Emma's story continues. If you haven't already read Chapter 1, I suggest that you do so that you know the characters and what is happening with them. This is a longish love story but you'll have to wait for the sex. If you want a short
'Wham, bam, thank you Ma'am
' tale with no plot, then there are plenty of those elsewhere on this site.
Characters in sex scenes are eighteen years old or over
. All characters are imaginary---any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 to the author.
*****
Sam was punctiliously correct as we left the ferry. "Thank you, madam," as I passed her, "I do hope that you enjoyed the trip." I think she gave me a tiny wink but I couldn't be certain, it was that swift.
Our transport was waiting at the bottom of the gangway, a plump, cheerful-looking woman standing by a pony and trap. A little way behind was a weather-beaten older man with a larger horse and cart. The woman came forward to shake my hand. "You'll be Emma and these your lovely nieces. I'm Mrs Cudmore, one of the island's caretakers, and I'm here to take you to Mr LeStrange's place. There are no motors on the island, we use the trap to get around." She nodded towards the man. "That's my husband, here to pick up the supplies."
The girls were delighted with the unusual transport and clambered into the back of the trap with our bags while I sat at the front with Mrs Cudmore. I turned to have one last look at Sam but she had disappeared. I felt hurt briefly, and then told myself not to be stupid. She must have other duties and it would look odd for her to stand there just to wave goodbye to one passenger.
The drive to Alan's villa took about half-an-hour along narrow lanes flanked by tall hedgerows. Mrs Cudmore chatted away, telling me about the island and about themselves. They shared the duties, living month-and-month about on the island with another couple during the spring, summer and autumn seasons. The island's owners ensured they had other well-paid work during their months off. In winter everything was closed down because for much of the time the seas made it difficult—almost impossible—to reach the island. Maintenance crews arrived early spring to check that everything was in good order. At the moment, it seemed, we were the only visitors, all the other villas being unoccupied.
Then we crested a slight rise and Alan's villa was below us. It was a substantial bungalow, painted white with a green-tiled roof. We could see a large patio out front, furnished with ample chairs and loungers surrounding a glittering blue swimming pool. Beyond the patio grassy land swept downwards to an area of trees and hedges. Beyond that, in the near distance, I could glimpse the sea.
Mrs Cudmore showed us around the villa and the girls quickly claimed the bedrooms they fancied for themselves. There was an amply-stocked larder with fruit and vegetables and a huge freezer contained all that we would need for the coming week. The place had its own generator which we were assured had been recently serviced and was reliable. Fresh water came from a series of springs beneath the island and was just about as pure as it could get. The only problem was, she told us, that we couldn't get a mobile phone signal on the island but they did have their own private internal landline. The Cudmores communicated with their employers off-island by radio.
"Just one other thing, my dears," she said before leaving us, "don't go swimming in the sea. The currents round here are treacherous and you could get into serious trouble."
We went to our various rooms to unpack (not difficult because we were all travelling light) and then met out by the pool. I had put on a light sarong over my bikini and the girls were all in swim-wear.
Amy was wearing a huge grin. "I've always wanted a place with its very own swimming pool and now I've got one for a week."
The three girls looked absolutely lovely. Sophie and Beth were both taller than me by about two or three inches. They were within weeks of their nineteenth birthdays and due to go to university shortly. I know that we were all distantly related and Sophie's colouring was not unlike mine although her chestnut-brown hair was far longer and tied back in a ponytail. Beth took after her father's side of the family rather than the Wainwrights. She had an abundance of flame-red curls tumbling about her shoulders and the pale skin which so often goes with her colouring. Little Amy's hair was a lighter brown than Sophie's but again her colouring was similar to mine. Little Amy! I said—at not quite thirteen she was almost as tall as me and probably on her way to near six foot by the time she stopped growing.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Amy demanded. I whipped off my sarong and swung it round my head, laughing, before throwing it onto the nearest chair. Then we all dived into the pool, splashing about like big kids.
That evening, after supper, we discovered a fifty-inch TV monitor in a cabinet together with a DVD player and a cupboard revealed a huge library of DVDs. They covered just about every genre of cinema, including many classics, and the girls opted to watch
Sleepless in Seattle
. I didn't want to spoil their enjoyment so I said nothing about having seen it the previous night. We huddled together on a huge sofa and we all heaved a collective sigh at the final scene.
In bed that night, thinking of Sam, I brought myself off three times, as quietly as I could, before going to sleep.
The wardrobes in my room had mirrored doors and when the girls went to the pool after breakfast, I thought that I would check myself out. I'm five-six tall and my chestnut hair was cut in a Louise Brooke bob, the silent star being a pin-up of mine when I was a girl. I love the style, I've had it for years and I doubt I'll ever change. I've always cared for my hands and feet and both were very presentable with nice, neat nails. My face... well, I've got a pleasant face but I've always considered myself to be ordinary, even bordering on the plain. Still, Sam told me I was lovely so I guess that's all that matters. My best feature is my large brown eyes, very much like those of Clara Bow, another silent era pin-up of mine. (In case you think I'm living too far in the past, other pin-ups included Audrey Hepburn, Natalie Wood, Leslie Caron, Sigourney Weaver and Katharine Ross—no boy bands or sportsmen for me, thank you.)
Travelling downwards, my 34B breasts are quite perky and I'm very proud of my large areolas and thick, dark-red nipples which are extra sensitive. I keep myself in good condition and so my belly was flat and my backside and legs shapely. Then I looked at my pubes.
Oh. My. God. During the long months of the work project, although keeping my underarms smooth, I had neglected pubeland and my bush had gone wild. I have always been luxuriant down there but usually kept it well trimmed. Now anybody seeing me naked from a distance could be forgiven for thinking that I was wearing a dark bikini bottom. I opened my legs and couldn't even see my slit. How the hell had Sam found her way in there? Come to that, how the hell had I found my way in there when masturbating? I thought of how lovely Sam's bare pussy had looked and decided that this called for action.
I had a tube of top quality depilatory cream in my toiletries bag and decided to go for the full monty, the Sam look. I gathered together cream, scissors and lots of tissue paper and, with great care, set to work. About forty-five minutes or so later, kitty was free and looking out on the world. I returned to the mirror to admire my new look.
I was very pleased with the result and decided that I had a rather attractive pussy. I played a forefinger up and down my dampening slit and was tempted to continue. But then if any of the girls had turned unexpectedly, I would have found it difficult to explain what I was doing with a finger or two up my snatch. In the end I just went outside to join the them in the pool.
The girls asked me to pick the film that evening and having always loved old films, I chose
Singin' in the Rain
