Emily's Story

Dear reader:

Please bear in mind that this is first and foremost a novella. As a result, this is a strongly story-line driven piece of writing and if you are looking for quick and easy erotica, this isn't for you. There are erotic elements from the outset but these build slowly, especially during this prologue.

Having said that, I would maintain that Emily's Story can be a deeply sensual read if you are willing to invest the necessary time. In fact, I believe erotic scenes are far more powerful if they are given a context. That means establishing characters that are believable and engaging as well as a plot that intrigues the reader and draws them in. A great deal of time is spent in Emily's Story establishing that context and I hope that as a result, it makes the subsequent action all the more enthralling.

The following prologue introduces the main characters and sets the scene for the first chapter, which is where things get rather steamy. If this sounds like your kind of thing please read on.

I do hope you enjoy and please consider leaving feedback or a vote.

***

PROLOGUE -- EMILY

Emily shut the door to the bathroom, turned the lock and let out a heavy sigh. It had been a difficult day.

There was no-one else in the house (her parents had gone out for the evening visiting Grandma) but Emily liked to have the door locked just in case. It made her uncomfortable to be naked in the bathroom if the door wasn't shut and the bolt pulled across. Sometimes she wondered why this was. Did she genuinely fear an intrusion to her privacy? Maybe it had something to do with her bathroom activities, which sometimes including more than showering or taking a bath.

Thinking about this secret indulgence Emily felt a tremor of excitement mingled with guilt. She went over to the bathtub and perched on the edge where she could sit twiddling the taps as the tub filled with water.

Her parents had argued again that evening. It had been happening a lot recently and it was starting to unnerve her. They hardly ever fought normally. But ever since her Mum's accident things had got tense around the house.

Coming home to your parents going at each other's throats like that was not what you needed after a rough day at college.

She reflected on what had occurred that afternoon after English class. It just wasn't fair. She'd made one little throwaway comment and somehow brought upon herself a tirade of harsh remarks from so-called friends.

It happened as she headed off to lunch with a few of the girls. As usual, they were all going wild talking about their English teacher, Mr Harris. Emily thought it pretty shameless the way they kept going on about him. How could they not be embarrassed to speak so luridly about a man who was twice their age and married? She thought they were being very silly and decided to tell them so. It did not go down well.

'Frigid little virgin,' was how Samantha had reacted.

'Catholic bitch face,' was a more hurtful put-down from Naomi.

The girls at college could be cruel sometimes. The fact that Emily wasn't the same as them made her a target. Both her religion and her Irish identity often came up as subjects for her to be teased over. At least Sarah had (sort of) tried to stick up for her.

'Leave off girls,' she had said. 'It's her choice if she wants to be pure as the driven snow.'

But if she had been trying to help, it didn't work. Her comment brought more raucous laughter from the others.

'Don't worry Emily,' Naomi followed up. 'Your vagina's safe. No man would want to sleep with a cold-blooded cow like you anyway.'

Samantha seemed to agree with her. 'Yeah, least of all Mr Harris,' she said before adding 'and I bet he's kinky as fuck in the bedroom.'

Cue more laughter from the girls. Emily was bristling with anger but she tried to rise above and take the moral high ground.

'Well, as far as I'm concerned,' she said, 'if you lot want to get embroiled with a man who must be at least forty years old then you're welcome.' Perhaps unsurprisingly, this only encouraged more abuse.

Their goading had upset her more than she'd let on at the time. Emily was well practiced at hiding her emotions when the girls were on to her. But in reality she'd been furious. Of course, the most ridiculous thing about their taunts was that she knew exactly why all the other girls were so hot on their English teacher. Secretly, she suspected that none of them admired him as intensely as she. Dark-haired and brooding, Mr Harris was utterly intoxicating.

Emily would never admit her feelings to anyone. It felt wrong that she could be so strongly drawn towards a man who was so much older, especially when she was his student.

For as long as she could remember being attracted to men, Emily had always tended towards guys who were older than her. She wasn't certain why this should be and sometimes she found it perturbing that her own age group didn't appeal to her. But she sensed there was a maturity in her that belied her years of life experience -- not in a sexual sense (where she was a complete novice) but in terms of her character. Perhaps this explained her preference for a more mature man.

There was also this notion she had that an older companion would make for a masterful lover. For a sexually naïve girl like herself this was a desirable quality. But until her attractive English teacher had come on the scene, her idea of an older man had meant someone only a few years senior -- a guy in his mid-twenties perhaps. Never before had she been attracted to a gentleman of the age of Mr Harris.

But there was another reason why the girls' comments had stung so much that day. It was the stark untruthfulness of what they accused her. Just because she wasn't sleeping around with all the guys at college didn't make Emily cold-blooded or frigid. Her friends could be very simplistic at times. But they were impossible to argue with. They couldn't understand how a girl with any sort of sensual nature wasn't indulging in lustful activity at every opportunity.

Emily, however, knew differently. Though she was only eighteen years old she knew she had a capacity for deeply erotic feelings. When the mood was right she would conjure up the most vivid sexual fantasies for her own pleasure, sometimes spending hours at a time alone and lost her thoughts. Though she lacked any sort of experience of a physical relationship, she could rely upon a vivid imagination to carefully construct these sensual fantasies.

It was ironic really, given the way the girls at college teased her, that so many of her imagined scenes involved the figure of Mr Harris.

In class, whenever he turned those savagely green eyes on her, Emily simply melted. It wasn't as if he was the most classically good looking sort but he had this effortless command. His voice, deep and moody, held the students in thraldom. Emily suspected that her desire to meet with Mr Harris' approval was the main reason for her relative success in English. It was her strongest subject by far at A-level.

Having never experienced a sexual relationship for herself, Emily wondered a great deal about the mysteries of a physical relationship. Over time she'd developed a particular sexual fantasy, one that she returned to frequently. In this fantasy she took on the part of an innocent and naïve younger girl who found herself the subject of an older, more experienced man's desires. Being with an older man meant that he could show her what to do, teach her how to be a lover. More often than not, this older man was Mr Harris.

It usually began the same way.

"Emily Curran, would you mind staying behind after class? I'd like to see you privately for a few moments. The rest of you can clear off."

It was the final lesson of the day and Emily's imagined Mr Harris would make this request. Once her classmates had departed and she was alone with her teacher he would suggest to her that, in order to stretch her sufficiently in the subject, he felt she needed some extra private tuition. What did she think of that proposal, he wondered? Emily thought it sounded like a fine idea. He would suggest that they should start right away and would she mind if they went back to his house that evening to begin their first lesson? She didn't mind.

The drive back was of course filled with witty conversation. Her teacher would happen to mention that he was otherwise alone at home and hoped Emily didn't mind. She didn't.

Needless to say that in the fantasy she was wearing her prettiest outfit. A floaty skirt that normally came up just above the knees rode a little higher when she sat down and crossed her legs in the passenger seat of his car. Did he happen to glance down at her legs? The idea was enticing.

Over her torso she wore her most risqué top. She didn't own many low-cut tops, which was necessary to appease her parents' conservative tastes. But sometimes she managed to get away with wearing this one top that had a low-hanging scooped neck (despite her Mum's disapproving remarks). When her imagined Mr Harris turned to look at her now she felt sure his eyes were flicking down toward her chest.

Emily didn't think herself to be particularly attractive (although she underestimated herself quite significantly in this regard) but the physical attribute with which she was best pleased was the shape of her upper body. She had a fullness to her breasts that was more than most girls of her age. She thought about touching them, holding them in her hands to see how they would feel to a man like Mr Harris. But not yet. She stopped herself. It was too soon.

The scene continued. She and Mr Harris arrived back at his house. Emily always thought this would be a fairly grand property in some quiet corner of countryside. They entered a spacious kitchen and he poured them both a glass of wine, something she rarely consumed except at mass on a Sunday morning. Then they began her lesson.

At first all they talked of was strictly work-related. They discussed some of their favourite literature -- novels, poetry and plays. He helped her with some of her latest coursework. But slowly, inexorably, the conversation would move on to other items and the theme of the lesson changed. Mr Harris would pose her a question.

"Tell me Emily -- do you find me attractive?"

At this moment in her fantasy Emily experienced a most thrilling sense of anticipation as she decided how to answer. She might decide to be elusive and keep him in suspense.

"I don't know. What do you think?"

Or she might decide to be more upfront.

"Actually, I find you to be probably the most attractive man I've come across."

Then again, she could be brutally honest with him.

"At home, I think about you almost every time I'm naked."

Whatever she decided to say, Mr Harris would soon be placing a hand on her arm, or he would gently hold her close to himself, or lightly caress her cheek with his finger. Then he would ask her to do something completely terrifying yet utterly exhilarating.

"Would you mind taking your clothes off for me?"

At this point Emily paused from her fantasising to turn off the taps and get up from the bathtub, which was sufficiently full anyway. She walked over to the sink and stood before the mirror surveying her reflection. A short figure with wavy blonde hair looked back at her. But the figure in the reflection still had all her clothes on. Emily thought about this for a moment. The idea of undressing in front of a man was possibly the most thrilling thought she had ever had. Acquiescing to Mr Harris' request, she watched herself in the mirror to see what he would be looking at.

First, she pulled off her top. She was pleased with the result. Mr Harris would like what he saw. She was quietly confident of this. Next, she slipped down her trousers (in her fantasy a pretty little skirt) and stood up straight. Standing in her underwear and feeling appropriately shy before the older man she hugged herself with embarrassment. But in her mind Mr Harris was encouraging her to relax, telling her how beautiful she looked.

Did Emily want to go any further, her teacher wondered? He wasn't going to push her into anything. But at this point in proceedings she was totally hooked. She didn't think twice about removing her bra for his benefit. Picturing his expression as he saw her topless for the first time was unbearably exciting. Emily decided that he might also like to see her touching her own breasts. So she very carefully took hold of them, one in each hand, and as her fingers closed lightly on her bare skin she felt as if her whole body was being charged up like a high voltage battery. She was tingling all over. She squeezed her breasts and felt the red hot blood coursing through her veins. Inadvertently, a little moan escaped.

As items of clothing now began to be removed from her imagined Mr Harris, Emily's breathing grew heavier and her face flushed red. He was telling her how he liked to see her touching herself. So she pushed her hands into her breasts and squeezed them together once again, imagining his enraptured face as she did so. She felt her nipples peeking out between her own fingers as they gripped. But Mr Harris wanted more and she was only too happy to oblige.

Slowly, her right hand started to descend, the fingers tracking lightly over her stomach. When she reached her panties she pushed her hand downwards and inwards and slipped beneath the fabric. The tips of her fingers had reached something warm and wet. Emily bit her lip.

All the steaming hot water in the bathtub had been filling up the room and the mirror was now covered in a film of condensation. But Emily could still vaguely make herself out in the reflection. She wondered if Mr Harris would be transfixed at the sight of her.

Her panties came off and she kicked them away across the bathroom floor. Her hand crept back to that warm area between her legs. A fire spread throughout her whole body. She held her breath. It was almost too much. Maybe she should stop?

Drawing in some deep breaths, Emily stepped over to the bath and tried her foot in the water. It was about as hot as she could bare, which was how she liked it. She eased one foot in, then the other, and stood like that until her feet and calves had acclimatised to the heat. Then steadily she lowered herself in until she was sitting with the water lapping at her navel. Her muscles relaxed and she let out a deep breath.

With her hands she cupped some hot water and let it run onto her stomach, delighting at the sensation of the heat against the cooler skin of her upper abdomen. She scooped up some more water and released it over her breasts and the way the water splashed against her nipples made her gasp.

With her hands wet and warm from the bath water Emily clasped her breasts tightly and massaged herself. How was it that breasts were so sensitive? She thought about how they might feel if it was the large rough hands of a man who grasped them instead of her own.

The idea of her English teacher getting his hands on her naked body continued to float around her mind as she sank lower in the bath until her body was fully submerged. Only her head was above the water. Her hands worked their way downwards and, finding their target once again, her fingers made a few gentle movements. The effect was like electricity coursing through her body. Her chest was heaving.

But almost as soon as she had started to touch herself Emily was overcome with a familiar terror. Her body was about to explode. She was on a cliff edge that she did not want to go over. She held her breath and removed her hands from her body.

Mercifully, the sense of foreboding subsided and Emily felt her body gently calm. Her breathing steadied. She closed her eyes and sighed a heavy-hearted sigh.

In that moment she felt so silly. It was ridiculous this habit she had of getting herself so close to something only to be too scared to go through with it. For a moment she considered trying again but, as usual, nerves got the better of her. She was in a pickle.

It had always been like this for Emily. She could still remember the moments after her first tentative experimentations when she lay in bed, breathless and afraid, her whole body strangely buzzing. She had been terrified that she had done something wrong. She thought she might have made herself unwell, or that something genuinely bad was happening to her. Was it irreversible? What if she needed to see a doctor? How on earth would she explain herself?

But the tingling ebbed away and she was able to breathe a sigh of relief and in that moment Emily promised herself that she would never again try anything similar.

But of course she did.

Emily knew what an orgasm was and knew that she had come close to achieving one. But she also knew that she had always fallen short of the pinnacle. The trouble was that every time she experimented with herself she inevitably reached a point at which she became overcome with fear and guilt. Then all the excitement would die away and in its place would come an acute sense of self-reproach. Sometimes this endured for hours, even days after the event.

Emily Curran was a torn person. On the one side was this deeply sensual female who was capable of dreaming up the most exquisitely vivid sexual fantasies. This was a girl who thoroughly desired to live out the experiences that these fantasies explored. But on the other side was a strictly brought up Catholic, proud of her moral stance on life and eager to avoid succumbing to sin.

These two sides to Emily's character did constant battle against each other and neither seemed able to come out on top. The result was a feeling of being pulled apart from the inside out. What sort of person masturbated with such an intense feeling of desire and yet failed to have an orgasm?

***

PROLOGUE - TOM

He hated being lied to or misled in any way. Tom could track this back to the time when at ten years of age he had asked his Mum if she and Dad were alright, whether they still loved each other. She had assured him that yes, everything was fine, and yes, they still loved each other. Two weeks later Tom's Dad had moved out. A year later the divorce was finalised.

It was odd how he felt about it afterwards. The fact that his parents had separated didn't seem to bother him as much as the knowledge of how they'd tried to hide their relationship breakdown from him. Who knows but maybe if they had been open with him from the start he might have been able to help somehow? At the very least he would have been able to prepare himself for what was likely to happen. At least it wouldn't have been such an appalling shock.

From that time on the slightest hint that he was being deliberately misinformed or kept in the dark had a tendency to bring out the worst in Tom. He was a man who, even at the best of times, could lose his temper in a flash. But in the face of lies or deception he became livid.

The situation facing Tom today was made all the worse by the fact that there was a contract on the line worth £500,000 to his company. As chief financial officer of BZI (British Zeolite Industries) Tom worked in the company's London headquarters. When it came to keeping the cash flowing and balancing the books he was the main man.

His schedule had been tight and the board meeting had predictably overrun but at the end of the afternoon Tom was glad to see that Dennis Curran, one of his team of salesmen, was still in the office when he went looking for him. Dennis was an odd sort. You had to keep your eye on him (at least that was how Tom felt about things). He had made a number of mishaps in the past that almost cost the company big time. Normally, Tom's patience ran out pretty quick with his employees. But Dennis worked hard and he was always upfront with his boss. Tom liked that about him and so he'd cut him some slack.