Emma

by Bradley Stoke

  She pushed herself off her aunt to see what Fatima was doing and felt both disappointed and relieved to see that Fatima was certainly not where she had been sitting before. Perhaps she’d been so disgusted by her aunt’s assault on her body that she’d left in a hump. Feeling more relaxed in the apparent absence of her aunt’s friend she allowed herself to become more attentive to Aunt Salim’s needs: swivelling her body round so that she could embed her tongue in her aunt’s clitoris.

  It was at that stage that she felt the presence of not one but two tongues playing around in her crotch in amongst the furry mass of pubic hair. She turned her head round and saw what she’d dreaded but had somehow known to be likely all along. There was the naked slim and light brown body of Fatima trailed over her buttocks, her fingers and tongue playing agitatedly in her crotch. Amna didn’t know what to think. What did this willing sharing of her body between two friends mean in relation to her aunt’s feelings towards her? If her aunt was happy for Fatima to make love to her did that mean she was viewed as just a sex toy and secondarily as a lover?

  Fatima was however a somewhat better and demonstrably more experienced lover than her aunt, and Amna enjoyed the sex far more than any she’d had before either on the film set or previously with her aunt. She didn’t want it to stop, as Fatima’s fingers probed and explored while simultaneously stimulating her clitoris, anus or nipples. And when they eventually did stop, collapsed in a sweaty heap on the living room floor, faces flushed with passion and guilt, Amna knew that although she’d still not obtained the orgasmic release her new profession had taught her to desire, she would still be happy to return to the embracing that she’d so recently enjoyed. And, as it happened, it took relatively little effort for Amna to reinitiate events starting this time with Fatima’s perky small breasts and the tiny well-formed toes at the end of her slim angular legs.

  The following day, Amna wasn’t that surprised when she returned home to her aunt’s house after an afternoon looking round the shops to find her aunt and Fatima embracing on the sofa in the living room: tongues deep inside each other’s mouths and hands probing the breasts and vagina. Amna didn’t even really feel that jealous. Her career had by now reduced the effects of that, although it did cross her mind to wonder what her rôle in her aunt’s sex life might now be. Perhaps, she thought in an unfocused way, she might be sleeping in her own bed tonight. It did annoy her though that she wouldn’t be able to play the compact discs she’d just bought on her aunt’s somewhat better audio system and would have to use her own somewhat cheaper and less impressive one.

  She wandered along to her room, and threw herself and her purchases onto the bed. She kicked off her shoes, pulled off her tee-shirt and lowered her jeans and knickers to her ankles and with a few energetic kicks tossed them across the room onto the loose pile of clothes where she kept most of what she chose to wear these days. She placed a compact disc in the machine, and gyrated to the music while removing the last few items of clothing she still had on. She always felt happy after shopping. All those hours in the boutiques and record stores, picking, choosing, comparing. And after all that, the pleasure of returning home and admiring the rewards of her labours. She took a cigarette out of the packet, tapped it unnecessarily on the side and lit it. She then spread the length of her body, front down on the soft down of her duvet, now much the worse for the cigarette ash and the odd burn mark, with a copy of Dream Girl, the teen magazine she’d bought from a newsagent. It was the usual sort of magazine she read: full of pictures of semi-clad boys rather more attractive than the ones who fucked her at work, interspersed with articles on contraception, menstruation, astrology and examination stress. She particularly enjoyed doing the questionnaires. Am I a great fuck? she posed herself, while awarding herself points in a questionnaire which decided for her that perhaps she wasn’t a great fuck, although she wasn’t really that bad.

  She then heard a knock knock on the door. Annoyed, Amna jumped up. What could her aunt want now? Why couldn’t she leave her be! She stubbed out the cigarette she’d been smoking; resolving to return later to the half-inch or so that was left. She opened the door and was surprised to see Fatima, looking rather flushed in a full set of lingerie but missing her knickers. She seemed both excited and unhappy.

  “Can I come in, Amna sweetest?” Fatima asked.

  Amna nodded petulantly. What a drag! She tucked her magazine away, and rather regretted now stubbing out her cigarette. Amna didn’t care what Fatima thought of her smoking. Her aunt’s friend sat down on the chair opposite Amna, pressed her chin against the tip of fingers set in a praying position and smiled at Amna.

  “Your aunt and I have been talking about your career…” Fatima began.

  “It’s a job. It earns me money. What’s wrong with it?”

  “Your aunt doesn’t like it very much. But that’s beside the point. My view is that you’re not doing as well at it as you could be. Salim’s told me about how much you get paid, and, if you don’t mind me saying so, it sounds like chickenshit. All that fucking and you’re barely earning what a high class prostitute gets in a single night. You could be performing in straight repertory theatre and be earning just as much. What you earn now might seem good, but you’re not really paying the rent or mortgage you’d have to do if you weren’t living with your aunt. Let alone the bills for all the utilities. My opinion is that you really are not maximising your potential earnings.”

  Fatima’s view was uncomfortably close to one that had occurred to Amna when she was working on the set of Filipino Fuck Fun and felt that she was getting fucked just as much as her colleagues and getting nothing like the rewards they were. She thought that maybe it was because she was the only one who wasn’t Filipino, but she knew that couldn’t be the only reason.

  “I’m a saleswoman by trade,” Fatima continued. “I sell perfumery, lingerie, make-up, that sort of thing. But I’ve also sold computers, dictionaries, garden furniture and photocopiers. I know about selling. I know what it takes to get a product to shift and to maximise returns. What you need, Amna dearest, is an agent. And although your aunt isn’t too keen to do so, I’m willing to act as one for you.”

  Amna sneered scornfully. “You’re not going to do that for nothing, are you? There must be something in it for you.”

  “Well, yes. Ten percent initially. Rising to twenty, when we get things moving. But there’s good money in fuck films. And I’m quite interested in getting a stake in it. Salim might hope that you’ll grow out of it, but I don’t see why you can’t just make as much as you can from what you’re going to do anyway. What do you think? I’m sure I can enhance your earnings quite substantially.”

  Amna sighed. “I’m not sure! I don’t know what to think!” She looked across at a poster of her beloved Susan for guidance, knowing full well that none would be forthcoming. Fatima followed her gaze, and smiled in apparent approval.

  “She’s a very pretty girl, isn’t she? Are you a fan?”

  Amna nodded sadly. “She’s why I’m in fuck films.”

  “Oh you poor darling!” exclaimed Fatima, appearing to understand more than she possibly could from this brief exchange. She stood up and walked over to the bed. She lay down on it next to Amna, her long thin legs stretched out beyond Amna’s and her satin supported breasts pressed against Amna’s back. “You poor sweetheart!” She continued running her manicured nails along Amna’s spine. She then, with a touch of boldness, put her hand between Amna’s legs and brushed her pubic hairs. Amna made no response. She looked towards the poster of Susan, a penis deep inside her cunt and another probing at an angle into her mouth.

  Fatima became increasingly bold and soon Amna could no longer feign indifference. She turned round, remembering the pleasure of their one previous time of lovemaking and pushed her tongue deep inside Fatima’s mouth, visualising Susan as she did so. Fatima gasped deeply and vocally, pulled off her bra as she did so, briefly dangling it over Amna’s naked buttocks and then dropping it onto the
now crumpled copy of Dream Girl. Fatima was definitely a much more spirited lover than her aunt, Amna decided, as the two rolled over and over, more of Fatima’s underwear being shed on the way, crumpling the empty plastic shopping bags and discarded magazines as they did so.

  They had been making love for several minutes before Amna noticed her aunt standing by the slightly ajar door watching the two of them, mouth to genitals, hair between teeth. She looked as if she had been crying, and getting no pleasure at all in watching the two of them at play. Amna detached herself from Fatima whom she suspected had noticed Aunt Salim long before her and had simply ignored her. Fatima smiled at her friend.

  “Fatty! How could you?” gasped Aunt Salim in a kind of sob.

  “Sally! Don’t worry. I’ll be with you soon. Just wait. I told you that when I make my mind up to do something, I do it.”

  Aunt Salim nodded and carefully shut the door behind her, leaving Fatima and Amna engaged in lovemaking for several hours more. Amna found herself feeling much more strongly towards her slender lover, with the sharp angles of her knees and elbows, the round breasts rising so well formed from a chest in which her ribs could be seen (unlike Amna’s which could never be distinguished except by touch). The feel of her perfectly formed nipples and the slight boniness of her buttocks. However, Amna wasn’t too surprised, when after relaxing for several minutes in each other’s postcoital embrace, Fatima collected up her underwear and left her alone for the rest of the evening.

  This was in fact the first night Amna had had at home by herself in her own bed for a very long time. She knew that Fatima and her aunt were sharing the same bed, and she knew that there was no part for her to play in their lovemaking tonight. As she nestled down with the last few minutes of Paris Grey booming from her speakers, she gazed at her favourite poster of Susan and reflected on her lovemaking with Fatima. It somehow made it easier for her to confront the following day when she was sure she’d have to endure yet more anal penetration from the fat Filipino who was the main star in her present production. Perhaps with Fatima’s help she would gain more for her not inconsiderable physical pains.

  Chapter XXXI

  “Emma! I love you! I love you! Emma! So Much!” Gasped Maisie in orgasmic pleasure, her body shivering with ecstasy and her voice peculiarly full-throated for one so young.

  Emma grimaced. Although she was the object of her young lover’s affection, it was obvious she wasn’t the stimulus as the young boy pushed his erect prick in and out of her tight young anus. How could an orifice so small, but so beautifully pursed, allow such a large obscene thing into it? Emma wondered, lying on one side of her as Maisie crouched over, bum high in the high, receiving these insistent thrusts with such pleasure.

  Ever since she and Maisie had moved into the small house that she had managed to buy with a mortgage based on her present and future earnings, their love life had taken a very peculiar turn which Emma didn’t really enjoy at all, but felt incapable of complaining about. At the flat it had been Josephine and Susan mostly, but now it was boys she had met on the set or at her school. Emma still avoided all contact with men, but she felt unable to deny her lover the sexual pleasure she so much desired and expected. It sometimes felt that Maisie’s well-intentioned practice of never excluding Emma from her lovemaking added insult to injury, but she knew that in her own way it was somehow a tribute to the depth of her love for the woman who she insisted was central to her life.

  Maisie had been enrolled, at some expense, at a single sex school which would cope with her career in sex television, to the extent of the flexibility with which it accepted her occasional day off for filming, and which had no difficulty with her habitual nudity. At least she would be nude, if only she didn’t insist on wearing a large dildo buckled to her buttocks and waist which protruded rather oddly through her shorts or the swimsuit she wore specially adapted for the affectation. The school had a naturist policy, although not all the pupils were at all fixed on habitually nudity, and some indeed, like Maisie, were rather dressing against the pure principles of naturism as Emma understood it or practised. Maisie wore her dildo proudly at school, caring little for the fact that it looked rather bizarre in a girl who was far from adult height and stretched proportionately rather further in front of her than it would in an adult man.

  All the teachers were naturist however, but also practised the school’s policy of not imposing any dress code on the pupils except in sports or physical exercise lessons. Those girls who wished to, and there were quite a few, could wear just as many clothes as they liked. Bizarrely, this was often in direct revolt against their naturist parents and their normal social set, taking off their clothes when they returned home.

  Although there were no boys at Maisie’s school, she and the other girls had no difficulty meeting them: presumably because they were attracted like flies to jam to the sight and sensation of so much young naked flesh. These boys invariably found their way into Maisie’s bed and with very little difficulty inside her smooth vagina and occasionally her anus. Maisie made little distinction between her girl-and boyfriends, and often made love with girls from her school, an activity which Emma had less difficulty in understanding and no difficulty at all in participating in. Many of them were at least as beautiful as Maisie, though few had such luxurious curls and, to Emma’s mind, such a beautiful combination of physical and personality characteristics. Emma quite enjoyed the comparison and contrast in these other young bodies to that of Maisie’s, and felt rather less compunction in stretching the bounds of her sexual passion towards her slightly brutal tendencies (about which many had quite serious reservations)

  One of Maisie’s friends, Letitia, was a particular delight to Emma, although neither she nor Maisie had made love to her. Nor in fact had anyone else. Like Emma, she was proud to be a naturist; but a naturist who never took down her black knickers and preferred conversation to sex. She would chat for hours with Emma and Maisie, seemingly never worried about the way the two of them would enmesh their bodies around each other. She only objected when other people became involved. Letitia believed quite firmly that love was not something that could be shared, and often told Maisie so.

  “Oh, Letitia, you’re so boring!” Maisie exclaimed. “Why not join me and Emma? We can show you what love’s really like!”

  “That must be the greatest contradiction in words you can imagine!” Letitia argued. “It’s one thing for you two to make love as lovers, and another just to have sex with any boy who wants to stick his willy up your bum!”

  Emma found herself agreeing with Letitia, but she couldn’t herself imagine a life now without the sex she’d got used to with some of Maisie’s girlfriends and some of the women at the studio. She’d almost got used to being filmed making love to women on camera. She had learnt to blank out all thought of the prying eyes that were on her as she gasped, groaned and grunted while a sex actress, a sex tourist or a writer indulged on set in their mutually shared passion.

  Maisie’s adoption of a dildo wasn’t for show alone. There were many occasions when she’d use it: quite often on Maisie and sometimes with girls she’d make love to, but curiously the most frequent recipients were the boys. There was a cruel streak in Maisie’s lovemaking as there was in Emma’s, and hers was most revealed by the way she liked to fuck boys in the anus while gripping their erect penises and massaging them to full erection. She said she had claimed more boy’s virginities than anyone else she knew, quite happy with the trace of blood on her dildo after eventually withdrawing it from the battered and torn and quite inappropriate entrances she had so gleefully violated. Despite Emma’s lack of feeling towards men, she felt quite sorry for some of them, who may have been virgins in the more strict sense of the word, who had not anticipated quite such a violent initiation service and often felt horribly abused afterwards. They would lie naked on the bed, feeling around the entrances to their bum, wondering what permanent damage had been caused and feeling no doubt rather discomfited by the fac
t that Maisie’s yells of ecstasy had focused rather more on Emma than on themselves.

  Emma occasionally visited Josephine and Charlotte, and enjoyed more than she ever had before Charlotte’s tenderness and devotion. She loved Charlotte’s uncomplicated love, although she accepted now that she was very much secondary to Josephine. She even understood why Charlotte was so keen on marriage to Josephine, although she shared Susan’s scepticism of the point of taking up marital status while neither she nor her fiancée showed any intention of leading the monogamous lifestyle that was normally associated with such a state.

  She was, however, disgusted at discovering that Charlotte, despite professing her lesbianism so vehemently, was having sex nearly every day with not just Josephine but a whole string of men with the express purpose of becoming pregnant.

  “But you won’t possibly be able to know who the father is!” She objected.

  “So much the better!” Charlotte replied. “I don’t want any man laying claim on my baby. Or should I say our baby, as it will be the child of Josephine and me. Men aren’t going to figure in our parenthood. I just hope it’s a girl.”