Chapter One Emma

This is a true story. Obviously, the name has been changed.

At thirty-six, I was at my peak-physically honed, emotionally scarred, and sexually charged. I am an Indian man, back then, from Durban, South Africa, navigating the chaos left behind by a long-term relationship that ended with betrayal by my best friend, and a dangerous love affair with a married Muslim woman that had burned too hot to survive (I will write of this at another time). That last one didn't end because we wanted it to-it ended because it had to. It was intense, passionate, and completely unsustainable.

So there I was, alone, with a mind that needed distraction. Facebook became my favourite playground. Late-night scrolling, casual comments, and flirtatious banter led me to Emma.

She was 26, a petite girl from Pietermaritzburg, recently separated, with a three-year-old child and a sharp tongue. We connected instantly. Her comment on a mutual post was laced with cynicism and cleverness. I echoed it, and she responded. That was the start.

Our chats quickly grew more frequent, more personal. She was witty, funny, bold, unfiltered. She told me she was living with her grandparents and in the thick of a messy divorce. After employing my detective skills. I found the number to her workplace and called her, unannounced. She answered, surprised but amused. That single call shifted the energy between us. She gave me her personal number, and the banter deepened.

It wasn't long (about a week) before we were having late-night chats about fantasies, about desire, about the things we missed. There was no pretending. No build-up of a conventional romance. We were two consenting adults, hungry, curious, and eager. When she asked where this was going, I said exactly that. She didn't disagree. We made a plan to meet.

I drove my BMW up to PMB to fetch her from her friend's house. She came out wearing a light, strappy summer dress. She was small-thin arms and legs, tiny breasts like hidden secrets, and a perfectly shaped ass that made my mouth water. There was no hesitation in her. Her eyes met mine with a silent understanding. We weren't going on a date. We were going to fuck.

We booked a room-one of those by-the-hour places with clean sheets and no questions asked. The second the door closed behind us, we were on each other. Hungry mouths, roaming hands, hot breath. I yanked her dress off, then her bra and panties. She stood there, naked, petite, wild-eyed.

I dropped to my knees.

Her pussy was already wet, glistening, slightly trembling. I dove in with my tongue, flicking, flattening, circling. She moaned; her fingers tangled in my hair. Her taste was fresh and addictive, and she responded like her body had been waiting for this. I dragged my tongue lower, teasing her perineum, and when I flattened my tongue and grazed it over her tightest, most intimate place-her asshole, she gasped and buckled furiously. Her orgasm came in a fierce, body-jerking wave that had her crying out and convulsing, she had lost all control of her body. I held her, stroked her skin gently as her body slowly came back down.

She looked at me with flushed cheeks and wide eyes. I lifted her effortlessly and carried her to the bed, her legs wrapping around my waist. I sat and placed her on my lap, my cock pressing against her slick folds. I wasn't big-below average even-but I knew what I was doing. I tried to push in, but she was tight. Too tight. Even wet as she was, her body resisted. I laid her down again, pulled her legs apart, and went back to licking her, slow and steady.

As she moaned and bucked beneath me, I slipped a finger inside, working her open. Her body started to relax, loosen, open up to me. As she climbed toward another orgasm, I pulled my fingers out, positioned myself at the edge of the bed, and pulled her forward. I held her legs in the air and pushed in-slowly, gently. The heat and tightness of her pussy wrapped around me like a vice.

She came again, fast, body arching, legs trembling. I kept moving, slow, deep thrusts that let her feel every inch. She was soaked now, and delirious, her fingers clutching at the sheets.

I picked her up without pulling out and sat on the bed again, holding her in my lap. We kissed-deep, messy, passionate. I bit her neck, and she moaned, her pussy clenching around my cock. I couldn't last. The pleasure built fast, unstoppable. I came, filling her, and the moment was so intense, so perfect, that I didn't even lose my erection.

With the added slickness of my release, I started thrusting again. She climbed on top, her body moving with new confidence. She rode me, ground against me, moved in slow, sensual rolls that sent us both spiraling. She collapsed onto my chest, still grinding, until her third orgasm washed over her in shudders.

We lay there, spent, tangled, and grinning.

And just like that, the story of Emma had begun.