Emmy had suggested we spent the evening watching a film, and I was happy to go along with her plan. I'm fairly open-minded in what I watch, and cope readily enough with most things she chooses. I might object if they were sappy romances time and again, but—to be fair to her—they're no more common than any other genre, so it works out ok.
Lazily, we'd picked up a take-away for dinner, and, once we'd finished that, I rummaged around in her cupboards and found popping corn. It's a guilty pleasure of mine, if I'm watching a movie at home.
With an attractive girl on the sofa with me, my attention was easily distracted, you might argue; I'd claim that the plot started to drag around the halfway mark.
"Oi," muttered Em, as she gently pushed my hand off her bust, "I'm trying to watch this."
Undeterred, I stroked her arm for a couple of minutes, before edging back to caress her breast.
"Give over! Later."
That was me told: I went back to trying to concentrate on the film. 'Later', however, was earlier than I reckoned, and about ten minutes later, Emmy's hand wandered up my thigh, and lazily grazed over my crotch. Innocently, I shifted my hips slightly, and she giggled at me, before leaning over to kiss me.
I cupped the breast I had been dismissed from, and kissed her back. Her attention, though, was short-lived, and she turned back to the screen. A finger ran, slowly, along the stiffening length under my trousers, though: and my hand was not sent away. I tickled a finger where I knew her nipple must lurk. After a moment, it sprang to attention, just discernible beneath her top, and Em gave a little sigh.
Messing around with Em is a delightful experience. Half absorbed by the film (I maintain it warranted only this much attention), half distracted: the minutes flew past. I'd edged under Emmy's t-shirt, hiking the hem up to get my hand up. I managed to slide my hand into her bra from the top, cupping a small, perfect tit, and slowly, deliciously, rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger.
The film segued into what promised to be a dialogue-rich scene, and Em shifted over, to sit straddling me. I was only briefly saddened to lose my handful of breast, though, as her groin pressed down on mine. Her mound rubbed on my caged cock, as she kissed me deeply, as my hands holding her waist.
When the characters stopped talking, I edged Emmy's long auburn hair out of the way in order to sneak a glance at the screen. Em twisted round, still on my lap. I rested a hand on her crotch, feeling the heat of her through the fabric, as we silently watched.
Sadly—depending on how you look at it—the film improved from about that point, and the messing-around-on-the-sofa diminished. As the credits ran, and I tidied up our glasses, plates, and such in the kitchen, Em checked her phone.
"Mel's delayed, but on her train: she reckons she'll be back around midnight," she called. I checked my watch: half-ten. I went back through.
"Long day for her. Do you want to wait up?"
"Nah, it's not like she doesn't have a key," she rationalized, finishing her drink. "To bed!" she commanded, handing over her glass and unfolding herself from the sofa.
As I cleaned my teeth, my mind drifted back over events, and a tingle in my pelvis presaged a nascent erection. I went back into Em's bedroom, my pyjama trousers beginning to tent.
Em, lying in bed and reading a magazine, glanced up as I made my way to my side of the bed, a small, knowing smile on her face. Nonchalantly, I got in to bed, and edged over to her, wrapping an arm over her stomach, and playing with her hair with my other hand.
"Hello," she murmured, still looking at the article, "what do you want?"
"I thought we could pick up from where we were distracted, earlier?" I proposed, my fingers dancing down her midriff to drift lightly but meaningfully over her crotch.
"Did you?" Em smiled at me, but closed me off with a "How about in the morning?"
The weight in my groin would, I knew, be frustrating overnight: but—on the other hand—if Em was more enthusiastic in the morning, it would make a great start to my day. I'd take the delayed gratification, I decided, and not push my luck.
"Fair enough," I concurred, "You reading for long?"
"Nope, just 'til you got to bed," she said, leaning over to turn off her light. "Sleep well, love."
On her side, Em wriggled back towards me. Frustrating? Awfully so, as my stiff cock was nestled by her buttocks pushing into my crotch. I didn't help myself, by winding an arm around her to rest my hand in her cleavage, under the sheer silk of her cropped top.
It was going to be hard, I reckoned, to get to sleep.
I dozed off, eventually; I must have done, because I was woken by Mel getting home: I heard her coming in the door, and relocking it. Blearily, I peered over Em's shoulder at the clock (about quarter past). Mel's heels tapped past the ajar door, towards her room.
I lay in the gloom, and listened to Em's slow, regular breathing for a few minutes. Through the thin stud walls, I listened to Mel's shower start up, and rolled over to get back to sleep. I tried futilely to ignore the dull ache in my balls, as I heard Mel get out of her shower. Em stirred: she must have been disturbed by the noise, or my restlessness, and slipped from the bed. She padded, silently, to the en suite.
Closing my eyes once more, I tried to think calm, sleepy thoughts. I felt the duvet lift behind me, as Emmy got back into bed. Reversed from my position of earlier, her hand snaked round my waist; over a hip; to rummage in my crotch. I grunted, shifting my hips to move away, slightly: I needed no further tantalizing.
But then I came suddenly awake, for I heard the tap in Em's bathroom run.
