The Secret Lives of Emma: Unmasked

by Walker, Natasha

  Marco pointed to his watch.

  ‘I don’t want to hear about David. I have to go, Mum. I’ll call you in a week.’

  She smiled towards Marco.

  ‘Okay, Mum. I love you, too. Bye.’

  Emma hung up the phone and walked back to Marco. He kissed her on the lips and gripped her bottom. She felt like a teen again every time he kissed her. He was a good kisser, and the kiss was the end, not a means to an end. She loved that.

  She climbed on the back of his bike and they rode to work.

  Emma now worked with Marco behind the bar at the club two nights a week. Summer was here. Otranto was changing quickly. Up and down the coast holiday-makers were arriving. The resorts were filling. Rows and rows of umbrellas and chairs clogged each stretch of sand. Private beaches. So unlike Sydney’s beaches.

  Every rocky inlet was becoming a beach. Families would send their youngest sons or nephews down to claim their positions early in the morning. Towels and beach chairs would be set up on any flat surface and the family would come and go throughout the day to swim, to sunbathe, to laugh and eat until dusk, when the camp would be dismantled again.

  Marco’s sister rented out some of the inlets along her stretch of coast and it was her job to ensure only paying beach-goers took up residence. Three or four times a day she would wander along the border of her small kingdom, carrying little Marco, followed by her dog, chatting to the paying guests, selling them drinks, evicting squatters or negotiating new fees with them. Her fee was minimal. It had to be because the private beaches offered so much more comfort. It was small change but it all added up. And Elena enjoyed the work.

  Elena also collected rent from Emma now, too. Having spent every night in his bed since they met, she had moved into Marco’s building and had insisted on paying the same amount she had been paying in town. And now that Marco was working again in the bars at night and in Club Med a couple of afternoons, the family’s overall financial position was more secure. Elena’s husband, Giovanni, was planning on working through summer, too. It was his busiest time. The only thing Elena was unhappy about was that since Emma arrived Marco had stopped painting. She had always hoped that one day her mother’s dream would come true, that Marco would be hailed a great artist and that their lives would be transformed. That was why she had put up with Marco’s strange existence.

  But now it wasn’t painting he was obsessed with, it was Emma.

  ‘What?’ Emma leant across the bar towards the handsome young American.

  ‘Are you Emma Benson?’ he shouted.

  The club was full, summer had truly come, and the live band was ear-splittingly loud at times.

  ‘Who wants to know?’ she shouted back.

  ‘A man just boasted that he knew you.’

  ‘Which man?’

  ‘The big guy just over there,’ he shouted and turned to point. ‘Wait. Where did he go?’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  The music was louder now. ‘What?’

  Emma laid her body across the bar and shouted in his ear, ‘What did he look like?’

  The attractive face just stared back at her. Emma jumped up onto the bar and swung herself across. She took the American by the hand and dragged him through the crowd and into the ladies where it was marginally quieter. The small room was full of women but she managed to push him into a corner. The expression on his face told her he would be disappointed by the next thing she was going to do.

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just met him. My friends and I were talking about how beautiful you are and he said he knew you. We all told him he was full of shit. Then he dared me to go over to you and ask if you were Emma Benson. You are, right?’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘He was big. British or something.’

  Emma didn’t say anything. She knew who the big man was.

  The American pressed a business card into her hand. ‘What time do you get off?’

  At this moment Marco entered the ladies and came up to Emma. ‘What you do here?’

  ‘I was about to suck this guy’s cock,’ she said sharply, and then, pushing past Marco, went back to the bar.

  The owner was swamped by customers when she returned. He was busily making drinks and raised his eyebrows when he saw her. Marco was just behind her. The rest of the night went by quickly. There was no chance to talk. No breaks. The work was exhausting and because people were buying, the owner kept the place open past closing. They did not stop until near dawn.

  Their ears ringing, eyes red from the smoke and their feet sore, they made their way to Marco’s scooter without speaking. He sat on it and looked up at Emma.

  ‘What you do, Emma?’

  ‘Nothing. Don’t be crazy.’

  ‘Who that man?’

  ‘I don’t know. He knew my name. I asked him how he knew my name.’ She had learnt to speak slowly and clearly to Marco. He seemed to understand more than he could speak in return.

  ‘Why you say you suck his cock?’

  ‘I was annoyed with you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if I suck a man’s cock it is my business, not yours. You understand?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes you do. If you fuck a girl it is your business, no one else’s, right? If the girl fucks you it is her business and no one else’s, right?’

  He didn’t say anything.

  ‘Right? And the same goes for me. I am free. You are free. I am me and you are you.’

  He was looking at her in a way that seemed to suggest he was undecided.

  ‘Don’t give me the man shit. Not from you, you’re different. You’re not like other men. You’re an artist. Don’t show me jealousy or treat me like I’m not able to decide for myself. I’m lucky to find you. I’m lucky to be in your bed. I’m happy to be. I’ll be sad to leave. But I will leave. I will.’

  ‘When?’ he asked, as if that was all she had said.

  ‘When you throw me out or I decide I must move on. I don’t know. I like fucking you too much to leave now.’

  He smiled sadly. She could see that he was falling for her, and in her own way she had been falling for him. But David was in Otranto. This changed everything.

  ‘Do you want me to leave?’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘What would you do if I fucked another man?’ she said, rephrasing the question she had asked David.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Let’s find out?’ She pulled the American’s business card out of her jeans.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ demanded the American when he opened his hotel door wearing only skintight boxer shorts.

  ‘He’s going to watch.’

  ‘Like fuck he is,’ he shouted, pushing the door against her. But Emma was already halfway in and Marco held the door open with his boot.

  ‘What are you going to do, rob me?’ asked the American, stepping back into the room. He was taller than Marco and had an athlete’s frame. A sprinter, perhaps, thought Emma, noting his thick thighs. But undressed he obviously felt vulnerable.

  ‘Relax. Do you have anything to drink?’ she asked.

  Marco fell into the only chair and Emma sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off her shoes.

  The American stared at them both. He had been drinking all night but was sobering up quickly now. He was still convinced they were there to rob him.

  ‘Look, we can go,’ Emma said softly. ‘I understand if this is a little weird. I just wanted to test my man here. I hate jealous guys. You understand? Hey, how old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-five.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I sell sports equipment in the US.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘A friend is getting married in Otranto in a couple of days.’

  ‘Now we know each other, do you feel a bit better?’

  The American smiled. ‘But I know nothing about you.’

  ‘
Marco here is a painter, an artist, and I am his muse.’

  Marco nodded.

  ‘But I’m worried he is going to become too controlling, so I need to test him. I have no idea how he will react if I fuck you. He might beat us both to death. He may masturbate. He may join in. He may try to fuck you in the arse. He may leave. I have no idea.’

  ‘Fucking hell.’

  ‘Life is full of unknowns.’ Emma stood up. ‘Do you mind if I take a shower?’

  She opened the bathroom door and switched on the light. With her back to the room she lifted the tank top the bar owner insisted she wear up and over her head, tossing it on the floor; then undid her bra, letting that drop to the floor too. She rubbed under her breasts where the elastic had left a mark on her skin. She reached into the shower and turned the hot water on. Undoing her jeans she dragged them down slowly, revealing the g-string she was wearing. She grabbed hold of the railing and pulled the jeans off her feet. She was sure both men were watching. She wasn’t going to turn around to find out. Steam was rising out of the shower and she whipped off her g-string and stepped in. She half expected to be grabbed but when she turned she found the American still standing at a respectful distance at the door to the bathroom, watching her. She could see that his cock was hard. It looked huge. He was stupidly handsome. American TV handsome. She washed as quickly as she could.

  Emma had never done anything as bloodthirsty as this in her life. She liked Marco – more than liked – but didn’t want another relationship. Not like the ones she had been having all her life. She wanted something better.

  She was being unfair to him and she knew it. He was a good man, a reasonable man. He wasn’t the jealous type. If David wasn’t in town she would never have done this to him. But David was in town, somewhere, and she needed to do something spectacularly inappropriate. She was angry at him for coming. It reminded her just how much they had meant to each other. And of the reasons she left him.

  Now she wanted to be the woman she thought herself to be. Why shouldn’t she have both men?

  She turned off the tap and opened the sliding door. A towel was handed to her. She dried and wrapped the towel around herself. Even now she didn’t know if she could do this. She stepped out of the shower and walked by the American to Marco and kissed him. He was unresponsive.

  She sat on the arm of the chair.

  ‘I’ve never done this before,’ she said.

  ‘Neither have I,’ the American assured her.

  ‘I don’t know if I can do it.’

  The American smiled his brilliant smile. ‘I know I can do it.’

  Emma turned to Marco. ‘Will you fuck me after he has fucked me?’

  Marco shook his head.

  ‘Jesus! Now I’m in trouble,’ she said. ‘What do I do?’

  Emma was so nervous she was trembling. She was tired but alert. Her whole body was alive to every sensation. It wasn’t the most erotic moment of her life but it was one of the strangest. The sun had risen and sunlight streamed through the cracks in the curtains, making the scene feel even more peculiar.

  She turned back to Marco to ask him again just as he was adjusting his jeans to make room for his hard-on. She changed her mind again.

  She motioned for the American to come forward. At this point she was overcome by excitement. Her hands shook as she raised them to his boxer shorts. His cock was held against him by the fabric and she trailed her fingertips along its length.

  ‘You’ve got a fucking huge cock,’ she said, looking up at him.

  His nerves had taken over and he wasn’t able to speak.

  Emma turned to Marco again. ‘I don’t want you to watch. I want you to fuck me too. Will you do that? Can I have both of you?’

  Marco raised his hand and tugged at the towel. It fell from her breasts, landing in her lap. He stood up and led her to the bed. The towel fell to the floor. He pushed her onto the bed on her back and then knelt between her legs and buried his face there.

  ‘God, you’re beautiful,’ mumbled the American.

  Emma glanced across at him. ‘Kiss me here,’ she said, touching her breasts. The American knelt on the bed and, leaning over, kissed her nipple softly.

  ‘This is such a fucking porn film,’ she said, reaching under him and taking his clothed cock in her hand. ‘What are you going to do to me?’

  ‘Everything. Every fucking thing,’ he said, lifting his mouth from her nipple.

  Marco had found his rhythm and Emma was forced to close her eyes and her mind. She lay back with two mouths and four hands caressing her. The American was eager to please and conscientious. He was taking his time, and the swirling of his tongue and the gentle pressure was deliriously good. Moving from one breast to the other, he never lost her.

  Marco had come to know what Emma liked and now increased the rhythm. He could feel her stress and release; he could sense she was highly aroused. If she became too aroused she wouldn’t be able to come. He needed to avoid that. He wanted her to come. And as soon as she did he was going to fuck her harder than he had ever fucked her before. She deserved it.

  Emma’s eyes were closed but her hand still held the enormous cock. She started to pull it towards her and the American had to stop what he was doing and obey. She brought it to her mouth and nibbled it through the cotton of his boxers. It was jumping about. She wanted to come with that thing in her mouth. The American lowered his boxers and freed it. Marco lifted his head from her to see what was going on and she gripped his hair and forced him back down.

  ‘Holy fuck, it’s big,’ she said, clasping it with her other hand. She lifted it and started to kiss the underside. But as soon as she did she realised it was too late. She was coming. She was coming. She grabbed it and stuffed it in her mouth and sucked on it hard. Soon she was bucking her hips and squeezing Marco’s head between her thighs. It was a massive orgasm. A huge tidal wave. The thick cock filled her mouth and began to shoot load after load of come down her throat. The American groaned loudly. Emma swallowed the best she could as her body shuddered and tensed. The cock left her mouth and come dribbled on her chin. She let out a belated moan and her body turned to jelly.

  Marco lifted his face from her and, grinning like the devil, turned her over in one rough movement. He lifted her onto her knees while undoing his belt and jeans, pulled out his cock and rammed it into her. Emma jolted and gasped. Without pause Marco fucked her hard. And Emma came again. No one but she noticed. It just hit her like a truck and left her in a place outside life. The land of fuck, where all she was and all she wanted or needed was what Marco was providing.

  Marco couldn’t come though. The American was kneeling by the side of the bed with his head resting on the mattress, watching as Marco fucked the life out of Emma. And Marco didn’t find it a turn on. He could go all night under that gaze. Emma was getting louder and louder with each thrust. The American stood up and Marco saw that he was hard again. He moved towards Marco.

  ‘Let me fuck her,’ he said.

  Marco had no idea what to do.

  ‘What you want, Emma?’

  ‘Everything,’ she moaned.

  ‘You want he fuck you?’

  ‘Yes!’

  Marco withdrew.

  ‘Bring your cock here, Marco,’ demanded Emma. But then she felt the American pushing slowly into her. ‘Oh, fuck!’

  Marco stood and watched. He was right next to the American and saw the massive cock move slowly into her. The noises Emma was making sounded more like pain than pleasure. She seemed to be having difficulty accepting what the American had to offer.

  ‘It’s too big. Take it out!’

  ‘It’s all in now. Are you sure?’ asked the American. This wasn’t new to him.

  ‘Be careful.’

  ‘I always am, ma’am.’

  Emma closed her eyes again and buried her face in the bedcover. Her hand was on his thigh just in case he started to fuck her too hard. Marco was forgotten. All was centred on that cock. It was opening
her up. He withdrew slowly. She was very wet. He pulled out all the way then rubbed the tip along her lips. Then he slowly pushed back in. It felt bigger. He kept moving very slowly. It filled her and then began to withdraw. It was a unique sensation. No fist or dildo could match it. It was both soft and hard. Painful and pleasurable. His rhythm picked up slightly. He was sliding in and out of her now. She was relaxing. It was huge. Huge. And he was gentle with it. He knew how to go. The longer he fucked her the more she wanted it. She was now hoping he might forget her altogether. He had eased her into it and now she wanted to be fucked. She bit the bedcover and took each considered thrust, which forced her to moan into the mattress. This was something different. She was going to come. It had presented itself early. It was waiting.

  The American took the flesh of her hips into his hands and increased the rhythm of his thrusts. He was thudding into her arse cheeks now. His cock was burying itself deep within her. Emma’s moans were becoming deeper, longer, more drawn out.

  ‘Do you want it now?’ he asked. ‘Do you want me to fuck you hard?’

  ‘Fuck, yes!’ she screamed.

  And the American paused and took hold of her, placing his hands under her, gripping her hip bones, and lifting her. He thrust deep into her and began a furious rhythm. The grip allowed him to ram himself against her arse. He thrust again and again. The clash of flesh slapped loudly. Harder and harder. Emma was no longer moaning but screaming. Ahhh! Quiet. Ahhh! Quiet. Ahhh! Quiet. She would be heard all through the building. Throughout the town. The American fucked her again and again. His cock was so big, so thick. And then Emma went deathly quiet, something was coming at her and she felt herself lose her strength, she thought she might faint. And then it was there and an orgasm came up from within her that was short and brutal, exhilarating but over. In a flash of light she was done.

  The American kept fucking her though. She had lost the use of her limbs but he held her and kept fucking her at a furious rate. Then the true orgasm hit. It was warm and deep and crashed over her like many had before. She was weeping when it ended. Crying. Convulsing. And the American withdrew fearing he had done something wrong. But Emma couldn’t explain yet. She couldn’t move. She wept into the bedcover, her whole body awash with pleasures a poor male could never even imagine.