AMATEUR XXX STORIES
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In SightInMind
***ALL MATERIAL PRESENTED BY K. SKELLINGTON IS THEREFORE THE WORK OF K.
SKELLINGTON AND IS COPYRIGHTED AND PROTECTED BY THE Berne Union for the
Protection of Literary and Artistic Property (Berne Convention)
http://whatiscopyright.org***
As the door swung open infront of her, she bent to pick up the bouquet
of flowers left on her front step and walked briskly inside, not missing a
beat as she kicked the door shut behind her with one leather heel. "Damn
him," she sighed, one hand holding her forehead as she leaned with that
elbow over the sink. In the metal basin lay the twelve roses he must have
sent while she was stuck in afternoon traffic. "I hate when he's that
sweet," Emily said, pushing the roses into the trash compactor and flicking
the nearby switch. petal pieces churned and flew everywhere in the
sink, mixed with the odd thorn or torn leaf. Then finally, Rodney's loving
gesture of apology was lost down the drain, no more than future compost.
Emily removed her jacket and hung it in the dim closet, unbuttoning the top
three buttons of her pale pink blouse and ruffling the silky material over
her breasts. Today had been hot, and arguing with Rodney had not helped.
Of course, it wasn't a real argument. It was just her dwelling. She
wouldn't need him to tell her that. She had been nitpicking, trying to
rile him. And all she had succeeded in doing was make him feel guilty for
being a certain way that in truth, he was not. She sighed and paused at
the closet, head leaning against the wooden door. A pair of hands crept
around her waist, turning her slowly. She lifted her mouth, eyes closed,
to the waiting kiss, and was pleasantly surprised as her lips were greeted
with a tongue, warm and seductive, slipping into her mouth. Emily moaned
slight as the hands went to the remaining buttons of her blouse. "I need
you," he whispered to her, his lips against her cheek, her ear, her neck.
She could hear him as he smelled her hair, brushing it aside with his nose,
burying his face there and releasing her brown tresses from various pins
and clips that fell forgotten to the floor. His words made her skin
shiver, as did his hands, moving over her exposed neck then up over her
breasts. He cupped them, one in each large palm, smoothing his hands over
the tight, seamless silk of her brassiere. Then his thumbs found her
excited nipples, hard protrusions beneath her bra. He rubbed over them,
stimulating them, making Emily ache for him. "I need you too," she moaned,
tilting her head back to press against the wall. His strong hands moved to
her hips, hiking her grey knee-length skirt up over her thighs. Deftly his
fingers unclasped her nylons from her garters, slipping between the sheer
material to run down to her knees. He loved to explore her skin, and she
knew it, adored him for it. Soon, his hands moved back up, his mouth busy
devouring her neck as his hands slipped up and into her panties. Plain,
white, silk-like, he pulled them down. As he moved his hands low to slip
the off, his mouth moved to lap kitten-like between her breasts.
He lifted one of her feet, and then the other, removing her undergarments.
His mouth had lowered to her stomach, and Emily gasped at the warmth he
gave her, both inside and outside of her flesh. He was careful, and yet
precise, as he mouthed over her bush of dark curls. His tongue slid into
her crevice, dipping snake-like into her privacy, and Emily clutched his
hair with her hands. He flicked at her clitoris, tasting the small, dark
bud before it into his lips, between his teeth. Emily cried out
then, her eyes rolling back in her head. And at the sound of her pleasure,
he quickly stood up infront of her again. In no time, he had released his
own aching member, holding it in his hand. She could feel it, heavy and
hard, as he teased it along the inside of her thigh. "I need
you...please..."she begged, almost weeping with her need as her legs
writhed up and down against the outside of his own. He smiled and kissed
her, and she could feel the smile of satisfaction in his lips, and in his
kiss. As his hands moved to her thighs, he kissed her, deeply. His tongue
sought out her's and played with it, teased it. Eagerly, he grasped one of
her legs in each of his massive hands, and lifted her feet from the ground.
He pulled her legs apart, and she squealed with the strain. But soon, his
member was pressing against her. And then, entering her. Sighing, Emily
let the feeling of completeness and wholeness wash over her body and soul.
This is what it was like to make love to him. It was as if the final
pieces of a hard and intense game had finally been played, and the prize
had been won. He thrust himself deeply into her, mating his tongue with
her's as he filled her, stretched her. And she enveloped him, tight and
warm and secure. This was where he belonged. He began to thrust into her.
He knew how to move her, he knew how to move himself. He was so good at
this, so experienced with her body and her ways. In no time at all, with
his fingers digging into the insides of her thighs, with his tongue
pressing commandingly against her own, he brought her to orgasm. Hours
later, Emily lay in her bed. The sheets were entangled around her body,
and his. She lay with her head in the crook of his arm and shoulder. And
he stroked her hair with his curled-over arm, pulling it, combing it in his
fingers. He sniffed, breathing her in. And happily, Emily sighed. "How
was your day?" he inquired softly. "We argued again," Emily answered. She
felt regretful. He nodded, a gesture she barely felt as sleep began to
envelope her. Against her will, one tear slid from her closed eye and
landed against his bare chest. He dabbed at it, then at her cheek. And he
twisted his face, into her hair. Gently, he kissed her forehead. "It will
be okay tomorrow. It's another day, and you will work it all out." Emily
sighed and let the dreams come, knowing she would forget them in the
morning. After the alarm clock rang loudly in her ear, she snorted herself
awake, almost satisfied and recovered from the stress of the day before.
His arms were around her breasts, and she could feel him breathing. She
dared not move more than enough to turn the clock off. Then she nestled
back against him. At least part of him was awake. She could feel his
hardness pressing between the crack of her behind, hot already, and eager.
It bounced, once, and Emily knew he was awake. But she did not turn to
him. He licked her earlobe, as his hand moved to himself. She could feel
him stroking himself, making sure he was ready...making sure she knew he
was ready. And she tilted her spine, pushing her bottom back against him.
He loved to take her this way. And she loved to make him happy. Slowly,
careful as always, he entered her back there. The sensation almost burned,
but with it came such an feeling of trust, intimacy, and love, she
could not deny that this pleased her. He moved into her, fully, slowly.
He was so large, and she could appreciate his egotistical attitude about
himself when he was so firmly inside her she almost swore she could taste
him in her mouth, at the back of her throat. His hand crept over her hip,
and down over her stomach. He parted her thighs, his member still and
motionless inside her as his hand reached between her privacy and entered
her with one finger. As he felt her wetness, her own excitement, he
his breath in, and the sound in her ear of his delighted surprise thrilled
Emily. She moved herself, pulled her hips slightly forward. Then, she
pushed herself back again. She was moving him in and out of her, and he
held her close, his finger dipping in and again into her crevice. "I love
you," he spoke in her ear, nuzzling her distractedly. She believed him.
He was trying to hold back, she could feel him throbbing wantingly inside
her. And she wanted to feel his ecstasy, to feel how much she pleased him.
His happiness was so often everything to her. Emily moved her hips
quicker, and he in turn moved his fingers expertly inside her. It became a
race to see who would please who first, who would not be able to withstand
what the other did. He won. Emily came over his fingers, wet and slick,
her insides contracting. And he followed, pleased she had not been able to
resist. He filled her with burning warmth, and his hands both gripped her
hips, rolling himself onto his back, and her onto his stomach. As his
bucking ceased, he moved his hands to her breasts, massaging them tenderly.
He loved her. She would never let that go. The shower was quick, warm and
soothing to her aching body. And the ache she hoped would not wash away.
She wanted to carry this feeling with her all day. To sit in her chair, at
her desk, and feel the ache in her behind, in her insides. To smile that
secretive smile of the desired and well-loved while she talked to her
friends at lunch. Emily knew though, that this feeling of comfort, of
satisfaction, of perfect love, would fade as soon as one thing happened.
As soon as Rodney opened his office door, and looked at her, and smiled.
And asked if she had gotten his flowers. His eyes would shine. His breath
would smell minty and wonderful. His face would be clean shaven and fresh.
And he would be full of love for her. And she would forget all this, all
last night, all this morning. Breakfast was fast, smooth and
well-prepared. Filling, as everything always was. She brushed her teeth,
applied her make-up, and fixed her dress-suit in the hallway mirror. He
came up behind her, licking at her neck, but knowing he was already fading
from the forefront of her mind. He handed her her jacket, and her
briefcase. And for a moment, Emily looked at him. Directly. And knew
him. She leaned up to him, and kissed him. And the kiss was a loving kiss,
pure and sweet and everything he wanted to feel. Then she opened the door,
went outside, and closed the door. She locked the deadbolt, and bent to
pick up the paper, and continued down to her car, never missing a beat. He
smiled as she pulled away. He was already fading. He moved to sit in the
fluffy armchair, to wait for her to return. And the farther she drove, the
farther from her mind he was. And the farther from reality. Soon, he was
mist. And then, he was not. Nothing was in the chair.