Chapter 1: Emma's Awakening

Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult, Consensual, Heterosexual, Western, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Voyeurism, .

Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1: Emma's Awakening - On the western frontier, young Emma Pickering's sexuality drives her to spy on her parents.

Hortonville, Nevada

Spring of 1872

Emma Pickering was a young, spirited girl, and not always the proper model of what an army major's daughter should be. She was outspoken, and blunt, when confronted with rudeness or cruelty. Yet there was something else in her blood -something that boiled, simmered, and steamed. All this ... all this proper behavior of a lady never really suited her. And even though she had the classical-education, and the lessons in courtly etiquette, it all seemed like a steaming pile of offal to her.

She was, however (at the tender age of fourteen), a forward thinker -a progressive. She had read Marx, and even Henry David Thoreau; and she knew that the class-struggle for freedom was being played-out right outside her door. The indigenous people of this very land were in a fight for there way of life, and her unwitting, bourgeois father was facilitating their demise. As if, they did not have the right to exist under the reign of the capitalist-elite back in New York City.

She knew quite well about their ways: her own mother's family were fascist-capitalists from New England. Wealthy, pampered, and entitled, her matriarchal heritage was one of exploitation of the masses. Not more than a few years before she was born, her grandfather was becoming rich from processing the hemp from plantations in Virginia that were driven by the sweat of negro slaves. The thought of this made her gorge rise, and made her feel ashamed of her mother's family.

In her opinion, her father's family wasn't much better: Pennsylvania industrialist that realized that emancipated slaves would work cheaper than the Irish and Germans that poured off the ships from the other side of the Atlantic. Her family's support of the union was nothing more than a hypocrisy of exploitation.

All these thoughts, and opinions, were a part of her secret-life. It was a life that no one knew about -much like this night:

It was almost summer in Hortonville, Nevada. Nestled in the foothills near the California border, about twenty miles from Las Vegas Station, but only a few miles from Fort Chamberlain. The night was warm; it was these nights that she enjoyed the most, as she crept from her bedroom window, and scurried down the gutter-pipe to the ground. It was only about fifteen yards to the barn, and the young girl carried a candle, but not for light. It was specially sculpted for her, for her midnight rendezvous with carnal indulgence.

Emma needed a place away from the house. It had to be somewhere where she could call-out her desires without the fear of being overheard by her mother or father. Although the thought of the intonations of her ecstatic release waking everyone in the house had a salacious appeal to her, she knew her parents would most likely not be so understanding of the lust that burned within her soul. And the object of her lust was in her hand.

She had spent the better part of two days fashioning it. She found the candle in a kitchen drawer. It was about eight inches long, and a good inch-and-a-half in diameter. In the evenings, after dinner, she carved it with a pocketknife, and smoothed her whittling by heating over the oil-lantern allowing a thin layer to melt, and silking-over its surface with her hand. And now, it was a thick rod that she could not wait to plunge deep inside her nethers.

She wasn't worried about breaking her hymen. That happened almost two years ago while riding bareback. It was her favorite horse -a stud named Tuco. And it was one of her favorite pastimes ... She loved the feel of all that muscular strength working between her legs, her little mound rubbing against the hot, moist flesh of the beast. Little did anyone else know, she would remove her bloomers from beneath her skirt, and straddle that animal like a boy. This way, the horse's back would be pressed against her most intimate-of-intimates. She new it was dirty of her to do such things, but she didn't really care either. How could something that felt so good be a bad thing? Once again, it was back to hypocrisy.

It wasn't as if she hadn't noticed the way Reverend Pickett had been looking at her in the past couple of years, and the same went for Marshal Creighton (of Hortonville), and Sergeant-Major Finlay (the top sergeant of father's regiment). When she walked by, they would cast lust-filled eyes upon her, and she knew that they were imagining her taking their swollen members into her taught, little cunny. To her, they were all hypocrites; they were slaves to their natural instincts that a puritanical society told them was unnatural.

Well, that was their loss, she reckoned.

Emma Pickering was never going to be one of those sheep that blindly obeyed a church, a society, that told her that her innate sexuality was taboo. The thought that the very thing that ensured the survival of the specie was to be repressed, and shunned, was ridiculous to her -illogical, and unthinkable. After all, this was the 19th-Century! There were Existentialists that had proved that 'God' was merely a construct of power-elite to ensure an obedience of the masses; and the Transcendentalists, they were saying that the existence of an Omnipotent-Being would be so far beyond the understanding of the limited, human mind, that defining Its purpose was arrogant, and futile. No, she would not be a part of this failed experiment of culture.

Tonight, the young major's daughter would give in to her licentious inclinations, and feel that hot, blinding release that she had discovered while riding Tuco years before.


Emma opened the man-door on the barn, and headed inside. While it was pitch-black, she remembered where the lantern was placed on the wall, and took it down from its hook, lighting it after the door was closed behind her. The warm, orange glow of the whale-oil cause the inside of the barn to explode in a riot of savory color. Everything seemed more animated, as if the wood planks, the hay, and the iron fixtures had a vibrant life of there own. They seemed to breathe, and swell, and pulsate, like a greedy heart was throbbing at their core.

This was, obviously, a manifestation of her own libidinous desires that welled within her, and pushed her toward the door that was marked by the words, "Tack Room." Inside there, the glow of the lantern would not be seen. Right now, she knew that if anyone saw the barn, from the outside, they would see the light emanating from between the slats. But once inside the tack-room, the light would disappear, and she would be alone. So, she hurried across the hay-strewn floor, between the empty stalls, and to the far end of the barn.

The tack-room door shut quickly behind her, and Emma could see in her mind's eye that sudden blackening of the light that penetrated every gap in the exterior construction of the barn -she knew she was finally alone. She was alone, with her wax phallus, her loins dampening in rapt anticipation of the violation to come...

She could feel her pert nipples harden against the gauzy material of her nightgown, as they became overly sensitive to the gentle friction of the cloth. Her grip tightened on the tallow shaft, as the other hand drift downward to her moistening slit, and found its mark through the thin textile.

She gasped at the sudden sensation caused by her brazen digits, and realized that she would have to tease herself as much as possible before feeling the carnal penetration of the lustful fetish.

She had tried her best to shape it the fashion of the real thing, but never having seen a real one before, she could have only guessed on the proper dimensions. She had only seen Cisco's (her dog), and Tuco's, and they looked very different: while one had a conical head, the other looked like a mushroom. So, she decided on something in between. It was something that was well-rounded, and could slip inside her with some relative ease, yet she wanted it to be thick enough to really open her up; she wanted it to be bordering on painful.

In the past, she had put two fingers inside herself, and relished the way it felt. But she had done it both ways before. Sometimes, she would thrust down her slit and plunge inside, while letting the flats of those same fingers rub against the hardened nub at the top of her lips; and other times, she would furiously let the fingers of one hand thrust at her taut sex, while the fingers of her other hand rubbed relentlessly at the magic button that sent an electric rush through her young frame. But, this night would be different from all her former explorations.

The warmth of the spring night, and the cramped quarters of the tack-room closed in around Emma, as she felt the sweat begin to bead from her pores. It was then that the flimsy nightgown was pulled from her nubile body -over her head, and to the dusty floor.

It was there she stood, naked, her skin aflame with the promise of earthly pleasure. Every nerve seemed exposed, sensitive, as if her flesh sizzled over a hot fire. The fuel of this fire welled from within, and was composed of raging lust as she was burning from the inside-out.

The young girl caressed her small breasts, as her fingertips found her rosy nipples that were hard, and engorged, with excitement. She purred at the sensations that gently hummed through her body, as the hand that held the wax-cock fondled the object, and she imagined the moment it would penetrated her. It was this thought that made her sex prickle with impatience, as she felt her juices begin to flow like a torrent, and run down her inner-thigh.

It was all she could do to hold-back, and continue the self-seduction. Emma knew the more she teased herself, the more intense her climatic release would be. However, she knew that she could not taunt her salacious yearnings all night, so she took a saddle-blanket from the self,

and laid it out on the floor of the tack-room.

She carefully set the toy on the blanket, as she sat, and opened her legs to further explore her body.

Emma allowed her hands to meander over her silky-smooth skin down over the light, feathery patch of her downy pubic-hair, and to her inner-thighs. Once there, she mover her ginger touch dangerously close to her sodden slit that glistened with her lubricious nectar. The young girl took a sudden breath when her fingertips wandered too close, and touched the outer-lips of her little pussy. At this, her body jolted, as if struck by lightning, and she knew that climax was not far away.

At this point, young Emma had worked herself into such a frenzy that she doubted that her waxen toy would even get the chance to slip inside her before she would cum, so she hurriedly pick it up from beside her.


Emma started to immediately pant, and felt the excitement within her well, as she ran the length of the tallow cock along the tender folds of her ravenous sex. Waves of prurient sensations washed over her, making her head swim, as her sopping gash hungrily awaited violation. She felt she was getting too close, and would not have time to thoroughly enjoy the wax phallus she had made, so she aimed it to go inside her.

This would be the largest thing she would ever have in her, and this was apparent by the resistance her taut opening as she began to push. But her little pussy was too wet to repel the salacious invasion, as she felt her-self begin to accept the object into her slick passage. She moaned with delight as it moved deeper, and deeper, into her restrictive tunnel. It stretched her farther than she could even using two fingers, and it was a little painful, but not enough to pull it out.

She wanted it; she wanted all of it in her; she wanted to feel it pounding into her depths. And moments later, this is what she began to feel, as she began to just piston the wax prick her greedy fuck-hole.

"Oh, Jesus, shit!" she exclaimed, as she felt the onset of her climax.

Normally, she was not one for vulgarities, but she had never felt this way before, and wondered if the real thing felt better. But as quickly as the thought came to her -it vanished. It was gone in a blinding wave of ecstasy, the seized her entire body, and caused her to twitch, and buck against her own workings. And as her orgasm became more intense, and the waves rose higher, she was forced to bite her lower-lip to keep from

screaming.

The young girl could feel a pulsing heat pass over her again-and-a-gain, and she thought she might faint, or even explode, if these sensations did not soon subside. But, eventually, they did, and her whole body went limp. She then let go of her new, favorite toy, and felt her tight, little pussy push it from her body.

She lay there, doing her best to calm her breathing. She felt weak, and unable to move for several minutes, as the tingling in her soft skin slowly abated.

It was time to collect herself, and sneak back inside her room. She had left the window open, but knew that getting back in was going to be a bit more difficult, and she thought about just going in through the front-door. The problem was that the hinges hadn't been oiled in months, and it creaked too much, so that was not an option. But she was a strong girl, and didn't even weigh 100-pounds. She would climb the trellis onto the porch-roof, and into her bedroom window.

At the moment, it was all about getting her nightgown back on, and finding a place for her toy.

The getting dressed was no problem, but she knew she could not scale the ivy-covered lattice with a wax phallus in her hand, so she decided to hide it the tack-room. It was the only place she would ever use it, anyway, and she didn't want to get rid of it. Emma had the feeling that she would be playing with every chance she got, so she placed it near the bottom of a stack of saddle-blankets that never got used

Emma felt cold when she opened the man-door, and stepped outside. Sweat still covered her young body, and had soaked though the thin fabric of her night-clothes. Although the summer night-air was warm, there was a chill against her damp flesh. After shaking off the feeling, she made her way across the yard, and to the trellis.

As she carefully climbed, she could hear her parents voices, but could not make out what they were saying.

Suddenly, the chill returned, but not in her body. It was in her mind. Perhaps they had discovered that she was not in her bed, and that she had ran-away, been kidnapped by Indians, or bandits. A million scenarios ran through her head, as the fear welled-up inside her, and caused her to stop moving.

She tried to think of some excuse, why she was out of her bed, and not in the house, but they all seemed feeble. At this point, she had a choice:

either finish climbing the trellis, or go back to the ground. Although she was thin, and light, she knew it would not support her weight forever. So, she finished her climb. But one on the roof of the porch, she could tell they weren't talking. In fact, by the sound of it, they were up to something not all that different from what she was just doing.

There was a sense of relief that they were otherwise occupied, and she had not been caught sneaking-out, but there was also curiosity. Emma had never seen a man's thing before, and she wondered how close she had come in the fashioning of her latest toy. So she decided to take a peek inside her parents room to see if she could see anything. She reckoned that she wouldn't be able to, even though the full moon had lit-up the night, and that there room would be dark. But, she was wrong about this.

After creeping along the porch-roof, and around the corner toward her parent's window, she saw the bright glow of an oil-lamp spill through the pane of glass. Evidently, they were in there with the room fully lit, and having sex! She couldn't believe it! Maybe her parents weren't the prudish hypocrites she had always assumed they were?

And the sounds that were coming from their room: Emma could hear her father grunt every time his flesh would slap against her mother's; and she could, likewise, hear her mother let out a little yelp when this would happen. They sounded as if they were enjoying themselves, but not nearly as enthusiastic as she did earlier. None-the-less, she had to see what they were up to...


Emma cautiously peered into her parents room from outside their bedroom window, and saw them in the middle of there intimate coupling. They were doing it like animals -not only spirit, but in form. Her father was behind her mother, with her mother's rump posted high in the air, while her head rested on a pillow. It was almost the way dogs do it, and she thought this seemed both naughty and fun. Also, she wondered if it felt any different than laying face-up, and reckoned she would try it this way on her next visit to the tack-room. For the meantime, she thought it best to quietly sit there, and watch, before sneaking back into her room. They might hear her, and catch her up past her bedtime. Besides, there was more, she wanted to see.

The young girl spotted her father's cock as it pistoned in-and-out of her mother's cunny. It glistened with pussy-nectar in the warm glow of the

lantern-light. She saw her mother's large bosom, that was pressed against the mattress, giggle with every fierce impact of her father's thrusts. She could hear their muffled moans, cries, and whimpers, as they indulged in their carnal act. The scene was making her wet again, and she could not help but feel somewhat jealous.

She wanted -so badly- to know what it felt like -to feel the hands of another grip her taut, little ass, as he hammered his swollen member deep inside her. But then she witnessed something she did not expect: her father withdrew the entire length rigid pole. It dripped with the wetness of his wife, as he took hold, and aimed it at her mother's butt-hole. She gasped at the though of what he was about to do, as her mother lifted her head from the pillow, and got on all-fours. It seemed that her prudish mom was giving him better access to that forbidden place, and that the look on her face was eager for the untoward invasion.

Emma watch her mother's expression go from grimace, to relief, as her father sunk his turgid rod deep into her mother's ass. She moaned enthusiastically as her husband pumped at her sphincter, and even pushed back against him, as to force his member farther into her bowels. Their spying daughter reeled at the lecherous visage before her, as she never could have imagined that her parents could be so perverse.

Emma felt uncomfortable, and a little revolted, for her covert invasion of her parent's privacy. Yet she was thrilled by it at the same time! She could feel the hot wetness of her little gash running down her leg. She wanted so badly to reach down, and finger herself, but dared not to do so. Knowing if she did, she might make a noise that they might hear, and that was not an option. She would have to wait until she got back to her room, slip into bed, and put a pillow over her face. This was the only way that she was going to find the relief she needed. The only problem was that she could not wait for them to finish; she had to sneak back to her room, now!

The young girl decided to take the risk. The burning lust that welled within her from watching her parents needed immediate release. So, she crept on her hands-and-knees across the porch-roof, and in through her bedroom window. She tiptoed over to her bed, and silently pulled the blankets and pillows to the floor, as she didn't want the springs to make noise while she relieved herself for the second-time that night.

She could hear her parents through the walls. Their salacious noises, the creaking of their bed, spurred her own wanton desire. She could see her father, in her mind's eye, pounding his turgid shaft into her mother's tender asshole. And just as she did earlier, she lifted her nightgown over

her head, and let it fall to the floor.

Her skin tingled with arousal as she laid on her bedding, opened her legs, and pulled them back. But this time, there would be no teasing. What she had just seen, and the restraint she exercised in not playing with herself outside their window, was all she could take.

Emma's young pussy was soaking as both her hands made their way to the crux of her sex. All-the-while, she kept an ear trained on the sounds that her parents were making: her mother's moans were punctuated by her father relentless thrusts, to which she could tell when he sped-up, or slowed down. And when the girl began to work herself with her fingers, she regretted leaving her wax toy behind in the barn

She buried the two middle-fingers of her right-hand deep into her sodden snatch, while the fingertips of her left rubbed at her swollen but-ton. And she soon found herself in sync with her father's coital rhythm. She wanted so desperately to feel the tallow cock she had made pounding into her depths; but moreover, she felt she needed the real thing.

The young major's daughter was awash in her libidinous desires as she fucked herself with her small digits, listened to her parents ecstatic calls, and imagined the scene in the next room. It was then that she heard her mother begin to call-out loudly, and she knew that her mother was cumming. This, in turn, caused her father to do the same, and moments later, she followed-suit.

Cora Pickering fell back on the bed, panting, and her large breast glistening with sweat.

"Hand me a towel," she ordered her husband, between labored breathes, "so I can wipe you goo off my backside."

"Jesus, Cora, " Brandt began, as he reached for the towel on the nightstand, and tossed it over to her, "I though you were gonna wake up the kids! It's a good thing they sleep like the dead!"

"We're lucky that way, I guessed." she mused, as she reached around, and started to dab the jism leaking from her violated rectum, "Besides, honey, " she continued, "you're like a raging-bull, when the mood hits you, and I can't help but loving the things you do to me."

As far as Major Brandt Pickering was concerned, his wife's flattery would get her everywhere with him.

"I reckon you've really come to enjoy that!" he concluded.

"Well, you were right," Cora replied, in a matter-of-fact way, "we don't want any more kids, and my mouth doesn't do anything for you. And, yes, I really enjoy it!"

Cora and Brandt had two children, Emma and Samuel. Samuel had recently turned thirteen, and was growing-up quickly (a little too quickly for his mother). He was already starting to show more than a passing interest in girls, and there was a few time she had to scold him for staring at the ladies-of-ill-fame that lounged about the front porch of the local brothel. It was a bit unsettling to her that he seemed to prefer the dark ones -especially the Mexican whores. This, of course, would never do for the gentrified families of the Pickering's, and the Best's. Both were refined families from back east, and marrying below their station would not be tolerated.

They were pressed for time with young Emma. She was a year-and-a half away from her Debutante Ball, and her parents would soon be sending her back-east to live with her maternal grandparents (Augustus and Lorelei Best). Their daughter would have be accepted to a renown finishing school, and be paraded among the Hartford, Connecticut elite. It was all this time on the frontier that worried Cora and Brandt -as their daughter had become somewhat of a tomboy. She had been in fights at school, and seemed to enjoy fishing and swimming more than needlepoint and poetry. It was their hope that Cora's mother and father could smooth Emma's rough edges, and turn her into the proper lady that she was meant to be.

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