Emma

by Bradley Stoke

  However, Susan could see Rosemary’s distress. She eased herself reluctantly out of Fluff’s embrace and sat on the arm of Rosemary’s chair, put her arms around her neck, beneath the long hair which cascaded onto her chest and tickled her bare midriff. “Oh, Rosemary! Darling! Sweetheart! Don’t take so! Amna and Fluff are friends of mine from, oh! so long back. I love them dearly. But you are my dearest and closest!” She placed a tender kiss on Rosemary’s lips and took her limp hand in her own ivory white one. “You must believe that you are the one I most love!”

  “Fucking romantic, ain’t you, Susan!” laughed Fluff. “I almost fucking envy you. But I’ve got my own dearest heart. Haven’t I, Amna, honey!” And she joined Amna on the chair where she sat, and with no prelude or invitation, thrust her tongue deep into Amna’s mouth, and ran her fingers over the full firm contours of Amna’s round nearly spherical bosom, briefly tweaking a nipple between a forefinger and thumb. “You fucking love me, too, don’t you, cherry pie?”

  “I love you more than I can say!” gasped Amna, Fluff’s saliva dribbling from the corner of her mouth: a small droplet detaching itself from her chin and plopping onto one of Fluff’s hands otherwise preoccupied with her nipple.

  “I don’t … I don’t … I don’t know what to say…” gasped Rosemary.

  “Don’t say fucking anything!” sneered Fluff removing Amna’s jacket from her shoulders and kissing her fully on the mouth. Amna gasped with an expression of delight and hugged her lover hard against her large breasts.

  “Oh! I love you! I love you!” Amna cried.

  Rosemary sat transfixed with Susan’s arms around her shoulders, watching for the first time in real life as a couple made love to each other. It was a passionate animal experience that she knew intimately but had never witnessed, not even on celluloid. The two bodies grappled onto the floor intertwined, sweating and so so absolutely physically naked. This is what it looks like, Rosemary thought, as she watched Amna’s enormous dildo find its way into Fluff’s vagina, and as Amna thrust her absurdly full buttocks backwards and forwards above her.

  She turned to face Susan. She had no idea of what to say, but was not at all surprised as silently and seductively, to the background groans and moans of the other couple, Susan removed not only her own clothes, but also Rosemary’s. “Oh! I love you, Susan!” Rosemary managed to say over the excitement rising in her chest and clogging her mouth.

  And soon there were four bodies writhing and moaning and grappling together on Susan’s rugs: at first apart as two couples deeply in love, and, then, predictably but not without some anxiety as an enmeshed foursome, writhing as a single eight-legged, four-tongued, six and two-half breasted mass of flesh. This was the first time, Rosemary mused, with another woman, or other women, but still including Susan whose ivory flesh she sought out as much as she could between the dark Amna’s dark skin and Fluff’s psychedelic one. For the first time, she kissed another woman, as Amna took her tongue into her mouth, and slightly nipped it, while was it two? or was it three? or was it even four? fingers probed, explored, penetrated and squeezed her precious labia and vagina. And whose dildo was thrusting in her? Was it Amna’s? Or her darling Susan’s? And what was that inside her arse?

  She groaned and yelled and panted as she shuddered with orgasm, but also watched as Fluff’s own skinny tattooed legs twitched and shuddered to its own repertoire of pleasure. She took Fluff’s vagina in her teeth, to find herself face to face with Susan, whilst behind her a dildo thrust into and out of her vagina.

  Susan smiled lasciviously, her tongue licking her teeth, from out of which one or more of Fluff’s pubic hair were embedded. “Oh, Rosemary, isn’t this fun? Isn’t this the most fun? Isn’t this what life was always meant to be about?”

  Amongst the liquid, physical, hot, sweaty tremors of passions which wracked her body so, Rosemary was able to reflect. Maybe Susan was right. Maybe this was what living was for. Wasn’t this paradise? And her enormous breasts which had caused her so much embarrassment for so much of her life was now giving so much pleasure, as she felt two tongues work around her hard nipples. At least now they were being used for the purpose for which she must have been so blessed. Never again would she regret the prominence of her assets. The only drawback, she thought, was that some day it might end. But until then… Rosemary nodded. “Oh! Susan! I love you so much. You’ve brought me so much pleasure. How can I ever ever thank you enough?”

  Chapter XLII

  Tanya was beautiful. This was something about herself which she knew to be true and which she did her utmost to use to her best advantage. But beauty wasn’t everything. She was also ambitious and she was frustrated by her position as a junior presenter on the evening entertainment show on Harlot TV. Sure, she was lucky to have made it in television, even if it was sex television where standards were very low compared to mainstream television. She was convinced that her assets weren’t being used to their full. She knew that being filmed having sex on television wasn’t really stretching her talents at all. It was not enough that her producer kept promising her better things to her from the comfort of his sheets. Nor that she could see the effect her beauty had on her fellow presenters and guests. Not that the quantity of sperm that they spurted onto and into her wasn’t proof enough. Just the way they looked at her body was enough.

  She knew better than most how to present herself. She took great care of her appearance. Her hair was cut and dyed by the best hairdresser she could afford: a pleasing blonde bob that emphasised the curve of her neck, the classical contours of her chin and cheeks and showed off her high forehead. She spent time and money on make-up which subtly enhanced her eyes and lips without overdoing it, like some of the sex television presenters who had none of the aesthetic sense of balance which ensured she didn’t look like a slut. And she was worldly enough to know that it was her body which represented her fortune in this corner (as it would be any other corner) of the sex industry. This she enhanced by a choice of clothes where the tops, however long the sleeves, stopped just below the nipples of her apple-shaped breasts, and a choice of skirts and shorts which showed off her long thin legs and hung low enough on her hips to show just how far down she shaved her crotch. A little bit further down or a little further up and she’d be revealing too much for the subtle effect of temptation she had nurtured to be effective. But what she always displayed was a midriff, with a perfect waist, a teardrop shaped navel and the contours of her hips. What she was saying, she knew, was that unless it meant business, what she had could be seen but not touched.

  Her ambition left her somewhat lonely. None of her colleagues were anything other than competition for her, and no one in more senior positions to her in the television hierarchy was anything other than an object of envy or a stepping stone in her career. Most people sensed this, and left Tanya alone, which generally suited her fine. However, not everyone seemed aware of her aura, and none less than Emma, who worked as a producer on the station’s naturist programmes and as a commissioning editor for some of the station’s more prestigious programmes: whose high pretensions were matched by equally low ratings. But Emma was as blissfully unaware of this as she seemed to be of Tanya’s sexual aura. Tanya was aware of this, as Emma looked at her with exactly the same kind of unobservant, uncritical eye as she did with everyone else, even the fucking make-up girls or the cameramen.

  This fascinated Tanya. It particularly fascinated her as Emma’s sexual proclivity towards women was well-known on the station. And she could see that the main focus of Emma’s attention was the slutty Maisie who’d once been on a television sex soap opera, but was now presenting a teenage sex programme with Rochester, a small boy with a big name. She also knew that Emma’s relationship with Maisie couldn’t possibly be exclusive. It was common knowledge that Maisie was spreading herself thinly amongst the male and female presenters and actors of Harlot TV, both on-screen and off. It was certain that Emma also knew of this, and Tanya found it unimaginable that an attractiv
e woman like Emma wouldn’t also be doing much the same thing, but in a perhaps more discreet way.

  It was difficult to think of anything that Maisie and Emma had in common with each other, except the habitual nudity which in Emma’s case was like some kind of a fucking religion and in Maisie’s was just a kind of carelessness. They were certainly nowhere near the same age. And Emma possessed a quite different ethos with regards to how she comported and expressed herself. It was unlikely that she would share any of the teenage enthusiasms which Maisie displayed on Wasted! every Monday and Wednesday night. All that fast, frantic, noisy dance music. All those wacky fashions. And all those infantile sex games that featured so highly on the programme.

  Tanya stood behind the cameras on the set of Wasted! not really thinking of anything at all, except perhaps of her contempt for all the foolishness that was going on. Maisie was fellating the singer of some fairly puerile pop song, dressed only in a pair of absurdly high-heeled yellow trainers, with her mass of curly hair teased in peculiar directions by a bizarre selection of hair clips. However, even Tanya had to admit that Maisie had a certain amount of technical skill: bringing the singer to ejaculation at just the right point in the dance tune that was running over it, letting the semen arch onto her chest without messing up the discreet make-up on her small nipples.

  She then watched as Maisie effortlessly returned to the microphone with Rochester, betraying her sexual excitement in the breathiness of her voice, where she announced the appearance of the next guest, who was a teenage actor on IVY Grove, a sex soap opera set in a high school which was particularly popular with teenage viewers at the moment. She turned around to leave when she saw Emma standing nearby watching Maisie with a peculiarly sad expression. Tanya frowned, a little puzzled by Emma’s expression, but sensing that it must illustrate some disconcertment for Maisie’s chosen career. But how was she to express the right degree of sympathy without it seeming contrived?

  “That Maisie is very talented,” she offered as a comment to Emma, who started abruptly. She hadn’t expected anyone to notice her there. And who was this woman? She vaguely recognised Tanya as one of the many minor television presenters at Harlot TV, whom she rarely bothered to acknowledge. She smiled at Tanya, and returned her attention to Maisie.

  Tanya was not going to be dismissed that easily. “I’m sure I’ve seen Maisie in something else. A long time ago. I can’t remember what…” Emma turned her head back to Tanya, clearly unsure how not to be rude to this woman. “What was it? King’s Cross? Time Square?”

  “Nothing as good as that,” Emma replied, clearly provoked by Tanya’s recollection of two low-ratings, high art sex dramas that she’d commissioned. “It was St. Denis Road

  . That was long before the scandal with the producer and that horse brought the series to an end.”

  “Well, I wasn’t really much of a viewer,” lied Tanya, who had a weakness for soap operas. “I’m sure she was very good in that.”

  “Not really,” said Emma, returning her gaze to a television set on the wall which screened the action on the set. Tanya judged that that was all she was going to get out of this conversation, so she discreetly left Emma to her own concerns.

  However, Tanya was nothing if not persistent. She made a point of greeting Emma whenever they passed on the corridor, which at first surprised Emma but to which she eventually became accustomed. She even signalled with her eyes some appreciation for Tanya’s beauty, which had taken fucking long enough. She even seduced Rochester, despite her relatively low opinion of teenage sex presenters, so that she could find something about Maisie and her older lover, and also as an excuse to hang around the set of Wasted! This gave her more opportunities to talk to Emma, even though when the programme was over she would then have to spend time with this tedious boy and his views on whatever dance fashion was sweeping the clubs or whatever action movie was dominating the screens. She liked the fucking. Like most sex presenters, including Tanya, this was an area in which he undoubtedly excelled. It was the conversation which tried her patience. But she knew she now had an area of her life which she shared in kind with Emma.

  Gradually, Emma paid more attention to her. And when she confided with Emma that she didn’t really understand her young lover, which was true, she was a little surprised by how much Emma felt that she agreed. “I don’t know why I love Maisie at all. She splits me apart.”

  Tanya took Emma’s warm hand in hers and sighed sympathetically. “Just as Rochester splits me apart,” she said sadly. Although, of course, even during anal intercourse, this wasn’t nearly something Rochester’s penis was really capable of doing. It was fine: quite long, just a little thin. But at least he didn’t ejaculate too soon like so many other younger lovers.

  Tanya discovered that there was a naturist coffee bar not far from the studio where Emma occasionally went by herself at lunch times, and although she always thought of all that innocent nude cavorting that naturists were so keen on rather naff, if not thoroughly contemptible, she knew that this was the best place to get to talk to Emma away from the Harlot TV studios. So, one day, when she’d established that this was where Emma had gone, she went down the iron stairway to the small coffee bar just underneath a delicatessen. It had the insufferably smug name of Nature Calling and the staircase was decorated by arty poses of men and women in those outdoor locations that naturists seemed to like. She knew that her expensive clothes looked out of place amongst all the jeans and tee-shirts hanging on the hangars in the cloakroom where she handed them after disrobing. And she knew that even without clothes, her immaculate make-up, her finely manicured nails and even the way she walked, so much more natural in a pair of high-heeled shoes, was also pretty much out of place as she strode across the ethnic rugs which covered the coffee shop’s wooden floor. She felt stroked by the gaze coming from the eyes of the naked men and women sitting on their tall stools which followed her imperious tread. Even though she always considered nudity a step beyond the degree of provocation she felt necessary to project, at least she didn’t look so fucking ridiculous as so many of the others with their hairy bums, their furry armpits and unhealthily pale skin. She looked after herself - even in the places where very few were permitted to view.

  Tanya saw Emma sitting in a corner, a cup of cappuccino in one hand with her head leaning into a newspaper. She was disappointed that Emma hadn’t witnessed her triumphant entry and all the heads turning. Tanya strode to the counter and ordered herself a café macchiato, all the while looking at her reflection in the mirror behind the short stocky, but still naked, girl who was serving her. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to take their clothes off, Tanya mused focusing on a birthmark on the girl’s shoulder as she was served a cup. She then turned round to see Emma carefully turning a page of her newspaper. Good! Now to attract her attention. “Cooee! Emma!” she cried out walking towards her. “What a surprise to see you here!”

  Emma glanced up startled. At first she didn’t recognise Tanya. Her own prejudices about textiles sometimes made it difficult to recognise anyone as distinct from their clothes. And the clothes Tanya wore were certainly distinctive, so much so that Emma thought of Tanya as the girl with the midriff. She always liked that midriff, and recognised that hiding the crotch and breasts emphasised the contours of the long serpentine length of her torso very well. But here she was nude. Although somehow not seeming nude. Even naked, it was clear that she paid extraordinary attention to her body. Even her crotch was razored short and in the shape of a tiny heart. It hadn’t been dyed the same blonde as the head on her hair though.

  “What are you doing here?” Emma wondered, putting down the newspaper, and leaning forward over the table as Tanya eased herself onto the stool opposite. “I’d never taken you for a naturist.”

  Tanya smiled, as her mind raced over the question. “No, I’m not. But I’ve often passed this place and wondered what it was like.” She stirred sugar from the sachet into her cup. “And anyway I’ve always been sympathet
ic to the naturist movement, “ she lied.

  “Really?” wondered Emma with a grin. This really did not seem very likely to her. “Sympathetic in what way?”

  “Well, it’s always seemed so … er … natural,” Tanya replied. “You know, not wearing clothes and everything. I mean, what could be more natural than … erm … than nudity. Baring everything. Erm. Feeling nature on the skin.” God! This was awful. Change the subject. “So, Emma, do you live near here?”

  Emma started. She’d actually looked forward to a conversation about naturism, and wasn’t sure she was so keen about such a sudden change of tack. ”Not really. Why do you?”

  “No, I live in the town centre. Right near the theatre district.” Ah good! A subject she could pursue a bit more fruitfully. “It’s very convenient for seeing plays, shows, films, almost anything. Are you interested in .. er … anything like that?”

  And so it was in this way that Tanya persuaded Emma to come with her to see some nude dance production that was on near her. And dull it was too! No story that she could discern, although the programme gave some kind of a synopsis. It was just a lot of cavorting performed by a bunch of naked men and women, clearly chosen for their dancing ability rather than for their looks. The girls were so tiny, with similarly small breasts. And the men all seemed gay to her. She could more easily imagine them fucking each other than the women they were dancing with. And it was only in her imagination she could see any fucking. Despite all the bare flesh on stage, and all the manhandling, there was no sex at all, and the men’s penises remained disappointingly shrivelled. Although quite a few men and women in the audience were nude like Emma, thankfully she wasn’t in the minority in the designer outfit she wore. At least Emma seemed to like the show, and she even began to weep at one stage where one of the women dancers was performing some kind of dance to show her distress at her male lover leaving her. This was demonstrated by a lot of slumping onto the ground, throwing herself against other dancers and exaggerated arm movement. However, she took advantage of Emma’s tears to take her hand in her own and squeeze it comfortingly. Emma smiled at her through her tears, seemingly grateful for the sympathy that Tanya was expressing.