Emilly
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2010 by mattwatt

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A repost of my Emily story with some proof reading done.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa   Reluctant   Sister   MaleDom  

Emily Gallagher led a sufficient life. Many would condemn the very idea, hoping for and searching for fulfillment in many ways but Emily's life was sufficient, at least for her.

Divorced and 28 she was totally unaware of that very truthful maxim that at that age women are beginning to be at the very peak of their beauty, charm and sexiness. She wasn't one to stand in front of the mirror and assess her body or her beauty.

Emily has spent the past five years, almost, from a certain point of view, wasted years, getting over the divorce and into her very sufficient life.

It was, however, not a life that was designed to please or to bring joy or passion or love. It was only sufficient, marked by the fact that Emily was left after the divorce with enough money to not need to worry at all. "He", she always just thought of him as 'he' to impersonalize the bastard that she knew him to be, had wanted out badly enough to chase what Emily thought was an almost pre-pubescent skirt that money was no object.

So, life was sufficient for Emily. She knew that. Her life filled her corners, so to speak, but did absolutely nothing to fulfill her. That was our Emily.

She spent a good deal of her time at the country club, one that "he" didn't belong to any more, so it was okay for Emily. There was a regular round of lunches with friends, almost always girlfriends, a little bit of tennis, a little bit of car playing. It filled the contours of Emily's sufficient life.

As for her, that is Emily without the crutch of the country club, the country club girls, the country club activities, the country club luncheons, she was an unabashed beauty. But, you see, Emily didn't know that.

She lived in this perverse age that worshipped, as 'he' had, skinny women, who sported neither hips, nor tits nor an ass nor much in the way of personality to go with the white toothed smile and blond hair.

Emily was a medieval painter's dream, wet dream in fact. Her 36d tits, which she thought much to big and cow-like, were a positive wonder. And her ass, which she, of course, thought was too big and fat, was neither of those but rounded and marvelous to the touch, although no one had been touching that ass for the past five years. She had an ass that would positively glorify thongs, bikini panties or the full cut 'ganny' style.

But 'he' had left her for his latest version of a 21st century Twiggy, and in the process proved himself to not only be a cad, but fairly blind to boot.

There was one key to Emily, to her personality, who she was, what she wanted for herself. It was, of course, the key that had all this time eluded her. It was also the key that, when presented to 'him' on a silver platter by Emily herself, not realizing fully the implications of the gift she was offering, was rejected out of hand for his dream of blond hair and a short skirt, sans hips, sans ass, sans tits, sans almost anything that would make a woman worth holding.

For, you see, Emily was a true submissive. She didn't know that, at least not yet, not when this tale begins. She never reflected clearly on those childhood games played out in the tangled thatch of the abandoned cemetery near her house with the Dickmann brother, Harold and Lance. Games that saw Emily as the settler woman taken by indians, or the woman on the merchant ship taken by pirates, or the innocent girl taken by big city gangsters, every single one of which scenarios demanded that Emily, once conveniently caught, be stripped at least to her pre-adolescent panties and tied to a tree. The Dickmann brothers had been enthusiastic but never knew what to do with Emily's sexuality either, and didn't get around to figuring it out before her older sister Samantha caught them stripping their captive, her little sister, down to a nice pair of pink panties in preparation for being, as usual, tied to a tree. Sam had raised holy hell and threatened to tell their folks, sending the Dickmann brothers off in a funk.

But, credit to Emily, those days of being the captive, of being stripped as the captive, and being tied to a tree wearing only the latest version of her pretty panties never really left her or her imagination.

Sure, where men were concerned, since 'he' took off, leaving Emily rich but unfulfilled, there had been no sexual interchange with Emily but there were times, when Emily let those childhood games invade her space enough to bring on the heavy breathing and let her fingers do sexually what no one else was doing at all.

But once in the very twilight of her relationship, her marriage to 'him', she'd offered, truthfully and desperately to do 'anything' he wanted, 'anything at all'. It was a measure of his shallowness that he'd missed that hint, a hint not even that Emily was fully aware of.

He couldn't see his way past his latest infatuation to accept the offer and begin a life time of exploring the word 'anything'. An 'anything' that Emily in the pit of her being really and truly meant.

But that's our Emily, she of the sufficient life. Emily Gallagher, the sexual carnival waiting to be, waiting to happen, waiting to be called to life by someone, anyone who recognized the signs, and read between Emily's lines, and penetrated to the zaftig core of her sexuality.

But it certainly hadn't happened yet, not in these five years since that divorce, and there didn't seem to be any prospect of it happening today, for today was Tuesday and that meant some cards at the country club, and lunch with her sister Samantha, Sam, also at the country club.

Emily entered the grill bar at the club, where she was to meet Sam for an informal lunch, their normal Tuesday.

She waved and smiled at a few people, on the way across the grill room, and finally saw Sam, who was waiting for her and then waved.

Sam got up to greet Emily and launched into a hug. The two sisters had always been close and Sam had appointed herself Emily's protector, especially since the time when 'he' decamped for hipless-assless-titless paradise.

"Em," Samantha gushed. "You look wonderful! What have you been up to?"

Emily spoke back to her sister in a tone of voice that indicated that the question hardly need be asked:

"Sam, it's Tuesday, what do you think I've been up to? It's my tennis day. That's all."

"Well, it certainly makes you look radiant," Sam countered.

Sam giggled then and added: "It's good that you did't wear your tennis skirt and tiny tennis panties in here; the men would positively be assaulting you, and probably half the women too!"

"Sam, stop it," Emily said severely.

"Well, it's true, Em," Samantha said, "Even if you won't realize it or accept the fact, you are a walking, talking lovely vision!"

"Vision, yeah," Emily scoffed, "A vision that no man has wanted to contemplate for years."

"Well, honey," Samantha said, "After the way you closed yourself down, prior to the time when 'he' moved out."

(You see Samantha was fully aware of Emily's penchant for referring to her ex as 'he' or 'him'; so, she joined in scoffing at him in the same way.)

"It was self protection, Sam, you now that," Emily said in a softer vein.

"Yes, I do, honey, but it just went on for so long, and it doesn't even seem to be over at this point! You should give some of the men around here a chance, hell I know of some of the women who'd jump at you in a second."

"Sam!" Emily said in a semi-shocked tone of voice.

"Well, Em, it's true," Samantha said, sticking up for her point of view.

"Can we please change the subject? Let's not talk about me today," Emily almost pleaded.

"You're right, honey," Samantha said. "Let's eat and talk about other

"Hey, did you ever get someone to tend your grass? I know you were talking about it last week," Samantha ventured.

"No," Emily admitted, "But there is a neighborhood kid who is supposed to be doing that kind of thing to make some money. He's a teenager and seems to be very nice, real straight kind of kid. I've been thinking of calling him, if I ever remember to do it."

"Write it down," Smantha, the very practical sister, insisted. "You'll certainly forget it if you don't write it down."

Emily laughed, "Sam, it's uncanny and a bit scary that you know me so well! And, yes, I'll write it down."

She said this with an indulgent grin on her face, for despite all of her periodic badgering, she loved her sister dearly. She pulled a small note pad out of her purse, where she did, in fact, write notes to herself down, and noted that she should call Josh Evans, when she got home and see if he could take the job keeping her grass and grounds in shape.

The two of them nattered on about this and that, over a very nice lunch. They did really enjoy their Tuesday lunches. Then it was Emily's time to play some cards in the car room with 'the girls'.

The two sisters parted with a hug and kiss, and Emily promised to call Samantha and keep her up to date with happenings in her life, although, she secretly thought, there were no happenings in her life, nor was she really expecting any.

Then the thought of Josh Evans popped into her head again, and she reminded herself again to call him on the phone to get him to work on her lawns.

Emily did make the call to Josh and got his mother, Blanche on the phone. She identified herself and told Blanche what she was calling for. Then she heard Blanche call out:

"Hey, Mr. Big Time Business Man, you've got a live one on the phone."

It made Emily laugh.

She hardly expected the deep voice that she heard next on the phone.

"Josh?" she said tentatively into the phone, not even sure if it was him.

"Yes, this is Josh," the deep resonant voice continued.

"This is, uh, Emily Gallagher, you know, up the street," she continued, somehow strangely effected by his voice, but not sure why it should give her goosebumps.

Emily silently cursed herself for a ninny and was about to continue the conversation, when he said into the phone:

"Emily, ah Mrs. Gallagher, are you there?"

She let out a little giggle at her own silliness, reacting in such a way to only a voice and said:

"I, uh, was wondering if I might talk to you about doing my lawn care and such things around the property here, Josh."

"Why, yes, I would, Mrs ... Emily," he continued. "Shall I come over and look it over now and we can talk about how much etc."

"Oh, yes, but give me a minute, I'm fresh from the shower and I'm not wearing any clothes right now," she said next.

Emily mentally kicked herself immediately:

"What in hell did you say that to him for?" she chided herself angrily. "It's something that he just didn't need to know. You're getting soft in the head, girl!"

"Ahhhh, I see," he said more softly into the phone then.

And the simple 'ahh, I see, ' sent another shiver through Emily, as she wrapped her arms around herself in an almost protective fashion.

"I'll be there right away," he said in a final deep soft tone.

"Yes, I'll be ready," she said, hanging up.

She was shaken and she didn't know why at all. She'd heard other men's deep voices before, and didn't know why this one should be any special. But she did remember the goosebumps and her strange but immediate reaction.

It was then that she pulled herself out of her reverie.

"Get moving, girl, he's coming right over and he only lives down the block!" she said severely and she flew into action.

She reached into her panty drawer and drew out a pair of white cotton bikinis and, with little reflection rejected those for a pair of black stretch lace bikinis, not pausing to ask but only murmuring to herself, as she pulled them up and snugged them over her ass:

"Don't get silly here, girl!"

She put a bra on, a fairly nice, lacy one and was grabbing for a pair of jeans, when she heard the doorbell ring and she shrieked. She went hopping from foot to foot out of the bedroom, pulling the almost impossibly tight jeans on as she went and only finally got her tee shirt on, and was snugging it down to her waist as she opened the door.

"Uh, Josh!" she said, smoothing her hair.

 
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