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Click hereI focused on the lips; her lips were always meaty but particularly tonight, they seemed to spread like butterfly wings, deep red almost to purple, crisscrossed with tiny lines of blood that looked like rivers on a map, her juices were flowing now, I licked and sucked them, my tongue diving deeply as my fingers strummed the nub that would drive her mad.
She was moaning and sighing, I could hear to sounds of women's passion through the walls, and I knew both Kate's and Pixie's sounds of lust and release as Kate's voice tore through the thin walls as the paper they were.
My work was makin' progress; Emma's groans told me even though her body had been used so many times, she was still in desire of more. Her bottom flexed and humped her pussy up to meet my lips and hungry mouth, juices flowed freely, and I freely drank them. I dove again into her now gaping pussy, driving yet a new invader into that dark cavern, my fingers. Mine are not dainty like little Pixie's, years on the plow, and Henry's reins had made my fingers solid and thick. My fingers as thick as any man's, I put two to good use.
Soon, Emma was bouncing and squirming like she was trying to escape a frying pan; I worked the magic spot that I had discovered long ago. If I touched it, she would near go mad, if I worked it, she would go mad. So finally, I did; I dove in with my lips affixed on her nub and sucked it as hard as I could while working her pussy with my fingers. She came like an explosion, sweating, screaming out her passion, filling my mouth with her cream. I was in heaven.
As I listened to Pixie and Kate in the throes of their passion, my Emma slowly drifted off to sleep; she was trying to speak to me, she mumbled words, some seeming asking for forgiveness, little giggles as she dreamed, I watched her, though back to the lovely evening, the beauty of her voice, the discovery of her secrets.
I realized the tragedy of hiding one's candle under the bushel basket, but worse for me, the guilt of being the basket. I loved that girl, but if I truly loved her, I knew I'd have to let her go - and that parting would be such sweet sorrow. But love meant I could do no other. I knew how Dido felt at that hour, and it was with a restless mind and heavy heart I fell to sleeping.
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Martha's journal is smeared here, as though tears had fallen on the ink as she wrote. It made Emma cry fresh tears. But then not all tears are bad. Our Martha deserved that memorial, and as long as those of us who loved her live, her memory will ever be fresh - and her love and the sacrifices she made for it, honoured.
- COMMENTS
Cindy1001over 2 years agoHappiness, joy, adventure and the forebodings of tragedy. All wonderfully presented. Here's to Pixiehoff and co-author SerradaC!
OneAuthoralmost 3 years agoI am sure it was both for Martha... the joy of having had Emma in her life, the sadness of having to let her go. Many of us have experienced these dual emotions regarding someone dear to us, and thus understand.
Regarding the earlier scenes, the stage performance was fantastic and of course the lovemaking scene between Martha and Emma was beautiful. Thank you both (Pixiehoff and SerradaC) for another splendid episode of this tale.
Pixiehoffalmost 3 years agoAuthorThank you Maonaigh. Sometimes, as you say, happy endings are not on the cards, but I hope it will become clear over the next few chapters that Martha’s fate was, perhaps, a version of a happy ending xxx
