Emilly
Chapter 3

Copyright© 2010 by mattwatt

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 3 - 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  

The week turned out to be a major back and forth struggle for Emily. She should have suspected it, yet she didn't. She really thought that, when she got up that morning and had no remorse about using 'her little friend' that she'd made a major step forward. But it turned out to be an illusion for her.

She spent the day entangled in her own thoughts. She tried tennis and the card room that day but was miserable at one and a disaster at the other. She was forced in the end to apologize to both her tennis partner and opponents and certainly to the girls in the card room. She told them, ingeniously, that she wasn't feeling like herself at all those days and it unfortunately showed in her tennis playing and card playing both.

She went home disconsolate, and spent forgotten hours with tv or playing solitaire on the computer, either one or the other. She really couldn't remember which she'd done at what time or what hour.

But that night, after she'd showered and was ready for bed, as she approached the bed, she didn't bother with her usual nightgown, and Emily had developed, ever since the rejection of 'him', into a flannel night gown gal. She'd always tried to wear slight, skimpy things that she hoped would appeal to 'his' imagination and lust. But she never really measured up in 'his' eyes, and that was a fault that Emily had taken to heart and allowed to cow her and turn her to a less than fulfilling life. It was certainly the door to her 'sufficiency'; the 'sufficiency' that was smothering her.

And the only real crack in that facade, that she both constructed, when 'he' left for his skinny bitch, and continued to maintain, was Josh.

When she gave herself time to think about it, it was depressing that her life contained two major peaks of personal emotion:

One being tied to a tree wearing bright colored panties by neighborhood boys that certainly know how to get things started but never knew how to finish at all.

And the other, which was triggered by the accident of dropping on the floor the money that she was going to use to pay the law boy, and his outrageous reaction, that still and always these days, bobbed within her mind and spoke his lines to her either on cue or unbidden.

So that night, coming from the shower, Emily was relieved to feel a need, and to be looking forward to some time with 'her little friend'.

"Is it possible," she said to herself, "That this is the way that I'll lose myself, and maybe also find myself? Is this the way to have this pocket, this secret world of pleasure and not be so constantly worried about what Josh Evans said and what the implications of that were."

That was the hopeful, vain thought that she had. Because even, and especially, her play with 'her little friend' was driven by and determine by that one encounter with Josh Evans.

But Emily couldn't stand the tension of living only for his next appearance and so each night with 'her little friend' was a brief but increasingly important relief for her.

She approached the bed, and didn't even think of bothering with a nightgown or even panties. She knew these would just be in the way, when she reached into that drawer and drew it out and began her play.

The play was designed to drive Josh and his rude words from her mind but never really accomplished that end, for he was always somehow there at the beginning and end of her sessions.

It's true that in the middle, when the machine in her hand really began to push her up the hill and over its brow, that she was alone with the one friend in the world that she knew wouldn't betray her, or point out her short comings, or ignore her entreaty of 'anything', or outright scare her with the implications of rude words spoken with a snotty smile. And it was then that she lived in a kind of contentment that she began to look forward to and depend upon.

She put off even thinking about these sessions, hoping not to trigger that contrary voice in her head that would argue against such an artificial, and lewd form of personal peace and pleasure.

She put off thinking about it until she approached the bed and, in an idle moment, realized that she had no desire or intention to put on that flannel gown or even panties. Because it was then that she understood, with frankly a smile on her face, that she intended to sleep tonight with 'her little friend' again.

And Emily allowed herself to be wanton with that little machine, 'her little friend'. She tried things, experimented in a way that was so foreign to the persona that her friends, and even her sister knew her to be, that she knew that they'd be even more shocked about her practice than she was.

She always was ready for it, wet for it, hot for it. And she always started by shoving it into her pussy tunnel and greeting it with a sigh and later, a few days later, with an actual greeting:

"How are you tonight!"

(This was the correct measure of how afraid she was of Josh's words on the one hand and the reproving voice that was still silent, on the other. Because it was, these days, only in the company of her faithful bed companion that she achieved the peace and, by the way, the passion that she wanted.)

But after the first night, the pushing of this 'little friend' into her pussy tunnel was only a preliminary for Emily, for she began to allow herself to do things that had only, up until then, been shadows in her thoughts and imagination.

When it had been in her pussy tunnel a bit, vibrating and singing its siren song to Emily, who lay back with her eyes clenched closed, her teeth chattering, and her mind blissfully empty of Josh on the one hand, or the memory of the Dickmanns on the other, for now the reproving voice, her constant companion these past five years, was strangely silent, when it had been there a bit, she longed to be creative with it next.

It made its way, more often than not into her mouth next. She became an addict for the taste of her own vaginal suffusion, and the wetness of her pussy tunnel. She waited for it to be wet for her, knowing that it's next place was her mouth, and as she did this, she became fairly adept at keeping the brilliant picture of Josh standing over her with his cock now in her mouth, at bay.

Of course at times she gave in, and thought of herself, found herself, kneeling but kneeling almost or totally naked, at his request or order or even because she knew it was proper in his presence and was her place before him. This was one of the sweetest and most disturbing thoughts of all, and she tried to avoid it by simply giving in to the caresses of 'her little friend' first in her pussy but then always in her mouth, a non-Josh, Josh that she didn't need to worry about but could rather control.

But even this was not enough for her after the first two nights or so. She looked around idly and found that any kind of lubrication jelly wasn't part of her store of pharmacopeia.

So, Emily improvised. Because her mind was dominated now by the things she wanted to do for herself, a very poor second best to having someone doing those things to her, with or, usually, without her consent, but mainly because it was that person's will to do such things.

She used kitchen vegie oil and on the third night of play with 'her little friend' she went, in mind blowing fashion for anyone who knew Emily, lunched with her at the club, played tennis with her, played cards with her or was her sister Sam, anyone including Emily herself, she slowly but forcefully pushed 'her little friend first against the resistance of the rose bud of her ass hole and then, maintaining the pressure, forced the little machine up and into her ass.

This was as strange a development for Emily as anything imaginable. Yet, after doing it once, she was hooked on it, and regularly incorporated it into her nightly repertoire.

She even, mirabile dictu, spoke in a sweet whispered voice to the little machine at night, before she used it on her pussy and then her mouth:

"Tonight I'm going to shove you up my ass!"

The crudity of it, the simply delicious sound of the words were a tonic for Emily and the little machine and her play with it pushed Josh Evans, for the time being, to the far edges of her mind.

In her bed, every night since that time when she knelt at his feet and he uttered those words:

"That's where you belong, Mrs. Gallagher, on your knees at my feet."

She began to use 'her little friend' to transport herself to a place where Josh's caustic, and maybe prophetic, words didn't follow easily. At night Emily began to wallow in sensuality, a habit that she'd never allowed herself before, because she saw herself as someone who didn't measure up, who wasn't stick twiggy enough, skinny enough or at least wasn't enough, even with the promise of 'anything', to keep 'him' loyal to her and interested.

She used it wantonly on her pussy tunnel, in her mouth, actually savoring the taste of it, and then, with little private giggles, and private groans, in her ass.

And the only passing thought that gave her pause at night was the thought:

"What would Sam say."

But that thought she pushed away and just paid her attention and her allegiance to 'her little friend.'

Afterwards she slept well and peacefully. After her sessions these days with 'her little friend' she wasn't usually bothered by the Josh dream, although truth to tell, she didn't mind that dream, dream of her being his declared cock sucker. It stirred Emily at some kind of deep level. But that was't a place that she was anxious to go to very often, just when the dream assaulted her.

She woke in the morning with her night time friend still on the table next to the bed, she'd forgotten or neglected to wash it and put it away, as she usually did, the night before.

She was surprised by harsh words greeting her morning:

"Yes, look at it; Emily Gallagher, you're acting like a slut! You need to get a grip on your life and settle down to what you know and like! You need to."

But the problem that Emily had, and the argument that she had against this interfering voice in her head was that the life that it wanted her to settle down to was one that she did know but didn't particularly like.

If anything was happening to our Emily, stirred up by dreams and day time visions of kneeling, in various stages of dress and undress, at Josh's feet, o even dreams and day time visions of that tree, and those Dickmanns and her wearing only the appropriate panties, it was that she was no longer comfortable settling for only the sufficiency that 'he' left for her when he took off for 'assless' land.

So at least today, when she was mentally assaulted by the insistently shrill voice that tried to keep her 'in line' or at least in line with its own persistent thoughts of how her life should be, she argued back.

Her night time trysts had become, for her, too delicious to give up because the bitch in her head was yelling at her again.

Emily discovered that she loved the very 'badness' of it, of playing with 'her little friend' and using that small machine in her wet pussy, or eager wet mouth, or then, hoping that the intelligence of the world and what ever was out there was asleep, in her ass.

Emily, our Emily, she of the bland life, the controlled life, the sufficient life was pushing herself step by step into being a private wanton.

That was the flash of light for the morning, as she took up the argument against the shrill morning voice of disapproval within her. And the strangest part of the morning argument was that Emily realized that she was arguing from the position of one who liked what they were doing that was being condemned.

She rose from bed with a solid and voiced: "So there!" and, picking up 'her little friend', still fragrant from last night's debauch, put it into her mouth, as she walked toward the bathroom, and discovered, once she got into the bathroom with it, that she was grinning broadly at herself.

It was if Emily was emerging.

She realized instantly, however, that the real downside of her 'emergence' would be the necessity of dealing with Josh both in dream and reality. And that did continue to make her nervous, for the dream version, so much sexier than the details, at least, of the real version pushed her toward a confrontation with him that would be coming in a few days and that she trembled about.

"See!" came the shrill voice back at her, as she washed 'her little friend' clean and went back to put it away, "That's what I'm talking about. All of this night time playing is well and good but sooner or later you have to get that boy out of here and out of your life, and playing the slut, the wanton, Emily the night time whore isn't going to help out."

Emily shook her head and whispered desperately out loud now:

"Oh shut up! Just shut up! I'm not going to let you do this to me today."

 
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