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Gemma

By: 130260



I made sure I was ten minutes early for my date with Suzie. I used the extra moments to buy a long-stemmed red rose from the flower stall in the station forecourt and to compose myself before meeting her. I was nervous. It was my first date since the first time I went out with Helen nearly 25 years ago. It had taken me five years to get to this moment, years of mourning, of agonising loneliness, of shattered self-belief slowly rebuilt with the constant love and patience of those who loved me the most. Until now I had been able to distract myself from my nerves with careful preparation; shower, shave, dressing in my favourite smart going out attire of black suit, dark blue shirt and contrasting tie with scarlet pattern, checking and rechecking the route to our rendezvous. But now there was no way and nowhere to hide from my anxiety. Whatever you do, don't mess it up, I thought to myself as I checked my watch for the dozen'th time.

As the minutes crawled by I got tired of scanning every face for a hint of recognition. I took out my paperback and began to read, every now and again looking up to observe the dynamics of all the human movement and activity around me on the station concourse. Other couples met with extravagant flinging of arms and smiling shrieks, or a chaste kiss on a demurely proffered cheek, or a politely wary shaking of hands depending on the degree of prior familiarity.

As the minutes piled up into a quarter hour and then another quarter hour, I was able to observe how the stream of humanity ebbed and flowed as trains disgorged their passengers from one side of the barriers while others arrived to flow through the barriers in the opposite direction to take their places. In all this human flux there were two constants; me and, standing a few yards away, a smartly dressed young woman. Whereas I was standing still as I read, she was constantly moving; backwards and forwards, round in circles, shrugging her shoulders, folding and unfolding her arms, checking her watch again and again. Several times I smiled and shrugged my shoulders sympathetically and each time she smiled back and shook her head ruefully.

After almost three quarters of an hour of waiting, fairly confident that by this stage she wouldn't feel threatened by my doing so, I walked over to her.

"Stood up?" I asked with a smile of sympathy.

"Tell me about it," she grimaced with fellow-feeling, "You too?" 

"It looks like it," I smiled, "What did you have planned?" 

"The new photography exhibition at the contemporary art gallery, then we were going clubbing," she replied, then added, "Did you have something nice planned?" 

"Dinner at a jazz club," I said, "Nice evening for it too. Too bad."

I was about to take my leave of her when I found myself saying, "It's seems a pity to waste it, how about making an evening of it together? I don't fancy the clubbing bit but the photography exhibition sounds good if you'd like a bit of jazz with dinner afterwards." 

"That sounds really cool," she said, "You're on." 

**********

We got acquainted as we walked to the gallery. "I'm Tony Sutcliffe," I said as I reached across myself with my right hand to shake her hand as she walked on my left, "pleased to meet you." 

"Hi, I'm Gemma Courteney, artist and illustrator extraordinaire," she replied. 

Her outfit accorded with her assertion. She wore a man's double-breasted jacket in black pinstripe over a man's white dress shirt with turned back collars and silver cufflinks, beautifully cut and styled black trousers that seemed to flow and shimmer around her legs as she walked and gave brief glimpses of her feet, on which she wore over black tights black velvet ballerina pumps that looked like they had been covered in glitter, a silk scarf that covered her skin behind the open neck of her shirt, a crimson cummerbund around her waist and black lace gloves that left her finger ends exposed. Her jewellery consisted of triangular silver drop earrings and several rings including a beautiful butterfly with spread wings shimmering with glitter which spanned the length of her left middle finger.

She was slightly less than average height with slim build and small bust and slender arms and legs. She had long straight auburn hair that flowed freely down her back to her waist and partly covered her ears, which stuck out slightly from the flowing stream of her tresses. She had a lively and pretty face with dark brown eyes and a mouth that seemed to be always smiling or just about to smile. It was also covered in light brown freckles that to me enhanced her exuberantly youthful quality that was already obvious in the first few minutes I was in her company.

By the time we reached the gallery, she holding the rose she had graciously accepted from me, she had told me something of her work as an artist and I had recounted some of my more way-out experiences as a secondary school teacher and latterly as a schools inspector. We spent an hour looking at the exhibition, of modern Eastern European urban photography. 

"Do you enjoy looking at art?" Gemma asked me at one point. 

"I've always preferred music to visual art," I replied, "I've never felt familiar with art in the way I am with music. But I've always been fascinated by the idea that I'm looking at a tiny moment of truth that would have been lost for all time if the artist hadn't captured it in a picture or sculpture or whatever, and by the idea that if I or anyone else instead had somehow seen that exact grain of truth at that exact time and place, it would have been recorded completely differently." 

"I think that's a tremendously positive approach to appreciating art," she smiled, "It means you can still enjoy it even if you don't know the background to it." Our conversation continued in similarly positive fashion and I felt myself being drawn closer to her by her youthful enthusiasm, charm and spontaneous and wholehearted pleasure in all she saw.

**********

We took a taxi to the jazz club. The band that evening played a mixture of traditional and Dixieland jazz, which made an enjoyably upbeat backdrop to our meal and conversation. 

"I can't believe that I was stood up after it took me three months to get up the courage to go out on a date after my last disaster, and then I meet you," said Gemma as a swirl of bolognaise-coated spaghetti flopped off her fork just before it reached her mouth. 

"What went wrong the last time?" I asked. 

"It's a long story," she mumbled through her second, successful attempt and I could tell by the shake of her head that she wasn't yet in the mood to elaborate further. 

"Anyway," I continued, "I wouldn't have thought you'd have much trouble getting a date if you wanted one." 

"Believe me," she answered, "there really aren't that many great guys out there. But can I ask why you're dating and wearing a wedding ring?"

I had thought to leave it at home but had forgotten to take it off. I didn't really feel ready to talk about her this early but now I didn't have much choice. I felt the usual tightening in my chest as I began. 

"I was widowed five years ago and it's taken me until now to get myself together enough to get back onto the scene again." 

"Oh Tony, I'm so sorry." Her hand on mine was totally spontaneous and unselfconscious and she looked at me with complete sincerity of compassion. "If it helps you to talk I'll gladly listen."

My mouth tightened slightly as I began, "Helen died of a very rare and very destructive cancer. One moment she seemed in perfect health. Then the terrible pains in her back started and all of a sudden she was being given six months at the most and she was dead in less than four, which in a way was a blessing. She was in a hospice for her final weeks and they were wonderful to us. I was able to be in bed with her and hold her and stroke her hair as she was dying. That was one good thing about her having that kind of cancer; there was no point in giving her radiation therapy or chemotherapy, so she didn't lose her hair. And she was able to whisper, "I love you," to me as she died. And hundreds of people came to her funeral and there were so many people there for me whenever I felt I couldn't go on anymore and our children gave me far more love and support and understanding than I was able to give to them even in my best moments. And even tonight when I get stood up on my first date for nearly twenty-five years, instead of it being a total disaster I'm sitting here talking with you. With so much that's good in my life I can't go on being sad for too long." 

"She must have been a very special person to have been married to you," said Gemma as she squeezed my hand. 

"She was," I smiled, "and I know there's someone out there who'll realise just how special you are." 

She smiled and withdrew her hand and there was no embarrassment or uncertainty about what her gesture had meant.

As we were about to part company back at the station, I took my last chance to pluck up the courage to ask her what I had been increasingly desperate to ask but had been too afraid to until then. 

"I probably shouldn't ask you this, you being young enough to be my daughter and me being old enough to be... well... you know, but would you like to go out again...with me?" 

She beamed at me.

"I've been hoping nearly all evening that you'd ask me that. Of course I'd love to go out with you." 

Then she took my hand and kissed my cheek.

**********

We grew closer together easily and naturally over several more dates. By the end of our fourth date we were openly hugging and kissing each other with deep affection. I asked her if she would come to my house for dinner and was overjoyed when she accepted. I had become a good cook and host and spared no expense. When I opened the door to her I couldn't contain my delight at the vision of beauty before me.

"Gemma, you look fabulous," I gasped.

"I got a few funny looks on the way here but hey, an artist has to suffer for her art sometimes."

She wore a gorgeous shimmering dark blue taffeta ballerina-length ball gown with black tights patterned in shining silver swirls and the same sparkly black velvet ballerina pumps she had worn at our first meeting. She wore a black velvet choker around her neck, an elaborately patterned black lace shawl draped around her shoulders, black lace fingerless gloves that came up above her elbows and a deep crimson satin sash around her waste to give a dash of contrasting colour. Her hair was pinned up in a large bun, which gave beautiful balance to her attractive profile.

I thrilled to the feel of her bare shoulders as I ushered her inside with a protecting arm. As we kissed in affectionate greeting her lips felt especially warm and soft against mine and I was excited by the firm, vibrant feel of her body through her dress as I embraced her.

I wanted her to get to know me better so I happily let her look at and talked with her about the various family pictures and keepsakes displayed in the sitting room. She paid special attention to the framed order of service for Helen's funeral, on the cover of which was a head and shoulders portrait of her smiling her beautiful smile, with 'Helen Sutcliffe: 10th July 1961-3rd March 2001' printed at the bottom. 

"She's lovely," she said, her expression a mixture of admiration and sadness as she squeezed my hand. 

I lifted her hand and kissed it, "She always was and always will be," I smiled.

She also admired a large family photograph taken in a studio. 

"Are these your children?" she asked. 

"Yes," I replied, "This is Michaela. She's the image of her Mum and she's an artist like her as well. She's in her final year at the College of Printing. Then there are the twins: Gareth is sports mad and he's just started a degree in sports coaching and psychology, while Alexandra is the scientist and is doing physics with maths and computing. So hopefully they're all hard at work while I enjoy having the house all to myself until the summer vac'."

"You don't fool me one bit," she laughed and squeezed my waist, "You can't wait for them to be back can you?" 

"'Course not", I laughed.

We sat down to dinner and for a while our conversation sparkled. But as we progressed through the courses she became less talkative and more distracted until by the time we got to the coffee and after-dinner mints stage she was almost silent and looked very nervous. Finally I asked her what was wrong.

"You seem unhappy Gemma. Is there anything you want to tell me about?" 

She looked relieved at having an opportunity to unburden herself. 

"I'm sorry Tony. When I go to a guy's place I always get nervous at the end of the meal because I start to worry that he's got...expectations...of me."

I knew exactly what she meant by 'expectations' but I wanted to give her the space to explain in her own words so I simply asked her, "What expectations of you do you think I might have?" 

"That you want me to go to bed with you." 

I was grateful that she had found the courage to be so direct about it. I thought very carefully for a moment before I spoke again. 

"Gemma, I'm honoured and thrilled that you chose and wanted to come to my house and have dinner with me. Anything else you could possibly want to give me is just icing on the cake as far as I'm concerned. The really important question is do you want to go to bed with me?"

She played nervously with her napkin.

"Yes I do Tony, I want to sleep with you very much," she said with an earnest look in her eyes, "But I have a problem." 

"Do you want to tell me about it," I said as gently as I could. I was preparing myself to tell her that her being HIV positive was no problem to me and I had a supply of condoms when I was caught totally off guard by what she told me next. 

With her eyes cast down and staring at her hands fidgeting in her lap she said in a tiny voice, "I'm still a virgin."

**********

Again, I thought very carefully about my next words.

"Helen and I were virgins when we married and we weren't that much younger than you are now." She had already told me was 26. "I can speak from experience that it really is worth waiting for the right person. I really admire you for wanting to wait. But are you really sure I'm the right one for you?" 

But the shrug of her shoulders told me immediately that my words had failed in their intent.

"You don't understand Tony," she said, her expression now of total anguish. "I'm not a virgin because I'm at all virtuous. For years all I've wanted is to have a fun night out with a great guy and go back to his place for a really good bonk." 

"What's stopping you?" I asked, totally mystified, "You're beautiful, intelligent, fun to be with and..." 

"And I'm bloody deformed!" she shouted, startling me with the vehemence of her sudden outburst. 

"What do you mean?" I asked, thoroughly confused and perplexed by now. 

"Look at my face Tony. What's it covered in?" 

"Freckles, but..." 

She didn't let me continue.

"That's right Tony, freckles. And it isn't just my face that's covered in them. My whole body is covered in the bloody things. Have you noticed or wondered why I keep my whole body covered up even when I'm wearing short and revealing clothes? All my life I've been pointed at and stared at and been told I'm a freak. Remember that guy I had the awful date with that I told you about? Do you know what he said to me when I'd screwed up the courage to take my clothes off for him? 'No wonder you're frigid you poxy bitch!'" She screamed his words at me and collapsed into a paroxysm of sobbing.

For ten minutes I held her silently as she sobbed as if her heart had broken beyond mending, but which I knew from long experience with my own daughters was just the necessary prelude of outpouring of dammed up emotions before calmer counsel could begin. Eventually she let me kiss her and dry her eyes and I looked into her eyes with all the tenderness I could summon as I spoke gently to her.

"Gemma, I can promise that I could never and will never despise you or reject you and I can absolutely guarantee that my word alone will be enough. But if you'll let me, I can also show you why I can make that promise and why I can understand at least a little of your pain."

"What is it you want to show me Tony?" she asked in a small voice.

Without another word and breathing deeply in my own anxiety over what I was about to do, I slowly undid my shirt and pulled it open. When she saw the livid red track of my operation scar running diagonally across my body from below my left armpit to my right thigh she put her hands to her face and cried out.

"Oh Tony, what happened to you?" 

"I needed emergency open heart surgery two years ago," I replied as I refastened my shirt, "It was touch and go for a while but I'm fine now. You're the only other person who's ever seen my scar apart from my family and the hospital staff." 

She hugged me tightly and covered my face with her tears as she kissed me in her deep gratitude.

"I want to make love with you Tony but I'm scared it'll hurt and that I won't do it properly. Please will you help me not to be frightened?"

**********

"Don't worry Darling", I smiled, "We're going to make your first time wonderful. Have you ever imagined on your first night undressing each other before dancing naked to romantic music, bathing together in a scented bubble bath, and massaging each other with hand warmed scented oil, and all by candlelight?" 

"Oh wow, that would be fantastic", she exclaimed, hugging herself as her face glowed and her eyes beamed with excitement.

We began by scampering all through the house scouring every room for every candle and night light we could find. We strew them around every horizontal surface we could find in the lounge, in the bathroom and in my bedroom. Then we lit all the candles in the lounge and sat down together on the sofa. I held her hands and explained what we could do to overcome her anxieties about uncovering her body.

"Helen and I thought of an undressing game to help us over our first night nerves. We told each other a funny story about each bit of our clothing before we took it off each other. You can tell me a story about each of your clothes before I take it off you and vice versa."

As I gently and carefully removed her accessories one by one, she told me how she loved wearing retro styles and finding original and antique clothes in charity shops and flea markets all over Europe. Meanwhile, as I enjoyed the sight of her delicate hands with their long and slender fingers removing my various accoutrements, I told her about my clothes shopping on various business trips around the world (in my role as an advisor to the government on how other countries set and monitor standards in schools) and enthused about my particular love of Italian style.

When she was stripped of her peripheral items and was down to her dress, tights and shoes I remarked that she had a very attractive ballerina theme going on. 

"I really wanted to do ballet when I was a girl," she said sadly, "But I never did because I was afraid the other girls would make fun of me." 

I held her close to me and imagined how lovely she would have looked in a beautiful white tutu with tights and ballet shoes. 

"Maybe we can make up for it somehow," I said to her tenderly. Then I asked her, "Are you ready for me to take your dress off you now?" 

Screwing her eyes tight shut, she told me how she had bought it in a charity shop in Cambridge for £5 and about how it always trumped everyone else's charity shop stories. Then she lifted up her slender arms and as I lifted it off her I gasped with surprised delight at what I saw. 

Instead of wearing a bra and tights as I had assumed, she wore a gorgeous black satin strapless push-up bra, matching satin pants and her silver patterned black stockings were fixed to a black satin and lace suspender belt. She opened her eyes tentatively and then beamed as she saw the look of sheer delight and pleasure on my face and deep desire in my eyes. 


Gemma



He walked through the door of his flat and placed his briefcase in its usual spot. His coat was carefully removed and placed on its hanger, replaced in the hall closet.

Anthony was a particular man, he didn't like his name shortened and everything had to be just so. He walked into his minimalistic living room and looked around, giving everything a cursory glance. Satisfied, he walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large whisky. Standing, he looked at the painting on the wall and closed his eyes as he took a drink. He savoured the taste as it flowed smoothly over his tongue a deep sigh leaving him as he swallowed it. It had been a long day, his job as a head-hunter paid exceedingly well but he paid the price in stress and long hours. He shook himself mentally and turned around slowly.

She was sitting in the middle of the floor on the deep pile rug. On her knees, her head bent. Naked, her nipples stood proud in the coolness of the atmosphere and the wide leather collar at her throat was stark against her pale skin, plain black leather with a single D ring at the throat, a wide silver buckle at the back fastening it. Her hands crossed on her knees, she sat, in total silence, waiting.

"Good evening Gemma," Anthony's voice was loud in the large room. He stood and took in her wide hips and small waist as he waited for an answer.

"Good evening Sir," Gemma replied, her voice slightly hoarse from lack of use, dry with anticipation.

"Are you well?" he asked.

"Yes Sir, quite well thank you Sir." Gemma replied quietly.

Gemma continued to sit quietly as Anthony walked towards her, his suit crisp, his shirt and tie still knotted at his throat, he felt a familiar stirring as he looked down at her but pushed it to the back of his mind. Too soon, he thought.

He stood directly in front of her, looking down at the top of her head, his feet together, the lead crystal glass in his hand. Slowly taking a drink, he licked his lips.

"You may go and run me a bath," he said. Not sternly but a definate order.

"Yes Sir," she said softly and rose to her feet quietly and fluidly, her eyes still down at the floor as she turned towards the bathroom.

"And leave the door open," he added as an afterthought, watching as her hips swayed, her round bottom sashaying, her back straight and her head high.

"Yes Sir," she answered clearly as she walked away.

Gemma opened the door and entered the spacious bathroom, the large bath stood on its own in the middle of the floor, roll topped with claw feet. She walked over to it and bent over the taps, pulling the lever to close the waste pipe. Turning the taps on, she adjusted them to the right temperature and flow. From his viewpoint Anthony could watch everything she did. His eyes followed the curves of her body, watching as she bent fluidly to turn on the taps. 

He turned and looked out of the window, as he turned back he noticed that she was not in sight. Shrugging he turned back to the window and watched the world go by. Behind him he heard a toilet flush. Slowly he turned, put down his drink and walked to the bathroom. Gemma was washing her hands. She looked up at him and realisation dawned on her face. She blushed deep red.

"I...I...I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't think...."

"No you didn't did you?" Anthony cut her off midsentence with his reply. "Continue what you are doing and we shall deal with this later." He watched as she nodded mutely then, turned and walked out of the bathroom.

Anthony went through to the bedroom and waited. Moments later Gemma walked through the door and up to him. She helped him remove his jacket, undo his tie, unbuttoned his shirt. Slowly and carefully she worked her way down his body, removing his clothes until he stood naked in front of her, not a word being spoken between them. She stood back and let him pass to the bathroom, Gemma following and as she moved to turn the taps off, Anthony stood in front of the toilet, a thick golden stream leaving him to hit the water with a deep satisfying noise. Gemma moaned inaudibly as she listened, her breathing slightly quickened by the thought of Him urinating. He flushed the toilet and turned, Gemma immediately noticed the small drip left at the end of his cock, she bit back the urge to fall to her knees and clean him, he had not ordered it and, until he did, if he did, she was to stay where she was.

He walked towards her and looked her in the eye. Raising one eyebrow at her, he turned and lifted one foot, passing it over the rim of the bath. He trusted that she would have got the temperature correct and without missing a heartbeat put his foot into the water. Putting his hands on either side of the bath he lifted his other foot and put it in the water to join the other one. Slowly he sank into the water, letting the heat soak into his skin until he finally sat down and then lay back, his eyes closing as he surrendered himself to the hot water. Gemmas heart skipped as she watched Him lying quietly, his chest rising and falling peacefully. He opened one eye.

"You may assist," he said and watched as Gemma turned to get the necessary things to wash Him with. 

Turning back to Him, she bent and dipped the jug into the water, he watched as her breasts swung just above the water, the curves of steam curling around them, kissing and caressing, blown away as she stood and moved down slightly to lift the jug above his head and pour the water slowly, using her free hand to make sure the water saturated it. Jug emptied, she bent at the knees to place it on the floor, standing again, this time with a bottle of shampoo in her hand. Opening the bottle she poured some into her hand and smeared it onto His head, rubbing it in she flexed her fingers and pushed the tips of them into His scalp, massaging as she built up a lather, working into the back of his head, the nape of his neck, feeling the tension ease slightly as she did. Rinsing her hands in the water she turned and picked up the jug from the floor, dipping it in the water, she stood behind Him and poured the contents over his head. Suds ran down his shoulders and into the bath water, Gemma then turned to the sink and filled the jug with fresh water, once again repeating the process of rinsing His hair, always taking care that there were no suds over His face, protecting the flow of water with her hand, using her fingers to make sure the soap was completely rinsed from His head. Satisfied that all the soap was gone, Gemma took the jug into the kitchen and placed it in the dishwasher, then returned to the bathroom to find Him lying in the bath still, his eyes shut, his hair stuck to his head, his chest hair floating with the rhythm of his breathing. She stood quietly and watched him, slightly breathless once more as she did, his physique was not Adonis like but he was fit for his age, well toned, slightly tanned, but to her, stunning.

He took a deep breath and turned his head, looking her up and down, taking in her appearance, her hair tied up on her head, her eyes still cast down at the floor. He stood up and turned towards her. She looked at Him and picked up the exfoliating glove she always used. Squeezing some soap onto it she rubbed it with her other hand to create the lather. Turning towards her He stood and watched as she moved over his body in circular movements, washing him, leaving a trail of suds in her wake. When he judged that she had finished his front, he turned around and she repeated the process on his back, starting at his shoulders and working down, over his back, his buttocks, his thighs to the water line. She then soaped his arms one by one and stopped. He sat down and lay back, the soap lifting the days dirt from his body to float on the top of the bath. Wordlessly he lifted his legs one by one and she soaped down each leg and washed his feet and his toes. He indicated his satisfaction by simply putting his legs back in the water. Closing his eyes once more, he let the heat suffuse his body. Gemma rinsed the glove and replaced it in its usual place to drain. She picked up a large black towel and stood at the side of the bath waiting. Anthony got up and out of the bath. Gemma wrapped the towel around his waist and he left the bathroom in the direction of the bedroom. Gemma put the lever down on the bath and the water drained out quickly. She rinsed the bath and dried her hands on the hand towel. Leaving the bathroom she followed Him into the bedroom.

Gemma stood by the door and awaited her orders. Anthony turned and looked at her. Turning back to continue with what he was doing he looked straight ahead.

"You may go and sit down," he said clearly. "For now." he added as a throwaway afterthought.

"Yes Sir." Gemma answered softly and turned around and made her way back into the living room to assume the position he found her in when he had arrived home.

Anthony took his time, anticipation building. He had not seen her for almost 2 weeks, work had not allowed it and he now had a need which was growing minute on minute. He did not normally struggle like this and part of him was disgusted with himself for giving in to it. He changed into a black shirt and trousers, he had decided at the last minute against pants. Zipping his fly and doing up his belt, he turned and made his way back to the living room. Standing at the door he looked at Gemma. Satisfied with her positioning he made his way to a second bedroom and opened the door. Walking into it he turned on the spotlights, the windows had been blocked in, the walls were dark. He walked to a cupboard and opened it. Perusing the contents he selected what he wanted and closed the doors once more, turning on his heel he walked out of the room, dimming the lights as he went.  He closed the door behind him and walked over to Gemma.

"Raise your head." He growled.

Gemma raised her head and looked at Anthony.

He immediately raised his hand and brought it down across Gemma's face. Gemma winced but said nothing.

"I never told you to look at me, I told you to raise your head," he said sharply. "Now close your eyes."

Gemma raised her head high once more, this time with her eyes closed, her left cheek burning as she felt Anthony clip something to her collar.

"Now, we are going for a walk," he murmured. "You will crawl on all fours. On your hands and knees. Now."

Gemma rolled onto her hands and knees and waited, her eyes still closed, her head now bowed as Anthony bent down and passed the leash between Gemmas arms, down her stomach and between her thighs. He then stood and positioned it between her buttocks, standing silently to the side of her. Gemma shivered slightly at the coldness of the leather leash against her skin.

"Put your head up." The command left no room for argument. Gemma lifted her head and Anthony pulled her leash taut behind her. She whimpered slightly as the cold leather slipped between her pussy lips and nestled against her clit.

"Now, let's go for a walk around, I want to see that you have done all your tasks this afternoon." Anthony said, watching her, taking in her shape once more, ignoring the stirring, it was not yet time.

"You will keep your head up at all times, do you understand me?" He said.

Gemma nodded and started to crawl slowly around the room, her backside swinging as he kept the leash taut so that it rubbed against her clit as she crawled. She moaned gently and Anthony shushed her with a warning. She bit her lip and continued around the flat. First they did a circuit of the living room, Anthony checked the furnishings, ran his fingers over the surfaces, checking for dust, lifting his fingers and looking at them, never passing comment, simply pulling on the leash once more to signal that Gemma needed to move on again. Anthony lifted the rug to check that the dust had been swept from underneath it, then made Gemma run her hand underneath the couch and show it to him, to ensure it was clean.

"Kitchen." He said and Gemma changed direction.

She crawled across the floor, her breasts swaying, her hips sashaying as she crawled into the kitchen.. Anthony held back slightly making sure that the leather lead was taught between her lips, rubbing on her cunt, grinding her clit. Unable to contain herself any longer she moaned deeply. Anthony stopped and watched her. Moving closer behind her, he raised his hand and brought it down swiftly. The slap resounded and echoed around the minimalistic kitchen.

"I do not want to hear you, is that understood?" He said sternly.

"Yes Sir." Gemma answered shakily, the imprint of his hand burning her skin.

Anthony stood for a few moments longer, watching Gemma shaking as she fought to keep herself under control. Satisfied, he pulled on the leash again.

"Move," he growled, fully aware of the effect that she was having on him, ignoring the growing hardness in his trousers. They moved around the kitchen slowly as he checked everything, making sure that everything was where he expected it to be, a wry smile on his face as he imagined the picture they presented. The buxom, naked girl on all fours and the pristine man walking her like a dog on a lead. They finished the circuit of the room and led he her out.

She waited at the door to be told where to go next. He indicated the bathroom and she moved towards it. As she crawled through the door her hand landed in a small puddle of water, obviously left by a foot print and Gemma closed her eyes and sighed, knowing he would find it, to be silent and to simply continue was impossible, the water would be spread by her hands, her knees and he would find it anyway. She stopped.

"What is it?" Anthony asked.

"There is water on the floor Sir" Gemma replied quietly.

"I see," he replied. "Well you know what you have to do." he finished expectantly. Gemma nodded and crawled backwards slightly until her head was level with the pool of water. She bent her head to the floor and lowered her shoulders. Anthony held the leash taut as she did, knowing that it was pulling against her clit. He watched and listened as her tongue came out and she lapped at the pool on the floor. She continued to lap until all the water was gone and the floor was dry.

"Good, now, do not think that I have forgotten about your other mistake in here." Anthony said. "I think we can go to your room next." Gemma turned around and crawled towards the room with the closed door. She stopped, her body shaking with built need, her orgasm so tangible she could taste it, almost touch it, caused by the strap between her legs, the constant rubbing on her clit tormenting her. Anthony saw immediately saw what was happening and barked at her.

"You will NOT cum, not until I tell you that you may."

Gemma shuddered but nodded her head, desperately fighting the need to cum, pushing it further and further to the back of her mind, trying to ignore the throbbing running through her body. She took a deep shuddering breath as she finally got herself under control.

Anthony turned the handle on the door and let it swing open. It was pitch black as he pulled on the leash to indicate to her to move into the room. As she entered, he turned the switch for the lights and slowly the lighting level came up revealing the contents of the room. It had taken Anthony almost a year to refit this room to his satisfaction but it had been worth it. The cupboards along one side of the room were all fitted with roll back fronts and he held the girls leash as he walked down the room and opened each door in turn to reveal an array of toys and instruments.

There were restraints, devices of punishment, toys and clothes filling each one from top to bottom. Leather, PVC, steel. Every material imaginable filled them and Gemma looked at it all with an intense yearning.

Turning, Anthony surveyed the room, deciding what to use today. A harness swing was suspended from the ceiling in one corner, next to it a barrel on a frame, each corner of the frame had wrist and ankle restraints, another large frame almost filled a different corner, each corner of the frame had wrist and ankle restraints, clearly designed to lift the occupant from the floor and suspend them spread eagled. Sitting next to that was a large cage. Hanging from the ceiling were various harnesses and fixed into the ceiling along with them were various hooks and large metal rings.

Anthony signalled for Gemma to move again and she crawled straight for the cage. He smiled to himself, she knew her place in this room then. He opened the cage and she crawled into it, sitting on her knees. It was not a very high cage and she sat bent over, her head pressing against the top of it. He threaded the leash through the wires of the cage and hooked it up to the top, making sure it was still tight. Closing the door he shot the bolt across and turned his back on her.

Anthony walked across the room and stood in front of an array of punishers. They varied from old fashioned rulers to paddles and floggers to cat o' nine tails. Crops of varying sizes and thicknesses, canes made from different materials, So many that the ones that did not hang were laid precisely in trays, cushioned on velvet and foam, each one with its own place, precise and neat. He selected a leather tawse, a cane, a large red paddle with holes drilled through and a flogger with metal tips. Satisfied, he turned back to look at Gemma.

Gemma immediately looked back at her knees, her head was positioned so that she could move it around slightly, just enough to raise it and watch him. She watched as he carefully selected what he wanted, there was nothing in the collection that was mechanical. Everything required hand held usage.

Anthony unclipped the leash and walked around the cage. Opening it, he let Gemma out and took her towards the barrel. He dropped the leash.

"Stand up and bend over." He ordered.

Gemma stood and bent forward over the barrel, Anthony took each of her wrists and ankles in turn and fastened them into the restraints. He then stood back, to make sure he was satisfied with her positioning, he then turned and picked up the cane.

"You will remain silent, any noise will bring further punishment." He stated.

Gemma nodded mutely and hung her head. She heard the swish of the cane as he flexed it. Gemma knew he was doing it to make sure that she heard it and she braced herself for what was coming. 

"You were told to clean," he said. "You missed a number of things."

He took a deep breath and drew his hand back, swinging it he delivered the first stroke quickly. Gemma jumped and involuntarily let out a gasp, closing her eyes tightly.

"THAT added another one." He said to her as he delivered the second one, swiftly followed by a third.

"Those are for dust on the surfaces that you missed." He said. Watching as three stripes raised on the soft, pale pink cheeks of her backside. Parallel lines which almost glowed in their intensity.

"You did not put everything away in the kitchen," Anthony said. "That has earned you another two." He delivered them swiftly. Gemma flinched as the cane made contact and pulled against the restraints making them rattle. Anthony admired her backside, five straight lines across her bottom as she lay across the barrel contained, her body trembling from the shock of the pain.

He turned and put the cane down. Picking up the paddle he turned back to her.

"Now, the water on the floor in the bathroom," he said, "That is not acceptable and will be dealt with now."

He lifted his arm and Gemma heard the swish a split second before the paddle made contact with her backside. He gave four heavy smacks, two on each cheek, alternating them. Taking his time so that each one registered before he then laid the next one on top. Her chin against the barrel in an attempt to concentrate on that, rather than the explosion of pain with each blow which was alternating with the knowledge that she was getting wet. Her thigh's becoming damp. As the forth was delivered, she writhed in her prone position and gasped, making no noise, simply an expulsion of air. The main thought going through her mind became her throbbing clit and the aching need within her, centred between her legs.




Gemma



Anthony put the paddle down, and walked over to stand behind her. He placed his hand on her scarlet rear and ran it over the roundness in large circles, soothing, then suddenly running his nails across it. The effect on Gemma was immediate and she squirmed under his touch and groaned deeply, unable to stay quiet. Anthony smiled a wry smile behind her, he knew she would not be able to stay quiet if he did that. He ran his hand over her once more and then slid it between the cheeks of her backside. Sliding the flat of his hand over her smooth pussy lips, he slid his middle finger into her.  An animal growl left her and she pushed back against them, limited though she was.  He rubbed her clit as she moved on him, feeling his own hardness now pushing against the material of his trousers.

"You tell me when you want to cum." He said.

Gemma simply whimpered in return but nodded her head. The chains of the restraints rattling as she writhed against them and his hand. Anthony continued his circular motion against her clit, feeling it harden under his touch. Suddenly Gemma spoke, her voice no more than a whisper.

"Please" she whispered. "Please, I want to cum. Please"

Anthony immediately withdrew his hand.

"No," he said harshly. "You do not cum. Do you understand?" he finished.

Gemma almost cried as she listened to him but slowly and with a great deal of effort brought herself under control once more. She concentrated on anything she could to bring her back to earth, she tried hard to dull the throbbing ache deep within her and eventually brought it within reach.

As Gemma tried to compose herself, Anthony came around to stand in front of her. His erection evident as the power coursed through him. Reaching down he unclipped the lead from her collar and started to coil it up. As he did he found the part of the leash that had been between Gemma's pussy lips. It was slick with her juices and he put it in front of her face.

"Lift your head and clean it." he instructed.

Gemma lifted her head and Anthony put the leash against her lips. She opened her mouth and licked the leather. Pulling it greedily into her mouth, she sucked on it, her tongue searching for more as she moved up and down it.  He pulled it away from her mouth and walked away. Gemma breathed deeply, her thoughts totally occupied with need, pain, desire, want.

Anthony wiped the leather clean and hung it back in its place. Turning, he leaned against the frame of the cupboard and looked at the prone girl. Her backside still glowed bright red in stark contrast to the rest of her skin. His cock stirred again and he decided that now was the time to indulge himself briefly. As he walked back to her, he undid his fly. He stopped in front of her and pulled his semi erect cock free. He took a step towards Gemma and smiled as she automatically opened her lips to take him.

He slid between her lips easily, her tongue immediately circling his head and tasting him. She moaned as he pushed deeply into her mouth. A long sigh left him as her warm, wet and willing mouth took him. His hands at his side, he started to stroke into her mouth slowly, his eyes closing as she sucked softly on him. feeling him harden under her care. Across the barrel Gemma was aware of her own wetness and need. They only increased as she continued to suck on him with growing pressure.

Anthony withdrew from Gemma's mouth abruptly. He knew he was in danger of losing control and now was not the time. He bent and undid the restraints at her wrists and then at her ankles. Leaning over, he grabbed Gemma by the hair and yanked her to her feet. Gemma staggered and yelped as she arched backwards caught in the grip of his fingers wound tightly against her scalp. He marched her towards the large frame in the corner and she struggled to stay upright as he practically dragged her to it. She screamed as he threw her towards it only letting go of her at the last moment, making sure he could inflict as much pain as he could.

Gemma stumbled and landed on her knees in front of the frame. Anthony walked around her and stood in front of her. 

"Look at me." He snarled, anger building in him.

Gemma looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her scalp was burning and she felt as though it were on fire across the point where Anthony had pulled it so savagely. She bit down hard, hoping that the pain from that would take the emphasis from her head. Anthony drew back his hand and slapped Gemma across the face, her cheek immediately reddening. Tears brimmed in her eyes and she furiously blinked them back. Anthony smacked her once more and tears overflowed as he watched in satisfaction. He lifted the crying girl to her feet roughly.

Moving a small step in front of her Gemma stepped up onto it. Taking her wrists he strapped them into the cuffs hanging from the top of the frame. Gemma stood on tiptoe and her arms ached as Anthony put the ankle cuffs around her feet. Gemma moaned deeply as her limbs became stretched. Anthony moved the step and Gemma hung suspended from the floor by a few inches. The pain in her shoulders was excrutiating but it still left her exhilarated.

Anthony turned away from her and picked up the flogger, its metal tips chinking together as they swung in his hand. He walked back towards her, taking in her form. Her hair now hanging forward, covering her face, her red lips marred by her teeth, biting into them, her eyes closed tightly, her breasts hanging, heaving with the momentum of her deep breathing, panting almost. Everything else about her was pale pink, her front unblemished, her rear telling a different story. He worked his way visually up her torso once more, lingering on her face. Her tears had left small, almost un-noticeable streaks down her face and he almost relented and let her down from her captive position. Gemma let out a sudden moan and Anthony was instantly brought back to the moment.

Raising his arm he swung the flogger and watched as the tips made satisfying contact with Gemmas breast. They made a patter as they touched the sensitive skin, the noise was like heavy rain on a window pane as they fell in quick succession against her skin. Gemma squirmed and pulled against her restraints in a futile attempt to get away from what she knew was coming. Anthony lifted his hand again and delivered another blow to the other breast. Gemma yelped as one caught the tip of her nipple and the chains on the frame chinked as she squirmed about. 

"When you ran my bath, you went to the toilet without request. For that you will receive punishment as I see fit." Anthony informed her.

Gemmas head and body hung forward, suspended within the frame like a surreal Dali painting, her skin studded with small marks. her wrists and ankles spread star shaped, slight whimpers leaving her as the strain of being suspended took its toll. She could use her safe-word and it would all be over in a heartbeat. She was torn between using it and revelling in the exquisite pain thundering through her body. Anthony watched the war of emotions on her face coldly. On his own, his pride in his ability to cause her tears, inflict her pain.

Without hesitation Anthony delivered another four blows to Gemmas body, one on each of her breasts and two to her rib cage leaving marks all over her upper body as Gemma moaned loudly, both from the strain on her arms and legs as her body swayed and from the touch of the metal tips against her skin, a stinging kiss. Anthony dropped the flogger on the floor and stepped towards the girl. He ran his hands softly over her body, gently touching her skin, fingertips trailing. Tracing around her nipples one by one, under the curved line of her taught breasts making Gemma shiver and moan softly, a moan full of passion, full of need.

Anthony watched her as he toyed, lulling her as someone would a cat or a dog. This girl was here for him to play with, to tease as one would tease a pet. He ran his fingers over her continually until finally he could not resist any longer, he twisted her nipples savagely, first one then the other. One hand moving down her torso, pinching slightly as he went, watching her face, her breath coming short as she tried not to call out, tried hard not to moan. A smirk spread across Anthony's face as he watched her.

He gave a savage pinch to her mons and Gemma frowned, her breath catching creating a small squeak as it did. Anthony looked at her and pinched again, harder this time and Gemma held her breath as she tried hard not to make any more noise. He slid a finger in between her lips, her wetness was evident, her need tangible. Rubbing deeply he watched her as he played with her, toyed with her clit, bringing her orgasm closer to the surface.  He leaned forward and kissed her savagely, his teeth biting into her lips, her own teeth behind them pressing against them. He slid two fingers into her and pinched her clit hard, doing anything he could to make her make a noise, needing her to, wanting her to.

Gemma still made no noise, it took every ounce of her being to keep quiet, she wanted to scream the room down, moan loudly and cum deeply but she knew better. She knew he was baiting her but refused to give in. Anthony pinched harder and she inwardly moaned, her breath catching in her throat. He knew she was not far from making a noise and he moved three fingers down to her cunt and rammed them deeply into her. Unable to hold it anymore Gemma moaned loudly and immediately followed it with a whimper, her body swinging against him as he watched her face closely, his fingers going deeply, her wetness audible, her need evident.

"Please," Gemma moaned, "Please, let me cum."

Anthony looked at her, tears now started to run down her face as she fought to keep control for him. Still fucking her hard with his fingers he watched her as she opened her eyes and looked directly at him, pleading with him, but not saying a word. Anthony rubbed her clit with his thumb. His fingers still buried deep inside her.

"Cum." He growled. 

Gemma needed no further encouragement and threw her head back howling, her muscles contracting all through her body, her cunt swelling to grip his fingers as he pumped them in and out of her, her legs trying to draw up, her shoulders contracting, pulling her up, making the chains rattle as her orgasm took her out of control and out of herself. Anthony watched in satisfaction as the wetness from her trickled down his hand. Gemma sobbed as her orgasm rushed through her in waves, thick smudged lines of mascara down her face, her eyes screwed shut as she moaned and bucked in her captive state, her shoulders on fire, her wrists hurting as they were pulled to the point of dislocation, Anthony still cruelly assaulting her cunt, not letting up for one second, determined to get every single ounce out of her.

Her sobs lessened and Anthony slowed down, lightening his touch slightly as her body twitched and rippled with the after effects of her massive orgasm. He removed his fingers and held his hand up in front of her face, her eyes still shut, streaks of black surrounding them and running in rivers down her face. He watched her for a moment.

"Clean me." He demanded.

Gemma lifted her head, her eyes unfocused as she tried to ground herself more quickly than she could or she wished. Anthony ran one finger over Gemma's lips and she opened them, sucking his finger into her mouth, licking it, toying with it slightly. She was more exhausted than she could imagine or wanted to admit but she still did as she was ordered. One by one she cleaned his fingers and his thumb, sucking on them softly then licking down them to his palm, tasting herself on him. The taste made her twitch again, her body waking up once more, her mind just wishing she could shut down for now, just for a short time. She looked at Anthony as she cleaned him, his eyes alight with lust and need, power surging through his body, she could almost taste it as she licked his palm. 

Anthony could feel the need surging through him, wanting her, needing to take her, but knowing that now was not the time, soon, but not yet. He withdrew his hand from her and moved the step back under her feet. Gemma watched as he undid the first ankle restraint and she stiffly put one foot on the step. Anthony undid the other ankle and Gemma stood on her feet on the step, her head still bowed. Reaching up, Anthony undid her wrists one by one and Gemma whimpered as she lowered her arms, her shoulders screaming as the tense muscles tried to relax once again. He stood and watched her as she rolled her shoulders and dropped her head back. 

"I hope you know, I haven't finished with you yet." Anthony told her. Gemma groaned. Anthony's face hardened again and he grabbed her by the arm. He pulled her roughly across the room again and stopped in front of a rope hanging from the ceiling. Wrapping it around her wrists he fastened it off and then yanked the other end of the rope, pulling her arms back up above her head. Gemma yelped as her tired muscles were pulled once more. Fastening it off, Anthony turned to face her, his face suffused with anger.

"Now you will stand there until I am ready for you again." He spat at her.

Walking away he bent and picked up the flogger. Turning, he walked back towards the opposite side of the room and re-hung the flogger in its place in the cupboard. He turned on his heel and walked from the room, turning the light off as he went and shutting the door.

Gemma stood in darkness, her entire body trembling with fatigue. Her thighs were slick with her cum, her breasts hurt where she had been punished and her backside was throbbing across the points where she had been caned. She tried to put her head in a position that did not make her muscles pull but found it practically impossible. Groaning softly as she moved about she stood up as straight as she could, seeing if she could ease the pull on her arms and shoulders. She shut her eyes and concentrated on anything but the pains in her shoulders. She started at her toes and worked her way up her body mentally, willing her muscles to relax, her head swimming with thoughts of Him, the pain, her orgasm, her continued need. Her head dropped forward and lost herself in thought.

Anthony went into the living room and poured himself a large drink. He was in danger of losing control of his temper. He had no idea why he was so angry but he knew he needed to channel it or he would regret it. He took a deep breath and a large mouthful of his whiskey. Letting it sit on his tongue for a moment, he savoured it. As he did, he thought about his next move. He finished his drink in 2 mouthfuls and poured himself another. Leaving Gemma in the dark was the best thing to do right now, it gave him time to calm down and her time to recover. Taking a deep breath, he took another draught and then put the glass down. He walked towards the door and put his hand on the door-handle. Taking a final deep breath he turned the handle and let himself into the dark room.

He closed the door behind him and stood in the darkness. Anthony could hear Gemma breathing hard, her feet occasionally moving as she swung suspended from the ceiling in the pitch black. He turned the light on suddenly, making her wince and shy away from it and he watched as she blinked hard. Walking over to her he picked up the tawse on the way. Reaching across he undid the rope and it dropped, making her moan once more. He loosened her wrists and taking one of them, pulled her across to the swing harness. Sitting her in it he adjusted the back strap and wrapped the leg straps around the bottom of her thighs. He had taken the liberty of adding wrist straps and now did them up so that the girl was suspended and trapped. Putting down the tawse again, Anthony then carefully and slowly got undressed. Placing his clothes in the closet, he turned back to Gemma and picked up the tawse once more, swinging it nonchalantly between his finger and thumb. Gemma watched with a mixture of suspicion and fear on her face, knowing what was to come but not wanting it to be true. 

Anthony suddenly flipped the tawse up and caught it in the palm of his hand. Swiftly and without warning, almost in the same heartbeat, he brought it down hard and fast to land on Gemma's right inner thigh, the solid sound as it hit followed half a moment later by Gemma's scream. Anthony watched as two red welts appeared on the tender flesh, he turned slightly and delivered the same to the left inner thigh. Gemma screamed once more, bucking in the harness. A smug smile spread across Anthony's face as he delivered two more swift slaps to her thighs. The tawse making a satisfying noise interspersed with Gemma's screams. Something inside Anthony snapped and he started to bring up red welts all over the girls skin. Across her breasts, making sure to hit her nipples, over her stomach, her sides, the skin on her calves. He brought his free hand back and slapped her face hard.

"SHUT UP!" He yelled at her. "Just shut the FUCK up, you useless fucking bitch."

Gemma looked at him, her mouth open, tears flowing down her face, her body on fire, the red welts across her body glowing. She tried uselessly to free herself from her restraints, unable to, fear crossing her face as she could see the anger in his. He raised his hand again and brought the tawse down across her breasts with everything he had.

"Purple!" she said hurriedly. She watched in horror as the tawse continued its decent. "PURPLE" she screamed at the top of her voice.

Anthony heard nothing. He continued his assault on her body, the tawse and his hand came down with regular force on her body. Fascinated by the marks he was leaving, totally lost within himself. He brought the tawse down once again, this time across her cunt. The scream was piercing, then sudden silence. Relief. The silence he was looking for.

He stood looking at her. Her tear stained face was quiet, her mascara was all over her face, her cheeks glowed red, a bruise was threatening to surface on one of them. Her eyes were closed. Her red rose bud lips silent. Looking down her body, he suddenly realised what he had done. She was covered in marks, bruises would certainly appear, there were so many welts he could not count them, over-laid on each other they were purple and red, angry marks caused by an angry man. As he worked his way down her body he found that her inner thighs had been cut. The tender flesh had given away under the assault from the strap. One had bled, the others were simply open wounds. Looking at the unconscious girl he found that his need had not waned, his cock twitched once more, already hard, now needy. Guilt flashed across his mind and then was dismissed. This is what she came here looking for, this is what she's got, he thought. He watched her as he considered his next move. The tawse now abandoned on the floor, his cock in his hand, slowly stroked.

Anthony made a decision and walked around to the side of the harness. Bending over he kissed Gemma softly. His tongue snaking into her mouth, toying, exploring. He nibbled on her bottom lip. Gemma took a deep shuddering breath and let out a soft moan. Anthony took advantage of it and cupped her head in his hand, bringing her towards him. Gemma moaned deeply as the pain overtook her again in waves, threatening to make her throw up, she turned her head away from him momentarily. He kissed her neck and left a trail of small kisses down to her shoulder, his teeth digging in as he bit into her collar bone. She turned her head back quickly and drew in a deep breath.

"FUCK OFF." she screamed. "Just FUCK OFF."

Anthony pulled back as though he had been scalded. He looked at Gemma in astonishment.

"I used our word, I used it and you ignored me." she sobbed. "YOU IGNORED ME YOU CUNT." she screamed at him.




Gemma



Anthony looked as Gemma sobbed suspended in the harness. 

"Let me out. NOW" she demanded.

Anthony reached up and undid the wrist straps then walked around to the front of Gemma and undid the leg straps. He helped her get up from the harness stiffly. She walked out of the room slowly and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She leant over and ran herself a bath, not leaving the bathroom again until she had had a long soak, cleaning the welts, washing off her make-up, her mascara lines down her face and under her chin. She got out of the bath and dried carefully, wincing as she patted the raised marks on her body dry.  Wrapping the towel around her she let herself out of the bathroom and walked into the bedroom, leaving the bathroom in a mess, deciding it was the least she could do.

Gemma dressed carefully, unable to wear her bra, it was too painful against her nipples. Her skirt rubbed around her waist, every item of clothing was agony. She failed to put her stockings on, the marks on her thighs too painful, too open to be able to cope with the hold ups. Walking from the bedroom, she still saw no sign of Anthony. She walked to the closet by the front door and took her coat out, then bent and picked up her bag.

"Anthony?" She called. Swinging her coat around her shoulders and waited.

Anthony came out of the kitchen. He had dressed again and was looking worried but not guilty. He cleared his throat.

"Yes Gemma." He answered her curtly but politely.

Gemma opened the door and stepped into the hallway outside Anthony's flat. She turned and looked at him.

"We will not speak of this episode again, is that understood?" She demanded. "And before you ask, no I don't know at this stage if I will be back again."

Anthony stood silent as he listened. He nodded his agreement but said nothing.

"I will see you tomorrow morning, I expect that report on my desk by 10am." She finished. "Goodnight Anthony." 

"Yes Gemma, goodnight." Anthony answered. 

Gemma's heels clicked down the marbled hallway as Anthony stood and watched his boss walk towards the lift. As the doors slid open, he turned and closed the door behind him. His life was going to be hell for a while, but he knew she would be back 



Gemma at Home



I don't know what made my younger sister tell me her story. Perhaps she had a need to confess. Whatever the reason, it happened like this.

It was the half term of Gemma's last year at school and Mummy had phoned me and suggested that I should invite Gem to spend half term with me in Portsmouth. Gem had been under a lot of exam pressure but her revision was up to date and Mummy felt very strongly that Gem needed some time away from her usual environment to gather herself together before the final push. Of course Gem did bring her books so that she could do some studying but I agreed that just a change of scene was a good idea for her.

The plan was that Gem would have my bed and I would be in my sleeping bag on the bedroom floor but Gem had a much better idea.

"Do you remember when we used to visit Granny and we shared a bed?"

So that was what happened. There was just room for two in my bed and we snuggled up together in the dark to have a whispered girly conversation.

Somehow the conversation turned to Daddy. That came from Gem but I don't quite recall the exact words. Gem asked me outright if I had ever made a play for him. I giggled and said that I had sometimes had fantasies about him as I diddled myself in bed.

And then Gemma told me her story.

Gem was eighteen when I started at uni and she had secretly resented those times when I had spent time alone with Daddy and when he had given me a chaste kiss on the top of my head. Now she was going to make the very most of having him to herself. 

Her campaign began gradually. Of course Mummy had always been at Julie to "cover yourself up" but she had become so accustomed to ensuring Julie's modesty that Gem had managed to remain in the background and enjoy a little more freedom. She now pushed that freedom to the limit.

No-one who was not keeping notes would have noticed the increase in the number of times that Gem "happened" to be coming out of the bathroom and bumping into Daddy on the landing. Usually she would be just in her dressing gown which was only loosely tied at the waist so it made very clear that underneath the thin cotton was nothing but nubile Gemma. On two occasions Gemma was completely naked and holding a towel in front of her as she apparently made a dash for her room not wanting to be seen. If Daddy had looked after her as she fled he would have been treated to an unimpeded view of firm teenaged buttocks.

Gemma made full use of evenings when she was to go out and rushing around to get ready. On one Tuesday when Mummy was out Daddy was relaxing in the lounge when the door burst open and his youngest daughter rushed in wearing a blue satin thong and a tiny bra. He looked up in dismay and Gemma explained.

"I left my dress on the radiator. Sorry Daddy."

She grabbed the short dress and left the room.

Her campaign intensified when Mummy spent a weekend with Granny. Fairly early on the Friday evening Gem went upstairs to shower and then came downstairs in her short, pink nightshirt, thin white housecoat and pink fluffy slippers.

She flopped onto the sofa and began to leaf through the television listings.

"There's nothing on is there? Let's not have TV tonight."

She made her way over to the wall unit and knelt down to the bottom drawer where the photograph albums were kept.

"Let's go down Memory Lane."

My scheming sister knew exactly which album to choose and, of course, Daddy had to leave his chair so that the two of them could sit on the sofa going through the book. Gem's gown had gapped open to reveal the short nightie and her pink, rounded knees. She kicked off her slippers and folded her feet underneath herself as she turned the pages. It was all there.

Gemma in a tiny bikini on the beach, Gemma sunbathing in our back garden. 

As the pictures went on Gem relaxed against her Daddy and he cannot have been immune to the soft body moulding itself to his own or to the scent of freshly bathed daughter as she pointed out a picture of herself topless on Bournemouth Beach.

"It seems so funny to think that you have seen me like this. I don't have any secrets from you do I?"

There was a definite catch in his voice as he replied.

"Well I think you may have a few."

"But I it seems so silly to have to worry about covering up as if you were just anyone doesn't it?"

By now the nightshirt (the logo on the front said "Minx") had ridden up even more and Daddy was a millimetre away from seeing her absence of underwear. When I don't wear a bra my little boobs sort of disappear but that is definitely not the case with Gemma. Daddy's eyes were about two feet away from two very rounded swellings with undisguised erect nipples. Their only covering was a very thin layer of pink cotton.

Placing the book on the sofa beside her, Gem reached her arms to Daddy's neck and stretched like a cat which is about to settle down to sleep.

"Do you think Mummy is a bit obsessive about covering up?"

Her calculating eyes had noticed the swelling in his trousers As he replied.

"Mummy worries about her girls. So do I."

"But home is where we are safe. We can relax here."

As she stretched up to him and planted a butterfly kiss on his cheek her pussylips with tiny wispy black hairs crept into view. He put his arm around her in a very gentle, protective hug. She could feel that he was holding back and holding her as if she were a Faberge egg. Gemma wriggled on the sofa so now she was displaying a lot more than just a hint of pussy and our daddy made an attempt to bring things back under control.

"Be careful there Gem."

Gemma giggled playfully.

"Daddy, you don't have to hold me as if I'll break. I just want a cuddle."

As she spoke her arms around Daddy's back pulled him closer against her body and she kissed his slightly whiskery cheek then she pulled back to look at him with his hair now slightly dishevelled.

"Isn't it funny how my boobs are so much bigger than Julie's? You wouldn't think that could happen with two sisters would you?"

She pulled aside the two sides of her housecoat and looked down at herself as if she were considering the mysteries of genetics.

"Do you like big ones or little ones Daddy?"

The thin nightshirt was not sufficient to conceal the roundness of her flesh or the very definite protrusion of her erect nips. Poor Daddy was facing a terrible dilemma. Did he play the stuffy old man or did he simply leave the room even though his little girl hadn't actually done anything overtly improper? Was she really trying to heat him up or was she just being very naïve and forgetting that as well as being her father he was also a man?

Of course a calculating little tart like my sister was going to exploit that confusion before he had a chance to get his mind back in gear. She allowed the housecoat to fall from her shoulders and then, very slowly and seductively, she pulled the nightshirt up over her head so that she could look down at her naked body while turning it this way and that. She unfolded her legs from beneath her buttocks and stretched one leg out so that it was across Daddy's lap.

"Do you think I'm prettier than Julie or is she prettier than me?"

Poor Daddy was definitely feeling very over crowded in the trouser area as he was faced with a completely bare eighteen year old determined to throw herself at him. His voice was barely working as he choked out the words.

"Look Gem, um, ah, do you, ah, think this is a good idea?

She folded her body towards him in a fluid, catlike movement and gave a girlish little giggle.

"Oh Daddy every girl lusts after her daddy. You must know that, it's perfectly normal."

She did not add the words which were at that point uppermost in her mind, "This is much further than Big Sister ever got."

She was hugging him again now with her unruly, fragrant hair brushing his face and her lips exploring his cheeks and moving towards his partly open mouth.

"Just a little kiss, Daddy."

Every seduction has one brief moment when it could go either way and this was it. He could have pushed her away and called her a very rude word but the youngest daughter is usually the cutest and the apple of her daddy's eye. How could he do that to Gemma even if his masculine hormones had not by now been sent racing around his body at the speed of lust?

Their lips joined and so did their moist tongues as their arms locked around each other's body and he felt her soft breasts against his strong, firm male chest. Somehow his shirt had come undone and Gem managed to slip one hand in amongst his chest hair. Who can say if Gemma leaned backwards and pulled him down or if he pressed forward on top of her?

The clinch lasted a long time with much moving of arms and hands up and down each other's frame and Gemma found the top of his trousers. Once the first piece of unfastening had been accomplished they were bound to slip downwards to the soundtrack of little moans and whispered half words. As one thing led to another Gemma's slim fingers found his manhood which had sprung free and was very erect. I don't know where my little sister learned to be such an accomplished whore, perhaps it was instinctive, but she slipped off the sofa onto the floor still working on his huge shaft. His legs came apart and his head went backwards as his system flooded with endorphins.

That was when her head came down (over his head, as one might say) and her lips began to enthusiastically move up and down the shaft. His hands locked into her hair holding her firmly and forcing her head onto his tumescence. He came in gallons which were pumped down his younger daughter's throat as she swallowed and choked.

When the discharge was complete he subsided a little but was still fairly erect and her skilful hands brought him back up again in no time at all. She reached a bare arm around his arm and pulled as she fell backwards onto the floor. 

"Please take me Daddy, it's not fair to leave me wound up like this and just break off. Pleeees Daddy." 

Daddy was being treated to a scene of a totally wanton eighteen year old laying back with her moist pussy fully displayed and his semen congealing on her face. He eased himself onto the floor on top of her and came down so that their lips could join. He lowered himself (in every sense of the word) and she felt his now fully erect member pressing urgently against her yielding pussylips. He easily pressed into her warm, soft moistness and her intimate muscles gripped him like a vice as he slid in and out with every movement assaulting her sensitive clitty. Daddy was far from silent during this process but Gemma told me that she howled like a banshee as the coupling lasted a wonderfully long time.

Eventually their sweat soaked and panting bodies were side by side on the carpet as they stared up at the ceiling floating in the afterglow. Daddy rolled towards his daughter and put his arm around her.

"The central heating will be off by now. We could be in a warm bed upstairs."

By now it was taken for granted that they would not be spending the night apart and he led her by the hand as they went, naked, up the stairs leaving the lounge in its wanton disarray. The night was a continuation of what they had begun downstairs. Daddy is a very high achiever in his work life and Gemma testified to me that he is also a high achiever in other areas. She said that he totally fucked every last drop of energy out of her and she fell into a deep and blissful sleep.

Waking up together in the morning was a continuation of the bliss as the sunlight shed its soft illumination through the curtains and the room filled with birdsong. They made love gently and tenderly before making their way downstairs to breakfast. 

Neither of them felt like dressing until around lunchtime and the morning was taken up by various levels of intimacy and enjoying each other's body as well as by talking. They knew that they could not stop what they had begun but obviously it had to be a very tightly kept secret. Tuesday evenings, when Mummy had her night out with the girls, were never going to be the same again. The thrill was enhanced by the fact that they had no way of knowing exactly what time Mummy would come home and there was at least one occasion when they were both naked in the lounge as they heard the car pull onto the drive. This led to a frantic collecting of clothing and a mad dash upstairs. 

A large part of the thrill of an illicit affair comes from the secrecy and the planning of rendezvous and alibis. Gemma is probably more like Daddy than I am when it comes to seeking excitement and pushing risk to the limit and I could easily imagine how much both of them had enjoyed their life on the edge. Gemma had told me how it began but I know that there was a lot more to the story and that it was not all one sided. It is true that a girl fantasises about what it would be like with her daddy but fathers have fantasies as well and both parties were living their deepest fancies to the limit.



Gemma



At other times we indulged in some gentle bondage play. She loved being blindfolded and her wrists tied with silk scarves, either to the bedposts or behind her back, as we made love. I would tickle her with a feather duster on her feet, under her arms and chin and between her legs while she squealed and giggled with delight, and then turn her onto her front and spank her bottom. Once I tied her ankles as well and she loved the feeling of my entrance with her legs tight together instead of wide apart. Then she blindfolded me and tied my hands behind me and my ankles together. Being unable to see seemed to intensify my pleasure as she stroked my penis and squeezed my balls. Then she mounted me and pushed her breast into my mouth, so that as I thrust into her and my orgasm burst inside me I delighted in the sound and sensation of being gagged by her warm firm flesh pressed into my lips and her hard, swollen nipple digging into my tongue.

Once we took it in turns to have sex doggy style. I loved it this way because as I pushed my pelvis up against her beautiful bottom while thrusting into her vagina from behind I could immerse my hands in the warm. soft stream of her hair flowing down her back and cup and caress her beautifully firm and round breasts as they hung down like ripe fruit ready to be plucked from her body. When it was my turn she gave me anal sex using a dildo and at the same time, with her other hand, smoothed the length my penis with lubricant and masturbated me. The double pleasure I got was so intense I soaked the towel beneath me with the force and volume of my coming. Then she wanted to have anal sex too. So once again I had the deeply rewarding experience of coaxing her open for the first time and sharing her delight as I slid easily up deep into her fundament and I shall never forget her scream of delight when I encouraged her to masturbate as I caressed her breasts and gently moved up and down inside her and she felt my penis through the wall of her vagina.

Afterwards she insisted I give her a douche and an enema. She had needed to have regular medicated enemas to help clear a particular intestinal problem and she still had some unused apparatus still in their sterile packaging. So she lay and knelt in the bath and moaned with pleasure as I gently cleansed her vagina and then her back passage with warm water and then I enjoyed the sensation of warm water swirling deep within me.

To fulfil my promise to her about making up for her not doing ballet as a child I took her to visit my old friend June Ellison, once a professional dancer and now a leading dance photographer, at her studio. 

"Hello Gemma, it's lovely to meet you," she smiled as they kissed, "How would you like to be a ballerina for the day?" 

I had kept this as a surprise from her and she could only gasp, "Yes please!" in her delight.

She put on the first of several costumes, that were all in white and looked lovely against her golden-freckled skin, and after June had showed her how to pose in the basic ballet positions and the best ways to present herself in front of the camera, shot off dozens of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen of a girl. The costumes were lovely and very sexy. There was a long romantic tutu that draped her legs down to her knees. My favourite was the short classic tutu that beautifully showed the lovely line of her legs. There was also a very sexy sleeveless leotard that moulded against her breasts and had little straps that criss-crossed her bare back. With each costume she wore white tights for some shots for a classic ballet look, in other shots she had bare legs to make her look more girlish and for a more sexy glamorous look she wore white stay-up stockings with a band of patterned lace around the tops. In some shots she had her hair in a tight ballet bun, in others it was piled up on her head while tresses of it hung down sexily next to her face and in others it cascaded freely down her shoulders and back. She wore the loveliest shiny white satin ballet shoes with ribbons tied neatly around her gorgeously shapely ankles.

When all the pictures were taken and June projected the digital images on a screen, Gemma gasped with delight at every one. 

"I never knew I could look so beautiful," she whispered to me as she kissed me. To June she said, "Thank you for making me look so beautiful." 

"I didn't make you look beautiful. All I did was to show the beauty you always had. It's me who should thank you for the pleasure," June smiled as she hugged her. 

As a special favour she only charged me for her time, she gave the ballet shoes to Gemma, which delighted us both and she gave us each a DVD with all the photos on it for us to look at and print from as we wished. We made love that evening with her naked and wearing her ballet shoes. Could life get any better than this? I wondered as I gently stroked her lovely narrow feet and slender ankles through the gorgeous white satin feel of her pointe shoes and ribbons. I was to find out soon enough.

**********

On that day, I had arranged to meet her at our favourite riverside pub. I had been away for a fortnight on another business trip and I could hardly wait to see her. I phoned her beforehand to ask if she could bring a particular book she had offered to lend me and to my consternation she sounded strained and distant. 

"Are you alright Darling?" I asked, trying not to sound too concerned. 

"I'm sorry Tony, I've got a bad headache," she sounded almost vacant. 

"You don't have to come to the pub if you don't feel up to it. I'll come over to your place instead," I suggested, feeling very worried about her. 

"It's OK Tony," she drawled, "I've taken some strong painkillers. I'll see you there."

I couldn't stop fretting until she finally arrived twenty minutes late but her appearance did nothing to dispel my anxieties. She was dressed very plainly in a white shirt, pale blue jeans and brown leather sandals, which would have looked nice except for the fact that she had not brushed her hair and her face, although composed, showed very obviously that she had been doing an awful lot of crying.

My heart was knotted with anguish but I knew I had to make this as easy for her as possible.

"What do you need to tell me Darling?" I asked her as gently as my distress would allow. 

She took a deep breath before speaking, clearly but straining to hold back her deep emotion.

"I've thought about nothing else but us all the time you've been away and I've decided I can't commit myself to you and because I can't commit myself to you I want to end it now because to do anything else would be so unfair to you and to me. Your children have already gone through so much. How will they feel when they come home to find you with me? Michaela is only about five years younger than me. How could I be a mother to someone who's the same age as my younger sister? I'm terrified they'll hate me and that I'll make them hate you because of me. And you're a generation older than me, Tony. I can't bear the idea of being in my 60's and facing the last twenty or thirty years of my life alone and missing you terribly when you're gone. I'm doing this for your children, for you and for me." 

Then as her tears began to flow again she sobbed, "I'm so sorry Tony."

Desperate to comfort her I touched her hand but she drew it way. I knew than that all hope was gone. 

"Gemma," I said with all the love for her I could muster, "There's nothing to forgive you for. All you ever did was bring love and beauty and delight and joy into my life when I had no right or reason to expect that I would ever experience them again. I can't and I won't ask you for anything more than that. I love you with all my heart and I'd do anything to make you stay if I truly believed it was right to try but I know I have to let you go."

"I'll make it up to you Tony, somehow," she said with desperate yearning in her eyes. 

"You don't have to do anything or say anything like that," I managed to smile; "You don't know the fraction of what you've given me already." 

"I mean it Tony," she asserted, "I will make it up to you. I promise." 

"Alright", I smiled again; "You do whatever your heart tells you." 

She smiled at me for a moment and then stood up.

"I think I'd better go now," she said, her smile fading.

"I think it will be best", I agreed. 

"Bye-bye Tony," she said, lifting her hand and waving it slightly in farewell as she walked away. 

"Bye-bye Love," I whispered. 

I felt like a fugitive prisoner who had spent weeks on the run fearing recapture at any second and had been apprehended at the very moment when he began to feel that there was just the beginning of a chance that he might make it home and dry. 

On the way home I thought about the fact that in all our time together she had always called me by my first name and never Darling or something equally affectionate. Even in our closest moments she had always kept back that little part of herself from me. 

I arrived home, closed the door and finally gave way to my overwhelming need to grieve unobserved.

**********

Three weeks later I checked my emails after arriving home and was amazed to see in the subject column a message entitled 'Hello from Monica (friend of Gemma). I was even more amazed to read the contents:

"Hello Tony, I'm Monica and I've been friends with Gemma's mother since we met at antenatal classes after my son was born. So I've known Gemma almost from when she was born. For the last three weeks she has been pestering me to get in touch with you because she is sure we would get on and now she has informed me that she will not let me out of this room until I have written and sent this message to you."

"I have been a widow for five years. Unfortunately my husband Peter was in the World Trade Center North Tower on 9/11. For the last few months I have been trying to date again but so far I have been unable to find a man with the same degree of loving acceptance as Peter gave to me. The reason for that should become clearer when you view the attached pictures of me, which Gemma took a few minutes ago. By the way, I guarantee that I am what classic car enthusiasts refer to as an 'unrestored original'. Everything of me you see is 100% my own. It is also why she is so keen for me to meet you. I would very much like to meet you too, because of what Gemma has told me about you and because of the wonderful effect the time she spent with you has had on her."

"For the reason already alluded to, I have learned that there is very little in life that we need to be embarrassed about, age least of all. I am 48 and Gemma reliably tells me that you would be the perfect Toy Boy."

"But in spite of the apparent directness of my language, I am in fact writing this in uncertain hope and with much fear and trepidation about your likely response. Please have the compassion to reply soon and put me out of my misery."

"Yours with hope in your kindness and that now I have sent this message, Gemma will release me from my confinement and permit me to pour myself a large brandy and go to the loo."

"Monica Davenport."

The first three images were a triptych of her face. She had naturally straight, shoulder length, sandy blonde hair. A long, slender nose linked an attractively wide forehead to an equally attractively generous mouth. Her jaw line and chin were strong yet femininely dimpled. But what was immediately noticeable was that most of one side of her face was covered in a large birth mark, not livid pink or red, but an almost fawny-chocolate colour which made her face look like it had been formed from a swirl of milk and white chocolate mixed together.

The next image was a half-length picture of her naked, taken from the front, with her right side angled towards the camera, with just a hint of her sandy blonde pubic hair above the bottom frame. Her right arm was crossed over her body under her breasts, which were beautifully round and firm, while her left hand was raised to tease a strand of her hair. Her expression was that of a woman relaxed and confident in her body yet with a hint of yearning to feel a loving touch upon her. The pattern of birthmarks continued down her body. One shoulder and one breast in chocolate, the others white.

The final image was a full-length nude study of her taken from behind as she looked invitingly over her shoulder. It showed her lovely hourglass figure, with slender shoulders and beautifully rounded bottom that topped her long and shapely legs, to perfection. Her birthmarks rippled down the whole length of her as if an appaloosa mare had miraculously been transformed into womanly form.

I was captivated by her. She was nearing fifty and was two years older than me yet she still had a body like that of a young girl. But it was her eyes that held me most of all. They were noble and bright and spoke eloquently of a generous, strong and beautiful spirit tried and tested by the common and uncommon experiences of life and had come through, wiser and gentler. I couldn't type my reply fast enough:

"Dear Monica. Isn't it wonderful that we share such a special friend as Gemma. I can't tell you how happy your message has made me and how much I want to meet you. I will follow this up very soon with a longer message and some photos. 

"Yours with all affection and anticipation, "

"Tony."

I sent the message on its way. Set up my camera, tripod and flash, and took off my clothes.

The End