Emma Ch 41

XLI

It was the start of Rosemary’s first academic year at the university where she was to study Economics and General Business Studies. Although she’d long been looking forwards to this day, it was also with some trepidation that she’d also started the hunt to find digs for herself in the area. She scoured through the local newspapers and studied the student notice-boards, but it was the note in the window of an Asian newsagent’s where she spotted the advertisement to flatshare Susan’s apartment at what was a remarkably reasonable rate. She took a note of the number on her pocket PC, and dialed it on her mobile phone. The girl who answered the phone sounded very enthusiastic, and very pleased that Rosemary was a student. Clearly, it had just not crossed her mind to rent out to students, despite the many colleges and universities in the vicinity.

“But before I offer you space in the flat I’d better see you,” Susan commented. “Some of the people who’ve shone interest have been … well … not best suited to sharing with me. Nor would they have got on very well with my friends.”

Susan’s flat was a great deal better appointed than Rosemary had imagined. How could it be so inexpensive? she wondered. It was quite high up in an apartment block, with a beautiful view of the city below. With some self-conscious nervousness, she pressed the buzzer, wondering what this Susan might be like. She vaguely imagined someone in a smart business-suit with prim wire-framed glasses and hair tied back. What she didn’t expect to see was a slim, not especially tall, oriental girl wearing only a baggy pair of shorts with a monstrous black, anatomically correct dildo protruding out of its fly and pointing towards her. The presence of the dildo didn’t distress her too much. After all quite a few of her fellow students wore them. It was the fashion. Although most students had less prominent ones, usually worn decoratively over tight jeans, or worn instead of knickers. No, the presence of the dildo was not the most startling feature about her. Nor the fact she was an oriental with no accent to speak of. Nor that her hair was boyishly short. Nor that she was topless. To Rosemary’s eyes the most stunning feature was Susan’s almost total lack of breasts. She’d never been aware that it was possible for a woman to be so conspicuously unendowed, and yet to show absolutely no concern about it.

Susan was also rather startled. As well she might be. Her conversation on the phone had prepared her for a young female student, which she’d rather welcomed. She’d been very worried about sharing with a man, what with her career in fuck films. But it had no way prepared her for a girl with such massively disproportionate breasts. Unsurprisingly it was the very first thing that announced itself to her, although Rosemary was otherwise still a very attractive girl, not at all plump despite the dimensions of her bosom, and dressed remarkably demurely for a first year student. Her long mousey brown hair flowed down over a shirt which was quite clearly not designed to be worn by a woman, and tied together as best it could to contain her breasts, which protruded bralessly from beneath her denim jacket and supported only by their own properties as few bras could ever contain such full round breasts, the nipples of which alone were many times larger than her own tiny bust. She wore tight denim jeans and white trainers, and carried a flowery bag which clearly contained her books and bits and pieces.

Rosemary smiled shyly, used now to the curious effect of her appearance. It was not one for which she was at all grateful. Most men, when they spoke at all, spoke to her cleavage and not to her at all. Women also treated her strangely as if she were suffering from some cruel disability. Even her friends found it difficult to accommodate her breasts into their acquaintance without some nervousness. And she’d never yet found anyone brave enough to acquaint her with the pleasures of romance or love-making.

“I’ve come about the flat,” said Rosemary at last.

It was only the following day that Rosemary moved into the flat, glad to no longer have to sleep in a sleeping-bag on the floor of a friend’s room in the student halls. She hauled her bags across town, up the elevator to the twelfth floor and then into the third of the three spacious bedrooms in Susan’s flat. As she undid her bags and laid the clothes tidily into the many drawers, she couldn’t help exulting in her good fortune in having found such a luxurious well-appointed room in such a nice part of the city. And with such a nice flatmate, or, really, landlady. When she’d got used to Susan’s semi-nudity, the two girls had had such a nice chat seated on the large leather armchairs in the living room. All around them were beautiful rugs on polished floor-boards, a massive television screen, beautiful painted portraits, still lifes and landscapes, and classy modern furniture. Susan was ever so interested in Rosemary’s life, her studies at the university and, oh!, all sorts of things. She was so good at listening, and didn’t seem at all bored as Rosemary prattled on. Oh! She was so lucky, thought Rosemary as she arranged her ornaments and possessions on the cupboards.

Eventually she emerged from her bedroom and wandered into the living room where she found Susan sitting on an armchair listening to some gentle jazz music and thumbing through a magazine. She looked up as Rosemary entered, and smiled at her. “I’ve ordered you a desk to study at,” she announced. “It should arrive tomorrow and then you’ll be settled for your studies.”

Rosemary was only half-aware of what Susan was saying as she was slightly alarmed to see that Susan was totally nude, not even wearing the dildo which she’d come to think as being integral to Susan’s appearance. She’d not often met naked women before, but Susan seemed totally unembarrassed by her appearance, so she made no comment. She gingerly sat herself down on another armchair, and felt herself sink into its firm leather upholstery.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” asked Susan, standing up and revealing her full erect nakedness. Rosemary nodded, but her thoughts were focused on Susan’s naked crotch which was shaved and made her look several years younger than she was. But such a beautiful crotch: so tidy and smooth against her flat taut torso.

Rosemary and Susan sipped the chilled Argentinean wine, a taste which was still quite novel to Rosemary, and continued their conversation from the previous day as if there had only been the briefest of pauses. They discussed Rosemary’s choice of studies at university, why she had been attracted to the discipline of Economics and her school childhood.

“But how did you cope with the attention that your … erm … assets must have provoked from your teachers and class mates?” wondered Susan.

“My assets?” wondered Rosemary at the delicate phrasing.

“Your bosom, I mean. It must have attracted a lot of comment.”

“It did that,” admitted Rosemary blushing. “I’ve often wished for smaller.”

“Not ones as small as mine, though,” joked Susan, running a hand over her own very different bust.

“Well, at least you don’t have the problems I have in finding clothes that fit,” Rosemary retorted bitterly. “Nowhere can I find anything that’s designed for my fuller figure. And what I can find is always designed for people very much fatter than me.”

“I appreciate that,” smiled Susan. “You have to wear just shirts like the one you’re wearing? Nothing else?”

“Dresses are horrible and shapeless. Blouses are the wrong shape. And even the biggest tee-shirts rides up my boobs, showing half my stomach.”

“Well, you don’t have to wear anything on top while you’re staying here, Rosemary sweetest.”

“Sorry?” wondered Rosemary, who wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

“Don’t be silly, Rosemary,” smiled Susan standing up and placing her wine glass on the glass top of a table. “If those tops are uncomfortable, just take them off. It’s not as if I’d ever object.” She walked towards Rosemary, leant over and unbuttoned the top of her shirt. “Come on. Take it off. You’ll feel much more at ease without it.”

Rosemary blushed even deeper. “Are you sure? Won’t I feel a little chilly?”

“Not in the temperature I keep the flat,” Susan assured her, unbuttoning her shirt to the waist and parting it. Rosemary’s breasts fell out with a kind of woomph and revealed their whole glory. Susan was amazed to see that natural breasts could be so naturally enormous. They were round, full, and dominated by nipples whose aureate dark pinkness spread around a taut sculptured centre which, in their unaccustomed bareness, stiffened to the size of small thumbs. Should I? wondered Susan momentarily. But she dismissed the thought, and eased Rosemary’s blouse off her shoulders and onto the floor. Where it lay looking very sorry for itself in a white heap of shapeless linen on the intricate patterns of the Afghani rug Susan had bought on one of her more exotic film shots.

“Don’t you feel so much better now, Rosemary?” asked Susan, with a sympathetic smile.

And then, as if nothing had happened, Susan returned to their conversation about life in the city and in Rosemary’s own town as if her breasts had never once intruded themselves onto the discussion. This even though it was uncomfortably clear to Rosemary that Susan’s mind still continued to wander back to the breasts which heaved in front of her, and even without the hindrance of clothes weighed very heavily on her spine and brushed occasionally against her be-jeaned knees.

As the days passed, Rosemary started her studies, bringing back piles of dry Economics text-books on inflation, web-enabled business, stock market fluctuations and business management. She would sit at her desk with the computer that Susan let her use, or on a chair by the window with the sun streaming in onto the turgid, polysyllabic prose of her chosen discipline. And bit by bit, she was persuaded to abandon more than just her top, revealing to Susan a firm body, with none of the folds of a plump woman, but blessed with thighs and knees of appropriate proportion, and a waist which curved in enough to give her sufficient contour for a woman of much smaller mammary dimension. Her unviolated vagina had a bush of brown hair which faded well into her slightly olive skin. But after a while it was Rosemary’s face that Susan most fell in love with. Her large brown eyes, her slightly turned-up nose and a beautiful toothy smile that stretched her seductive thick lips.

So, it was not at all surprising to Susan, nor to anyone who knew her, that she and Rosemary found themselves together in Susan’s large bed one evening after slightly more glasses of wine than usual; even though it was something that clearly took Rosemary by surprise. This was not what she thought sharing a flat was about. Sharing a bed, especially with a woman, had never been on her agenda when she was looking for digs. But she found it very pleasant, perhaps, to her surprise, more than she’d imagined. Although her new-found proclivity also alarmed her. What would her friends think? What would her fellow students think? And even worse, what would her parents, who were always so considerate and kind to her, think?

Susan was a very gentle and tender lover, bringing Rosemary gradually towards the bed and onto the welcoming sheets. Guiding her with her hands, and then exploring her body with her tongue, lips and then teeth. Her fingers explored the crevices and contours of Rosemary’s fully intact labia, while her tongue licked and her mouth gobbled greedily on her lodger’s monstrous nipples. Her palms stroked the full roundness of Rosemary’s knees, her lips nibbled on Rosemary’s eyebrows and ears and toes. And then her fingers gently explored the inner sanctum of Rosemary’s virginity, bringing the girl to unaccustomed and thoroughly frightening gasps and choked cries of delight as strange vibrations and spasms shook her sweaty, almost slimy, body.

Of course, Rosemary always wondered how Susan could afford such a nice flat but she never really suspected that it was as a result of working in the sex industry. In fact, until they’d made love, Susan had been very coy about disclosing what she did for a living. In fact, she’d been singularly evasive. It was only after the two girls had had several more nights of progressively more passionate lovemaking that Susan imparted this to her, but so casually and matter-of-factly that it took Rosemary rather a few hours to comprehend the enormity of this fact. Which was, of course, that the first person she’d ever surrendered her body to habitually made love to others, men and women, in front of cameras. And that evidence of her lovemaking with these people was widely available in sex shops, supermarkets and newsagents throughout the country. And, indeed, the world.

However, the horror of it soon passed, and she allowed Susan to take her most precious commodity, her maidenhead, with one of her smaller dildos. And, Christ! It was painful. But the pain soon subsided, and she soon forgot what had so recently happened to her, despite the clear and bloody stains on the bedsheets and still glutinously shining on the length of the pale pink penis-shaped dildo that Susan had chosen for this initial foray.

However, this was followed by more nights of similar penetration with dildos of steadily larger dimensions and of shapes and forms which Rosemary had never expected: including studded ones which gave spasms of pleasure in the depths of her vagina she’d not even imagined. Even the long black dildo she’d originally seen protruding from the fly of Susan’s shorts came into play, removing the very last traces of her maidenhead in a small bloody spot on the very centre of the sheet. There was even a dildo for her arse, which she allowed to enter her with some fear and anxiety, but was strangely not unpleasant, rubbing against the sensitive nerves of her vagina from a new and quite delightful direction.

Although she truly enjoyed the penetrations, it was the other lovemaking with Susan which gave her the most pleasure, and gave her the deepest and most satisfying orgasms. In fact, there was something grotesque, even comical, about the strange positions she and Susan had to adopt for her lover to adopt the masculine poses required for strap-on sex. She much preferred to explore her smaller lover’s tender white skin, the tiny breasts she so enjoyed licking and teasing, the porcelain beauty of her hands, the delicious contours of her smooth small feet and its perfectly proportioned toes. And, of course, Susan’s face, with her beautiful dark eyes and her mouth. The ivory hardness and whiteness of her teeth. The liquid muscular flexibility of her tongue. Those long passionate kisses which were the prelude and epilogue to their long passionate stints of lovemaking.

Nevertheless, Rosemary couldn’t remain forever secluded from the reality of Susan’s profession. And it first became clear to her one day when she came home from a lecture on Money Supply to find Susan entertaining two friends who were introduced to her as Amna and Fluff. It shocked her to see these two much more vulgar exemplars of the sex profession than her own darling loveliness, Susan. Fluff particularly shocked her: totally nude, although Rosemary was still wearing a baggy student sweatshirt and slacks. And her face. That horrible tattoo that totally defaced it, partly obscuring the fact that her head, unlike her vagina, was totally shaved. And wasn’t it a tattoo of erect penis spurting a load of yellowish semen onto her cheeks? How could anyone voluntarily consent to such a disgusting disfigurement? And this was merely the most prominent of a series of tattoos, mostly of penises, but some of vaginas and naked women scattered about a body which was only tattoo-free from below her breasts and to the top of her thighs.

How could anyone make love to a woman like that? Rosemary wondered, although she knew that the answer lay in Amna, who was herself voluntarily disfigured, if not in such a hideous provocative fashion. Amna wore nothing but a black leather jacket open at the front and a large black dildo strapped onto her hips. Her lips were curiously puckered, although she was clearly not of African ethnic origin. Her stomach was clearly outlined by the muscles of her exercise and practise. Her arse, when she stood up, was prominent and quite unnaturally round and firm. But this was as nothing to her very firm, very hard and rather large breasts, of a composition quite different to her own still larger breasts. The nipples seemed unnaturally small for such a large bosom.

“So this is your new girlfriend, Susan!” Fluff commented with a smile, just barely visible through the pattern of her facial tattoo. “And what a fucking find she is too! Don’t you think, Amna? Just look at the size of her fucking breasts! And they’re fucking real too, aren’t they?”

Susan nodded shyly, clearly a little embarrassed by the rudeness of her friend. She stood in her shorts with a dildo protruding through the fly as she had when Rosemary had first met her.

“They

are

real!” commented Amna in awe. “It’s almost unreal! Gain without pain! I’ve never seen a pair like them in my whole career!”

“Nor me!” smiled Fluff. “Come on, Rosemary! Don’t be so shy. We’re not going to hurt you. We’re just paying Susan a visit. We’ve just not seen her in a while. Have we, Susan.”

And then, to Rosemary’s jealous horror, she put an arm round her darling Susan’s perfect bare white shoulders and kissed her very fully on the mouth, an arm around her back, while stroking the slight bumps of her bare breast with a familiarity which came so easily and so smoothly, it could only be because it was expected of her. Rosemary felt slightly giddy, and steadied herself slowly into one of Susan’s welcoming leather arm chairs. As if on cue, Amna also sat down, while Susan and Fluff stood together, arms around each others shoulders and back, and Susan really not looking nearly as uncomfortable or awkward as Rosemary would have hoped.

However, Susan could see Rosemary’s distress. She eased herself reluctantly out of Fluff’s embrace and sat on the arm of Rosemary’s chair, put her arms around her neck, beneath the long hair which cascaded onto her chest and tickled her bare midriff. “Oh, Rosemary! Darling! Sweetheart! Don’t take so! Amna and Fluff are friends of mine from, oh! so long back. I love them dearly. But you are my dearest and closest!” She placed a tender kiss on Rosemary’s lips and took her limp hand in her own ivory white one. “You must believe that you are the one I most love!”

“Fucking romantic, ain’t you, Susan!” laughed Fluff. “I almost fucking envy you. But I’ve got my own dearest heart. Haven’t I, Amna, honey!” And she joined Amna on the chair where she sat, and with no prelude or invitation, thrust her tongue deep into Amna’s mouth, and ran her fingers over the full firm contours of Amna’s round nearly spherical bosom, briefly tweaking a nipple between a forefinger and thumb. “You fucking love me, too, don’t you, cherry pie?”

“I love you more than I can say!” gasped Amna, Fluff’s saliva dribbling from the corner of her mouth: a small droplet detaching itself from her chin and plopping onto one of Fluff’s hands otherwise preoccupied with her nipple.

“I don’t … I don’t … I don’t know what to say…” gasped Rosemary.

“Don’t say fucking anything!” sneered Fluff removing Amna’s jacket from her shoulders and kissing her fully on the mouth. Amna gasped with an expression of delight and hugged her lover hard against her large breasts.

“Oh! I love you! I love you!” Amna cried.

Rosemary sat transfixed with Susan’s arms around her shoulders, watching for the first time in real life as a couple made love to each other. It was a passionate animal experience that she knew intimately but had never witnessed, not even on celluloid. The two bodies grappled onto the floor intertwined, sweating and so so absolutely physically naked. This is what it looks like, Rosemary thought, as she watched Amna’s enormous dildo find its way into Fluff’s vagina, and as Amna thrust her absurdly full buttocks backwards and forwards above her.