She pushes me hard against the wall of the entryway. My body thuds and my naked breasts judder. Her left forearm stretches across my clavicle and pins my shoulders.
I feel her open hand below, pressing against my vulva.
I let her have me. My arms go limp. My back and my ass flatten against the wall. I am breathing harder.
She leans her face close, her lips almost gracing mine, but she does not kiss me. Her fingers slide up my naked thigh. I close my eyes. She fingers my pussy lips. “You’re wet,” she says.
“You shouldn’t sound so surprised,” I say with a touch of sass. “You bought my body because it’s always like this.”
“Pretty on top but a dripping slut inside.”
I slowly open my eyes. She is right there, eyes staring back. “I’m dripping for you,” I say, my voice now breathy and husky.
“No. You drip for anything with legs.”
“You sure know how to make a girl feel swell,” I say. It’s the last cogent thing I’ll be able to say for the next ten minutes.
Amanda pushes her middle finger into me, deep inside my vagina.
At the end she has two fingers in me, and I’m writhing. When her thumb graces my clit. it sends me over, and my body begins to shake. My legs grow weak and I start to slump.
“Lean into me,” she whispers. Her left arm comes under my arm, around my back. and I fall into her as my legs crumple. My arms go over her shoulders and I hang onto her.
Her hand has never left my cunt, and her fingers are still inside me, enjoying their sloppy intercourse.
But finally she pulls out of me and draws me further into her.
My climax crests.
My body spasms as she holds me in her arms.
Later I have cleaned up, dressed, and we are on the couch. We’re kind of talking, but I am swoony and sleepy.
“Do you know what that was?” she asks.
My mind is slow. It seems obvious. “I’m guessing that ‘a fucking great orgasm’ isn’t the right answer,” I say.
“That’s a lovely answer,” she says, “And you were lovely, by the way.”
“But no, it’s not the right answer. What that was was a christening. Now we have a story to tell people when they come to visit us.”
“Ahh,” I say. “Just as long as I won’t have to do a reenactment.”
Amanda says nothing.
“That wasn’t meant as a suggestion.”
“You’re mean to me,” I say.
“You weren’t feeling that way a half hour ago.”
I shake my head, smiling. “I just think that if we were christening the house, we should have had some champagne on ice for the occasion.”
“Not the house,” Amanda replies. “We christened the entryway. Just the entryway. We have all the other rooms to christen yet.”