<strong>Emily Fitzgerald</strong><br/><strong>Location</strong>: The apartment, her bed((Age 18, 2010 continuity, active story))<br/><strong>Tag</strong>: John<br/><hr/>The mattress' hushed squeak and bounce elicit a soft laugh from Emily as she straddles John on the bed, the motion rolling her breasts against him where she lands against his flesh, her legs all sinew and glide, spreading over him as she kisses his mouth and cheek, curtains of damp hair tickling their faces.<br/><br/>Her hands roam over his chest, palms first and fingers next, trailing and leading in wide stripes of caress that is half tickle, half massage-- all memorizing and savoring the bone and muscle of his body, trailing down the crevice of his stomach to his navel, folding her forward so that her ass rests just above the base of his shaft when she sits up.  Sunlight dapples her pale skin as she sits there and studies him with half-closed eyes, a dreamy little smile on her lips.<br/><br/>She reaches for the nightstand, breasts hanging as she extends her upper body, and she opens a small drawer to pick out a tiny foil, which she sits upright and carefully tears open.  There's a faint crinkle as she loosens the condom from its wrapper, and she shifts very gently-- her sex wet on his lower belly-- and eases herself up and to the side. She bends over, legs sliding over the quilt and up along his body to where he has a clear view of her round, faintly freckled ass.  She bends her head to one side and tosses her hair over a shoulder, and he can hear the patter of the damp locks on his leg before she lays gently and places a hot, wet kiss at the base of his cock, reaching to stroke it and hold it aside so she can harden its length fully with open-mouthed kisses and gentle licks up toward the tip, until she exposes the head and laps tenderly at the inverted-y of the head's underside.<br/><br/>There's a moment of nervousness, and she realizes how she must look to him, every insecurity threatening at the edges of her wanting.  She pushes it away, to the same corner where she's stored her reservations, where the fear earlier drove her independence, or her hesitations, or her fears.<br/><br/>She gently crowns the tip of John's head with the rubber, pinches tenderly at the tip and rolls it down, a little at a time and slipping off, in a fluttering stroke down his length.