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Emma’s work clothes stuck to her. She wore black high heels, a short black skirt, and a white blouse. She had undone most of the buttons on the blouse as she walked towards the house. She was nineteen, and worked in a travel agency. All day long she dreamed of sunny beaches and city breaks. She had spent the last twenty minutes crammed into a train with other commuters. She was sweaty and tired. She still looked pretty good though. She knew that some of the men on the train had been staring at her. She clicked up the garden path in her heels, and rang the doorbell. She fussed with her hair, taking out the pins, letting it fall loose over her shoulders. She stood on the doorstep, framed by a pair of dark pink rosebushes. She momentarily lost herself, gazing into the soft pink folds of the petals.
Her boyfriend’s mother opened the door. She was a raven-haired beautiful woman. She wore trainers and running gear. She smiled when she saw Emma. At the same moment, the sun blazed from behind a cloud.
“Daniel isn’t home yet, But come on in and wait for him. You want some orange juice?”
Emma adored her smile. It was intense. It was devastating. She felt herself being drawn to Charlotte’s lips. She was a moth and Charlotte was the flame. She fought to get a grip on herself. This was her boyfriend’s mother.
“Thanks, Mrs. Garland. Anything cold will do.” It was 28 degrees and there was no breeze from the sea. It was clammy and uncomfortable. It promised to be a sweltering summer.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I do wish you wouldn’t call me Mrs. Garland. You make me feel a hundred years old!”
“I can’t help it.” Emma said. “My parents raised me to be respectful.” She laughed. “Especially to old people.”
“You know I’m sensitive about turning forty this week.”
Charlotte’s long legs were clad in a tight pair of black Capri leggings that stopped just below her knees. Above that, she wore a figure-hugging white T-shirt with the words SUMMER OF LOVE stretched across her chest. Her hair was tied back. She was about to start her daily five mile run, but she was sweating just standing there. She carried a massive hunk of machinery clipped to her waist.
“What is that? It looks like it’ll slow you down.” Emma pointed at the square slab of blue metal. “Is it a gramophone?”
“It’s a discman. It plays compact discs.”
“Er… what are those?” Emma joked. One of the reasons Emma and Charlotte got on really well together was because they shared a love of music. Emma had loaned Charlotte her Katy B album. In return, Charlotte had got Emma hooked on Bowie. Emma had always been into music. She played guitar, and wrote her own songs.
Charlotte laughed. “I suppose you’ve never heard of a walkman either? They take cassettes!”
Emma shook her head, pretending to be dumb. Her pretty green eyes were wide and innocent. Her red hair flicked from side to side.
Charlotte pushed her lightly. “Liar! You’re old enough to remember mix tapes. I’d like to replace it with an MP3 player at some point, but it’ll do for now. You never know – someone might buy me an iPod for my birthday.”
Emma grabbed her arm, and pulled. It was an excuse to touch her. The two women grappled in the doorway. The sun beat down on them. Charlotte pulled Emma’s hair. Emma bit Charlotte on the arm. She grasped Charlotte’s wrist hard enough to bruise it. Charlotte pinched Emma’s thighs. Emma spanked Charlotte’s buttocks. Their bodies crushed together. Their legs twisted. Emma forced her thigh up into Charlotte’s groin. Charlotte grunted and ground herself against Emma’s leg. Their play-fights were getting worse. For Charlotte, it was just a bit of fun. Emma wasn’t sure what it meant to her. All she knew was that she felt aroused right now. The two women fought, both dressed in black and white. They struggled wordlessly, grunting and squealing. Somewhere close, an ice-cream van tootled. They parted, staring at each other hard. Charlotte panted for breath. Emma had a speck of blood on her lips.
“Did I do that?”
Emma nodded, grinning. She longed for Charlotte to kiss it better.
“Shit! Sorry.” Charlotte frowned. It felt normal to her but she guessed that if anyone else saw them play-fighting, they would think it bizarre. She was strangely aware that they didn’t do it when Daniel was in the room. She wondered briefly why that was. Still, the evening was too warm for her to care. “Why don’t you come running with me?”
“Because there’s no way you would keep up.”
Emma watched her boyfriend’s mother run down the street. She watched her cute ass wriggle in the lycra. Charlotte might be turning forty this week but she sure didn’t look it. Emma closed the door and went into the living room. She sat on the sofa, waiting for Daniel but thinking of Charlotte.
Emma had her doubts. She had always preferred men. She certainly wasn’t a virgin. She had slept with seven guys over the last couple of poker oyna years. But recently, she hadn’t been interested. Men left her cold. She was going through something, but she couldn’t say exactly what. She had lied to Daniel, telling him she didn’t believe in sex before marriage. That was rubbish. Of course, she hadn’t told him about the seven guys she slept with before. The truth was, Daniel was a great guy, and he was handsome. He had a lean body and deep soulful eyes. But, right now, she was more interested in women. It was peculiar. She thought that, if you were a lesbian, you knew it from an early age. She had never heard of anyone suddenly changing their sexuality at nineteen. She was confused. She didn’t know who she was. Her mobile phone buzzed. It was Daniel.
HEY GORGEOUS. MISSED THE TRAIN. I HAVE TO WAIT ANOTHER HOUR. SORRY. SEE U SOON XXX.
Emma’s heart beat faster as she read the message. It meant she had time. She couldn’t get Charlotte out of her mind. She imagined her running, her breasts leaping, the muscles in her legs flexing, her dark hair tied into a ponytail and bouncing.
She went upstairs.
Not for the first time, Emma intruded into Charlotte’s bedroom. She loved this room. It was the place where all her fantasies converged. She admired the queen-size bed. The mattress was thick and soft, like lying on a cloud. The headrest was black wrought iron. Emma suspected Charlotte was a deeply sensual woman. She slept beneath satin sheets, sometimes gold, sometimes midnight blue, but today they were a purply-red, the colour of a full-bodied Burgundy wine.
Emma reached out and her hand glided gently across them. She thought about making love to Charlotte under those sheets, their excited bodies entwined, orgasming as the sheets slid over them.
The furniture was modern, angular, and made from cherry wood. The tone of the wood was deep and warm. There was a dressing table, with a large mirror. Emma pulled the square stool out from under the table and sat down. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Emma knew men thought her pretty. She had coppery red hair that curled loosely down to her shoulders. Her eyes glowed green like peridot. Was that how Charlotte saw her? Did Charlotte even notice when she ran her hands through her dark hair, how Emma smiled, how she licked her lips?
A musical jewellery box sat on the dressing table. Emma lifted the lid, and the theme to Swan Lake played as a tiny model ballerina pirouetted. She sat, listening raptly to the music.
She browsed through Charlotte’s perfume collection. She picked up each bottle in turn, feeling the weight of them in her hand, breathing in the aroma of osmanthus flower, honeycomb, apple blossom, and sandalwood.
Emma walked to one end of the room. In a wall-to-wall cupboard unit, Charlotte kept all her shoes. There were easily three hundred pairs there. Emma coveted her collection. She liked to consider which shoes she would like to fuck Charlotte in. Most of them! Emma clumsily kicked off her own black patent leather heels. They landed by the bed, one upright, one on its side. She imagined two pairs of high-heeled shoes discarded there. A pair of hers and a pair of Charlotte’s, and near them a puddle of clothing, little black dresses and underwear taken off in a hurry.
Emma opened Charlotte’s drawers. They concealed an alluring array of lingerie. Emma was impressed. She unspooled sheer stockings. She thought about being tied to the bed by Charlotte, her naked body spread across the queen-size mattress, her wrists and ankles tied to the corners by tightly-knotted stockings. Her eyes closed. In her daydream, Charlotte crawled over her, doing whatever her heart desired.
Emma rummaged through Charlotte’s silk negligee, satin naughties, lacy unmentionables, and lycra undies. The drawers were full of bras, panties, stockings, suspenders, basques, briefs, teddies, chemise, knickers, camisoles, slips and babydolls.
She unfolded a black lace basque and held it up against her own body. She studied herself in the mirror. She was taller and thinner than Charlotte. Surprisingly, their breasts were the same size – a 34 double D. Emma examined the label in a pretty blue bra. But Charlotte had a curvier figure, while Emma’s lower half was slimmer. So Emma guessed she could fit into Charlotte’s underwear, even if her panties might be a size too big.
Her searching fingers closed around something smooth and metallic. Oh my God! She knew what it was just by feeling. The Holy Grail! She found it tucked away beneath boxes of Tampax. She hadn’t been looking for it, but she was overjoyed to find it. It was Charlotte’s vibrator. It was silver, shaped like a sleek missile. There was a variable black plastic speed dial at the base. She imagined Charlotte operating it at top speed, bucking and writhing, swearing under her breath, biting her tongue as she came so that Daniel didn’t hear.
‘What the hell am I doing?’ Emma thought.
She turned the dial. Her canlı poker oyna grin widened as the vibrator buzzed into life.
Emma closed her eyes. She put the tip of her tongue on it. Mmmm! She imagined she was tasting it just after Charlotte had used it. Oh, it tasted good! She sucked it like it was an ice lolly. It buzzed in her mouth.
She had been in Charlotte’s room before. She had admired her shoes, sampled her perfume, lay back on her bed, and even peeked at her lingerie. But she had never done this before.
She picked out some of Charlotte’s panties. She dug around and found a pair that matched the basque. They were black, lacy, almost non-existent.
She wriggled out of her skirt and unbuttoned her blouse. She wore plain white cotton underwear. She unhooked her bra. She stood there for a moment. She was naked but for her white cotton panties. She admired herself in the mirror. Her flat stomach, her lovely legs, her full breasts.
Next she sprayed Calvin Klein Obsession on her wrists. She rubbed her wrists together, then touched them to her throat. She was enveloped by the delicate aroma of amber, jasmine and sandalwood. It was Charlotte’s favourite scent.
It wasn’t enough. She picked up the perfume again and sprayed Obsession all over. It smelled like Charlotte was close to her. Intimately close. She stepped out of her panties.
She listened for the slightest sound, in case anyone came home.
She tried on Charlotte’s underwear. She slipped the panties on first. They were luscious, tiny and elegant. She put the basque on back to front, so that she could fasten all the hooks. She twisted it the right way round. It was a perfect fit. The basque was adorned by lace flowers. The cups clutched her breasts. The lace felt light and cool against her skin. It was delicate and sensual. She pulled the straps over her shoulders. She stared at herself in the mirror, marvelling at how sensual she looked. Her red hair was auburn in the sunlight. It fell across her eyes, over her shoulders, down her back. She looked gorgeous.
She glanced nervously out of the window. She could see the park across the street. Charlotte usually ran around it twice. It was a big park, with tennis courts, a boating lake, acres of lawn, and a rose garden. She was terrified of getting caught. Emma knew two circuits took forty minutes, which meant she had thirty minutes left.
Emma lay on Charlotte’s bed. Her head hit the cool sheets. Her hair fell about her in a nimbus. The sheets were smooth; it was like floating in water. They accepted her body.
She played with her breasts, imagining she was being touched by Charlotte’s hands. She teased her nipples, forging them into hard bullets. She clawed at them, enhancing the illusion that her hands were Charlotte’s hands. She tickled herself. She ran her hands insistently all over her body. She pressed her palms and her long guitarist’s fingers hard against her stomach, pushing downwards, slipping those fingers between her legs. She lingered momentarily, the dam about to burst. Then she drew back, gasping, seizing her breasts again, one in each hand. She squeezed violently, at the same time pushing her chest upwards. She moaned urgently, her hands caressing and sliding. She felt as though she were a sculptor, and her flesh was nothing but wet clay.
She didn’t have a lot of work to do. She was already aroused by the scent of perfume, the feeling of lace against her skin, and the way her body slid frictionlessly across the sheets. She was halfway to orgasm already, exhilarated by the wicked knowledge that she was in Charlotte’s room, rolling around in her bed, splashed in her scent, wearing her underwear. She felt like a raunchy version of Goldilocks.
Then there was the vibrator…
She pressed it against each erect nipple. Her breasts tingled. She drew the tip of the vibrator in a tight circle around each breast, spiraling inexorably inwards, slowly tracing the dark pink circles of her areolae.
Her moist red lips parted. She lifted the vibrator to her mouth again. She slipped the silver bullet inside her mouth, licking it, sucking it, making it wet.
Her free hand cascaded down her body, like water rushing downhill. Like a river surging, her hand quickened and gained strength. It abandoned the twin hills that were her breasts, glided over the plain of her stomach, before forcing its way like rapids between her legs, pouring into the canyon. Her hand exploded over her pussy, flooding the area with sensory pleasure. She plunged her fingers inside. They slipped in her own juices.
She manoeuvered the vibrator down her body.
Emma sat up suddenly. She thought she had heard something. A door closing? She struggled to catch her breath. Suddenly, Emma’s fantasy world evaporated. She was struck by the reality of how easy it would be for Charlotte to come home and catch her. What the hell was she thinking?
What if Charlotte was back early from her run? Maybe she had sprained her ankle. internet casino Maybe she had decided it was too hot and only run once round the park instead of twice. She switched the basque round, fumbling at her breasts to get the hooks apart, wishing she had stolen something simpler. She pulled it off, stuffing it back into the drawer.
She listened. Nothing. She hoped it was nothing. She only needed another five minutes…
‘Oh what the hell!’
She dragged Charlotte’s panties down over her hips and massaged the outside of her pussy with the vibrator. Waves of pleasure rolled through her. It thrummed. She bit her lip. She sat down heavily on the end of the bed. She was about to slide the tip of the vibrator into the warmth and wetness of her vagina.
“Emma, are you upstairs?” Charlotte yelled. “Eastenders is about to start.”
Fuck, she was home!
The orgasm hit her then. She dropped the vibrator, before she could drive it into her pussy. She didn’t need it. The sound of Charlotte’s voice finished her off. It was forecast but devastating, like a storm blowing into a port. She was drenched with sweat. Lightning sparked in every limb. A hurricane tore through her mind. She was utterly dismasted. She gushed, waves of pleasure overwhelming her.
“Coming!” Emma moaned.
“It’s her fortieth. I want to give her something special for her birthday. What do you think I should buy her?” Daniel asked.
The shopping centre was busy. People had just been paid.
Emma smiled. She wanted to give Charlotte something special too. She drifted away into a forbidden place.
“Any thoughts?” said Daniel, interrupting her.
“Oh… er…” Emma shrugged. “I think she wants an iPod.”
Emma sang. The clubhouse couldn’t pay her, but she didn’t care. She loved to sing her songs. She loved to play guitar.
The lights were low. People were drinking, and talking above her. She didn’t care that no-one was listening. She didn’t mind that she was background music. She perched on a barstool on the stage. She wore flared jeans and a sleeveless black top. She tapped one foot as she played, keeping the beat with her boots.
She sang about a torn wedding dress, and loneliness. She sang about the moon, and longing. She sang about scars in suspicious places, and pain. She sang about bats in the attic, and madness. She sang about uncontrollable desire, and shame.
Peter ignored his mates. He applauded when no-one else did. He listened intently to every word. He leaned forward, out of the darkness, his hand clutching his pint of beer. He only had eyes and ears for her. Emma smiled at her step-brother.
“This song is for Peter,” she said.
She always ended with the same number. It was a cover version of a Leonard Cohen song. The spotlight was on her. She struck her guitar. She sang.
“Like a bird on a wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free.”
“I love you,” Peter whispered. As usual, nobody heard him.
“Happy birthday!” Emma shouted.
“Oh, hello Emma,” Charlotte said as she answered the door. “Thanks, but… I wasn’t expecting you.”
“It’s a surprise,” Emma said.
Charlotte stared at her. She always took her birthday off work, and her son had promised to take her out for dinner later. She thought it was supposed to just be the two of them. “Daniel isn’t here. He won’t be back from work for a couple of hours.”
“I know he’s not here. I’m sorry, Mrs. Garland. I don’t mean to intrude. I know you and Daniel have an evening planned. I finished work early, but I got locked out of my house. My parents aren’t home. Daniel told me to come here and wait for him. He has a spare key.”
Charlotte nodded. Her eyes were covered by sunglasses. Emma saw herself reflected in them. She hoped Charlotte couldn’t tell she was lying about losing her keys. She just wanted to spend some time with her.
Charlotte looked beautiful in her floral pink dress. It was short, ending midway on her thighs. Her hair was tied up, leaving her neck bare. Her skin was shimmering with sweat. She was barefoot.
“Well come on in,” Charlotte said. “I’m sunbathing. Why don’t you join me?”
Emma followed her in. As she shut the door, Charlotte pulled her floral dress right off, tugging it over her head. She swept it off in a single movement, as she strode through the kitchen into the garden. She discarded her dress on the floor. She now wore nothing except a bright pink bikini.
Emma stared. Her mouth hung open. Emma watched Charlotte’s buttocks dance as she walked away. They were beautiful. She wanted to press her face into them. She almost fainted.
“Get a glass from the kitchen,” Charlotte said. She was unsteady on her feet.
Emma joined her in the garden. Charlotte pulled a bottle of Chardonnay out of a wine cooler. She examined it, holding it up to the sun to see how much was left. It dripped ice cold water. Two thirds of the bottle had been drunk. Emma wondered whether Charlotte might have a drink problem. Charlotte filled Emma’s glass, then topped her own up to the brim.
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