Emmy's Adventures: Part 2
In the year 1978, the popular music genre was disco, while Iran's government was preparing for a revolution, and New York City was still recovering from the Fiscal Crisis of 1975 and the blackout incident of 1977. Unemployment, low-income growth, and pessimism were prevalent in post-Vietnam America. This was a challenging time for adolescents to grow up.
- Preparation and Excitement
It was on May 21, 1978, when this tale unfolds.
"Considering your 18th birthday last week was quite underwhelming," her mother, Grace, began with an assumption, "And your father and I have that Memorial Day thing with the Lonegans," she added a new detail. But what were the Lonegans? Chester Bradley was keen on taking her out in the city on Thursday. Grace told Emmy not to drink excessively.
Emmy felt agitated as her mother assumed her birthday had been unsatisfying. Her lack of social life was a commonly discussed topic. She lacked close friends and a boyfriend, rendering the possibility of a party impossible. Her father suggested she spend her first legal drink with him, but it seemed unappealing as it involved a more significant group of creepy old men in a smoke-filled bar. Emmy would have rather had a glass of wine at the kitchen table with her mother, who always provided comfort.
To her dismay, her mother had ignored her for her milestone birthday. Grace claimed that she needed to catch up with an old college friend. Emmy had always been closer to her mother, who was forever present, than her father, who frequently traveled for work. When he was home, Emmy took care of herself since her father prioritized his wife. This situation elicited feelings of neglect and letdown.
Despite this, Emmy's joy was incomparable to her annoyance when she discovered Chester Bradley would be taking her out on the town. Not the zoo or a museum, but in the realm of adulthood. A glimmer of hope arose - maybe he would want more than just a friend.
Rape was the first thought to surface, but Emmy mustered herself out of such filth. However, she genuinely hoped they would have sex. Rough sex would be exceptionally enjoyable, as well. It was a possibility that could become a reality!
"Your father and I will be leaving on Tuesday," her mother said casually.
Emmy realized she wasn't paying attention.
"Were you even listening?" her mother asked kindly.
"No," Emmy admitted. "Sorry, Mom."
"We discussed this at Josh Zimmerman's Bar Mitzvah," Grace explained patiently.
"Three years ago?" Emmy calculated in disbelief. What little she remembered was a 22-year-old flirting with her until her father chased him out.
"Plans haven't changed," her mother reassured her happily.
"That's a sailing trip, right?" Emmy finally remembered a fragment of this event.
"Yes, you're correct!" Her mother clapped her hands together, thrilled at Emmy recalling.
Emmy's nostalgia of this occasion was almost nonexistent.
"It's filled with gin and tonics and pinochle," Grace further explained.
"Grown-up stuff?" Emmy asked uncertainly.
"Exactly," her mother replied with a smile.
"So, I'll be parentless for a week?" Emmy inquired about her situation.
"You're 18 and getting close to college," her mother brusquely declared. "I think this is an excellent assessment of your leadership skills. You have finals on Monday and Tuesday; the rest of the week is open to you. Just call in sick and fill in for me."
"Do I take the train to the city?" Emmy progressed to logistical concerns.
"Heavens, no!" her mother exclaimed in shock upon the suggestion of her daughter using public transportation. "Chester Bradley will fetch you."
"Mom," Emmy couldn't help but ask this one question. "Why do we call him Chester Bradley, and not just Chester or Mr. Bradley?"
A puzzled expression crossed Grace's face, and Emmy recalled her mother's radiance from time to time.
"We always have, I suppose," Grace commented with a dolorous breath. It's clear that he knew your father even before he met me. That's how we originally met, and it's always had this lovely flow to it."
"Chester Bradley," Emmy experimented with the phrase. "It has a pleasant synergy to it."
"Chester Bradley," her mother concurred.
It was on a Tuesday that Emmy breezed through her final exams with ease. Although Emmy wasn't socially inclined, she was intelligent. If she had put in more effort, she could have scored a 4.0 GPA, but she only diligently worked on the subjects that interested her. The realization that high school would be a thing of the past was still settling in, a momentous moment in Emmy's life that seemed like a casual Tuesday. The biggest event, one greater than the graduation ceremony on Saturday that she planned on skipping, was seeing Chester Bradley.
Grace and Eddie set off as planned, and Emmy spent that boring Tuesday evening alone, immersing herself in "Happy Days," "Laverne and Shirley," and "Three's Company." She turned it off when they started airing summer fill-in programs instead of "Soap." The young blonde lounged naked in her bed and re-read her favorite portions of "The Story of O." The abundance of anal sex in "The Story of O" made it Emmy's favorite erotic read, even though she couldn't fully appreciate some parts. She pondered over the idea of doing something naughty just to experience the depravity, but the idea dissipated quickly.
Wednesday, May 24, 1978
Emmy yanked herself from a deep slumber as the phone rang insistently. The blonde teenager stumbled out of bed and made a beeline to her parents' room. As she approached the door of her room, she suddenly remembered her current state of undress. With her father and mother away, she was sure she could handle this. She dashed towards her parents' bedroom and picked up the powder blue rotary princess phone. "Hello?"
"Hi," the deep voice on the other side said. It was none other than Chester Bradley! With a single word, her mind clicked off completely.
"Mm-hmm, so you'll be ready by 1000 PM tonight, and we'll commence your birthday celebration at midnight," the words of her dream man echoed.
"I'll be there," Emmy heard herself mumble. "See you then."
The phone's heat seared at her ear, and her arm ached from its weight. She blinked, wondering what had transpired over the past 45 minutes. But, much like the pool party, her curiosity quickly dissipated.
Emmy knew the precise plan for the evening. Chester Bradley sought to start her birthday party, starting exactly one week late, at precisely midnight. At 1000 PM, she would be picked up. She would be more than ready to go by then.
After a quick dress change, Emmy traced the contents of the parcel she found waiting for her outside her door. The outfit he desired her to don tonight had arrived.
With 15.5 hours remaining before her next adventure with Chester Bradley, she had to find ways to pass the time. Fortunately, Emmy was an expert at occupying her thoughts. She chose her favorite chair, pulled out her sketch pad, and returned to the portrait of Chester Bradley she had been crafting based on the sight of him shirtless at the pool party.
Vicky was Chester Bradley's preferred mobile hairstylist and makeup artist. They'd first crossed paths in the 60s when she was working on Broadway, while he was Chester Bradley. Now, having just welcomed a new grandbaby, she only took on odd jobs like these to make some extra cash. Emmy had learned most of this because Vicky had been talking nonstop for the entire hour. Forgetting what Vicky was saying could have been a blessing.
"Done!" Vicky exclaimed. "Oh, I gotta go, sweetheart. My daughter's heading to work soon, and I have baby duty. I adore it!"
Vicky left as quickly as she had spoken.
Emmy stood before the full-length mirror, admiring herself.
"I'm gorgeous," she marveled.
Emmy was wearing a short, black cocktail dress. It had no sleeves, thin shoulder straps, and wasn't too low-cut, but did display some cleavage. The dress was fitted but comfortable, showcasing her figure. The hem of the dress skimmed just above her bottom, and she knew she'd be tugging it down all night. The dress revealed a lot of skin, and she looked good in it. Emmy had filled out nicely, sporting fuller breasts and toned legs. Her blonde hair was expertly styled up, decorated with lots of hairspray—more than she would have used herself. Her makeup was flawless, Vicky's work.
Emmy's fair complexion was given a touch of color without being overdone, highlighting her green eyes. Measuring at 5'5", her medium heels added a couple more inches and made her curvy butt look delightful. The only experience she'd had with heels came from attending various formals in her upper-middle-class upbringing on Long Island. She ventured back and forth down the upstairs hallway, trying to get used to the feel of the shoes. Once she felt comfortable, she performed several trips up and down the stairs. She thought she could manage without embarrassment.
Around ten, Emmy grew anxious. She knew Chester Bradley would be on time, just as she had come to expect. The grandfather clock, her grandfather's prize possession from a poker game, chimed ten.
Emmy rose, reached for the door, but was startled by a gentle knock just before she opened it. A large, dark-skinned man, with a large pistol hanging out of his jacket, stood outside.
"Mr. Chester Bradley is waiting in the car for you, Miss," he said in a raspy voice. He glanced at her small purse. "He instructed you to leave that, among other things, behind."
"My ID?"
He shook his head and chuckled, "If you're with him, you won't require ID."
Knowing that the key to her house was hidden under a flowerpot outside, Emmy locked the door and left, carrying nothing but the clothes on her body. The sky was starting to cloud over, but it was still warm. A waning gibbous moon attempted to poke through the clouds and city light pollution. Emmy's hair blew gently in the breeze, and she could feel her heels against her bare legs and up her skirt (she realized she had overlooked wearing underwear).
The driver opened the car door for her, revealing Chester Bradley's imposing features.
"You're looking breathtaking, Emmy," he said, appreciating her beauty. "A stunning young lady."
Once in the car, she turned shy and nervous, fingering the ashtray cover.
"Thank you for arranging this, Chester Bradley," Emmy told him, finally making eye contact.
"Chester Bradley feels too cumbersome," he said to her. "Why not just refer to me as 'Sir'?"
"Sure, Sir," Emmy promptly replied and was delighted by the sensation. "Thank you for taking me out for my birthday, Sir."
"You're welcome, dear Emmy," he said. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it last week. I can't even imagine having a drink with Eddie at Knight's Bar was enjoyable."
"He tried," Emmy defended her father, "but the smoke in the place was so thick that I could barely see him. It took me three attempts to wash the smoke smell out of my hair. Additionally, this old man was constantly staring at me."
Emmy continued to ramble on due to her nerves until he turned her head and silenced her with a swift kiss on the lips.
"After this trip to the city, you'll be a fully-grown woman," he said to her.
The implications crossed Emmy's mind. Did he truly intend to make love to her? Was he going to take her virginity?
"Slide closer to me," he told her. "This is a spacious car, and you're too far away."
"Yes, Sir," Emmy relished when he instructed her.
The young, fair-haired beauty moved until she was hugging him closely. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and brought her the rest of the way.
The touch of his strong arms on her bare shoulders sent a jolt through her.
"I've been waiting a long time to have you," he said softly to her. "I am going to transform your entire world; I will discover aspects of you that you never knew existed. You will make more sense by the time I am finished with you."
He didn't elaborate further on that, but continued to discuss anything else for the rest of the trip. Primarily, he ranted about how the new safety and emissions rules were putting an end to the American automobile. However, his arm never left her shoulder.
"Iran is going to spell disaster," he said at one point, transitioning from the previous oil crisis. He removed his arm from her shoulder, but his hand was now resting on her bare thigh. "The Shah just isn't cutting it," he started.
Emmy's attention was focused on the hand on her thigh, not really concerned about the tensions of the Peacock Throne. His hand, robust and rough, was on the smooth skin (freshly shaved!) of her thigh. His fingers were slightly splayed, covering more area that way, she assumed. If she tried, she could feel each individual finger resting on her thigh.
Her nipples were hardening. Was this supposed to happen? She questioned if he noticed. His hand shifted, the fingers coming together and traveling a bit down to the sensitive inner part of her thigh. Emmy froze, worried she'd ruin the moment. He continued to talk, touching on the prospects of peace between Egypt and Israel.
Emmy's foot was starting to tingle. She needed to move but didn't want her date to perceive it as a signal for him to back off. Emmy shuffled, extended her legs straight out for a moment, then crossed them over the other leg. Consciously, she returned his hand to its previous position on top of her leg. She also positioned it a bit higher up and more toward the inner side, in case he needed a reminder.
Chester Bradley obviously picked up on the sign. Instead of simply resting on her thigh, his hand now caressed and lightly explored her.
"You have exquisite thighs," Chester Bradley complimented Emmy.
The young blonde blushed and rubbed her thighs together with his hand in the middle.
"Thank you, Sir," she replied.
Emmy observed the city's darkened parking garage looming before them. Graffiti was plastered over the walls and dust and refuse were strewn around. What did Sir, as she was now learning to see Chester Bradley, want with this place? Emmy had never been in the city at night before. Two men of questionable intentions eyed the expensive car but kept their distance. Emmy curled up closer to her guardian.
The driver approached a box made of bulletproof glass where a man was watching a TV and managing the gate to the garage. He handed the man in the box a business card and a crisp twenty-dollar bill. The man in the box inspected the items he was handed, nodded, and, without any show of gratitude for the money, opened the gate. They swung around a bend and waited.
"Are we secure here, Sir?" Emmy inquired.
"Sure thing, sweetheart," he replied, rubbing her exposed leg gently. "As long as you're with us, you're safe. I wouldn't advise strolling around alone in this area, even dressed the way you are."
The overhead door in front of them opened. Baker took the wheel and switched off the lights. The door behind closed and more lights came on in the hallway outside. They made their way down a narrow ramp, the turns being tight enough that Emmy felt slightly uneasy. The drivers remained calm, though - they seemed unfazed by the tight spaces. Emmy couldn't help but feel out of place; her father had always kept her away from seedy parts of the city.
The car stopped in front of a set of doors where a man in a formal suit stood at a small counter. He stepped forward and opened Emmy's door. She looked to Sir for approval, gaining a nod. She slipped out.
"Miss," he addressed her.
Emmy stepped back, and her evening companion stepped out behind her. He handed more cash to the doorman and the group was led off through the doors and given to an usher. They quickly passed through dimly lit, narrow corridors full of doors, most on one side. They ascended some stairs and passed two more doors before finally reaching the third.
Once more, some cash exchanged hands, and they were left alone.
III-The Show
Emmy examined her surroundings. The room wasn't wider than a couch. The couch, which seemed reminiscent of Victorian times, faced an opening. There was a partition a few feet high on the floor and one descending from the ceiling, leaving a gap of roughly three feet. This gap ensured they had a full view of the stage below, while preventing others from seeing them. Emmy realized this wasn't a Rocky Horror Picture Show screening at midnight.
Chester Bradley brought over two glasses of champagne and a bottle on ice.
"In a minute, it will be midnight, and you'll be eighteen and a week, Emmy. You're now allowed to vote, drink alcohol, be convicted of a felony, see dirty movies, and sign legally binding contracts," he noted as he poured the beverages.
He handed her a glass. "Happy Belated Birthday, Emmeline Annette Maher," he beamed, checking his watch. "This will be one you'll never forget."
"Thanks, Sir," she replied, raised her glass, and toasted their drinks. When the clock struck twelve, she'd had her second drink.
Chester sat it down, then offered her a second half-drunk kiss. It was not an awkward lip-to-lip encounter on a doorstep after a date with a teenager; it was a man claiming her body and soul. Sure, she had imagined this moment many times in her fantasies...but these kisses - the first one lingered briefly, then the second - were aggressive, with deep tongue strokes. He didn't seem interested in being gentle, but in claiming her entire mouth.
The older gentleman hung his coat on a hanger and sat down on the couch. "Let's just relax and enjoy the show," he suggested as they settled next to each other. She pressed closer, hoping for another kiss. At least his hand was back on her leg.
A single figure emerged from beneath the stage's white lights. He wore a long red coat and top hat, resembling a circus ringmaster.
"Ladies and Gents, Masters and Slaves, and those who will become Slaves! Welcome to tonight's entertainment!" The man announcing, seemingly aiming his words specifically at Emmy. "It's nice to see so many people today, though I can't see any of you beyond these curtains - and some of you are smoking something other than tobacco...and the odor is making it difficult to breathe."
He told jokes and stories about the current appalling conditions of New York City, then several about rape.
"Using the topic of rape, have you ever thought about what would happen if a white girl from a wealthy suburb accidentally knocked on the wrong door in the slums, trying to sell seeds for charity in Africa?" he enquired.
The spotlights beamed down on three Black men in stereotypical gang wear, seated around a table. There was a conspicuous bag labelled "DRUGS" in large letters and various bottles sitting in brown paper bags in front of each of the men.
They were engrossed in a fierce game of cards and drinking from their own bottles when their concentration was disrupted by a knock on the door. A dispute ensued over who should go answer, with one of them forced to comply.
Upon opening the door, he was greeted by a blonde young woman in a short skirt, towering over him with a large bag slung over her shoulder.
"Hello! I'm Poppy! I'm selling seeds so that I may assist the impoverished individuals of Africa - would you be interested?" she inquired.
A cackle of unseen audience members could be heard in the background.
"Few places to cultivate, but I do enjoy a good ploughing," he replied, indicating for her to come inside.
They continued to make lewd remarks about planting and ploughing before Poppy was bound and compromised by each of the three men. An ongoing joke involved Poppy extolling the virtues of her seeds every time there was a pause in the action, with a male organ inserted into her mouth.
Emmy's expectations leading up to this moment included comedy and possibly music, perhaps even Broadway-style entertainment. However, this sexual scene involving a woman being abused by three men was not what she expected. Up until that moment, Emmy had never personally witnessed such an act. Although she had seen images and read about sexual acts in her collection of erotica, she had never witnessed the actual motions or heard the sounds. She would have to include this experience in her erotic fantasies catalogue.
From the moment they ripped off Poppy's attire, Emmy was mesmerised by the performance. Each time Poppy's restraints were loosened, her struggle drew Emmy into the scene even further. When two men held her down for the third to penetrate her anally, Emmy was as aroused as she had ever been in her life. She hardly even noticed Chester Bradley by her side. She shifted forwards to obtain a better angle on the action.
Emmy longed to be Poppy, the character. Though she didn't desire a performance on stage or in a slum apartment, she wanted to be the strong, sexy woman that the three men took turns ravishing.
The skit concluded with Poppy in a cum-soaked state, commenting, "How many packs should I charge you?"
The audience clapped, the host reappeared, and the stagehands prepared for the next attraction.
"Sir," Emmy inquired, captivated by the show. "Why did you bring me here?"
"To introduce you to a new way of life you'll become a part of," he responded and kissed her.
"Will I become like her?" she questioned, looking towards the stage.
"You'll experience something similar," he confirmed and traced his fingers across her arms. "Once we leave here, I'll take you to my place and make love to you in every way possible. Later, you will know when it is time."
"Yes, Sir," Emmy whispered, overwhelmed by the knowledge that she would soon be drastically altered in Chester Bradley's world. There were so many questions running through her mind, but she was unable to find the words to articulate them. The prospect of being ravished by him prevailed over everything else.
"Let's watch the show," he said.
The following demonstration featured a naked redhead girl wearing a collar and cuffs, led by a man. The sight of the chained girl awakened feelings within Emmy. She knew she could also endure such a situation. She glanced at her escort, who simply nodded whilst offering a tender kiss to her head.
This performance was silent, showcasing the eccentricities of the 1970s' creative scene. A second man approached the pair, engaging in a phoney discussion.
The second man inspected the girl, inspecting every part of her, examined her teeth. He commanded her to assume a bent-over position. The buyer examined her genitalia and anus with his digits. Finding her acceptable, he nodded enthusiastically.
The two men negotiated a price, with the seller revisiting the slave girl several times to emphasise their product.
When they reached a deal, the seller and buyer both moved round the immobile girl until they stood on opposite ends of the table. Emmy held her breath intensely as the two men took turns ploughing the disrobed captive girl, swapping positions only once before climaxing simultaneously on her back.
The crowd burst into applause at the conclusion of this act.
The host reappeared, but Chester Bradley had met his end.
He got up and took hold of her hand.
"It's time, Emmy," he stated.
Trembling, she stood and waited for his next move. Chester Bradley retrieved his coat from the hook, put it back on, and, with a supporting hand on her back, directed her out the doorway of their box. An usher awaited them in the passageway, and he led them backwards through the corridors to the garage where Baker was with the Town Car.
7-The Central Park Apartment
Emmy had no clue what time it was, yet she was convinced it was past 3 am by the time the massive Lincoln returned to the street. The young female realized that she'd been so engrossed in the performance that she hadn't even completed her first champagne.
Emmy was going to lose her virginity. She was going to lose it to the man she'd longed for. They'd just witnessed several hours of live sexual acts, and, in addition, she had her second legal drink. This was the best night of her life.
The 18-year-old snuggled beside Chester Bradley on the spacious back seat of the Lincoln. He gazed out the window as he tenderly caressed her thigh. Emmy secretly yearned for him to take her there, in the automobile, whilst they drove through the city, but he had other intentions. He slid his palm down her leg and lightly clutched her ankle. The sensation of his hand wrapping around her limb, and the implications of what that meant, what he could do with that ankle and leg, sent her great excitement. She gently pushed against him, wanting to feel more pressure from his hand.
Baker parked in a different garage in another structure, yet this time guided them to a private elevator on the ground level before leaving for the night. Chester Bradley used a key to select their level.
As soon as the elevator was in motion, he turned and lifted Emmy's chin to kiss her. She willingly parted her lips and welcomed him into her mouth. She encircled her arms around him, feeling the strength in him beneath the suit.
With a ding, the elevator ceased. Chester Bradley guided her into a little lobby. He opened it with a key, and they entered his apartment. Emmy had been in his apartment several times before, but only with her parents and from the maid's lobby on the street side. This was her first time in this world, and she already felt more exclusive and grown-up.
His apartment hadn't changed much since her previous visit a few years ago. Military and Iranian/Persian motifs were strong in the decorating. Gorgeous rugs hung on the walls, bronze and stone sculptures occupied corners, and lots of weapons were displayed on shelves and stands. Lots of bookshelves, too. Emmy had always adored exploring his library whenever they'd visit, even if many of them were written in Persian or Russian.
"Wait here, Emmeline," Chester Bradley said and poured Emmy a glass of wine. "I'll be right back." He went to his room and closed the door.
When she'd spent time with her family at his apartment, Emmy had slept on the couch in the living room. She wandered over to the plushy main room. He'd acquired a new couch; the one she'd slept on was supremely comfortable. This one seemed more ornamental and less cozy. She used to enjoy merely sitting and staring out the window at the city, which seemed so tranquil and peaceful from up here.
The atmosphere was familiar, yet new. Familiar because she'd been there before, yet new because she was seeing it with adult eyes, as Chester Bradley's lover, rather than a visiting child. The pretty blonde turned and observed a picture. She'd seen it on each visit and only thought it was Chester Bradley with an attractive Iranian man. Now, having kept up with the news, Emmy realized it was Chester Bradley and the Shah, though younger than the monarch appeared on TV.
Before she could ponder the implications any further, Chester Bradley reappeared in his room wearing a long, black silk robe.
"Finish your wine," he directed. "I will be right back." He stepped behind her.
Emmy leaned against him, and he embraced her. She raised the glass, viewed out the window at the city, and drank a lengthy amount of wine.
"What do you desire the most, Emmeline Annette?" he questioned, and gave her neck a kiss. "Be honest. If you could have anything, be anything, what would it be?"
Emmy knew the answer. It was what she'd longed for ever since she read The Story of O, but she couldn't say it. She had to keep it a secret, for it was too much to admit to anyone, even him.
"Ummm," she hesitated and sipped her wine.
He reached down and unzipped her dress, taking his time as he slid the zipper down her back. Once it was open, he ran his hands over the expanse of her bare skin, caressing her gently. The elderly man then slipped the dress off her and placed it on the back of a chair. Emmy trembled, her heart racing, as she remained naked, wearing only shoes and jewelry.
His experienced hands wrapped around her breasts, cupping their firmness.
"I'm still a virgin, Sir," Emmy blurted out. "I've always wanted you to be my first."
He turned her around and kissed her softly.
"I remember," he said, sliding his hands down to cup her perfect ass. "I'm happy you waited."
Emmy loved how his hands felt on her ass; she felt her ass was a central part of her sexuality and wanted it to be appreciated.
"I like how your hands feel, Sir," she said.
"By the time your birthday is over, I'll make all your fantasies come true," he told her before leading her into the master bedroom.
The host left the naked blonde standing by the doorway to admire the large king-sized bed along one wall, the bed where she would lose her innocence. The room was a combination of classic Persian and 1970s chic, with more rugs on the walls and shag carpeting on the floor. There was an egg chair opposite a leather recliner, and a brass end table between them with a backgammon set on it.
She was about to get fucked in that bed. Maybe the egg chair, too. That could be fun. They could play backgammon for sexual favors, and she would lose every game.
The self-assured elder man circled her without touching, fully examining her with his eyes. Emmy felt very self-conscious, wondering if he'd find her attractive, if she was too big or too small. He was going to have sex with her, right? She wasn't a disappointment, was she?
He looked into her eyes and said, "Emmeline Annette Maher, you're irresistible, captivating, beautiful."
He hugged her, his hands roaming her back and ass.
"I've wanted this for a long time, Sir," Emmy said, kissing his neck. "I just hope I'm good enough for you."
"Relax, Emmy," he said, using his skilled hands to caress her delicate skin. "You're good enough for any man. Any man who meets you will want to have you, to caress you and possess you. You're extraordinary and will bring much pleasure to those who touch you. You were created to be taken by strong men and women."
He fingered her, exploring her depths, eliciting pleasure with each stroke.
Emmy had visualized this moment many times, but the first time this man touched her was much more intense and vivid. She was amazed that his fingers were inside her, creating a sensation she'd never felt before.
When he had discovered every inch of her, he stopped and removed his robe.
Emmy gasped at the sight of his erect cock for the first time, an imposing, threatening, yet intoxicating sight. Although she craved to have it inside her, there was also a fear.
"May I touch it, Sir?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the impressive organ.
"You may, Emmy."
He held her hand and led it to his arousal. It delighted her. The smutty magazines she'd come across had shown genitalia with stiff genitalia; but there was a difference between seeing a small image of one and fitting her small hand around the hard flesh. It wasn't a smooth shaft, but veiny with a mushroom head and a sheen of pre-ejaculate (she'd heard it called that, sex education referred to it as seminal fluid. This was going to be more educational than all her high school sex education combined).
Emmy examined the erection that would soon invade her virginity. Her dexterous fingers caressed the girth, cupped the hairy scrotum. She wanted to understand this thing that would be within her. It wasn't particularly appealing. Still, she desired it and the feelings it was going to evoke within her.
"Get on your knees," he instructed.
Reluctantly, she let go for a moment, kneeled in front of the older man. Now, the erection was at eye level and Emmy grabbed it with her hands and started to stroke it.
"Lick it," Chester Bradley commanded.
Emmy leaned forward, gave the base a quick kiss before parting her lips and extending her tongue. It tasted like... skin. She'd nearly expected a unique penis flavour, but it tasted like when she licked her own arm. Once she got beyond the lack of flavour, she decided to test the shaft with her tongue. She enthusiastically licked from base to just under the tip. There was still something daunting about the mushroom top, oozing its sheen of fluid.
"Place the top in your mouth," Chester Bradley instructed after enjoying her efforts for a while.
Emmy felt happy to comply, she was a virgin, and he was a worldly man. He knew what he was doing, and she should let him take the lead. Besides, she enjoyed being commanded by him. She wanted to please men with her mouth.
His pre-ejaculate had a salty taste. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but the watery saltiness of it was not what she was considering. Was that what semen tasted like? When would he ejaculate in her mouth? She hoped she wouldn't have to wait for too long to feel him inside her pussy, but if he wanted to ejaculate in her mouth first, that was his prerogative.
Sir held her head down, pushed until she began to choke on the rod of flesh. He pushed deeper and her throat started to close. Instinctively, she panicked and tried to pull away from the invading object. Then, he said... something... that entered her ears and reached deeper parts of her. She ceased panicking and relaxed. She was no longer choking and the shaft slid into her throat. Emmy comprehended that she could no longer move, she had no control over her body.
Chester continued his statement, influencing her with his words. She could feel the cock sliding into her throat, smelt his skin and cologne, tasted the pre-ejaculate, heard city noises and saw his hips thrusting; but couldn't react. The words he said infiltrated her brain and made her mind change.
She was able to move again. She changed position slightly, ensuring she controlled her limbs. However, she didn't attempt to disengage from the cock invading her throat. Instead, she realised she could act now and was prepared to try new things.
The attractive woman embraced her lover close, taking his cock as deep as it could go into her throat. The submissive blonde held on tightly, her nose pressed against his abdomen, his testicles resting on her chin. Emmy was happy she could do that! Having trouble with fellatio had been one of her biggest worries but now she'd rectified that! Emmy settled back into her position, growing increasingly lightheaded from lack of air, and didn't panic. When the curvy virgin was close to fainting, Chester Bradley withdrew his penis.
"I appreciate the determination," he said and caressed her cheek. "But you are more entertaining when you're conscious. So, continue sucking it, just don't hurt yourself."
"Yes, Sir," Emmy said self-consciously and resumed manipulating his penis.
Chester understood that conditioning her to give good head was cheating. But he didn't have the patience to train her the standard way. Moreover, some girls couldn't get past the gagging, so if she couldn't, this wouldn't be a problem anymore. In general, he didn't have qualms with programming submissives. They were to be slaves anyway, the programming only made them more desirable slaves. Additionally, a beautiful, programmable submissive was such a rare find that their real value was as owned properties. Anything else would be a waste, a missed opportunity for them to become all they were meant to be. He saw programmable submissives as gifts to society and was simply contributing to this. At midnight, Emmy had ceased to be the daughter of a friend. She was now a submissive to be owned.
This young virgin's childhood crush forced himself to the brink of orgasm through her oral skills but chose not to finish. Was this a sign of him wanting to have sex with her next? She loosened her jaw by opening and closing her mouth a few times. Despite her desire, her body needed more flexibility.
"You did a great job, Emmy," he expressed his appreciation. "Now it's my turn."
He aided her in standing up and guided her towards the bed. He positioned her on her back, spread her silky legs, and laid himself between them. The abrasive feel of his facial hair on her thighs was an experience she would cherish forever, adding to the distinct masculinity she had never thought about. Her mind was ready, but her body required more stamina.
Her sex-starved lower regions thirsted for his tongue, but what she had fantasized, seen on paper, or imagined did not even come close to the real-life ecstasy his knowledgeable tongue brought to her then-unused pussy.
Once he adjusted his angle, he began to focus on her clitoris. Words failed to describe how Emmy responded as Chester's proficient mouth assaulted her fresh, sensitive pussy. She had a few self-inflicted orgasms already, but these were just sparks to match the raging fire that was Chester Bradley's tongue.
He licked her wet, aching entrance for an instance, before changing position to come on top of her. With his intense gaze locked on hers, he lined his massive organ up with her untouched opening.
"Be gentle, please, Sir," she requested, holding his shoulder for balance.
"I will, this time," he promised before penetration began.
She shut her eyes, feeling her whole existence centered on her pussy and the man about to enter it.
Chester patted her cheek before commanding her to reopen her eyes.
"Look at me," he instructed. "I want to watch your eyes while I enter you."
"Yes, Sir," she agreed. Opening her eyes allowed for more wetness in her throbbing pussy.
"You are stunning," he praised before gently pushing inside her.
Emmy could not hide her discomfort. Since her hymen had not broken previously, this invasion was new to her. She was calm and submissive but remained fearful. She knew that even if she stopped him right now, he wouldn't. She also understood that as soon as he put his dick inside her, a different level of ownership would be transferred from her virgin self to him.
He clasped her chin and then licked her tears.
"You're beautiful, wonderful, and sensational," he showered her with compliments.
"Thank you, Sir," she gasped, still in awe of his size.
"You'll get used to it," he insisted. "You'll be obsessed with this sensation."
"Yes, Sir," she moaned in agreement. "Oh, Oh, Sir!"
Chester slowly made love to her, loving the tight, untouched girl wrapped around him. He jerked her from time to time since penetration was still foreign to her. She clung onto him tightly, wrapping her arms around him while he thrusted in and out, feeling every new sensation.
The moment of truth she's anticipated for a long time was here, and it outperformed her wildest dreams. She felt the shaggy hair of his body brushing against her smooth skin, breathed in his breath and felt his powerful hands caress her.
He fancied stepping up the pace of his thrusts to maintain her on that edge of pleasure and pain. He bit her earlobe, causing sudden, raw, overwhelming pleasure. In that moment, Emmy acclaimed her first climax. More intense than any fantasy she's ever had. Emmy's body shook from euphoria as she moaned.
"Chester! Bradley!" she exclaimed while reaching her pinnacle.
She opened her eyes to behold her lover covered in her unbridled desires, then instantly closed them as the intensity of his throbbing cock against her combined with his aggressive tugs took her to her second orgasm.
Emmy meowed contentedly as he slipped back inside her. She started rocking with him, gliding backwards onto his sturdy shaft while he thrust in. His powerful hands on her hips regulated her pace, and she adored how he controlled her. She was ecstatic that he thought she was attractive, beautiful. This was how she desired to lose her virginity.
The enthusiastic young lady could feel another climax approaching. She attempted to adjust her hips to achieve that ideal pressure, to touch the right spot. One of his hands slid under her and began playing with her breasts, cradling and kneading them; caressing her nipples so gently.
An additional climax erupted within her, she groaned and whimpered as he drove her to feel it again. His other hand wrapped around her shoulder and kept her put as he started fucking her more forcefully. She involuntarily attempted to draw away from the unexpectedly uncomfortable ramming she was receiving, but he wasn't letting her go. She dropped her head and simply accepted the fucking, enjoying the pleasure and pain until he had finished as well.
"You were incredible," he sighed.
Chester Bradley had fucked many hundreds of women, deflowered numerous ones, but there was something distinctively remarkable about this one. It wasn't only her fresh attractiveness; he'd never been with a woman who'd longed to be his slave. She craved this above all else, and he'd fulfilled her desire. When they lay still, she pressed back against him, maximizing their skin-to-skin contact. She sighed contentedly even as his cum seeped out from her.
He may settle down a bit and stay with this slave, he considered. Once she graduated from college, that's when he'd share this news with her. For now, he just wanted to relish her flesh.
Chester Bradley wasn't especially enamored with always being called Chester Bradley. He preferred "Brad" or even "CB," but no matter how many times he begged people, even his closest friends, they invariably referred to him as "Chester Bradley." At least after she was enslaved, Emmy would call him "Master" instead of, well, his full name.
He had few issues with his choice to enslave the daughter of his former business partner, lifelong friend, and regular CIA ally. This was the world they lived in. Emmy's mother was a slave. In the past, before Eddie married her, Chester and Eddie had tag-teamed Grace on many occasions. Grace knew her daughter was destined to be a slave and believed this was the best strategy to keep her joyful and safe. The programming he'd done with her prior to tonight was mostly for her protection, some self-defense instructions to limit who could program her.
His motives were far from entirely altruistic. Chester Bradley wasn't unaware of Emmy's recent years of maturing. He'd been keenly aware of her at the pool party and the manner in which she was flaunting herself for him and that kid Shane. He'd excelled at seemingly not looking. This had cemented his belief that someone would eventually lay claim to that exquisite body, and it should be him. Letting someone else, someone lesser aware of what an exceptional piece of feminine anatomy she was, have the honor? That was why he programmed her not to date, to elevate her expectations, and to follow her heart's yearning for him. They had both achieved their goals.
Now, she was in his arms with his softer cock still within her cum-saturated no longer-virgin vagina.
"Thank you, Sir," Emmy breathed. "Best birthday ever."
They lay entwined, exhausted after a long day, and napped on and off for about an hour before Chester Bradley chose to have her once more. He woke her up for a second round, slower and deeper this time, until they both fell asleep as the sun began to brighten the east.
Read also:
- Yes, Darling
- Belonging to a Place: Chapter 2
- Meeting Amily Scheduled
- Cherries with Magical Powers: Part 3
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