Emily: Or, the voluptuous delights of a once-innocent young lady

CHAPTER 4

I was to be given away much as is a piece of furniture that has known its better days in other houses, other rooms- to be transported to another territory, put to crochet work, tea parties and receptions, put upon display. 'It is true, my pet, but do not cut your arguments with a blunt knife', Mama said when I uttered up my thoughts to her. 'She who swims with the current, Emily, can often find a better shore, a secret cove or two, a mite of sunlight others have not glimpsed. Be thus and thus as is a sapling under snow. The snow melts and it springs upright again, no worse for the weight and cold opinions of the burden that it bore. When you are being naughty, though, indulge yourself with all discretion and with quietness such as will not disturb those whom you do not wish to know of it'. 'You must have a stable, then', said Jane, and laughed.

She had rolled her bottom several times in ours-had come flush-faced and told me almost all. 'You may both be tested still. Make not a mockery of it', Mama said, and then-regarding me carefully and with such a look as bids one not to respond directly to what is said-she added, 'You, Emily, are our first to wed. There will be jollities-be sure of that'. 'Yes, Mama', I said, while Jane clapped her hands and remarked, 'Oh, you will be sportif, then?' 'Shush', Mama said, 'she may be as she will. Modesties may have to be abandoned on the day; I see no help for it'. 'It means our drawers may droop', said Jane afterwards to me. I gazed at her askance. 'You know well what I mean', she added, and gave me a tender and appraisive look.

'No, I do not', I answered, for her clever ways had cause to irritate me sometimes, but at that she raised her eyebrows and cocked her head. 'The droit de seigneur? You have not heard of it? He who chooses to be your Master on or just before your wedding day has the first rights to you. Your husband cannot say him nay'. 'Oh, I do not believe that, Jane', I said with pettishness, but as the days and weeks went by I had a sense of an encumbrance on my being, a sense of waiting; eyes appraised me as they never had before. My legs, I felt, were seen beneath my skirt, and the protuberance of my breasts, my bottom, measured, just as I was measured for a wedding gown.

Beneath its frills, its taffeta and lace, I was to wear a waist corset and a camisole of silk. Drawers were not mentioned. 'As to drawers, Mama', I said, but before I could complete the sentence, she had interrupted me. 'On such a day you do not cover up too much, my love. The reception will be private, after all. There are tastings to be considered. Be obedient and you may yet surpass us all. The men must have their merriments- the ladies, too', came her reply. And I, seeking in my sudden maze of thoughts no explanations from her, turned to my cousin, Julie, who had come to stay with us. 'Tastings?

What did she mean?', I asked. Julie was of my own age, height and figure, svelte of hips. She often had a sly look in her eyes. We lay abed, our nightgowns rucked up to our thighs. 'Oh, Emily, you do not know? I was tasted on my eighteenth birthday; sometimes it is done. You must display your pussy first-not look too shy nor look too eager. Tasting only means the lightest touch, above, below, and yet it makes one quiver so. I knew not where to put my eyes, holding my skirts up as I did, was bid to. First, the gentlemen all touched my bottom, then my cunnylips, oh lightly, lightly, but it tickled so. The ladies bent and passed their tongues up inbetween my thighs. I felt the flickering of wet tips there and jerked my bottom, but was smacked and told to stand, to stand upright, knees straight and legs apart.

Then I was taught to kiss. Have you been taught?' 'A little, yes'. I blushed within the dark. 'Touchings of tongues, your lips apart, and titties, bottom, felt? I felt my knees weaken. Full a dozen tongues came in my mouth. Each cupped my thing- my cunny, quim. I, swoony, swaying, clipped my thighs, but they were slapped apart again.

It does not matter who it is who kisses you or feels your fur, soothes fingers underneath your belly or explores your bottom's curves. Some ladies, licking me, said I was creamy there'. 'Oh, Julie, are you?' Head swirling with her wicked words, I upped her nightgown and exposed her curls, she wriggling, giggling, lying back, extending her warm thighs apart. Her thatch was dark and wondrous, and the lips beneath were tinged with pink and moist as a cut peach. 'Don't do it-no, you mustn't, Emily…' But even as she spoke she pressed my head down, down, lips slipping on the soft, silk skin, whorl of her belly button and a musky scent, aroma of the female who is coming up on heat. 'Goo-goo!', she choked, for I had found her curls beneath my mouth and then-with tracing tongue-her spot, whimper of acorn flesh that quivered, rose, and like a tiny penis came erect. Shifting I shifted, wriggling further down, toes snarling in the wrinkled sheet until my face came up between her thighs. 'Taste me!', she moaned and pressed her bottom down bringing my nose up just above her mount, inviting me to search her with my tongue. Her cunnylips were puffy, pouting out. I toiled my tongue between the shell-like folds and found again her waiting clitoris, bringing a squeal of joy from her.

'Like this?' My voice came hollow from the deep, dark deep, between the ruffled sheets. Her heels dug in, her bottom jerked.

'Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes', she moaned, slip-slobbery my mouth against her quim, the salt of her, the musky-warm aroma of our kind, gliding my palms beneath her roguish bottom cheeks to hold their wriggling still while I licked on. Words burst inside my head like starshells, but I could not speak. I heard her grimace her pleasure to the dark, dark of my darkling room, and then she spilled, salt-savour of her seepings on my tongue that rapidly was coated with her cream.

'Oh, Emily! Oh yes, oh yes! Again!' I wanted all, though, all, and worked my body up, my nightgown wreathing up above my breasts and found hers bare and brought them tip to tip, brush of my muff to hers-brush-tingling of our swollen titties then. She poised them, made them roll together, tip to tip, raising her legs criss-crossed around my waist. Dance of our hips and spillings from our cunnies and our tongues, we threshing, incoherent, mouth to mouth. And in…

And in the quiet that followed, in the quiet, came such caressings as can make the lustiest of males seem bores at times-which is to say, when they have threaded one and lie cock-limp, oftimes begin to snore, the globbings from their reservoirs all done. In Sapphic pleasures all is otherwise. 'Tis delicate, long-laboured often, and is sweet. One lies in pure contentment, arms relaxed, thighs sprawled apart and fingers intertwined with murmurations of a fond desire which has a selflessness most males eschew, or know not how to bring to it.

'Tasting is nice', said Julie, and I said 'Yes', -said 'Yes', I said, in some naivete as we both were. I had longed learned to kiss-I knew it then-but with a male it was an otherness. Yet even so the creeping vines of warm desire were intertwining in my veins. Julie's head drooped on my shoulder and she slept while I meandered in the rose arbours of my thoughts. There were dreams to be had here; I, and that old lady of the past, had both been right. 'What happened afterwards-after your tastings?', I wished to ask of Julie, but her breath was soundless in her slumbering, or seemingly she slept, but as a gentle knock came on my door and I heard the slightly squeaking handle turn, I lay back with my eyes closed while at the same time I felt my cousin stir. The door opened, creaked, and then was stilled.

Footfalls upon the carpet, and I turned my back, presenting shoulders only to the visitor. Papa! I knew it by his breathing then.

'Julie', he murmured softly. She sat up. I felt her bottom shifting up the sheet, and hoped her nightgown to be fully down. 'I have not heard you say your prayers, as I was asked to do', he said. 'I'm sorry-I forgot'. A whispered squeak, and I affected then a little snore. 'Come, do it now, but let us both be quiet. You do not need your wrap. Come now'. 'Yes'. Hushed and timid was her tone.

Her legs swung out of bed, the bedclothes dragged, dragged down, revealed my bottom where my robe was up. I did not move but hunched my shoulders tight, and she retreating, bare feet on the floor. A mumbling from without, and they were gone, along the corridor, the deep warm sleekness of the silent night. I heard the study door click open quietly, heard the whisper-slither of her toes upon the carpet there within. Whenever people mumble in the night, I think of goblins, small and fat, with mouths that never part beyond an inch. I think of gloomy furniture that never sleeps, inky shadows, of deserted stairs that wait upon the first feet on the mom, the maids' thighs twinkling underneath their skirts, hot tea upon their lips, the kitchen cold and vaster than it looks when day has spread its light more fully. Soft mumblings, yes, I heard. A little 'Oh!' from Julie, then a bump, a thump, as though a pot had fallen on a cushion, such a sound was made. My floorboards creaked. I wished they did not creak, yet knew by sense and sensing where they bent and, slipping from the bed, tiptoed as if on numbered squares to reach my door. It had been left ajar. I opened it, heart-thumping, heard a small, quick 'GLOOO!' from Julie, and then quiet again, or almost quiet, save for the tiny sounds that filter through the walls at night, the ghosts of bats, of leaves that died and seek the tree whence they long were blown. Forward I sneaked, and knew my every edging tread. 'A little more', I heard Papa say, stilled myself, then ventured on again in such fell gloom as makes a yard seem as a furlong is. His door was open and I saw a light within. No sound of prayers came, but another sound, a lipping, squishy-soft sound and a hissing as from Julie's nose.

Oh, venture on, my heart said, but I did not dare. For one long moment just the door absorbed me, and the bar of light.

Then-AH!-a hand clamped from behind across my mouth. An arm encompassed my small waist. The voice of Jane was a fluff-ball in my ear.

'Be quiet, be quiet, you may just for a moment look', she said. I made to kick. I dared not kick nor move, so tense was my astonishment and, overall, the great fear that Papa might know me there or hear her voice and come out to confront us both. 'Now move…', I heard and inch by inch we neared the door, my bottom bulbing to her belly as we moved- a dance, slow dance, of terrified enchantment. Closer and closer came the light, and then I saw within, eyes bulging and her hand still at my mouth. Papa sat foursquare on a simple wooden chair, his legs apart, his trousers ruffled down, though all that I could see were trunklike thighs, the back of Julie's head. She knelt between his legs, her head was bent. One hand was forward and the other somewhere underneath. Her head bobbed and I heard a slurping sound. Papa half closed his eyes and murmured to himself, his hands gripped on the raised arms of the chair. Squishy the sounds, as I had heard before, and then I was half-drawn, half-lifted back, propelled around and guided down the stairs. I sniffled, burbled, but dared make no noise. The stairs creaked and crackled like emergent flames. Not until the drawing room was reached did Jane release my mouth. 'What? Oh!' -I knew not what to say.

'A brandy-shall we steal one each?', she laughed. 'What?', I repeated, feeling rather like a parrot who has learned just that. I made to sit, in my bewilderment, but started up again. More footfalls slithered and Mama came in, floating her fine form in a nightgown of blue silk. The world was upside down-I knew it to be so. She must have passed the study door, the bar of light and Julie there and… 'A half a glass and that is all', she said, picked up a cushion, placed it down again and gazed at me appraisingly as Jane procured a carafe, glasses, and a tray. 'Mama…', I bleated, but Jane shook her head. 'Sometimes I want to cry, sometimes to laugh. Are we not all so?', Mama asked. The lamps that Jane had lit shone through her nightgown, and she wore no drawers. All liquid were our movements.

'The three Graces', said Mama and took her glass, we standing as might people in a park who stop to speak and then pass on. She tilted back her head, emptied her glass and bid me do the same. I did so, choked a little and then coughed. 'Discretion is the first thing that we learn-is that not so, Mama?', Jane asked. She slid her free arm round my waist and soothed my bottom gently as she spoke. 'The wedding will be a fine one', said Mama. She spun her glass between her fingers. The rim sparkled, then she drained the final drop. Her tongue peeped pinkly, then withdrew. 'How gently goes the night when all is done and well done, and with quietude, my pets. You have both learned to kiss and stir your hips a little; that is good. Julie will return to you in but a moment, Emily. Go back to bed now'. 'Yes, Mama'.

'She will cuddle you, I do expect', Jane said, but then was shushed. I watched her pick the carafe up. The brandy swilled within the fine, glass globe. I hesitated. Mama pouted at me, said, 'Go on, my pet', and forwarded her glass then up to Jane once more to let the heady liquid spill within. I wandered lonely as a cloud, as Mr.

Wordsworth says. The stairs, dark stairs, received and swallowed me. A scuffling sounded up above; the study door was closed and then on entering my room again I found my cousin back upon my bed, hands up behind her head, her legs apart, lace of her nightgown round her belly's curve, and her dark bush displayed. 'Emily-come and kiss me.' She extended one arm and then tucked it back. 'No', I said, 'No'. 'You have to come to bed'. Smile in the dark-a cat's smile and I hated her. 'There are times when you have to, Emily, and this is one of them'. The voice was not hers, though, but Mama's, who had followed me so quietly that I knew not she was there.

'Mama-she…' Oh, I almost said the words! 'She what? Get into bed, my love. Receive the night, receive the night'. The door was closed. I stumbled forward, all a-maze, head dizzy, and a tingling in my nest I wished there not to be, but Julie's arms enfolded me and drew me down. Her open legs received mine, though I fretted, struggled, then for fear of more alarms, excursions, I lay still and let my belly palpitate on hers. 'Emily, you are a sillikins sometimes. Come-put your tongue into my mouth', she urged.

I spluttered softly, would not do. Her pussy rubbed to mine, her legs hooked mine and held them wide apart. My nightgown raised, our tits were bare again. 'Tasting is nice', said Julie and she stung my tongue, a bee's sting with her own, made my head swim. 'Noo, nooo!' I mumbled, but her legs spread more, rose up, calves crossed in ringlike strength around my waist. 'Rock your bottom, Emily. Oh, nice it is!' 'I shan't!' 'You shall!' 'Oh, stop it, do, you hateful, wicked… oooh!' Mouths open warm and I surrendering, the oily lips of passion there below, between our legs, writhing against each other's as we squirmed. 'You don't know what I did', she mouthed, fur of her bush a-tickling under mine. 'I do. You…

OOOF!' Her finger at my bottom-hole. It entered and I squealed into her mouth, tried to resist it, but it wormed within and held me pinned upon her lambent warmth, our nipples rubbery and stiff. 'Come on, come on!', she puffed. 'Don't w… w… want to…' There was a saltiness upon her tongue. Her lips were rimed with drying cream.

The scent of sperm. I knew it for its savour and its headiness, alike to chestnut blossom, as I thought it then. 'I said my prayers', she laughed beneath my mouth. Far gone, too gone to fret rebellion then, I squirmed my hips, spilled out my spendings, trilling with her own, soared into white clouds tinged with pink and deeper promises of purple far beyond. 'His balls-they were my rosary', she said, and whirling like a leaf I fell, down, down, oh down, into the liquid bliss.