Climax

Emily could feel him start to twitch—those little involuntary jerks in his thighs, the way his cock pulsed tighter between her breasts, the sounds starting to rise unbidden from his throat.

She leaned in, took him deeper into her mouth, let her lips stretch and seal as she sucked harder, wetter. Her breasts moved faster now, soft skin slick and gliding, her hands firm at the base to keep him steady.

His breath hitched—sharp, high—and then his whole body locked.

He came with a strangled sound, hips jerking up into her mouth.

The first hot pulse hit the back of her throat. Then another. Thick, eager spurts spilling across her tongue and chin, some escaping the seal of her lips and streaking across her tits. She moaned low and kept sucking, gentle now, easing him through it. Her hands stroked slowly, coaxing every last drop from him, her tongue lapping around the head as he whimpered and shivered, overwhelmed.

When he finally sagged back against the table, dazed and panting, his hoodie long forgotten on the floor, Emily sat back on her heels and looked up at him.

His chest rose and fell like he’d just run a mile. His eyes were glassy. Wrecked.

And God, she felt powerful.

Still flushed, still aroused—but electric with it. She looked down at her chest, at the trails of cum across her breasts, smeared with saliva and heat. She reached up, dragged two fingers through the mess on her skin, then slipped them into her mouth.

She closed her eyes and hummed.

Then she stood.

No hesitation.

Her blouse was already ruined, hanging in tatters. She unfastened her skirt slowly, her eyes locked on his as she slid it down over her hips, then her panties underneath.

She stood there fully naked in front of him now—nipples still hard, skin flushed, her thighs slick with need.

He was still catching his breath, but his eyes tracked every inch of her, and when her hand wrapped gently around his softening cock again, he twitched. Already.

“I’m not finished with you yet,” she said softly, sinking to her knees once more.

She licked him clean.

Slow, deliberate strokes—tongue tracing every vein, lips trailing along the underside of his shaft, tasting the afterglow and coaxing him back to life. Her hands slid up his thighs, fingers spreading to anchor herself as she worked him gently back to full hardness.

And he responded fast.

He was young, after all. And she was naked, on her knees, with his cock on her tongue.

He was almost fully hard again when the thought suddenly hit her, absurd and sharp and out of place.

She didn’t even know his name.

Emily blinked, the heat in her face turning almost to embarrassment for a moment. Her lips paused just under the head of his cock, her cheeks flushed redder than before, this time not just from arousal.

Jesus.

She was a married woman, naked on the floor of a library, sucking the dick of a boy who hadn’t even told her his name. She hadn’t asked.

She pulled back slightly, looked up at him, her mouth slick and wet and curved in a breathless smile.

“Wait… what’s your name?” she asked, breathless.

“I just…” she laughed softly, cheeks burning now in a different way. “I feel like such a slut.”

The boy blinked at her—still breathless, still visibly stunned from everything that had just happened—but when she asked, his mouth curved into the shyest, smallest smile she’d seen on him yet.

“Eli,” he said quietly, almost sheepishly.

His voice cracked just a little.

“Eli,” Emily repeated, letting the name settle on her tongue. "Hello Eli, I'm Emily."

She exhaled slowly, brushing her hair back from her flushed face, still kneeling, still naked, still holding him half-hard and rising again in her palm.

“Well,” she said, smirking now despite herself, “Eli…”

Her tongue flicked out, dragging slowly over the tip of his cock again, eyes locked on his as she stood up.

“…guess we’re not strangers anymore.”