Memories - The Break Part 5 - Conclusion

In a way, we'd come full circle. It was a Friday evening and I was once again standing in the middle her office, looking at her, seeing what she was wearing on a date with a man.

"Emily," I said, "is...is that for me or for him?" 

She looked at me, hand on her hip, one long leg in front of the other, and said, "Can't it be both?"

"Both?"

"He for dinner and the evening; you for the rest."

"He's going to...you're going to make him think...he will..."

She looked at my eyes, smiled, our old, familiar ways. "You're imagining things," she said.

"S...some," I said.

"Like his hand on my leg?"

"Yes," I said.

She walked to her door, shut it. "Imagining what he thinks he will be able to get away with at dinner under the table? Imagining how high he'll go? Imagining if I'll feel his fingers brush the front of my panties?"

"Emily!"

"I missed teasing you," she said. "Probably almost as much as you missed getting teased."

"I...I missed it, too," I said.

"You're wearing your stay soft and tucked panties, I assume?"

"Of...of course," I said, "and...and a bra and hose..."

"Garter belt?"

"Yes," I said.

"Well since we're doing this again and since I missed doing this, I need you to understand a few things about tonight, okay?"

"Okay," I said, realizing how much I missed her.

"First," she said, paused.

"First?"

"First, you get me for the night, I promise."

"I know," I said, painfully aware of her gravity.

"Second, that stay small, soft, and tucked and worship Emily bra and panty set? That stays on all night."

"All night?" I asked.

"All night," she said. "Meaning whatever happens, whatever we do, you stay small, soft, and tucked the entire night."

"But..."

"The entire night," she repeated.

"O...okay," I said.

"Say it," she said.

"I...I stay small and soft and tucked all night," I said softly.

"Third, while I promise to go home with you, I am going to be on a date with a man dressed like this and as you're already imagining, he's going to think...he's going to assume...so he's going to act...and while I'll leave in the end, in the middle I'm not going to do anything to stop him."

"M...meaning?"

"Meaning, my pretty girl, when he puts his hand on my back, I'm going to smile and let him lead me. And when we're at dinner and he puts his hand on my thigh, I'm going to smile at him and let him touch me. I'm not going home with him but I'm not going to stop him."

"But...but he'll..."

"Push as much as he can at dinner, I know," she said. "I'm not going to sleep with him but I'm not going to stop him, either."

"So when he...when his hand goes..."

"Goes to my inner thighs," she said, "I'm going to smile at him, move my legs apart slightly, and tell him how handsome he looks in his suit."

"Emily..." I was dizzy, already intoxicated by her voice, her smile, her eyes.

"And if he's bold...and he's a bold kind of man...and he slides his hand up my inner thigh and finds my panties, I'm going to look make a conscious effort to keep my eyes off him so no one suspects that when I subtly lick my lips, I'm moving hips forward, just an inch or two, to help his fingers find my wet panties."

"He...he's going to..."

"Touch me," she said. "He's going to touch me and make me wetter and wetter while I'm sitting there thinking about much he wants to fuck me again and I'm going to cum thinking about him inside me while thinking about licking me later, licking me thinking about him fucking me."

"Oh, god," I moaned softly.

"It's so ironic, isn't it," she said. "A man and a sissy both want me, both are going to make me cum, but neither of them is going inside me."

"Emily, I...I can't..."

"Fourth...are we on fourth? Fourth, I expect you to stay small, soft, and tucked all night, not just later, but all night."

"I...I know..."

"So when you're waiting for me to call you to come get me, when you're picturing him touching me, making me cum under the table, when you're thinking about how badly he wants to fuck me again, you stay small, soft, and tucked."

**********

The text came at 11. "Be here in 30 minutes!"

"omw!"

"Don't be a second late because if he has 31 minutes, I'm not going to be able to resist going to the bathroom with him and fucking his brains out and then you're going to have to wait for him to finish me."

"I won't be late," I responded, wondering if traffic would be okay because 30 minutes would be tight. Wondering if she'd really let him fuck her. Wondering if the fantasy was too much, let alone the reality.

27 minutes later, at a light, I texted her. "Almost there."

"You're cutting it close," she texted back. "His fingers are making quite the argument."

"I have 3 minutes," I texted back.

"You'd better drive fast because I'm soaking wet and a girl only has so much willpower when she feels a hard, thick cock in her hand."

"I'm right out front."

"Such a difference decision...a man's hard, thick cock or sissy's soft, tender tongue."

"Emily!"

"Give me ten minutes," she said, "I have to break the news to him."

**********

She was down to my car fifteen minutes later. "How...how'd it go?" I asked.

"Drive," she said, "before I change my mind and go back up there."

We went to her place and I watched her take her dress off, standing there in lingerie, in a bra and panty set, a garter belt and stockings.

"Emily," I gasped.

"I got this to wear for my date with him," she said, moving to her bed, lying back, "I didn't think I should change my mind."

"Did he...did he try...

She patted the bed beside her; I lay down next to her.

"He didn't even wait for the salad," she said, her voice a low, raspy whisper against the dark of the bedroom. She was lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, looking down at me. Her hair was spilled over her shoulders, and her free hand was resting on my stomach, her fingers lightly tracing the silk edge of my waistband.

"Tell me," I breathed, my throat dry, my legs trembling beneath the heavy cotton sheets. "Tell me everything."

Emily smiled—that dangerous, exquisite smile that had owned me from the moment we met. Her fingers slipped lower, dipping past the waistband, pressing firmly through the damp silk of my panties. She began to trace slow, agonizing circles right over the tiny, restrained swell of my genitals, keeping me flattened, keeping me small. Smiling at it as she did, her smile knowing, contrasting me with him.

"The restaurant was dimly lit," she murmured, her rhythm slow and merciless. "Low tables, white tablecloths hanging almost to the floor. Perfect cover. He ordered us a bottle of pinot noir, and while the waiter was pouring it, he reached under the table. But he didn't just take my hand, love, he slid his hand to my knee."

I let out a ragged gasp, my hips instinctively trying to twitch upward toward her hand, but she pressed down harder, holding me captive in the lace. "And...and he moved it up?"

"Right away," she whispered, her eyes burning into mine in the shadowy room. "His hand slip up my leg, up my stocking, and was under the hem of my dress in thirty seconds. He didn't ask. He just slid his big, warm palm right to the edge of my stocking top then right onto my bare thigh under the table. His hand was so heavy. So broad. So undeniably a man's."

A shiver racked my entire body, starting in my chest and coiling tight in my stomach. The humiliation of listening to Emily, forced to remain soft and helpless while listening to the play-by-play of a man claiming her body, should have broken me. Instead, it rushed through my veins like fire. It was a sick, twisted kind of devotion, a surrender that was total and real.

"And you let him," I moaned, my hands gripping the bedsheets beside my hips. "You didn't move away."

"Move away?" Emily laughed softly, her thumb making a sharp, firm rub right against my most sensitive spot, sending a bolt of lightning straight up my spine. My toes curled hard against the mattress. "I uncrossed my legs, sweetie. I shifted forward on the leather seat, gave him an inch more room, and took a slow sip of my wine while I looked him straight in the eye. I told him he had incredible timing."

"Oh, god, Emily."

"He moved his hand up the inside of my thigh, right at my garter strap, several fingers on my stocking top, the others on my skin," she continued, her voice dropping lower, dripping with wicked pleasure. 

"Emily," I moaned.

"He didn't stop," she said, her voice low and steady as lightly touched my tucked penis. “He moved his hand up the inside of my thigh, higher, and he pushed it right up against my panties. He could feel how warm I was through the lace. He started stroking me, right there while the waiter set down our bread basket. His fingers were heavy, pressing into me, rubbing me up and down. I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep from making a sound."

She increased the pressure of her hand on me, matching the rhythm of her story. She was teasing me without mercy, applying just enough friction through my panties to make me shake, to make the pleasure border on unbearable torture. She was careful, kept me soft and tucked, knowing her words and her touch would be enough to tease me.

"He was so confident," she whispered, her face inching closer to mine until I could smell the faint trace of her perfume and the warm, sweet scent of her skin. "He thought he had me. He thought he was going to take me back to his apartment, throw me on his bed, and fuck me until I couldn't walk. And the worst part, love? The part that should make you hate me? I wanted him to. For about ten minutes, while his fingers were slipping inside my panties, while he was fingering my wet pussy under the tablecloth, I wanted him to take me right there."

I let out a high, fractured cry, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. My body was shaking violently now, trapped in a paradox of absolute arousal and complete physical restraint. "Emily, please...please..."

"He made me cum, my pretty girl," she confessed, her fingers pressing deep through my panties, delivering a rhythmic, maddening friction that mimicked the very act she was describing. "Right between the entree and the dessert. He leaned across the table, kissed my jaw, and slid two fingers right under the wet panties. I know I should have stopped him, but I couldn't. He rubbed me so fast, so hard, that I had to grip the edge of the table. I came so hard my thighs were quivering. And the whole time I was coming on his fingers, I was looking at the clock on the wall, realizing I had twenty minutes left before I had to call my pretty sissy to come pick me up."

"Emily!" I moaned.

"You're lucky you got there," she said, "I don't think I would have been able say no if he pulled me up and took me to the bathroom and fucked me bent over the sink."

"Emily, please," I begged.

"He had two fingers inside me and in that moment, all I could think about was what his cock felt like inside me last week, what it felt like having a man lead, having a man take me completely. I wanted him, love, I wanted to feel his cock buried deep inside me, I wanted to feel him cum inside me."

"Hmgmfff," I moaned.

"But I stopped myself," she said, "because I knew that my pretty sissy was waiting for me."

"Emily..."

I spent at least an hour between her legs, small, soft, and tucked. I spent an hour making love to her our way, my way. 

I lay beneath her, utterly drained from the hour I'd spent between her thighs, yet my skin was still vibrating with a high, electric hum. Underneath her touch, I was still completely encased in satin, trapped, helpless, and locked tight in the rigid confines of the stay-soft-and-tucked set.

"Emily," I whispered.

"I told you, my pretty girl, you're staying soft and tucked," she said, her voice soft and tender. Her fingers found me, tracing over me through my panties, "think of his fingers inside me, rubbing me, making me cum under the table. Think how difficult it was for me to call you instead of letting him fuc me.

I moaned again, the climax tearing through me like a train.

Because I was tucked, because I was locked tight and small beneath her hand, there was nowhere for the energy to go. It hit me entirely inward—a wave of intense, overwhelming sensation that made my chest heave and my entire body arch off the bed. I shook uncontrollably, sobbing into the quiet room, completely undone by her words, her touch, and the terrifying, beautiful reality of what we were.

I didn't explode like a man. I collapsed like a woman—shivering, wet with tears, completely drained, and entirely hers.

Emily didn't stop rubbing until the last tremor left my body. Then, slowly, tenderly, she leaned down and kissed my forehead, smoothing my hair back from my sweaty face with her free hand. She reached down, unhooked the back of my bra to let me breathe, but left the lace resting over my chest, leaving me wrapped in the identity she had chosen for me.

"You're so good for me," she whispered softly, her voice no longer teasing, but full of a deep, quiet, absurdly genuine affection.

I lay there in the dark, chest heaving, looking up at the woman who had broken my heart, crushed my pride, and saved me from a life of pretending to be something I was not. She was my ex, my master, my best friend, and the only person in the world who truly saw me.

We had ruined each other for anyone else. It was dynamic, it was messy, and it was entirely ours.

I reached up, my hand trembling, and gently touched her cheek. "I love you, Emily," I whispered.

She smiled in the dark, resting her head against my chest, right over the pink lace of my bra, listening to the steady, quiet beat of my heart.

"I know, Sara," she murmured, closing her eyes. "I know."