Arthur Alexander - Emily_s Lips

Still later, her last memory of the occasion, Emily discovered that she was lying face downward with her ass raised and her thighs widely spread. Someone-she fancied it was Laura as she could feel breast tips against the backs of her thighs-was siding her tongue in and out of her asshole, and she herself was unctuously blowing the man who had kidnapped her in the first place. The other two men were not to be seen. Perhaps they had had enough. Or they might be doing wonderful and erotic things to Laura's body behind her. As her mind slowly rolled among the images of what they might be doing, the cock in her mouth began to spurt its last, straining jets of seed.

"Put something in my cunt! Put something in my cunt!" she begged around the jerking prick.

She felt the sudden thrust of Laura's long fingers splitting her sex, and, of course, she came.

The short mountain night was drawing to a close as Emily finally left the greenhouse.

Already a glowing false dawn c ould be seen climbing up behind the peak. She was no longer stoned. All those orgasms back there had drained away her intoxication and left her feeling tired. It was, though, a contented sort of tiredness. She walked arm-in-arm with her original captor, her head resting lightly against the shoulder of his jacket. Laura trooped along a step or two behind. The other men had left long before. None of them had much of anything to say. Instead, Emily simply felt the calm of her final sexual completion still within herself. It hadn't been exactly what she expected for this evening, but it had been precisely what she wanted nevertheless.

And there did remain the possibility that she had been wrong all along about what went on down in the basement.

They turned into the house. All was quiet; the music had finished for the evening. On the first-floor landing, the man gave Emily a light and affectionate kiss. Laura also greeted her with a hug and a kiss, and then she was left to climb by herself to her own safe place. Through the familiar landings and corridors she climbed. Grinning a little, she opened her door. The last of the setting moon shone through her windows and made the room milky. It was the coldest time of the night, but she knew she would be warm in bed. She left the windows open, climbed out of the clothes she had only put on a few minutes ago, and slipped between the sheets. It was only then, with a shock, that she realized she was no longer alone.

A warm body nestled in the middle of the bed, and she was about to escape in an outrage when sleepy hands reached out and brushed against her rigid shoulders. A voice mumbled something. "Is it you, Karen?" she dared.

"Mmmm." Karen snuggled closer, and Emily drew her warm head down onto the pillow of her breasts.

"You startled me," Emily said, feeling her exasperation diminish as two warm, little fists curled into the hollow of her neck.

"Where have you been?" Karen's voice was blurry with sleep, and she was gone again before Emily could begin to answer.

Emily lay awake for several minutes, smoothing the sleeping girl's hair, and looking at the canopy over their heads. Only two days ago she had been with Arthur. She hadn't even known this girl!

And then she slept.

She awoke, descended, and ate. She arose again, and slept.

She awoke. It was night. She did not know the time. Through her open windows blew a steady, heady breeze. The temperature had dropped. She felt magnificent; utterly rested. She stretched round arms, yawned, slid from beneath her covering. She stood as nude and lovely as can be imagined before the soft wash of the hidden moon. Tonight was the night. She anticipated the moment. Tonight she would take herself to herself and come away owning the whole of herself. Tonight would be the beginning of a new ethos.

There was the music, of course. She knew there would be. It came to her this third time, and now she was prepared for it. She slid a filmy nightgown over her form and walked down into the dark.

One step, two. It was as simple as that. Put one foot before the other, and you will arrive.

One flight, two. The cellar door. A beautiful sound, those two words: cellar door.

Steps downward and the red corridor. The music gathering her closer into its embrace. The second corridor: her own form in the mirrored walls. Pretty Emily in a blue nightgown, Emily's pretty body intensified by the blue shimmer about her. The final barrier. Curtains to part silently. Curtains to slip through. And she was there.

A great brocaded and sumptuous chamber through which the music flowed from loudspeakers. Lighting directed to a raised platform, and stage, upon which a single female dancer made her limbs float in time with the sounds. Subdued chatter of those looking on. The small clink of a glass now and again. Elegantly dressed man and woman in stately motion about the couches. Dim lighting, if at all, in the majority of the chamber. Shadows along the walls.

No one had seen her.

She slipped sideways, into the shadow, skirting the room until, she hovered in the dimness at the rear of the hall. A railing at the height of her belly gave her a convenient leaning point. Her eyes were alive with excitement. The tension was there, in the chamber. She could feel it. She knew what was going to happen.

Everyone else did as well. They were settling into couches, placing their drinks, resting their feet. Sweet marijuana began to tickle the air. The lights grew dimmer, drawing the eyes toward the stage. And the dancer-she had known this would be so-was Karen. Little Karen with her slim hips, swaying beautifully, wearing dark tights and a tunic.

The music was slow, accentuated with flutes, and Karen was a cobra mesmerized by it. She swayed from the toes, her entire body alive to the sound. She seemed to grow taller from the stage, rising into the light as the music rose in intensity. And at the top of her preening, yearning dance, her fingers met for a moment behind her neck. Her tunic dropped from its clasp to reveal, in a flash, Karen's nakedness. The tights were not tights, they were high stockings supported by a pink and black garterbelt. All else was as God had made it. Karen's hands now rose above her head, and her feet left their stationary positions. The girl began to curl and wind her way about the stage, every muscle outlined by the lights. Her body glimmered as though it had been oiled. The dance was not particularly sexual, save for the erotic framing of her slim ass and her auburn sex by the straps of her garterbelt. She seemed much more naked because of them than she would have done had she been entirely nude. And she held the eyes of everyone in the room, including Emily's secret ones. Her loveliness was unsurpassed by anything Emily could recall, her sensuousness, her litheness. It seemed almost luminous, her body was so aliv e.

But yet the dance grew more passionate as the music swelled to new intensities.

Now that tiny girl was flinging herself about the stage with such controlled abandon that Emily's heart stilled in her breast. More and more of the grit of life, the anguish and the travail, were apparent in her savage forms. Before, her dance had been nearly imbecilic. None of that saccharine was left now. Just the raw frenzy of humanity, the awesome ponderousness of it all.

For still there was the maddening semi-sexuality of the costume that she wore. She couldn't get away from that. No matter how her body strove away from sex toward the peace of neutrality, it was always there, always accentuated, always leading the eyes back to that rich, red womanhood she carried between her legs. She would never escape it, try as she might. She leapt, she twined, she pirouetted. She flailed herself to elude the sex she carried. But she was not a sprite. She was a woman, pinned and anchored by her womanhood.