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

CHAPTER 8

Some houses have little to be said of them, except they stand foursquare and have sufficient greenery to flirt and flow around their stolid walls, shrubs flourishing, upstarting trees, and sad, brown borders that lament the deaths of flowers when Autumn comes. Arnold's-I should say his father's, rather-was imposing, turreted in the fond manner of an architect who believes the Crusades still to be unfinished. Armoured, hollow men stood in the hall. All looked baronial and overdone. I did not like the crossed assegais on the walls, the hide shields. The stuffed birds were nice. 'We shall have pleasant days here', Constance said. Arnold dispersed himself upstairs. The drawing room was langourous and grand with silk and braided chairs, a crimson ottoman, a fine old Davenport. 'It may be so', I answered cautiously. Her Mama, Hilda, weighed me up and down and smiled. Jane fiddled with some cut flowers, looked about, and had an air on her as if she did not mind the place. My room-I had my own room, as it seemed- was next to that of Constance who then guided me around. 'The beds squeak sometimes-are you used to that?', she asked. 'I am, yes', I replied and stared her out, at which her eyes dropped, disconcerted, as I thought. 'We favoured you with lips and tongues', she said and then embraced me quickly as if I might retreat. I did not fold my arms defensively between us and was kissed upon my eyelids just as James had done. How easy it becomes to tell ourselves sometimes that such and such a one is nice when they are not! I wished to say she had outraged me, though in aftermaths I never bleat.-'You are delicious to make love with-did you know?', she asked. 'You know much more about it than I do-or seemingly. Where, then, is Arnold?' 'He? He will be seen to. Do not fret as to his cause. He has his weaknesses; I know them well.' 'I'm sure you do'. I turned my back on her and fiddled with the curtains. Velvet green they were, and not quite to my taste. Quite unabashed, she came behind me, licked her tongue around my neck. 'I am not incestuous, Emily. D'you think I am?' 'I care not…', I began, and then her Mama came in. I felt the smile of Constance on my neck together with her pointed tongue that made me quiver-tickle-tingle all at once. Her arms around my waist, my bottom bulbed into her belly, still she did not move. 'Shall you play maid at tea, or Emily, or Jane?', she asked. 'I? No-I did it yesterday, Mama, or was it last week? So much happens here'.

'Last week? Last year? Your legs were much admired. Dear Emily, she does not know of what we speak, though. Let her choose between herself and Jane. It is her day'. 'It is? I had scarce noticed if, I said. The sun's rays were stooping shallow on the lawn. A blackbird uttered its bright song. 'She has a touch of humour on her, Mama, does she not-it is very sweet. You are sweet; did you know that, Emily?' She turned me-all were fit, it seemed, to turn me as they would. I wished to beat at her, at her brown dress. Instead, I laughed, and thought myself a fool: a weakness in me I could not disperse. In their strange commonness, bizarre of tongue, was a rough strand of jollity that meant not to offend. Hilda departing, Constance stroked my face. Fingers of velvet, yes, she had. 'You have not played “maid”?', she asked. 'It is not so common in the county here. Papa says it is not, at least. A girl is dressed up as a servant girl, but with a skirt that shows her legs, and with an unstarched blouse with buttons all undone. She serves, we toy with her, then Arnold takes his pleasure of her. Such he is allowed to do.

Papa may spank her first, though-make her ready for the cock. Are you cock-ready, darling? Tell me yes!' 'I have… I have been. Does he-does he do it in your sight?'. I wanted not to know, and yet I did.

Pressed to the wall she kept me, and our thighs were warm. Julie would come and tongue us both, perhaps. Mad thoughts invaded me-I in this house, this strange room, with its camphor smell, the scent of polish redolent on wood. 'That is for you to say-or rather, it is now'.

'I have a choice?' Sullen my mouth. I altered it and smiled.

Tomorrow I would flee with Jane, I told myself. It mattered not as to the evening or the night. 'Of course, you silly. Is not love here shared? I will play a little with his cock. I promise you, I do no more than that. He is so timid really, one can handle him at will. His prick bursts in long, fine-spurting flood. Surprising, really, that he does so much. Ah, Fiona- yes, come in-what do you say? Shall it be Emily or Jane to play the maid today?' 'Neither', said I, and hooked her stare. 'You said the choice was mine-so be it. Fiona here shall play the part. Dress the girl quickly and be done with it. I would soon as see this play as any other'. 'But I don't want! Oh, not with Arnold, no!', Fiona uttered, pouting, shifting feet, tugging at dress. 'Fiona, she has never watched before. It is her due to see-today. Another time, another place, all will be different. Once and only once-you will for me?', so Constance wheedled, but I then stood firm, said it was my wish and not hers. At that, Fiona turned and ran downstairs, I following and Constance in my wake. 'The maid is Fiona', I announced. The congregation was complete: Arnold, his parents, and my sister sat as though all waiting for a train.

'You take command?', her father asked, his eyes amused, his mouth a line of doubtfulness. He lounged in shirtsleeves-a very common touch-as Arnold did, their collars off. I felt then in the long, ensuing hour that I had wandered on a stage-in view of audience-where an unwritten play was to be performed. Some altercation had ensued, but Fiona finally was sent upstairs, was dressed her part, and came down with a vague attempt at shyness, on her own. A skirt, much cut, of dusty black, came to her stocking tops which, like a servant's, were of the same hue. Unbuttoned was her blouse: the half-moons showed. Her hair was caught up with a ribbon tightly tied. 'Serve me. I will have port-the others, too', her father said and winked at me a vulgar wink that I ignored. Too long she was about it and was fetched by Jane who did not mind the chore and afterwards confessed to me that she had felt the girl a little, found no drawers, and 'tickled up her pussy just for larks'. Fiona was flushed when she came in, found us expectant, served her Papa first. I wondered at his hand that hovered near her thighs. He did not touch, though, and merely smiled.

Arnold did neither, for I stared him out. Hilda sniffed at her glass and rose. The night would be long, she said, and drifted off to go upstairs. 'Do you wear drawers, you naughty servant girl?', asked Constance of her sister when it came her turn to take a glass.-'No', said Fiona pettishly and made to make her exit, but her sister caught her wrist. I suspected some contraction of the action that might normally obtain-yet in all truth they had not the finesse for it.

Erotic moments, as I have long learned, must be played slowly, rather as a string quartet expands a melody as if to say, 'We may not finish here today'. Knees should be shown, the stocking tops displayed, a rim of thigh above-no more than that. First kisses should be soft, exploratory, the bottom rolling, wiggling, as one walks.

Hands may explore the tits outside the dress, but not within. A bedroom may be entered, but one sits at first, with thighs displayed, upon a sofa, toying with a prick not yet revealed to one, with fingers languorous-not too excited then-around one's quim. In such a mood, I have been come upon long since by a maidservant, but I did not stay my caressing hand, nor he. The girl looks slyly, sideways, at the pair. If she is clever, skilled at boudoir games, she may dust around a little, even humming to herself, and then depart- perhaps have glimpsed at last the lady's legs apart and seen her fondly tickled muff, the gentleman's stiff prick displayed. The couple may ignore her presence or, if the maid is pretty, may then call her back into the room and invite her to join them on the waiting bed. 'No drawers?

Why, how provocative! Go to the gentleman you first served, then, and ask his pardon for your rude display', said Constance to her sister who, hesitating, was ordered to put down her tray, given a push, and wandered with her finger in her mouth to her Papa. 'Yes?', he enquired.-'I have no d… d… drawers on sir', said she. 'Is your bottom, then, so warm you do not need to wear them? Let me see it; lie face down across my lap'. 'Oh no, Papa-I mean, sir-please!' A real wail from Fiona. Was it real? He seized her wrist and made her tumble down, face forward, belly on his thighs, and flipped her skirt up. The black stockings made her thighs above gleam sweetly. 'No, no!', she shrieked as he uncovered her and brought her bottom to our view. Chubby the cheeks were, plump with girlishness, the chasm tight. I could not resist the sudden thought that it invited explorations. Her ankles were towards us. Bent far over as she was, palms flat upon the carpet, one could see her nest, the peeping fig of the tight cunnylips. 'Sir, please-oh, not too hard!', she cried, then SMACK! His palm descended on her rumptious cheeks and brought a wailing cry from her, a pink flare showing on the snow-white hemispheres. 'Harder!', called Constance. Sitting on the ottoman with me, she ringed my waist and made me lean to her, our cheeks together. Thinking that I might be next, I made no struggle, watched his hand rise and descend again, bringing a juicy splatting sound and yet another sobbing cry. Her hips bounced and her fingers dug into the carpet. Arnold-who had a frontal view with Jane- gazed open-mouthed but otherwise was limp as washing on a line. My sister's hands moved up and down her thighs, her knees apart, a flush upon her face. 'WAH-HAAAR! Oh, Papa, not so hard!', shrieked the young, shapely victim while the tongue of Constance licked around my mouth and brought my yielding tongue to seek her own. A warmth was in my belly, and a mood of devilment. SMACK! SMACK!-'GOO-HOOO!' from Fiona.

Each time she closed her legs, he smacked her thighs and made her quim to show the more. Jane uttered a huge sigh, lay back and moved her bottom on the seat, watching the maiden's hot smacked derriere as it bumped up and down. Her armchair being next to Arnold's, she extended her hand to his, but when his did not move she drew it back again and gave me an excited, guilty look. 'BOO-HOOO!', Fiona sobbed. Her bottom was bright pink. Her legs went of a sudden limp. Her father's hand then raised up high again but descended very slowly and came to rest in seeming benediction on her quivering cheeks. 'You should see to her', he said to Constance. His lips looked thicker and his face was flushed. Fiona uttered up a wail and rolled like a rag doll from off his lap to settle on her tummy on the floor. She sobbed and sneezed, and then lay still again, legs spread. 'Help me take her upstairs, Emily. Arnold, you will follow us', said Constance.

'NO-HO, don't want to!', Fiona sobbed and drew her legs up, rolled into a ball, but Constance rose and roughly pulled her up, skirt hitched, her glowing bottom showing red. 'Come, Miss!

Recalcitrance will only bring you more', said Constance, dragging on her wrist and beckoning me to take Fiona's other arm. Jane got up, too, and said that she would come. Before she could move again, however, Fiona's father lumbered up and went across to her and whispered something in her ear, then said aloud, 'It is the custom that one girl should stay'. Fiona was struggling, but we got her to the door while Arnold, getting up reluctantly, came in our wake.

Over my shoulder I saw Jane being led towards the ottoman our bottoms had left warm. I knew, however, that her look was fey-not so dismayed as she would have me think. I somehow recognised those seemingly grudging footsteps that she took-have often seen it since in other girls who wish one to believe they do not want to play. I heard her 'OOOH!' sound as we entered the wide hall. Fiona, kicking, needed to be dragged. 'Arnold, pick up her legs-we'll carry her', snapped Constance.-'NO-WOH!', squealed Fiona, but we did, all five feet three of her slung in our arms, her bared legs threshing feebly while Arnold made a funny hissing sound. His face was pale, not flushed as others' would have been. To her own room we carried her.-'Fiona, you will obey, you know you must', said Constance as the door was closed, 'Get on the bed, Miss, bottom up, or Papa will bring the birch to you'. 'Not fair-it's not!', Fiona whimpered. Even so, she kneed her way upon the bed, presenting her cleft orb upon whose surfaces the red had paled a little to a glossy pink. 'Hold her head down, Emily; she likes much to be held. Now, Arnold, take your boots and trousers off. Your bride is watching, dear-perform with grace', Constance commanded. How absurd, bizarre, the tableau was, yet I absorbed it as one does a book that captures the imagination, draws one into mystery from page to page and will not be put down until a climax has obtained. Arnold obeyed. First he unlaced his boots then cast them off. Giving a wretched look at me, who stood with hand upon Fiona's neck, he worked his trousers down and then at last displayed his penis to my view, his shirt tucked up by Constance whose hands were motherly, not lewd as I expected. Some eight inches long, his thin, stiff penis had erected, spirelike, with a purplish knob much like unto a very fat acorn. 'Em… Emily…', he stammered.

Constance then took hold of it, her fingers closely ringed around the root, and pulled him till his knees were at the bed. 'How like a hound he is! Some large, slim-bodied dogs have pricks the like. Do you not think so, Emily? He is exercised in this way once a week. Mama says it may weaken him to do it more. Do you think it would? His balls are a fair size, though, are they not?' Arnold stood quivering as she spoke, thin-thighed, and belly flat as is a girl's. His pubic hairs were sandy. I remarked that fact with distant eyes. He stared down at his younger sister's upraised bottom as though it might be an offered bun. Fiona squeaked, head-twisting, but I held her down.

Not receiving a reply from me, Constance made Arnold take his stance upon the bed, smacked Fiona's calves to make them open more while his knees shuffled inbetween, his poker rising up against her cheeks. 'Remark well, dear Emily-although I am sure that you already know-that a girl who has been spanked or birched or caned or tawsed-must have her bottom cooled by a syringe. Arnold's is quite perfect for the task, is quite exquisite when it urges up', said Constance and with that she bent his prick little down and pointed it at Fiona's pinky-brown and wrinkled nether hole. 'HOOO-AAAR! Oh no!', Fiona squealed. 'Be quiet, girl!', came from me, to my surprise. I held her head with both hands-Constance held her hips.

Arnold uttered a gasping sound and infiltrated his warm, swollen knob into her offered aperture, at which her back dipped. Artfully, her bottom balled more thus, encouraging his entry. Peering then, I saw three inches of his cock glide in, and she a-wriggle, though not with much force. 'No, no, no, don't', she wailed. The cry was token, though. His mouth was slack and wobbly and I cared not for the sight of it. James had looked flushed but quite angelic when he fingered up my bottomhole. I had permitted that. I had known the first sweet stinging of the probe that brought a rich and sickly feel of pleasure in its wake. Had Papa not come in, I might have yielded. 'T… t… t… tight!', came Arnold's groan. He grimaced, Fiona moaned and bit her fist. 'Get into her, you fool, and work her well', said Constance. 'Ah!', he uttered sharply and, with that, rooted himself in her delicious derriere until I sensed his balls were hanging underneath her nest. 'Mama, Mama!', Fiona squeaked. Her hips squirmed, jerked a little, then were still. 'Play with her titties now-bend over her. She has to do it now-it is the rule', said Constance. She released her sister's hips and beckoned me to take my hands away in turn. Then she embraced me, drew me aside to watch, her warm cheek pressed to mine.- 'Come sideways, you will better see', she said, and gathered up my dress in folds to feel my garters and my thighs. Arnold was puffing as he worked his loins. His palms scooped out Fiona's melons, nipples sprouting from between his fingers.

'OOOH-WOOH!', she sobbed, his belly smacking to her bottom as they threshed, the long stiff penis almost full emerging and then ploughing in again. I watched. My eyes were hot, my lips were moist.

SLAP-SMACK!-SLAP-SMACK!-the moans, the choked-off cries, the hot cork gliding in and out. 'Have you watched before? You have not- have you-have not watched before?', asked Constance softly, and pulled up my dress to bare my bottom and my thatch. My mouth did not wish to kiss hers, did not wish her sharp saliva, nor her hand that cupped the plump mound of my quim, and yet, and yet, my lips were under hers, she easing fingers back and forth to make me tremble.-'What a luscious honeypot you have, dear Emily. Part your legs the more and flex your knees. There, there! You cannot help yourself! Who can? Now look again. He'll cream her bottom soon. The little witch will suck him dry, I know. Quick, kiss her Emily, the while he does!' 'WAH!'

This time the short, soft cry was mine. Pushed, bundled down, face under Fiona's-my legs a-dangle on the floor-I drew the girl's mouth down upon my own. O sweet it was, so small, so soft, so moist. Her tongue slid like an uncoiled spring between my lips, her moans resounding as she bucked, and Arnold's fierce, quiet hissing heard above. SPLATT! smacked her bottom into him. Then Constance knelt and thrust her face between my thighs and brought her tongue to soothe around my slit, causing my knees to hang upon her shoulders as she did. Ah, whirl of memories-the pants, the moans, the liquid sounds we made! My bottom bounced on the bed's edge. I flooded the warm, seeking mouth of Constance while Fiona gargled, twirled her tongue to mine, then uttered a thin cry of animal delight as Arnold groaned and loosed his sperm deep up her clenching bottomhole.

'Children! What are you playing at?', I heard. And no one moved, and no one moved. 'We are playing, Mama. Go away!', said Constance from between my legs. 'I see you are, indeed. Do not be long. Tea will be shortly served. Or supper-is it supper? I am now not sure'. The door closed, and we were alone again.