10 comments/ 44158 views/ 11 favorites Emma By: Sabledrake "But, Papa!" Emma cried. "Enough!" He had gone crimson, a truly alarming shade, darker than the stained-glass in the church window above the pew where they sat every Sunday. "You're lucky I don't snap your neck like a chickenbone, girl! Ungrateful hussy. As I live and breathe, you're lucky." Emma fell silent. She clutched her traveling valise, the one she would not be parted with. Let the train's baggage handlers do what they would with her trunk. Drop it in the mud, break it open so that her petticoats spilled out for all the world to see, set it on fire. The valise held her money, her grandmother's pearls – Papa didn't know she had spirited them out of their hiding place, but damned if she'd let her sister Mary have them, damned if she would! – and what little money he'd seen fit to give her for the trip. And the books. The books that had been, in a way, the cause of all this. Her downfall, her doom. Yet how could she hate them, those wonderful books? They had opened her eyes to things she had never before even imagined. The look on Papa's face, though … when he'd come into the parlor, when he'd seen what he'd seen. She was lucky he hadn't snapped her neck. He could have done; he might be a wealthy businessman now, but he'd been a miner once, and the endless toil of hauling ore-carts and swinging a pick had left a mark on him. In his shoulders, in his arms, in his hands that were still strong. Mama, meanwhile, would not look at Emma. Not once. She sat in the corner of the very parlor where their lives had been thrown into uproar, dabbing at endlessly-running eyes with a hanky. But not one word of argument had she made when Papa told them of his decision. Not one word of defense on her eldest daughter's behalf. Emma thought, meanly, spitefully, that Mama would be glad to be rid of her. Hadn't Mama always been just a touch jealous? Jealous of Emma's thick chestnut curls and milky skin, jealous of Emma's shapely figure, jealous of Emma's love of life? Mama was a thin woman, once a seamstress, with hands that no amount of lanolin cream could make smooth and supple again. And Mama, passionless as a nun, had to hate Emma for what she'd done. What she'd almost done, Emma amended. She hadn't, it hadn't happened, not really, not fully, and that was the bitterest pill of all. If she had done it – which she would have, and gladly, if Papa hadn't come home early, walking in on that unforgivable scene – that would be another matter. She could have understood their rancor. A ruined daughter, unmarriageable to any respectable man in the city despite the family's wealth. The scandal. The whispers. Her parents made a laughingstock. But he hadn't even put it in! Emma opened her mouth to say so, and caught herself in time. To Mama and Papa, it didn't matter. They hadn't believed her before, that it was the first time she'd ever done anything even remotely so wicked, and wouldn't believe her now. She had even pleaded with them to send for a doctor. A doctor could examine her, and prove that she was still a virgin. The very idea had sent Mama reeling, nearly fainting. A doctor? Bring a doctor here for that sort of examination, and let the news get out? No matter if she was intact or not, the fact that they'd needed medical proof of it would be enough to set tongues wagging all over town. What therefore angered Emma the most was that she was being punished for that which she hadn't done. Or, rather, that because she was being punished for it, she wished she'd gone ahead and done it. How easy it would have been, how delightful! And they had, almost. If she'd been less coy, dash it all! If she'd not played at such maidenly demure resistance, and made him pant breathless vows of undying adoration in her ear … why, it might have been long over with by the time Papa came in. No one would have needed to know. And the ache, the terrible need in her, might finally have been met. The need that had burned since she'd discovered the books. She had never dreamed that such books existed. That people did the deeds described in its pages, and depicted in its drawings. The flame had begun then, flickering, lapping, consuming. Making her think of things she had never considered before. Making her look at men with a sly secretiveness. Knowing what they had in their trousers, and what they could do with it. Finally, when the yearning curiosity – was it really like they wrote about in the stories? – became too strong, she knew she had to find out. She'd noticed how her little sister's piano teacher watched her sometimes, when Mary was diligently plinking out the notes and Henry Ryans thought that Emma was unaware of his lingering glances. Oh, but she had been aware. After reading the books, she'd been very, very aware indeed. It became a game to her, acting oblivious as she adjusted her skirt or tugged at her bodice or curled her forefinger in a long dangling chestnut lock. She saw the way his eyes went smoky and faraway, pretty blue eyes that went well with his fair hair and neat mustache. He was well-made, too, Henry Ryans was. With clever piano-teacher hands that played over the ivories with such skill that Emma couldn't help wondering how they might feel playing over the hills and valleys of her body. Mary, only a child, hadn't noticed as her instructor and sister exchanged more and more direct looks and private smiles. Nor had she thought anything of it when Henry Ryans had directed her to practice on her own while he sat at the other end of the sofa, and sometimes touched Emma's hand. Soon they had kissed, his mustache tickling, his lips eager. Emma could still recall the delicious shiver that had seized her when he'd first sent those lips in a string of sweet kisses from the hollow of her ear to the hollow of her shoulder. And at night, every night, she read by candlelight and hungered to experience more of the adventures in the books. The Secret Loves of Molly K. A Gentleman's Confessions. Diary of A Fallen Woman. Those and others like them. Finally, on a day when everyone else was out, Henry Ryans had arrived at the house claiming to have forgotten to leave a lesson-book that he had promised to give to Mary. Emma had welcomed him kindly and invited him into the parlor to sit. And there, emboldened by their solitude, they had finally flown into each other's arms. How his hands had delighted her! As skilled as she had hoped, caressing her skin, teasing her nipples into stiff rosebuds. His mouth, too, hot and eager, speaking a constant litany. "So beautiful, Emma, you are so beautiful, oh, my darling, oh!" She had blushed and lowered her eyelids and gasped when he took some new and daring liberty, but even as she had shyly dropped her gaze she had been studying him, seeing if he did swell and bulge as they wrote of in the stories. He did, and in a pretense of nearly swooning she had let her hand fall high on his thigh, the backs of her fingers brushing against a long stiffness. His kisses delved deeper, his tongue probing her mouth and sending sparks of excitement whirling through her. He had settled her reclining on the sofa, her clothes in disarray, her breasts bare and brazen to the parlor where Mama sometimes had her Sewing Circle ladies in for tea, and her skirt was drawn up, steadily up, baring her legs in their fancy hose. Henry had been half-atop her, that stiffness rubbing her thigh, lavishing kisses on her breasts, and she had remembered a passage she'd read, how a woman had urged her lover to do something that Emma had initially thought sounded horrid. Yet now, the idea only inflamed her. She sank her fingers into his fine blond hair. Nudged his head lower. He had looked up at her then, perhaps startled, but whatever he saw in her face – flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, tongue sliding slowly over parted lips – decided him. Without further pause he had thrust his head beneath her skirt and nuzzled, his breath hot through thin silk on the most tender and sensitive parts of her. Emma could have shredded her clothes in her haste and maddening frustration, but Henry carefully removed them, and then his own. Naked, he had been white as marble, smooth as cream, and that part of him which rose urgently from a nest of honey-colored hair was everything that Emma had imagined from her reading. And more. She sat up and took hold of it with something akin to wonder, never minding his disbelieving groan at the readiness with which she handled this strange and wonderful instrument. She rubbed it between her palms, ran her thumbs over the rosy nub peeking from a fold of skin, touched the bead of moisture that welled at the dark hole in its tip. "Emma, dear girl, dear God," Henry Ryans had said, his voice hoarse. "Stroke it, yes, you darling, do!" Then, as in the books, she licked at it. Henry had nearly gone unbuckled at the knees, and had to grasp her shoulders to keep from falling. The suddenness of the movement made Emma's head bob, and she had instinctively opened her mouth. "Ah! Oh, yes!" Henry pushed with his hips. "Suck on it, darling Emma!" The taste of him thrilled her, and the sense of power thrilled her more. A pulse throbbed between her legs, where she was slippery and damp. She dropped one of her hands into her lap, sliding her fingers as she had done so many lonely nights in her bed. Henry moaned and breathed fast through clenched teeth. "Oh, Emma … Emma, wait … I want to … I want to make love to you. My darling. Let me … oh! … let me make love to you." She had released him then, and leaned back, feeling wanton and womanly here on her mother's sofa, her clothes in a heap. Henry stared, transfixed, at her hand as she moved it leisurely over her thighs. He lowered himself onto her, that part of him pointing, angled, seeking its mark. Emma had spread her legs wide, lifted her bottom, strained toward him. She needed to feel him part her and enter her and fill her. And that was when the front door slammed and Papa stepped into the parlor, and froze with his hat in one hand and his coat in the other. If there was ever a time in Emma's nineteen years of life when she thought that her father truly could have killed her, it was on that day. His explosive anger made every previous instance seem like nothing. Not even the time Emma had broken Mama's best china pitcher in a fit of pique, and Papa had spanked her with his wide leather belt, had she seen him in such a rage. The worst of it, though, had been kept for Henry Ryans. For Emma, it had been a yank by the hair, dragging her from the sofa and flinging her to her knees on the rug, and then a raining of slaps that stung like a swarm of bees, and a thundering command to get to her room, get to her room and pray to God she lived to see the morning. As she'd fled, snatching up clothes, Papa had descended on the pale and gibbering piano teacher. That had been a month ago. A month in which Emma was barely allowed to leave her room, and Mrs. Avery, their solidly-built housekeeper, had brought Emma all her meals on a tray and left without speaking. She said all she needed to with her eyes, eyes that had once been warm and kind but were now twin stones, cold and hard. In the evenings, she heard the voices of her parents floating up the narrow stairwell. Discussing – if such it could be called, as Papa raved and Mama wailed and bemoaned how fate had given them such a vile thing for a daughter – what was to be done. After all, according to Papa, this wasn't the olden days when a girl could be sent to live out her remaining years in a convent. This was America, this was 1870. A land of freedom and opportunity. Too much freedom, he would then add in a glower. Too many new ideas getting into the heads of these modern girls. Emma tried to ask Mrs. Avery what had become of Henry Ryans, but the housekeeper's only response was a tight-lipped shake of the head. Even Mary, who crept once or twice in to see her older sister, did not know. Poor Mary, poor bewildered Mary, who could not understand why Emma was so suddenly in the worst disfavor their household had ever seen. The month had dragged, but she soon learned that for Papa it had flown, the weeks speeding by as he sent telegraphs and purchased tickets and made arrangements. And then Papa had sent for her. In the parlor, he and Mama had told her of their decision. She was to be married. Not to Henry Ryans. Not, in fact, to anyone she knew. "Nonsense," Mama had said, briskly, though her eyes were red and watery from a month of ceaseless crying and sleeplessness. "You've met Mr. Carson. You wouldn't have been much more than seven, but you've met him." "I don't remember him," Emma had protested. "That doesn't matter," Papa had said. "He remembers you, and I have assured him that you've grown up into a pretty enough young woman. His wife passed on some years ago, and left him with the boys. He needs a woman to look after the place." "But doesn't he live far away? Out west?" Papa had nodded, and there was grim satisfaction in his smile. "Montana." "Montana!" It might as well have been the West Indies, for all Emma knew. "He has a ranch there," Mama said. "A fine large cattle ranch. He's a very well-to-do man, Emma Louise, and you should be happy." "Damned right that you should," Papa said, waving away Mama's shocked rejoinder to mind his language in the parlor. "Happy that he'll take you. Men out there, in the frontier, aren't as choosey. Or so I'm told. Still, he doesn't need to know about this piano instructor. Is that understood?" "I don't want to marry some stranger, some old man!" Emma had been on the verge of tears, but Papa's raised hand quelled her. "Please, Papa." "He's not that much older than me, and either way, you're marrying him. I wouldn't care if he had a white beard past his knees. I've found someone who'll take you, and by God, you're going!" So it was that this morning, Emma found herself with trunk packed and sent, valise in hand, and the grumbling Mrs. Avery assigned to accompany her, waiting for the carriage that would take her to the train station. She had only given in to her tears when she'd hugged little Mary and said good-bye, swearing to write letters to her. For Mama and Papa, she had not a single hug or kiss. She stood with a spine that felt straight as an iron bar, in her brocade traveling dress, calfskin shoes, bonnet, and kidskin gloves. The city bustled around her, all coal smoke and noise and slaughterhouses, and she tried to see herself looking at the west instead. At wide-open plains and mountains and rivers. At dusty towns and herds of cattle, outlaws and Indians and mountain men. Her chin trembled, and her hands, on the handle of the valise, wanted to shake. The carriage arrived. Their farewells were brusque, Mama having more final words for Mrs. Avery than she did for her own daughter. Papa had the look of a man who's done an unpleasant job and was pleased to see it over. Carriage to train station, whistles and shouts and conductors calling "All aboard!" Her trunk whisked away, and Mrs. Avery steering her into their car. Either Papa had decided in this last gesture to be generous, or the Mr. Carson who she still could not remember had contributed, for they had first-class service and meals along the way. Or else Papa had not trusted Emma to be allowed off the train, fearing that she might run away and lose herself in the wider world. Surely the idea had its merits. To be shipped off like this, married to an old man she did not know … she had as much freedom as the poor enslaved Chinese brought over to build these very railroads, though her accommodations were much the better. If she ran away, she could be free … But could she? What would she do? Where would she go? She had some money but not a lot. She knew enough from reading the papers and the periodicals that a girl of her station might find work as a shopgirl or a schoolteacher, but more than likely she'd end up … well, as what the more respectable journals referred to as a 'lady of the half-world.' And with Mrs. Avery watching her like a hawk, it wasn't as if Emma could slip away into the crowds at the other train stations. For days and days, she was trapped in the compartment with her guardian as the train chugged and swayed along its tracks. She thought sometimes how another opportunity of escape might present itself. She could be captured. The train, attacked by howling Indian braves, warriors all coppery-skinned with long black braids flying back from their sharp cheekbones and ebony eyes. Attacking the train, yes … scalping and slaughtering the men, but sparing the women. Such things were in the tales one heard of the Wild West. Innocent white women borne away, bound and captive. Emma pictured herself in the hands of a Comanche or Cherokee warrior-brave, him nearly naked, nothing but a deerskin breechclout and feathers in his hair. Closing her eyes to the sights of the train, she saw herself presented to some savage tribe. Stripped of her fine clothes, being forced to stand there naked and pale in their midst. The Indian women looking at her hatefully, the other men hungrily, complimenting the warrior who'd captured her on his fine catch. Standing there, head high and shoulders back. Proud. Refusing to show them any shame or fear. And then, after displaying her to his tribe, her warrior … his name would be Red Eagle, perhaps … yes, Red Eagle would take her to his home, his teepee of hides painted with crimson and yellow and black. He'd lead her inside, where a bed of bearskins and buffalo pelts would be waiting. He would call her his white spirit, his beautiful white spirit. In love with her already, wanting her not as a prize but as his wife. He'd remove that tiny strip of loincloth and draw her into his embrace, hot skin and iron-hard flesh, the wild scent of him like smoke and blood. And he would lay her down on the bearskins, open her, pierce her deep in one swift thrust that brought a moment of pain, and he'd be in her. With her eyes still closed she could see the sloped hide walls rising to a chimney-hole around the support poles. She could see the angular face of her Indian lover, poised above her with his braids hanging down and his features taut with passion. She imagined running her hands over the sweat-slick muscles of his back and arms as he held himself up, as her knees and thighs gripped his sides and he plunged into her again and again. She felt heat uncoil in her belly, felt her nipples press painfully against the inflexible fabric of her brocade traveling dress. Mrs. Avery shook her just as Emma was envisioning herself screaming the pleasure of her climax so that all the tribe could hear. Startled, jerked rudely from her fantasy, she had to turn away from the older woman for fear that her every thought would show on her face. The land she knew was left behind, and new vistas opened on the other side of the windows. Had she not known what waited for her at her journey's end, Emma might have enjoyed the new sights. The further west the train got, the more alive the world seemed. The fresher, the newer. She saw the dark, shaggy humps of buffalos. She saw a line of covered wagons, and frontier women walking alongside in calico dresses. She saw her first western town with its high wooden false fronts, its hitching rails, and its gallows. They rarely talked, she and Mrs. Avery. Emma learned very quickly that the older woman, a widow who had worked for her family since Emma was a child, resented being sent as chaperone. To deliver this willful, undeserving wretch of a girl to a wealthy husband, when there were good women who were alone. At last, the train reached its destination. Emma gazed around in wonder as she emerged, finally in this world instead of merely seeing it speeding by through the glass. Emma As mentioned elsewhere, I have related several stories confided to me for general interest, building up a small archive of such tales. In all the others, I have projected myself into the mind of the teller, and have written the histories, as if they were my story. However, in this case, I found that approach impossible to follow, so instead have resorted to reporting the interview more or less as it occurred. To recap -- I had advertised for husbands who had unfaithful wives and this was one of the subjects who replied. When Mark Pemberton knocked on my door at exactly the appointed time, I knew absolutely nothing about him because he had been unusually reticent on the telephone. All the others who answered my advert had started blurting out their stories over the phone but Mark had said little apart from, "I saw your advert -- can I see you?" It was fairly certain that he would be telling me about infidelity but not guaranteed. He was about 5' 11" but looked taller due to a slim frame. I guessed that he was one of those unfortunates would lose his thin fair hair in early middle age. He wore spectacles but had a rather youthful countenance. I was actually surprised to find that he was aged 28 because he looked much younger - but that was probably due to the rather unworldly cast to his rather pleasant face. Engaging in the usual pleasantries about the weather and any trouble he might have had finding me, I got him comfortably seated. Near to him I had placed an ashtray and a glass of water, (he had refused anything else). To my right hand was a tape recorder and I held a notebook casually on my knee. I leaned back, indicating by body language that the floor was his but he just fidgeted and gazed unhappily at his feet. At this point, the stories of the others had come flooding out but with Mark, I realised, the details would have to be eased out of him. From experience I knew that it was locked up tight inside him so decided, by gentle questioning, to ascertain just background details and avoid the reason for his visit until he was in a more relaxed frame of mind. I was able to establish that his wife Emma was the same age as him, that they had been married for eight years and that they had a five year old son. Unusually, they were childhood sweethearts, had been going together since they were fifteen and neither had been out with anyone else before then. Almost unbelievably it seemed that they were both virgins at their wedding, aged twenty, after five years courtship. I ascertained that he worked in the offices of a large insurance company and that until their child was born, his wife had been a hairdresser. His salary was enough to keep the family but not in plenty. Mark was still very tense so I asked if he had brought any photographs of his wife -- I had requested these over the phone when making the appointment. For the first time his face showed a hint of a smile as he produced them. There were a lot of photographs spanning the more than twelve years of their relationship. An early one from when she was sixteen showed a bright faced wholesome girl -- the look that most girls are eager to lose. Emma obviously did not want to lose it because, over the succeeding years, although her face matured, the look remained. I could tell that her bone structure was good but it was as if she contrived to remain ordinary. Her hair was natural slightly waved honey blonde without any trace of artifice and although pleasantly feminine was most definitely not stylish. All of her clothes could be described as maintaining modesty, again feminine but avoiding any hint of sexuality. She wore nothing in any way figure hugging, the skirts too long and blouses invariably fastened right up to the neck. After all that, the low heeled shoes and minimum make-up were par for the course. The very last picture was completely different. In it she was wearing a black, strapless ball gown that was slashed right up to the hip. It clung to delightfully full breasts as if painted on and with a great deal of flesh left on show. Her hair was piled up on her head looking very classy and the ensemble was completed by very high heeled stiletto shoes. In all the other snaps she was a pleasant looking self effacing girl, in this one, a beautiful vibrant sexy woman. I was amazed at how good both her body and legs turned out to be. And then there were her eyes. In my youth I convinced myself that by simply looking into a girls eyes, I could tell if she had ever been screwed. I was not able to prove this scientifically but was never wrong in my expectations. I went with a few girls that I had marked down as virgins and got nowhere but with almost every girl I believed had previously opened her legs to someone; I managed to get my end away. One girl in particular came nearest to proving my case. I first went out with her when she was sixteen and had that virginal look. She told me, 'I could never do anything like that', but two years later when her eyes had a different look, she was almost as eager to hump as me. I tell this only because, in the picture wearing the black ball gown, Emma's eyes were most certainly different. "Your wife is a very attractive woman," I told him. "Yes she is," he agreed, but I felt that his words held elements of both pride and regret. "You must be very proud of her." "I used to be," he said but then added, "I suppose that I still am in a way." So he was proud her as a nonentity but not so much now that she was a woman any man must desire. I had prodded a bit but his change of opinion had to do with the yet to be divulged infidelity, so I backed off until he was ready to tell me. "Have you had a happy marriage?" I asked, changing tack. "It was very good at the start but after Jason was born it got a bit boring when we could no longer go places and the last six months has been..." He started to choke up so I quickly changed the subject. "Can I ask about your sex lives?" That was good, pleasant -- you know 'nice'." These were not the words that I would use to describe sex so I dug a little. "Lots of foreplay, variations, different positions?" "I know what you mean but no. We kissed a lot and I fondled her breasts, she played with me and I sometimes put my fingers inside her vagina but that's all. We always did it the same way too with me on top." "And you are happy with that?" "I was," he said. "I always thought that was what sex was. But then a friend at work lent me a porno magazine. I could not believe what I was seeing and it exited me. I started buying my own from a sex shop and we used to swap. Soon after that I started getting videos that I watched on Friday night while my wife was visiting her mother. My friend went on holiday and brought me three back from Amsterdam which were the best that I had seen so from then I watched those over and over again but still kept buying the magazines." "Didn't you want to do that kind of stuff yourself?" I asked. "Yes I did and that is what caused the trouble. I wanted to do it with Emma -- the thought of another woman never occurred to me. The trouble was that I had no idea how to broach the subject; several times I started but then chickened out. I was getting more and more frustrated so in the end I decided that the best thing was to take her by surprise to just do it. One night I got near to the top of the bed and just stuck my penis in her mouth." Mark had to take a big swallow before continuing. "She took it out again and said 'What the hell are you doing?' I explained that a lot of people did that as part of sex, I said that it was pretty normal. So she did suck it for a couple of minutes without any enthusiasm but then she stopped and asked, 'What happens if you ejaculate?" I said that she was meant to swallow it but at that she pushed me away, called me a pervert and said that it was disgusting. She said that if I wanted that kind of thing I would have to go to a prostitute. Foolishly I asked what would she do if I did go to a prostitute and she just said, "Divorce you." "Did you talk about it afterwards?" I asked casually, not wanting to interrupt the flow. "No, in fact we hardly talked at all for two weeks and only made friends in bed the night before I was going away on a course for five days. I returned home hoping that everything would be back to normal but instead all hell broke out because Emma had found my porno collection." She ordered me to take the whole lot out of the house and get rid of it - though I did manage to hide the videos in the car and later bury them in the garden. Actually it might have been a lot worse. She shouted a lot and said that now she knew where I had got my filthy ideas but in a funny kind of way, I felt that she was not quite as annoyed as she pretended. She seemed to change after that though." "In what way?" "She made no further reference to the porn and that was unlike her but mainly the change was in the way that she dressed. For the first time she started wearing tight sweaters, shorter skirts and high heeled shoes. Then she bought a gown for the ball. I thought she looked almost naked in it and objected. She said that if I enjoyed looking at other women's bodies then I could not object if she let men look at hers. This was the only reference back to the videos but it established the fact that I now had no right to object. I don't dance and usually don't object to other men dancing with Emma but this time it was different. At the ball, men were queuing up to put down their names for a dance and I didn't like the look in their eyes." At this point I felt that Mark had reached the stage where he would feel able to tell me the reason that he had come to see me but first I wanted to set the scene. Calling for a short break I gave him a special drink of my own devising. It was both delicious and refreshing but contained one or two additives, one a powerful relaxant and another a derivative of the date rape drug Roxinal. The main lights gradually dimmed to be replaced by blue tinged background lighting and at the same time soothing music started to play at a low volume. I also activated the microphone in the headrest of his chair which was connected to secret recording equipment. The tape recorder that I had on show was seldom if ever used but its presence switched off dispelled any fear that their words were not strictly private. I must stress that despite these were precautions, no one was ever privy to these recordings beside me. When Mark had almost emptied his glass and contentedly settled back in his chair, I said softly, "You came here to tell me something about your wife?" His words came out steadily and unemotionally and the section that follows is a direct transcription of his words:- *** I got home just before eight o'clock as usual. The last hour at work at work I had enjoyed a few hands of cards with some of the guys who were also in no hurry to dash off home. If I could get home for six I would do because then I could spend a quality hour playing with my son but between seven eight I reckon is the worst part of his day, eating supper, getting bathed and then to bed. Being around at that time is all hassle so I give it a miss by hanging on at work and then catching up with by playing with him at the weekends. This way, I get home nicely in time to read Jason a short story in bed before he goes to sleep then back downstairs for my evening meal. This night I had finished eating and was sitting reading the newspaper holding it up in front of me. Again this was habit, for I had found that I could finish the paper while enjoying a protracted cup of coffee until the more interesting, after watershed, television programs started at 9p.m. Scanning over the television programs for the evening listed in the paper, I mentioned that a good film was on at 11p.m. but it would not finish until one thirty in the morning. From beyond the newspaper, Emma said, "I'll give that a miss because I'm rather tired. I've had a rather hectic day." "I will probably stay up and watch it by myself," I told her. "I remember enjoying it a lot when we watched it before." "Do you want to hear what I have been doing?" she asked. "I'm all ears," I said. I knew from her tone that my wife wanted to chat whether I had said yes or no. I didn't lower the paper having developed the knack of listening to her with half an ear and then making appropriate noises while continuing to read. "Put the paper down then. I think that you should listen to what I have got to say," she ordered. This occasionally happened when she wished to observe my facial reaction to some salacious gossip about a neighbour or friend. Removing the look of impatience from my face, I carefully folded the newspaper and propped it up on the table in such a way that than an unread article was presented obliquely to my eyes. "You have my undivided attention," I told her. "Do you remember Ken Eddison, little Simon's dad?" I glanced at my article and managed to read the first paragraph while pretending to think. I could not remember the father but the child, as occasional best friend of my son, came easier to mind. "Didn't he come to the house to collect Simon after the party last year?" This was pure logical guesswork. "Yes he did. Do you remember what he looks like?" Again going into thinking mode gained me another paragraph but then I realised that I did remember the man. "Fairly tall, heavily built, black hair and a very pale face. Didn't you tell me that his wife ran off with a double glazing salesman about three or four years ago?" It was that item of gossip which had caused me to take note of his appearance." "I'm glad you remember him because I saw him today." "Where?" I asked dutifully, my eyes straying back to the newspaper. In a conversational voice, Emma said, "After I dropped Jason off at school I drove round to his house. He seemed surprised to see me -- I honestly don't think he really expected me to turn up. When he didn't speak, I took hold of his hand and led him upstairs. In the bedroom I bent down and took off my knickers. Ken was standing behind me and although we were not touching, I could feel him trembling. Then I just lay down on the bed and let him fuck me." I looked at her quickly then and gave a short laugh. My immediate impression was that she had worked the trick of slipping something outrageous into the conversation to catch me out as not really listening. One look at her face told me that this was no joke but before I could speak, she continued in the same level tone. "It was very quick, in fact he hardly managed to get inside me. Then, I undressed and got properly into bed and we screwed until it was time to pick our kids up from school. By the third or fourth time he had got far better control." Thoughts were cascading through my head but not one could find its way to my mouth so it was Emma who broke the silence that had developed between us. "Anyway -- That's the reason that I am so tired. I thought that you ought to know." I may have nodded my head but I know that my vocal chords were completely paralysed. Emma studied my face and a slight look of puzzlement crossed hers. My face muscles seemed to be frozen so perhaps I was presenting an impassive reaction to her news. "Do you want to ask me anything," she said. This time my head moved from side to side showing bemusement rather than lack of questions. My head was flooded with questions but I was unable to vocalise them. "His cock is bigger than yours -- I guess that you want to know that," she offered with just a hint of a smile on her face. "It was stiffer as well but you would expect it to be stiff after going nearly four years without." "Why?" I asked with a rush as the barrier broke. "Why did I do it or why have I told you?" "Both -- why did you do it?" "Mainly because I felt sorry for him. I also thought that tapping into all that pent up passion might be fun - I also expected that his penis would be even bigger than it was. He gives the impression of being a big man. He takes Simon to the swimming baths at the same time as me. Usually we chat in a group of others but last time we were sitting by ourselves. I asked about his life and he told me that apart from his son the rest of his life is completely empty and has been since his wife left. A button on my blouse had come undone and while we talked he could not take his eyes off my tits. On the spur of the moment I said that he could screw me if he wanted. The poor bugger could hardly speak so I just said I would call at his house the next morning." "Will you be seeing him again?" Emma shook her head emphatically. "Only at the swimming baths. I enjoyed my time with him but it was a mistake. He wanted me to move in with him of course but by then I had decided that I didn't really like him. In fact by the time I came home I was beginning to understand why his wife left him." Her answer gave me more than a small measure of relief but made me badly want an answer to the other question she had offered me. "Then why have you told me? If it was a mistake and you don't intend to do it again with him then you could have kept quiet and I would never have known." "I don't think Ken will accept that I don't want to see him and will start ringing up and pestering. Besides that, I am sick of the secrecy. Most of the others were not mistakes and I think that you should know about them. I don't particularly want to hurt you but it is only fair to say that I have done with other men all of those things that I refused to do with you." My feelings of relief disappeared in a flash and a hard knot of dread developed in my stomach knowing that there had been other men before that day. Despite her protestations, I felt desperately hurt at the news that other men, on a casual basis, had known Emma more intimately, than she had allowed me to be during all our years together. "How long have you been cheating me?" I asked. "Please don't say it's been happening all the time we have been together." "Under a year. In fact less than that -- from the middle of last summer to be exact." She said this as if the relatively short duration of her betrayals made it somehow all right. "Last summer," I repeated, trying to cast my mind back for any clue that might have told me. "From when I bought that special dress to wear to the charity ball." "The £200 one?" It had been the most expensive garment that she had ever purchased. Because it was for such a special occasion, I had actually doubled the amount that she was allowed to spend." "I lied about that," Emma confessed. "I said it cost £200 reduced from £600 but it was actually £600 reduced from £1200. I could not afford it but I wanted it so badly -- you said that it was made for me when I put it on at home. So when nobody was looking I stuffed it under my coat. It's the first thing I have ever stolen so I probably did it very clumsily because I was stopped as I tried to leave the shop and taken to the manager's office. Of course I tried to bluff but he made my excuses seem very silly and then he pointed at a notice that said thieves were always prosecuted. That is when I started to cry. I felt like crying anyway but I put it on a bit hoping that it would make him take pity on me." She paused, took one of my cigarettes and lit it carefully before continuing. "It seemed to work because he looked less stern. So I sobbed even louder and said 'My husband will kill me if he finds out. I'll do anything if you just let me go and forget about it'. 'Anything?' he said in a certain voice. I suddenly realised what he was asking but still said 'Yes' -- it seemed that putting up with a few minutes unpleasantness was better than all the hassle if I refused. He went and locked the door then came back and asked if I was sure. I was not sure but I gave an affirmative answer. Then he stood in front of me and pulled down his zip." Emma My wife stopped and looked at me as if studying my reaction. My heart was pounding so hard if seemed my whole body was involved in the beat. I also think that my teeth were clenched. I knew what was coming and it tore me apart knowing she was about to describe doing to another man something that she had refused to do to me. "I hadn't expected that - I thought it would just be a matter of opening my legs and switching off until it was over," Emma went on. "But I was committed so I reached into the fly and got his penis out. Even though it was nowhere near stiff, I could tell that it was a lot bigger than yours. It was also very different with the head all covered with extra skin -- until I watched your videos, I had not realised that there were two kinds of cock. Anyway, I took it into my mouth and started sucking hard but after a minute he stopped me and said 'You haven't done this very often.' I told him that it was my first time and that seemed to please him. He said to take it very easy and tickle it with my tongue rather than suck, at least to start with. After I bit I found that I was quite enjoying it. The taste of his prick was not unpleasant and it felt funny having something alive in my mouth. I enjoyed poking my tongue inside his foreskin and touching the head and felt a thrill at feeling it react to me doing that. Soon I just knew it was time to start sucking properly." Emma stubbed out the butt in the ashtray but there was barely a pause in her narrative. "I started to wonder what to do when he started to cum. At first I planned just to pull my head away at the last moment but worried if doing that would cancel the deal. The next best thing was to let the cum go in my mouth and then spit it out quickly -- but there was nowhere obvious for me to spit. I was curious what it would be like to swallow it -- so that's what I decided to do. The whole thing was not as terrible as I had imagined, in fact I had begun to enjoy doing it. There was a feeling of power knowing that I could control him with my mouth. When he did start to cum, I tried really hard to make it good for him and he told me afterwards that I had. Afterwards I had spunk all round my mouth and hanging from my chin so he gave me a tissue. He told me that I had a real talent for giving head and after a bit of practice should be amongst the best." The acrid taste of jealousy in my mouth made it difficult to speak but I managed to ask bitterly, "So he didn't prosecute and let you have the dress as reward for prostituting your mouth?" My wife shook her head. "I had expected the dress as well but he said it was too much to give away just for a blow job. Then he asked how much I was allowed to spend. When I told him, he said I could have the dress for £200 if I agreed to go round to his flat on two successive Wednesday afternoons. I wanted the dress very badly so I did. That wasn't bad at £200 per screw -- well actually £200 per session because he had me a lot more than once on both occasions and I gave him really good value for money. I got a lot out it too because he taught me a hell of a lot. He really knew his stuff because I never dreamed that it was possible to be made to feel like that. I actually went back to see him for a third Wednesday but that was mainly to get extra lessons on giving head rather than more screwing." Emma paused for a moment, then said as if in summary, "Well - that is how it all started," lit herself another cigarette and waited for my reaction. What were my reactions? Incredulity. Disbelief. How could my demure, even straight-laced wife of eight years suddenly behave like that? I do know that I felt completely numb. Since arriving home, all the certainties in my life had gone. The painful inward analysis of my emotions was interrupted by the realisation that she was speaking again. "At that point I had no thoughts of doing anything else," she said. "I had earned myself a beautiful dress, had a lot of pleasure and learned a great deal about sex but believed that it was only a one off adventure. The charity ball was on the Saturday following that last Wednesday afternoon and it was from there that I developed a taste for having other men's dicks inside me - and in my mouth. It was the Victorian style dance cards that did it. No fewer than six of the men that I danced with asked me to meet them afterwards. I told them all that I would think about it but wrote down their telephone numbers next to their names on my card. I have been with five of them and I'm rather amazed at how different cocks can be. The biggest by far was ten inches long -- that is exactly twice as long as yours and it must have been umpteen times as thick. Imagine that. I know that after watching your dirty videos, I used to lie in bed imagining having some thing like that inside me. Now I don't have to imagine." "So you've been going to bed with all five ever since? I wanted to keep my voice firm as I asked the question but it came out all dithery. "No -- except for the big one who I went with twice, I only shagged the others once. You may not believe this but I love you as much as ever as a person but not in a sexual way. I think I resent the fact that, knowing you right from school, has deprived me of so much. I have convinced myself that if I never go with any man more than once (or occasionally twice), it doesn't really matter. It's not as if I was having an affair." "So you don't want to let me screw you any more?" I asked, my voice pregnant with despondency. Emma laughed happily. "I'm not that selfish. You can have me any time that you want as always. I quite enjoy you poking me sometimes. I just don't want you to think that because I suck other men's pricks and let them fuck me up the ass, that you can do the same. I just can't let you and I don't really know why." "It's hard knowing other men have had you but it is worse knowing that they get more than me." "They do not get more than you," Emma said firmly. She was looking straight into my eyes and I could tell that she was speaking with total sincerity. "What they get is different but it is not more. I love you but I don't love them. With other men, as soon as they have done their stuff, I can't wait to get rid of them but with you I am contented to snuggle close and go to sleep. I think that probably I love you too much to do dirty sex with you. The trouble is that I now need that kind of sex." I was totally confused. It this point I did not know if my wife's attempted explanation gave reason for hope or even greater despair. "Have there been any men since those five?" I asked. I did not want to know the answer to this but I had to say something and any other words might have revealed my inner turmoil. "A few." Now I wanted to know details but could not ask. If she just told me things then I was the unwilling recipient of the knowledge but to enquire might be construed as just prurient interest. "I did an afternoon stint on a building site," she said "A building site - how? "On my back. "I don't understand." "One lunchtime I was walking past a building site and two of the labourers started whistling and calling crude things after me from behind the wire fence. I went back and asked them if they had noticed that men with the loudest voices always turned out to have the smallest dicks. They said that they could prove different and I took up the challenge. I was taken to the communal hut. It was empty but at the back was another small room containing two iron frame single beds. We went in there and they locked the door. Those two kept fucking me in turn but then one needed to go for a slash and when he opened the door two other blokes just back from their lunch got in. The first pair were about shagged out so I took on the new ones. Those building site guys are surprisingly straight -- I would have been happy to take both at once but they insisted on queuing. A whole load of others turned up and were peering in at the window, whistling and cheering but by that time I had to go and pick up Jason from school. I promised to go back another day but I never did." In a strange way Emma was right because the sheer numbers of men tended to blot out the pain of any single one. I wondered if she had just told me that she was having an affair with one man, would it hurt more or less than this. On balance, I decided that an affair was probably worse for then there would be the fear of losing her altogether. The impersonal way in which she was screwing these men made it seem as if it was almost nothing to do with me. "You said 'a few' other men -- that was a few all at once." "There were only four others -- I think. I seem to have forgotten one completely. There was a man who sat next to me in the cinema that I sucked off and another who gave me the eye outside the supermarket and then took me back to his flat. Then there was the window cleaner -- I only did him because all bored wives are meant to hump the window cleaner. It was a mistake because he will expect the same every time he calls. That's it -- the full tally as well as I can remember." "What do you want me to say." "I don't want you to get all uptight about this. I want you say that you don't mind." "But what about me? You know that I would like the kind of sex that you are getting and can't give me." "Go to prostitutes. I know that I said we could not afford it but now we can. A lot of these men give me money and things and I could get more if I started asking. Anything I get I will give to you." "Wouldn't it be better and cheaper if I just started going with other women?" ""NO," said Emma emphatically. "You won't get women anywhere near as easily as I can get men. I can see you finding one and that would turn into an affair. I know you. Very quickly I can see you believing that you love her and preferring a loyal woman to one who opens her legs for all and sundry. I don't want to lose you as a husband but more than that, I don't want a broken home for Jason." "I can't say that I don't mind but I do not want us to split up, especially for Jason's sake. I think that I have to accept a new basis for our marriage. Do you think it will be like this for the rest of our lives?" "I don't know," Emma told me honestly. "All I know it that at the moment, I have got a craving for other men. They are like a drug to me. That's why I want you to let me start going out at night. There are always men around during the day but you have to wait for them to turn up. In the evenings I can go where I am more or less certain to get picked up." "Every night?" "No silly -- that would be selfish. You need a night out and I already see my mother one night. I can cut my mother down to once a fortnight so one night a week should be enough -- probably twice on occasion if I ever draw a blank." ** * Mark was beginning to show increased signs of agitation so I caused the lighting to become brighter and sat myself forward to bring his discourse to a natural end. I suspected that the effect of the additives to his drink was beginning to wear off, so this break was mainly to provide him with new refreshment. He seemed to have accepted his wife's multiple infidelities with remarkable equanimity but that rather indicated that the story already told was of small import compared with what was to come. If the untold part of the tale was as traumatic as I believed it would be then there was a danger that parcel of drugs with which I had fortified him, might prove insufficient to prevent his seizing up on me. Consequently I decided to fall back on hypnotherapy. First I must point out that hypnotherapy is not hypnotism in that the subject remains fully conscious and aware but the mind does become in part dissociated from the body. It is only fair to point out that this technique has acquired a bad name through use for regression to past lives and so-called recovered memories of childhood abuse. This has become known as 'The False Memory Syndrome'. Many practitioners have found it easy to plant ideas into their patients mind using a combination of direct suggestion and leading questions. You will note that I studiously avoid such methods and use only obvious prompts and where possible remaining completely silent myself. With Mark nicely conditioned and with the lights music and microphone all activated, I asked, "Did you avail yourself of a prostitute?" "Yes -- Emma insisted that I went with one before she found a man but it was a bit of a disaster," he told me. "I had no idea how to get a prostitute apart from those I has seen walking the streets so very nervous I drove round the red light district. Eventually I saw a girl that I fancied but she wanted to do it the car. I did not want that so I kept on looking and got a girl, not as nice as the first one, but she had a room. Once there I found that I no longer fancied her but she knew how to make my dick stand up even when it didn't want to -- she also knew how to make me cum quickly. So I paid for less than I get off Emma and did not really enjoy it. Back home my wife asked how it had been and told her what I have just you. She said that I was silly to use a street girl and straight away found me a telephone number to ring and make an appointment for the next week." Mark's mind was still active but he had stopped verbalising his thoughts so I had to prompt, "Was this one better?" "Oh yes, I went to her on three successive weeks. She was young and very attractive. Every time she started by giving me a massage and then I could do to her whatever I wanted. Over the three weeks I did everything that I had seen in the videos. She sucked me off, I licked her all over and then sucked her cunt, I stuck my cock up her arse and she fucked me when I was lying on my back. Every time it wasn't just a quickie either because I was with her all evening. The trouble was that when I had done everything once I lost interest because it was Emma that I really wanted to do it with." "What about the next one?" "There were no more," Mark told me. "I told Emma that I would far rather spend the money on pornography than on whores. My decision surprised her but she agreed that I could start keeping it in the house again. The shop I went to started me letting have stuff from under the counter. It was expensive but every bit as good as anything from Holland." "How did you feel waiting at home when you knew that your wife had gone out picking up men?" "The first time was terrible. I could not sit still and wandered round the house with pictures in my mind of what someone was doing to her somewhere. Emma arrived home much sooner than I expected. She said that she had gone into a big hotel bar and been picked up within ten minutes. It was a middle aged businessman and he took her to his room. It seems that he screwed her twice but in a very conventional way. Then he just fell asleep. I was very relieved but also.....disappointed is not the right word -- I was a bit sick that I had spent the night working myself into a mental frenzy over nothing." "Do you think that your wife told you the complete truth?" "Oh yes. That first time, Emma said that it was up to me; she could either tell me nothing and pretend that she had been to the cinema or she would tell me everything that had happened. I needed to know everything. On subsequent weeks she told me every detail of what she had done, both the good and the bad. I think that she enjoyed confessing but it was not done to hurt me - as I said, it was my choice." Perhaps you would like to talk me through what your life was like," I urged. "The second time Emma went out to 'get decently laid' as she put it, I realised that I could not just sit and think about it so I went into the garden, dug up the videos and watched them. It was much better because I no longer had to imagine, I could just pretend that she was the girl on the screen. This time she had picked up a young bloke, I forget where but they had done about everything -- it was well after two in the morning when she got back. She seemed to prefer young guys with a tendency towards the rougher sort. Emma's big thing was cocks. She loved to compare all the various types and sizes that she had had, the amount of cum that they could squirt and the different tastes. Her particular favourite was pricks with long foreskins, she told me of all the tricks with her mouth that she used to get them up again when they had already fucked her two or three times." "I expect that all the different men that your wife has told you about seem to merge into one after a time." "They do now," he said. "For a long time, I kept a mental index of names, what they had done and the size of their dicks. Then one time she told me some detail about the latest guy and I suggested that Brian six weeks before had been the same. Emma disputed this saying I was thinking of Steve the week after, the one with the nine incher who had hurt her anus by ramming it in too hard and too quickly. The thing was that I think she was correct and it destroyed all my faith in the system, so I haven't bothered keeping track since." "So none stand out at all?" I was digging a bit. It seemed to me that there was still some knowledge that he was hoarding to himself and yet I feared that he was nearing the end of his story. "The time that she had two blokes at once stands out. It stands out for Emma too because she keeps referring to it as the best sex of her life. She told me that she believes women were designed to service two men at the same time. I think that if those two had not just been passing through, she would have broken her rule and taken them on a lot more often than that one night. It was after six in the morning before she got home and she was completely exhausted. I let her stay in bed all day to recover, taking the day off work and looking after Jason myself. It seemed that both of them were at her none stop for hours, one screwing and the other in her mouth. Emma sys that they must have been on Viagra or something because they could both keep cumming, time after time. At one point she had one up her cunt and the other in her ass but she said that after managing to get into that position it was too awkward to do any real fucking." "I hope that you will not mind me saying this but you do not seem to be too upset by all this, you appear to accept it - even enjoy it." "I have got very little choice," he said. "I would give anything to go back to how we were, just a normal family with Emma as a modest faithful wife. But that is not going to happen because she likes what she is doing too much. If I fought against it mentally week after week then I would probably want to kill myself so I am making the best of it. It still hurts terribly but it excites me too. I dread the nights that she is going out but I look forward to them as well -- I think that the excited feeling is probably addictive. Anyway, things have changed now, partly for the better and partly a lot lot worse." Now we were getting to the crux of the matter. I offered Mark a short break but he said that he wanted to carry on. The following section is again a direct transcript from the tape. *** One night I was half way through the video when I heard the front door being opened. Usually I did not start watching until I thought that Emma was doing whatever she was doing but the man at the shop said this one was a bit special so I had started viewing early. When I heard the door, I quickly stopped the tape and switched over to television. My wife came in and she had got a bloke with her. He was one of those big labouring types that I know she prefers. She left him standing by the door, sat down by me, grabbed my hand and gave me a big kiss. "I know that I am breaking the rules bringing him back here but I don't know what else to do," she said. "All the hotels are full due to the music festival, it is pouring down and there is nowhere at all that we can go. Please let me take him in the spare bedroom. I want him so badly. Please say yes." Emma What else could I say? I don't know if the bloke knew that I was her husband or not but he gave a half wave and said "Hi" as she led him through to the stairs. I should just have started watching the video again but I found that I couldn't, knowing what was happening upstairs so I put it away and went to bed very quietly. I am in the middle of constructing back to back wardrobes in the two bedrooms and a lot of the internal panels remained to be put in place so I could hear everything as if I was in the same room with them. I would still have been able to hear even if the wardrobes had been finished because they were not quiet -- in fact at times I worried that they would wake up Jason along the landing. It was an ordeal just lying there listening to them. He made her cum a lot and when she did her screams and moans expressed more abandon than she had ever shown with me. All the time that I have known Emma, going right back to when we were at school, I had never heard a swear word pass her lips but that night I heard her say the lot. She was shouting "Fuck me, fuck me hard" and "Fill my cunt with your cum." There are two words that I have often used to express surprise but hearing my wife say "Bugger me," to another man as an order or request, tore me apart. On this and later occasions I came to realise that Emma had the foulest mouth of anybody I had ever met. I seemed to lie there for hours. My heart was pounding so hard I was afraid that I might have a heart attack and my whole body was continually trembling. The only part of me not trembling was my prick and that stuck out stiff and rigid as a poker - I had to lie on my side because the weight of the bedclothes resting upon it was so painful. Eventually I heard them going downstairs. I was tempted to go down as well. I wanted to see their faces after all that, in particular I wanted to see if he looked at all guilty when I appeared but with my cock sticking out like that I would have looked foolish. I heard the front door close and a minute later Emma slipped into bed beside me. She snuggled up close, gave me a terrific kiss and whispered, "I love you so much." Her hand found my still stiff penis and it felt so soothing but then she straddled me and slipped it inside her. This was the first time ever that we had sex with her on top. She felt very hot and kind of squelchy and I could feel stuff running out of her twat and trickling round my balls. At the start I thought it was just her cunt juices but realised that it had got to be all the spunk that he had put into her. Emma did not actually move, just squeezed me with her insides and I started to cum straight away as if I had been saving up for weeks. She had an orgasm too with wave after wave of tremors moving down her body. I think that we both fell asleep just lying there like that. [At this point there was a long gap on the tape as I think Mark mentally relived what he had just told. I forbore to interrupt his thoughts and eventually he continued. ] The next day we just carried on as normal without any reference to what had happened the night before. Usually, when she had been out, Emma asked if I had any questions and I always had but this time she did not bother - I expect she realised that I must have heard everything. The evening before she was due for her next night out she gave me a kiss and said, "I've been thinking." "What have you been thinking, my love," I asked. I don't know if it was intuition or something in her voice but I was suddenly excited and rather dithery. "I enjoyed bringing that bloke back here last week. It was better than cold uncomfortable places or the back of a car. He gave me what he would have spent on a room if we had been able to get one so it's better financially for you. Would you mind if I brought them all back in future?" I did not like the idea. I knew that I would be unable to face watching videos with that going on upstairs and yet I knew that lying listening again would be too painful. Also, as this week had proved there would be no need for Emma to tell me what she had done. "Only if I can watch," I said and I still don't know where the words came from because they most certainly were not planned. Emma shook her head not liking my compromise - I think she suspected a trick. "You can't join in," she said. "I know that I won't be able to let you." That thought had honestly not come into my head. I think that I would have felt far too humiliated to join in, particularly if the bloke's penis was very much bigger than my own. "Just to watch," I reassured her. "I'll just sit quietly and never say a thing. You won't even know that I am there." "I am not sure if my men friends will be too keen on having a spectator." "Then take the ones who object somewhere else, they can only come back to the house if they agree to be watched," I stipulated. There comes a point when every man has to put his foot down." In face of my decisiveness, Emma conceded. "It's a deal," she said, stepping forward and sealing the bargain with a very loving kiss. [Another lacuna on the tape here was where Mark fell again into silent contemplation. Rather than dwelling on what he had just told me, I think that he was ordering his mind for the critical part of the story still to come.] During that day at work I was very tense but also excited. I was dreading the night, wondering how I was going to face it. Where is the dividing line between dread and anticipation or between pleasure and pain? I know that my wife's affairs have given me both in equal quantities and I do not know where one starts and the other begins. As soon as Jason was asleep I started watching the videos but for the first time I could not concentrate on what was happening because I was constantly listening for the door and getting up to look out of the window. I was afraid that whoever she found would refuse to be watched so I was relieved to hear her key in the door. He was young, (early twenties), well built but without the look of a labourer. My best guess was that he could work in some kind of heath club. The fact that he was on edge showed in the way that he visibly winced on seeing me. But, being a man of some mettle, he forced a broad smile onto his face and strode across to me with his hand outstretched. "You must be Emma's husband. You're a very lucky man." I had no particular wish to touch him (or even speak to him), but it would have been churlish to decline my hand. "Lucky?" I repeated trying to make my voice ironic. "Yes lucky. Emma is the most beautiful woman I have met for a very long time." I was excused from finding a reply by my wife coming up and effecting rough introductions "Mark -- Kevin, Kevin -- Mark." "You have got a very nice house," Kevin observed looking round, for all the world as if he were here for an interview and wanted to create a good impression. "Thank you. We are just beginning to get it how we want it. Do you live locally," I said, going along with the protocol. "I know that you would like to swap life stories, but Kevin is rather anxious to fuck me," Emma interrupted with a smile. "I'm taking him straight up to bed. It would be nice if you could do us some drinks and bring them up. Perhaps you might have the chance for a chat with him later." I dawdled a bit with the drinks hoping that they would have started by the time that I got upstairs but I suspect that Kevin was unhappy with the prospect of me creeping up on him because he was still fidgeting about fully dressed. In contrast, my wife was already down to her bra and pants. Without specific instructions on the drinks I had poured two shorts (with a red wine for Emma), and now he gratefully grabbed his whisky and disposed of it in one swallow. Despite the Dutch courage, the poor youth was still extremely uncomfortable and kept glancing over his shoulder at me, reluctant to start undressing. Seeing the problem, Emma stepped forward, angled him so that he could not see me, then got down in front of him and extracted his penis. Even in the flaccid state it was far bigger than mine with the excess of foreskin that she liked so much. It was an education watching her wet red mouth and tongue working on his member - the bloody thing kept growing and growing. My wife had placed a dining chair near the wall and now I sank down upon it. The chair had been situated with some thought because the dressing table mirror gave me a perfect reverse angle on the action. Somewhere my wife had discovered the knack of giving deep throat for, despite the length of his prick she took it completely inside her mouth until his balls were banging against her chin. I was watching in an almost disinterested way as if the academic interest in how it was done had removed any relevance to me. However, when he started to cum, a knot of pain and jealousy gripped my stomach, because, although I knew it had happened before, this was the first time I had witnessed another man's semen being deposited in Emma's mouth. At sometime, while sucking him off, Emma had managed to get rid of the two pieces of underwear because now she stood up completely naked. There was cum all round her mouth and now she looked over at me and very deliberately licked her lips. Her wine had stood untouched on the cabinet by the bed. Now she picked it and took a sip but as she reclined on the bed the glass seemed to tip and splash the wine all over her breasts. It flowed down the valley between, formed a small lake in her naval with one solitary rivulet pursuing its journey further south and disappear in the forest of hairs at her crotch. "Oh dear," she said. "Whatever are we going to do about that." Kevin cannot be faulted for his initiative. Divesting himself of garments at speed, he leapt forward to be of assistance and ensured with his mouth that not one trace of wine remained to sully her fair skin. From that point on until he finally left, neither of them betrayed any awareness of my presence. That is not strictly true because twice I was sent downstairs to bring up fresh drinks. In fact, on that and future similar nights, the only justification for my attendance was to fetch refreshments whenever they paused long enough to require them. I came to the conclusion overall that not only was I deficient in penile size but my balls also left a lot to be desired. That was the only explanation that I could find for the speed and frequency with which other men were able to get a new erection after shooting their loads. Also, on the occasions that they chose to splatter their cum over either my wife's face or tits, I gained the impression that other men were able to secrete far more semen than myself. Eventually, it was over and I took Kevin downstairs to let him out of the house. At the door, rather incongruously, he grasped my hand and said, "Thank you very much." "I replied, "Your pleasure," instead of , "My pleasure," but he did not seem to notice. Back upstairs, I assumed that Emma would have returned to our own bed but she was not there. I found her where she had been, completely uncovered and lying with legs spread. "You can suck my cunt if you like," she said. Of course I knew what that meant. I knew that beside her juices, I would be tasting what he had left up there and God it was a lot. On the other hand, this was what I wanted to do. This was the activity that left me feeling most deprived when she refused me. What the hell would you have done? I revelled in it. I revelled in the taste of her and the taste of him. I was in heaven. She kept on cumming. Cumming and moaning. I kept tasting new floods of her from her deepest recesses. And then when I fucked her and she was more passionate than I had ever known her. This was how I wanted her. My penalty was that I needed other men to get her ready for me. In subsequent weeks there were other men, (every Wednesday and every other Friday), some I liked and some I didn't but none tried to make friends in the same way as Kevin. Some sent me apologetic glances but with others their gaze was contemptuous. I watched them do everything imaginable to my wife and I watched her do equally obscene things to them. Throughout it all, I knew that when they were gone, I would get my reward. In the end, she brought home a man who disturbed me. He was older for a start, at least ten years older than me when all her other pick-ups had tended to be younger. The phrase 'built like a brick shit-house' applied to him and he was very hairy. He seemed to have thick black hair all over his body but on his chest it was so dense that you could not see his skin. His muscles were not the smooth aesthetic kind produced by weight lifting but the knotted variety produced by hard labour. He did not like me any more than I liked him. I have said that some of the other sent me contemptuous glances but his contempt was like a solid thing between us. I did not want him to have her, I didn't want him to even touch her but I had no choice. Emma introduced him as Max but he did not even nod his head to acknowledge me just holding me in a cold penetrating stare as if I was something that he might have scraped off his shoe. While he was fucking her and the rest of the things he did, I started sweating. None of the others had made me sweat but now sweat was running down my face in streams. Nor did he forget that I was there, in fact he angled himself so that his eyes were constantly on me, watching me watching him. All the time he kept up a constant stream of derogatory comments, "Wimp", "Worm", "Pansy", and "No wonder she needs a real man". When she was licking and sucking his prick I felt physically sick. Have I described his prick. It was not pretty, it wasn't nice but it was bloody big - and hard. In the reverse of the way that they produce vegetables that resemble a human phallus, his cock looked like the gnarled root of an ancient tree. With all the others, I have given the impression that I watched everything that they did to her but this is not strictly true. Perhaps I have an anal fixation. I could watch while they pushed tongues or fingers up her anus but when they fucked her ass I always closed my eyes. With Max more than ever I did not want to see but I was not allowed my oblivion because he said "Look!" and I seemed to have no will to do otherwise. Emma was on all fours and he was kneeling behind her. There was a look of triumph in his eyes as he looked at me. "Emma tells me that she has never let you do this," he said. "I can understand that but it puzzles me why she lets a puff like you anywhere near her at all." I tried to keep my face impassive but this hurt more than anything. For the very first time I was truly jealous. For him to know that my wife had never let me do this was the ultimate humiliation. My eyes must have been full of tears because I did not realise at first that he was beckoning to me. Like a zombie I stood and walked over to the bed. They were towards that side so just looking down, within easy touching distance, I could see her usually rosebud-like arse hole grossly distended by the bulk of his stiff rod embedded inside her. Fascinated by the sight it came as a shock to find that he had grasped my hand and was pulling it forward. Helplessly I allowed my hand to be pressed palm down against her backside with the thick shaft of his cock encompassed within the arc formed by my thumb and first finger. "Feel it. Feel what you are missing," he said. I tried to drag my hand away but he held it in place with an iron grip. For a short while I watched him slowly sliding in and out, feeling the movement of his cock against my skin and sensing the sensations that this rectal invasion was giving to my wife. Then I made the mistake of glancing up at his face to find that he was staring intently at me. From that moment I was pinned by his hypnotic gaze and unable to pull my eyes away. He began to speed up, ramming into her hard, his pelvic bone crushing my forefinger and his balls banging against my thumb. I knew when he started to cum both by his facial expression and actually feeling his cock twitching as it pumped his stuff inside her. My wife's reaction was immediate. Beneath my fingers I could feel Emma's innards convulsed if a paroxysm of tremors and the vocal sign of her orgasm was the high pitched keening moan that issued from her throat. The extreme sensation of that moment I could have withstood had not Max tipped me over the edge with an obscene act. Opening his mouth he slowly waggled his thick coarse tongue at me. Next moment, I was cumming too, my seed spilling out to form a lake of shame inside my pants. Max was looking deep into my soul and he knew. I staggered back to my chair and watched the subsequent proceedings through a mental blur for I was deeply troubled by the way my body had behaved. It was hard to drive it from my mind because the discomfort of the damp patch at my groin constantly reminded me. Max stopped subjecting me to verbal abuse but I was still the subject of many scathing glances. Eventually, later than usual, it was with some relief that I escorted him downstairs but at the front door he prevented me from opening it and turned to face me. When he spoke it was in a friendlier tone of voice than at any time since first arriving. "Why don't you admit that you're a fairy?" he asked. "A fairy?" I was genuinely mystified by the remark. "A faggot, a pufter, a queer, a bum boy." "I am not gay," I stated categorically having finally understood his meaning. "Come off it. In my experience, men who like to watch their wives being screwed are all gay, at least in part. They won't admit it to themselves but watching their women being ploughed is the nearest that they can get." "You don't understand -- it's not like that at all." "Then why did your eyes never leave my dick all night. It's obvious to me -- you wanted it for yourself." "You're mistaken," I said almost sobbing in my desperation to prove him wrong. "So why, when I gave you a touch, didn't you take your hand away?" "You stopped me. You held my hand in place." Max slowly shook his head smiling confidently. "Oh no. I held your hand there for just a moment at the start until you got the idea and then I released it to see what you would do. Sure enough, it stuck there like glue until the bitter end and I won't mention how that affected you." Panicking I tried to pull the door open by brute force against his weight. "Calm down, I'm not going to rape you, even if that's what you really want," he said laughing but pushed a card into my hand saying, "That is my telephone number, give me a ring when you have thought about it." I handed it back and told him that I would not need it. He stood away from the door allowing me to open it but as I expected him to step through he said," What are you going to do now? I will tell you what you will do -- you are going back upstairs to suck all of my cum out of your wife's slit." "How do you know? Did Emma tell you?" I stammered. "Nobody told me. It's what men like you always do. While you are at it, don't forget the load I put up the back way -- hell, you shouldn't forget - you felt the damn stuff going in." With that he was gone and I realised that I was clutching his card in my hand. Upstairs Emma was spread out for my banquet and her legs were more than just slightly spread. "Hurry up," she urged. "You have been a long time." The words Max had spoken were too fresh in my mind. I remained standing and shook my head. "Not tonight -- it's getting late." "I want you to do it. I won't let you watch in future if you don't." Emma could not have thought of a better threat to bring me to heal. Part of my reticence for sex had been the fear that my disgraceful episode might have left me unable to perform but, by the time that I had finished ministering to her nether regions with my mouth, I was raring to go. An extra benefit was the fact that I was not as trigger happy as on previous occasions. I was happily fucking away, revelling in the number of orgasms that I was able to give her when Emma squeezed me to stillness and gave me a big kiss. "I know that it is against our rules but I would like to see Max again," she whispered seductively in my ear. Emma "NO." The fact that I had hidden his card with my porno tapes instead of throwing it away did not alter the fact that I never wanted to see that man again. "I know that he was not very nice to you tonight. If he comes again, I will make him promise to treat you properly," she argued, having misinterpreted my reluctance. "I just think that we should stick to the rules," I said vaguely unable to voice my specific objection. "If you let him fuck me again then afterwards I'll suck you off and let you do anything you want to me. Only in this bed and on those nights ... you know," Emma bribed, her qualification showing me that it was not carte blanche that she was offering. If I had been a strong man then I would never have got into this mess in the first place -- the trouble is that I seem to find new weaknesses as I go on. Emma has been out looking for Max on three nights since and the men that she did bring home tended to be short changed due to her disappointment. That telephone number is burning a hole in my mind but I know in my heart of hearts that if I once ring it then the end result will be inevitable. *** At this point Mark subsided into silence and I knew that he had told me all that he had to tell. In subsequent conversation he asked for my advice and I realised that his motivation for meeting me was the hope that I would tell him what to do. The trouble is that I am a researcher not an agony aunt so offering gratuitous advice is well beyond my remit. From personal pride I would dispute the contention by Max that all wife watchers are closet gays but at the same time I can recognise the passive latency that he saw in Mark. Emma I was always close with my cousin and his wife; I'd go around for a beer and a BBQ every week or two. Mick would always call and ask me to come around for a game of pool or to play Xbox. I'd always had a little crush on his wife, Emma. She was long blonde hair and curves in all the right places, a little on the chubby side, but that made it better for me. I would think about her all the time. One day, I received a text message for Mick saying, "come around after work it's urgent." I remembered him telling me he was going to Sydney yesterday and wouldn't be back for 5 days. I thought it really must be urgent so I went straight there after work. I knock on the door and Emma answers, "Hi Darren, come on inside and make yourself at home." I notice she had a towel around her head and is holding a towel around her waist. Sneaking a quick peak, I check her out and sit on the couch. Emma locks the door and moves to sit in front of me on the coffee table. "So Darren, what brings you around?" "I received a text from Mick saying come straight over after work. He is supposed to be away this week, so I thought the worst." "Oh don't worry about that. I have Mick's phone while he is away. I told him, work can't call him if he doesn't have his phone." "So why did you want me to come around?" She then stands up and walks and sits next to me. "Darren I know you like me and I know you want me, don't you?" I look away and try to hide my feelings. "Yes, I do like you. You're my cousin's wife and my friend." She starts shaking her head, "That's not what I mean and you know it." I bite my lip and shake my head, "No only as a friend." "You can deny it, but I see the way you look at my tits. I've seen the way you look at my ass; you can try to deny it but I know." I stand up, "I think it's time for me to leave." "Leave? How would you achieve that now? I've locked the door and hidden the keys." "Where are they Emma?" "Hidden, now you have two options." "Options?" "Yes options. First option, you can lick my pussy until I tell you enough or..." "Wooooow woooow woooow, Emma, I'm sure we shouldn't be talking about this." "Shut up, your second option is to fuck me every night Mick is away and if you miss one night you'll be punished. Now pick." "I don't think you should be saying this Emma." "It will be both those options if you don't choose now." I walk around and end up heading towards the kitchen. "Darren what have you chosen?" "Look Emma, it's not right. Mick is my cousin and a close friend. It wouldn't be right." "He won't find out. Its a one time thing." She walks up to me and runs her fingers through my hair as I think about it. "Look Darren, I want you and this will be a night you won't forget." I think about it while she brushes her hand along my chest. "Why is this happening Emma?" She starts kissing my neck and rubbing my sides. "Just give me this, Darren, please. I want you" as she is kissing down my neck to my chest. I smell her hair and it's all I'd imagined it was: like lavender and vanilla so sweet and perfect. Her head towel is thrown on the floor as she lost concentration. "Darren, please" as she kisses me on the lips. I kiss her back and the passion starts to fly. She holds me and grabs my back. I hug straight back and grab her ass with both hands. We kiss for what seemed like hours, until she broke away, "Darren fuck me, I want you deep inside of me." She lets her towel fall and I see, for the first time, her beautiful perky tits nipples, so pink and her areola this size of a 50 cent coin and perfectly round. I followed her beautiful body down and her beautiful tummy looked so perfect. It framed her pussy lips so well, a neatly trimmed pussy with a small landing strip trimmed to perfection. I kissed her and ran my hand down her sides and grabbed her ass again. "Damn, your so beautiful Emma" I run my tongue down her neck, down to her left nipple, where I start licking and sucking it while I rub her right tit. I gently pinch and squeeze her nipple. She lets out a low moan. "Mmm, Darren don't stop." I switch tits, start biting gently on her right nipple, run my hand down to her pussy, and rub in her slit. "Oh, Darren don't stop. I'm going to cum." I stand up, kiss her, and rub her slit. She kisses back. I make my way down again and start sucking her nipples hard. "Ooooo Darren," she moans as she is about to cum. I reach around and spank her as she is about to climax, sending her over the edge. "Wow, Darren that was great." "It's only the beginning." She grabs my hand and leads me to the bedroom. There she takes off my shirt and kisses my neck and down my chest. I hold her sides and smell more of her beautiful scent. She starts licking down my body and starts to undo my pants while rubbing my stiff cock through my jeans. "Mmm, Emma." "Shhhh, let me make you feel good." She pulls my pants down and pushes me onto the bed. I lay back as I see her grab my 5 inch cock in her hands. "Darren, your cock is so thick." I look away as I know it's not that great. She starts jerking it slowly and gently, up and down. "Darren, this is the best looking cock I've ever seen." I remain silent, but I look straight into her eyes, which told me she wasn't lying. She started going faster. I couldn't help letting out a little moan. She stopped, "you like that, huh?" She goes down and licks the tip. She slowly jerks. Then she stops. I look at her "what are you doing?" "I want you to beg me to suck your cock." She teases me again by licking the tip and stopping. I last as long as I can before I beg. "Emma suck my cock, please. I want you to suck my cock so bad." She doesn't need urging. She puts her lips around my head and went straight in. Half my shaft is gone straight away. Her head is slowly bobbing up and down. "Mmm, Emma." She takes a long stroke and goes all the way down. She grabbed my shaft and starts licking my balls while jerking me. "Oh Emma, you know how I like it." She returns to my shaft, sucks hard, and bobs fast "I'm going to cum, Emma." I can't believe she went even faster. I couldn't hold back. As I blew my first load, she took my whole cock into her mouth so she could swallow it all. I looked at her and smiled, "god, Emma that was great." She smiled, "that's nothing yet baby." She kissed me passionately on the lips. I put my hands on her ass and pulled her on top of me. I held her tight as we kissed. I rolled her over so she was on her back. As I kiss her neck, I slowly work my way down her body. I reach her tits and start sucking her nipples. She puts her hand through my hair as I suck and bite her nipples. She starts scream, "oh, Darren." I stop and start kissing down her body further until I reach her pussy. "You want this babe?" "Yes, lick my cunt." I lick the top of her lips teasingly. "Stop teasing." I keep teasing by running my tongue over her lips. She bucks down onto my face, "stop teasing me baby and lick my cunt." I bury my face into her beautiful pussy and lick her out. "Oh, Darren I'm cumming." I keep going and bury my face. I start biting her lips "Oooooo," I get up and kiss her. She kisses me back and starts stroking my cock. "I want that in me." She gets me hard again and rolls me onto my back. "What are you going to do Emma?" She straddles me and lowers her soaking wet pussy onto my cock. "Geez Emma, your so tight." She smiles as she gets it all inside her. "God, you feel so big inside me." She starts to rock on my cock then starts slowly bobbing up and down. "Emma, slow down or I'll cum." She slaps me and goes faster. "You better not cum yet." I hold back as she rides me. She gets faster and harder. I moan and shoot my load in her. "Wow, that has filled me up hehe," she giggles. She hops off and licks the remainder on cum off my cock. "God Emma, Mick is a lucky man." "Not anymore. I think I have a new love in my life and that's your cock and tongue." I kiss her passionately. "I want you to come over for this every day Mick is out of town, and every time he isn't here, from now on." I smile, "I can do that," and I cuddle her. We drift off to sleep. The next morning I get up and leave for work. I returned that afternoon, for more love with Emma. Emma The tales one heard … she looked around in hopes of seeing Indian chiefs and warriors in their warpaint. Perhaps even Red Eagle, he of her daydreams, war-whooping as he galloped bareback at the head of an invading band. But she saw no Indians, war-whooping or otherwise. Nor were there any Mexican banditos, or gunslingers in a high-noon duel. She saw none of these things, as Mrs. Avery hurried her to the hotel where they'd be staying the night, but she did see a sheriff strolling along in his long duster, the star glinting in the savagely bright sun. And she saw a genuine dance-hall girl, it had to be, with a painted face and a silk dress the color of rubies and wine. The next morning, after a night spent in an uncomfortably hard and narrow bed – and Mrs. Avery told her to enjoy it while she could, as they'd be wishing for beds in the next few days to come – they boarded the stagecoach. It was larger than Emma had imagined, its passenger compartment having two rows of padded leather seats facing each other past a central bench, which had no backs and those who sat upon it had to grip handhold-loops that hung from the ceiling. Trunks, boxes, and crates were loaded into the rear and lashed to the roof. Clutching her valise, Emma settled onto the front row of seats, facing backward, Mrs. Avery on her right and the wall of the coach on her left. Other passengers joined them, jostling and crowding, until the compartment was full. Some, those who didn't have money to rate riding inside, climbed to the roof and made themselves as comfortable as they could. She had expected the journey to be far worse than the train, jouncing and jolting, creaking, thudding over the rough road. But the stagecoach's compartment was suspended in a web of leather straps, which cradled it and made it a far easier ride. But they were packed in, and had no room to move about or stretch. Their meal breaks were too short, usually when the coach stopped to swap out teams of horses. The nights were terrible. On some, the coach did stop and they were able to get out and sleep on the floor of a barn or other large building, but more often the drivers would merely switch places, and the passengers were left to doze as best they could while sitting up, or leaning. Anything to have broken the monotony would have been welcome. A grassfire, a flood, an attack by desperados. Yes, Emma thought, highwaymen of the West, sweeping around the stagecoach on their fast horses. Masked men, bandannas drawn up so that only their avaricious and merciless eyes showed below the brims of their hats. Banditos, swarthy and brutal … the thunder-snap of gunfire as they shot the driver, and the armed marshal who rode with him. The panic of the passengers, forced out of the coach, forced to line up. Robbed of their valuables. And there would be one among the robbers, the leader of them, a handsome Mexicano with a scar and eyes the color of coffee, who would seize Emma. Mrs. Avery would shriek and plead in protest but the others would shove her away as Emma was dragged to the leader's horse. He would look down at her, mockery in his voice but desire smoldering in his gaze. Perhaps he'd flash a knife and cut the stays of her gown, causing the bodice to spring open, revealing the swell of her breasts through her thin chemise. His men would hoot and cheer, and one of the stagecoach passengers would make some bold attempt to defend Emma, only to be shot for his pains and go down, bleeding, into the dust. Then the leader would pull her onto his horse, making her sit in front of him, astride, legs indecently spread. His arm tight around her waist, his hand cupping her breast, he would shout his commands and wheel the horse away. She saw herself there, astride the horse, the saddle horn pressed in a hard knob in front of her, the desperado's denim-clad loins snug against her bottom – and a hard knob there, too, oh, yes, as they rode and the motion of the horse bumped them together. The saddle horn rubbing, rubbing her indecently, and the desperado's hand coarse but warm on her breast, gently pinching her nipple through her chemise. It could be, even, that he might push her forward, make her lean against the neck of the horse as he gathered up the yards and yards of cloth of her skirt and petticoats. If she slid back a little, the saddle horn would poke into her belly, and her backside would be presented to her captor. A quick slice with that same knife and her pantalets would be cut away. He could unbutton his denims, all without slowing the steady rocking pace of the horse, and though she would be unable to see the stout and meaty length of him, she'd feel it as he rubbed it between her buttocks, then hoisted her hips enough to work himself under her, and maneuver the tip of his erection into her. A single rough stride by the horse would throw them together, driving him all the way in with a sudden thrust that elicited a shocked cry from Emma. He would hold her by the hips, pulling her rhythmically against him as the horse ran and ran. When the stagecoach came to a quick halt, breaking Emma's reverie, she was almost disappointed when it turned out that they had only reached another of the way-stations to swap teams of horses, and that they were not, in fact, under attack. As the journey progressed, more and more of the people disembarked, and those who were left had more room to make themselves at ease. The central bench was abandoned first and became a footrest for those in the other seats. There was room inside for everyone, which was a blessing to those who had been up on the roof when they encountered torrential rain. Emma had nearly lost count of the days. They ran together, blurred, like charcoal drawings smudged with a thumb. She only knew that she would be happy to see Mr. Carson now, if only because it meant an end to this eternal stagecoach ride. She fell into a lulled daze. Until she saw the cowboy. He joined them at one of the meal stops, bantering with the driver and paying what looked like far more than the usual price of a ticket. Emma could hardly look away from him, though she was careful not to let Mrs. Avery notice her interest. The cowboy was young, not more than a year or two past her own age, but he had a carefree confidence about him that Emma immediately envied. His hair was dark, tied back with a rawhide thong, and dusky beard-stubble shadowed the tanned planes of his cheeks. His eyes were a faded sagebrush green, crinkled at the corners from squinting into the sunset, making him look even older. Butter-colored chaps and brown woolen pants hugged his slim hips and legs. She thought his boots might be real snakeskin. His shirt was dark flannel with leather lacing, open enough to reveal a V of tanned skin and wiry black hair. Gunbelts crisscrossed his flat belly, and a broad-brimmed hat was tipped back far on his head. A tied red bandanna lay loose around his neck. He carried a saddle and saddle bags, a canvas haversack, and a bedroll, all of which he slung into the luggage compartment. He leaned against the side of the coach and took out a tobacco pouch, rolling a cigarette as he propped one dusty boot against the spokes of the big wheel and surveyed his fellow passengers with idle curiosity. When his gaze happened upon Emma, and found her looking directly at him, that idle curiosity changed. She was sure she did not imagine the glint of appraisal in his eyes. But he touched the brim of his hat and tipped his head politely enough, and Emma had to turn away quickly or Mrs. Avery might have seen. The meal was, like all the ones they'd stopped for so far, a quick affair of smoked pork served on brown bread with butter, coffee made from ground beans mixed with charred and crushed rye grain, milk by the dipperful from a barrel, and molasses pie. When it was done, the few remaining passengers boarded the stagecoach and settled into their by-now-habitual poses and postures. The cowboy – she had heard him introduce himself to the driver as 'Jake' – sat across from Emma, in the corner of the coach as she was, with his booted feet on the center bench. He nodded to her again, and to Mrs. Avery, with a touch of the brim of the hat and a murmured, "Ma'am," to the latter, the very soul of politeness. Then he tugged the brim low over his face, and crossed his arms, and appeared to doze off almost instantly. The heavy food in their bellies, and the endless dull routine of the ride, soon put the rest of them to sleep as well. Even Mrs. Avery's head fell back against the seat, and raspy breaths that were not quite snores issued from her. Emma could not sleep. She kept stealing glances at the cowboy, admiring the long lines of his legs, the open V at his collar, and what little she could see of his cleft chin and his mouth. He had, she decided, a good mouth. Lips not too soft, but not too thin. She wondered what it would feel like to stroke his face, to feel the scratchy stubble and the trail-worn skin. Jake. She liked it. A good name, a good strong cowboy name. He did not belong here, in this stagecoach with dumpy Mrs. Avery, and that balding man who looked like an undertaker, and the fat man with the white muttonchop sideburns, and the scrawny man with the spectacles, and the washed-out woman with him, who had a sickly-looking baby on her lap. No, Jake didn't belong here. He should have been out on the range, tall and easy in the saddle. Singing, maybe. Emma had heard that a lot of cowboys could sing. Riding along, and at night he'd be hunkered down at a campfire, eating chili out of a tin cup and getting ready to sleep in that bedroll under a black sky made brilliant with stars. She started to place herself, in her imagination, there with Jake in that bedroll. The two of them naked and cuddled together, their bodies close and warm while the cool night air stirred their hair around their faces, and the distant howl of the coyotes made music to the moon. Stop it, Emma Louise, she mentally told herself in her mother's voice. That was the last thing she needed, to start thinking about the cowboy. But how could she not, with him right there in front of her? She had to get her mind off him. Carefully, not wanting to wake Mrs. Avery, she rummaged in her valise for the copy of Harper's Bazaar she'd brought. She knew that frontier women coveted the eastern periodicals, which were sometimes their only way of keeping up on current fashions. That was why so many of them dressed in styles that hadn't been popular since before the War Between the States, the poor things. Her eyes kept straying from the page, studying Jake. She wished she could see more of his face, and have another glimpse of those faded-green eyes. Harper's wasn't holding her attention. With a furtive check of her fellow passengers – all still sound asleep, Mrs. Avery's raspy breathing by now having progressed to genuine snores – she sneaked out one of the books from deep in her valise. It fit neatly between the pages of Harper's, so that if anyone happened to wake, they would see her doing nothing more than perusing the articles on whether bustles were more flattering than crinolines, and just how much lace, flounces and ruffles were in style this year. Soon, she was lost in Diary of a Fallen Woman, which told of a southern belle who'd been rudely – though rapturously – used by Yankee soldiers and then escaped to become owner of a gambling hall in New Orleans. She was just at the part where the belle was down on her hands and knees, being taken from behind by a handsome former slave in exchange for a night's lodging, when she realized that she was being watched. She'd been breathing quickly while her free hand played over her neck and cheek and lips, and now caught herself with a gasp and a jump. The book tumbled out of the pages of the magazine and landed between her feet. She dropped Harper's Bazaar, as well. "Didn't mean to startle you none, ma'am," drawled the cowboy in a low, amused voice. No one else woke. Emma pressed her palm to her bosom, feeling the rapid beating of her heart. She looked down for the book, saw it half-covered by her skirt and petticoat. "Let me get that for you," he said, and moved smoothly from his seat so that he was kneeling on the stagecoach floor, leaning over the center bench. "No, thank you, no," Emma said, trying to hook it with her foot and pull it further under her skirt. If he picked it up, he was bound to read the cover, and she would die on the spot of mortification. But her high-buttoned shoe, instead of obliging, kicked the damned book out from under. It skidded to Jake as if she'd done it on purpose. "Wellnow," he said, scratching his chin as he studied the cover. A thousand replies – denials that it was hers, protestations of ignorance – rose and subsided. He wouldn't believe a one of them. She only sat there in silence, feeling like she was about to catch fire from the burning blush in her cheeks. He glanced at her, lips twitching in a smile. "Good book?" She swallowed and her throat clicked dryly. "Ain't read this'n myself," he remarked, and handed it back to her. He picked up the magazine as well, then looked at the hem of her skirt and the toes of her shoes. "Anything else I can help you with down there, ma'am?" Emma snatched the book and Harper's in shaking, indignant hands that weren't sure if they wanted to slap the cowboy or seize him by that bandanna around his neck and haul him to her for a kiss. He, too, checked the status of the other passengers. Satisfied that no one had stirred, he settled back into his seat and regarded Emma from the shadows beneath the brim of his hat. "Thank you," she whispered with what dignity she could muster. She stuffed the incriminating item to the very bottom of her valise and closed both its clasps as if she expected the book – and its companions, some of them even worse! – to come leaping out like obscene jacks-in-the-box. "Read a few, though," he said. "Always did wonder how much like'n the real thing they were." "I wouldn't know," Emma said, opening Harper's with a snap. "Nor'd I," he said, grinning. "My brothers, I got five of 'em and I'm the young'un of the bunch, been trying for years t' encourage my education. Took me around t', well, sportin' houses, if you know what I mean." "Sir, please!" But thrills were racing, racing in her. She wasn't half convinced this was real, and thought she must have fallen asleep after all to be dreaming this conversation. "I was always a spot too shy back then, though," Jake said, shaking his head ruefully, as if amazed at his own foolishness. "Never did mor'n kiss a few. Name's Jake, by the way." "Emma," she said. "Right pleased t' make your acquaintance," he said, touching the hat brim again. "T'ain't often t' see a pretty lady like yourself, way out here." She tried to read, tried to ignore him. But the light was fading from the day, the sky all around them a riot of flame and color. She closed Harper's and stowed it away, then sat and folded her hands in her lap and looked wistfully out the window. "Excitin' trip so far?" he asked. "I'd hardly say so," she said. "No Indian raiding parties, no desperados –" "Wellnow, ma'am, you'd not really be wantin' t' meet that sort," he said. "I've seen my share, and they're not like you'd be readin' about in them there books of your'n." "I don't know what you mean," she said. "All romanticized, is what I'm sayin'. All the desperados I've met, they've been right dirty and rough. And I ain't never met no woman been carried off by the red man and been the happier for it." Emma gave him a sharp glare, not liking the way he seemed to know, and then belittle, her daydreams. "I have to have something to keep my hopes alive," she hissed, hardly able to believe she was talking like this to anyone, let alone a stranger cowboy. "I'm going west to marry some disgusting old man, some friend of my father's, and care for his house and his children while I dry up into a withered old crone." "Sorry, ma'am," he said, blinking at her vehemence. "But I'm sure your husband will be right glad t' have you." "Good for him," she said bitterly. "What about me?" Jake pushed his hat back on his head. "Seems t' me, if you don't mind my sayin', that you shouldn't go marryin' someone unless'n it's what you want. There's some three women for every ten men around these parts, so I'd be thinkin' that a fine-lookin' woman like yourself could have her choice." All at once, Emma could have wept. She hadn't, not in this entire long and grueling trip, but now she could. "She's here," she pointed at the slumbering Mrs. Avery, "to make sure that I do what I'm told." "Durn shame," he said. "My condolences." They sat in silence for a while. Finally – maybe because it occurred to her that she could say anything she pleased to this cowboy and would never have to see him again, and maybe because the growing darkness made her feel bold and heedless – she closed it and looked up at him. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Yes'm?" "Did you mean what you said earlier?" "What part? Was all true, if that's what you mean." "About … about not knowing if … reality was like those books." "Oh, that," he said, and chuckled. "I didn't mean t' say that I'd never … but pardon me, ma'am, I shouldn't ought t' be sayin' such things in your presence." "I don't mind," she said. "It'll pass the time." "You want I should tell you a story, then? Might not be so good as that there book of your'n, but …" He fidgeted, and she could have laughed to see that he was entirely discomfited by the frankness of her speech. "Tell me," she said. It was easier in the dark, as they became shadows but for what little light came in as the driver and marshal lit the lanterns on poles up by the driver's seat. "Well, there was this one time, I remember. We had this Chinese gal what my pa had hired on t' help Cookie out in the kitchen. Tiny thing, like a little doll she was, with this golden-yella skin and kinda shy eyes. I never much looked more'n twice at her, but then this one night … I woke up feelin' hungry, thinkin' that I'd go on down t' the kitchen and see if'n I could find me some biscuits left over from supper or somethin'. And … ma'am, Miss Emma, I don't know as this is such a good idear." "I want to hear," she said. He sighed. "I seen there was a light burnin', and I thought good, maybe Cookie was up, maybe I could get me some gravy t' go with them biscuits. But when I walked in, I didn't see Cookie there at all. It was my brothers, two of 'em anyway. Bennett, he's the oldest, and Cal. Them and the Chinese gal. Lu Win, her name was." "Go on," prompted Emma, finding that she could see this kitchen quite easily in her mind. Some long bunkhouse kitchen with smoked hams and onions and pots and ladles hanging on the walls, a big iron pot on a hook over the fire. "I hadn't never much looked at Lu Win, like I says," Jake said. She heard the creak of leather as he shifted position, the scuff and thump as he moved his booted feet. "But I couldn't not look at her now. She hadn't a stitch on, and though she was still tiny, I could see that she wasn't no little girl. Her hair was all down from this bun what she usually wore it in, long and silky and black." "She was with your brothers, both of your brothers?" Emma asked, seeing Lu Win perfectly well in that mind's eye, too. Jake nodded. "Bennett, he was standin' behind her like, just as naked as she was, kinda holdin' her up with his arms hooked under hers and his hands … well, busy with her, up top, you know. Her head was on his shoulder and her neck bent around so's she could kiss him. And Cal, he was down on his knees, just there on the bricks, him naked too. You sure you want t' hear this?" Emma "Yes." "Cal, he had Lu Win's legs up on his shoulders, so she was slung out between him and Bennett, diagonal-like. He had his head in between, you know … um … kissin' her down … down below, if'n you know what I mean." Emma closed her eyes and saw them, plain as day. Two older versions of Jake with Lu Win suspended between them, their erections sticking out silhouetted in the glow from the embers. "I know what you mean," she said breathlessly. "They didn't see nor hear me, and after a while Cal lowered Lu Win so's he could sit her on him while he knelt there. She was limber as a snake, that gal was, and she just slid herself down Bennett and twisted and arched and bent her back so that while she's sittin' on Cal's, she's got Bennett's way down deep in her throat." She moaned a little, unable to help it. "I seen a sword-swallower once in a travelin' circus show," Jake mused. "Made me think of that, seein' what Lu Win was doin' t' Bennett. I wouldn'ta thought a woman could do like that, see … Bennett, he's almighty big that way. The girls down t' the Rusty Nail Saloon, they call him –" "What?" Emma asked when Jake broke off. "Tain't right t' tell a lady." "I'm sure they use fouler language in the books I read," she said, feeling reckless now, entirely out of control. "They liken him to a horse in that regard, ma'am. That's all as I'll say." "Oh, my." "Anyway, Cal spots me there, starin' and unable t' believe my eyes. Nary missin' a stroke, he calls me t' come in and join the fun." "Did you?" "No, ma'am," he said in a shamefaced tone. "I was sure that Pa'd walk in and catch the lot of us, and there'd be hell t' pay." "I know what that's like," she murmured. "No, I went back up t' my own room – forgot all about bein' hungry, too, I can tell you that. And, well, took care of my own self." It was full dark outside the windows, the coach rumbling along with the lanterns swinging on their poles. Emma could no longer see much of the other passengers at all. They all still sounded the same, low even breaths and snoring, but for all she knew, any or all of them could have been wide awake and listening to every word. She found, with a sort of blessed relief, that she didn't care. "Jake," she said. "Yes, ma'am?" "I think," she said, rustling her skirt, "that there is something down here you can help me with after all." "Drop somethin'?" His voice had gone husky. "I might have. Would you see if you can find it?" He was a shadow in the darkness, moving quietly toward her in a bent-kneed crouch as he maneuvered around the center bench. His outstretched hand touched her knee, and it was like a bolt of lightning going through her. Slowly, Jake sank to his knees and slid his hand down her calf to the hem of her skirt. "Down here?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "Under," she replied in kind. Then she felt his fingers move up over the tops of her shoes to her stockings, and the lacy ruffled hem of her pantalets just below the knee. "Here?" "A little higher, I think." His hands on her thighs, and Emma slouched in her seat and let her legs part like water. Mrs. Avery's shoulder was against her own but she didn't care. All that mattered was the wonderful sensation of Jake's hands caressing their way up and up until – "Reckon I found it," he breathed as his palm cupped the mound between her legs. His thumb rode up and down the seam of her pantalets, a seam that was moist from her arousal. "Ribbons," she gasped. "At the waist, they tie with ribbons." Moments later, the laces were undone and he was working the pantalets down. She raised her bottom to help him. The garment was gone in a flutter and a sigh, and under her dress and loose chemise, she was suddenly bare from her stocking-tops on up. He put his hand back where it had been, on downy hair now instead of cloth, and it was her seam his thumb found. He stroked along her warm and dewy flesh while Emma trembled and bit her lip against a moan. "Is this what you wanted me t' find?" he said. "Yes, yes, that's it." "Seems like you need some help here, ma'am." "I might." "You want I should take care of this for you?" He had both hands there now, fingertips gently opening her folds while his thumbs explored. Emma couldn't speak. She nodded in the dark, but that was enough. Her own hands groped out, finding his shoulders, finding his face. His chin was as coarse as she'd imagined, and the contrast with that coarseness and the smooth strokes of his thumbs dizzied her. He kissed her fingers, sucked one into his mouth, rolled his tongue around it the way he might a stick of molasses candy. She wanted to wail from the sheer pleasure of what his hands were doing – no, just the one hand, just one hand now, he had withdrawn the other, but the one that was left had Emma quivering and melting. "You sure about this, Emma?" he asked. Again, she could only nod, but again, he understood. He took her hand away from his face and brought it down. Her fingers skated over gunbelts and leather chaps, and woolen pants that had been unbuttoned at the front, and then she felt him, the size and shape and wonderful heat of him, and gripped him with such fervor that he drew in a quick breath. "Easy, there, darlin'," he said softly. "You do that too good, we're done afore'n we start." "Oh, Jake, please, please," she whimpered. Jake raised her skirt and petticoat, bunching them in her lap so he could kneel between her legs. She found that she could raise one foot and brace it on the unoccupied center bench, and brace the other on the stagecoach's door handle. Curling her fingers at the nape of his neck and around the knot of his bandanna, she pulled him close. He didn't ask her again if she was sure. The firm and rounded tip of his erection rubbed her leg and then was there, touching her, parting the pouting folds of flesh, entering her tightness with a slow and steady push. There was pain, but only a brief and unimportant stab that was quickly lost in the overwhelming sensation of him going in, in, filling her until she thought she couldn't breathe and didn't care if she could or not. "Emma," he groaned. "My holy God, Emma!" Mrs. Avery snorted and turned, smacked her lips, and was still. Above, the driver and the marshal laughed about something. None of this mattered to Emma. She clutched Jake as he rocked, not caring that his gunbelts were chafing her inner thighs, only caring that he was inside her, that he was giving her what she'd wanted and needed for so long. It was like going over a waterfall of fire, a roaring cascade that thundered and spun and churned, every part of her body first seizing and then dissolving in a long series of shudders. A low, broken cry came like a string of beads, and Jake silenced her by, for the first time, closing his mouth over hers. Moments later, he went rigid against her and thrust deeper than ever, bruising her lips with the intensity of his kiss as that part of him buried in her bucked and jumped like a bronco. He settled against her, the tension ebbing from him. They stayed like that for some time, neither of them able to move. Then the slowing motion of the stagecoach brought Jake's head up in alarm. Hastily, with limbs that still quivered, they disengaged from each other. Jake returned to his seat as Emma put her clothes in order and patted wildly at her disheveled hair. She was aware of a thick trickle soaking into her petticoats and couldn't find her pantalets. When she whispered as much in agonized dismay, Jake found them draped over the center bench where he'd tossed them. But there was no time to wiggle back into them. She stuffed them into her valise, instead. By the time the driver opened the door and shined the lantern in, waking the sleeping passengers, Emma had got herself back in order. She kept her eyes downcast and said little, letting Mrs. Avery assume that she had napped like the rest of them. They spent the rest of the night camping out in the hayloft of a barn that belonged to the stagecoach company. The next day, Emma wished with all her heart – but in vain – that the others would nap again. She had to settle for exchanging glances with Jake when no one else was looking, and it was will dismal disappointment that she realized the next day, she'd be leaving the coach and never seeing him again. Wild fancies drifted in and out of her thoughts, fancies of running away with Jake. But Mrs. Avery perhaps sensed something, because her previously cordial attitude toward the cowboy had turned to ice, and she was ever at Emma's side, hovering, protective as any mother hen. At last, the stagecoach reached its final stop. They had come to the town nearest Mr. Carson's ranch. Emma watched glumly as her trunk was unloaded, and turned when a man's voice spoke her name. "Well, sakes alive," Mr. Carson said. "You have grown up a'right, haven't you?" She still did not remember him, this portly cattle baron with his black suit, string tie, and iron-grey sideburns. He stood appraising her with his thumbs hooked into his waistcoat. She saw no particular lust or appreciation in that gaze, but it was just as well, because there was nothing about him to inspire anything similar in herself. He looked past her then, and smiled. "Why, Jake! What the devil you doin' here, boy?" "Pa," Jake said, strolling up with his saddle slung over his shoulder. "Your father?" Emma said. "He's your father?" "You don't mean …" Jake trailed off. "Well," Mr. Carson said, the fingers not hooked into his waistcoat patting at his ample belly as he rocked on his heels. "Jake, son, I see you've met the little lady who's come t' be your stepmother. Emma, dear, this is my youngest boy, Jake." She was going to faint, here in the dusty streets of this cow town. Her legs just would not hold her. The world seemed to spin. "Yep," Mr. Carson continued. "He's got five older brothers just like him, back t' the ranch. I'm sure as you'll all get along." ** The End Emma Emma is a beautiful woman. I've known her since childhood and she's an eclectic mixture of fun, wit, charm, appeal and sex. We've never been intimate. I've always been a 'friend and brother' to her even though she's consumed most of my private moments. I've never let her know of the deep attraction I feel and the affection I hold for her. We've double dated several times, and double date 'parked' a few times. Whenever she's making out and I can see and hear her, my mind juxtaposes her for my own date and I yearn. We are close friends and have gone on a few day trips together, but things have never gelled. It seems that everytime I'm available, then I'm too afraid to comment or suggest, and she's usually committed elsewhere anyway, and running all the time it seems I have a good paying job, and I'm a college graduate, but photography has always been my passion. I have a secret drawer filled with photo's of Emma. Gratefully, they include a few quite suggestive ones although I've never seen her nude. I know them all by heart, but I still take them out often. When I was first learning photography she'd let me practice with her as my model. She was flighty, spontaneous, and fun. Those were our most intimate moments. Over the years she's asked me to take pictures of her to give or send to her current boyfriend, and so it didn't seem out of place when she asked me again. This is where my story really begins. I was leaving the building we live in and as I walked to my car, she was returning home and pulled in and parked beside me. I waited for her to leave the jeep with its fringed flat top, and then I said hello. She smiled at me with that deep alluring way of hers and said hello back. I told her I was running down to the grocery store and she said that she'd meant to stop on the way home and it'd slipped her mind. She asked if she might tag along. Of course I wouldn't miss the chance to sit next to her and walk with her at the store. She twirled a string tied garish pocketbook around her finger opened the door and got in. On the way, she mentioned that her new boyfriend had asked her for pictures. She also said that what he really wanted were highly suggestive poses, and asked if I thought it would be alright for her pose that way. Why not, I thought, after all that's the way I've wanted to see her. This is where the surprise came in. She asked me if I'd take them, and my heart went to my throat and I had trouble responding for a moment. Finally, she said that it would be alright if I didn't want to. With difficulty breathing, I apologized for my delayed response and told her that I'd feel honored to be her photographer. We agreed to meet Saturday morning at my place, where everything was already in place. I don't remember much else about our shopping that day, except that my feet didn't seem as heavy. On Saturday I was up early and arranging everything. My place is small so I frequently use my bedroom for a workplace. I made the bed and put on a bedspread. I checked my newest toy. It was a new Canon professional model digital camera that was advertised to be equal to the best film cameras, and in many ways it was better. I'd stopped and bought extra memory cards on the way home, knowing that any good photographer takes lots of pictures knowing that apparently minor lighting shifts can make or break a good photo. I had memory cards for approximately fifteen hundred photos without downloading. I wasn't sure that I'd need a tripod, but I set it up and placed three stands of floods around the room. I'd planned that she sit in a chair for the photos so I rigged a plain white screen behind it and a pair of various colored sheets in easy reach in case it seemed better to change the backdrop. The sheets could be easily draped over the white screen or even at an angle or hung like a pullback curtain for variety. I have four white umbrellas that I use to provide even lighting and reduce shadowing. I'd fixed myself a simple bowl of oatmeal with raisins and cinnamon when the doorbell rang. She was early and as she sat at the table, she commented on how good the cereal smelled. She hadn't eaten that morning and so I offered to 'nuke' some more. She declined, but asked if she might taste mine. I pushed the bowl toward her and insisted. She finished the bowl as we talked. I've always felt it best to put someone at ease before beginning the 'shoot'. We talked quietly for a few more minutes, as I tried to form an idea of exactly what kind of suggestive pictures she needed. She showed me some stuff she'd brought for the occasion and asked if I thought they'd be okay. There were two transparent sequined Teddies, two transparent mid-hip length robes with ersatz fur fringes, three funny thongs, three bras of different design and color including one with the tips fully removed and one of a large open weave yarn forming one inch squares that hid absolutely nothing, two sets of mismatched slippers, two sets of high heels and one had a flashing LED display in the heels, three different bikini panties with one that had no string on one side, two pair of pantyhose that were the wrong size, and a few pieces of stuff I didn't know what to name. A woman's undergarments do not occupy a lot of space. The shoes were the largest in the entire bag -- and it was a small scarred-leather bag. I longed to see her in any and all of them and I told her any of them would be fine. She surprised me by asking if maybe she could get photos in all of them. "At the same time?" I asked mischievously. She smiled and asked if she should change right here. I merely pointed toward the bathroom. I was in the bedroom fussing when she came out and called to ask where I was. She followed my voiced response and came into the bedroom. I'm afraid that my mouth dropped, my breathing stopped, my heart wasn't sure of its rhythm when I saw her. She was wearing the scarlet pair of bikini panties missing a tie on the left side but pulled high on the other and magically still managing to cover, a strapless scarlet bra with sequins, and one of the trimmed robes with her red high heeled shoes. Everything was transparent and I could see everything as the shadows of the robe ruffled as she moved. Her breasts were more and nicer than I'd imagined. They were not huge, but ample. Her nipples made the red net of the strapless bra form in amazing relief. Her nipples were long and surrounded by perfect dusky pink areoles. As she turned, I could see her, I usually don't use this word with a lady, I could see her marvelous ass. Her cheeks were full and softly rounded, as they accented every other part of her body. When she sat I could see that she'd shaved and yet the outline of her lips were still faintly visible through those panties and just below that missing string. The material was lightly gathered at the edges and they were lacy, but still the material was drawn taughtly over her pubis and her lips. I hadn't said a word since she entered. I don't think I could have. Finally, she looked up at me and blushed. She asked if there was something wrong or if she should change what she was wearing. I managed to breathe a negative answer and turned to find the camera. In frustration, I finally asked out loud where my camera was, and she giggled softly and told me it was in my hand. I felt like a complete fool knowing that her affect on me was traumatic. I excused myself and left the room, where I managed a few deep breaths and tried to calm myself. My voice was almost normal when I returned and started taking pictures. After a few shots, up close, I remembered the lights and turned them on. I checked the light levels and adjusted the umbrellas. All of this time she sat demurely in the chair watching. Finally I turned and began again. I took pictures from behind and on each side, and then walked to the front. I took pictures at extreme closeup and at various distances showing part and all of her body in that chair. Finally, I lay on my stomach and scooted toward her, snapping the shutter at each movement. I moved sideways, first left and then right, and then up the middle. She was sitting half off the chair when I noticed her lower lips again. Pardon me, but I went from an aroused state to full attention instantly. As quickly as I could, I finished those shots and rolled over onto my back and sat up facing away from her. Slowly, I stood and excused myself again. As I waited for it to relax, I knew that it would happen again and again. I tried to think of a way to control it, but finally gave up and pulled a pair of Dockers out of the hamper that I'd worn three days earlier. I slipped them on and went back. She didn't seem to notice that I'd changed and I continued with the photos. Finally, I suggested that she could make a costume change if she liked. I'd wanted to reach out and adjust bits of clothing during the first shoot, but couldn't. She returned in the torn black robe, sans bra, and with a black sequined thong. The robe had a single bow below the throat and hung draped to each hip. Instant arousal, again. She asked about her costume, again, and then surprised me by asking if the bed would be a good place for the next photos. I had decided much earlier that it would be too suggestive of me to even contemplate the idea, and had decided not to suggest it. But in my confused state of mind, I dumbly shook my head in acknowledgement. The spread was wrong and I removed it and folded down the blanket and stacked the king sized pillows on top of each other and she climbed into the center of the bed with her back to them. I was at the end of memory in just a few shots and quickly changed cards. I rearranged the floodlights again, and the umbrellas. I tried to concentrate on my work and not look at her. Finally, I could stall no more and returned to walk around the bed and snap from each side. I even stood on the chair to get some shots from above. Finally, she asked if it wouldn't be easier if I just kneeled, or stood on the bed. My heart and other parts of my body jumped at her words, but I slowly crawled onto the bed and began shooting again. I got so engrossed in her and my work, that I slowly crept up on her and was only inches away taking wide angle shots. She lay down on the sheets, and adjusted the pillows and I continued. In the process, I unwittingly crawled forward, straddling one leg as I focused on her beautiful face and sensuous breasts. She adjusted the robe and slowly extracted one breast and then the other as I shot. At one point, she decided to turn to one side and her knee came up to provide the leverage. I was so close that it brushed my eager member. I felt it and almost stopped, but managed my best to ignore it. After that, the mood of the shoot seemed to change. She seemed more withdrawn and quieter. My arousal softened and collapsed and I knew she must have felt me when she'd moved. I was ashamed, and after a few more minutes I asked her if she wanted to stop. She asked me to let her rest for a moment and headed into the bathroom. She was in there for more than thirty minutes and I was crestfallen. Finally, I heard a soft voice say that she was coming out. I went back into the bedroom and looked out the window, expecting her to be fully clothed and ready to go. Her voice came quietly, like a whisper, as she asked if I'd changed my mind. At the words, I turned and started to say no but caught my breath at the sight of her. She was completely nude and smiling demurely. She went straight to the bed and lay back down saying that she was ready for me to continue. I was so happy and so turned on that I could only grab the camera and start again. I began around the bed again. I pulled it out from against the wall so that I could shoot from her head toward her feet. I climbed the chair and moved it and moved it again. Every move was a series of photos. Finally, I crawled back onto the bed and began again. She was the most beautiful girl in the world and naked in front of me and on my bed. However, as a friend, I could not touch her. I got shots of her face rising above her breasts, one of her beautiful face above her mound and breasts. Several with her thighs spread and beauty exposed. I even managed a photo of what looked like moistness. Finally, I asked her to take the pillows and scoot down in the bed and I crawled between her head and the head of the bed and continued snapping. In situations like this, I wear a darkend silk scarf draped over my head and my shoulders to exclude light except for the light and view I can get through the camera's finder. I took several pictures and was on my knees, raised as high as I could when I felt something brush my trousers. A moment later, I felt a hand and the fingers close around my cock. I hadn't even noticed that it was apparently sticking straight out over her head. I started to throw back the scarf and apologize when I felt my zipper opening. I snapped pictures of the wall as I knelt dumbfounded. Slowly, I felt her hands reaching in and finding me, and then fondling me. I seldom wear briefs and never wear boxers. I was nude under the Dockers. She seemed to enjoy feeling and moving me and I felt her pull me out from the pants and then undo the top button and my pants fell around my knees. Through the camera I could see her knees come up and push, and then I felt her lips on me. Again, I started to comment but nothing came out. suddenly I saw her move again and then felt her legs scissor around my neck. She was upside down and still pleasuring me. Again, as suddenly as the first, I felt her legs tighten and then her weight pulling me down and I rotated to my side to keep from crushing her. Laying on my side, I managed finally to free my head from the scarf. In a way I was lucky in more than one way. If I hadn't had the camera in its sling around my neck it would have flown across the room when I fell. As it was, my first luck was that she was still holding me hadn't bitten me in the fall. Her hands were around my hips and the arm below me hadn't been hurt either. I felt her hands and arms pulling me toward her and her knees began to bend pulling my face closer. I could smell her warm, delicious scent and I remembered it from our double dates in the car. She was so soft in my face and my lips closed in on her. I kissed those fine folds of beauty, extended my tongue and began to explore. My hips were writhing with passion and I was swollen beyond belief and she was relentless. It was hard but I managed to concentrate on her without climaxing myself, although I must have been mere fractions of a second from it when I turned the tide. Is it possible for a person to exceed in every way, the dreams and fantasies you've had about them? Until this moment I'd have said that it wasn't. But suddenly, her taste was sweeter and her smell more exquisite than I could have imagined. Her body was clamped to me and I could feel her breasts and nipples against me. Her legs were wrapped and stronger. I raised on arm and surrounded her beautiful cheeks and puller her to me with all my strength. I could hear her gasp as I took her clit between my lips and began to work it. My other hand went to work playing and probing and sliding while the fingers expanded and rubbed. I felt her body shake and quiver and then achieve orgasm and I could taste that added bit of personal flavor she'd exuded. I continued to work and my cock was rigid between her listless lips, but I could feel her breath on my balls. I was in a far better place than I'd ever dreamed possible. I rotated and massaged her cheeks with my one hand and arm, as I rotated and massaged that tiny bud in my mouth. My tongue circled it and flicked it and scrubbed it and all she could do was moan softly. In an instant I felt her body stiffen, her cheeks tighten, her breath cease, her hips drive forward and she came from both places. I was drenched, but would have happily drowned, but I managed to handle it all. Her hands were loosely entwined in my hair and she pulled me forward, urging me on to provide an extra relief. I was more than happy to oblige her, until she pushed me away breathing harshly. I had gone aerobic and was fighting for air, too, when I finally pulled away. After a minutes rest, I heard her giggle and she attacked me again. Her hands had returned to me and she's decided that payback was in order. Payback for what? She'd started it. But, I wasn't resisting any efforts she might pursue. I felt a warmth in my mind that was just beginning to match the warmth she was giving me physically. I was swollen, stiff and hungry for her. My balls began the slow strobe that would ache until I, too, felt relief. Without warning or conscious control my hips came to life and her bobbing head and warm hands were propelling them. I could feel every nuance of her efforts. Her tongue and lips, her throat, the warm seal of saliva around me, the soft and then more violent actions of her head, her matching efforts with both hands, and I responded. I drove deep and retracted again and again until finally with a flick of her tongue and a final plunge onto me I detonated. My body grabbed everything it could find from my shoes to my head and shoved it out through that one tiny passage and into her mouth. I couldn't help but hold her head in position as I began to empty. I'd never felt this alive and this urgency to cum. She took it and then fought to regain a breath. The thickness of my secretions was almost too much to breathe around but she managed finally to get a breath. She pulled her head completely away and fought for breath and sucked in huge quantities of air as she gasped. Finally she returned and patted my tummy as she cleaned me. She made slight sounds as her tongue and lips washed and finished draining me. Then she spread out on her back and her lovely breasts rose and fell with each breath. I raised myself weakly on one arm and watched her. Soon she was asleep and I pulled the cover up and snuggled in next to her. She was warm to my touch. She woke a short while later andd asked how long she'd slept. When I told her she smiled and asked why I hadn't told her before that she could turn me on. I smiled and shrugged and she laughed. Then she told me that I was a far better lover than all the others she'd had and I felt grateful. Emma is Emma, and I wouldn't have her any other way. But, she still drives that Jeep, still has boyfriends and a girlfriend or two. She brings one girlfiend over with her sometimes, and I have to sit quietly and watch, or occasionally get invited in to play, too. She still lives quaintly, but still spends a few nights with me each week. I think she loves me, and I know that I love her and I hope that she'll eventuallly settle down with me, but she is full of life and happy. I don't want to change that. I'll wait quietly on the sidelines while I watch and wait. Emma Black Book Diary Entry My girlfriend's daughter's name is Emma. The daughter of my girlfriend, really shouldn't be an entry in my black book, but she's 25-years-old and has the body of a swimsuit model. I think that gives her special status, don't you? I know it does with me, especially after what happened. She stayed with us all of last summer, while she took some courses to get her teaching certificate and looked for a place to live. Having her around the house was fun and brought out the voyeur in me, as well as the exhibitionist in her, I dare say. There's nothing like a bit of teasing and flashing to make an otherwise boring day more interesting. Emma is the only woman I know her age who prefers wearing long skirts to jeans. She thinks she's fat, but she's not. She thinks she has a big ass and thighs, but she doesn't. Don't believe me? I'll prove it to you. Emma stands 5'8" tall and she weighs 130 pounds. With a body mass index of less than 20, she's well within the normal range. Someone her height and weight is hardly considered fat. Women would kill to have her body. Yet, for some imagined reason, she prefers skirts to jeans. That's okay with me. I get to ogle her panties every now and then, whenever she's careless or just doesn't care. Rather than having the dog jump up at her and claw her clothes, Emma has a habit of squatting down to greet my dog. Every time she does that, she gives me great view of her pretty, pastel panties. A few times, in his exuberance to lick Emma's face, my dog has even bowled her over. With legs spread and feet up in the air, it was either holding onto her skirt or catching her balance. I was rewarded with her latter decision to catch her balance. Only, this story isn't about exhibitionism and/or voyeurism. This story is about Emma's new business venture. She told me about the products she plans to sell. She hasn't even told her mother, yet. She's embarrassed to tell her Mom that she sells sexual toys for adults. She only told me because she knows that I write dirty stories, I mean, erotic literature and knew that I wouldn't judge her. She's even read some of my stories. Judge her? I'm excited for her and her enterprising business. She's developing a product line of sex toys, dildos and vibrators, mostly. Being that I'm an accountant, she asked my business advice on how to write a business plan, get bank financing, establish a manufacturing company base, etc. She said she's been selling her toys for a couple of years at house parties and has received a lot of interest from women and some men even. That's not hard to believe a man being interested in Emma's sex toys, especially once they meet Emma. Even when discussing business with Emma, I couldn't help but imagine her masturbating with her sex toys. I realize it was a bit perverted of me to think this, but I couldn't help but wonder if she gave masturbation demonstrations at these parties. I wondered if I could get an invitation to one. Only, she wants to cut out the middleman and manufacture the toys herself, perhaps, have them made in China to save on labor costs and have them shipped here to the United States. It's a good idea, of course, but that's another whole ballgame with importation taxes, duties, licenses, permits, and bribes and payoffs, even, something that she's not ready for, yet. She doesn't have the capital to establish a manufacturing facility or even a third party connection in China. Fortunately, my girlfriend is a sound sleeper. On weekends, exhausted from working all week, she turns in early and awakens late. Late one evening, I went to Emma's room and knocked on her door. Already in her nightgown, she was sitting Indian style on her bed with a suitcase of the toys she sells at parties open in front of her. At first, I was excited because when I stood over her, I could look down her open top and nearly see her nipples. I know, once a pervert always a pervert. I thought she was in the middle of a masturbation session, but she was just going through her product line in readiness for some orders she had to fill. I couldn't help but imagine her holding one of those vibrators in her hand while masturbating. It was such an arousing thought. To be honest, I had no idea there were so many toys for women. All the guys that I know don't use toys. With my curiosity piqued, I started asking her candid questions and to my surprise, she wasn't shy about answering every question I asked. I just love the innocence of youth. If only she knew how much she was arousing me by discussing her sex toys with me. I already had quite the erection building, while imagining her masturbating. "So, can you give me a demonstration," I said testing the waters, half kidding, while holding up a vibrator. "Eww. I'm not going to masturbate in front of you, Joe," she said. "You're my mother's boyfriend." "Is that to say that if I wasn't your mother's boyfriend, you would give me a demonstration and masturbate in front of me?" "Maybe, I would if you were a paying customer," she said with a laugh, "and looked like Brad Pitt." "How much for the whole case? I'll buy them for your mother," I said hoping she'd change her mind and give me a pass about not looking anything like Brad Pitt, but more like Jack Nicholson. "Stop. I'm not going to give you a demonstration. I'm not going to masturbate in front of you, while you watch. That's perverted." "I'm serious. If I buy the entire case, will you show me how some of them works?" She looked down at the case, while fingering some of the vibrators. Then, she looked up at me. "Three hundred dollars for everything in the case, but without the case. That's my only demonstration case. Only, you'd have to promise not to tell my Mom that I allowed you to watch me masturbate." "I swear, I won't tell your mother," I said raising my right hand. Be still my heart. Be still my cock. I couldn't believe I conned her into masturbating for me. I couldn't believe I was going to watch Emma masturbate. "You swear? Oh, no, that's not good enough," she said with a little laugh. "How else can I convince you that I won't tell your mother that you masturbated in front of me?" "If I'm going to allow you to see me demonstrating my toys to you by masturbating myself, while you watch, you have to do the same." "What do you mean?" "You jerk off, while I masturbate." "Are you serious? No, I can't do that," I said already changing my mind and agreeing to it. "Yeah," she said staring down at my crotch. "That's the only way, I'll agree to it," she said folding her arms in front of her. Excited and embarrassed at the same time that I was even considering pulling out my cock in front of my girlfriend's daughter and allowing her to watch me jerk off, I had an erection just thinking about doing it. If it wasn't exciting enough that Emma had agreed to masturbate, while I watched, it was doubly exciting to have her watch me masturbate. "I don't know, Emma. How do I know you won't tell your mother?" "Because I won't. We'd both be screwed. This is the only way that we'll know that one won't tell on the other or we'll both be fucked." "Okay," I said slowly unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans. I couldn't believe she was watching me unzip my jeans, the little slut. She was making me more than excited. I never would have thought up this scenario in a million years had this not really happened. If this really happens, if she really masturbates in front of me, I'll be jerking off over this for years. "Wait, one more thing." "What?" "You can't touch me. You can't finger my pussy and you can feel my tits. And I'm not going to touch your cock, either," she said. "If you think I'm going to give you a hand job or a blowjob, get that out of your mind, right now, Mister. You can look all you want, but you can't touch." "Okay, agreed." "We can just both watch, but not touch," she said reinforcing my disappointment, again. "Okay, okay. I won't touch you. Only, I'd understand if you get so excited that you want to give me a hand job and/or a blowjob," I said with a nervous albeit hopeful laugh. "In your dreams, Joe." I couldn't believe it when Emma propped up a couple of pillows behind her and settled back in the soft comfort of the bed. She scooted down, as if she was about to have a gynecological exam and spread her legs. She raised her nightgown up to her waist, reached underneath with one hand, and removed her panties. I couldn't believe my eyes. My girlfriend's 25-year-old daughter was sitting on her bed bottomless with her nightgown pulled up to her waist. I was seeing Emma's trimmed blonde pussy. "Well, quit your staring and take out your cock. Let me see you touching yourself." I stood, pulled my pants and underwear down around my knees. Immediately, my cock sprung to life. I don't remember being as excited. I don't remember being as hard. It took all the control that I had not to climb on top of her and fuck her right there. "What do you think," I asked her looking down at my erection, before looking back up at her staring eyes. "I think my Mom is a happy woman." Emma grabbed one of the vibrators, turned it on, and positioned it by her clit. "This is my favorite one. I call him Jack, named after my ex-boyfriend, who knew how to get me off." I couldn't believe I was watching Emma masturbate. As soon as she started getting into it, she removed her arm from the sleeve of her nightgown, first one and then the other allowing the top of her nightgown to fall around her waist. Now, her nightgown was no more than a band of wrinkled material around her middle. She had beautiful tits and her nipples were already erect. I watched her finger her nipples, while she ran the vibrator along her pussy. I had never had the pleasure of watching a woman masturbate before and this was quite a display of erotica watching her going at herself with that hand held vibrating penis. Maybe more because of who she was, my girlfriend's daughter, this was beyond exciting. "Gees, Emma, you're making me so friggin' horny. I love your tits, they are bigger than I imagined. You have bigger boobs than your mother." "Thank you," she said. "Well, c'mon, let me see you play with yourself. I want to watch you cum." Every now and then, Emma would close her eyes, while inserting her vibrator deeper in her pussy. I couldn't help myself. I know I wasn't supposed to, but I stood and walked closer to the bed. Watching her, hoping she wouldn't open her eyes and see me, I put a knee on the bed and reached over and felt her tit. It was a risk I took, but it was worth it just to touch her boob. I figured she'd yell at me and be mad. I figured she'd stop masturbating and our little agreement would be over. Instead of swiping my hand away, she moaned. Her big tit felt incredible. Where her mother's tits had grown softer, Emma's tit felt firm. Then, I felt her other breast and fingered that nipple. She moaned even more. I couldn't believe I was feeling the tits of my girlfriend's daughter, while she play with pussy with her vibrator that looked like a robotic penis. Then, she did something unexpectedly, she reached over and took my cock in her hand. Not expecting that, after she lectured me about not touching me, I was stunned. She was giving me a slow hand job. Her hand felt like nothing that I had felt before. Maybe because she was so much younger than me, nearly half my age, but she was giving me a masterful hand job. "Oh, Emma, that feels so good. Don't stop. Yeah, baby, stroke me a little faster. Make Daddy cum." While stroking me with her left hand, I could tell by the movement of her right hand that she was getting close to having an orgasm. Probably because she was so excited, so horny, was the reason why she reached over and grabbed my cock. She wanted to feel the real thing, instead of a battery operated cylindrical tube. Her nipples grew even bigger and I leaned over and took one in my mouth. I was sucking Emma's tit and she wasn't complaining, resisting, or stopping me. Then, I sucked her other nipple while feeling the tit that I had just sucked. "I want you to cum with me," she said. "Can we do that," she asked looking up at me. "I don't know," I said. "I'm not there, yet." I had been so focused on Emma masturbating and then on me feeling and sucking her tits, that I hadn't kept up my end of the bargain. I had stopped masturbating completely. I was nowhere near cumming. It would take a miracle for me to cum the same time that she was ready to cum. "Let me help you along," she said with a dirty, little smile. Hallelujah, it was a miracle. She leaned over and took my cock in her mouth. Emma was blowing me. My girlfriend's daughter was sucking my cock. If ever I married my girlfriend, I could write a story about my stepdaughter giving me a blowjob. The warmth of her mouth and the feel of her tongue was incredible. She was giving me a better blowjob than her mother ever gave me. Within seconds, I exploded in her oh, so young mouth, while she had orgasm after orgasm, and she swallowed all that I had. We did it. We came off together. It was amazing. As promised I bought all of her sex toys and gave them to my girlfriend as a Christmas gift. My girlfriend was a bit unnerved, yet excited, that I bought her such a large inventory of sex toys. "One would have been enough," she said with a nervous laugh. Emma and I never masturbated together again. It's our little secret. Yet, she did give me another blowjob, but that's another story for another time. Emma Emma, oh my, she felt so wonderful to be inside; like a hot velvet glove along the entire length of my penis. I sometimes think that it's as close to heaven as I may get. I was looking down at her, face to face, alternately looking directly into her eyes, her mouth, breasts and down along her body to see between her legs where my penis entered her body. I was ever so slowly lifting and lowering my lower body onto hers and watching my penis appear and then disappear into her warmth. I like to watch her pupils dilate and her eyelids droop as I push in and then pull out of her. At times, I'll push in all the way and just stay like that, especially when I am about to have my orgasm. I think of staying motionless, connected and buried inside her, as soaking. She was naked as the day she was born; including her mons and everything below that was entirely devoid of hair. This was a fairly new experience for the both of us because I had just recently convinced her to have all of her hair permanently removed. It had taken us five trips to the technician and I had had to pay extra and deal with the questioning looks in order to sit with her as she had her hair removed. We had held hands and thought about the fun we were going to have as the laser did its job. Gone were the days of razor stubble, the shaving and gone was any pretense of letting her hair grow back. I liked the look of her this way and especially liked the feel and taste of her lips with no stubble against my tongue. I knew that eventually her husband would ask her why she had started shaving and he might ask her to let it grow back. But we committed to something that could not be undone and she would have to think about some sort of an explanation when he eventually asked. I like to consider how the conversation would go between them and I definitely like to hear her tell me how she thought it would go. I stopped moving inside her, started soaking and asked "Emma, suppose he asks why you shave your pussy. I could tell that she was surprised since her vagina gave a sudden clench and her quick breath intake; I think that she was surprised by my question and my use of "pussy". What will you tell him?" I liked to stay still inside her and soak while we talked, with our bodies connected just like so. Her legs were stretched on either side of me, with our legs touching ever so slightly but our genitals in full contact. "You know that he's already asked me that and that I've told him that I love the feel of satin panties on my clitoris and lips. I can feel the fabric against me like I never could before. Had I know about this, I would have done this many years ago; although, then we wouldn't have been able to do it together. I told him that I just wanted to have a change." "So you like the feeling then, a lot?" "Oh, yes I do, you know I do Steve." And with that she tightened her hold on my penis and impatiently moved her hips to get me moving again inside her. "Will you eventually tell him that you don't actually shave anymore because you had your hair permanently removed?" "Do you want me too tell him, really?" "Yes I do. Tell him tonight, Emma." And with that I started to move again, this time with long consistent strokes because I decided right then that I wanted to now ejaculate inside her. I told her that I wanted to cum now and then I asked her, as I often do, if I could leave my semen inside her body. That's such a turn on for me; the knowledge that she'll once again take a part of me away from our lovemaking. "Yes" she moaned as she got close to her own orgasm. She could feel me starting to ejaculate and this usually triggered her orgasm; this time our orgasms peaked at nearly the same time. We stayed connected for a long time; I love to leave it inside her, blocking my semen from leaking out of her as long a possible As Emma described the ensuing discussion, she talked to him that evening and it turned out that she had the perfect segue to the topic. Her husband was in the bathroom as she was getting out of her evening shower. "Emma, not that I don't like this but how often do you have to shave to keep it so bare? You don't seem to have any of those red bumps either like you did the last time you were shaving there." She told me that he was running his hand along her mons pubis and down along her lips as he was talking to her. It had been many years since she'd last been shaving and he had forgotten how soft and inviting it made things. "Oh, well Ted, that's something that I wanted to talk to you about. Do you remember when I bought the five spa sessions for the price of four? Well, as part of the package they offered a full laser hair removal treatment on any part of my body. So I had them give me the laser treatment on my hair down there and they permanently removed all of it. It'll never grow back. Do you like it? I had them take it all off; off from in front here and definitely off of my lips. No more red bumps, whisker burns and it's not growing back." She was getting wet with his massaging her clitoris and labia and with the thought that she was leaving out the part of the story that I had accompanied and been with her on each of the treatments. He stopped moving his hand at first but then started quickly inserting and withdrawing his middle finger while cupping her. She was barely able to stand and had to hold on to the sink cabinet to keep from falling. "Emma, that is so cool, so awesome. I want to be inside you now. " Ted told her. And with that, she in short order ended up being with her second man of the day. I didn't like to hear this part of the story but I had assumed that that would be the normal course of action given her incredible sexual appeal and her new nakedness. Emma and I had actually started thinking about and experimenting with some small body modifications long before she ended up with the laser treatments. In fact, over a year ago we had added a 12-guage gold ring to her upper right ear. It is hidden by her hair and cannot be easily removed, especially without the right equipment. I like the thought of the ring a lot; since she had it done for me, with me and I know that it is hidden in plain sight and that she cannot remove it without help. We went to the piercing shop to get that done. Both of us love to twist the unbroken ring around and around; at times I'll gently pull on it as we make love. Her right ear now tends to draw the most attention from me when I kiss and lick her neck and ears. I sometimes joke with her about putting a small gold chain on it to hang down towards her lower ear where it would be seen, and I tease her with telling her that I won't take it off. This always excites although she's told me that she'll do it if I really want her to. The next day I skipped work, again, to spend some more time with Emma. She came over to my house early, left late and we made love on the couch and bed with her straddling me with her on top, most of the time. I love Emma in that position most of all since it lets me see the insertion and withdrawal of my penis, especially the view of her gorgeously bare pussy wrapped around it and her labia pulling against my withdrawal. It's also great that my hands are free to feel Emma's breasts and touch her everywhere. I've asked Emma what position she likes the most and she likes my hands to be free to touch her so things work out just right. "Steve, there's something that I'd like to talk to you about. I've been thinking about some things and I've decided that if you'd like me to do it and will go with me, like you did for my ring and my hair, that I would like to get my left nipple pierced, just like you asked me to. Would you go with me? Would you decide for me whether I should get a ring or a bar? Emma and I were still joined at the hips, we'd just finished making love and she was resting on me, kissing me and talking to me. I could feel her pussy still milking my penis and imagined that she was pulling my semen deeper into her body. I could feel her nipples against me as she moved to kiss me. With the thought of our upcoming trip, I started getting an erection again. To be continued... Emma Bill Gilbert, a 52 year old man, living from day to day on the money he received as a buy-out from his company, was getting restless. He long ago tired of day-time TV, chess games in the park, and looking after the little bungalow he inherited from his folks. He missed his wife of 20 years. She stunned him by coming out of the closet and went off to live with her lover, an older woman. He occasionally volunteered for a few events but decided he needed something more. A friend suggested he try substitute teaching. The money was not great but the challenge peaked his interest. He applied at the local board of education offices and in a few weeks was hired as a substitute teacher. He started out with a few middle school assignments and in a few short months was transferred to the senior high school. Because the school was so overcrowded, some of the classes were held in temporary buildings, five in all, parked on the school grounds. His passion for history landed him in the senior class history group, in temporary building number 5. He gazed over the 30 or so students in his class on the first day. The regular teacher was pregnant with complications and unlikely to finish the term. With only a few days left in the school year, the seniors were understandably bored and anxious to graduate and get out. Nevertheless, Bill put a lot of effort in his work and on the day of the final exam, he felt that the students would probably do rather well. Of all the students in the class, Emma was not the sort to attract attention. She had big brown eyes, a somewhat stocky build and short blond hair that framed a fairly common face. What did single her out from the rest of the 18 year olds, was a pair of enormous breasts. She never dressed to flaunt this but no matter what she wore, it always looked to Bill as if she had stuffed a pair of soft balls in her sweater. She always sat in the front row of chairs. It seemed to Bill that she craved his attention, always raising her hand to answer questions presented to the whole class. Her eyes never seemed to leave him as he walked back and forth, explaining the demise of the South during the Civil War. Eventually he dismissed her interest as a novelty from the regular teacher's regime. Friday, the last formal day of school. Bill handed out the graded exams. The bell rang and all the students bolted from the building, rushing over to the main school to their lockers and freedom. All that is, except Emma. Bill was cleaning off the huge old desk, one of many donated by some government agency. Suddenly he was aware of Emma standing right next to the desk. "Mr. Gilbert, could I ask you a personal question?" "Certainly, Emma. What can I help you with?" "Mr. Gilbert, do you think my breasts are too big?" If she had hit him on the head with a baseball bat, Bill could not have been more surprised. "What do you mean, Emma, why would I think you breasts are too big?" "Well, she sighed, tomorrow night is the senior prom and nobody has asked me to go. I think they think I am some sort of freak with these big blobs on my chest." Bill could see tears starting to well up in her eyes. "Emma, this is the sort of question you should be asking the school nurse or your mother or somebody else. I'm just a substitute teacher, not a student counselor." "But Mr.Gilbert, you are a man, an older man, and I thought you would know more about these things. The boys in this class are jerks, I think. They are all going with skinny girls who are more popular than I am. " Bill was flustered, embarrassed by the fact that he had been caught staring at her chest a number of times by just a glance from her big cow eyes, and he avoided a direct answer and finished cleaning off his desk. When he turned back to Emma, she shocked him even further. She had opened her blouse and unhooked the bra from the front. Right in front of Bill's face were two of the most perfect tits he had ever seen. Imagine, if you will, an Olympic ski jump, the long slope going downward and then swooping out. Emma's tits started out high on her chest and then swung down to a couple of large brown nipples. Underneath, they were every bit as large as two soft balls. Bill stared at the perfect pair, at a loss for words. "See, Mr. Gilbert, they are too big aren't they? You can touch them if you want. They are not as soft and floppy like my mother's breasts." With his brain numbed by the brazenness of this display, Bill's body acted as if on autopilot. His hands rose to touch the pink orbs. They were indeed firm yet most definitely squeezable. As he grasped the tits, Emma's eyes closed and her breath started to come in short gasps. He gazed at the wonders in his hands and he began to massage them, tweaking the nipples, pulling on them. Emma let out a moan and grasped Bill's head and pulled it into her chest. He pressed his face between the two tits and then turned to suck on a nipple. This set off another round of gasps from the 18 year old novice. As he continued to maul and suck, her body suddenly stiffened and she wrapped her arms around his head and fell forward. For a moment it seemed as though the chair Bill was sitting on would tip over backwards. Bill regained his balance and composure. "Emma, we can't be doing this. If someone should come in here, I could be in very big trouble." "Oh, Mr. Gilbert, I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me. When you started fondling and sucking my breasts, I felt a strange tingle all over my body and then I felt this terrific rush all at once and I nearly passed out. I didn't hurt you did I?" "No, Emma, I'm OK but........" "Oh my gosh, Mr. Gilbert, my panties are soaked!" She quickly lifted her skirt and pulled at the elastic. Right in front of Bill's face was a patch of soft curls of pubic hair and a shiny, slippery slit. "My thingee is all wet and slimey.!" Trying to sound like a dispassionate clinician Bill said, "I think you experienced an orgasm, Emma. There's nothing wrong with that. Sometimes a woman will experience a secretion of lubrication during an orgasm." "Look how wet I am. Touch it Mr. Gilbert. You'll see what I'm talking about." Emma raised her left leg to Bill's chair and Bill's lust overcame his common sense. He ran a finger over the soaked cunt. Once again Emma moaned in response to his touch. He rubbed her a few times and then pulled away. "Emma, we've got to stop this before it goes too far." Emma pulled her panties off and tossed them on the desk. She stood there for a moment, staring at the 52 year old man. She had a twinkle in her eyes as she said, "You know, Mr. Gilbert, you have seen my thingee but I haven't seen yours. I can see a bulge in your pants." Bill was suddenly aware that his cock was ramrod stiff. He was about to protest. "Come, Mr. Gilbert, it's only fair that I get to see yours. I'll bet it's bigger than these silly boys in my class." Before Bill could answer, she dropped to her knees in front of him and deftly unbuckled his belt, snapped open his button and pulled down his zipper. It became immediately apparent that this girl was no novice. "Emma, you should not be doing this! I could get arrested for this." She pulled at his boxers and the head of his cock peeped out. "Oh, it is bigger than the boys' in my class. And look, there is a little drop of something at the tip. What is that?" "Oh,......... that's a .........sort of male lubrication that men have when they get sexually excited," Bill managed to stammer. In his daze, he let the girl wrap her fingers around his cock and squeeze it lightly. She took a finger from her other hand and wiped the droplet from the tip of his cock and placed it on her tongue. "It doesn't taste hardly at all," she said. As the drops continued to seep from the tip of his cock, Bill just stared in amazement as the girl leaned over and licked them from the tip. She kept doing it until Bill could no longer stand it and he gently placed his hand on the back of her head and slowly forced his cock into her mouth. She rose up when his hand released her and then went back down with his hand. Soon she was in a regular motion, sucking him as deeply as she could. Within a few minutes Bill suddenly blasted a burst of semen into her mouth. Emma coughed and gagged for a moment but kept up the pistoning on his cock. Jet after jet squirted into her mouth and she swallowed most of it. Some escaped and drooled down the sides of Bill's cock. Finally he could take no more and pulled her head up to his and kissed her long and hard. "My God, Emma. I can't believe you did that! Have you done this a lot before now?" "No, only once but I liked doing to you. Your cock is so big and hard. I could do it all day long!" Bill tried to regain his composure. All this has gone way too far, he thought. He pulled up his boxers and his pants. "Emma, we can't keep this up. Please don't tell anyone about this." "Oh I won't Mr. Gilbert. I don't know what came over me. But now what about the prom?" "Well, Emma, I have an idea. I've been asked to be one of the chaperones at the prom. I'll just bring you along as my assistant. You'll get to dance with some of the guys, especially when they see you in a formal dress. You can help me with the refreshment table. OK" "Oh, Mr. Gilbert, that would be wonderful! Here's my address. Just come by and pick me up around 7:00. I want you to meet my Mom." As Bill drove over to the address Emma had given him, he wondered what the reaction would be with her Mom. How often does a 52 year old man go to a high school prom with an 18 year old girl? "I hope she doesn't figure out what went on Friday afternoon," he thought as he drove up to the house. He rang the bell and a woman answered the door. She was in her forties, Bill guessed. She was what used to be called a "dish water" blond. She wore a white sweater pulled over two enormous tits. She was not wearing a bra and her nipples formed little peaks in her sweater. Her blue jeans were so tight, one would think they were applied with a paint brush. Her bubble butt swayed from side to side as she walked over to the stairway, calling for her daughter to hurry up. Bill stepped into the hall way and soon Emma came down the stairs in a blue taffeta dress that swirled around her knees. The top was a velvet bodice that strained with the weight of those magnificent tits. It did little to hide the plunging neckline. Momentarily distracted by these two gorgeous sirens, Bill thanked the mother for allowing her daughter to come along and help out. She took Bill aside for a minute and said, "Emma has been talking about you ever since you started teaching her class. Her father left us a long time ago and you are the first male role model she has accepted. I am pleased that she has found a good person. We have both had a rough time without a good man in our lives." Bill was not quite sure of the motive behind this admission but he tucked it away in his mind for future reference. He promised to have Emma home by 12. As they drove through the semi-darkened streets, Bill wondered which of these two would be the better fuck, Emma's youthful enthusiasm or her mother's skilled experience. He shook his head in an attempt to keep his attention to the task at hand. They arrived at the school where the gymnasium was decorated to simulate an old southern plantation house. The band had already started and Bill introduced Emma to the other chaperones. As the evening wore on, Emma did get to dance with some of boys from her class. True to form, she helped out at the refreshment table. Time and again, when she thought no one was looking, she would bend over and flash her tits at Bill. He tried to divert his gaze but more often than not, he stared long and hard. Soon they discovered that they were out of ice. Bill volunteered to go to the cafeteria kitchen to get some. Emma tagged along as Bill expected. Once in the kitchen they suddenly clutched each other in a desperate kiss that nearly swooned both of them. Bills hands seem to be everywhere on Emma's body. He pulled out one tit and sucked on it. She responded by rubbing his rock hard cock through his pants. In a wink he undid the suspenders of his tux and his boxers soon followed to the floor. He pushed Emma to her knees and quickly thrust his cock into Emma's open maw. For a few minutes he continued to fuck her head. Then, he pulled her up by the arms, swept up her skirt exposing her crotch and laid her back on one of the stainless steel prep tables. He pulled off her panties and drove his tongue into her slit. Her cry of joy echoed off the concrete walls of the kitchen. She writhed on the table as Bill draped her legs over his shoulders. He grabbed her legs and pushed them back nearly to her chest. His tongue slathered over her cunt, teasing her clit and then dropped down to her pink rosebud. The shock to Emma was felt throughout her body and Bill poked his tongue into her ass. His saliva mixed with the secretions from her cunt which flowed down over the asshole and onto the table. Bill decided now was the time to make his move. "Emma, I'm going to fuck your ass. It may sting a little at first but then after I get started you'll get used to it; you will love it." Emma, nearly unconscious from the attack on her cunt and her clit, could only moan her approval, or so it seemed to the 52 year old man about to take her anal virginity. He brought his throbbing cock to the slippery spot and pushed in the tip. Emma moaned a little louder. He pushed again and this time the tip of his cock entered her asshole. He waited a few moments and then began to push in and pull slightly out of the now expanded anus. Bill now grabbed the girl's hips with strong hands and forced his cock deep into her rectum. Her cries now came faster and louder. Not caring whether anyone heard them or not, Bill began to speed up the thrusting. The prep table shook with his efforts. Perspiration stood out on his forehead. Suddenly he felt the semen boil from his cock and jet after jet flooded the violated ass hole of the 18 year old. As his cock wilted from the effort and release, Bill backed out of the girl's ass. A flow of liquid followed and dripped onto the table. Both of them were breathing hard and fast. Emma finally sat up on the table. "I never knew I could do that. It was as wonderful as you said it was. Thank you, Bill. This is a night I will never forget." She jumped down off the table and wrapped her arms around Bill and they continued to kiss. They dressed and cleaned up and returned to the prom with two bags of ice. As he drove Emma back home, the two were strangely silent. Emma reached over and placed her hand on Bill's cock once more. Bill was surprised to feel it rise again. He slowed down and turned into the entrance of a park. He turned off the car as Emma pulled the zipper on his pants. She leaned over and fished the semi-tumescent cock out his boxers. She lowered her head and once more began to suck on a 52 year old cock. It hardened under her sucking and soon she was bobbing up and down. Bill pushed his seat back and stretched out as far as he could. Emma kept up the work on his cock, her hand now squirmed inside his boxers to his balls. She gently rolled them in her hands. With a loud moan, Bill came once more in this teenager's eager mouth. This time she swallowed it all. She looked up at Bill with her big brown eyes. "Bill, can I see you again this summer? I want to do everything. I want to do everything with you. I want you to be my teacher, my lover and my counselor." Bill's mind began to imagine just what else they could do. They had the whole summer before them until she went off to college. And then there would be the mother. The image of her mother's huge tits and magnificent ass flooded his imagination. He smiled as he backed out of the park and drove into the night. Emma "That's it, Michael! I can't take this anymore!" Cheryl threw a pillow against the wall and rolled off the bed. Michael could hear her incensed breathing as she reached for her clothes. "You really need fucking help." After a pause, Cheryl added, "And I mean that literally. Fucking help!" Michael didn't even watch her finish dressing. He stared out the bedroom window, acknowledging the truthfulness of everything she ranted about. He could feel his limp cock weakly lying between his legs while the most beautiful woman he knew pulled up her jeans and stormed out of the bedroom...for the last time. The third time was the charm. Oh, she could make him cum by sucking on his cock even though it never reached full rigidity. But every time she wanted him inside her, he couldn't do it. Nothing worked. And at age 34, she expected, and deserved, better from him. Cheryl would find it somewhere else. Michael realized it was time to do something. As hard as it would be on his ego and wallet, he had to do something. Quick. ### Emma struggled to hold back the tears she could feel welling up in her eyes. "What do you think about during sex, Emma?" The monotone voice of the old man in the chair across from her always disturbed Emma. Today it was bordering on anger. "Sex," she replied defiantly. "With whom?" "Usually anybody except the guy I'm with." Dr. Schmidt peered over his reading glasses at the young woman. He had found her extremely attractive from the first day they met and now looked at her again to help determine just how a beautiful woman in her early thirties could find it so difficult to complete a simple sex act. The more they talked the more he was convinced it was truly in her head. This was not a physical problem. "Are the men you date unattractive to you, Emma?" She took that one as a personal affront. "No! I mean, I date good looking guys. They may be jerks, but they're good looking and usually hun..., I mean, uh, they are well endowed." "At what point do you start to realize you may not cum?" Dr. Schmidt asked without acknowledging her last answer. "The moment we're naked." The doctor squinted across the room at Emma. "Then why do you do it?" he asked. "They expect it. Sex, I mean. And I may want to see him again," Emma said timidly. "I may not want to lose him the first time we're together." Dr. Schmidt scribbled notes. "Are you a lesbian?" "I am NOT! I used to cum with guys in high school. It's just been, well, the last couple years...," she said and paused. "I am NOT into women." The doctor took a deep breath and gazed into Emma's blue eyes. He imagined himself, or any man, watching her strip off her clothes prior to sex. The blouses she wore to counseling were always a little too tight and always unbuttoned one button too far. The smooth, tan skin around her cleavage, her blonde hair, and stunning eyes had his cock twitching in just the brief time he paused to scrutinize her. He suspected her breasts were round and firm, not overly large but exceedingly tempting. The nipples that always pressed against her blouse were hard. Her stomach was flat and her waist small, leading down to rounded hips and a luscious ass. She was nearly a perfect package, but couldn't orgasm during sex. "What do you think we need to do, Emma?" She shrugged. Then, as if she had been waiting for a chance to say it, she added, "I think I need a reason to have sex with a guy. I mean, a reason besides him wanting to fuck me. Does that make sense." Dr. Schmidt grinned. "It does. Go on." Emma hadn't expected that request. She thought for a moment. "I fantasize about being some type of a sexual aide for a guy, or whatever the word would be. A woman who was there to have sex with somebody and accomplish something at the same time. I want to make a man cum and feel good about it. Like it helped him or something. If I did that, I bet I could have orgasms all day. Geez, I'm rambling and making no sense whatsoever, aren't I?" Emma saw the doctor sit up straight in his chair with a look of excitement on his face for the very first time. ### "God, I don't know," Michael groaned. "I guess I think about how I'm probably not going to be able to be hard enough to have sex and how she's going to react and how shitty I'm going to feel afterwards." Dr. Schmidt listened to his new patient intently. So far, nothing unusual had been disclosed about Michael. It rarely happened in the first couple sessions. But he pushed this patient a little harder than most, partly because of Michael's young age and apparent desire for a quick cure. "What kind of women do you have sex with, Michael?" "Desperate women," he said with a straight face before looking at the doctor and smiling. He got a small grin in return. "What kind of women do you WANT to have sex with? What kind of woman would make you hard?" Michael looked down at the floor. "A woman who seemed to care. One that cared about ME. How I felt. What I needed." ### In all his years in practice, Dr. Schmidt never used one patient to cure another, and in the process cure both of them. But he'd never had two patients at the same time like Emma and Michael. Emma needed a purpose for sex. Michael needed more than a living, breathing sex doll. It would be risky, but he intended to bring the two of them together, in his office. It wouldn't be the first time sex ever occurred under his watchful eye. He'd had a couple female patients over the years who willingly accepted his 'treatment.' But this would be the first time he teamed one patient with another. Dr. Schmidt often allowed graduate students at the local university to observe and listen to his sessions behind a two-way mirror. This time, he intended to be the interested observer. If his plan backfired, he would be close-by to address it. If his plan worked...; well, he'd be close-by to 'observe.' His office purposely looked much like a counselor's office portrayed in the movies or on TV. Yes, there was a large couch. And a big chair for the doctor, coffee tables, dark bookshelves and dark wood on the walls. It was all a deliberate attempt to comfort new patients by enclosing them in a warm, homey setting. It was NOT designed as a sex playground, but Dr. Schmidt hoped Emma and Michael would make do. He talked to Emma first. He explained her function in meeting Michael, with Dr. Schmidt in the room, and how she would be asked to play the role of sexual healer. Dr. Schmidt emphasized that actual sex would not necessarily have to occur in the first encounter; that getting an erection out of Michael would be considered progress. Emma seemed genuinely excited. He then met with Michael and explained to him that Emma would be there only because of Michael and sex might, or might not, happen. Dr. Schmidt assured Michael that neither of them was under any obligation whatsoever, but that Emma really wanted to help. With both patients in agreement, Dr. Schmidt set up the time for the appointment. Emma was probably the most optimistic that it would work. Michael was willing to try anything. The doctor just didn't want the whole thing to blow up in his face. On the fateful day, Emma arrived first. She wore her customary blouse and dress slacks, with perhaps a touch more makeup than she normally had on. In any case, Dr. Schmidt found her as attractive as always. Michael arrived soon afterwards and the patients met for the first time. Both were pleasantly surprised that they were within a year or two of the same age. Dr. Schmidt had been intentionally vague in his descriptions of the two participants and they were relieved that at least there was a physical appeal at first sight. Michael had an athletic body with the muscular arms that Emma favored. He was tanned with dark hair and eyes, although you'd never find him on the cover of GQ. She loved small asses on men, and he fit the bill. All three sat in the office and chatted for more than fifteen minutes. They laughed often and Dr. Schmidt interpreted the patients' body language as beginning to show some comfort. When he felt the time was right, Dr. Schmidt said, "I think we should begin, if we may. I'd like you both to stand and strip down to your underwear." Once the shock of the statement wore off, Michael rose from his chair. Emma followed a second or two later. They stood about five feet apart, not quite facing each other. Michael began to remove his shirt. Emma unbuttoned her blouse. Dr. Schmidt watched with interest as the pair undressed. Michael was pulling down his pants before Emma had her blouse off. Dr. Schmidt saw Michael's eyes gravitate to her larger-than-expected breasts hidden behind her sheer bra and, likewise, Emma sneaked a glance at the cock inside Michael's shorts as she removed her pants. With the outer clothes removed, Dr. Schmidt said, "Sit together on the couch, please." Emma and Michael sat side-by-side, nowhere near touching each other. The doctor smiled to himself, believing they had cleared the first big hurdle. Emma crossed her long legs and struggled with where to put her hands. Michael struggled with everything involved in the exercise, including when and how to look at Emma. They both managed to get the initial, awkward glance in without incident. Then Dr. Schmidt re-started the casual conversation as if nothing had happened. Soon, he noticed near normal hand gestures and postures that indicated continued progress. Emma and Michael began to frequently look at each other and even joke about their 'attire.' "Emma, move closer to Michael," Dr. Schmidt said. "Put your hand on his leg." The smile disappeared from her face as Emma inched closer. Her hand slowly shifted until it lightly rested on the side of Michael's leg. Dr. Schmidt didn't ask her to do any better. "How does that feel, Michael?" the doctor asked. "Like a hand on my leg. But it's nice." "Where would you like to touch Emma, Michael?" The smirk on his face was matched by his leering eyes. "Oh, I can think of several places." "Pick one," the doctor said. Michael chose to be gentlemanly and put his own hand on Emma's thigh, halfway between her knee and pussy. The resulting shiver that ran through her body surprised Emma. "How does that feel, Emma?" Dr. Schmidt inquired. "Very nice," she answered, looking at Michael. "Is it OK if Michael touched you some more?" "I would like that," she replied. Dr. Schmidt looked at Michael, who stared back. The doctor simply nodded. Michael looked down at Emma's leg and moved his hand higher. Unexpectedly, Emma uncrossed her legs as the hand approached her hip. Michael couldn't take his eyes off the tight panties clinging to her pussy. His fingers sank down the inside of her thigh as if drawn by a magnet. Then he stopped, just inches away. "Go on, Michael," Dr. Schmidt said softly. At the same time that Michael's fingers first made contact with the bottom of Emma's panties, the doctor and Emma both saw the first hint of a reaction inside his shorts. The effect this had on Dr. Schmidt was far less dramatic than it had on Emma. She could not remember the last time she wanted a guy to touch her pussy because there was an honest chance she might actually respond to it. What happened next was probably the turning point of the entire exercise. Emma whispered to Michael, "Touch me, Michael. Please." As if by magic, the bulge in the front of his shorts doubled in size. His hand slid on top of Emma's panties and sought out the warm, moist opening he knew was underneath. Emma spread her legs slightly and moved her hand closer to Michael's cock. When a finger slid over Emma's clit, she moaned, leaned back on the couch, and gave Michael even more room to work with between her legs. But she never moved away from him so far that she couldn't keep her hand in place. In fact, it rose higher and now rested on the edge of his shorts. Another inch and she would touch his ever-hardening cock. Michael pressed down on her clit as if telling her it was OK. Emma sought out the shaft she needed so badly and finally laid her hand on it with his shorts acting as a buffer. Their breathing was audible as the joint masturbation began. "Oh, yes Michael," Emma sighed. "Harder." Dr. Schmidt silently rose from his chair and crept to the door. Emma and Michael both knew he was leaving. Neither one of them stopped him. Emma twisted her body and fell backwards so that her head was on the padded arm of the couch. She looked up at Michael with nothing but lust in her eyes. Michael leaned down and kissed her cheek and neck. Bit by bit he worked his way down until he was kissing the mounds rising from the inside of her bra. Emma rubbed his cock, which was now hard enough to wrap her fingers around. But, his tight shorts prevented much more than a constant massage. It would have to do for a few minutes. Michael was intent on getting to more of Emma's tits. He pushed aside one bra strap and kissed the top of that breast. He did the same on the other side and all but her nipples were exposed. "Please don't stop, Michael. I...I...need you to keep going," she urged him. Any role playing that might have been taking place was quickly replaced by authentic stimulation that Emma and Michael had not experienced for far too long. There were still lingering doubts in their minds, but both of them were beginning to believe that this just might work. "Tell me what you want," Michael said between nibbles of her plump breasts. Without hesitation, she said, "I want you to do whatever you want." Instead of prolonging the argument, Michael put a hand on top of Emma's left breast and massaged it for a moment. Then he pushed aside the bra and exposed her entire tit. Of all the sensations he could have concentrated on, the one that registered in his brain was the rigidity of his throbbing cock as it pressed against Emma's body. Better yet, he had the feeling it would stay that way. As soon as Michael's mouth covered her breast, Emma felt her pussy pulse wildly. His cock was so close to it. She wanted him desperately, and not just so he could cum. She was ready to join him. In an adjacent room, behind the mirror, Dr. Schmidt rubbed the front of his pants. He watched his patients and listened to their moans thanks to the hidden microphone under the coffee table. His cock grew harder as Michael continued to suck on Emma's tit. He was fully erect by the time Michael was unhooking her bra and removing it. In the doctor's wildest dreams, he never expected his experiment to go this well. He unzipped his pants and reached inside for the cock that needed his immediate attention. On the couch, a topless Emma anxiously reached out for Michael's cock while he licked and sucked her tits. She managed to thrust her hand inside his shorts and grip the warm, hard shaft. Emma wondered how any man with such an enormous cock could EVER have sexual problems. Michael looked down on her and realized he was at a critical juncture. It was at this moment with any other woman that he would recognize that she was only there for the sex...the ultimate orgasm. The thrill would be gone for him and so would his erection. But Emma seemingly cared about HIM. She wasn't going to be happy until he was. Michael felt his cock stiffen even more than before, and his pulse quickened. This was going to work. "Take off my shorts, Emma." The words were music to her ears. Emma grabbed the waistband of his shorts and quickly had them down his legs. Michael helped her pull them completely off and hovered over her, naked, and with a menacing hard-on waiting to enter her. "Wait, Michael," Emma begged. "Please let me lick it first." He grinned at the unexpected and seldom heard request. His fear now was that he might cum too fast. 'I can't fucking believe this,' he thought to himself. Nor could Dr. Schmidt. He frantically stroked his cock while watching Emma's beautiful blonde hair rise off the couch as her lips approached the tip of Michael's cock. The face he had grown to admire so much was about to be put to the most magnificent use he could think of. She kissed the tip before parting her lips. Dr. Schmidt had to stop when it came time for Michael's cock to slowly, slowly disappear into Emma's mouth. She was doing far more than licking. As Michael picked up the speed with which his cock entered Emma's mouth, the doctor picked up the speed of his masturbation. He glanced down to confirm that the towel he brought into the room was nearby. He knew he'd be needing it. Emma held Michael by the ass and accepted every inch of his erection. She occasionally clung to him so hard that he was forced to keep his cock in her mouth until she allowed him to pull out once more. "God, Emma. That feels so good," he groaned. "I think it's time to..." When their eyes met, Emma just nodded and smiled. She could taste his precum and knew it was time. Michael moved back and took hold of her panties. She eagerly lifted her legs and let him get her naked, feeling a long-lost pleasure in revealing herself to a man that needed her. Between his erection and her soaking wet pussy, this would be easy. Michael knew, without a doubt, that if he got his cock inside Emma he would be able to cum. Emma was likewise sure that if he came, she would explode for the first time in...well, she didn't want to think about it. She settled onto the couch and spread herself open for him. Michael slid between her legs and put the tip of his cock on her pussy. Emma used one hand to move it into place and then prepared to take in the very large penis. Despite his lust for her, Michael was gentle. He met resistance from her pussy when the thickest part of his cock attempted to enter her tight hole. But Emma squirmed one way and Michael twisted another until the cock marvelously slid into the warm, moist opening. Emma's gasp was part pain, part pleasure. Sooner than she expected, it turned to pure pleasure. Dr. Schmidt was ecstatic. If everything he saw and heard was an indication, he had killed two birds with one...fuck. He pulled on his cock until, once again, he was on the verge of cumming. A drip of precum hung from his cock while he stopped to watch Michael have uninhibited sex with Emma. The doctor alternated between watching her luscious tits roll on her chest and watching Michael's huge cock plunge into her pussy. As the sex progressed, Emma and Michael brought themselves closer together until she had her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his body. They were as one on the couch, trying not to roll off in their frantic fucking. Michael buried his face in her flowing, blonde hair. Emma clung to him, waiting for the climax she knew was coming. They were silent except for the mutual moans that signaled that everything was just fine. Both were afraid to say anything that might upset the other. So they moved ever closer to orgasms in relative quiet. That is, until Michael felt his cock begin to fill with cum. "Oh God! Emma! I'm gonna...oh fuck!" He rammed his cock into her even harder. "Yes, Michael. Yes!" He closed his eyes and his body stiffened. He plunged his cock into Emma and held it in place. Then a flood of cum shot out of his cock with enough force that Emma felt it start to fill her. Michael groaned. He pulled out and rammed his cock into her once more. Another stream of semen shot out. Over and over again he felt his cock release its load. Emma had waited as long as she could. The success of her mating with Michael was more than enough to start her orgasm and she squealed with joy as her body responded. Together, they swayed on the couch in a frenzied series of climaxes that left both of them hot and exhausted. Emma Behind the mirror, a towel was draped around the doctor's rigid cock, collecting a large pool of cum. ### The two weeks following Dr. Schmidt's experiment were a revelation for Emma. The new-found power she felt from effectively 'curing' Michael made her look at herself in a new light. Suddenly, she was a sexual goddess with the ability to influence men in ways she never thought possible. The truth, of course, was that the power was always there. But she had to change the way her mind perceived it. Like a drug, the power was overtaking her daily routine. She was addicted and needed more. The unlikely next 'victim' would be Dr. Schmidt himself. Emma's first appointment after the episode with Michael was not the very first appearance of the new and improved Emma. She had already started to flirt more at work and in public and wore more revealing clothes than in the past. But the appointment was her first conscious endeavor to get a 'fix.' Dr. Schmidt did a double take when Emma walked into his office, wearing a sleeveless top and short skirt that hugged her hips and ass. "Hello, Emma. You look especially nice today," the doctor said amid a body-scanning glance. "Thank you. I thought it was time to pull out the spring wardrobe for a change," she replied. Emma sat on the couch and gracefully crossed her legs, daintily pulling on the skirt at the same time. She watched for the doctor's reaction, but he was discreet in his efforts to not show his awareness. Yet, how could he not notice her recently styled hair, soft makeup, figure-enhancing top and long, sensuous legs? She was an angel. Or had he created a monster? "So, Emma, give me your impression of your meeting with Michael," he stated. She grinned. "It was...nice. I hope it helped him." "Did it help you?" "Absolutely." "In what way?" the doctor asked. Emma thought for a second, still hesitant to open up completely for Dr. Schmidt. "I guess I'm beginning to feel more comfortable around men. Like I might actually be able to have sex with them and enjoy it." "What happened with Michael? How did you feel?" Emma looked at the doctor with some suspicion on her face. "You should know, doctor. You saw it, didn't you?" Now it was Dr. Schmidt's turn to look surprised. "I'd rather hear it from you, Emma." "But you did watch, right? Either from a hidden camera...or behind the mirror." The doctor saw no need in lying. "Yes." "So you saw what happened. You saw us both have orgasms," she said. "Did it make you hard, Dr. Schmidt?" Emma leaned back on the couch with one arm stretched out on the top of the cushion next to her. Her top slid across her chest, revealing a good portion of one breast, obviously unrestrained by a bra. "I don't believe I'm the patient here, Emma." "But our goal is to make me have orgasms, isn't it? And didn't you do that by making me feel as though I was helping Michael?" Emma said. "Well, it worked. I loved how it made me feel. So much so that I think I'll use the technique with every man I meet. Now tell me if it made you hard, doctor. It's important to me." Under any other circumstances, Dr. Schmidt would have ignored the patient's request and continued with his questioning. But Emma was not any other patient. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop looking at her in a sexual way. And now, after seeing her naked on his couch with Michael, and dressed the way she was today, she was utterly controlling him. "I'm too old for that, Emma." Emma frowned with a child-like pout. Then she beamed with satisfaction. "Thank you, Dr. Schmidt. You just gave me the reason I needed to help you," Emma told him. "You are NOT too old for sex. I saw the beginning of the erection in your pants when you left the room the other day. And I'm not leaving today until you fuck me. You DO want me to get better, don't you Dr. Schmidt?" She was rising to her feet, slowly moving across the room towards him with a sensuous walk that would have made a model proud. As she approached his chair, Emma lifted the bottom of her shirt, revealing more and more of her stomach and abs with each step. By the time she stopped, Emma had the shirt bunched up in one hand at the bottom of her tits, the top pulled down so tight that more of her tits were showing than not. "You don't have to be satisfied with just watching today, Dr. Schmidt. You actually get to touch...if you want," Emma said, raising the shirt just enough to reveal the bottom of her tits. "You do want to, don't you?" The doctor didn't reply. Perhaps his cock was talking for him, and Emma saw it. "You don't have to jack off today. I'll take care of you," Emma nearly whispered. She let go of her shirt and moved her hands up to the thin straps holding it in place on her shoulders. Emma gradually pulled them down her arms, stopping for an agonizing couple seconds when the shirt got to her nipples. Then she shifted her hands once more and pulled the top over her head. Emma shook her head to put her hair back in place and tossed the top aside. Her eyes never left Dr. Schmidt, whose eyes never left her chest. He stared at the round, full breasts and bright pink nipples. Emma's tits had a mature richness that he appreciated, but a youthful firmness and upturn that belied her age. Emma forced her way between his legs and leaned over him. Her hand reached for his crotch. "Ahhh, yes," Emma said. "I thought so. You're going to feel SO good inside me." The old man grew another inch just listening to her words, let alone from the grip she had on him. And her tits were nearly within reach of his lips. "Touch my legs, Dr. Schmidt," she told him. He put both hands on the back of her creamy smooth thighs. The way she was leaning, his fingers were below the hem of Emma's skirt. "Higher," she demanded. The doctor skimmed lightly up the back of Emma's legs, finally feeling the fabric from her skirt. Then he was under it and starting to feel the curving out of her ass cheeks. Still, he hadn't made contact with panties. Meanwhile, Emma stroked his cock through his pants until the erection was undeniable. "Hold me by the ass, Dr. Schmidt." He obliged, at last touching the thin material of a thong. He was rewarded with a tit being lowered to his mouth. The doctor eagerly spread his lips and took in the tender flesh while his hands grasped at the supple cheeks. Eventually, he had Emma's skirt around her waist and her ass completely uncovered. Dr. Schmidt wanted to complain when Emma backed away from him, until he saw that she was taking off the skirt. She gave him a momentary look at her thong covered pussy before removing the thong, too. The doctor did not hide his interest in her smoothly shaven, delicate pink pussy. She spread her legs to show him the moist hole he knew his cock would be in soon. "Is it working, doctor?" she asked. "Are you hard enough to fuck me?" "And will you cum, Emma?" "Oh, yeah. I'll cum," she replied with a wicked grin. "Then let's find out." In the most deliberate manner should could muster in her lustful state, Emma took off the doctor's pants and shorts, allowing his rock hard cock to finally spring free. She was pleasantly surprised at the length and thickness of the ancient cock. Emma hadn't expected much and this was clearly a bonus. She got on her knees between his legs and began a series of long strokes with her tongue up and down the shaft. She held his balls in her palm and engulfed the cock with her mouth. Dr. Schmidt leaned back and simply enjoyed the view and the sensation. Three minutes passed quickly. "Now show me how much you like getting me hard, Emma. Cum for me." Emma's expression was serious as she climbed onto his lap and positioned her pussy over his erection. She would take a different approach with the doctor than she had with Michael. Emma had succeeded in making Dr. Schmidt hard; not a difficult task. Now she would revel in the sex and cum as long and as hard as she wanted. Dr. Schmidt moaned out loud as Emma sank onto his cock, swallowing it up with her tight cunt and warm, wet body. He took a second to think what a shame it would have been to heal Emma without getting this opportunity. And he knew it would be over quickly; she was that good. Emma focused entirely on the cock that stretched her pussy and stimulated all the right spots inside her. She impulsively reached down for her clit and rubbed it gently, watching the old doctor observe her without comment. Emma felt her tits bounce on her chest as she quickened the pace, urged on by a more frantic masturbation of her clit. Dr. Schmidt used what energy he could assemble to thrust himself up into Emma, although the most sensitive part of his cock—the tip—was all he needed in her to cum. He put his hands on her hips, hoping she wouldn't brush them away. She didn't, and the wondrous feeling of the silkiness of her young skin gave more strength to his cock. He wondered if he could outlast her. But Emma had already decided the issue for him. She would cum hard and fast, assuring her own orgasm before the doctor came and, almost certainly, softened. "Ohhhhhh yesssss," she murmured while masturbating. "Mmmmmm, that's so nice." The doctor pounded her as hard as he could. Emma moaned louder. She closed her eyes and threw her head back. She cried out, "Yes! Now! Oh my God, yes! Yes!" Her orgasm burst out from deep inside her and Emma clung to the arms of the chair. Dr. Schmidt felt her muscles clamp down on his cock, then let go, and squeeze him again like a machine. The effect was like a hand around his shaft and in seconds, he felt his own orgasm begin. Together they grunted and groaned with pleasure. Emma felt her cunt begin to fill with his semen, and the collection of their juices began to trickle out and down her inner thigh. The doctor used the new lubrication to prolong the fucking and add a few more shots of cum to the large load already inside Emma. Towards the end, he clutched at her tits and pulled on the nipples, resulting in a few new howls of approval from Emma. When it was over, Emma fell forward, allowing the doctor to hold her. He stroked her ass gently and felt her soft hair against his face. "Emma?" he whispered. "Yes?" "I have another female patient who is having issues." "And?" "And she only likes women. But lately..." "Yes?" "Would you mind assisting me...with her?" He couldn't see it, but Emma smiled. "Let me think about it." Emma I was awoken again by the sound of laughter, doors shutting and a heavy trolleys being carted down the hallway. It was becoming intolerable. There were a multitude of guests moving in and out of the room next door. Gales of laughter and chatter signalled their arrival and departure. In hindsight, all the paparazzi and security downstairs should've tipped me off that something was going on in the hotel. Suddenly I heard a female voice call out rather loudly from just outside my door, "Are we done yet?" "Almost, I'll send the next one up," replied someone further in the distance. To their credit, they were both clearly trying to keep their voices down. But I could still hear them clearly. The clock read 11:45 pm. I had been falling asleep and waking up for over an hour. Frustrated, I stormed out of my room and into the hall and knocked angrily on the door of the room adjacent to mine. The door opened quickly and before I even laid eyes on the person inside, I said, "Excuse me, but it's almost midnight and I'm REALLY sleep deprived and you and your friends have been making a lot of noise." "I'm so sorry. I'm almost done for tonight. I'll try to keep the noise down," replied a female English accent. I had seen the person standing before me countless times on TV and in magazines, and yet despite that, I couldn't quite believe it was really her. She looked me right in the eyes, and gave me a beautiful smile. I know it's cheesy to say, but Emma Watson was more beautiful in person than in the movies. She clearly realised I wasn't in the best of moods and decided not to say anything further. But when Emma Watson looks you in the eyes and smiles, any anger you might have had vanishes in an instant. Eventually, I said, "Okay, this explains a lot. You're Emma Watson aren't you?" "So they tell me." "And all those people were-" "Journalists," she said. "My flight came in late so I missed the press conference earlier today. And my publicist thought it would be a good idea to let the top tabloids and film blogs get one-on-one interviews with me. We've gone way over time." "I'm sorry, I hadn't realised it was you. I just figured with all the noise coming from your room and all the men apparently lining up..." A bemused look crept across her face and suddenly I realised how I sounded. I would not blame her if she were to hit me. "Fuck. I'm sorry, I'm not implying...it's just...fuck. I'm really tired," I stammered. To my surprise, she laughed and said, "No no, don't apologise. I get it. If there's a long line of men entering a girl's hotel room late at night; that girl's likely to be an actress or a hooker." 'Just remember that you said that and not me,' I chuckled. I was glad to see she was apparently not the stuck-up diva I was half expecting. In fact, she seemed anything but a huge movie star. She was shorter than me, my age and wearing a surprisingly pedestrian jeans and shirt ensemble. She could've passed as an average university student. "I would've thought someone of your stature would be up in the penthouse," I said. "Some foreign diplomat has booked out the place," she replied before asking, "You know my name, but I'm afraid I don't know yours." She leaned against the door frame in a manner that was strangely alluring. For a moment, I actually forgot my own name. But I recovered quickly and replied, "Nate." "Emma," she replied and extended her hand. "Yeah, I know," I laughed nervously, still very much star struck. We shook hands. Her grip was firm, and her hand was smoother than I thought possible. She felt real, she looked real and her perfume smelt real, but this whole exchange still felt like it was a dream. Meeting Emma Watson just should not factor into my daily schedule. I mean, the mere geographical distance between where I live in Australia and her home country of England should be enough to guarantee a lifetime of separation between us. "I hope I didn't wake you," she said with surprising sincerity. "I'm glad you did, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. I love your work," I said, whilst trying hard to curb my enthusiasm. "That's very nice of you to say. What do you do for a living?" "Lawyer. Well, a graduate lawyer anyway. I'm still at the bottom of the food chain." "Still, you're a lawyer. That sounds exciting." "Says the famous actress." She laughed. "You sound Australian." "I am." "What's with the hotel room? Did the girlfriend kick you out of the house?" she asked with a wry smile. In the back of my mind, a small part of me wondered if the girlfriend remark was just to see if I was single. Another part of me thought I was a fucking idiot for even thinking she would be interested. But then, she did seem very normal. And I know many relationships that have started with innocent conversations like this. But the mere thought of the word "relationship" entering into this train of thought meant I was having delusions of grandeur. "Actually, I'm from out of town. I'm just in Sydney for a few days on business; mainly observing court proceedings. What about you? I swear I saw you on the news earlier tonight." "Film premiere. I was suppose to fly into Sydney this morning, have a press conference and then attend the premiere, but my flight was delayed and I only arrived about 5 or 6 hours ago. I barely made the premiere. And now I've been subjected to almost two hours of interviews." "Time to get a new publicist I think." She gave a tired laugh. "I think you're right." There was a momentary pause. She continued to lean against the door frame and look down the hallway absently. I had eyes only for her. It was strange to be this close to her. I could smell her intoxicating perfume, see every strand of hair and every tiny detail on her face. She wore a lot of makeup, but considering she was giving interviews and had a premiere only several hours earlier, it wasn't much of surprise. "How much longer are you in Sydney?" I asked. "I have a few more interviews tomorrow, a photo shoot and then I'm off to New Zealand the next day. You?" "Attending a trial tomorrow from about 9-5 and pray to God the matter doesn't drag onto the next day. But more likely than not, I'll probably leave Sydney the same day as you." Suddenly, a female voice called out from down the hall, "Emma! Empire Magazine is here for you." Further down the hall by the elevator stood a professional looking middle aged woman, and with her, presumably the Empire Magazine interviewer and a cameraman behind her. Emma turned to me for a moment and whispered, "Kill me,' before waving them over. "Nice meeting you Miss Watson," I said. We shook hands again as she said, "Please, you look the same age as me. Call me Emma." I smiled and turned to leave but suddenly found her still gripping my hand. I turned to face her again and for a moment, she looked as if her words had left her. Dare I say she even looked slightly nervous. It was a strange sight to see a famous celebrity like her at a loss for words. It was even stranger given the fact she was talking to me. Eventually, she blurted out, "I'm not doing anything tomorrow night." This took my by surprise and I struggled to play it cool. "Neither do I." "Great," she said sounding relieved. "Great." "Just knock anytime after 5." Suddenly her publicist was pushing her into the room and the Empire Magazine crew quickly followed. Neither of them gave me as much as a glance. I walked in a daze back to my room, not quite believing what had happened. Should've grabbed an autograph or a photo I thought as I drifted off to sleep. *** My first thoughts upon waking up the next morning were of Emma. Last night felt like a dream. I had woken up, got out of bed, went across the hall, talked to one of the biggest movie stars on the planet and fell asleep again two minutes later; it could've very easily been a dream. But then, my dreams of meeting beautiful actresses usually involve more nudity. This was real. Emma Watson was next door. That was reality. A wide array of fantasies went through my head; each one more ridiculous and unlikely than the last. Eventually, I put these thoughts aside and grabbed my iPad and Googled "Emma Watson". Most of the results were expected. "EMMA WATSON- WIKIPEDIA" "EMMA WATSON- THE OFFICIAL WEBSITE" "PEEK-A-BOOB: EMMA WATSON'S LATEST RED-CARPET WARDROBE MALFUNCTION" The latter really wasn't a big deal; just the tabloids spouting their typical drivel and blowing something way out of proportion. Other search results were more recent but not exactly interesting. "EMMA WATSON SHINES AT SYDNEY PREMIERE OF NEW MOVIE" "EMMA WATSON RUMOURED FOR ARONOFSKY'S NEXT PROJECT" Some other search results however... "EMMA WATSON BREAKS UP WITH BOYFRIEND" I clicked on the link immediately. The article was dated only 3 months ago. The subheading read: "SOURCES CLOSE TO HARRY POTTER STAR CONFIRM SPLIT CITING ERRATIC FILMING SCHEDULES AND LACK OF COMMUNICATION IN RECENT MONTHS" For some inexplicable reason, this excited me. But even I knew this excitement made no sense. This was Emma Watson after all. Her being single doesn't exactly mean I get to fill the void. That's like saying I get to play in the English Soccer team because David Beckham is out injured; it just doesn't work that way. But then I remembered her words to me last night: "I'm not doing anything tomorrow night" and "just knock anytime after 5". The thought continued to occupy my mind all morning. I continued to think about it while I was eating breakfast, while I was at work and every other second of the day. Was this a date? Was it just a drink? There was only one certainty; if I wanted to do something, I needed to do it quickly. We would both only be in Sydney for another day and God knows when she'd ever return to Australia. But even as these plans and schemes ran through my head, I knew how ridiculous they were. I sat through the trial in Court that day and barely paid attention. Closing arguments are MUCH longer in real life than in the movies. I was just as restless when the judge came to a decision and delivered his verdict late in the afternoon. I sat in the public gallery taking notes and thinking about Emma. Where do I take someone like her on a date? Her million dollar pay checks aside; should I be chivalrous and pay for the meal? Court was adjourned at 4:45 pm. I found myself practically running back to the hotel. I arrived at 5:05 and almost knocked on her door then and there. But I decided it probably didn't look good if I knocked only five minutes after five o'clock, sweating, out of breath and still in my work clothes. So I went inside my room, showered, picked out a nice set of clothes and spent about 20 minutes trying to look impeccable. The whole time I wondered what she was doing. Was she going above and beyond preparing a potential date like I was? Was she anxiously waiting by the door for me? Did she forget? I knocked on the door at 5:30. I had butterflies in my stomach, I was sweating and I was unable to keep still. Funny thing though; no one came to the door. In answer to my earlier question; it turns out she did forget. *** It was 8:00 pm. I sat at the hotel bar sullenly drinking a beer and eating a burger. To be honest, I was enjoying the beer much more. For the entire day all I thought about was Emma. I concocted all these unlikely fantasies in my head, but I now considered them all completely impossible. I missed what ever tiny and insignificantly small chance I might have had. To get over this monumental disappointment, I turned my attention back to the reason I was in Sydney, my work. My mind turned away from Emma and back to case law, fresh evidence and grounds for appeal. On the one hand, appealing the verdict would be relatively easy. However, given the fact that this matter was moved to a different jurisdiction and my firm already briefed the matter out to an independent barrister, no one is quite sure who should- "This seat taken?" said a familiar voice. It was almost frightening how attuned I was to Emma's English accent. Every word was so precisely pronounced giving her diction an air of sophistication. I turned around to see her; even in my dreams she didn't look this beautiful. I tried to find one imperfection but I couldn't. She wore what appeared to be a Burberry coat and beneath, just regular jeans and a sleeveless blouse. While she dressed like any other twentysomething year old, she also exuded a very glamorous Hollywood quality. It's probably her makeup and very elaborate hairdo; not to mention her absurdly large sunglasses she wore, at 8:00 pm no less. "I'm not interrupting you am I?" she asked after I didn't respond. "No, God no," I said, instantly forgetting all my dull musings about work. She sat down next to me as I tried to think of something clever to say. As before, my words failed me and the only quip I could come up with was, "Nice sunglasses. Do they only come in extra extra large?" Emma smiled tiredly before replying, "It's all part of my never ending game of hide and seek with the paparazzi" "Who won today's game?" "Considering the hotel concierge is outside shouting that only patrons are allowed inside, I'll give them this one." The scent of her perfume filled the air; it lured me in and I didn't want to leave her side ever again. She smiled at me and casually took some chips off my plate before ordering a beer for herself. How the hell can she make something this ordinary look so damn sexy? "You look really pretty," I said dumbly. "Thank you," she replied in an almost shy manner. "Seriously, you look really good." "Hair and makeup courtesy of Vogue Magazine. Just got back from a photo shoot." "Oh. I just assumed you were going somewhere nice." "I am. I'm having a drink with you. Sorry I missed out date, the photo shoot and interview ran overtime like always. I would've called, but I didn't have your number." There was so much to process in so little time. Not least of which was the fact she used the word "date". I decided to seize the opportunity. "Not too late to go somewhere. Pick a place." She flashed me a very endearing smile and said, "Sorry, but I'm really tired, I think I'd prefer to spend the night in the hotel. And also, don't take this the wrong way, but if I'm seen leaving this place with you, TMZ will be running an article about how I have new boyfriend by dawn tomorrow." "I'd actually be perfectly fine with that." She laughed before subtly changing topics and asking, "How was your day in Court?" I smiled at her question; partially because I didn't expect her to remember our conversation. Despite the very good impression she made, I still expected her to act very stuck-up and elitist. But aside from her Burberry coat which I could only assume was as overpriced as anything bearing the word "Burberry", she still exuded a very down-to-Earth vibe. "Well, my client is completely fucked. So there's that. How was your day?" "Pretty good. Interviews went well and I learnt some kick-arse hair and makeup tips from the girls at Vogue." "So you're enjoying Australia then?" "I love it. The people here are great. People here have much less of a "fuck you" attitude than the States and are less snooty and pretentious than England." "You've clearly never been to Melbourne." "And you've clearly never been to Brown University or London," she replied, laughing. She took a few more chips off my plate which brought a smile to my face. I hadn't expected to be sharing food with Emma Watson. Such small innocent acts like this brought me more joy than I thought possible. "I'm sorry I seem to be eating all your food but I've barely eaten a thing since breakfast. The studios been running me ragged. I'm starving." "Don't worry. I like watching you eat." This time she visibly blushed. I sat there for a moment trying to figure out if what I just said was charming or creepy. I suspected the latter. In order to change topics, I said, "Oh, I almost forgot." I reached into my bag on the barstool beside me and pulled out a copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows". She laughed the moment she saw it and took my pen without question. "You didn't think you'd get away without signing something did you?" I said. "Don't worry, I'm use to it,' she laughed, before adding; "Such a shame though, I was starting to like you, but you just had to bring up Harry Potter didn't you?!" "What wrong with Harry Potter?!" I chuckled. "You obviously don't like talking about your work. I don't like talking about mine. And seriously, of all the books you got 'Deathly Hallows' " "I would've gotten 'Prisoner of Azkaban' but they were sold out." "Shame, it's my favourite." She finished writing something on the inside of the book and handed it back to me. I put it back into bag without another word. Emma ordered another drink having already finished her first. We lapsed into a momentary silence. I looked at her carefully for a moment and realised she was tapping her foot on the floor furiously and simultaneously tearing apart a napkin. I realised just then that for whatever reason, she was nervous. Why, I could not say. But then it dawned on me that for all her fame and riches, she was still a 23 year old girl having a drink at a bar with a guy she just met. Could it be that she was just as scared of me as I was of her? Even the mere notion seemed ridiculous, but here we are. After a moment, she said, and I suspected more to break the silence than anything else: "A signed copy of that book will fetch you a few hundred quid on eBay." "I'll keep that in mind." More silence. She just sat at the bar leaning heavily on one elbow sipping her beer. I peered beneath the makeup and realised how tired she was. I just sat in Court all day but now that I actually thought what she said, I realised she must've been on the move constantly. "Tired?" I asked. "Very. And jet-lagged," she explained. I watched her as she brought the cold beer to her lips and drank almost a third of the pint at once. I loved that she could just sit at the bar and have a beer; somehow I had expected her to be the Cristal drinking type. I finished up my dinner as she looked around the bar for a moment before turning to me and saying; "That guy sitting at the end of the bar on my left." I looked past her down the bar to see an ordinary guy in his 30s looking at us. Not surprisingly, he appeared very interested in Emma but seemed harmless enough. "What about him?" I asked. "Is he taking photos of me with his phone?" I looked at him carefully and saw his iPhone was sitting on its side on the bar. He subtly had his finger on the camera button and appeared to be furiously taking photos stealthily. "Well I'll be damned," I muttered, "should I call security?" "No, let's just go," she sighed. "I thought you didn't want to go out." "I don't. We'll head up to my room. It'll give us some privacy. We'll have a few drinks." I didn't hesitate to say "yes" and was already on my feet before she could say another word. Before we left, Emma got the bartender's attention and said, "Can I grab two of those bottles!" Emma said, pointing to some champagne bottles on the top shelf with labels didn't recognise. This took the bartender by surprised, I assume partly because Emma Watson was speaking to him but also because no one probably asked to buy that brand of champagne. "Two? One bottle is quite pricey." Emma just chuckled and raised an eyebrow at him. He caught on pretty quickly that price wasn't going to be an issue for this girl. He grabbed two bottles from the top shelf while Emma placed what appeared at least eight $50 bills on the counter. Emma "And could you have sent up to room 1138 whatever my friend was eating. I'm starving," she said before turning to me and asking, "Do you want anything?" "I've got everything I want right here," I replied not too subtly. Emma casually handed me both bottles, grabbed her purse and stood up. "Will you forgive if I abandon chivalry and not offer to pay for these?" I said, while trying to pronounce the name of the French champagne label in my head. "Don't worry. I can afford it." "Yeah I know. I Googled how much you earn," I muttered. *** Getting to Emma's room took much longer than I expected, in no small part because we were stopped repeatedly by her fans who approached her asking for photos and to shake her hand. I was exhausted just watching this, but Emma, ever the consummate professional and was patient and polite to every single on of them. Eventually, we finally reached our rooms. I blindly threw bag into my room, hearing the books and folders inside crash with a loud thud against the cupboard, before closing the door and hurriedly walking into Emma's room. It was certainly smaller than I expected for a celebrity, but still considerably larger than mine. It was clearly a room meant for a family, but I suppose with the penthouse booked out, this was the next best thing. And the hotel had clearly added a couple of extra luxury amenities to make her feel at home from considerably more expensive furniture to a comically large gift basket. Emma hadn't even touched the gift basket save for a bottle of wine which stood mostly empty beside the basket; I only spotted one glass. "Make yourself at home Nate. I'll be back in a minute. Just need to freshen up," she said, before adding, "and open up the champagne. I need a drink." "Yes ma'am." I sat down on the couch and opened the bottle of champagne and filled two glasses I found in the kitchen (the fact this hotel room even had a kitchen took me by surprise). I drank a large portion my glass to calm my nerves and quickly refilled it so Emma wouldn't notice. I decided I'd try to take it easy on the alcohol. I only just realised I already had several beers down in the hotel bar. But then, so did she. In fact, now that I thought about it, she finished both of her beers remarkably quickly. I didn't know what to make of the fact she brought me up here along with two bottles of expensive champagne. I was lost in these thoughts when Emma slinked past and sat down on the couch beside me and grabbed her glass. She had taken off her coat and slipped out of her heels. She rested her bare feet against on the table and casually took a sip and turned on the TV without saying a word. Her jeans clung tightly to her legs and her sleeveless blouse showed off her slender arms. "Emma, that perfume of yours is something else." "You don't like it?" she said with a hint of concern in her voice. "Oh no, I love it. You smell so damn good." She blushed and turned away for a moment taking a large sip of her champagne before replying, "Something I picked up in Cannes during the film festival. I'm glad you like it." I looked at her once more; it seems looking at her is all I'm capable of doing around her. She just had this wonderful quality, beyond her fame, which just made her impossible to turn away from. At the moment, all I could think about was how perfect she looked. And I don't mean that to be hyperbole, I mean she actually looked perfect. Everything from her makeup to her hair just seemed that much neater and flawless compared to when we first walked into the room. Was this for my benefit? She noticed I was staring at her and asked, "What?" "Nothing, you just look so..." I said before trailing off. Emma leaned in close to me on the couch and asked in a seductive voice, "Yes?" I couldn't help but chuckle nervously as I forced myself to tear my gaze away from her eyes for a moment. I was going to reply with a cheesy pick-up line when I spotted something in my peripheral and said, "You're on TV." Emma turned to the TV and sure enough, there was footage of the film premiere from last night. Emma reached for the remote and turned up the volume. I was thankful for the distraction. I was hopeless at flirting under normal circumstances much less with famous actresses. On the television, Emma walking down the red carpet in an ornate white dress. The reporter said, "Harry Potter actress Emma Watson was 20 minutes late for the Australian premiere of her new film and walked down the red carpet alone. The 23 year old actress later cited a delay with her flight in Kuala Lumpur. Watson was eventually joined by her co-stars for photos, but not before an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction caused her to bare more skin than she would have liked, causing a flurry of photos from the press." "Oh fuck me!" Emma muttered exhaustedly before adding, "I didn't even realise." I struggled to suppress a smile but Emma shot me a glare that was two parts embarrassment and one part annoyance. "It's not as bad as you think," I said comfortingly. "You're just saying that. They didn't even show any footage." "Well it's all over the internet." Emma looked surprise and said, "Have you seen the pictures?" "Um..." I trailed off as Emma looked at me again with those eyes of hers. She didn't seem particularly angry, just embarrassed. Her face was red as a beet as it became more flushed. "I may have seen a couple of articles about it this morning," I continued. "And?" "Like I said, it's not bad. Just a hint quick glimpse of your...um," I stammered, not sure how to best phrase it. "My tits?" Emma suggested with a nervous smile. "No, just you nipples," I replied hesitantly. "Oh God," Emma groaned, burying her head in her hands. "Actually it's more like nipple. Only one of them was visible." "I just had to pick the dress with a lot of cleavage didn't I?" she muttered, more to herself than to me. "I wasn't even wearing pasties last night." "Wearing what?" I asked. "Pasties. They're these little patches that cover your nipples. Actresses use them all the time when they're filming a nude scene or on the red carpet to avoid stuff like this. They've saved me from a few awkward wardrobe malfunctions in the past," Emma explained. "Still, don't worry about it. Not really a big deal. And you looked great." "I looked great? Or my nipples did?" she asked wryly. I thought about the question for a moment and before slowly replying, "Both." Emma laughed and gently placed a hand on my forearm. Emma Watson was touching my arm. It's strange how something so innocent could feel so good. It only lasted for a moment though. She quickly reached for her champagne glass again and took another sip. And a few moments of silence, Emma said, "It could've been worse I suppose. The dress hugged my body rather closely, so I had to go commando last night." "Commando? You mean no...um...no panties," I asked slowly as my mouth suddenly went dry and my pulse suddenly quickened just a tiny bit. "None," she said. Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Emma jumped to her feet and headed to the door. Her food had arrived. *** The next couple of hours were a blur. She ate her dinner, we both drank and talked while the TV was on in the background. It was hardly a romantic date. We were just two people hanging out. It wasn't at all how I expected a night with Emma Watson to go. Despite all appearances pointing to the contrary, part of me still expected a prima donna who would complain about all the grease and the amount of calories in her burger. Instead she devoured the whole thing plus her fries and spent a couple of minutes debating whether to order another one. She was just an ordinary girl in her early twenties. Mind you this ordinary girl was famous worldwide and had millions to her name, but as we talked about everything from favourite restaurants to music and even our shared love of 'Game of Thrones', it was hard to view her as anything more than a girl my age who I shared common interests with and whose company I enjoyed for reasons that went beyond her fame. In other words, if this were anyone else, I would've asked her out on a date by now. And call me crazy, but she seemed to be flirting just as much as I was. Long after she had finished her meal and we were well into the second bottle of champagne, we found ourselves leaning on oppose ends of the couch, facing each other with our legs intertwined. Her right foot was running up and down my leg; neither of us made a big deal of it, but secretly, I think by this point, we both knew what the other wanted. I said to her, "So, sorry if this sounds rude, and not that I don't love hanging out with Miss Hermione Granger, but aren't there other people from your film who were at the premiere that you'd rather hang out with?" "Do you hang out with your work colleagues?" "Sometimes." "Just because I worked with them for a couple of months, doesn't mean they're the type of people I'd hangout with. They're good people, but just not my type of people." "But I am?" "You're funny. And aside from the book you had me sign before and the fact you just called me Hermione, you've barely mentioned Harry Potter. A quality I look for in a guy." "Are you looking for a guy?" "Not actively. But I'll admit, I've been keeping an eye out during these past months." "Ever since you split with your boyfriend?" I asked while watching her face carefully to gauge her reaction. She lowered the glass of champagne from her lips and said, "You've been researching me." "You're an interesting person." "Because I played Hermione Granger?" "Partly. But also because you're not at all what I expected." "And what did you expect Nate?" "A spoilt child actress," I said honestly. "You haven't seen me on my bad days," she replied with a smile. "I'd like to." "You really wouldn't. I can be a real prima donna when I want to be. Every bit the bitchy Hollywood celebrity." "Are you sure that's not just you being a woman?" Emma laughed and playfully kicked me. "How very chauvinistic of you." "Alright, so we've established that I'm funny and you're not a prima donna. But I still don't think that explains why you invited me up here." "I'm just feeling a bit lonely I guess." "Really?" I asked. I took that as a sign and sat up straight and pulled her right leg into my lap. "Really," she replied firmly. I placed my hand on her knee and slowly ran it up the inside of her thigh. The champagne had given me a bold courage. I'd been drinking so much I barely realised the significance of what I was doing and to who I was doing it to. All I knew in this moment was that I wanted her. And she seemed very willing. I slid my hand over her coarse denim jeans until my hand was right between her legs, the top of my fingers grazing the zipper of jeans. Despite all that, I could still feel the warmth from between her legs. Emma held her breath and waited for me to continue. She remained still on the couch, with her legs in my laps and my hand between her thighs. Things had escalated quickly. I decided to go for it and laid my hand flat against her groin. Emma inhaled sharply at my touch. I took her reaction as a green light and leaned in a kissed her on the lips. Her perfume filled my nostrils again but this time I could also smell champagne on her breath. This was probably not a good idea. But neither of us cared. Her lips were wet and soft and her tongue... I moved my hand from between her legs and slid it up her shirt. I laid a hand on her bra and pulled it above her breasts and savoured the bare skin beneath my hand and the nipple between my fingers. My hands were all over her. I was so preoccupied I barely noticed the fact she was basically just lying still and not moving much. "I want you Emma. I want you so badly," I whispered into her ear. I reluctantly tore my hand away from her tits and moved it back down to her jeans. I undid the top button and her zipper to reveal her white panties beneath. Without thinking, I slipped my hand into her panties and ran my fingers through her pubic hair. Emma moaned slightly as I touched her most intimate area. All the while, I was still kissing her when she suddenly pulled away and said, "I don't think I can do this." I was barely listening. There was no romance in this moment. I just desperately needed her and assumed she felt the same way. It was like a frenzied dream. I moved my hand further down and felt her tight hot opening at the tip of my fingers. "Nate," she said meekly. I pulled my hand away momentarily before taking her jeans and panties in my hand and roughly yanking at them, bringing them down halfway down her thighs. I was about to undo my own jeans when suddenly Emma sat up and brought her hand to my face. "Stop," she said with authority. "What's wrong?" I asked frustrated. "I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this." "Do what?" "This. We've just met. We don't know each other." "You invited me up remember?" I said in a slightly more aggressive tone than I intended. "I know. It's just, I don't know what I was thinking," she stammered. "I think you should leave." I looked at her pleading eyes. We were both sitting up on the couch, our faces inches away from each other. Her jeans were still pulled down to her knees. I placed both hands on them causing her to shut her eyes and say, "Nate, please." Ignoring the alcohol fuelled impulses in my head, I gently pulled them up her legs and covered up her nakedness. I even zipped her up and buttoned her jeans before looking her in the eyes. She smiled weekly at me before saying, "I'm sorry I lead you on. I don't know what I was thinking. But I think you should leave," she said. I looked at her again and suddenly realised again who this was; Emma Watson. In my drunken lust, I had almost forgotten this fact. The champagne had given me a boldness that surprised even me. I nodded and stood up. I realised now the extent of my drunkenness as I tried not to fall over. Emma fixed her blouse and her bra before standing up as well. Like me, there was also a wobble to her. Despite everything, I leaned in and gently kissed me on the cheek. I smiled at her and stumbled towards the door. From the time her food arrived till now, I don't recall much. Only the bitter disappointment at how it all ended. It seemed like only one second before that I giving her one last look and the next I was collapsing on my bed in my hotel room next door. *** This whole thing may not have worked out as I might've liked, but at least I got to kiss and grope Emma Watson. Not many people can say that. It was cold comfort though. But in the end, it was unrealistic to expect something to happen given I've only known her for about 24 hours and we've talked for an accumulated total of two and a half hours at best. It usually takes me two months just to pluck up the courage to speak to a girl. Taking two hours to get to second base is personal growth. But no matter what kind of spin I put on it, it still didn't make me feel any better. As I lay motionless on my bed, my mind wandered to what I could've done or said differently. First things first, I probably should've said no to the second bottle of wine. I wondered if I had acted a bit gentler or waited a little bit longer to touch her, whether I'd currently be in bed with her. But after so much time of analysing my mistakes, I just started to think about her; that pretty face, those slender arms, those thighs and the way her shirt clung tightly to her chest, accentuating her... bountiful features. I recalled how firm and perky her breasts were and how hot she was between the legs. I wanted nothing more than to walk in her room and tear her clothes off and spend all night doing things to her. I wanted my hands all over her slender body. I wanted to hear what sounds she made and what face she pulled when she climaxed. But alas, here I was. I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and found myself on Google. Soon, the whole screen was flooded with a wealth of images depicting up skirt shots, cleavage shots, wardrobe malfunctions and surprisingly sexy photo shoots of Emma. Masturbating over images of celebrities is natural to any male, but there was something particularly strange about doing so when that celebrity happens to be in the adjacent room. Nevertheless, a combination of this and the alcohol sent me into a deep sleep. My last conscious thought was whether she'd still be here when I woke up. *** There was a loud knock at the door. My eyes open. I sit up, feeling remarkably alert. Beside me were some scrunched up tissues and my iPhone which had remained on and showed a particularly sexy picture of Emma from some film premiere; evidence of a particularly sordid and unglamorous moment from just before I fell asleep. I slipped my phone in my pocket and threw the tissues in the bin and headed for the door. The effects of the champagne had mostly worn off, although I'd be lying if I said I walked a perfectly straight line. I already suspected who was at the door. After all, who else knew where I was. "Emma. What time is it?" I asked as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. "1:30 am. I can't sleep. But now I feel bad because I see that you had no problem sleeping." "No, don't worry about it. Anything I can do to help?" I asked, desperate for both of us to ignore what happened earlier. "No, probably not. It's just jet-lag I think. I'm just lying alone in bed, it's a bit boring and lonely." Even though I was dreadfully tired and far from focused, I was aware enough to note the tiny implication in what she had said. The tiniest sliver of a request beneath her guarded words. But I wasn't about to dive in headfirst again. Before I could reply, she continued, "I'm sorry I asked you to leave before. That was rude of me," she said. This took me by surprise me. I had assumed I was at fault. After all, I was the drunken lawyer who had forced himself onto a famous actress in a hotel room. It seemed like typical Hollywood scandal. I chose my words carefully and replied, "No, it was my fault. I overstepped." "Not really. I was leading you on but I couldn't pull the trigger on it. I got nervous when things got serious." She was obviously tired. She leaned against the door frame wearing only a hotel bathrobe. I took a good look at her and saw just a tiny hint of shame in her expression. This was turning out to be a strange situation for all involved. "Are you okay Emma?" I asked. "No. No I'm not. I haven't had time to relax in months. I broke up with my boyfriend not long ago and since then it's been non-stop filming movies and doing press junkets for months. It's too much Nate. I just need something to take the edge off. I just need some relief." "Anything I can do to help?" "Well, maybe there is. To be honest, I've been feeling rather under-fucked lately." It took me several moments to process that statement. The meaning sounded clear, but the fact she said it, and said it so freely had me on edge. "Does that mean the same thing in England as it does in Australia?" "Keep me company tonight. I won't get cold feet again, I promise. I don't know what that was before but it won't happen again. I just....I want you." "Have you been drinking since I left," I asked, just to be cautious. "Don't worry, I'm completely sober now," she replied with a mischievous smile. "And you?" "Me too. That champagne wasn't very strong." She laughed quietly, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the hotel. It was an infectious sound and soon I joined her in her laughter. It's true, she didn't appear drunk. But guys like me don't meet girls like her, and girls like her sure as hell don't make such proposals to guys like me. What happened earlier was vexing but in all honesty, it seemed like a realistic end to our courtship. We looked at each other for several long moments, neither wanting to make a move, but both of us clearly wanting it. Emma After a moment, she simply extended her hand. I looked at it for a moment, before taking it in my own. And with that, she led me out of my room and into hers. The moment she closed the door, I made my move. I took and firm grasp of her hand and pulled her towards me before pinning her again the wall next to the door. This took her by surprised, however this time, as promised, she didn't get cold feet. I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her into me and planted a kiss on her lips. She didn't hesitate to reciprocate and before long, we were locked in a passionate kiss. I wasn't inebriated this time and was able to appreciate every little detail from the feel of her slender waist to her soft, supple her lips and even the sound of her soft moaning as we kissed. I don't know how long we continued this way but before long, I made the conscious decision to undo the belt of her bathrobe and pulled it open to reveal the fact she only wore a flimsy white tank top and pink panties. I slipped my hand under her shirt and ran my hands up her sides before I was surprised by the feel of her bare breasts instead of a bra beneath my hand. My thumb momentarily grazed her nipples when she suddenly pushed me away. I thought for a moment I had grossly misread the signals or she was backing out again but instead, she said, "If we're going to do this, you need to give me your phone first," she said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my iPhone before handing it to her without question. She took it without a word and held the on/off button until it prompted her to power off the device. She did so instantly and placed it on a nearby table. "Seriously?" I asked. "I don't intend to be like Scarlett Johansson or Blake Lively and end up with my tits all over the internet." "After that nipple slip, I think it's a bit too late." Emma laughed playfully punched me in the arm, "Fair enough. But I already had one arsehole in college who tried to film us during sex. Not about to risk that again." "Any other ground rules?" I asked, half expecting her to produce a list. "None," she said placed her hand on the back of my head and pulled me in for another kiss. This kiss didn't last very long. I pushed her up against the wall against and kissed her once more on the lips before pulling her top up above her breasts. For a moment, I was frozen by the sight of her perky breasts. I quickly shook off my awe and moved my lips to her left nipple and began sucking on it hungrily. Emma gasped as my tongue moved across her breasts and paying particular attention to her nipple. As I moved from breast to the other, Emma shrugged the bathrobe off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. I stepped back for a moment to pull her shirt over her head before she did the same to mine. I had to step back for a moment to look at her. She stood there wearing on a tiny pair of pink panties while her tank top and her bathrobe laid by her feet. Her breasts were rather small, but perfectly proportioned in relation to her body. She was a small girl with a well toned body. I looked at her face for a moment and suddenly realised she wasn't wearing any makeup. I was so use to seeing her all dolled up for movies or premieres that it took me by surprised. She had a very natural beauty to her. "What?" she said, noticing my surprise. "I've never seen a picture of you without any makeup. Never noticed you have freckles." "Is that good or bad?" "Are you kidding? It makes you look even cuter." I grabbed her breasts with both hands and began to kiss her again. Her breasts were firm, perky and full of bounce. I got endless enjoyment from massaging and kneading them in my hand and gently pinching her hard nipples with my fingers. After a moment, I ran my hands over her long smooth back before moving down to her rear and sliding her panties long the legs. She was completely naked now and as I took her nipple in my mouth again, hungry to suck on them. At the same time, I also slid my hand down towards the length of her hot tight opening. This caused her to gasped and staggered backwards against the wall. "Sorry," she mumbled. This concerned me for a moment because I thought she would ask me to stop again. But I suddenly realised in that moment what the reason behind all her hesitation was; she was just as nervous as I was. Despite the wealth and the fame, Emma Watson was ultimately just a young twenty-something with what I assumed to be relatively limited sexual history. Her fame had blinded me to that fact. I looked at her in a new light. It humanised further in my eyes and in a way, made her more perfect. I slid my hand between her legs again, this time watching her reaction closely. As my fingers moved up and down her tight hole, she bit her lower lip and waited for me to do something further. I gently inserted one finger partly inside of her, causing her to inhale sharply. I savoured how tight she was and wetness that had begun to grow inside of her. I looked at her and her at me. She placed a hand on my chest and said in almost a whisper. "Let's move to the bedroom." "Too far," I replied. And with that, I pulled my finger out of her vagina briefly before sliding in two fingers back in and applying pressure to her clit with my thumb. She moaned loudly and as my fingers buried themselves as far inside of her as they would go. I saw her knees buckle slightly and wrapped my arm around her waist to keep her steady. All the while I began to finger her with my other hand. With my thumb, I began searching for her clit and with the two fingers inside of her, I began to move them in and out of her with great speed, each time moving deeper inside of her and searching for that elusive spot that would be guaranteed to make her squeal in pleasure. She grew very wet very quickly and soon, every time my fingers buried themselves inside of her, I could hear a soft squelching sound. Emma remained relatively quiet, but her breathing was becoming deeper and much more audible. Once in a while, I'd hit the right spot and a soft cry of pleasure would escape from between her lips. As I held her naked body against mine, savouring the feeling of her smooth, warm skin along the length of mine, I watched her face. That famous face, contorted in pleasure. Her eyes were shut, her jaw slackened. We continued to stand there in the middle of the room, mere metres from the door, my arm around her naked body, my thumb rubbing her clit, my fingers quickening their pace as she became even wetter. We stood there for what must've been a full minute as her breath became shallower and her knees became even weaker. Before I knew it, my two fingers were furiously probing deep inside of her, pressing up against her most sensitive areas. I diverted all the strength into my arms to intensify my wrist and finger action. The only sound in the room was her heavy breathing and the now very audible sound of my sloshing caused by my fingers inside of her. I fingered her so furiously that my arm began to ache, but it didn't matter though. All of a suddenly Emma let out a loud cry as her entire body tensed up. Her back arched backwards and her thighs closed around my hand. Her eyes remained closed and her expression changed from one of shock to pure pleasure as she let out another pleasurable moan until finally her legs gave way, and a fresh wave of moisture enveloped my fingers and squirted onto the carpet beneath out feet. Her naked body collapsed in my arm as I lowered her onto the floor. All the while, I kept my fingers inside of her. Her squirting had covered my hand in her juices. I laid her down on her back and brushed the hair from her face. She still had her eyes close and every few seconds would convulse ever so slightly as she came down from her orgasm. "How was that?" I whispered into her ear. "Amazing," she said between deep breaths. I let her rest for a moment and watched as her breasts rose and fell with every breath she took. I leaned down and gave her a kiss on lips and on each nipple. I just couldn't get enough of her nipples. When she had calmed down sufficiently, I whispered in her ear, "Spread your legs Emma, I'm not done yet." My fingers were still buried deep inside of her and her thighs were still clamped over my hand like a vice, and amidst all that, she was completely wet. I looked down at her naked body and could barely contain myself. She finally opened her eyes and said, "Can we at least move to the bed? I don't want you to fuck me on the floor of a hotel room." I obliged and scooped her up in my arms and moved across her spacious hotel room. I placed her gently on the bed before taking off my trousers. Emma paid particular attention to this and when she saw how hard I was, she simply raised an eyebrow and laid back down on the bed. I climbed on and placed myself on top of her. She was so beautiful. I never forgot once who this was. In my head, I kept repeating her name again and again to hammer home who I was about to make love to. But out loud, I simply said to her, "Spread your legs." Emma did so, albeit very slightly. "Wider," I said. Again, she spread her legs open an extra couple of inches. I smiled and leaned in close whispered into her ear. "Wider Miss Watson." She chuckled nervously at this and spread her legs open as far as they would go. I looked her in the face one more time before aligning myself between her legs and slowly allowing myself to slide the tip of my penis into her wet, hot vagina. She was a very tight girl, but her orgasm had made her so wet to the point where I met almost no resistance. My hands began to freely roam her body as I buried my penis as far into her as possible. Emma moaned loudly as I began to plant kisses along her neck. It is impossible to describe how perfect everything felt in that moment. As I began to thrust in and out of her, it was an assault on the senses from how she looked squirming in pleasure beneath me to the feeling of her breasts and the rest of her naked body pressed up against mine and even the lingering scent of her perfume. I built up a steady rhythm and soon I was moving in and out of her freely and with increasing pace. I gently grabbed her by the chin and looked at her face front on. I wanted it to be in the forefront of my mind that I was fucking Emma Watson. I wanted to see this famous face react as I fucked her. We looked deep into each others eyes as we made love. For a brief moment she smiled, but that quickly disappeared as a particularly hard thrust elicited a loud moan from between her lips. Still, there was no doubting the enjoyment on her face. I reached underneath her with both hands and grabbed her tight ass and pulled her in to meet my thrusts. Emma began to punctuate each of my hard thrusts with increasingly louder moans. I sensed it was becoming too much for her when she clamped her legs down around my hips as if to slow me down. But not wanting to interrupt my rhythm, I forcefully pried her legs open and spread them far apart allowing for maximum penetration with each push. Emma glanced down the length of our bodies and saw my penis moving in and out of with great speed. I watched as she moaned loudly and rolled her eyes back into her head. Her breasts were bouncing back and forth hypnotically with each thrust. I lost track of how long we fucked. I just remembered details like how her legs continued to close only for me to force them open again or the way I grabbed at her breasts as they bounced rhythmically back and forth or even something as simple as the feeling of her tongue in my mouth. At last it was too much and with one very rough squeeze of her left breast and a tight grip on her right wrist, I fucked her hard into the mattress as I felt myself explode inside of her. "Oh Emma!" I groaned as buried my penis deep inside of her one last time. Whether it was my hand that roughly squeezed her breast or the feeling of cum pouring inside of her, Emma let out a loud and long cry of pleasure. I collapsed on top of her and held her tight, not wanting to move an inch. "No keep going! I'm about cum!" Emma pleaded almost desperately. I groaned wearily but obliged her nonetheless. It took a Herculean effort to rise up and continue fucking her before my penis grew limp. I was almost spent. I had saved last drop of cum for that last effort, but never being one to disappoint a lady, I fucked her for just that little bit longer. It didn't take long though. Within no time, her body began to tense up and as before, she arched her back and cried out loudly in pleasure. She writhed in pleasure under me as I wrapped my arms around her body. She continued convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. She was spent as we fell into each others arms and embraced. We remained this way for a long time, both of us verging on sleep but still finding an excuse to stay awake whether it was to fondle her breasts or simply to continue kissing. She would reach down and take hold of my penis and gently stroked it as I kissed her all over her body. After a long while, Emma sat up gingerly and crawled across the bed and began to pull the bed sheets over us. But the sight on Emma Watson on all fours, even for just a moment, only served to turn me on once more. I sat up and held Emma by her hips and pulled her back into me once more. At this point, Emma was almost completely out of it and basically just swayed this way and that. I knew that she just wanted to sleep, but at the same time, she didn't exactly protest as I moved into position behind her; she did however reach back to grasp my penis and guide it to her vagina. I think part of her was afraid I was trying to fuck her ass. I slipped my penis into her once more, eliciting a barely audible moan from between her lips. Emma barely had enough energy to remain on all fours so I did most of the work, lazily pushing in and out of her as her buttocks lightly slapped against me. It was a lazy and slow effort, but one that more than satisfied me. Once in a while, Emma would let out a soft cry letting me know she was still awake. After one particularly pleasurable slide into her, I leaned forward and grasped both of her dangling breasts. The sensation of her breasts gently resting on my hands was amazing. Not content to leave my hands in that one spot, I ran my hand across her wonderfully smooth body from her butt-cheeks, to her slender waist and her wonderfully smooth back. Emma reacted to this quite positively, as she made a sound best described as a low pur as my hands explored her body. I felt another orgasm building, although I suspected she had had enough for one night. Not bothering to drag this out or force her to climax for a third time, I returned my hands to her breasts and held them in place as I began my last salvo, thrusting into her from behind with just a little bit more intensity. Emma was nearly completely silent during this and if not for the occasional whimper and moan, I would've thought she had fallen asleep. And finally, after several final and relatively lazy thrusts, I felt what was left in me pour into her already soaking vagina. I didn't pull out of her immediately, instead dragging her back into me and letting us fall back into bed, with my penis still buried inside of her and her firm ass held against me. Emma, completely exhausted, passed out almost immediately. I took a moment to appreciate who I just had sex with. My wildest dreams didn't compare to this. To see Emma Watson naked, passed out and with the result of our collective orgasms oozing out of her vagina was almost a startling sight. As I felt my penis begin to shrink inside of her, sleep overcame me. *** I've been single for a long time and I don't date many girls. Therefore, it's always an odd feeling to wake up in bed with any naked girl curled up against me much less Emma Watson. I call her Emma, but in my head, I always refer to her by her full name; as if to hit home the fact this was all real. Her eyes fluttered as she stirred beside me. "Morning," I mumbled. "Morning." She looked up and me and for a moment, all words eluded me. But I could tell by her face she wasn't going to be the one to speak first so I said, "Can I confess something?" She furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes for a moment before sitting up slightly and replying, "That's not the best thing to say to a girl first thing in the morning, but okay." I took a dramatic pause before saying, "I don't even like Harry Potter that much." Emma laughed out loud and collapsed back on the bed and wrapped her arms around me. "You scared me for a second! But please, no Harry Potter talk!" "Well we're sure as hell not talking about my work." "You can ask me about any other movie I've done." "I can't name any other film you've done." "Arse-hole!" she laughed, playfully hitting me in the arm. "Actually, weren't you going to do a film with Guillermo Del Toro?" "Yeah, 'Beauty and the Beast' remake. But we ran into financing woes with the studio. The project is in limbo at the moment," she said with little enthusiasm. "What's Del Toro like? "He's great. Really really nice guy,' she said before adding, "Anything else you want to ask me about my work?" She looked at me with adoring eyes in a way that few girls ever had. I suspected I had an idea of what was on her mind. A smart person would've made a move. Instead, I made a bad joke. "Yeah. How does it feel to know you were responsible for the first erection of boys worldwide?" Emma laughed out loud again, this time blushing noticeably. I liked that she could take a joke. And more to the point, I liked she could take my jokes which historically tended to offend more often than they amused. "Gross! I was 11 years old when the first film was made you pervert. Were you one of them?" "No. And I was referring only to the films you made after you turned 18. Besides, we're the same age so it was never creepy in my case." "Well, you can believe that if it helps you sleep at night." "I'd rather you be the one to help me sleep at night," I blurted out. "Ooh, that's a bad line," she said wryly. "I JUST woke up about a minute ago. Forgive me if I'm not at my most charming." "Well after last night, I guess I can let it slide." She rolled onto her stomach and placed her chin on my chest and looked up at me seductively. "My flight doesn't leave till the afternoon and I have absolutely nowhere else to be." "Well, I have to stop at the Supreme Court library but I suppose it can wait. What would we do though?" "Well, you could fuck me again," she said very matter-of-factly. I swept the sheets aside so I could see her completely naked in the daylight. I gently pushed her only her back and looked up and down her beautiful, lithe body. "Like what you see?" she asked. "Very much so." I softly laid a hand on her breasts and held it in my hand. As I said, her breasts were quite small but well proportioned, perky and full of life. I was surprised to see her pubic hair was neatly trimmed; but then she was a celebrity. She also had a rather nice tan, in stark contrast to most girls from England. "Do you have to leave today?" I asked. "I really do." "Will you come back?" She looked and me and sat up, oblivious to her nakedness. She took a moment before answering. "Back to Australia? Maybe. I don't know when but I'd like to. But it won't be for awhile. My schedule is pretty packed." "I can imagine," I said with a hint of disappointment. "But let's not think about that. Just think about all the things you'll get to do to me today." I smiled and replied, "And what about the things you'll do to me?" Emma She gave me a confused look, not quite understanding what I meant. I reached up and pulled her into me for a kiss. Her hair was a mess and got in both of our faces as our lips touched. After a moment, I placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her down my body. Only then did she catch on. "I never did like doing this," she muttered. Nevertheless, she wrapped her lips around my cock. I groaned loudly and brushed her long hair to one side so I could see her face. I laid my hand gently on the back of her head and helped guide her up and down the length of my shaft. The sight of my penis moving in and out of Emma Watson's mouth was something I never even dreamed about. I could feel her breasts grazing my legs and I could see that long smooth back of hers and her lovely curvy rear. And how it felt...God. It was indescribable pleasure. Her mouth was wrapped tightly around my shaft and she sucked hard and with great vigour. I was in heaven. But suddenly, her head lurched back and her hand went to her mouth. She stood up and ran into the adjoining bathroom. I was confused until I heard her spit and rinse. I laughed and crawled to the edge of the bed to look at her bent over the bathroom basin naked. When she was finally done, she was red as a beet and smiling widely. "Sorry. I try to be that girl but I can never pull it off." "Just so we're clear, I didn't cum early did I?" She laughed. "No. Just a bit of pre-cum. I can't stand the taste." I smiled at her and looked her up and down. Emma Watson; as naked as she could get, wearing no clothes and no makeup and all but handing me an invitation. "I might take a shower," she said. Without another word, she turned around and I watched as her nice, tight, curvy bottom disappeared from sight. After a moment, I heard water begin to run. I literally jumped off the bed to join her. *** True to our word, Emma and I did spend most of that having sex. It was remarkable how quickly I became familiar with her body and what she liked and didn't like. Soon, I was able to play her like a harp and she was more than willing to let me. Although in spite of our urges and our stamina, it wasn't all sex. We spent a considerable amount of time just talking. I got the sneaking suspicion Emma was glad to converse with someone her own age after being stuck on movie sets for so long with a bunch of middle aged actors and directors. Now that we had gotten sex (mostly) out of our system and there was no awkwardly amusing flirting on my part, it was nice to be able to just talk to her without any hidden agenda. Still, I'd be lying if I said most of these conversations didn't take place while we were naked and rolling around on the sheets. We were both 23 year olds with healthy sexual appetites after all. And in her own words, we had both been rather "under-fucked". As result, we made good use of the bed. And the shower. And the couch. And the floor. And the kitchen countertop. We lost track of time during all this fucking that when there was a knock at the front door, it took us both by surprise. "Emma! It's me!" shouted a female voice. "Who the fuck is that?" I whispered as pulled my lips away from her vagina. "Shit, it's my publicist. We're supposed to go over my itinerary for New Zealand. I completely forgot," she whispered back as she climbed off the kitchen countertop and scrambled about the room, trying to find something to wear. "Just a minute Wendy!" Emma shouted in reply. I ran to front door where my shirt was from last night and quickly put it on. I didn't dare make a noise for fear of embarrassing Emma with my presence. I also spotted her bathrobe, tank top and panties where we had left them and scooped them all up. Emma had found some sweat pants and a tight fitting shirt in her room. She tossed me my jeans and I quickly put them on. I tossed her the bathrobe and she quickly threw it on. Before I could give her the tank top and panties, she rushed past me towards the door. She looked back quickly to make sure that I was fully dressed before opening the door. This took me by surprise and I quickly shoved her panties in my pocket and threw her tank top behind the kitchen counter. Emma's publicist Wendy was the woman I recognised for the other night. She walked in and looked at me immediately. "Hello," she said cordially. Emma rushed to put herself between me and Wendy and said, "Wendy, this is Nate. He's a hotel guest in the room next door." "Oh. Hi Nate. I hope I'm not interrupting anything" she said, still obviously unsure why I was here. "Of course not. I'm a fan of Emma's, I mean Miss Watson. Couldn't resist coming over and saying hello. Anyway, I was just leaving." Emma moved to the door and held it open for me before saying, "I'll walk you out. Wendy, make yourself at home." I slinked passed Wendy and basically ran out the door. Emma joined me in the hall out of Wendy's sight and giggled mischievously. I held her in my arms again and kissed her on the lips, all the while making sure no one saw us. "Sorry about that. But I don't want to be known as the type of girl who sleeps with guys she just met," Emma whispered. "It's fine," I said and quickly kissed her again before adding, "So is this it?" "I think so. Wendy is here. And soon, so will a few studio big wigs and other people from the film. We head for the airport in a couple of hours. Sorry it had to end like this." "Hey, I'm just happy we spent this time together. Even if I didn't get to finish you off," I said as I slipped my hand down her pants and between her legs as I had done so many times already. The whole time, I looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was watching. "Don't worry. I don't think I had another orgasm in me," she chuckled. It was then that I realised she wasn't wearing any panties. I suddenly remembered why and reached inside my pocket and pulled out the scrunched up white panties I had picked up only a moment ago. "These are yours I believe." Emma stifled a laugh and took them before patting down her sweat pants. "Shit. I don't have pockets," she giggled. I smiled and continued to keep watch for any onlookers. She looked for a moment as if she was considering quickly changing right there in the hall, but instead she smiled at me and handed the panties back. "Keep it." I laughed and placed them back in my pocket. I held her head in both hands and we looked into each others eyes once more as I said, "I'm going to miss you." We kissed once more for a long long time before she finally broke away and slipped back into her room. We held hands for as long as possible but soon she was gone. I caught a last glimpse of her an hour later when she left her room and headed towards the elevator, surrounded by her entourage. Before she got in, she looked back at my room and saw me. She gave me a quick wave before disappearing from sight. I couldn't be sure, but I could've sworn she got a bit misty eyed. And just like that, she was gone. *** Later than day as the sun began to set over Sydney, mere seconds after I had was checked out of the hotel, I dragged my suitcase towards the exit, smiling the entire way as I recalled the events of the past 42 or so hours. Suddenly, one of the hotel receptionists ran up to me. "Excuse me, sir? You were staying in room 1136?" "Yes, is everything okay?" "Oh no, everything is just fine sir. We just almost forgot to give you this? Miss Watson left it for you before she checked out." She handed me a small package wrapped in ordinary brown paper. I thanked the receptionist and she made her way back to the front desk. The moment I was alone, I tore open the packaging. Inside was a hardcopy version of "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban". I opened the inside the front cover and on the title page, the following was written neatly in black pen: "BECAUSE AZKABAN IS THE BEST ONE. THANK YOU FOR A LOVELY TIME. EMMA PS: I MIGHT BE IN AUSTRALIA AGAIN BY THE END OF THE YEAR. DON'T CHANGE YOUR NUMBER. I MAY NEED SOME COMPANY. PPS: AND YES, I GRABBED YOUR NUMBER FROM YOUR PHONE WHILE YOU WERE IN THE BATHROOM. SORRY FOR THE CLOAK AND DAGGER. PPPS: ALSO, I BETTER NOT SEE THOSE PANTIES UP ON EBAY xoxo. I laughed and closed the book with a solid thud. For the next few months, I kept a close eye on celebrity gossip sites and numerous Emma Watson fansites for any news of Emma and specifically, her relationships and projects. Nothing even remotely interesting ever came up. I even considered creating a Twitter account to contact her, but given the massive volume of tweets per day she received and the fact any response would be very public, I decided against it. I resigned myself to fact that lightning doesn't strike the same place twice. But then one day, months later, her IMDb page show two new films coming out later in the year. I wonder if she'll be at the Australian premiere? Emma & Barry Sexually, I was a bit of a late bloomer. I didn't lose my virginity until the summer after my senior year in high school, when I was almost nineteen, long after all my girlfriends had gained enviable amounts of experience. I had a boyfriend, Barry. The first thing you should know about Barry was that he was gorgeous. He was on the swim team, one of the best swimmers at the school. His body was muscular, but sleek instead of bulky. The sight of him in a pair of wet Speedos was enough to make any girl damp in the panties. Plus, he knew how to dress and groom himself, skills in which most guys at my school were sorely lacking. Barry wore the best clothes, the best colognes, had the best haircuts. He always looked good and we looked good together. The second thing you should know about Barry was he was the nicest guy I had ever met. He was kind, considerate and fun to be around. He treated me real nice. We were literally best friends. When I saw some of the jerks and lunkheads my girlfriends ended up with, I considered myself lucky, despite the third thing you should know about Barry which was, he never touched me. We had been going together since the start of Junior year and in those two years we had three "real" kisses, he'd felt my tits up two times, and I'd touched his cock once. (It wasn't even hard at the time.) We had even slept in the same bed on many occasions, but still nothing. I tried everything I could think of. I got him drunk, I dressed like a hooker, I literally begged for it. Barry just said that he didn't want to do anything until we were married, an event which he promised was looming on our horizon. He even bought me one of those "promise rings," a very nice one. I was dubious about this excuse because Barry seemed to have no moral qualms about anything else. He drank, he smoked cigarettes and pot, he swore like a sailor. Barry didn't have any religious convictions that I could identify, and he even sometimes made fun of the Christian kids at our school. Still, when I saw some of the agonies that my girlfriends went through because of their sex lives, I almost considered myself better off. The pregnancy scares, the guys who "played" them, the stories about getting caught by their parents and being grounded for months. Who needed all that? Barry and I had been together for two years, more than twice as long as any of my girlfriend's longest relationships, and I thought that perhaps this was because we didn't have sex to ruin things. Maybe all those sanctimonious weirdos trying to sell us on abstinence had a point. The problem was, I was horny as a minx. Someone had bought me a vibrator as a "gag" gift for my birthday. I'd laughed at the time, but eventually went through hundreds of dollars worth of batteries. Dates with Barry could get me so worked up, and since he wouldn't do anything about it, I'd have to take the matter into my own hands. I became an avid and creative masturbator, experimenting with water jets, anal stimulation and assorted fruits and vegetables. I could get myself off a dozen different ways, but I knew they were all just poor substitutes for the real thing. Finally, at our Senior prom, I decided that I wasn't going to wait any longer. I wore a strapless sex goddess dress and made a point of slipping my panties into the pocket of his tux jacket, folded up like a handkerchief. (He looked like James Bond in his tux, by the way.) We slow danced all night and I whispered incredibly dirty things into his ear the whole time. After the dance, as a surprise, I'd booked a suite at the most expensive hotel in town. Hot-tub, champagne on ice, box of condoms in the bedside drawer. I'd even gone on a Mom's-credit-card spree at Victoria's Secret and bought some really high-class frilly slut-wear. I could have seduced the Pope that night. But not Barry. That was the night that Barry told me his big secret, which I found out later everybody in the world knew but me. He was, of course, gay. I was utterly shocked. Call me naive, but I had no idea. Whenever I'd tearfully spill the secret to a friend, they'd always say they'd known for months. Even my Mom knew. Upon learning that Barry and I had broken up, she said that it was for the best because I'd never get a real boyfriend if I hung around queers. Of course, nobody had thought to tell me. Barry and I didn't speak for several weeks and I was in tears for my high school graduation. I missed him so much. Finally, swallowing my pride, I gave him a call. He said he missed me too, and that his fondest hope was that we could still be friends, like we were before. Of course, it could never be as it was before, not with this between us, but I thought that maybe we could develop a new kind of friendship. Plus, even then, in the back of my mind there was the thought that I could somehow "turn him," win him over to the right side of The Force. But then I met Barry's new boyfriend, Terry. Barry and Terry. How goddamn cute is that? They had been seeing each other for a while, even when Barry and I were supposedly together, but I elected to overlook this fact. It was important to Barry that Terry and I got along. "The two most important people in my life," he said. Whatever. The thing was, Terry was remarkably easy to get along with. Plus, he was almost as hot as Barry. He was into track and field, and so had a whole different set of muscles from Barry's swimmer's body. Dark-haired where Barry was sandy brown. More boyish, whereas Barry had this kind of mature look that had always driven me wild. We ended hanging out a lot. I liked going out with these two hot guys, being seen with them. The thing about gay guys is, they're almost just like girls, so it was a lot of fun. They both liked to shop, both liked to dance. The best part was, Terry's parents were in Europe for the summer, so we had this huge house on the lake to hang out in. I spent most of my nights there. Of course, when bedtime came around, the two of them went into Terry's room and shut the door, leaving me to cry and/or masturbate myself to sleep in the guest bedroom. With his parents gone, Terry was also able to display his huge collection of gay porn. Pornos, straight porn that is, had never appealed to me before. Ugly, hairy guys with big cocks plugging silicone-injected Barbie dolls and coming all over their faces. That was supposed to be sexy? But gay porn got me hot. The pretty boys were almost always the "bottoms," sucking cock or getting fucked, and I would always identify with them, imagining myself being taken by some big-cocked manly man. Plus, I may be wrong here, but it seemed like the gay pornos had better production values. Better camera work, better sound, better acting, all that. That may seem like a small thing, but I was never able to get past the over-lit, cheapo video of regular porn. Sometimes the three of us would sit around Terry's living room watching these things on his parent's big-screen TV. I know we were all getting turned on. Barry and Terry would sometimes retire into the bedroom halfway through the video, and then I could finally stick my hand down my shorts and stroke myself off. Still, it didn't seem fair. One night, we were watching one of the videos after hitting Terry's parent's liquor cabinet pretty hard. I was more than a little drunk and so horny I was almost delirious. I looked over and noticed that Terry was stroking Barry's hard cock through his pants. Barry kept swatting Terry's hand away, embarrassed I guess to do anything in front of me. "Don't stop," I said. "I want to see." "No," Barry said, blushing. "Why not?" I pressed. "It'd be like my sister watching me," Barry said. "I'm not your sister," I reminded him. "I was your girlfriend, remember?" "Yeah, but . . ." "If you won't do anything with me, the least you can do is let me watch you guys fuck." "Yeah, right," Barry said. "I'm completely serious," I said, and I was. Terry started laughing hard. I could tell he was excited by the idea. Barry kept hemming and hawing, but with me and Terry both working on him and him already worked up with the liquor and the porn, eventually he gave in. Terry undid Barry's pants and pulled his cock out. I literally gasped when I saw it. Barry's cock was huge. I'd known it was big, but I'd never seen it erect before. In fact, that was only the second time I'd seen an erect penis in real life. The first time was when I accidentally walked in on my step-father when he was masturbating years before. Barry was even bigger than Donald. Terry stroked it lovingly. "It's a monster, isn't it?" All I could do was nod breathlessly. They made out on the couch for a while, kissing and fondling, Terry's hands working Barry's huge prick. I loved watching them. My pussy was twitching in my soaked panties. I could almost hear it clicking and smacking down there. "Let's go into the bedroom," Terry whispered. They got up from the couch and, for the first time, I followed them into Terry's room. Terry had all these neon beer signs decorating the walls, and these provided the only light, gentle blues and reds. Terry put some Miles Davis on the stereo and they slowly began to undress one another. I think they were putting on a little bit of a show for me. I sat in a butterfly chair in one corner of the room while the boys reclined naked on the bed. Terry's cock wasn't as big as Barry's, but it was standing at stiff attention. They lay beside one another, kissing and fondling for what seemed like hours. My nipples were so hard I thought they were going to poke holes in my tank-top. I was so wet it felt like I'd pissed myself. I was literally shivering with excitement, flushed so hot it was nearly unbearable. Finally, Barry turned to me and said. "You can play with yourself if you want to, hon." Permission granted, I tore my shorts and my panties off and threw them on the floor. I thrust my naked pussy into the air. My hand dove into the dripping wet hot twitchy spot between my legs. I wanted them to look. I wanted them to see. But they were completely into one other and paid me no mind. I watched, not even daring to breathe for fear it would make me wake up from this dream, as Barry found a tube of KY in the nightstand drawer. He squirted a line onto his hand, and worked it into Terry's ass. Then he squirted more, all up and down the eight fat inches of his cock. I thought Terry would roll over then, offer up his ass, but instead he lay back and spread his legs. Barry rolled on top of him and Terry wrapped his legs around his boyfriend's waist. I got out of my chair and kneeled beside the bed to get a better look. Barry reached down and grabbed his jelly-soaked cock to guide it in. I didn't think it would work. I thought there was no way that huge prick could fit into somebody's ass. But it slid in easily, just the fat head popping in at first, but more and more of the length with each successive stroke until it was buried to the hilt. Barry moaned. Terry grunted. I myself made a sound like a little squeak. Barry fucked the boy beneath him. Terry arched himself back and up, to meet the cock that was plunging into him, arms and legs wrapped tight around his man. Both of them sweating and groaning, kissing each other hungrily. They had completely forgotten me, I could tell Still kneeling beside the bed, I sat straight up, and brought my naked cunt down on the heel of my bare foot. I rocked back and forth, soaking my foot with pussy. I thought I'd tried everything, but I had never got myself off with my foot before. Watching Barry fuck the hell out of Terry, hearing the animal sounds of lust they were making, bearing my clitoris down hard on my heel, I came so hard I thought I was going to black out. Barry was right on the verge, too, I could tell by the way he was breathing. He cried out and thrusted harder into Terry's ass. Terry moaned out the word "yes" several times, and Barry almost screamed. I imagined his cock spurting into Terry's tight little ass, and this was enough to bring me to a second orgasm, seconds after the first. Barry pulled out, and discreetly wiped himself off with a washcloth they had thoughtfully left beside the bed. Terry just laid there with this breathless, just-been-fucked look. He still had a raging hard-on, but Barry soon took care of that. He bent down over Terry and took his prick into his mouth. I had moved back over to the chair, so I could lean back and work myself with both hands. I would have thought that after two orgasms I'd be depleted, but my pussy was still just dripping. I watched, fascinated, as Barry sucked Terry's prick. It was liking watching a virtuoso play a woodwind instrument. Barry obviously had lots of practice at this, which meant that he must have been sucking cocks the whole time we were a supposed "couple." I pushed aside this jealous flash so I could enjoy the show. Barry slurped and licked; he nibbled and kissed. He used his hands as well as mouth, paying equal attention to Terry's cockhead and to the shaft of the penis. Barry fondled and licked Terry's balls and even his dripping asshole. It was an awe-inspiring performance. Terry's eyes were closed, lost in a world of ecstacy. He let loose an unmanly yelp as Barry took his entire prick into his throat, and then whined orgasmically as Barry sucked hard on just the head while furiously pumping his shaft with one hand. Barry moaned, "Mmmm," as Terry collapsed limply, tears dripping from his eyes."Did he come in your mouth?" I gasped as I brought myself off yet again. Barry gave me an open-mouthed grin so I could see the heavy cream coating his tongue. Some of it dripped from his lips down his chin. He leaned over and shared a spermy kiss with Terry. I spent that night in their bed, Barry sleeping between us. In the morning I watched Terry give him a good-morning blow-job. After that, Terry made us mimosas and homemade eggs benedict and we went for a brisk nude swim in his pool. It was then, me doing backstrokes while the two boys horsed around naked, their penises flopping around like sleeping snakes, that I came to an important decision. The night before had been awesome, no doubt about it. Their performance had been the coolest thing I had ever witnessed. I could have spent the entire summer like that, watching the pretty boys fuck. But I knew I'd get tired of it. I was no fag hag. I felt the same way about this as I did about sports; I loved to play, but as a spectator I got bored fast. I was a nineteen-year-old virgin, for chrissakes. My Mom was right about at least this one thing. This problem wasn't going to get fixed if I just hung around a couple of gay boys. I needed to lose my cherry. I could have gone out and found some other guy easily enough, but I found that I didn't want to do that. I wanted Barry. For two years I'd thought of nothing except giving up my virginity to him and for two years he'd strung me along, leading me to believe that this would eventually happen. The cocksucker owed me. As I swam, I formulated a plan as to how to make it happen. Fortunately for me, Terry had a day job coaching track at a summer camp. Barry and I usually just lazed around the pool during the day while he was at work. It was on one of these days that I put my plan into action. We were sunbathing by the side of the pool. I wasn't wearing a bikini top. Barry of course said that he didn't care, my tits didn't do anything for him, but I caught him looking a few times. "How many cocks have you sucked?" I asked him. "What?" He laughed nervously. "Why?" "Because when you suck off Terry, you sure as hell look like you know what you're doing." Barry dodged the answer for a while, but I was persistent. Finally, I got him to cough up a number. "Six." "You've gone down on six guys," I said. "While, I should note, you were supposedly dating me." "Come on, Emma," he whined. "You know how it is." "Yeah," I said. "I know how it is. While you were out, getting your groove on with guys, I was at home being faithful to you. All my girlfriends have been screwing around all this time, but not me. When I finally do get with a guy, I'm going to be clueless." "I'm sorry," he said. "Don't be sorry," I said. "Teach me how to do it." "Do what?" "Suck cock," I said, rolling my eyes. "No, Emma," Barry started to blush. He could be so weirdly prudish at times. "You owe me that much, Barry," I said. "It makes sense that a gay guy would do that better than a girl. If I learned it from a fag, that would be at least one valuable skill I could bring to bed with my first guy." "You're crazy," he said, but I could tell that he was going to do it. My lessons began that morning, Barry demonstrating technique on bananas and popsicles, or anything else phallic we could find around the house. Then I would follow suit, while he criticized my style. I did learn a lot. Barry was font of fellatric knowledge. He even wrote up a list of what he called "Cocksucking Commandments:" "1) Variation is the key. Your lips, tongue, and even the roof of your mouth provide different kinds of texture. Don't just fall into the trap of repetitive head-bobbing. 2) The head of the cock is of course the most sensitive part, so that's where you should focus most of your attention. However, the shaft should not be neglected. 3) Don't forget the hands. It should always be a combination blow-and-hand-job. 4) THOU SHALT NOT USE YOUR TEETH!!! 5) Don't neglect the balls, but here GENTLE is the key-word. 6) Throating is an advanced skill, requiring practice, but is undeniably impressive. Don't rely on it too heavily, though. (See Rule #1) 7) Ass-play is essential. You can use a slicked-up finger or even (if you're nasty) your tongue. Straight guys might be put off by this, however. Their loss! 8) Get a sense of the man's rhythm. Know when he's about to cum. To prolong a blow-job into nirvana, take the guy right to the brink and then back off. Repeat this step as necessary, until YOU are ready to get him off. The more you prolong it, the more intense it will be, but be warned: jaws do get tired eventually. 9) When the man cums, for God's sake don't stop. You don't have to swallow (although a little protein never hurt anyone's diet) but you should at least let him finish before discreetly spitting into a napkin or washcloth. My own personal preference is to share the ambrosia with the man who provided it, but straight guys might not go for this one either. 10) Finally, don't ever suck off someone unwilling to return the favor. This only leads to frustration and resentment. Good luck and good head!" That day's lessons ended abruptly when Barry tried to demonstrate his deep throat technique on a banana. You can see how this would be a bad idea. I had to Heimlich him. It wasn't until the next day, Terry at work again, that I could move my plan forward. Barry was really getting into his role as teacher. We sat on the couch as he lectured me further, illustrating key points with scenes from the pornos. After this went on for a while, I said: "All right. Enough theory. How about some practice?" "What?" Barry was sometimes deliberately dense. "You know what I'm saying, Barry," I said. "I want to try it out on the real thing." "I don't think that's such a good idea, Em." "Why not?" "Well, for one thing, I am in a relationship with Terry." "Do I need to remind you," I said, ready for this point, "that you were in a relationship with me when you started sucking Terry's cock. Not to mention the five others. So your monogamy's not really the issue here." "OK . . ." Barry said. "But, you're not exactly my type. I like boys, remember?" "A mouth's a mouth, Barry. Just close your eyes and pretend I'm Tom Selleck." Emma & Barry I put my hand on his lap and found, surprise surprise, that he was hard. I learned an important lesson then. No matter what the other circumstances are, no man can refuse a direct offer of a blow-job. He pulled down his pants and freed the monster. I got on my knees before him. Barry leaned back, no longer bothering to protest. Before me was my first cock. I know I had come off as flip and non-chalant, but inside I was in a turmoil. I was turned on, to be sure, but also a little scared. There was a weird emotional thing going on, too. Here was the man I'd been with for so long, who I'd loved, who I'd seriously thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, who had deceived and betrayed me. I was angry, horny, still in love, frightened and a dozen other feelings I couldn't even put a name to, all mixed up together. I tried to push all this aside, and just remember the lessons I'd been taught. "You have literally love cock to give a great BJ," Barry had told me. This is mind, I just held his cock and examined every gorgeous inch of it for a little while. I had never seen one this close up before, and it was fascinating. The skin was browner than the rest of Barry's body, like his cock wasn't even really part of him, just some weird thing grafted on. I ran my fingers lightly over it, grooving on the textures. The loose skin, the ridges and veins, the sandy hair, the heavy testicles. Terry's cock had sort of a bulging head, but Barry's was tapered, almost like a candle. I inhaled the musky scent, and began to kiss and lick lightly up and down the shaft, tasting salt and tang. There was a pearly bead of what Barry had called pre-cum on the tip and I cautiously kissed it away. I was surprised at the flavor, savory and rich, not salty as I'd always heard. By this time I'd forgotten that Barry even existed. In the whole world, there was only me and this great cock. I licked my lips, then pursed them tightly over the head, so the cock literally penetrated my mouth. I sucked hard and ran my tongue all around the fat bulb. The cock swelled and tensed, tried to snake its way deeper into my mouth. I grasped it tight in my hand, wanting to control it, show it who was boss. The cock was insistent, though. I allowed a few inches in, only to teasingly withdraw completely. I ran my hand up and down the shaft, slick with my own saliva, and the cock stood up straight and proud. Again I took it into my mouth and this time the cock behaved. It obeyed the silent commands of my mouth, did whatever I told it to do. I was thrilled at the power I had over the cock and, as a reward for its obedience, I let it in deeper. I went a little crazy, letting the cock fuck my mouth for a few frantic seconds, before pulling away again. My hand primed the pump while my lips moved down to explore. I kissed the wrinkled sac with its hidden jewels all the way down to the base and, not believing my own daring, actually licked the darkness I found below. The tight little hole tensed around my tongue when I penetrated it. I switched then, taking the cock back in my mouth and letting my hand explore the nether regions. I slid a finger into the hole, and then two. The cock lunged forward. I tried to take it all the way into my throat, but my appalled gag reflex protested and I had to back off. This went on for a while, my mouth wrapped around the cock, alternating slow and fast, hard and soft, deep and shallow, tongue and lips. My hands were both busy, one stroking the shaft and the balls, the other one buried to the knuckles in asshole. I felt hands in my hair and, weirdly, I had to think about whose they might be. "I'm going to cum," I heard a gentle voice say. "Cum," I commanded, although with my mouth full, it came out like "Um." The vibrations from this humming sound were enough to trip the wires. From the deep well, his essence was pumped into my mouth. Barry's semen was thin and watery. I've of course had other guys come in my mouth since then, but that was the first time and I thought that's just what it was like. I was bitterly disappointed to later find that most guys ejaculated thick curdish snotty stuff, after my first taste of Barry's liquid musk. It was delicious. Ambrosial was the word Barry used, and it was apt. If all semen tasted like Barry's, you could sell it for a hundred dollars a bottle. I had been planning on kissing Barry and sharing his come with him, but I greedily swallowed every precious drop. I released the cock from my jaws, and smiled up at its owner. Barry smiled back down at me. "Not bad for a first time," he teased. "I give you a 'B.'" "'B?'" I said. "OK," he conceded. "B+" Asshole. Over the next week or so, I must have given Barry a dozen blow-jobs. I know I was getting good at it, too. He still tried to protest, but caved so quickly that I knew this was just a sham. He complained that he sometimes didn't have enough energy for when Terry got home, and that Terry was starting to complain. Boo-fucking-hoo. Constant fellatio was stimulating for me, but hardly fulfilling. I still had to get myself off. This was part of my plan, to build up Barry's orgasm debt towards me until he couldn't deny he owed me. About a week later, I sprung my trap. We were on the living room couch, a muted porno playing, Barry's cock primed and ready for me. "You know," I said, after I'd sucked him into a steely hard-on, "we are violating your tenth commandment." "Which one was that?" Barry said absently. He put his hand on the back of my head and gently tried to pull it back down on his cock. I don't even think he realized he was doing it. "'Don't ever suck off someone unwilling to return the favor,'" I quoted. Barry looked at me, aghast. "Emma, Jesus!" "I know better than to expect a gay guy to eat my pussy," I said. "That is disgusting!" "You could fuck me, though." "No, Emma," he said. "That's too much." "Well, this isn't fair," I said, grabbing his cock to illustrate my point. "I'm not getting anything out of this." "Emma, for the last time, I'm a ho-mo-sex-u-al." He pronounced the word distinctly, emphasizing each syllable. "So you can take me from behind, what's the difference?" "The difference is, you're a girl." "I bet my pussy's tighter than Terry's asshole," I said. "After all, I am a virgin." Barry's cock actually twitched when I said that. I knew I had him. "Haven't you ever wondered what the fuss was about?" I prodded. "How can you truly call yourself a ho-mo-sex-u-al until you've tried the alternative and found it not to your liking?" This went back and forth for a few minutes, but Barry's excuses grew lamer and his cock kept getting harder. Finally, he conceded. He didn't want to do anything in Terry's bed, finding that to be too blatant a betrayal. So I peeled off my pants and bent over the arm of the couch. Barry stood behind me, not doing anything for several agonizing seconds. I tried not to brace myself, to instead relax. I tried not to think of the significance of what was about to happen. I was about to be deflowered. About goddamn time, in my opinion, but it was still a major life moment, and those always brought measure of anxiety. I was just thinking that Barry better hurry the hell up and get it over with, when all of the sudden he did. I felt him poke and prod around back there, searching for entry. I later learned that even straight guys can't find the hole unless you draw them a map, so I guess it wasn't surprising that a gay man would have difficulty. But when he found it, that was it. Maybe it was him being a little off-balance from the awkward posture we were in, or maybe it was just his style, but he rammed that fucking thing home. In one instant, my virgin cunt was filled with eight inches of rock hard throbbing dick. I cried out. In the course of my experimentations, I had inserted various and sundry objects into my vagina, some of them nearly as large as Barry's prick. But there was something undeniably different about a real, live cock. It hurt, but the pain was exquisite. A pressure had been building in me, too slowly to be noticed, for my entire life, and when Barry pounded into me, that pressure was relieved all at once. There was a place deep inside where I had never been touched until that precise moment, a place where nothing I had taken in before had ever reached. I guess you could say I had an orgasm then, but it was more like The Orgasm, the first in my life not by my own hand, a Big Bang from which entire new galaxies were formed. I almost pitched forward and fell onto the couch, but I managed to brace myself with my arm and, bravely, pushed back to meet Barry's thrusts. They were strong, but not frantic. Slow and steady he drove himself into me. Each gliding lunge sent electric waves through me, a new pressure building. I was so wet I squished, and all I could smell was sex. I wanted Barry to go faster and, as if by telepathy, he obeyed. I moved with him. We were a one-minded pumping, fucking thing. Harder, seemingly deeper, his cock burrowed in. Over and over, the head tickled my womb, or so it felt. I felt the flush start there and spread through my blood throughout my entire body until it flooded my brain with icy heat. I was coming again, even harder, and my pussy contracted so tight around Barry that he was, for a few ethereal seconds, completely unable to pull out of me. I screamed. I literally screamed. Barry slid out of me with a pop. I felt his hand on me, spreading the dripping fluid from my pussy up and into my ass. I think he spat on his hand, too, and then worked one saliva-coated finger into my asshole. I knew what he was doing, of course, but I was still recovering from my last orgasm and so was unable to prepare for it. Good thing, too, because if I had been capable of any kind of thought in that second, I might have tensed up. Just as abruptly as he had filled my cunt, Barry drove his monster into my ass. I should have known, I should have expected, that the buttfucker would want to fuck my butt. I cried out again. Tears were literally flowing from my face. Every sensation I had felt when he was screwing my pussy was both more intense and duller, if that makes sense, now that he was in my ass. I was filled. Stuffed. Again, pain or something close to pain that was a kind of pleasure, only dark pleasure. I don't know if there's even a word for it. Anyway, it didn't last long. I could actually feel Barry shooting off inside me, semen drenching my rectal walls. I would have thought such a thing impossible, but this feeling threw me over the edge yet again. I came. This anal orgasm was, like the rest of the feelings back there, both harder and duller. Barry pulled out. Neither of us spoke. We went into separate bathrooms to clean ourselves up. Another thing I learned that day was the anal sex could be messy in unspeakable ways. After that day, we fucked a few more times, but it was never as black-magical as that first time. Barry started whining that he was getting confused about his sexuality, and I was beginning for the first time to get annoyed at his "faggish" ways. When Terry finally caught us in the act, it came almost as a relief for both of us. Well, for me anyway. That was the end of it, of course. Barry and Terry split up. Barry blamed me and we never spoke again. That was all right, though. I got what I wanted. I was in no way a virgin anymore. I even got a little revenge, busting up the relationship that had busted up mine. In the years that followed, I went a little cock-crazy, making up for lost time. Eventually, I switched teams and went a little cunt-crazy, as it were. Those are, however, stories for another day.