What Does Emily Feel?

It's an odd thing, having a past that I can remember but that my mind has never experienced. I can feel everything that Emily felt, the skinned knees and the touch of the wheat stalks brushing against her skin as she ran through them. The pang of heartbreak and the thrill of accomplishment. I can feel all of the moments she has experienced, both the sense memory and the emotion behind it. I can see what she would have seen, but it's only when I relax that the natural inclinations of this body take over.

It's in the moments where my hands leave the wheel, letting the road dictate the turns as it slides beneath my palms, that Emily takes over instead of me.

So what does Emily feel in this moment? Caught between Rachel and the hard wall behind her. Touching her body and feasting on it while the lewd sounds of cocksucking play out over her head?

She feels jealous.

Emily was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. Her body was tight and taut, her breasts round and perky, sitting high on her chest. She was small, petite, but curvy in all the right ways. Her ass was full and firm, her face was round and big eyed, an innocent and elfin quality to it that could not be denied.

Emily was beautiful, the kind of girl that you would want in your life. The kind of girl that men pined for, remembering for years afterwards as the one that got away. The quintissential girl next door, so sweet she's going to give you a toothache and enough of a tomboy that you want to share everything with her. You want her not only to be your girlfriend, your wife, but also your best friend.

Emily was desired, that much I knew, but she wasn't timeless in the way that Rachel was.

I wasn't timeless in the way that Rachel was.

So when I am faced with her body and I am relaxing, it is jealousy that I feel. It's the jealousy of knowing that no matter what I do, I just won't compare to her.

My breasts aren't as big. My tummy isn't as flat. My waist isn't as small. My face isn't as beautiful.

My skin isn't as fair and flawless and I'm cute, but I wonder whether I'm sexy enough. I wonder whether I'm enough when I'm next to her, and Emily couldn't decide whether she wanted her or wanted to be more like her. She couldn't decide whether she loved Rachel, or hated her.

I push the thought down and away. I've got empirical proof, after all, of just how much I'm desired. How many men have tried to get me in their bed? How many people have glanced my way as I walked past?

I know that I'm beautiful.

But I don't know if I'm enough and so I push that doubt away and focus on the moment, pouting as I pull away and stare up at the sight of her chin bobbing and his cock disappearing as she greedily hogs it for herself.

A burbling desire builds within me, from somewhere in my belly. It craves and it aches for more, for a cock of my very one.

And that's when I hear a voice softly call out with impatience from the other side of our booth, from the hole where the first cock we'd serviced had been waiting.

"Come on."

A new cock is waiting there for me now, and on hands and knees I crawl to it ready to give a little more.

Join my Patreon for only $3 a month and get early access to new chapters and over a years worth of exclusive content. https://www.patreon.com/SophiePert