The Secret Lives of Emma: Beginnings

by Walker, Natasha

  ‘Then give me a kiss.’

  Jason’s large body ambled forward and he leant his face to hers. She turned from his kiss.

  ‘Not there,’ she said, as he lifted his face to look at her. ‘Here.’ She raised her foot slightly. She had to curb her actions again. She forgot he had yet to see her naked. She put her foot on the edge of the bath and pushed the towel between her legs so he couldn’t steal a peek; especially as it was then, wet and hot and thoroughly debauched.

  With one hand holding the towel to her breast and the other against the glass of the shower door Emma was unable to touch her young lover. She wanted to touch him – to take off his t-shirt for one thing. He bent over obediently and gave her foot an uninspiring kiss.

  ‘That is the way you kiss your grandmother.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s my foot. Not your grandmother’s face. My foot wants you, Jason. Kiss it properly.’

  He knelt down. He placed his lips on the smooth clean skin. Then he thought about what it was he was kissing. Emma’s foot. He looked up at her and she looked down at him calmly. He placed little kisses along her foot and brought his lips against her toes. The bright idea of using his tongue entered his head. He kissed her toes gently with his lips parted, tasting her skin.

  She tasted so fresh. There were droplets of water on her foot, which heightened his appreciation in this moment. He fleetingly compared her soft white skin with what he considered his most favourite expression of freshness. An apple from the fridge in summer. Washed under the tap and dripping. He would love the anticipation of the freshness as much as the actual attainment of the crisp cold apple itself.

  He thought of this as we all tend to think; the idea coming and going unexamined, leaving him with an undefined hunger. He thought of biting and eating her. His cock hardened and pulsed. His tongue darted out between her toes and she giggled. Then he thought to draw a toe into his mouth.

  He moved his body, and sat down on the cool tiled floor with his back against the side of the bath. He held her foot and rested the soft flesh of the ball of her foot against his chin. He looked up at her. She pushed the towel down between her legs, but he wasn’t even thinking of that. He wanted to know if anyone had ever thought of doing this. He took her tiny toe into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it and sucked on it. He visualised his tongue sucking her skin. He massaged her calf with one hand and kneaded her heel with the other. He then moved onto the next toe.

  His erection was urging him all the while. The pressure it was exerting was substantial. Foreplay was not on his cock’s agenda for the day. In fact, it never would be. There was a slow chant. Come, Come, Come. An insistent and persuasive message which men heeded all too often. But Jason continued to suck on her toes, and took great pleasure in it. He wanted to please. He needed to please. He wanted Emma to be feeling as he felt and more. The chant in his pants continued but obviously Emma’s influence was greater.

  ‘That’s what I wanted. A proper kiss,’ she said, thinking immediately of his hot, inexperienced kisses making their way up her body. She wondered where to take him. The bedroom?

  Then he rubbed his hand along the underside of her leg and under the towel. A moment of alarm became a moment of exhilaration as she thought of him breaking her rules and touching her. Even the thought of reprimanding him thrilled her. She let his warm rough hand run and run. She wanted him to touch her. She needed his fingers to penetrate her. She felt so warm and so wet. She wanted to know what he would do. How he would cope with a pussy bursting with desire.

  But he baulked. His hand stopped and then cautiously slipped around and caressed and then gripped her butt. She was balancing on one leg with her other raised while he sucked her toes one by one. She could hardly concentrate. The simple pleasure of his warm mouth against her toes was sending shivers through her and the knowledge that his hand was on her butt insisted on a quick end to her games. His hand was pulling her to him and she was resting her weight against it in reply.

  She was reminded of lovers who had taken her in their hands. Lovers who had lifted her, moved her, shifted her and mounted her. She loved to be within the hands of a lover, to have their hands grabbing her butt while they fucked her with all their might. Her desires were well fuelled. Her memories matched her imaginative powers. Every thought rolled in with footnotes and further examples. Her lust snowballed quickly.

  ‘Take off your top!’ she said. ‘Oh fuck! Let’s go!’

  ‘Where?’ he asked, looking up at her from the floor.

  He took in her whole body and yearned for her. He wanted to taste every part of her, to lick her skin. Lick it. Lick it all.

  He thought a new thought. Something he had never connected with his own experience. He remembered a photo a boy had shown him years and years ago. It was a picture of a woman licking another woman’s vagina. He must have been ten when he saw it. This was the image that came to him when he thought of Emma’s skin. When he desired her skin and wanted to lick it and taste it with his mouth. His mouth was hungry for her. He thought of the photo and wanted to kiss Emma like that.

  Emma steadied herself, placing both of her feet onto the tiles, clutching the towel which really wanted to be a pile on the floor – or was that Emma’s wish? She thought it time to stand naked in front of him. To reveal all. Did she? Damn these games. Emma looked down at her boy. His blue jeans were ragged at the ends. He wore no shoes. She liked that about him. His brown feet and ankles looked edible coming from that deep ocean blue. They always looked clean too. She liked her own feet and she liked feet. Jason’s would go well with a bit of melon.

  He had on a nasty blue sport t-shirt with the school’s name printed on the left breast. But it was tight in the right places and it brought the age difference into focus which excited Emma. She was a schoolboy’s lover.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked, in a sweet voice, pointing at his crotch. His cock was pressing painfully against his tight jeans. She smiled at him, a smile which acknowledged the childish nature of her question. She knew that her question was one she had asked him before but repetition seldom dulled her sexual fantasies. Repetition was one of the champions of pleasure. All of her thoughts were slight variations of themes she had cherished during her sexual life. She dearly wanted to kneel down there and investigate, to release his straining cock. In fact, a passing thought ran through her mind of being butt fucked by Jason whilst she sucked Jason’s cock for the first time. A stupid thought but a highly arousing one. To have two Jasons, the Jason she would soon have and the Jason she had now, loving her at the same time.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  ‘Doesn’t look like nothing. Let me see.’ Saying this she knelt down, clutching the towel to her front, and leant forward. Jason’s eyes found uncovered places. Emma knelt and brought her face right up close to his crotch. She was silent. Her wet hair dangled around her face. She studied the stitches and then the form behind them. She had fondled it through lighter material than denim. She wondered what she’d do. She wondered …

  She found his seriousness contagious. Her every movement was meaningful for Jason. Each touch was registered, each lesson memorised.

  She was a ball now, her forehead resting against his crotch. She could feel it jump and spasm under her. She was worried. All the forces in her body were screaming out. She wanted to finish the games. She no longer wished to be a teacher.

  He began to smooth her wet hair. The innocence of this act was lost on Emma. She had felt that hand a million times. The hand which urged her to suck, urged her to take it all the way in; that hand which stopped her play and demanded strong sucking and quick rhythm. Jason’s touch was soft but gave her no direction. Emma was confused. At this point a firm hand would change everything. Would she break? She would, she would, she answered nodding her head slowly, rubbing herself against him.

  ‘Yes,’ she thought. ‘Yes.’

  Jason had been still all the while. His balls were beginning to ache. Ever
y day now he had a pain there, a pain which was only dulled by masturbating. Every time he left Emma he had had to run home to jerk off. Sometimes three or four times in a row, quickly and eagerly. He would lock himself in the bathroom and then, staring in the mirror, would pull himself to a quick climax whilst thinking of her.

  Sometimes he would even say her name. Sometimes he would curse her. Sometimes he would whisper obscenities. ‘Suck it, bitch! Suck it!’ he’d whisper while pulling away. He would shake all over and his butt would clench and he would think physical thoughts, of bodies jamming against each other, of strong hugs and sometimes he thought of hurting, of punching, of wrestling.

  He would feel such a great wave of relief when the come shot out, hot drops would spurt into the sink and stick to the dry porcelain. If it touched his hand it was warm and sticky.

  He wanted so much in these moments of coming. Many of his desires were blind urges. But some were clear. He wanted to fuck Emma. That was clear. It wasn’t so clear when it came to particulars. He couldn’t visualise penetration, or what it would feel like. He wanted so badly to know. Sometimes while showering he would soap up his hand and make a fist and then shove his hard-on into it. He would pretend his fist was Emma. One afternoon she had asked him how he masturbated and Jason had told her he didn’t do it often. He told her that he would do it in bed under the covers and that it wasn’t very good. She hadn’t believed him. She knew boys in their teens were obsessive masturbators. She knew many girls were too. She had been.

  Emma restrained herself. She rubbed her head against the bulge in his jeans but then pulled away. Just a little.

  ‘I want to suck it, Jason,’ she said quietly. She didn’t look up but kept her eyes fixed on his crotch. She thought she knew what these words would mean to him. She was turned on further by the very idea of his supposed thoughts. But she was also contemplative, concerned with her own heavy need to have his body.

  Jason failed to speak. A confusing array of images and sensations rushed his mind. Fear was a factor in his being struck dumb. He was so often burnt, both by Emma’s playful teasing and by the failure of any of his reasonable boyish expectations being realised, that he immediately assumed that this new, spoken desire of Emma’s was just another in a long line of disappointments. But young men live on hope and evidence is often ignored in favour of less likely, and less plausible, possibilities. That she would suck his cock! That she would finally break through and touch him as he had always hoped she would!

  On the one hand it was the most obvious end to their fooling around. But on the other, on the hand that Emma always held out of reach, there sat a fat god called reality. This god, this option number two, reminded him of his pimples, of his voice cracking, of the simple fact that he was completely out of his depth.

  ‘Show me it,’ said Emma. She had not moved. Somehow moving would be an indication that she was coming to her senses. If she remained utterly still, if she felt the cold tiles against her shins, if she could feel the warmth between her legs she was okay. Her words could be spoken without consequences. She did so want to see his cock. But she knew. She knew about … She knew damn well that she was teasing herself and her boy. She knew it.

  ‘Show me it, Jason. I want to see it.’

  Jason was able to look at her while she concentrated on his crotch. She was staring so intently. She was rolled up and small and childlike. He was surprised at the level of her fascination and he saw the humour in it. He managed that much. But he was frightened by her intensity. Her behaviour did appear a kind of madness. She wants to see my cock, he was thinking. Suck it! was the chant that echoed in the background of every thought which passed through his mind. Suck it!

  ‘Show me it!’ she said again. She looked up, lifting her head slightly. Her control had dispersed. And the moment changed the direction in which everything was heading.

  ‘No.’

  The spell broke.

  TWELVE

  Emma sat up, her towel was left on her lap and her breasts were unceremoniously revealed to her young lover. His eyes were full of them. He had been waiting for this moment. He had caught glimpses of her breasts, he had seen how they fell braless in her tight tops, how they hung in her bikini as she lay on her stomach and rested on her elbows. He had ogled them long before he had ever thought of Emma as anything but the pretty lady next door. Now they were naked and within reach. Large, soft breasts, wonderful breasts, he stared and instinctively his hand reached up and his index finger traced the curve of her right breast. It was as if a charge had issued from them. His hand conducted a power which ignited his mind and cock.

  Emma looked on at first embarrassed, then startled and then pleased and excited. His sweet reverence cancelled any of her misgivings. She had pictured the moment differently, but this was turning out to be more beautiful than she had planned. Before her eyes, in a matter of seconds, his youthful wonder was merging directly into a mature desire – it was magic.

  Jason glanced up at her – his eyes conveying to her his need for her to trust him. She looked at him like a lover, a new lover, but not necessarily a young lover. She nodded the slightest of nods. He felt no change in her. He had no time for thought. He brought his other hand near her nipple. He had scrambled up now so that he was on his knees. Her face was clear of the madness of a few moments ago. She had taken on a new role. And was drinking in his enthusiasm.

  He felt his body tense and his mouth watered. He paused for a moment, suddenly aware of where he was and this brought new enthusiasm to the situation.

  Just for a split second he stepped back mentally, like a director considering his scene. Jason’s scene was Emma’s breasts. He already heard himself, years from now, telling the tale of the next-door neighbour whose breasts he touched. Jason was proud and felt powerful because of it.

  He leant forward and watched closely as his hand touched her nipple, just brushing the skin. He was cautious. Her breasts wanted so much from him but he only knew what instinct told him, he knew of biting and sucking, he wanted them whole. But he sensed some code. He also knew that he had to behave in a way which suited Emma’s feelings. After all they were her breasts even though their sudden exposure had narrowed his vision and his appreciation of the wider world. His focus was intense.

  ‘You’re breaking my rules,’ said Emma in a husky voice. She held her breath as his finger circled her nipple, then released it when he moved his finger away.

  ‘You’re so …’ he said, not able to finish as he brought his mouth close to her nipple.

  She felt his breath. He saw the tiny blond hairs and the pores in her skin, he saw the rosy tint of her aureole appear out of the milky soft flesh. Both nipples were erect and for a moment there was not a sound, not a breath, as his mouth came to rest softly against her breast, his lips making an ‘o’ around her nipple.

  Heat. He flicked his tongue against her nipple, barely touching it. Then she moaned. It was unlike many of Emma’s moans – this one had no prelude. It escaped as naturally as a scream from a fright.

  This moan excited her devious mind. But it also surprised her. The shudder of pleasure that seemed to sound an end rather than a beginning was unqualified and intense.

  The mental pleasure of her seduction had been revealed as a far deeper physical one. This excited her more. Never before had she felt so like her lover. She was beginning to feel the excitement she assumed Jason was experiencing, one that she had failed to experience in her mad rush to experience every pleasure she could. She had never taken her time. Gimme, gimme, gimme … had been her motto. She had never been a boy. She had never been a girl. She had despised normal boys and normal girls. They were complacent and sated. Small pleasures amused them and, to her general dismay, they appeared satisfied with the slow speed of their development. And she still thought that she was right to despise them. She half thought she was right to. The older she got the more she wanted. She wanted more for the Emma of the past and the Emma of the future. Lately she had begun
to want to have been the parallel Emma, the Emma who didn’t move at breakneck speed through adolescence. Now she really wanted to experience life timidly. It was something which she had thought was outside the realm of her experience, until now. Now she felt this beautiful new appreciation. This moment with Jason was lived vicariously. His awe was the key. He was living each moment fully aware of the movements of his lover, drawing meaning from them and making judgements from them. He had placed his trust in Emma, knowing and accepting that at times she would betray it or at the very least toy with it, and he relied on her dominance completely.

  That moan had signalled an end of the pretence that she was in control. She had been swallowed whole by her own fantasy and had emerged a part of it. Layers of manipulative planning ceased to exist in one sudden burst of simple pleasure.

  Again his mouth teased her nipple and again she was faced with the sweet pleasures of celebrated inexperience. So many men and women had done just what was being done now and yet … Nothing like it had been done.

  She had kissed more with Jason than she had done for years. Being kissed. Kissing. Jason wanted to kiss her, he wanted never to have to stop kissing her. The teacher was being taught. Each touch of the tongue, each breath and movement was pleasurable and exciting. But these excitements led nowhere. This was the lesson that Emma had had to learn. Kissing was the end in itself. Jason had been more than happy with her kisses. So Jason had altered her as surely as she was altering him. But he did so unnoticed. What she hadn’t counted on and what was most welcome and surprising was the change in her.

  Jason’s breathing was getting faster, he was shaking with the blind and unacknowledged frustration that this unexpected feast was inducing. Running through him was mad desire, an adult lust that he did not know how to act upon. He felt excited and hungry. He felt what his eyes and mouth saw and tasted. He had anticipated a reaction and was rewarded with Emma’s moan. He was fully functional. He could roar like a wild beast. But he shook and his hands, which he raised to touch her hips and stomach, were weak. He wanted to lie her down and climb onto her. But he was fearful. He wanted to do things he didn’t know about, or was unsure about. He knew what a man did to a woman when they had sex. He’d seen enough porn. What he didn’t know was how he, Jason, could do it. Every part of him was surging. He was hard and his balls ached. Her breasts, like a red rag to a bull, were determining his entire world.