The Three Labours of Emma
Too damn hot.
She'd slathered on the UV protection, but even with the hat, she could feel the rays beating down, cooking her. The sunscreen was starting to run, threatening to get into her eyes. It wasn't as if she wasn't dressed for the heat, wearing only some tight denim shorts ("if you've got it...", she'd thought, squeezing herself into the Daisy Dukes) and a loose fitting white crop top, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight pony to keep it from sticking to her face. Still, it felt like she was swaddled in a thick sheep skin.
And the concrete streets - they just seemed to absorb the heat and reflect it back up with a fiery intensity, as though they took objection to this many feet clattering across them.
It was no good. She couldn't keep this up.
"Jodie!" she shouted, trying to make herself heard over the noise: the chants, the music, the horns. Her friend just kept marching, shouting in unison with the crowd.
"Jodie!" she tried again. How could she still be going? Surely, with her complexion, she'd be feeling the heat even more? That red-headed, pale white Irish stock didn't suggest an ability to tan; she'd just burn. The tiny emerald green shorts and matching half-cut tee her friend only just had on didn't exactly offer much protection.
It had been four hours now, four hours of constant - albeit slow - marching. But her friend was still going strong. She had to give it to her, the girl had some stamina.
"Jodie!" she shouted again, putting her banner down, leaning on the pole to wipe the sweat from her brow. She was in danger of losing her in the mass of people. They simply moved around her, like a shoal of bait fish around a slow moving whale.
At last, she heard her. Jodie swung round, the two marchers behind her almost clattering into her back. She weaved her way back through the oncoming tide of humanity, stopping when she got to her friend, reaching down to put a hand on Emma's shoulder. She looked like she was just out for a Sunday afternoon stroll, not suffering like Emma was in this inferno.
"You wilting Ems? It is pretty toasty."
She could barely find the energy to answer; she just nodded, dog-tired.
"Why don't we go find some shade? I think we're almost at the square, so we can always join up again."
Jodie stood up, trying to look past the crowd, eyes scanning the wide, palatial streets to find some respite from the merciless sun.
"Over there," she said, pointing out a bench sat beneath one of the grand old trees lining the route. It was bathed in what looked like, to Emma's tired eyes, shaded bliss.
"Come on," said Jodie, taking her friend's banner, tying to squeeze her way through the crowd, "let's get you out of this heat."
****
The procession just didn't seem to end. They'd been sat for twenty minutes, Emma finally feeling like the very air she breathed wasn't super-heated, watching the enormous snake of people slowly, noisily make their way to the main demo point.
"You know," said Jodie, waving her hand at the masses, "the news said this was going to be even bigger than the one in New York."
It didn't surprise her. London has always been at the epicentre of things, and things didn't get much bigger than this, the self-styled global 'Day of Anger'. There were demos planned in most the major cities, but here, in the beating heart of a truly diverse global city, here was where the action really was.
There was a lot to be angry about, that was for sure. The injustice, the inequities, hell, the ruination of the small blue life support system they all called home.
She knew plenty of folk thought this sort of thing was just a waste of time, that it would change nothing. That it was just a grand day out for the over-sensitive, the over-privileged. Well, judging by the people she saw, that last part, at least, was nonsense. There were old, young, families, black, white, Hispanic, you name it. They were all here, in all their loud, multi-coloured glory, all intent on making their voices heard.
Would it make a difference? In her heart of hearts, maybe she wasn't convinced. Would the men in power - and it was always men - would they actually listen? Would they actually change things? Maybe. Maybe not. But they couldn't just ignore this, even if they wanted to. They couldn't miss this.
"Why don't I get us a smoothie or something, help you cool down a bit?" offered Jodie, nodding at the kiosks lining the route.
"Oh, please."
"What flavour do you want?"
"Anything - as long as it's cold."
"You sit right here - I'll be back in a mo."
Emma swivelled herself around on the bench, lying back, feeling the blissful cold of the metal press against the bare skin of her tired legs. She let her heavy head lie back, allowing the constant din to wash over her. It was almost meditative if you tuned out the shouts; soothing, calming even.
Her phone's chime brought her quickly back out of her almost-slumber. She grumpily reached for it. Why was it the thing always went just then, just when you were getting comfy? She'd meant to turn it off, but she never remembered to. The 21st century had a lot of pros, but that piercing little ding, insistently demanding you to pay it attention was a minor black mark against it.
She sat, wiping her tired eyes and read the message.
"I'm from the club. If you still wish to join, I have your first task."
The fatigue dropped away in an instant, purged by the sudden blast of adrenaline dumped into her body. Emma felt her heart immediately start to race, her cheeks flushing.
It had only been a few days, but it was all she'd been able to think about, all her mind seemed to want to concentrate on. That feeling... it was intoxicating. She wanted it again. Again and again. Of course, she'd pressed Jodie for more details, but - infuriatingly - her friend had just told her 'to wait for the call'. Well, here it was.
'If you still wish to join'? She almost burst out laughing. The no sex rule was weighing ever more heavily on her - she'd always been able to take it or leave it, but now the urge was building, threatening to overwhelm her, like a levy in danger of overtopping.
She'd gone through an entire pack of double A batteries, her trusty pink wand having seen more action in the last week than it had in months before. She'd wondered if that lifetime guarantee the thing came with was genuine.
Emma tried to calm herself, slow her breathing, still her racing pulse. She had to be sensible about this, calm. Yes - more than anything - yes, she wanted to join, but you still had to be careful. For starters, how had they got her number? Was this even really from the club, or some - granted, perfectly timed - phishing scam?
She looked at the phone, trying to decide what to say. Finally, clammy-handed - not just from the heat - she tapped out a reply.
"How did you get my number? And how do I know this is genuine?"
The reply came through in seconds.
"Your friend gave us your number."
Of course. After all, it was Jodie who'd wanted to go there in the first place.
"As to your second question - I watched you cum in the middle of a packed dance floor."
She felt a little jolt shoot through her body, the knowledge that this man had seen her like that seemed just so... illicit, so exiting. There were a lot of people there, so of course a lot of men and women had probably seen her. But to have someone come out and say it... Well, at least she knew it was genuine.
"Do you want to join?" the phone flashed up.
"Yes."
"You need to learn to address all men at the club properly. Try again."
She thought back to how the hostess had addressed the men, hell, how she'd spoken to Samson whilst he'd strummed her throbbing clit to perfection. Just the thought of it had her wet.
"Yes sir."
"Good girl. Now, why do you want to join?"
Wasn't it obvious?
"I want to make love to a black man."
"No black man in this club 'makes love' to a white girl. Why do you want to join?"
She'd never 'sexted', never tried dirty talk with Steve or any of the men she'd dated before. It wasn't that she didn't like it, disapproved. It had just never happened. Then again, just a week ago she'd never been fingered to the biggest orgasm of her life. All those years of dating, the sex she'd had - she'd never cum even half as hard as she had that night.
And yet here she was, surprising herself at just how quickly she was taking to it all, addressing a man she'd never met before as 'sir' and telling him exactly what he wanted to hear, cheapening herself. It was absolutely thrilling.
"I want to fuck a black man," she typed. She paused before clicking send, smiling to herself, adding, "sir."
"You want a big black cock fucking your little white pussy?"
She could feel the heat between her thighs, feel her body responding. She was so wet, and she was just texting! The man was so explicit, so direct. It was crass, dirty, exactly the sort of thing a well brought-up young woman like her ought not to do. If her family ever heard her talk like this... OK, so maybe not her sister, Beth - she'd always been freer, oh so eager to explore her sexuality. But the rest of them? Hell, it just made her want to be even dirtier.
"Yes sir. I want a big black cock to stretch my tight little white pussy out."
"Good girl. You'll get the instructions for your first task soon."
She waited for a minute, seeing if there would be any more messages, almost urging there to be more, but that was that.
Emma could genuinely not remember looking forward to anything quite as much as her first task.
****
"Oh Ems, you're so lucky!"
If she was being honest with herself, Jodie was jealous. Genuinely jealous. Emma was still just right at the start of her journey: the foothills, base camp, if you will. And she had no idea yet just how fucking pleasurable that journey would be.
Sure, there'd be bumps in the road. No, forget bumps - there'd be proper shit-scary, heart-in-mouth massive pot holes. She shivered a little, despite the incessant heat, just thinking back to her final task. She'd almost bailed, truth be told, almost baulked at the price asked of her then. It had seemed so great a challenge, so scary a prospect that she almost hadn't gone through with it. Now though, looking back, now it seemed such a trivial thing, such a small cost for all that joy. The scary thing was thinking how close she'd come to missing out.
