Emma Leaves the Convent

Author's Note: Thanks to angel love for her excellent editing.

*

Judith's breathing returned to normal as the last flutters of her orgasm subsided. She caressed Emma's cheek with her lips and whispered into her ear, "Let's get that present for you shall we?"

"That wasn't it?" Emma breathed with a smile as her own pussy felt the waning gratification. She had waited for so long to taste Judith; to make her cum, it seemed only right that it would happen on her birthday.

Judith beamed back and rolled away from Emma to reach under the bunk. Pulling out a wooden chest she said, "You're eighteen now Emma. A young woman, and you will be leaving me . . . the convent soon."

Emma peered into the chest to see. A hand mirror, a bag of makeup, two pairs of shoes, two sets of matching stockings, knickers and bras, and two beautiful dresses, one burgundy red and one emerald green.

Emma giggled at the thought of a nun keeping these things under her bunk.

"I bought these when I thought I would be leaving the convent," Judith said. "They're not much use to me now, but I kept them for you."

Emma's heart was suddenly humbled. All the times Judith had been so strict with her and yet she had been keeping these things for this day.

"She has loved me all along," Emma thought, "and I was a child."

...........................................

Emma awoke and felt the tightness in her limbs from sleeping awkwardly in her seat. She had been sleeping with her head against the window and for a moment, the cold that had seeped into her forehead numbed her thoughts. Through the window there was blackness; nothingness, the compartment closed to the world as if nothing existed beyond its flimsy structure. The dimmed compartment light reflected the image of the man stood with his back to her, buttoning his cuffs and brushing himself down. The train lurched and he rocked steadily against the movement.

Emma stretched to bring life back to her body as she stifled a yawn.

"Oh," said the man. "I was about to wake you. They will be serving dinner soon. Actually I was going to wake you earlier; you looked like you were having a nightmare."

Emma squinted through her sleepiness and replied, "Erm, yes; something like that." She blushed remembering her dream of Judith.

"Greg -- Greg Martin," he said, leaning toward her and offering his hand.

Greg's handshake was gentle but Emma marvelled at the size and power of his hand compared to hers. It was smooth, not callused or hardened as that of a 'country boy' as she had presumed of him, when he had first joined the compartment earlier that day.

Her eyes followed his arm to his shoulders and neck. His pressed white shirt exposed the small of his throat and the tip of his chest at the open collar.

"He's shaved," she thought, as the musky air of his cologne fell upon her.

"Emma," she managed eventually to reply.

"You hungry?" Greg offered.

His quizzical eyes were slate grey. Staring into them Emma realized that her jaw had dropped slightly and she was still holding his hand.

"I have to change," Emma blurted as she jumped to her feet.

In a deft leap Emma grabbed her bag from the overhead rack and dived into the compartment's shower cell.

The door swang shut and clicked behind her as the light above the mirror blinked on. Emma looked at her reflection. Her hair was knotted from sleep and her now two-day-old school uniform was dishevelled. It reminded her of a scene from Little Orphan Annie.

"Great," Emma thought. "Not only do I look like a kid, I also look like a tramp." She chastised herself for her quick judgement of his appearance when he had joined the train.

The shower cell was still warm from his shower and in the confined space the smell of his cologne made her dizzy. She reached into her bag and pulled out the dress, hanging it on the door in the hope that the steam would de-crease it. She had been saving it for tomorrow, to step off the train as a woman and to throw her uniform away.

"Now's as good a time as any" Emma shrugged.

She turned on the shower and peeled the convent uniform over her head as the compact room filled with steam. Steadying herself against the sink she pulled off her school shoes and socks. Taking another look at herself in the mirror, Emma smiled in her mind and said goodbye to the childish bra and panties as they dropped to the floor. Her clothes lay around like discarded dolls and broken toys -- Emma was stepping into womanhood.

As Emma showered, she found herself thinking of Greg, who only moments before, had stood where she was now. She imagined his tall strong frame filling the cubicle, his muscular body shining from the water gushing over him. She pictured his strong hands gliding soap suds down his torso. She had never seen a naked man in the flesh, but the girls at the convent had pictures that she had seen.

She imagined he was in the shower with her, the confined space forcing her back against the wall whilst his body pressed against hers. Trapping her; holding her; swallowing her with his body. She breathed in the fading scent of his cologne as she caressed her nipples. She moaned and bit her lip as she cupped her pert breasts, pinching her blood red nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. The water rushed over her stomach and poured between her legs like a hot stream, gushing over her clitoral hood and between her lips. Running her hand down the flat of her stomach she found her aching pussy. She parted her lips and the hot droplets began to rain on her clitoris.

"Oh fuck," Emma breathed heavily, her body shaking from the relentless stimulation. She felt the shock of her mind's wanderings made real by her body's illicit reaction.

Emma quickly began to rub her finger over her clit as the lust took over her completely. Her pussy ached to be filled and she slid two fingers inside. Rubbing her clit with her thumb she fingered herself imagining his cock inside her. She could feel the muscles of her pussy welcoming him, holding him and contracting as if to draw him in and imprison him there forever. She wondered how different his cock would feel to her fingers. Pressing her clitoral hood with the palm of her hand she hooked her fingers to find her g-spot.

"Oh God yes fuck me!"

Emma heard her voice echo in the shower cell but she was too far gone to care. Her fingers began to frantically rub inside her and she was unable to breath out -- gasp after gasp filling her lungs. She could feel the welling tension in her stomach and the tell tale ripples began to boil over inside her. She thought of Greg only feet away on the other side of the shower cell door and that took her over the edge.

Emma clamped one nipple with her free hand and her whole body tightened. With a rush of air she breathed out as her orgasm almost knocked her off her feet. Her body shaking, Emma felt hot rushes of pleasure surging deep inside her and hot liquid gushed over her hand.

Panting and steadying herself against the side of the cubicle Emma giggled to herself, "Wow, this guy's good."

Emma stood there a while, letting the water wash away her indiscretion. Dreamy and floating on the ebbing waves of pleasure, she enjoyed the fading ripples of her lust.

Emma towelled and dressed quickly, taking her time only over her makeup and hair. She wanted to make an entrance when she re-entered the compartment. She looked her self up and down and gave herself a little spin from side to side.

"All woman," she thought and stepped out of the shower cell.

Emma felt a little silly to find the compartment empty. Then the thoughts began to come to her.

"He asked if I was hungry, perhaps he wasn't actually asking me to join him? Or perhaps -- oh God, perhaps he heard me and has changed compartments!"

Emma felt her heart jumping in her chest. Quickly glancing around she saw that his bag was still there and his book was beside his chair. She picked up his book, curious to find out more about him.

"Henry Miller - Tropic of Cancer," she read allowed.

"We didn't cover this at the convent," she thought. A brief flick through the pages and she realized why.

Emma wanted to read more but her growling stomach got the better of her and she headed off in search of him.

Stepping tentatively into the dining carriage she scanned the tables. There he was, about half way down, facing her but looking at a menu. In front of him was a bottle of wine and one glass. Her heart sank.

"He didn't ask me," Emma thought. She began to try and melt away when he saw her and beckoned her over.

"Wow -- you look . . . different," Greg said as Emma sat down opposite him.

Emma smiled, hoping that was a compliment.

"Would you like a drink?" Greg asked seeming to be broken from the spell for a moment.

Emma glanced at the bottle of wine.

"Of course," Greg said as he motioned to the waiter for another glass. "Sorry, I wasn't sure if you would like a soft drink or something."

"It's okay, I am eighteen, I have finished school," Emma was talking about the alcohol but was glad of the chance to let him know her age.

Greg's face seemed to change a little as if he wanted to sigh with relief.

Emma continued, "The uniform was just easier to travel home from the convent in. I had been saving the dress for tomorrow, for when we get to Sydney.

"Well, it's a beautiful dress, I can see why you wouldn't want to travel in it but I'm glad you changed your mind about saving it," Greg replied, obviously trying very hard not to follow Emma's curves and cleavage with his eyes and clearly a little embarrassed about his awkwardness.

"Well done," Emma thought and openly smiled, knowing that this time it was a compliment, albeit a little fumbled.

As the evening drew on Emma found herself drawn deeper and deeper into the nuances of the man. His wrinkled brow when he was telling her something dramatic or the way he smiled with his eyes when she spoke to him. She found herself occasionally touching his arm lightly and in turn he would follow all her gestures with his eyes -- those slate grey eyes -- storm clouds ready to rain down upon her and engulf her in the tempest.

Greg poured the remnants of their second bottle of wine. Each with a full glass and the evening all but spent, Emma found the courage, Dutch courage, to make her move.

"Tell me about the book you are reading," Emma teased in her childish, but not so ill-informed innocence.

Greg almost blushed, "Oh -- Miller, it's...it's a bit dirty really. It's good in places, but... well it's a bit vulgar to be honest. I don't think you'd like it."

"Is that so!" Emma almost exploded at his presumption. "I will be the judge of that -- read some to me."

Greg looked unsure, but the Dutch courage must have been infectious.

"Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you."

As they returned to the compartment, Emma could feel him pressing behind her, too close for a walk in the park but an acceptable distance on a lurching train after two bottles of wine. He reached around her waist for the door and she felt herself lean into him. Her back against his chest and his breath on the back of her neck. She could almost have given into him then but the door slid open and he stepped aside to hold it for her.

Emma fell onto her side of the compartment, flicking off her shoes and melting into the welcoming bunk that had been made up from her day chair by some unseen valet during the evening.

"So read me your sordid little book Greg, but be careful not to harm my sensitivities, I am but an innocent catholic child after all," Emma giggled and flashed him a flirtatious smile that she hoped left little doubt of her sarcasm or her intentions for him.

Greg sat; taking the book he turned to the bookmarked page and began to read aloud.

His low tones resonated through Emma. Hearing him speak passionately but almost in a hushed voice was so calming. With those words of lust coming from his lips, Emma could feel the warmth in her crotch as she imagined him acting them out upon her.

Emma was left with the realisation that she knew nothing of men. Yet in that so brief a moment, she understood this man; she felt his heart and desires as he read to her. A new world had opened up and it scared her a little. With the effects of the wine and his dulcet voice Emma could feel her self almost drifting off to sleep. Then, Greg stopped reading.

Emma sat up, she wanted to ask him to read more but he had already folded the book. He had a new look on his face, like a big cat crouched ready to take its prey or a spider watching the fly just inches from its web.

Emma thought back to the fogginess of her mind when she had awoken earlier, numbed by the cold of the window. She wanted to go back. She wanted to take it all back. Frightened, moist, throbbing, desperate to be a woman but searching for her baby blanket, grasping for the safety of Judith -- overwhelmed by the beauty of the man in front of her. Rabbit in the headlights, caged tiger cub, Emma couldn't move.

Greg stood and walked toward her. She had three options, the window and speeding tracks on one side -- that was out, the compartment door and a night in the corridor on the other -- she didn't fancy that much either, or to stay where she was. She stayed where she was whilst trying to evaluate what options were left. He was kneeling before her, his body between her legs and his lips inches from hers. She realized then, her options had run out.

To her surprise, Emma found she had already placed her hands on his shoulders, her lips touching his. The many rehearsals played out in her mind and then left her like a turn coat army. This was real. This was not a photo shared with a friend or fumbling lust and self gratification in a darkened dormitory.

Emma felt as though she were falling. Her muscles had deafened to her mind's calls for action. It was almost as though he exuded power and it had soaked into her. Taking her energy and will like a snake bite flooding her with blissful venom.

His lips gently explored her face whilst his finger tips caressed her temple. He placed one hand on the small of her back and one behind her head. Like innate knowledge not revealed to her until now, she fell back into his cradle. His kiss ending any hope or desire of flight, she was his.

Greg moved his lips to her throat and neck. Emma arched her back and unknowingly, instinctively, offered her breasts in the primal dance. Greg's mouth took every advantage; with one hand and strong arm still holding her neck and back, the other unbuttoned her dress to her stomach. His kiss was now on her soft chest between the lacy opening of her bra and the v of her breasts, his hot breath sending shivers through her being. Greg moved his free hand to her thigh, with slow and unstoppable determination he slid the hem of her dress to her hips, she was exposed but for the beautiful lacy knickers Judith had given her.

Emma's words came out in defeated remorse " I . . . I'm scared Greg."

"Shhhh," Greg consoled her. "You haven't been with a man before have you?"

Emma searched for the flirtatious woman that had stepped out of the shower -- she had left her now, when Emma needed her most. Emma whispered as if not wanting to be heard, "No."

"It's okay Emma; I am not going to hurt you. We won't do anything that you don't want to -- I promise."

Emma opened her eyes to see the sincerity in his and in an instant was lost in the coming storm. Greg's eyes smiled as they had before and then he was gone from her line of sight. She felt her knickers being pulled down and was shocked to find that she had lifted her bottom from the bunk to facilitate it.

Although he had shaved earlier, she could feel his light stubble between her sensitive inner thighs, not painful but masculine. His grip on her hips and buttocks was potent and his breath on her legs sent shivers up her spine.

Working along her thighs and teasing the confluence of her legs and pussy. He worked his way to just below her belly button and down again. From her inner thigh to her perineum, around her vulva then up to her belly button before coming back down again on the other side. With each circuit he moved a little closer to her womanhood until eventually he was working her outer lips.

Emma wriggled with each stroke, desperate for him to move in.

And then, on one stroke he paused, breathing his hot breath on her centre. Emma felt the long moment of being exposed, examined and deserted of his tongue's attention. Just when the tension became too much, he licked her from the base of her pussy to her clit.

Emma threw her head back and thrust her hips up to him. She gasped loudly at the relief and her body shuddered as he hit her clitoris. Greg loitered a while at her clit, pressing it with his flattened tongue before flicking it gently and then slowly starting again from the base of her pussy.

With each stroke the speed and intensity grew almost imperceptibly. Each time Greg reached her clit, he spent a little longer there than the time before.

He wasn't offering her pleasure. He was demanding it of her. Not ungentle but relentless, unwavering in his pursuit of her orgasm. Dogged in his slow rhythmic attention to her cunt.

Emma lost any sense of time and thrashed against his now overwhelming dedication to her clit. His tongue fired against her in time with the clatter of the speeding train wheels. Faster, harder -- the train plunged into a mountain tunnel and the compartment shrank with the imploding air pressure. Emma's pussy clamped in unison and she exploded, her cry of ecstasy echoing around the compartment. The tunnel lights streaked across the window like a strobe as Emma writhed against his face. The crushing sound of the train reverberated from the tunnel walls, muffling her orgasmic song.

Emma didn't know how much time had passed when the train left the tunnel. A moment? A few minutes? An hour? Her only reference to time was the throbbing of her pussy and the light spasms still rushing through her. But in an instant, the weight of the tunnel lifted and the train was rushing through the night's sky again.

Emma sat up desperate to kiss this beautiful man. She had never felt anything like that before. It was like all her previous orgasms rolled into one.

Emma found his lips and kissed him deeply, tasting herself on his face and in his mouth. She knew one thing; she had to give him the same pleasure; she had to see those amazing grey eyes see her as a woman as he came for her.

Emma stood and pulled off her dress. Kicking her knickers from her feet and undoing her bra, letting it fall to the floor exposing her nubile breasts. She stood naked before him, afraid but determined and defiant at her passing childhood.

Greg stood and kissed her as he began to undress. Item by item his body was revealed to her. His handsome chest and shoulders as his shirt fell, his abs as he unbuttoned his belt. He was not as muscular or as painted as the pictures she had seen -- but he was real and certainly not ill-defined. He was here in front of her with scent and warmth and graphic reality. He was better than the pictures. Greg sat to unveil the rest and he was naked before her, his cock stood, visibly throbbing as he lay back upon his bunk.

Whilst the child in Emma stood still, the woman stepped forward drawn to his manhood. Instinctively she knelt and took his cock in her hand. Amazed by its girth, its rippled veins and bulging head.

It didn't look in anyway in proportion to her fingers. "How will I ever get one of these inside me?" Emma thought. She studied him, amazed and bewitched at how different a man was to her. Men had always been slightly obscure. People just like her but different in some immeasurable way. Now she saw the measure of it.