Her Yearly Birthday Present [MF]

Emma and I had that post-high school summer fling.

It’s a long time ago, but I still very much treasure the memory of that summer. We actually went to different schools, but I had lots of friends that went to the school that she did, so I frequently found myself at their parties. Most of these parties, Emma and I would find each other talking late into the night, but never really doing anything about it. I put it down not to innocence, or lack of attraction, but most likely a tinge of respect. We knew each other well enough and took our time to pursue it.

I remember when we finally broke that spell of mutual respect. Quite a simple moment really. We were sitting around on someone’s porch, a few chairs short, and when Emma came looking for a seat, and found none, I tapped my thigh in a subtle motion for her to sit on my lap – and she did. We talked amongst the group for a while, and as the moments drew on, our hands began slowly roaming. It wasn’t long before her hand on my thigh became caressive, and my hand was tracing her sides and hips. One hand would become two, and she started shimmying around.

Eventually, she turned to look at me; and the look was right.

Emma had very feline features; a sharp, elven face, and these eternally gray eyes – a face equally tender and carved. She was waif thin, short blonde hair which she was prone to tuck under a slim hairband, long limbed for being average height, but still preposterously full of curves. Stupendously awkward, and she loved wearing this strawberry scented thing (remember when Body Shop fruit scents were all the rage?). A woman of contradictory beauty. Mindblowing to me.

And then we kissed.

We spent much of that summer together, doing the things that teenagers pretending to be adults do. She was a fine figure on the beach in a bikini, and hot in a short skirt and combat boots. My strongest memory As we entered into university after the summer, we slowly drifted away. Not for a lack of passion, mind you, but it’s just what happens to people during that time of their lives. I’m sure you can relate.

We didn’t see much of each other for sometime after that, perhaps a good eight years or more. Occasionally we’d run into each other, talk old times, catch up on the new, but it was always fleeting, and never committal. Life moved on for both of us. I’ll admit that she didn’t really cross my mind too often, such is time. She only grew more beautiful as the years passed, a she barely seemed to age.

I’d frequently run into her best friend, and she’d fill me in on the details that Emma wouldn’t share with me. Emma was coy, and never really spoke much about her personal life, and those brief times we would run into each other, she would mainly talk about how she feels. Her friend told me that Emma had been seeing some guy for sometime, but that she hadn’t really been ‘herself’ for awhile. I took it with a grain of salt. You know how friends can be protective, after all.

Emma at some point of this criss-crossing of paths, entered her phone number and email into my phone. Knowing what her friend told me, I thought it best to keep my distance. In hindsight, I regret doing that. Perhaps all she needed was a friend.

Another few years passed. I was at the bar I was working, when I see Emma’s group of friends walk towards me. I greeted them, and they seemed unusually happy. They all gave me hugs and kisses, and I finally got the chance to ask them what they were up to? “Don’t you know? It’s HER birthday!”, and almost comically, they parted, and Emma strode through the group, awkward and beautiful as ever. She walked right up to me in confidence, and immediately leaned in and planted a kiss. “Happy birthday”, I barely breathe out, and she smiles at me with that Cheshire grin of hers. I snap out of it for a second, and look around for any lurking males in the group, before I realise it must be a girls night out.

Emma and her friends become essentially predatory with me, we share shots, take turns dancing, and everyone in turns gets very handsy. Emma herself is obviously in a very good state, and keeps stealing kisses from me when she gets the chance. Eventually, I pull aside her best friend, and express my concern. Her best friend pulls another one of her friends in on the conversation.

“Just go with it”, they both expressed.

“Go with what?”, I asked.

They pointed at her – “Look how much fun she’s having, she looks incredibly happy, don’t you think?”. I nod. “Please, just give her tonight, that’s all it is”. I stammer my concern, and ask about what situation she’s in lately. “Is he here? Do you think he’s here?”, they say to me, the answer obvious. Later on in the night, another one of her friends pulls me aside. I won’t bore you with the details, short of that Emma always talked about me with excitement in her voice, whereas she never spoke with much enthusiasm about … him. “Just do us a favour – DON’T bring him up”.

I will leave it at that. I don’t know what more to say.

They, as a group, decided that night to hunt me down, to make sure she had a good birthday. And here we were.

I decided to go with with their advice, as morally dubious as it may.

We spend the rest of the night at the bar doing much the same, except as time wore on, we got more daring. Small kisses became long passionate locked lips. Straying hands on hips became long caressing touches. Friendly handholds became white knuckled grips.

At the end of the night, we all started to part ways. Her friends all took turns in animatedly saying their farewells to me, and giving Emma thoughtful goodbyes. It was her best friend that was last to leave us – and she walked off into the early morning with a “Now, you kids have fun, alright?”.

Emma then turned to me – and gave me that same look that I saw all those years ago. Then she kissed me again. I let my caution go, and enveloped myself with her desire immediately. The smell of strawberries filled my mind again, those gray eyes piercing into my whiskey soaked head, and being able to hold her perfect frame in my arms… it as almost too much. Just go with it.

I knew this moment wasn’t mine forever.

I invited her back to my place, and she eagerly accepted. I knew we wouldn’t be going back to hers. I did ask her what time she had to be home, as the smallest bit of courtesy I could offer, considering the situation.

Her response was “It’s my birthday”.

We find myself in my bedroom, not long after. My room is lit by dim lamps, and she is bathed in shadow and soft light. I am sitting on the edge of my bed, and she turns and twirls in place, her slender form dancing in the low light of the room. She’s humming and singing as she does this. She’s wearing an impossibly svelte green dress, and she has one of her signature headbands on. The dress hugs tightly to her, and even though I know it’s about to come off, my mind has already undressed her. I can’t wait to see her perfectly pearl white skin. I can’t wait for her legs to wrap around me. I can’t wait to feel her amazing breasts against me.

True to fate, she begins to shimmy out of her dress right in front of me. She first brings down the shoulders. She then asks me for a little help, and I slowly bring down the zipper that holds this dress together. She is exquisite, at worst.

She is in a sheer bra, and even more sheer underwear. A light, silky mesh combo. I want to devour her there and then, but something about Emma always elicited a care and tender touch from me.

As that thought forms in my mind, she pushes me hard into the bed. She leans over me, her thighs around my waist as I lie on the bed. She kisses me with an intense ferocity.

“This is what I want for my birthday”, she whispers to me, and then bites my neck. I instinctively grab at her breasts, and squeeze tight and firm. I pull the left side down to expose her breast, break away from her attacking my neck, and immediately latch onto her nipple. It’s been so fucking long since we’ve been in this space. The memories kept flooding back, and this was some weird fast forward to the postscript of our youth.

She’s still wearing her headband, and there’s no way I want her to take it off.

I’m already fiercely erect, and she eagerly unzips me, quickly takes off my pants and shirt, then slides her underwear aside for me to enter her pussy. No ceremony, just fierce need and desire. She wraps me in her warmth, puts her hands on my chest, and begins to ride me slow, and lovingly. Those gray eyes look at me like a supernova of wanting, and I am entranced. My hands wander up and down her body, tracing around and over her underwear, both of her breasts now exposed, and her bra pulled down a little low.

She grinds, and grinds, and grinds, and grinds.

And grinds.

She leans forward to nibble on my ear lobes, my hands run up and down her perfect, slim, and muscular back. I occasionally grab her hair for my hands to run through, only ever so often foiled by that damned hairband.

She quickly picks up the pace, and I know she’s close.

She leans back, her hands gripping my shins, her squeals, groans, and moans matching the pace of her thrusting. I am resigned to knowing that I’m barely there; that all I really am right now is the cock that she’s been craving. She grinds her pelvis harder and harder against me, and I can feel her thighs beginning to quiver, as she tightens her pussy muscles in that moment between tension and release.

She ends with one final thrust, and she calls my name. Just the once. She slows down, but I know how her body works. I keep thrusting as she keeps squeezing her thighs around my waist. I listen to her breathing to help her prolong the feeling. In time, she stops, leans forward, puts her head on my chest, and listens to my heartbeat. She sits like this for a good half an hour, and I stroke her head.

We don’t say anything. My cock stays inside her. I don’t come.

She starts kissing me again, while she nuzzles into my chest, telling me that she feels so happy.

Eventually, she leaves my place, and I know there’s hesitation in her as she walks out that door.

I know not to call her, or to contact her. I know this is just one night.

I know she doesn’t want to be asked.

The thing is … that was ten years ago. It happens every time it’s her birthday, every year. Her friends find where I am that night, and she comes home with me. The event plays out almost exactly as I described above, every single time.

It’s her birthday in a couple of weeks.

I know what’s coming.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/8xaemd/her_yearly_birthday_present_mf