Amity 5 CataclysmChapter 22 Outposts
- 2 years ago
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Eating Out. free porn video
Jerome was a standing at the edge of a cliff, peering over the edge. Everything was in front of him. The world. He could see nothing in particular, but everything at the same time. He stood in front of what he knew was almost the entire world, but could barely see anything. When Jerome was younger, he spent summers in Jamaica, with family, basking in the sunshine and enjoying life in a more authentic home than the one he knew back in Britain- where he was born and raised. Everything fit. Everyone looked like him, everyone ate his favourite foods, they spoke like his aunties and uncles and grandparents. They were what he knew, even though to them, he was a stranger. In spite of the place feeling like home, it wasn’t. So exploring, for him, had to be done. His family thought it important that he learned about the island that birthed them and that to them, really was home. They used to go to the Hard Rock Cafe in negrill and spend some of their evenings and nights. Jerome didn’t remember much of it all, but he did distinctly remember one thing; he remembered watching, idiolising, the grown men and young boys jumping off the cliff and into the sea below them. Jerome couldn’t imagine doing something so mad. He worried a lot, about what might happen if he hit a rock on the way down, or if the current took him where he could not find his way back or if he couldn’t get back up? But these guys didn’t care, they just dove in to the awaiting pool of uncertainty, because they were fearless.
Standing on the edge of this cliff, Jerome felt like those men and boys in Negrill. But he also felt as though he was watching them and himself, from afar. He was outside of himself, watching himself fight himself over whether he could make the jump, whilst the guys from negrill continuously took a short run up, before jumping in. Into their futures.
Jerome had just graduated, and had decided to take some time to do very little, before committing everything he was, to a career, to progressing, to everyone but him, to something bigger than him, to someone bigger than him. He’d spent the past however many years working towards this moment, he wanted to enjoy the freedom that comes with finishing an adventure. That moment that you take a deep breathe, just like your first, and you think, ‘ok so what now?’. Full circle.
Doing a job he hated, Whilst watching his friends take their degrees into industry and shine like the stars that they were, was tough and Jerome hated that. He hated himself for hating it, but he did. The interconnectedness of the world that Jerome knew nothing but, meant that Jerome could see what all of his friends were doing with their lives not just with the tap of a screen, but also, in minutes. He found himself constantly wanting more from life. And he found himself wondering whether that feeling of greed, was a testament to the capitalist, consumer world he lived in or whether it was with that, that his frustration lay. Did he want more because the world constantly told him he could have more, or did he want more because the world was telling him more was what he needed to want? And did he really want more? Or did he hate that he felt like he needed more?
Jerome had a lot. I mean, he had a degree, which was more than a lot of people. He’d had opportunity; He holidayed lots; he had a successful family to look up to and that provided for him, kept a roof over his head and owned the roof over his head(As much as you can really own a house). But deep down, there was a longing for more. It’s what led him to realise that he was not meant for monogamy, and thank fuck, his girlfriend of nearly five years felt the same. Before bringing it up, Jerome stood at the edge of the pavement, as cars sped by and he felt them, in the air against his face, eyes closed, and he took a step forward, and he kept walking.
- he made it. Or rather, they did.
But the point here is, Jerome always wanted more. More than he had, more than he could reach, more than he could see, hear, smell or touch. But he didn’t always get it. And he thought about that every day at work, doing what he knew he was meant for more than, even at this stage of his life. And on this day, he thought about it as he walked with his new work colleagues to their favourite restaurant. They went so often that they even got a discount if they showed their badge at the till, much to the appreciation of his bank account. He walked in, miles away from the moment, outside of himself as he was so often these days, and then everything stopped, and he fell forward, right back into himself. He was no longer outside, he was present in the moment, in himself. He followed his colleagues to the table they’d booked. Of course, this was when he first saw her.
It wasn’t that she was stunningly beautiful, though she was beautiful, but there was something about her, that immediately drew him to her. ...
You cannot live your life looking for your matches with a checklist, but she ticked a lot of boxes for him. On a superficial level at least, he’d been won over. She wore a loose fitting navy blue hoodie with a pair of black leggings. She didn’t care about impressing, she cares about comfort. Although her clothes didn’t throw her figure out there, what was clear is that she had a good one. A curvaceous one.
Her hair, short and blonde, sat perfectly even as she rushed around making sure things were in order. And although, the work she appeared to be doing appeared exasperating; managing a busy restaurant on a late Friday afternoon, she floated around the room picking up plates, pouring glasses of wine, serving with a smile, like an angel. Her skin was pale and clear, but with the blonde, it worked. Despite her pale skin, she exuded a warmth that drew you to her, that made you want to know her... really know her... intimately.
Jerome’s thoughts became intrusive. He began undressing her with his eyes, glancing casually on occasion from the table to the bar or to whichever table she was at. Between her trainers and the foot of her leggings, her ankles were on show, just ankles to some perhaps, but to Jerome, it was like a motorway leading to his favourite place away from home.
He thought about taking her home.
He thought of running his hands from her ankles to her hips as she lay on his bed, before stopping to place his fingers underneath her leggings, leaving his thumb on the outside. Before looking up at her and grabbing tightly. Firmly. And then gently pulling them off. He thought about running his face along the inside of her legs, pressing gently against her skin with his nose, before stopping between her legs and pressing his face against the fabric of her knickers.
Although he’d become alarmingly present in himself, in his head, Jerome was noticeably absent from conversation with his colleagues. That was not good. He tried desperately to stay focused, but his mind couldn’t help but wander... wander over to the woman he suddenly yearned for, and take her. He’d overheard her name. Ok, he hadn’t overheard, he’d listened in to someone calling to ask for the ‘same again please, Jane’. He needed a name to the body and face he was undressing and defiling. He felt sick. But Jerome couldn’t snap out of it, he knew he had to either leave, or let his mind roam free. So, as a man, he naturally chose the second option. Bad decisions appear to be characteristics that belong to men and masculinity (though not innately male).
Jerome’s head was between her legs again after replaying himself gently pulling her leggings off and running the tip of his nose along the inside of her left thigh before stopping at the fabric of her knickers. He moaned.
Shit. Was that out loud?! Of course it bloody wasn’t, he was in his own head. People sat less than 5 inches from him, speaking to him, sounded like conversation from metres away at another table that he couldn’t quite make out. He was in a moment that didn’t exist, and he was enjoying it, as scary as it was, he felt free!
He pulled her knickers to the side to reveal what was underneath. Smooth, soft skin. It looked it anyway; but to be sure he quickly skimmed his right hand along the inside of her thigh before gently running his index and middle fingers along the left side outline of her cunt whilst he held her knickers to the side with his left hand. Everything tucked in, but no doubt ready to go. Excited for what’s to come, for coming out to play. The smell of her excitement began to unbolt the last of his desires. He obsessively sought to please her. Running his tongue this time around the outline of her cunt, before licking upwards, between her lips to her clit... Jerome was about to perform, shall we say a rain dance? He began to slowly, meticulously flick his tongue over her clit, occasionally stopping only to suck before rolling his tongue inside her to taste the dribbles of rain drops as they began to fall. It’s drizzling now. As his focus intensified, he required a better picture, and so stopping for a moment, he guided her left hand to her throbbing clit before slowly using his hand to arch her back upon which she lay, to begin to remove her knickers completely. It was almost raining, it wanted to but more needed to be done. He set himself back to work, moving her left hand to the side only for it to end up on the back of his head, pressing it against her soft body and with it, his tongue against her clit. He set off back to work, trialing a technique he’d heard about from a friend. - Like a calligrapher, Jerome began to write the letters of the alphabet, one by one, with his tongue, getting faster and more confident with each letter. Could he help her finish before the alphabet? The race was on.
Their bodies were like art. They flowed together, like two rowers in a boat; they complimented each other. In motion they were like the brush strokes of a skilled artist. And like the work of an artist, their movements were thoughtful but imperfect. Jane wriggled and writhed as the pleasure grew ever closer to its climax. Jerome anticipated it coming and resisted his urge to quicken the pace of his tongue. Most runners sprint the last 100 meters of a long distance race, but Jerome’s pace was consistent. His pace had got him here, where he wanted to be and abandoning it was risky. When Jerome was taught art in school, he learned of a painting technique his teacher called stippling. His tongue action was similar to stippling in that it provided a beautiful reward for consistency and discipline. The heavens were about to open. As Jane reached deep for her breath, taken away by the wonderfulness of Jerome’s brush strokes, she reached her climax and caught her breath. ‘Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh-‘
Jerome abruptly returned to the room, greeted by the sound of a colleague’s glass filling with with cider, poured from their glass bottle. As the water rushed out of the small exit and into the glass, it splashed against the awaiting sides with a softness that contrasted the cracking sounds of its meeting with the ice cubes. It was like a perfect orchestral performance of your favourite song. Jerome couldn’t help but smile. He was powerless to stop his mind wandering. He was it its mercy but in it, he was at hers. She’d not looked over once, because she didn’t care. Perhaps, but more likely because she was working and wasn’t a sex obsessed creep that fantasised about customers on shift. His mind did this often, looked for reasons to hate him. It ruled him, but not like an emperor, more like a sadistic dominatrix. It enjoyed inflicting pain on him. He was at its mercy.
Standing on the edge of this cliff, Jerome felt like those men and boys in Negrill. But he also felt as though he was watching them and himself, from afar. He was outside of himself, watching himself fight himself over whether he could make the jump, whilst the guys from negrill continuously took a short run up, before jumping in. Into their futures.
Jerome had just graduated, and had decided to take some time to do very little, before committing everything he was, to a career, to progressing, to everyone but him, to something bigger than him, to someone bigger than him. He’d spent the past however many years working towards this moment, he wanted to enjoy the freedom that comes with finishing an adventure. That moment that you take a deep breathe, just like your first, and you think, ‘ok so what now?’. Full circle.
Doing a job he hated, Whilst watching his friends take their degrees into industry and shine like the stars that they were, was tough and Jerome hated that. He hated himself for hating it, but he did. The interconnectedness of the world that Jerome knew nothing but, meant that Jerome could see what all of his friends were doing with their lives not just with the tap of a screen, but also, in minutes. He found himself constantly wanting more from life. And he found himself wondering whether that feeling of greed, was a testament to the capitalist, consumer world he lived in or whether it was with that, that his frustration lay. Did he want more because the world constantly told him he could have more, or did he want more because the world was telling him more was what he needed to want? And did he really want more? Or did he hate that he felt like he needed more?
Jerome had a lot. I mean, he had a degree, which was more than a lot of people. He’d had opportunity; He holidayed lots; he had a successful family to look up to and that provided for him, kept a roof over his head and owned the roof over his head(As much as you can really own a house). But deep down, there was a longing for more. It’s what led him to realise that he was not meant for monogamy, and thank fuck, his girlfriend of nearly five years felt the same. Before bringing it up, Jerome stood at the edge of the pavement, as cars sped by and he felt them, in the air against his face, eyes closed, and he took a step forward, and he kept walking.
- he made it. Or rather, they did.
But the point here is, Jerome always wanted more. More than he had, more than he could reach, more than he could see, hear, smell or touch. But he didn’t always get it. And he thought about that every day at work, doing what he knew he was meant for more than, even at this stage of his life. And on this day, he thought about it as he walked with his new work colleagues to their favourite restaurant. They went so often that they even got a discount if they showed their badge at the till, much to the appreciation of his bank account. He walked in, miles away from the moment, outside of himself as he was so often these days, and then everything stopped, and he fell forward, right back into himself. He was no longer outside, he was present in the moment, in himself. He followed his colleagues to the table they’d booked. Of course, this was when he first saw her.
It wasn’t that she was stunningly beautiful, though she was beautiful, but there was something about her, that immediately drew him to her. ...
You cannot live your life looking for your matches with a checklist, but she ticked a lot of boxes for him. On a superficial level at least, he’d been won over. She wore a loose fitting navy blue hoodie with a pair of black leggings. She didn’t care about impressing, she cares about comfort. Although her clothes didn’t throw her figure out there, what was clear is that she had a good one. A curvaceous one.
Her hair, short and blonde, sat perfectly even as she rushed around making sure things were in order. And although, the work she appeared to be doing appeared exasperating; managing a busy restaurant on a late Friday afternoon, she floated around the room picking up plates, pouring glasses of wine, serving with a smile, like an angel. Her skin was pale and clear, but with the blonde, it worked. Despite her pale skin, she exuded a warmth that drew you to her, that made you want to know her... really know her... intimately.
Jerome’s thoughts became intrusive. He began undressing her with his eyes, glancing casually on occasion from the table to the bar or to whichever table she was at. Between her trainers and the foot of her leggings, her ankles were on show, just ankles to some perhaps, but to Jerome, it was like a motorway leading to his favourite place away from home.
He thought about taking her home.
He thought of running his hands from her ankles to her hips as she lay on his bed, before stopping to place his fingers underneath her leggings, leaving his thumb on the outside. Before looking up at her and grabbing tightly. Firmly. And then gently pulling them off. He thought about running his face along the inside of her legs, pressing gently against her skin with his nose, before stopping between her legs and pressing his face against the fabric of her knickers.
Although he’d become alarmingly present in himself, in his head, Jerome was noticeably absent from conversation with his colleagues. That was not good. He tried desperately to stay focused, but his mind couldn’t help but wander... wander over to the woman he suddenly yearned for, and take her. He’d overheard her name. Ok, he hadn’t overheard, he’d listened in to someone calling to ask for the ‘same again please, Jane’. He needed a name to the body and face he was undressing and defiling. He felt sick. But Jerome couldn’t snap out of it, he knew he had to either leave, or let his mind roam free. So, as a man, he naturally chose the second option. Bad decisions appear to be characteristics that belong to men and masculinity (though not innately male).
Jerome’s head was between her legs again after replaying himself gently pulling her leggings off and running the tip of his nose along the inside of her left thigh before stopping at the fabric of her knickers. He moaned.
Shit. Was that out loud?! Of course it bloody wasn’t, he was in his own head. People sat less than 5 inches from him, speaking to him, sounded like conversation from metres away at another table that he couldn’t quite make out. He was in a moment that didn’t exist, and he was enjoying it, as scary as it was, he felt free!
He pulled her knickers to the side to reveal what was underneath. Smooth, soft skin. It looked it anyway; but to be sure he quickly skimmed his right hand along the inside of her thigh before gently running his index and middle fingers along the left side outline of her cunt whilst he held her knickers to the side with his left hand. Everything tucked in, but no doubt ready to go. Excited for what’s to come, for coming out to play. The smell of her excitement began to unbolt the last of his desires. He obsessively sought to please her. Running his tongue this time around the outline of her cunt, before licking upwards, between her lips to her clit... Jerome was about to perform, shall we say a rain dance? He began to slowly, meticulously flick his tongue over her clit, occasionally stopping only to suck before rolling his tongue inside her to taste the dribbles of rain drops as they began to fall. It’s drizzling now. As his focus intensified, he required a better picture, and so stopping for a moment, he guided her left hand to her throbbing clit before slowly using his hand to arch her back upon which she lay, to begin to remove her knickers completely. It was almost raining, it wanted to but more needed to be done. He set himself back to work, moving her left hand to the side only for it to end up on the back of his head, pressing it against her soft body and with it, his tongue against her clit. He set off back to work, trialing a technique he’d heard about from a friend. - Like a calligrapher, Jerome began to write the letters of the alphabet, one by one, with his tongue, getting faster and more confident with each letter. Could he help her finish before the alphabet? The race was on.
Their bodies were like art. They flowed together, like two rowers in a boat; they complimented each other. In motion they were like the brush strokes of a skilled artist. And like the work of an artist, their movements were thoughtful but imperfect. Jane wriggled and writhed as the pleasure grew ever closer to its climax. Jerome anticipated it coming and resisted his urge to quicken the pace of his tongue. Most runners sprint the last 100 meters of a long distance race, but Jerome’s pace was consistent. His pace had got him here, where he wanted to be and abandoning it was risky. When Jerome was taught art in school, he learned of a painting technique his teacher called stippling. His tongue action was similar to stippling in that it provided a beautiful reward for consistency and discipline. The heavens were about to open. As Jane reached deep for her breath, taken away by the wonderfulness of Jerome’s brush strokes, she reached her climax and caught her breath. ‘Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh-‘
Jerome abruptly returned to the room, greeted by the sound of a colleague’s glass filling with with cider, poured from their glass bottle. As the water rushed out of the small exit and into the glass, it splashed against the awaiting sides with a softness that contrasted the cracking sounds of its meeting with the ice cubes. It was like a perfect orchestral performance of your favourite song. Jerome couldn’t help but smile. He was powerless to stop his mind wandering. He was it its mercy but in it, he was at hers. She’d not looked over once, because she didn’t care. Perhaps, but more likely because she was working and wasn’t a sex obsessed creep that fantasised about customers on shift. His mind did this often, looked for reasons to hate him. It ruled him, but not like an emperor, more like a sadistic dominatrix. It enjoyed inflicting pain on him. He was at its mercy.
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