<strong>Emily Fitzgerald</strong><br/><strong>Location</strong>: The apartment, her bedroom ((Age 18, 2010 continuity, active story))<br/><strong>Tag</strong>: John<br/><hr/>Emily's hips and back roll rhythmically as she grins against John, breathing harder and louder until every few exhales slips out as a purring moan of satiety, the gasping intake and increasingly urgent release forming a rhythmic melody with her rolling grind and the insistent rhythm John's lifting return-strokes.  After riding him for a while, she can feel an orgasm nearing, and begins to grind harder, a little faster, causing a subtle rocking of the bed's box-springs against the wall-- the sound soft enough not to wake any neighbors, but adding a downbeat to their sensual act.<br/><br/>John's shift-- sitting up against her ass, encircling her body with his arms-- brings them closer and, rather than focusing their motion on the union of their bodies below the waist, makes their lovemaking an embrace, his hand on her hip making the churning of her hips match his even closer, his delightful touch to her sensitive breast and nipple spreading the looping, weaving skein of pleasure up into her torso, electric points of sensation firing in the nodes of her feminine form.  The tingling and arcing electricity gives way to a swelling, rising throb, and she grips her breasts with each hand, rolling the flesh against her ribs in a tight squeeze and entwining her fingers with John's one hand.<br/><br/>He would feel the wet rush of her body opening, the unconscious and nigh imperceptible fluttering of muscles in her lower body and limbs, and then, certainly, the rhythmic clenching of her inner muscles upon his shaft as she squeezes against him, grinding with him into the intense waves of an orgasm.  The breaths become rising, soft cries, breath losing its rhythmic swell and ebb and becoming cries of ragged pleasure.