Arthur Alexander - Emily_s Lips

And that. No, truly, she didn't enjoy that at all. No, it was a male fantasy altogether.

They thought you liked it, they tried to make you believe you liked it, but it was uncomfortable. And boring, when you came right down to it, and now here he was harping on her cunt again, its size and warmth and hairiness. She was afraid that his speculations in that particular regard were quite correct. Oh damn, why did she have to have such abundance? Her cunt, for example, was a rather hirsute specimen, actually quite lovely when you came to think about it, as cunts go, which may not be very far, but who cares anyway? It wasn't, as this awful man kept claiming, the size that mattered. It was the love which activated it. It ain't the meat, it's the motion, as the song says. You can't share anything simply on the basis of a cunt! And juicy.

There he goes on again about how juicy it probably is. He even thinks she's getting excited right now. He guesses that her cream is beginning to gather between her legs. Well, really! That wasn't happening at all. At all. No, this was a potentially dangerous situation, and her mind was exclusively on means by which she might escape. That's what anyone would be thinking of right now, escape. After all, she was afraid. Who knew what might happen to her? His intentions were clear, that was for certain. The things he was saying about his cock and how har d she was making it. Well, goodness, she wasn't doing anything. It wasn't any of her doing. She could feel the gross thing pressed hard against her rump as she walked, forcing its brazen way between her buttocks, and she knew that she hadn't done anything to make him feel that way. It really wasn't exc iting her at all to be propelled this way through the dark toward who-knew-what exotic fate. Nor was that cock against her ass affecting her. Any sexual anticipation she might have felt up in her r oom was gone now. Of course, it was. Now it was just a matter of escaping. She really didn't care that he was going to do that. Awl she most certainly was not ever going to be persuaded to do that. No, sir. And the thought of it was not making her cunt get creamy. Her cunt was perfec tly arid, she could assure him, thank you very much. His talk was not making her grow squishy. Her nipples were hard, she would have to admit that, yes, but they were hard purely because of the cold. It was cold out here, and it was only because of the cold that she was pressing herself backwards against him. It did not, repeat not, have anything to do with that stiff erection between her cheeks.

Emily's attention was now drawn to the fact that they had arrived at the door of the greenhouse. So this was the place. The man took his hand off her mouth long enough to open the door and propel her through into the warm, humid air. As he turned from her to close the door, it occurred to her that she could have made her escape then. She could at least have screamed. But she hadn't thought of it in time, and now her fate was sealed. She felt sorry for herself as she stood still and waited for him to finish closing the door. If she had stayed in her room where she belonged …

The gravel paving was painful to her bare feet. The man took her arm again and led her along one of the paths. It was quite a large greenhouse, filled with exotic flora, even trees, and from somewhere ahead came the cheerful tinkle of falling water. The man had contemptuously released his hand from over her mouth. It would seem he didn't care whether she screamed or not. Perhaps he even wanted her to scream.

She had heard of men who liked that. Well, she wasn't going to give him any satisfaction. By God, she wasn't going to scream, and that was just that. He would have to get along without her screaming. If he thought he could make her scream, well!

In the center of the greenhouse stood a sm all fountain, maintained to increase the humidity and to provide a peaceful spot for contemplation, should anyone want to use it. A small lawn sloped down into the ordered plantings from the fountain. The moonlight made everything curiously black and white. What colors there were were severely muted. It was all rather eerie. The man shoved Emily out upon the lawn where she stood massaging her aching shoulder. Now, she supposed, he would have his way with her, and then she could get on with her business in the cellar. She had a point to make to the Blacks down there, and she was growing impatient with all this silly business. She was just about to say, "Let's get on with it," when he interrupted her by calling, "Look what I found."

She couldn't imagine to whom he was speaking until she saw two more men emerge from the trees. "She looks as though she'll do," muttered one.

The two also wore evening dress, but they were a good deal younger than the man who had captured her. One, in fact, was quite good-looking, having closely cropped, curly hair and a smiling, pug face. Emily felt that she had met him that afternoon somewhere. All three men seemed completely at ease in this situation.

"She likes to pretend that she isn't interested," explained the older man, "but look all these tits!" With that, he suddenly jerked her sweater out of her skirt and over her head, imprisoning her arms and face inside it.

Emily knew that her towering breasts were bare in the moonlight. She could feel that her nipples were stiff-from cold, as she had previously made clear. Now it was too late to scream. She was trussed up inside her sweater, and no one could possibly hear her. Besides, she had only herself to blame for the predicament. If she had insisted on going down into the cellar instead of being swept along by that man, she would not now be here having her breasts pawed by three men. For they were certainly pawing her. Calloused fingers pulled at her nipples, rough palms jiggled her orbs. The men were chuckling to themselves over their catch. They were awful! And yet… and yet there was something not altogether unpleasant about it. She couldn't see. She was entirely in their hands. She was their captive, and undoubtedly they would make her perform all sorts of strange and erotic maneuvers. It was all rough hands and sharp teeth, hairy bodies, and sweat.

"She's not struggling much," opined one.

"You're right," agreed the original man. Perhaps we ought to make her wiggle a little.

What do you think?"

"Sounds good to me."

The flat of a hard hand was slapped sharply against the end of one of Emily's full breasts, mashing it. The pain was so sudden and so unusual that Emily yelped and jumped to avoid a second blow.

"That's the stuff, chickie. You just keep jiggling them around like that, and I'll not have to slap you again.

Emily struggled desperately to get her head free. Now she did want out of this situation. She was certain that if she explained that a mistake had been made, that she really wasn't the woman they thought she was, they would apologize and let her go. It had been a simple mistake, after all. A misunderstanding.

And then everything stopped. Suddenly, there came no sound from the men. Her sweater was released.

Hastily she pulled the garment down to cover her suffering breasts. She looked around through tousled hair. The three men were looking guiltily along one of the paths which radiated through the plants, and Emily felt a surge of relief when she saw a woman's shape coming their way through the fronds. Such a statuesque silhouette could only belong to Laura Black, her hostess. Now, she was certain, the misunderstanding would be cleared away. The men would let her go and capture instead some legitimate prey.

"What's going on here?" came the query.

"Just a bit of a party," replied the older man. "We've found ourselv es something quite nice, Laura, quite nice indeed. A sexy little cunt with a pair of the most astounding jugs you've ever seen."