Saturday, Emily came home; he dropped her off again, didn't come in, left her to me, me to her. I was anxiously waiting, of course, the yin and yang of jealousy and excitement.
I didn't know what to say first when she walked in, what was foremost in my mind—Sara or what he did to her. But she stopped me. "Get changed," she said (I was still dressed as a boy), "I can't see you like that, not tonight."
I went upstairs, dressed for bed, dressed for play. Feminine, soft, sexy, flirty. Emily followed, was in the doorway after I dressed. "You make such a pretty girl," she said watching me. "That's what I told him, when he asked."
"He didn't," I said.
"He did, love, of course he did. He wasn't surprised. He asked how long you've done this…all your life."
"Did he…did he want to see."
"Sara? God, you're so predictable," she laughed. "I don't know, he didn't say, I guess we'll just have to see…why are we talking about this," she asked, knowing full well why. "He's never…he's not experienced in something like this," she pointed to me.
"How'd he react? What did he say?"
"Not much, love, I know you want more, but not much. He didn't react badly, but I don't know…I think he wants you to be unsure."
"He…he said we'll discuss it later," I said.
"I know…can I give you one clue about his reaction?"
"Yes," I said, eagerly.
"I'm sore," Em said.
"Sore…he…we…he did…twice," she looked down, blushed. "The second time was…I…"
She walked over to me, pushed me back to the bed, looked down. "I felt like his whore…"
"Emily," I was shaking, swelling.
"Before…on my knees…sucking his cock…I felt like his whore."
"Oh god," I mumbled.
"The first time," she touched my face, "riding him, I felt like his whore."
"But the second time, Sara, the second time…he put me on my hands and knees, pushed my face into the pillow, and fucked me, really fucked me. Every stroke made me shake, every stroke made me cum…that's when I was his whore, Sara, then, right then."
I was too turned on to speak, too ashamed, too jealous. But I wanted more, I knew it, so did she.
"I'm sore, love, I'm so sore…and I want you to be my whore now, lick me, softly, Sara. I love when you lick my sore pussy, I love when you're my whore."
There's no date this week…life…busy…him…us…
But he texted me, he wants to meet, talk, to me, about this, him, Emily, me.