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

CHAPTER 5

'Many are the marriages made on the moon, and thence the greater part of them should go. Yours is not one of them-no freedom is denied you, nor shall be', Mama said to me on my wedding eve, endeavouring to toss such crumbs of comfort as she could, and yet not coddling me at all. I was directed and diverted as a small stream is, its gullies, channels, passages rock-blocked, stone-hindered, and the glittering waters turned aside to find a new path through a meadow dark, unknown. Therewith there grew in me a hardness that at first I did not recognise, though as a ball of wool is-tossed about a room-I gathered scraps of other colours to me, Stardust that had sprinkled on the floor when humans were not there, and specks and flecks of satisfied desire that fell from under skirts of those more wanton than I then was. My imagination thus was in some rout, yet equally it gathered up a sense of things the more the hours passed to my wedding noon. Upon the afternoon beforehand, when many were the voices in the house, James came to me as I sought solitude and begged me to accompany him to his room. He had been smoking-nervously, I thought-had the aroma of his jacket and looked flushed. 'Only a moment, then', said I. We entered and he closed the door. His room was in a disarray, his guns uncased, books opened everywhere, a pair of Norfolk britches on the bed. 'I would kiss you as I kissed you once-against the wall. Remember that?' He clasped my waist and drew me closely to him, thighs to thighs. 'No', I said weakly, but a hint of some excitement flourished in my belly then. 'Brothers and fathers have the first right, it is said', said James. 'Do they?', I answered. Lips touched lips. I meant them not to, but they did. The sticky mouth of Mary and my cousin's salty tongue. Visions of nightfall: mother drinking brandy with a smile. 'What is the claim?', I asked. I teased; I should say teased-our tongue tips touched. My skirt was eased up slowly by his hands. Air warm, cool-warm around my calves, my knees, and of a sudden then it was scooped up, my bottom plump upon his palms. I strained at him, yet could not bear to lose the moment we had once begun when Mary mouthed him, sucked upon his tool. 'The claim is here, my sweet, between your cheeks, and up between your thighs where your tight nest will learn to suck upon the cock. Oh, let me feel it-let me get my hand within!' He sought to tug my drawers down, but I stayed his hand. Strong as he was, he had an awe of me. Our eyes fought; I succumbed, against my better will I did. 'Don't, darling'. Yet my voice became a whine. He shook my hand away and stole his own beneath the waistband of my drawers, sought deep, and cupped my pulsing quim upon his palm. 'There-does it not feel nice?', he husked. 'Mmmm… yes!' The mood was on me and I could not help.

His finger eased apart the lips and found the waiting moisture, rosy bud. Knees weakening, I made him hold me up and ringed my arms around his neck. 'Oh, let me cream you, love, upon the bed'. 'No, James, you mustn't, not yet, no'. I said not yet, I said not yet. I breathed as Julie breathed that night at prayer, my tendrils of warm breath against his own, I circled my tongue lazily within his mouth and cared not for the morrow or the afterwards. My drawers drooped, fell and circled in a white loop round my ankles, laces white against brown shoes. 'Open your legs more, Emily'. 'I won't'. Slow, hungered stirring of our mouths, his hidden prick rockhard against my thigh. He sought my bottom, held the cheeks apart and held me thus, skirt looped upon his arms.

In the stable, Jane was, yes, I know she was, I know with whom she was, I know…

'How plump your bottom is and yet how small it feels a-throbbing on my palms!' 'Does it?' My eyes rolled up, my head hung back, his kisses on my neck, tip of his finger easing in into my rosehole. 'D… d… d… don't!', I whimpered, but he would not stop, began to work it back and forth, in-out, and fingered up my cunny with his other hand, I arcing back, knees sagging, mouth agape, the ceiling a white cloud above. Blindly I sought him, felt his prick, the cloth around it, made the buttons loose and dipped my hand within around his stave. 'I will c… come!', he stammered. Such semblance of control as I possessed surprised me then. I squeezed his pulsing rod and brought it burning to my silky belly as we stood. 'You won't', said I. The door swung open then, we frozen in lewd attitude like a forbidden statue, and there stood Papa. Such moments hang in Time as does a raindrop on the petal of a rose. The floor creaked and was quiet again. Papa loosed a button of his jacket, let the sides fall free. 'James will go to his sister's room and there remain'.

The words were sombre and yet spoken with a quiet. My brother gurgled something and tore free, I left forlorn, my skirt high as a band is round a cake, my fallen drawers hallucinating sins I had not quite discovered then. James sought to cover up his tool. He could not, for too stiff it was, and blushing like a schoolgirl he ran out.

Tour drawers are down, my dear. A little early yet for frolics, is it not? Your garters should be tighter than they are. See to it on the morrow that they band your thighs as closely as your dreams'.

'Papa? Yes, Papa'. I squeaked. I did not recognise my voice. His jacket was dark brown and ribbed with braid. A white silk handkerchief peeped like a rabbit from his pocket top. I had to bend, to bend down for my drawers, but could not move-I, striken with dismay. My fingers opened, closed again, arms limp. 'Come here!' 'M… m… my drawers, Papa-I cannot move'. 'Come here, I say! Walk slowly and you will not fall. How like a stricken schoolgirl you do look. And yet…' I blundered, almost tripped, and toed my way with wariness, though tried to hide such look as may have been upon my face. Ticklings of tinglings round my pussy, and my thighs were warm.

Within a foot of him I stopped, I teetered, held myself upright, blushed full and tried to meet his gaze. 'That blush may be the last, my pet. I trust it may, except when you feel wrath or anger at some unkind thing. Adjust your stockings-have them ever tight'. I bent, head at his stomach almost, finger-fretted, pulled, arranged, glimpsed a protuberance beneath my eyes, and straightened, almost falling sideways at the tugging of my drawers that were more tightly wreathed about my ankles, then. 'You have learned to kiss, I see-have learned to part your legs, if somewhat gauche your attitude.

Your knees will learn to tremble not, your body will be upright to a lingering touch. Be sharp upon your toes in attitudes of passion, Emily. Spare not your poses, keep your bottom thrust'. 'P… P…

Papa?' 'Step back a pace and pull your drawers up, then stand still'. 'Yes'. I-the submissive one who hated so to be- obeyed and soothed my dress, my belly pale a longer moment to his eyes as I arranged myself-fluff of my bush… His trouser-bulge was blatant, undismayed by a quick skittering of eyes, my eyes. 'Autumn will be upon us soon-cries of the corncrakes, and the summer done'.

'Fires will be lit in all…' I stopped in my reply. Hazed memories of three abed, a penis stirring lazy-warm against my thigh.

'Indeed, my dear, in all the rooms, in all; I trust in all…

That is to say…' Awkwardly he moved, came to my side, penis protruding upwards through his trousercloth, the poker buried like a broken spear. It touched my knuckles- hesitated-lingered with the quick self-consciousness of an uncertain comma in a sentence. I moved my hand a little, felt it stir, unwilting ramrod to my fingers pressed. 'Yes, Emily yes', Papa said. Was it a command? I hung my head, but let my hand still touch. His loins stirred, and I felt the fuller length brush right across the limp back of my hand. I swallowed, and he heard the sound. 'I shall…', I said. I knew not what to say. My head was separated from my heart. 'Go to your room again? Indeed. Be watchful on the morrow; do not take that which you do not need, do not desire'. 'No, Papa'. I slouched, moved forward to the door. I wished to flee, yet not to go, he standing motionless, his back to me. I should have been forlorn, yet felt not so. The good, the bad, the needed, the desired, became as one, were enveloped in silence, neither held or dropped. James waited for me, sitting on my bed, face pale, his trousers buttoned up.

'What is to do-what is to do?', he asked, and stood confronting me. 'Naught that may bring dismay. Papa was kind. An understanding of the future bride', I sparkled, and surprised myself.

'He will not tell Mama, I know. Be sure of that'. 'Thank heavens for it. Did he…?' 'Did he what, James, what?'. A carelessness possessed me and I smoothed my hair. 'I mean, your drawers were down and…' 'Oh? Am I desirable?', I laughed. The ghost of Julie lingered on the bed. Her stockinged toes would tease their wicked tools, and they would humble stand like schoolboys, hands behind their backs. 'Extremely, Emily; you know you are. Such slim curves, yet such fullness. You would drive a statue to erect his prick'. 'I have done, I believe', I taunted him, then urged him to the door with playful touch. 'Go out, or Papa may return', I said. He wilted, bit his lip and went.