Caught In The Middle

I'm caught in the middle. I'm giving and receiving. I'm loving every last minute of it.

And every ounce of fantasy, every single scenario that played out in my mind while we were out in the store, is foreplay to this moment. It's all that I want and all that I need and it fuels the fire of this depraved induction, giving to a man that I don't know at all. Giving as much of me as I possibly can.

When I fall back for air Rachel is there, taking my place eagerly. Once I've caught my breath I move to her, taking her full breasts in hand and sliding around so my back is to the wall behind me and I feel like I'm caught between that hard surface and the soft suppleness of her body.

I feast on her breasts, grasping each other them like an eager virgin and turning them up to my lips. Closing them over her nipples first one and then the other, feeling them pucker and harden once more in my mouth and on my lips. I nip at them, making her jump a little and seethe with the warmth of her arousal, making her melt against my ministrations while I slide my fingers down and part her thighs.

I've never felt Rachel this wet before. I've seen her turned on, but until now I don't know that I've ever seen her well and truly needy.

Her pussy is slick and so warm it's hot. When I dip a finger inside the walls of her sex close over me, eagerly sucking at my finger and pulling me in and begging me for more.

Her thighs are milky soft and supple. So smooth that I want to dive between them, sliding my tongue up and down her sex and drinking the sweet warmth of her sex. I want to slip my tongue in and drawn out the warmth of her. I want to feel her shudder beneath my touch.

But the room is so cramped it's almost claustrophobic, and I'm realizing that even more now. Standing in the middle I could easily reach out and touch both walls and that's remarkable for me, since as Emily I am not exactly a massive specimen.

And with Rachel doing her level best to swallow as much of this stranger's cock as she can, she's nearly pressed up against the wall. There is just enough room for me to slide into that space between her and it, sliding myself down to be able to taste her is out of the realm of possibility.

I'll have to settle for touch, using my mouth and my lips and my tongue instead to press against her body again and again. Her breasts and her neck. Her arms and her belly. Her body, so sweet and so feminine, so filled with so many curves.

Rachel is gorgeous, that much is known. She is a timeless kind of beauty, easily at ease gracing the cover of a fashion magazine or a painting by some renaissance master. The contrast between her tight and tiny waist and her full hips. The way her breasts defy gravity, so full they seem to weight heavy on her slight form but so perfectly perky that they seem to be weightless at the same time. The way her body bends and curves like an hourglass. The way her face is heartachingly beautiful, full lips and big eyes and a nose so fine it looks delicate, turned up at the end in a cute little button.

She is beauty and she is grace and there is a reason, frankly, why every single person I've ever known who has known her has had a crush. Every guy wants her. Every girl wants her too. That all makes sense to me. That all was known to me even before I became Emily.

But what is knew is what happens in moments like this. Little moments where I don't quite understand myself, where I lapse into some other version of me that is driven and colored by a history that I didn't experience, but this body did.

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