Waiting To Be Gaped

Emily cranks the music up, hips loose, shirt riding high while she sways in her room. She knows Chris is watching. Has been watching. Parents gone means no door to shut, no excuses left. She stretches slow, bends lower, lets her shorts ride up the curve of her ass. The curtain stays open. Outside, the neighbor’s footsteps come closer across the yard. She hears the back door creak. Then he’s inside, hands already at her waist. He doesn’t ask. She doesn’t want him to. He bends her over the bed, palms spreading her cheeks, eyes on the tight pink knot he’s never touched. His tongue goes first, wet and slow, working until she pushes back and opens. When his cock finally sinks in—first time, no lube but her own spit—she lets out one long breath. He pulls out, watches the ring pulse, a perfect gape winking in the daylight. He pushes back in deeper. She moans into the sheets. He fucks her ass in steady strokes, then pulls out again to watch it gape wider. When he’s close he spins her, strokes hard over her tongue, paints her face with thick ropes that drip onto her chest. She stays on her knees, breathing heavy, music still playing.