of my fingers. It was better than I had thought it would ever be. Warm and smooth, and she smelled so nice. I could smell the subtly used perfume and her hair. Damn her hair smelled good.
But then it happened. In the moment of all this sensory overload, my hands began to drift down, edging their way down her chest, feeling the skin slowly slide against my palms. But then she grabbed my hands. It was a semi-tight grip, and she leaded forward so they slid ride of her shoulders and off of her. She looked back and asked what that was. I apologized and just said I wasn't really good at massages and thought it would help her shoulders more. She got up and walked towards the laundry room. She said she had to take care of the clothes and that she appreciated me. I felt like an idiot, but dodged a bullet. The next time wouldn't be so easy.
After about 30 minutes, she yelled for me to come into my room. She needed to talk to me. Immediately, I knew what was going to happen, and I was right. Putting away some of my clothes she found my small collection of her panties. In the past I had taken them from baskets waiting to get washed. I hoped having them would help keep my urges in check, but they didn't. A lot of times they were something I use to imagine her in while we were fucking. I'd jerk off and eventually cum onto them. She found them.
"What the fuck is this?" she said. She didn't swear much, so I knew this wasn't great. She got close and said "Explain yourself". At this point, it was beyond the attempt to touch her tits with the massage. I knew what I was doing, and took the chance. I pulled her in and kissed her. I almost came feeling her perfect lips against mine. She let out a tiny squeak and pushed back. She drew back and slapped me the hardest I've ever been hit. I deserved it. "Pack up your shit and get out of my house, now." She stomped out, slamming my door. I took the risk, and it failed. I just blew it.
A little while later, she told me to come talk to her. I went into her bedroom. She was in her robe. She asked me how long I felt that way towards her. When I explained years, she let out a small sigh, closed her eyes, and nodded a little bit. "That's what I thought".
She held out the fuzzy belt of her robe in the palm of her hand. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't looking mad either. It was just an expressionless look. I didn't know what to think. She lightly shook the belt. "It's now or never. Make up your mind".
My hand immediately grabbed the belt.
The benefit was clearly Emily in a bathing suit. She'd never wear anything like a g-string with those tiny tops that barely cover the areola. But she did wear very nice bikinis. They accentuated every curve, letting my imagination run wild. Her tits hung in them, giving them that slight sag but also proving they had plenty of perk left in them. Beach visits also always meant rock hard nipples. Like little bullets just tempting to be played with in however many ways. I'd picture what they were like. The color, how they felt to the touch not only between my fingers but with my tongue.
Her bikini bottoms would also drive me wild. There they were, those thighs and that bubble butt. Skin exposed and so damn smooth. When she lay out tanning all I could picture was me on top of her, pulling down those bottoms and sliding my fingers into her. I can picture her face, moaning with her eyes closed tight while I slid more fingers in, sliding them in and out. Playing with her clit.
The downside to these visits, of course, was a constant raging hard on. I'd have to shift and use a beach chair to try and hide it. And sunglasses were a must. To stare at Emily, and hopefully keep people from watching me doing it, but also letting me shift my head around if hot girls went up and down the beach. To play the game of masking were my attention really was.
Naturally, my Dad would be along for the ride, bring all the beach gear and cooler full of sandwiches, snacks, beer and soda. He was by all accounts a good guy. He raised me and my brother under that fatherly figure style most kids need. I say he'd taught us right from wrong, but based on my near crippling infatuation, I say he tried his best. He was good to my Mom. No violence, no real yelling. It was a typical marriage. He did work a lot though. As a lawyer he had a lot of research and prepping for his cases. As I got older, he became more successful, and that time away meant a whole lot of very long nights.
Unfortunately, this inevitably lead to the one thing Mom feared. She found out my Dad was having an affair with his paralegal. I guess she suspected it, but one of Dad's co-workers called to let her know. She cried most of the night. I left her alone, and felt awful for her. But then a little idea started. Just a flicker, and it was to maybe use this as an opportunity. To possibly use this event to do what I want to do for so long, and to take the risk.
A few days went past and Emily was still a bit of a wreck. She had told my Dad to go to a hotel until they could talk, and to, as she put it, "give you plenty of time to fuck your whore". One night she was on the couch, the TV on, but muted. She clearly wasn't watching it. I asked her if she was okay and decided to move around behind the couch and start rubbing her shoulders. "You don't have to do that" she said, gently putting her hand on mine. I told her I didn't mind, and I could feel how tense she was. I could not believe I had my hands on her, massaging her sun-kissed skin, feeling in on the tips of my fingers. It was better than I had thought it would ever be. Warm and smooth, and she smelled so nice. I could smell the subtly used perfume and her hair. Damn her hair smelled good.
But then it happened. In the moment of all this sensory overload, my hands began to drift down, edging their way down her chest, feeling the skin slowly slide against my palms. But then she grabbed my hands. It was a semi-tight grip, and she leaded forward so they slid ride of her shoulders and off of her. She looked back and asked what that was. I apologized and just said I wasn't really good at massages and thought it would help her shoulders more. She got up and walked towards the laundry room. She said she had to take care of the clothes and that she appreciated me. I felt like an idiot, but dodged a bullet. The next time wouldn't be so easy.
After about 30 minutes, she yelled for me to come into my room. She needed to talk to me. Immediately, I knew what was going to happen, and I was right. Putting away some of my clothes she found my small collection of her panties. In the past I had taken them from baskets waiting to get washed. I hoped having them would help keep my urges in check, but they didn't. A lot of times they were something I use to imagine her in while we were fucking. I'd jerk off and eventually cum onto them. She found them.
"What the fuck is this?" she said. She didn't swear much, so I knew this wasn't great. She got close and said "Explain yourself". At this point, it was beyond the attempt to touch her tits with the massage. I knew what I was doing, and took the chance. I pulled her in and kissed her. I almost came feeling her perfect lips against mine. She let out a tiny squeak and pushed back. She drew back and slapped me the hardest I've ever been hit. I deserved it. "Pack up your shit and get out of my house, now." She stomped out, slamming my door. I took the risk, and it failed. I just blew it.
A little while later, she told me to come talk to her. I went into her bedroom. She was in her robe. She asked me how long I felt that way towards her. When I explained years, she let out a small sigh, closed her eyes, and nodded a little bit. "That's what I thought".
She held out the fuzzy belt of her robe in the palm of her hand. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't looking mad either. It was just an expressionless look. I didn't know what to think. She lightly shook the belt. "It's now or never. Make up your mind".
My hand immediately grabbed the belt.
6 bulan lalu