Anonymous - Emily - Or, the voluptuous delights of a once-innocent young lady

In the stable, Jane was, yes, I know she was, I know with whom she was, I know…

'How plump your bottom is and yet how small it feels a-throbbing on my palms!' 'Does it?' My eyes rolled up, my head hung back, his kisses on my neck, tip of his finger easing in into my rosehole. 'D… d… d… don't!', I whimpered, but he would not stop, began to work it back and forth, in-out, and fingered up my cunny with his other hand, I arcing back, knees sagging, mouth agape, the ceiling a white cloud above. Blindly I sought him, felt his prick, the cloth around it, made the buttons loose and dipped my hand within around his stave. 'I will c… come!', he stammered. Such semblance of control as I possessed surprised me then. I squeezed his pulsing rod and brought it burning to my silky belly as we stood. 'You won't', said I. The door swung open then, we frozen in lewd attitude like a forbidden statue, and there stood Papa. Such moments hang in Time as does a raindrop on the petal of a rose. The floor creaked and was quiet again. Papa loosed a button of his jacket, let the sides fall free. 'James will go to his sister's room and there remain'.

The words were sombre and yet spoken with a quiet. My brother gurgled something and tore free, I left forlorn, my skirt high as a band is round a cake, my fallen drawers hallucinating sins I had not quite discovered then. James sought to cover up his tool. He could not, for too stiff it was, and blushing like a schoolgirl he ran out.

Tour drawers are down, my dear. A little early yet for frolics, is it not? Your garters should be tighter than they are. See to it on the morrow that they band your thighs as closely as your dreams'.

'Papa? Yes, Papa'. I squeaked. I did not recognise my voice. His jacket was dark brown and ribbed with braid. A white silk handkerchief peeped like a rabbit from his pocket top. I had to bend, to bend down for my drawers, but could not move-I, striken with dismay. My fingers opened, closed again, arms limp. 'Come here!' 'M… m… my drawers, Papa-I cannot move'. 'Come here, I say! Walk slowly and you will not fall. How like a stricken schoolgirl you do look. And yet…' I blundered, almost tripped, and toed my way with wariness, though tried to hide such look as may have been upon my face. Ticklings of tinglings round my pussy, and my thighs were warm.

Within a foot of him I stopped, I teetered, held myself upright, blushed full and tried to meet his gaze. 'That blush may be the last, my pet. I trust it may, except when you feel wrath or anger at some unkind thing. Adjust your stockings-have them ever tight'. I bent, head at his stomach almost, finger-fretted, pulled, arranged, glimpsed a protuberance beneath my eyes, and straightened, almost falling sideways at the tugging of my drawers that were more tightly wreathed about my ankles, then. 'You have learned to kiss, I see-have learned to part your legs, if somewhat gauche your attitude.

Your knees will learn to tremble not, your body will be upright to a lingering touch. Be sharp upon your toes in attitudes of passion, Emily. Spare not your poses, keep your bottom thrust'. 'P… P…

Papa?' 'Step back a pace and pull your drawers up, then stand still'. 'Yes'. I-the submissive one who hated so to be- obeyed and soothed my dress, my belly pale a longer moment to his eyes as I arranged myself-fluff of my bush… His trouser-bulge was blatant, undismayed by a quick skittering of eyes, my eyes. 'Autumn will be upon us soon-cries of the corncrakes, and the summer done'.

'Fires will be lit in all…' I stopped in my reply. Hazed memories of three abed, a penis stirring lazy-warm against my thigh.

'Indeed, my dear, in all the rooms, in all; I trust in all…

That is to say…' Awkwardly he moved, came to my side, penis protruding upwards through his trousercloth, the poker buried like a broken spear. It touched my knuckles- hesitated-lingered with the quick self-consciousness of an uncertain comma in a sentence. I moved my hand a little, felt it stir, unwilting ramrod to my fingers pressed. 'Yes, Emily yes', Papa said. Was it a command? I hung my head, but let my hand still touch. His loins stirred, and I felt the fuller length brush right across the limp back of my hand. I swallowed, and he heard the sound. 'I shall…', I said. I knew not what to say. My head was separated from my heart. 'Go to your room again? Indeed. Be watchful on the morrow; do not take that which you do not need, do not desire'. 'No, Papa'. I slouched, moved forward to the door. I wished to flee, yet not to go, he standing motionless, his back to me. I should have been forlorn, yet felt not so. The good, the bad, the needed, the desired, became as one, were enveloped in silence, neither held or dropped. James waited for me, sitting on my bed, face pale, his trousers buttoned up.

'What is to do-what is to do?', he asked, and stood confronting me. 'Naught that may bring dismay. Papa was kind. An understanding of the future bride', I sparkled, and surprised myself.

'He will not tell Mama, I know. Be sure of that'. 'Thank heavens for it. Did he…?' 'Did he what, James, what?'. A carelessness possessed me and I smoothed my hair. 'I mean, your drawers were down and…' 'Oh? Am I desirable?', I laughed. The ghost of Julie lingered on the bed. Her stockinged toes would tease their wicked tools, and they would humble stand like schoolboys, hands behind their backs. 'Extremely, Emily; you know you are. Such slim curves, yet such fullness. You would drive a statue to erect his prick'. 'I have done, I believe', I taunted him, then urged him to the door with playful touch. 'Go out, or Papa may return', I said. He wilted, bit his lip and went.

After the incantations and the hymns-the promises we fractured as we spoke-bells, flowers, confetti, and the trailing of my long gown in the church, the world was born anew. Arnold was quiet-looked like a soldier who had lost his gun, I thought. Returning home, I changed into a lighter garb laid out for me. The skirt, white taffeta with pink, was fluffed, had loose pleats and a ribbon hanging down. A blouse absorbed the fullness of my breasts. A large bow-tie I wore in the French fashion; it was modish then, had just come in. I wore white, patterned stockings with pink garters tight, but wore no drawers. I was at sacrifice. 'What an arse she has!', I heard on entering the drawing room where the private reception was arranged.

Adelaide appeared and kissed my cheek, Pamela smiled, and her companion bowed. I had not seen them since that fateful night, but swore I would not blush, and did not do. Then Arnold's sisters were brought forward and arranged themselves to kiss me on both cheeks in turn. 'I will have your mouth tonight', the elder said. Her name was Constance; she was slim and tall. The other, Fiona, was quite small and neat, and a perky, lively air. 'You may or you may not', I said. I looked to Arnold, but his mother held his hand as though it were a glove she had long lost and now recovered. Father conversed with Adelaide and Mama stood with Jane and Eveline. Much punch was poured; a certain merriment obtained. 'Are you being querulous? You have not been tasted yet, and when you are…' So Constance murmured to me, but I cut her off. I kept my smile. All hands had touched me in their passage, felt my bottom and caressed its cheeks. I had not jerked, I had not jerked at all. All eyes were bright around me and they watched my every movement- waiting, as I knew. 'I may employ an amanuensis', I replied. Unsure of the meaning of the word, I used it out of mischief. 'That is done?', she asked. She looked dismayed, and turned towards her father, Douglas, who stood bluff, undressed me with his eyes and then restored my blouse at least. I watched her speak to him and saw him nod. Papa held Adelaide close to his side, and I remembered how her breasts had shown. Upon a moment I was then confronted by my father-in-law. His lowered voice presaged a confidence he did not fully feel, I thought.