Emma

by Bradley Stoke

  “Won’t they mind?”

  “Fuck no!” said Maisie laughing. “Fuck no!” She looked at Amna quizzically to ascertain whether she would actually take up the offer. Amna stood frozen in uncertainty: torn between her desires and her shyness.

  “Well, if you won’t, I will!” announced Maisie, undoing her denim shorts and pulling them down over her slender thighs and pulling her tiny feet through them. She then approached Susan with the dildo sticking out prominently in front of her, its strap secured round the top of her buttocks and fastened by a tiny buckle between their two small round orbs. She stroked Susan’s crotch with her hands, while Josephine arched her neck round and pushed her tongue into Maisie’s mouth.

  Amna stood, petrified by her inhibitions, watching Maisie insert the length of the dildo (longer than most men’s penises, Amna was sure) deeper and deeper inside Susan’s cunt while the girl released gasps of pleasure and ecstasy with each thrust. It was a very unsettling sight to see a child so young having such total possession of the woman who was the constant companion of all Amna’s private sexual fantasies and longings. She scarcely noticed as Josephine discreetly disengaged herself from the couple, stood up and put her long naked arms round Amna’s overcoat-covered shoulders. She made no effort to entice Amna to indulge in any sex herself, perhaps realising the true centre of the young girl’s gaze. This was Susan’s cunt into which Maisie thrust her dildo backwards and forwards in imitation of the men she watched so avidly on the set.

  Amna didn’t know how long her ordeal lasted. She was feeling both aroused by seeing the object of her desires indulging in the sort of activities she’d fantasised about (and which got her so hot, sweaty and sticky) and frustrated by the fact it wasn’t she who was giving the oriental so much pleasure.

  “Maisie’s always like this,” sighed Josephine in what seemed like the far distance of Amna’s awareness of the world. “I’m sure it’s because she’s so young and that sex is such a novel thing for her. All she ever thinks about is the physical act. She never concerns herself about the emotional side.”

  Amna was aware that these comments were meant to comfort her, but her feelings towards Maisie at that moment were not of the most charitable kind. She was relieved when, with an effort, Susan persuaded Maisie that they should bring this to a halt as she had to go off to work. Amna’s greatest desire then leaped out of bed, gave her only too brief a kiss (but so very reassuring!) and then in a matter of seconds pulled on a sweater and a pair of very skimpy white shorts.

  “Underwear, darling!” exclaimed Susan, noticing how Amna was dressed. “Not perhaps the most sexy or expensive. But don’t worry. Appropriate clothes will be provided on the set. Come on, or we’ll be late!”

  Today was also the first opportunity that Amna had got to read the script for Hot Asian Lovers, which she hurriedly skimmed through, searching with a pounding heart for a scene in which she was cited as having sex with Susan. There was no scene which mentioned that explicitly, although there were a few where she was expected to have sex with several men and girls. The story focused on a male lead who was apparently quite a famous sex actor (not, Amna was pleased to note, for the size of his penis, which was still big enough as far as she could see). He wasn’t remotely Asian, although almost everyone else in the film was. His part was as a visitor to some unspecified Asian country as a visitor where by chance he came to have sex with almost everyone he met. And, also by chance, almost all these people were women with a curious indisposition relating to keeping their clothes on and their knees closed.

  This Asian country wasn’t one that Amna had ever heard of (seeming to be an amalgamation of countries like Thailand, China, India and Afghanistan). There were no shortages of Hindu temples, deserts, mountains or sex bars. Susan had one of the more substantial rôles of any of the women, presumably in recognition of her track record as a sex actress. She was playing a Japanese tourist (although Amna was sure that her origins were very probably not Japan) who wore the standard cliché dress of such a person: baggy shorts, striped singlet and a camera strapped around her shoulders and not at all hindered by any protuberances on her flat chest. As a tourist, Susan got rather a few opportunities for sex, including several without the male star.

  Amna’s rôle was rather more modest, as a native of this curious Asian country, where she was to wear a rather revealing sari and a red teardrop painted on her forehead. She wasn’t inclined to tell anyone of her ignorance of the Hindu religion, having been brought up as a Muslim, as she was sure that she wasn’t really expected to bring any specialist knowledge to her rôle. As Susan unsubtly informed her, she was chosen for her sexual potential, not her acting one.

  Even though it was the first day, the director didn’t want to waste any time. He handed the cast a timetable of shoots in which certain scenes were to be filmed and advised the starlets that their presence was expected even when they weren’t scripted to perform. He explained, waving his large hands about when they weren’t stroking his beard, that he had a philosophy of allowing the filming to take its own course, even when it diverged greatly from the script and that he might want to improvise with the delectations offered by the assorted cast whenever it seemed appropriate.

  Amna was horrified that she was one of those due to be filmed on this very first day, as she was cast as one of the male star’s first encounters on arriving in the country. Her scene was to be played in the mocked-up interior of a curious temple which mixed Hindu, Buddhist and Muslim iconography where she was supposed to play a temple worshipper. In this scene the star was meant to start masturbating for reasons that were not really well explained: despite the obvious incongruity and indeed inappropriateness of the surroundings. While masturbating, Amna’s character was meant to feel aroused and then to entice the star into full sex while other temple-goers would look on in great delight and approval. Amna knew that if even a small part of this occurred in the mosque where her parents took her there would be uproar and would probably lead to something being written in the local newspaper.

  However, the part required learning virtually no lines and those few there were, she was told, were intended merely as a guide. Amna allowed herself to be taken away to the dressing room which she shared with everyone else except the male star. Susan comforted her with advice, as did another girl, a Pakistani with somewhat paler skin than hers and with quite short hair. She was told not to worry. They weren’t expecting great acting. Just apparent enthusiasm and willingness. Susan cuddled her and kissed her frequently on the lips and face, which was really all the comforting she needed, while the Pakistani adjusted the sari and learnt fairly early on that Amna knew no Punjabi at all. Or any other language other than English, except for a few words in Arabic. Amna dared to reciprocate Susan’s affection with a few kisses of her own, the veins of her neck beating so hard from her daringness and her fear of rejection that she feared that it might choke her.

  “Come along! Come along! What’s keeping you?” demanded one of the technical assistants poking his head into a room full of naked or near-naked women. “We haven’t got all day, you know!”

  Amna was hurried along with various other unhelpful epithets such as that time was money, the technicians were on an hourly rate and that more footage would be filmed than would ever need to be used, so she shouldn’t play the prima donna. Amna was distressed to see Susan stay behind in the dressing room with the Pakistani with whom she seemed to be developing a closer friendship.

  She took her place on the set, standing by a papier-mâché statue of an elephant god dancing in a Krishna pose, while the male star was filmed wandering along the linoleum covered floor of the supposed temple admiring what were in fact just the top of the scenery’s cardboard walls. He paused by a mural of some women making love according to the dictates of the Karma Sutra that must have been a blown-up photograph of the real thing. He then pretended to get aroused by the contorted poses and the plethora of penises and vaginas. He pulled down the shorts he was wear
ing to reveal a semi-erect penis and started stroking it. Amna watched with dread and fascination, her hands down by her side and the sari threatening to flop off to reveal her left breast. She felt very exposed with just her navel and waist showing, aware that soon, according to the script, everything was to come off.

  “Psssttt!” came a voice from behind her as one of the assistants gestured her on. Amna sighed. She now knew what stage-fright was, although her only audience was the silhouetted figures of the technicians and some of the cast she could glimpse beyond the arc-lights. “Psssttt!” repeated the voice more urgently.

  Amna wandered onto the set, feeling the throbbing nerves of her neck echoed by the thump of her heart and the sweat pouring down her forehead, as she uttered the first words of her film career. “Oooh! You’ve got quite a thing there!”

  “Would you like to touch it?” asked the star kindly, looking up at her with a not unsympathetic expression.

  “Can I?” she asked with all the eagerness she could muster for the requirements of the script.

  “Of course,” smiled the star taking her hand in his firm hand and guiding it to his now erect penis.

  “It’s so warm!” commented Amna, departing from the script, as she observed her own first impressions of holding an aroused penis in her hand.

  “It’s hot for you!” improvised the actor.

  In actual fact, Amna’s first performance was not at all the failure she feared. The male star was very helpful, perhaps sensing her inexperience and shyness, and took her totally in control. She soon found that she was losing sight of the cameras trained on her, and, more worryingly, the censorious gaze of the director. She couldn’t say that she actually enjoyed putting his penis in her mouth and drawing it in and out, while uttering appreciative moans. She certainly didn’t enjoy his penetration of her, although he took great care to moisten her cunt as much as possible with his fingers and tongue. “You’ve got so much hair!” he commented smiling, with strands of pubic hair caught between his teeth. The fucking was something that went on rather too long for Amna’s taste. Surely it must finish soon, she speculated while trying to remember to make her gasps of pain sound a little more like ones of pleasure. She felt the top of her cunt bruise with each of the star’s deep thrusts and she felt sure that such a painful ordeal was totally removing any of the last of what maidenhead she’d still left untorn.

  Her speculation was confirmed when he pulled his penis out from her battered naked body and with a few gestures released a torrent of warm semen over her. There were small droplets of blood gathered around the glans and the smooth shine of the juices on it had a distinct reddish tinge.

  “Very good! Very good!” said the director afterwards, congratulating the male star, while Amna lay naked feeling helpless and humiliated on the cool linoleum temple floor, her sari lying over one of her thighs and her eyes focusing on a plaster-cast model of a crescent moon. “And you too, dear,” added the director unconvincingly, looking at her with a not too sincere smile.

  Chapter XXVIII

  Susan was very kind to Amna after her day’s work; sensitively noting the young girl’s disorientation, but perhaps not really understanding why. She and her Pakistani friend took her to a burger bar where they chatted over some very squelchy whopper-burgers. Amna realised through the haze of her thoughts that Susan and the Pakistani were getting on very fine, swapping telephone numbers and quite freely kissing each other. She felt great jealousy which reinforced her general feeling of misery.

  The two girls escorted Amna to a taxi-rank and paid the driver to take her back to Aunt Salim’s flat. The taxi drew off while Amna pressed her face against the window and enviously watched the Pakistani walk off with her arm round Susan’s slender boy-like waist. She reflected on her day, which after her sex scene with the male star was followed only a couple of hours later by a scene in which she had to have sex with two men simultaneously while a Tibetan woman with surgically enhanced breasts covered her face with salty kisses and filled her mouth with the distinct taste of the penises she’d been sucking. She forgot what the excuse for this sex scene was: only that it was quite painful. She’d not properly recovered from her first scene, and her anus was so tight that it almost defeated entry by the slightly tubby Malaysian man who had elected to bugger her. She now felt totally wretched and humiliated, and looked forward only to having a bath and going to bed.

  As soon as she got back to the flat, she ignored her Aunt Salim’s cheerful enquiries about her day at work and dashed straight into the bathroom, where she sat naked on the toilet for nearly twenty minutes struggling unsuccessfully to have either a shit or a piss or something else to evacuate from her system. Nothing happened. She then ran the bath water and sat in its water long after it had lost its warmth and all the bath foam had evaporated. She expected to see torrents of blood and semen burst out of her violated orifices, but in fact only the merest red and creamy stains could be seen in the bath water. She pummelled her vagina and arse with soap and loofahs, crying to herself, and selfconsciously feeling the tenderness at the top of her cunt and around the rim of her anus where she had received the most insistent pounding.

  “Are you all right, Amna darling?” asked her Aunt Salim through the bathroom door.

  Amna was now out of the bath, furiously towelling herself, even though she was thoroughly dry, in the vain hope of scrubbing off the last traces of her ordeal.

  She grunted in reply.

  “Can I come in?”

  Amna grunted again, and stood naked on the bath towel in front of her aunt who was wearing her usual choice of silky lingerie. Amna had never appeared naked in front of her aunt before, but she felt beyond caring.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Aunt Salim asked with some concern.

  She walked over to her niece, and with some tenderness put a long arm round Amna’s shoulder. Amna had clearly been crying, despite her attempts to dry off the traces with the towel. She didn’t resist her aunt’s approach; instead she rather desperately wrapped her arms around her.

  “I’m so unhappy!” she confessed. “I don’t know what to think or what to do.”

  “Was your first day at work really that bad?” wondered Aunt Salim. “Surely clerical work can’t be that bad.”

  “It’s not clerical work,” Amna confessed through a sudden outbreak of tears. She could feel the teardrops run down her face and into her mouth. Snot ran from her nostrils and made her nose feel slightly sore. “It was never clerical work.”

  “Can you tell me what it is?” her aunt asked sympathetically.

  Amna shook her head.

  “Never! No! Never! I could never say.”

  Aunt Salim was tactful enough not to pry further. She escorted the still naked Amna to the living room and continued to hug her, while the girl rambled on about the various things that upset her. With time, and with very little prompting, Amna confessed all to her aunt. Her passion for an oriental girl in sex cinema, her work on Hot Asian Lovers, her on-screen sex, her jealousy and her current despair.

  “And that was the first time for you?” asked her aunt.

  “It was horrible! Horrible! I’ll never be able to go to the toilet the same way ever again! What must you think of me? I’m a disgrace to the family. What I’ve been doing is disgusting and filthy. I’m just a pervert.”

  “Ssshhh!” Aunt Salim prompted. “Don’t blame yourself. Allah willing, all will be fine. I certainly won’t treat you as anything other than my little niece, Amna.”

  “Thank you! Thank you!” replied the young girl, smiling bravely through the misery of her tear-stained face. She cuddled her aunt closer and closer, feeling the silkiness of the lingerie close to her naked skin and the pressure of her aunt’s breasts against her own more ample pair.

  There was no particular single event that determined the course of events, but Aunt Salim’s comfort of Amna somehow drifted into Aunt Salim’s bed, which felt so deliciously clean and smelt so freshly washed. Amna la
y there beneath the sheets with her aunt’s now naked body wrapped around her. There was no genital contact between them, but their kisses strayed around the face, into the mouth, into the ears, to the tips of the nipples and as far down the body as the belly-button. Her aunt made occasional comments as to the beauty of the dark hair on her niece’s arms, and the extent of her facial hair which constituted a soft down of feminine sideburns. Amna only noticed and appreciated the safe comfort of her aunt’s beautiful warm body, her clean and smell-free skin, the curious tilt of her nipples, the slightly long ear-lobes, the strong teeth and her long tongue which tickled every crevice of her ears and licked clean the tears off her cheeks.

  Amna eventually managed to fall asleep. Her body wrapped up in a foetal ball around her aunt, one hand covering the thick mass of her pubic hair and the so conclusively violated vagina, while the other gripped tightly to her aunt’s shoulder. Salim looked at her niece with an indulgent smile and tried to make herself as comfortable as she could while not disturbing her. She smiled more and more broadly and glanced over to look at the reflection of herself and Amna in the dressing-table mirror. She frowned at the peculiar sight of two women enmeshed in each other. The image didn’t entirely please her. Her gaze wandered over to a text from the Koran that was framed on the wall. She frowned more deeply.

  She started to stir, to disengage herself from niece but as she did so, Amna made a little grunt as a part of her reacted to her aunt’s motion. Salim studied her niece. She looked at her dark skin, the even blacker hair cascading over her face, the breasts she’d never been able to contain very well under her clothes and the softness of a belly that would never be as taut and firm as her own. She examined the breasts heaving in her slow breathing and felt the girl’s breath against her cheek. She smiled again, and pulled Amna closer to her. The next time when she looked at their reflection in the mirror it was with undiluted pleasure.