Emilia walks through the front door as if she lives here, a smile on her face, a ceaseless bounce in her step. She’s more bubbly than usual, trotting over to my dad and offering one of her natural embraces.
“Hey Emily,” he greets her.
“Mr. H,” she chirps, trotting over to me. “Steven, you ready yet?”
“Nearly. I’m guessing you are,” I say as I hug her one-armed.
“I could hardly sleep! I had plenty of time to pack.” Her arms go up, palms toward me with emphasis.
“Alright, well here’s the keys. Go put your stuff in the back.”
“Thank you,” she lilts the two short words and skips out the door as quickly as she came. My dad walks to me as I force the zipper closed on my overused duffle.
“So, how long you two staying?” he says with a hinting grin.
My dad is under the assumption Emilia and I will fall in love someday. We’ve been neighbors for fourteen years, and through that time, our families have become good friends. My mother and hers are always out together, trying pottery classes, yoga, or Zumba - whatever the hell that is. Emilia doesn’t have a dad, but mine has made no reservations about treating her like the long-lost daughter he never had.
We graduated together two years ago, and though we went on to attend different universities, Emilia is still one of my best friends, time and distance unhindering that fact. We haven’t seen each other much lately, so during this semester break, we decided to visit our parents and be neighbors again like old times.
While it may seem like the ideal beginning for a young romance, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Emilia is into girls and has been since her ‘appiphany’ during our freshman year of high school. She’s as beautiful as every girl-next-door ought to be, and while once I was attracted to her, her sexuality forces those thoughts to the back burner. I know nothing will ever happen between us - which is fine with me - but my dad seems convinced otherwise. And he knows she’s a lesbian. I guess he just sees our unfailing friendship as a means to something more.
I sigh through a smile.
“Only a few days. We’ll be back by Monday.”
“You hear the weather’s supposed to hit hard tonight?”
“That’s why we’re leaving now - to beat it. Then while we’re there, the mountain will have plenty of fresh snow.” Only yesterday did Emilia and I decide to head to Aspen, the best place for winter sports. When we heard about the upcoming storm, it was only logical that we make use of it.
“Alright, just drive safe.”
“And don’t have too much fun.” My dad winks at me as he walks away, and all I can do is shake my head.
I love Emilia like family, and I’m glad she gets along with my dad, but I wish he liked my other girlfriends as much. Sometimes it’s hard feeling like no matter who I bring home they will always be measured up against the one girl I can’t have.
Emilia gets cozy in the passenger seat, her knit leggings and sweater both adhering to her curves, the fuzzy socks on her feet tucked under her as I drive us out of town. The clouds are low and grey as we put miles behind us, listening to our high school playlist and laughing way too hard.
Though it’s only five o’clock, it’s dark by the time we make it to the resort office, courtesy of the winter weather. After checking in, they hand us our key, and we drive another two miles to reach the cabin. It’s just starting to snow as we haul our luggage inside the small rented cottage, stomping our boots at the entrance.
I ignite and prod the tinder until the logs in the fireplace begin burning, then join Emilia in the room. We talk as we unpack, the single bed remaining unacknowledged. We used to sleep on each other’s couches growing up. We figured sharing a bed wouldn’t be all that different.
Emilia wraps herself in a blanket before she pours us drinks.
“I l-l-learned in freshman year that if you d-d-drink, it warms you up.” She’s shivering as she hands me a short glass, and I laugh.
“Expands the blood vessels,” I confirm.
“It fucking b-b-better.”
We sit in front of the crackling flames, watching the falling snow outside. It’s really coming down now, only the light from the fireplace pinching the dark room. Passing the time on the sofa, our conversation lulls between humorous and serious, the topic of our most recent year of college straddling the line between both.
I tell stories of the nights I partied and the girls I met, as well as me nearly failing philosophy. I binged an entire night of no sleep to write my final thesis, and it gave me the grade I needed. Emilia vents about her attempt to be better this year, vowing to study before anything else, and it has paid off, her grades more sharp than a tac. Her love life is the one that’s failing at the moment.
“College girls are fun. And I mean fun, but that’s all. They have no sense of commitment or responsibility. Most of the time they’re just experimenting, which is fine with me,” she says, hinting at many limb-entwined nights. “But sometimes I’d like to meet a girl that isn’t as fake as a wax museum.”
“I don’t know, maybe you shouldn’t be focused on something serious right now. You’re young. You should go experiment, too.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“Maybe you’ll like it.”
“That’s what I say to the curious girls who end up in my bed,” Emilia says, and we both laugh.
In the morning, we both wake fresh and eager for some snowboarding. When we look out the window, our jaws drop.
The storm the weatherman foretold was larger than anyone expected. It snowed almost three feet last night, and it’s still coming down.
“Holy shit,” Emilia says, breaking the shocked silence.
“Holy shit is right,” I agree, watching chunks of fluff rain down on the already piling powder - far as the eye can see. The line of it has nearly reached our windowsill. If I opened the glass right now, I wouldn’t have to lean far to scoop up a handful of snow.
“I wonder if we’ll be stuck here,” Emilia muses. I tilt my head in a way that says ‘you might be right’. Then, I exit to the main room, Emilia following. I unlock the front door, pulling it open no more than an inch, and on the other side is a small wall of snow threatening to come in. I shut the door again, the image of my buried SUV lingering.
“Yeah, not sure we’re going anywhere any time soon.”
As I speak, the phone in the corner starts ringing. Emilia gets it first. I listen to the conversation through her, and the verdict is what she predicted. With the snow still coming down, the plows can't get through the small roads to the cabins. They were barely able to clear off the walkways at the main office, and the town outside the resort is basically shut down, no one daring to go anywhere until the downpour stops.
They asked if we needed any provisions, to which Emilia replied ‘no'. We made sure to stock up with food before coming. Cheaper that way anyway. She says they promised to call again when the plows go out, or if any other news should arise.
“Well, looks like we're snowed in,” Emilia snickers. “I've never actually been ‘snowed in' anywhere before.”
“The company could be worse.” She shrugs, backing toward the kitchen.
“Aw, you’re so sweet,” I reply facetiously, pulling out the fixings for coffee. I’m just glad we didn’t leave anything in the car last night.
“I shouldn’t answer that yet, though,” Emilia continues. “You’ll probably end up driving me crazy.”
“Should I start writing a novel?” I jest.
“Oh my god, what if this is like one of those horror scenarios? You know, we get snowed in and tonight the resort will call and tell us there’s a killer on the loose.”
“Ok, no more scary movies for you,” I say, and we both laugh.
Instead of skiing and boarding like we wanted to, we spend the day watching movies and playing chess. We both talked to our parents earlier, assuring them we were fine, just immobile.
“At least there’ll be plenty of snow for tomorrow,” Emilia says hopefully, but by the time the sun is down, the storm still hasn’t stopped.
When nighttime hits, Emilia and I on the sofa by the fireplace, each with a drink in our hand. We’re trying to use our firewood sparingly, but tonight certainly calls for it.
“Be honest, you’ve never been with a guy?” I ask, and Emilia laughs.
“Have you ever been with a guy, Steve?” she fires back, and I cringe twice. She knows I prefer ‘Steven’ over ‘Steve’.
“That’s how I feel.”
“Hey, we’re not that bad.”
“You’re not trying to turn me, are you?” Our back-and-forth remains light, teasing one another like always.
“I was only curious,” I assure. “Straight girls tend to, as you say, ‘experiment’ with other girls in college. I was wondering if lesbians ever get the urge to experiment with guys.”
“Do straight guys ever get the urge to experiment in college?”
“That is not the same.”
“Stop being so sexist,” she laughs.
“Ok, you’re right. Your question was fair. So to answer that: Some guys might, but definitely not me.”
“Then I’d have to answer the same. Maybe some lesbians try the flesh pole, but not me.”
“It’s an insider’s term,” she says, and we laugh again.
Finishing off three glasses each, we crawl into bed and pray the snow will let up before tomorrow.
It was a vain hope.
The next morning it is still snowing, though it’s coming down much softer. The resort calls to say the plows are going out today, but it may be a while before they reach us. They allay their resort is open, though there aren’t many on the lift today anyway. There’s so much powdery snow, people’s skis are just sinking. Via the news, we learn this is the biggest storm Colorado has had in forty-two years.
Emilia and I pass the time again, beginning to get restless in the small cabin. She exercises for a bit while I read, wishing I had the foresight to bring my computer. I figured I wouldn’t have time to use it. When she exits the bedroom in nothing but a towel, I have a hard time looking away. She said she was going to shower after her workout, but I didn’t expect to see her wet-haired and bare-shouldered.
The edge of the terry cloth rides up her thighs as she reaches into a cupboard, and when she turns, I thankfully remember to avert my gaze. After a minute, she comes to sit beside me.
“Yep, I’m officially going crazy.” All I can think about is her barely being sheathed by that towel.
“It’s only been two days,” I try to assure.
“Two days too long. I was hoping for some action.” She tilts her head with a sigh, and my shameless eyes find her damp collarbones. Emilia is every guy’s wet dream. And hell, some girls, too. She’s slim yet round in all the best places, her blonde hair past her shoulders, eyelashes dark around her almond eyes.
Fuck, if my best friend weren’t a lesbian, I’d give her some action.
“I think I’m gonna shower, too,” I declare, getting up from the couch.
“I hope there’s still hot water,” she says honestly. I pull off my shirt, then turn back to her.
“Guess I’ll find out.”
Emilia’s eyes take me in for a moment before I smile all my teeth at her. In the light of day, I can see her blush.
I think about this as I hop in the shower, the water warm for now. Emilia says she has no interest in being with a guy. When I originally asked her why girls, she said it’s likely the same reason I’m attracted to them. Their softness, pinkness, the delicate way they are. Women simply appeal to her.
I wonder, then, why she was looking at me just now. It’s probably because I’ve changed a bit over the last year. I used to be scrawny, and though my build is naturally wirey, I’ve been toning up. Where softness used to be, muscle now resides, my tan even since I’m no longer insecure about taking my shirt off.
I’ve never been an athlete, but if I’ve tried anything new since college, it would be sports. That was news to Emilia when she saw me recently, commenting on how great I look. I contemplate how good she’s looking as I’m in the shower.
I know I shouldn’t because, fuck, it’s wrong, but my lesbian friend occupies the center of my conscious as I masturbate in the steaming stream. I think about how tight she probably is, stroking liquid soap over my cock. There’s something about her inexperience with guys that turns me on. She hasn’t been used by a man before, all her holes untouched by the grace of some horny guy. I’ll admit it - we can be nasty when we want to be.
I like thinking no man’s ever cum inside her before. I also like thinking about how she would be with a woman. Emilia is probably an animal in bed. It’s imagining her riding another girl’s tongue that sets me off, and I try not to grunt aloud.
I curse myself when the water turns cold.
In the evening, it’s obvious the plows won’t make it to us until tomorrow. We open the cupboard stocked with board games and choose one, playing until Emilia knocks her piece over.
“I give up!”
“Frustrated much?” I tease, gloating my win.
“You have no idea.” It’s uncharacteristically quiet between us for a moment as I put the board back in the box.
“Well,” Emilia says, hopping off the floor. “I’m gonna try and get some sleep.” I can’t help but chuckle a little. She doesn’t seem tired in the slightest.
“Ok.” I glance up at her, and she’s glaring at me through a smile.
She shuts the door and I’m alone. In an effort to give her the privacy she needs, I put in a movie and grab myself another beer, preparing to sit tight. I know why she ‘went to bed’. I had to do the same for myself earlier. Difficult as being stuck in this cabin is, being with your attractive best friend is even more trying. If I was here with a lover, I’d have more than a few ideas to pass the time.
When my movie’s over, I debate sleeping on the couch. Give Emilia some space. That bed is much more comfortable than this small couch though, and she’s probably asleep by now anyway.
The door doesn’t creak when I sneak into the room, for which I’m grateful. The only noise is coming from Emilia. She gasps softly when I enter, moving around under the blankets.
“Shit, I’m sorry, I thought you’d be asleep-”
“Fuck,” she curses through heaving breath.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize again, stepping to leave the room.
“It’s not you,” she sighs.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, just… having a hard time.”
“With?” I feel her gaze through the dark room, looking at me like I’m stupid.
“I’m sure you know,” she concedes, and it’s followed by a dead bout of silence.
“… Do you need help?” My words are a piercing through what was probably our undefiled friendship. Emilia sits up in bed. All she can do is stare at me.
“What?” she finally says, looking unamused. I shrug one shoulder.
“Just offering some help.”
“Steven…” She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be an asshole, I swear. You’re my friend, I just… want to help.”
She sits chewing her lip in silence for a moment.
“I never expected you to offer something like this…” The disappointment in her voice makes my heart sink.
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pressure you or make you upset.” She doesn’t reply. “It’s this damn cabin,” I say, cursing it. Emilia looks up at me. “Being stuck in the same room together for three days was not my idea. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with you, Em. It’s just… being so close… You know I think you’re beautiful. I always have. Even when I tried to kiss you when we were fourteen, and you stopped me.” I laugh a little. “I knew you weren’t into me, and I accepted that. I still accept that. This isn’t some ploy to get in bed with you. I genuinely want to help you out.”
Emilia doesn’t look as angry. More like she’s about to laugh at me.
“I figured my tongue would still feel good for you,” I add. Emilia’s smile disappears when her lips come together, pinched between her teeth. She stares at me for another minute in a totally different way.
“So… you up for experimenting?” I ask, my voice a little lower, and I see her debating it.
“I don’t know…” I walk forward to sit on the edge of the bed. Emilia’s hands are in her lap, the sleeves of her sleep t-shirt sticking away from her arms.
“Want me to hide under the covers? You can pretend I’m some hot brunette.” She giggles a little.
“I don’t want to ruin our friendship, Steven.”
“Classic friendzone line.”
“The ‘friendzone’ is a patriarchal term.”
“Don’t change the subject.” She blushes at my clap-back. When she doesn’t speak, I start pulling up the comforter, slipping beneath it, right by her legs.
I slither up her side, keeping my touch light.
“If you don’t like it, you can tell me to stop.” As I lie under the blanket, I watch her lower half hesitate, can practically hear the tug-of-war happening in her head. I’m not trying to turn my best friend, but if she happened to find interest in me, I certainly wouldn’t argue.
I lean forward and plant a kiss on her thigh. She jumps a little, then after a moment, moves to open her legs. I maneuver to her center, now nestled between smooth thighs, finding she’s without panties. And entirely shaved. My heart stops before deciding to try and burst from my chest. The lines of her folds are bare, her delicate outer lips giving way to her utmost sensitive flesh. Her clit is peeking from the warmth of her body, and I can smell her already, her sweetness potent.
It’s obvious she was trying to masturbate. I can tell she’s wet, and I haven’t even felt her yet.
“Oh my god.” I hear Emilia’s muffled voice, her body tense, wondering to herself if she’s really about to let this happen. Not wanting to waste the only moment I may ever have, I lean forward and lick her.
Emilia’s gasp could be heard around the world.
She sighs when I flick her clit at the top of my wide pass. Then I do it again. Starting at her honey hole, I savor every nuance of her flavor, tasting every tart inch of her. Hard as a fucking rock in my pants. I’ve liked this girl for years. Since the moment the hormones in my body introduced themselves at a pubescent 12 years old. Hell, even before that I was attracted to her - in a way that made me want to share my crayons. Thinking at first that she might not like me, then learning that she never would, I had to dismiss every romantic thought I’ve ever had about her. I never imagined in a million years she’d let me do this.
I take advantage of my vantage point. Tongue a heat-seeking missile, I move it against her fervently, licking her hard, sucking her folds and kissing her clit. Emilia moans.
“Oh my,” she pants, fisting the sheets. The blanket is moving lower from her squirming, and soon I can see her stomach muscles clenching below her lifted shirt, the way she’s humping into me, her eyes closed as I work.
If she really were thinking about another girl right now, that wouldn’t bother me. My goal, however, is to get her to forget everyone else and think about me. Know that it’s me between her legs, acknowledge that my tongue is the one pleasing her. I’m not trying to lure her to the world of men. I just want her to want me, not the rest of the male populous.
That’s all I can think about as I tongue fuck my best friend - how much I want her to enjoy this. I feel like I’m competing with every girl she’s ever been with.
“Holy fuck,” she purrs, and it makes me throb.
Being the first man allowed to do this, my pride is manifesting in my actions. I’m not just trying to prove something. I am seriously enjoying myself.
Quick and light, hard and slow, I change my pace, telling her pussy all the things I’ve ever wanted to do to it. Whispering in breaths how fucking horny she makes me, my hands snaking under her thighs and up to hold her waist. I push her shirt higher in the process, cradling her ribcage, intoxicated by the way she’s squirming beneath me.
“Steven,” she moans through a tight throat. My eyes go up, and I find that she’s finally looking down at me. Her brows are pinched, panting heavily, the sight before her one she never expected either.
When I suck her clit with the motion of a wave lapping at sand, her breath comes faster.
“Steven, oh fuck,” she respires in obvious surprise. She’s surprised I can make her come. My tongue ravishes her in response, the salt of the insult diluted by my cockiness. Damn right I can make her come.
That’s exactly what she does.
I enjoy the uncontrolled moaning escaping her, how Emilia unravels before me, thrashing her hips against my mouth. She tastes so fucking good, I can’t help but slip a finger inside her, dying to feel the fresh wetness.
Post orgasm, I begin stimulating her even more. She whimpers and twitches, assuming I’m milking her climax. Only when I slip another finger in her and tease her g-spot does she understand I want to keep going.
“Ok, you gave me my orgasm,” she breathes, coming onto her elbows.
“How was it?” I ask against her swollen, sweet clit. She moans, looking down at me.
“You definitely helped.” I smile as I lick her smooth, wet flesh. “Are you going to stop now?”
“Do you want me to?” I say, simultaneously pushing the pads of my fingers on her hidden love button. She bucks in response.
“Fuck - I don’t know,” she cries.
“It’s ok if you’re enjoying it.”
As I lap at her like a dog, I watch the effect my words have on her. Emilia is lost in a world of confusion. My intention wasn’t to make her question herself, but that’s exactly what she’s doing. Being with women is all she knows, and if she isn’t attracted to men, why is she enjoying this?
Perhaps it’s the taboo of it. Sometimes the things you least expect will make you more aroused than you thought. Trying it out with me and realizing that my tongue feels just as good as a females is throwing off her inner balance. She shouldn’t be turned on by my hot mouth, but she is.
Emilia’s vacillation ends with a groan and a roll of her hips.
“Keep going.” I dub myself a champion and continue eating my sapphic friend. She tastes even sweeter than when we started.
In and out, a figure eight, the American and the Greek alphabet; my tongue does it all. I eat her as I’ve never eaten a girl before, spending endless minutes bathing her puss.
“Fuck, if you keep that up…” Emilia says, lifting her head from the pillow. Her knees are up and out to her sides, one hand cupping her neck, the other roaming her chest - the breasts I still can’t see because of her shirt.
“What’ll happen?” I tease, teeth on her clit. She smiles.
“You might just make me come again.”
“Yeah? Do you want to try something else?” Emilia hears my innuendo, pausing with her eyes. Would she like to try my dick inside her?
“How about you give me more of your hand instead.”
Disappointment, shock, and excitement collide in my conscious. If that’s what she wants, I’m more than happy to oblige. I grin, slipping a third finger inside her. She nods, breath elevated again.
“Yeah, like that,” Emilia encourages. I put my mouth back to her lonely labia and start thrusting my digits inside her. Soon enough I add a fourth.
“Ohh yes, please don’t stop.” The wetness and excitement coming from her egg me on. I want to see how far she’ll take this. Literally.
When my knuckles push into her, distorting her opening, she moans.
“Yes, more!” Emilia pants.
My beautiful, blonde best friend has let her inhibitions go. Her eyelids are flickering, body relieved from all hesitation, the way she’s writhing against my intrusion implying she’s truly enjoying this.
Wanting to grant her every wish, I thrust the first half of my hand - all four fingers and their corresponding knuckles - back and forth inside her. I can feel the pre-cum collecting at the tip of my cock, absorbing into my boxers, aching to use that lubrication so I can fuck her senseless. I tell my manhood to be patient, sure that the wait will be worth it.
With effort, I pull back a little, press all five fingertips together, then push them into her entrance. She gasps but doesn’t stop me. I have to contort my hand, flattening my thumb to my palm in an attempt to narrow my extremity as much as possible. When I’m near the widest circumference of my hand, Emilia groans, coming up on her elbows.
“Yes, yes, keep going,” she begs in breathy soprano. Her eyes are fixated on my hand, watching me slowly force myself inside her. I can feel the sponginess of her soft innards, carefully accommodating what I offer.
With patience, some maneuvering, and a lot of her wetness, my knuckles slip inside, her pussycat swallowing the girth of my hand.
“Naahh my god! Your hand is big.” Emilia’s moan makes my dick jump.
“Christ, Emilia. Stay relaxed,” I urge, and when I push forward another millimeter, she groans so loudly I’m glad we don’t have neighbors.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she curses, fisting the sheets so hard her abdomen is clenching, too.
“Shit,” I whisper under my breath, looking down at my hand buried inside her, the way the ring of her pussy is gripping me.
I've never fisted a girl before.
With the precision of a surgeon, I move my hand microscopic degrees.
“Mmm,” Emilia moans, then takes an exaggerated breath in. When she exhales, it's a jumbled mess of nouns I can’t make out.
I push and pull with miniscule movements, and soon the motion - and the sensation of being utterly filled, I’m sure - are enough to make her sound with pleasure.
“Ooh my fucking god, your hand,” Emilia cries, arching her back. I move a little faster, and she screams. “Yes, yes, just like that!”
I stare at the gorgeous blonde before me, enthralled with the way she's reacting to my intense intrusion. She's sopping wet, tight as a vice, and hot as an oven, my fingertips petting what's probably her uterus.
Not wanting to close my hand inside her - afraid it’ll hurt her - I gradually pull away, and when my hand pops out, she shouts profanity in her adorable voice. Then, I make a slim fist and push back in. Knuckles first, I watch Emilia’s pink box stretch for me as she rides the tone of a long moan. When my fist is completely inside her again, she sobs so convincingly I have to check that she’s ok.
Brows together, pink lips an ‘O’, Emilia’s white knuckles clutch the bedding, pushing herself onto my hand.
“God yes, fuck me!”
What used to be Emilia, the girl I’ve known since grade school, my lifelong neighbor and best friend, is now a moaning, writhing slut. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. I had the feeling she was a freak, but this verifies just how freaky she can get. I fucking love it, her body wrapped around my fist as she rides my flexing arm.
“You like that?” I ask, half rhetorical, half not, bicep pumping.
“Oh fuck, yes!”
“Is my hand the biggest you’ve ever had?”
“Yes, yes, please - nuuhhh please!”
At least something of mine is the biggest she’s had.
Twisting my hand as she takes me nearly to the wrist, I wring her from the inside out. My appendage can go in a lot of different positions, fingers rippling deep within her, ensuring every single fucking bit of her is touched. I lean forward and spit saliva where my skin meets hers, lubricating her with some of me.
“Fuck this hand, Emilia,” I demand, and she cries out, hips thrusting as our rhythm increases.
“Yes, fuck me with it, please!”
Turning so the sharpest part of my fist - the top of my four main knuckles - presses on her g-spot, and coupled with the back-and-forth motion, Emilia starts gasping.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Steven! You’re gonna make me come,” she sobs, and I can feel the cum in my own balls aching for release.
“Come, Emilia,” I coax in my deep voice. “Come on this big fist, baby.”
A moment later, Emilia tenses, so tight around me I couldn’t expand my balled-up hand if I wanted.
“Say my name, Emilia.” It’s the least she can do since I’m about to make her come. She doesn’t hesitate.
The instant I look down, Emilia starts cumming. And not just cumming, squirting, soaking my wrist and seeping into my fisted palm, dripping down and around her stretched lips.
“Oh fuck,” I groan, watching her spray me.
Emilia has a face twisting, lung squeezing, firecracker of an orgasm, moaning in yelps as I fuck her drizzling pussy.
“Ahh fuck! Please, please, god, don’t stop,” she begs.
“That’s right, Em, come for me,” I growl, her pussy contracting, warm and sopping fucking wet. She moans as another wave rocks her core then leaves her body in a literal wet mess.
“What’s my name?” I ask before craning my neck and latching my mouth onto her wide-spread, dripping clit.
“Ah! Steven, Steven, Steven!” Emilia squeals, look down at me with delightfully tortured eyes. I keep that contact as I lick her spewing heat, fist-deep in what feels like her stomach. I know the sight of her male friend between her legs is shocking and wrong and dirty, but she’s getting off on it, loving the naughty way it makes her feel. It’s fueling her flame as she sprays hard against my tongue - one last time.
As her stream slows, I lick up every crevice around her clit, her outer lips, smooth pubic bone, flicking her worked pearl.
“Oohhhh my f-fucking hell,” she says shakily.
“God damn, Emilia,” I mumble, kissing her pussy like I would her mouth if she’d let me. I rotate my hand one degree, and she hisses in response. Slowly, very fucking slowly, I pull my hand out of her. She gasps when she’s empty, then flops back on the bed.
“Holy shit, Em,” I say, sitting up between her spread legs. “I have to come.” There is no question about it, no stopping it. My unused hand pulls the tie on my cotton pants as Emilia watches, racing to catch her breath, twitching beneath me.
I pull myself out, and her eyes widen.
When my wet hand wraps around my dick, the residual warmth and slippery texture entice a raging need inside me. I stroke myself, knowing it’s Emilia’s aroused fluids I’m using as lube, and I’m already ridiculously close.
“Can I watch?” Emilia says, fascinated.
“Can I come on you?” I ask in return, arm pumping, and the smile that graces her face is one she’s given me a million times - amused by the ‘silly’ things I say. She nods, blonde hair a sexy mess from her thrashing. I already know exactly where I’m going to aim it.
Hands on her hips, Emilia slides her palms up her body, so high her shirt comes up over her breasts. When her fingers begin rubbing into her nipples - belonging to the most round B-cups I’ve ever seen - I know I can’t hold it back any longer.
Staring down at the stunning lesbian beneath me, the one I - a man - just brought to organ electrifying orgasm, I feel my self-control slip away and the pleasure of my long awaited climax.
“Fuuuck,” I groan, pumping my cum straight onto Emilia’s pussy. Spurt after spurt hits her mound, bathing her clit in male sperm for the first time.
She watches, jaw slack, playing with her tits for my benefit. At least she’s courteous enough to help me get off.
“Damn girl,” I groan, jacking the last of my cum onto her now thoroughly sodden pussy.
Sighing with relief, I squeeze my cock one last time, then sit back on my feet.
Emilia lets her shirt fall over her chest, giggling through a blushing face.
“I can’t believe we just did that.”
As I smile in return, orange lights start flashing outside the window. Leaning to where I can see through the curtains, two snow plows make their way up the unpaved path to our cabin.
“Looks like we’re not snowed in anymore.”
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