What it do, reader? This is my fourth post on the subject, links at the bottom if you're late to the party.
I’m on a plane back to the States now, and y’all have got a lot of catching up to do, so let’s just get right to it.
My alarm went off right at the agonizing time of 5:30 A.M., right when it was supposed to. We had a 7:15 train to catch and Emma’d have to do her makeup while I'd have to get my caffeine fix. I slapped my hand against the bedside table until I found my phone and quieted the alarm. Emma roused from where she’d been laying against my chest, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she sat up. The sun had not yet risen, and the only light filtering through our window was the cerulean haze cast by a streetlight outside.
“...So that’s a real thing, huh?” Emma asked, her back turned to me.
Being only half- awake, I responded with peak eloquence, “Ghffghfhr… huh?” I wasn’t sure what she was referring to, not until a cold hand suddenly slid beneath the blankets and wrapped around my morning wood.
“JESUS FUCK, dude your hands are freezing!” I damn near jumped out of my skin, eliciting a cackle from her, and we got on with our morning after she’d relinquished me from her icy grasp. I pulled on some clothes and made sure to turn the heat up before I went for the coffee pot.
Once I had my first mug in-hand, I'd just settled down on the couch when I noticed that Emma hadn't budged over on the bed. She was usually the one telling me to get a move on.
“...Shouldn’t you be having a conniption about our timing now?” I asked. She didn't say anything, she just watched me, so I went on, “Remember when a bunch of us took that weekend trip to Stockholm, and you were bitchy *all* morning because you’d had less than an hour to get ready?” Emma got up, her bare hips swaying as she moved closer. “Won't you burn up in the sun without enough foundation?” She took my mug from me and set it down gingerly, then put her hand against the back of my head to guide my gaze towards what was now level with my face, that being the 'innie' between her legs. “...And uh... I forget where I was going with this bit but I think the point is-”
“Yeah? Uhuh? Okay.” My hair suddenly twisted with her tightened grip, and I had only a second to process what she was doing before she’d shoved her puffy mound into my face. I took a few seconds to adjust so I could somewhat breathe, wrapping my hands around her ass and letting her push me against the back of the couch. I was vaguely aware that one of her legs stepped onto a cushion for leverage, the opposite knee settling on the arm of the couch.
“You talk more shit…” Her grip on my head tightened as she ground her hips into my face, “… than anyone I have ever met in my life,” I let my tongue lay flat against her clit as it shifted back and forth, “I've always wondered how it'd feel to *really* shut you up.” She laughed with more than a little vindication, riding my face as she chastised me. Anytime I could keep her pelvis in one place long enough, I did my best to suck her clit softly, encircling it with my tongue as allowed.
After a few minutes, her thighs clenched so tight around my head that it sounded briefly as if I had dived underwater. Despite that, she was loud enough--"Ohgodfuck I'm cumming"--that I still heard her pleasure, and I sure as fuck felt it as her legs wrapped around my neck. In that moment, I was immensely grateful for every core workout I'd ever done. I couldn’t really breathe until her orgasm had passed, but I was not upset. Greater men than I wouldn’t mind dying that way.
She slid down onto the couch after she was done, red-faced and laughing. Sunlight just barely began to drip through the window, trickling down her curves and casting a golden hue on her green irises. When she went to hand me my coffee mug back, Emma bit her lip and asked, “...That was consensual, right?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle, “Thanks for checking in, but I’ll let you know if I need to talk to your HR department over at the lollipop guild.”
One way or another, we made it to our train on time, and from there to the subway that took us into Copenhagen proper. We spent much of the commute reminiscing. Anyone that has studied abroad will probably tell you that it was life-changing, maybe obnoxiously so. It's somewhat of a stereotype for someone to simply never shut up about their time abroad. To be back in a place that had such an effect on you, a little older and a little wiser, felt nearly religious. Copenhagen was our mecca.
The day’s pilgrimage featured breakfast by the water with an old prof, a revolving door of shops, a touch-up for a tat I'd gotten in the cramped Tattoo Ole (oldest functioning tattoo shop in the world!), lunch with another prof, a kayak rental, a walk around our old campus, and--before we went to visit some old friends--a ceaseless number of pictures for Emma’s IG. Guess who had the pleasure of playing photographer.
“Don’t you think you’ve got enough angles already, Kylie Jenner?” I groaned from behind my phone camera. Centered in my shot was the blue turtle-neck clad Emma, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing towards the Mermaid Statue in the background. “Come on, man."
“Would you quit being such a little bitch baby, good lord, we’re almost done,” Emma said with a scowl.
“Could you be any more of a diva,” I grumbled.
“What was that?”
She shot me a look alongside a curt, "That's what I thought," and returned to her posing.
It was nice to know that our fooling around hadn't changed our banter. To be sure, *something* was different, though I wasn't sure what. Maybe it was just the way she looked at me. I'd caught her just kind of watching me a couple of times, and even the way she glared after I pushed her buttons was different. Those looks seemed a bit... hungrier.
Once she felt confident that IG would have enough shots of the same goddamn person in the same goddamn city, we booked it to the subway. Dusk had fallen by the time we approached our friends' apartment complex. I pressed the corresponding buzzer next to the building’s glass entrance. Once I told the respondent who had arrived, an uproarious “MY AMERICANS!” erupted from the device, and the door clicked open.
The owner of that voice was Astrid, a fair-skinned redhead who greeted us at the door with hugs and “Velkommen, Velkommen”s. Inside, an apron-clad Blake stood behind a granite island, focusing intently on the veggies he was chopping. He let loose an “AYYYY!” and stopped what he was doing to dap me up and give Emma a cordial side-hug.
One night, Emma, I, and a throng of our classmates hit the city for a night out. It was at one of those clubs that we’d met Blake, a successful sculptor that sounds like he was raised on the West Coast. He has never really explained that beyond "I get that a lot, I've never been but I *have* watched a lot of American movies." His wife is Astrid, a bubbly woman that speaks a mile a minute. She, on the other hand, had studied in the States, and she was quick to chat us up after overhearing our accents. The two of them offered to show our group some of the best stops in town next time we were out, and this is how they’d ‘adopted’ a bunch of American students for the duration of the semester.
We shared an exquisite dinner with them, one of Blake’s passions being cooking, and talked about our trip thus far. Afterwards, I shared a cigarette with Blake on his porch, and he filled me in on his plan for the next day.
“Christiania,” he said, eyes lingering on me as he went to take a drag. He cracked a grin when my jaw dropped.
“Christiania? The autonomous zone?” I’d only heard of it because it was one of the few places that our program directors had deemed off-limits. Allegedly, it was a commune of sorts, free from the eyes of the Danish law (save for the occasional raid.)
“Yes. After all, both of you are off the leash, yes?” Blake reacted with amusement at my surprise. “What, a party there does not sound good?”
“Are you kidding? Fuck yeah, it sounds good.” It sounded like we had a plan for tomorrow night, so after he gave me a run-down of the etiquette we’d need to observe, what time we needed to be there, etc, we stepped back inside to join Astrid and Emma. As soon as the door opened, Emma fell silent, having clearly been mid-sentence. I didn’t have much time to wonder why, because Astrid immediately struck up a conversation with me about my studies.
Eventually, Emma reminded me that we needed to catch the next subway if we were going to get back to Borup at a reasonable time. Astrid suddenly dipped into her bedroom, eventually emerging while we put our shoes back on. On our way out, she handed Emma something that quickly disappeared into the busty little weirdo's purse. Hmm.
I asked her about it as we descended down the steps to the subway platform. “Hey, what’d Astrid hand you drug-dealer style?”
Emma didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, just a bottle of lube," she replied casually before walking ahead of me. “Hurry up, we have a train to catch.” For once, I was the one turning red, eliciting a smirk from over Emma’s shoulder. What had the two talked about?
We got back to the Airbnb with sore feet and a serious need for a shower. I told Emma that I planned to do so, but she still approached the bathroom with bodywash-and-loofah in hand a moment later. “Hey! I just said I was gonna shower, come on, I’m so much faster than you," I said. She ignored me and entered the bathroom. A second later, I heard the shower turn on. Annoyed (and dense, I’m starting to realize), I walked through the still-open doorway. “Hey, come on, man…” I trailed off at the sight of her unbuckling her jeans and tossing aside her panties. “I was gonna... shower...”
She side-eyed me with a mischievous grin. “What’s stopping you?” Off went her sweater. “Hey, wanna get this clasp for me?” She turned, gesturing towards her bra strap. As soon as I got close enough to fiddle with the clasps, she pushed her bare ass against my bulge. Once I got the damn bra off (seriously, some of these things are like Fort Knox), I started to move my hands down her front, only for her to pull away and get into the shower. "Thanks!"
My clothes had never flown off so fast. I joined Emma under the rain-style showerhead, and she did not resist when I reached out to touch her. "You can scrub my tits, if you want," she purred after a few minutes. I could not believe her newfound confidence. She used to be nervous about just wearing low-cut shirts around me (or anyone), and now I was taking my sweet time lathering her breasts, and now she was dragging a loofah against my abdomen, and now our lips were meeting amidst a cloud of steam. Lord knows how long we spent in there simply touching one another *almost* everywhere. At one point, my hand slid too far down between her legs, and she stopped me, saying, "Don't get distracted, we're supposed to be getting clean." *Goddamn tease*.
After she was done washing her hair (way after I'd already been clean and was mostly just in there to be with her), Emma stood on her toes, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and then turned off the water. I got out, handed her a towel, and dried off. I’d just gone to exit the bathroom when she grabbed my wrist.
“Huh?” I asked, turning to her.
“I’m gonna blow-dry my hair and probably put my makeup back on, and then…” she hesitated and looked at her feet.
“...It's like eleven 'o' clock at night, why the hell are you putti-”
“Shut up, I’m getting there.” she snapped, giving me a glare. This one was accompanied with a small smile, but still, the way she looked at me reminded me of how a lion might observe an antelope. All two of my braincells finally combined their powers, and I realized what she wanted. “And then will you take my virgini-”
“Absolutely, yes,” I blurted before she could finish her sentence.
“*Oh my God* you are insufferable.”
I told her she didn’t have to put on her makeup for me, to which she rolled her eyes. The makeup was for *her*. I journaled and brewed coffee while I waited, suspecting that I’d be up late. Just as I'd finished the second cup and contemplated the third, Emma came over to where I sat on couch and grabbed my hand, gently intertwining our fingers. She looked as stunning as ever. “Come on,” she murmured, leading me to the bed. Goosebumps ran up and down my body as she pulled me on top of her.
We made out slowly, her fingers occasionally caressing my cock, mine occasionally testing her pussy. When it was time, she asked me to grab the lube over on the bedside table. Astrid had told her it would help with the pain that sometimes came with a woman's first time. I hardly thought she needed it, since I found her to be drenched when I’d dipped a finger inside her, but my opinion on the matter had sure as fuck not been requested.
I handed it to her, and she applied a liberal amount to her vulva before pushing it in with two fingers. Next, she squirted some on my cock, giving me a few slow strokes for coverage. “Okay, that should be good," Emma said quietly, tossing the tube aside. "I'm ready." I nodded and positioned myself at her entrance, one arm propping me up, the other holding her hand, waiting for the go-head. Before she gave it, she said, “Just remember. This doesn’t mean it’ll happen again later, or that *anything* will, okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” I said, but some part of me wondered why Emma felt the need to impress upon that again. Was she really concerned that I'd wind up feeling entitled to sex? We'd known each other a long time, and I've never been that way. *Maybe it's not just sex that she doesn't want me to expect*.
*Maybe there are other strings she doesn't want me to attach*. These thoughts occurred to me as that hollow kind of dread which reverberates in your sternum and settles slowly into your gut. I didn't know where my heart was situated in regards to her, but I wondered if she was going to break it all the same.
I cast the thought aside when Emma clasped her hand against the back of my neck and said, “Good. Now *please* fuck me." Instinct took over, and I carefully pushed my cock past her entrance.
She felt like heaven.
Her warmth cautiously enveloped me, but it didn't happen all at once. She was *really* fucking tight. After a few inches, I encountered some resistance, and so I told her to take a deep breath. She did, and then let out a little yelp as I pushed past it and all the way in. Sensing pain, I asked her if she wanted to stop, to which she scoffed and said “What am I, a little bitch? Just...just take it easy for a bit.”
I nodded and took it really slow, which was fine by me. I didn't mind savoring her. We kissed quietly while she adjusted to the feeling of a cock sliding in and out of her. I only dared to give her a proper fucking when her breathing slowed, her shoulders slackened, and her expression went from one of endurance to one of pleasure. "Tell me if I need to slow down again," I whispered.
She just gave a little "Mhm" in response. Her face turned a deeper shade of scarlet as I picked up the pace. Her hand fell from my neck to grip the sheets. “Oh - oh God, yes.” Little moans escaped her, rising, rising in volume, growing louder still when she let go of my hand and wrapped her arms around me. She seemed to want to pull me in deeper, deeper, and deeper still, craving every inch I could give her. “*Harder*," she whined.
So I switched up the way I fucked her, making sure to pull so far out that she was only clamped around my head, and then slamming my full length back inside. Each time, Emma shuddered, her nails digging harder and harder into my back. I'm pretty sure she eventually drew blood as she took the first pounding of her life. “Your cock feels so fucking good,” she gasped between thrusts. For a virgin, she sure took it like a champ. Her breasts jiggled with aftershock after every thrust into her tight little pussy.
She kept wrapping her legs around my waist, which made it hard to really drill her like she seemed to prefer, so I eventually grabbed her quads tight to keep them raised. Once I had that under control, I had free reign to damn-near drive her through the mattress. She looked so good taking cock. I railed her with all the built-up lust of years past, occasionally swooping down to press my lips against hers. She broke away from one of these kisses to gasp, “Zach, I'm about to fucking cum".
“How flexible are you?” I asked in a low voice, just next to her ear. I wanted to try something.
“God, *fuck*, what? Huh? What do you - ohgodjustlikethat." Emma was too busy getting fucked silly to answer my question, so I decided to just go for it.
Right when I felt her walls start to contract, I folded her legs against her chest and kept fucking. Skin slapped against skin while she positively screamed, one of her eyes rolling back before she clamped them both shut as an orgasm slammed into her luck a truck. I almost started to slow down so she could ride it out (and I could get a break), but as soon as Emma sensed that, she slapped the ever-living *fuck* out of my back and said, "Nodon'tfuckingstoptillimdonecumming." I powered through as long as I could, but the sight of her writhing underneath me soon became too much. I felt myself approach the edge.
“Emma, I’m about to cum too, where should I -”
Her eyes snapped open to give me her trademark glower followed by a threatening, “*Don’t you fucking dare pull out."*
Understood.
With one final thrust, as deep as I could go, I threw my head back and came inside Emma. After the first spurt, she clasped her hand around my cheek and my head down towards her, locking eyes with me as I coated her walls. “Look at me,” she begged, and so I did. I didn't look away for a single second spent emptying my load into her womb. I could have died happy then, there, shooting my seed into a woman whose eyes are the most beautiful forest-green I've ever seen.
Emma was already leaking before I'd even pulled out of her freshly-deflowered hole. I collapsed next to her just as the post-orgasm giggles began, and for a moment, her laughter was the only noise besides that of my catching my breath. This silence broke when she turned to me, speaking between fits of laughter, “Um, *heheh*, uh, Plan B exists in Denmark, right? ‘Cause, *heh,* I'm ovulating.”
*Come on, man.*