Phew...glad you liked the last chapter...otherwise I would be stuffed with this one, because its fell of fluff, sex and Naomily goodness. I made you suffer for over 14 chapters of angst, heterosexual shenanigans and a fair bit of misery, I figured you were due some delicious debauchery?

Well, if you liked that...the honeymoon period is just starting for them. A couple of flies lie buzzing in the fragrant ointment however. One is Katie Fitch, who is always guaranteed to put her own slant on matters...oh, and then the inimitable Jenna. But this a new Emily, with her sister guarding her back and the ever brave Naomi riding shotgun beside her...well, Jenna may just have met her match. Maybe.

But now, as Monty Python said decades ago...for something completely different. Or not.

Thanks again for the lovely praise. It works, people, it really works!

Mistakes mine, Skins not.

Naomi

My face is starting to ache now. Not because it's spent hours and hours and hours giving pleasure to Emily Fitch, although that is definitely the case. No, my face aches because I can't get this damned smile off it. I suppose that's only half true, considering I have spent hours pleasuring Emily until she is an utterly exhausted newbie lesbian and that involves dozens of maxillofacial muscles which eventually needed a rest. But the smile bit? Not really my thing, grinning like a fool all day. Even, no strike that especially when I'm not with her. When I'm actually in her presence, and God knows that's most of the time (not seeming to be able to say goodbye, like ever?) I have better things to do with my mouth. Dirty, no downright filthy type things actually.

OK, I'll stop now, because I sound like some sex crazed psycho who has just discovered the elixir of unlimited pleasure between her creamy thighs. Come to think of it...I am a sex crazed psycho who...

Damn, enough of this soppy self analysis. I'm happy...OK?

Really, really, dance like my great aunt in the street and grin at total strangers happy.

If I bumped into anyone who knew me at Roundview or Uni, they would think I'd had one of those weird head transplants that soap opera kid characters have. You know, the son or daughter who turns up after being away during adolescence, with a completely different actor playing the role. And you're not supposed to notice?

So...Naomi Campbell? Nope, she was a mardy cow with a sharp line in sarcasm. This new bitch? She fucking smiles all the time...

If this is what love does to you...I might have to rethink my life choices.

Or not. Because Emily makes me happier than anything else on Gods earth.

She makes me happy when she's sleeping quietly beside me.

She makes me happy when she wakes me up with sly caresses.

She makes me very happy when she's gasping and clenching under me, begging me to finish her off. Which I do.

She makes me happy just sitting there on my bed smiling back at me, on the rare occasion when I actually let her put her clothes back on. (Emily Fitches body being a thing which is so perfect, its surely a criminal offence to cover it)

Get the picture?

So I smile at the doorman at JI when I go in even though I hate just being there

.

I smile at the elderly Asian guy in the corner shop who sells me milk and blissfully forgive him the inevitable leer at my tits. If I get any happier, I might just get them out for him and make his year...not really.

I smile at fucking Tony Stonem when he makes me do another half hour on a folder I have already double and treble checked.

I even smile sweetly at the old woman who lives down the hall from me. The one who usually whispers to herself about "filthy perverts" when a random did the walk of shame from my apartment. (Those days being over, as Emily never does the walk of shame. She leaves hand in hand with me when I do...head held high)

So between smiling at everyone and shagging Emily ten ways till Tuesday, life is pretty good at the moment.

Did I say that she's as dreamy headed about all this as me? Well, she is. I caught her doodling my name inside a heart in spilled sugar when she should have been making us some life sustaining coffee yesterday morning. Its the grown up equivalent of writing my name over and over in her school exercise book. Something I would have cringed at only weeks ago. But now I just find it adorable and totally endearing. I love her, she loves me. Whats not to like?

The only downside is that I have to go to work weekdays and she has to go job hunting. It has its upside too though. Make up sex is reportedly the best sex you can ever have? Well, I have nothing to make up for, but coming home and finding Emily humming in the kitchen while she does the dutiful housewife bit, stirring something aromatic on the stove...wearing nothing whatsoever but a tiny frilly apron...? Beyond hot.

I'm afraid whatever she was cooking that evening has slipped my mind. Because I just reached across her, flipped off the hob and fucking ravished her on the kitchen table. Whatever she was cooking wasn't half as tasty as her... No seasoning required whatsoever.

XXX

Flashback.

"The pasta will burn darling...Naomi?...Oh Jesus babe...like that yeah?...oh fucking hell...your fingers..."

Those fingers are doing a slow steady thrusting inside her cloying warmth. All thoughts of pasta and eating (stop it) are fading fast. That sexy little apron has somehow come undone and is hanging uselessly round her waist. Her pert breasts are right there...in my face. I defy anyone to resist them. So I don't.

Leaning forward, as my middle finger penetrates her further, I capture one perfect nipple in my mouth. Her head goes back and the oven gloves she was holding in one hand fall to the floor. I feel her legs relaxing and parting as I shuffle closer. Smooth skin, breathy moans and complete surrender. I'm in heaven. It's official.

The nipple I'm teasing with my lips and tongue is hard and excited. She uses one hand to lift herself up onto the scrubbed wood table top and the other to press my face harder against her. After a week, I know most of Emily's sensitive spots...and nipple sucking is definitely one of them. She pants as my long finger curls back and massages a place inside her I know will make those silky thighs open as wide as I need. And I need them wide. Wide enough for me to drop to my knees, business suit be buggered. I need to taste her...right now.

I kiss my way down her soft stomach, pulling at the apron strings until she is totally naked. I take a second, even as my middle finger is joined by another (she's so wet it slips in easily). Two fingers inside her mean she grips my shoulders and stares at my face as though she is still amazed that sensations like this even exist. I'd like to take the time to tell her yet again that it gets me as hot as her, even if I am fully dressed, but now is probably not the moment. Her insides are gripping me in smooth heat and she has that almost puzzled look on her gorgeous face that tells me this will be a quickie. Someone was probably daydreaming about my response to her almost naked cooking...

"I'm going to make you come Emily Fitch" I whisper to her, then stopping her response by kissing her hard. One of the other things I have discovered about Emily is that apart from being a voyeur, she adores being told what I'm going to do to her. She loses the plot completely.

Well, what I'm planning to do right now will mean my mouth will be otherwise occupied for several minutes, so I give her an advance preview...plus some vivid mental images for later.

"I'm going to lick that pretty pussy so well, you'll scream the fucking place down. I love the taste of you beautiful...so sweet...that little clit throbbing under my tongue...your hands in my hair. God I love you so much..."

The last sentence makes her cry out. However filthy I get in my descriptions...telling her I love her is the one thing that makes her go crazy.

"...and after dinner" I tease "...if we both have any appetite left...I'm going to show you what I have hidden under my bed...you know...the long black thing I promised you can use on me...would you like that Ems?...fucking me with that big...long...thick... strap on...?"

I punctuate those last four words with harder thrusts inside her. Her fingernails dig into my skin as she registers what I'm promising. We've not actually got to using toys yet, just our mouths and fingers being enough so far...but in several conversations after sex, I realised that she has endless curiosity about as she put it "what lesbians...do...you know...in bed"

I thought we had that pretty much covered, but it seems that the demure Miss Fitch wants to experience ALL the possibilities. Not that I would dream of frustrating her curiosity...

But now...she just needs to come. And I want to watch her do it. If seeing me masturbate had been compulsive for her (and it wasn't the last time I'd done that for her this week), me watching her orgasms might just give crack cocaine a run for its money in the addiction stakes. I was desperate for her.

So, slipping down onto my knees, watching her fascinated face as I leaned closer to where my fingers were sliding deliberately in and out, I took my first long, slow lick. The groan that produced made my own cunt clench. I might need to do some exhibitionism myself later...but for now I push my own need down and concentrated on her. She gasped as I removed my fingers from her cloying heat, but I was just getting into a position where I could work on her properly. I now know she loves to be stroked on the insides of her thighs when I am going down on her. One hand either side of my busy mouth, firmly stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. The way she tensed, then let out a long shuddering breath, I knew she understood what I was about to do.

Then I probed and lapped at her some more. Her hands gripped my head and guided my efforts. Not that I needed directions. Emily was a willing and eager pupil, but a girl is a girl. I needed no encouragement to give her friction where it was wanted. My tongue worked even harder as her hips began to undulate. Small gasps and moan came from her open mouth and I watched her eyes roll up as she started to lose it.

I took my mouth away from her as her movements became erratic. Just long enough to whisper an instruction she always obeyed.

"Come for me babe...come for me, my beautiful Emily"

It was the trigger I used at the exact moment she needed it. Emily isn't just a watcher..she likes to listen to.

A single hoarse shout came from her open lips and her head fell back as she started to spasm. I used my fingers hard inside her now, to finish what my mouth had started. Again and again she cried out as I thrust into and lapped her cunt.

After a long minute, her movements became less frantic and I kissed her clit once before sliding back off my knees and just looking at the masterpiece I had created. Emily Fitch, post orgasm is a wonder of the world. Venus de Milo? Eat your fucking heart out...

XXX

Anyway, enough soliloquising about her charms. Suffice it to say I am totally and completely in love with her.

Which leads to the two things that are looming which I am not looking forward to, Because into each life a little rain must fall, yeah?

First Emily wants me to meet up for lunch today with her and her sister Katie. My only encounters so far with her almost identical twin have been brief but quite memorable. That day in the coffee shop when she stopped the traffic with her entrance...oh and her command performance at Sara's party. A night I mostly want to forget, given that I took the compliant Roberta home to shag senseless afterwards and Emily unexpectedly arrived with male arm candy and presumably royally screwed him as a reward later. I haven't had the courage to ask her about Neil yet...like was he an actual lover. Not properly. We're still at the 'total absorption with each other' stage. Discussing ex's and previous amorous encounters normally comes well into a relationship, when you're not so insecure and hearing about your partners erotic previous experiences isn't quite so threatening.

No, that can wait. But apparently meeting Katie can't.

XXX

Emily

"Naomi babe...we're gonna be late and Katie is really good at getting pissed off if she's kept waiting" I say nervously. It's bad enough I've been virtually ordered by my sister to "get your face out of her lap, bitch and introduce us already...I want to meet this mythical creature who's made you walk about with a stupid smile on your face for a week"

Because thats how long its been. A week...well eight days seven hours to be precise. OK, the first three days were spent exploring each other to the exclusion of virtually any other physical need. We even showered together, because two people in love and in lust need some type of personal hygiene. Inevitably, showers just turned into another opportunity to shag each other to exhaustion. Emerging squeaky clean but just about comatose just meant collapsing onto the bed and sleeping for another hour before one or the other of us woke up and started all over again.

Eating?

Mostly snacks we could raid from the fridge and litres of bottled water...endless fucking is very thirst inducing...who knew?

But even that took second place to me finding new ways to make her moan. I think it was the second morning...when I'd woken her with my tongue...(fuck, that sounds as hot as it was), she allowed me to make her come, then whispered into my ear as we both panted afterwards.

"What sort of monster have I created here, Emily Fitch?" she grinned dopily "I think we can safely say lesbian bed death is at least a hundred years away?"

Of course, then she had to explain what lesbian bed actually death was...along with all the other clichés... you know, the U Haul moving in after a month thing and various others. I was doing a lot of catch up, OK? Twenty four years of self denial swept away in one glorious week. Forget Sarah..although I will always have a soft spot for the girl who first awoke feelings for another girl in me. But whatever we had, however much I thought I was in love with my university friend...nothing on earth compares to the intensity of emotion Naomi Campbell inspires in me. I would literally die for her.

And judging by her dreamy smiles when she looks at me every day...the feeling is mutual.

Which is all kinds of scary, if rather wonderful. A host of 'what if's' pop up in my head on the odd occasion our lips are not fused together. What if she tires of me? What if Mini comes back on the scene...or even that pretty Roberta girl? What if this is just another experience for her... I don't think my heart would stand another rejection. I knew going in, I was giving everything to her...including my heart, held out in my trembling hand.

But she says she loves me. And I believe her. Everything she does backs that statement up. I remember that beautiful woman psychologist in the hotel sauna giving me the single most important bit of advice I had ever received.

"Be yourself...be Emily Fitch. You're gay. Deal with it...and take a chance"

So that's what I'm doing. Dealing with it. I'm Emily Fitch...I'm 24 and gay. I love Naomi Campbell and she is my chance. I'm taking it and her.

Short chapter I know, but I have two things planned for the next one this weekend. Katie Fitch and the Jupiter Investments Autumn Ball. I'd planned to include at least one in this chapter, but I have a lot on today and got a bit carried away describing Naomi pleasuring Emily across that table...so sorry !

Later?