Becoming Emily: Phase

[The story of my need and of my meeting with Miss Alisa and Miss Belle has been recounted by the latter in EvieUKNE’s “Belle: Chapter 7”; my task here is to give my point of view of the events which followed. Some will be covered from Belle’s point of view in Chapter 8 of her story, but this provides my perspective – as Miss Belle requires. It is also the prelude to a new collaborative project between the two of us].

As the machine took the payment, I was conscious not of the money, which I could easily afford, but of giving something much more personal; myself.

I looked at Belle, who was smiling. What had I done? I did not know, except that I wanted to be with this woman more than I had wanted anything ever. I had just paid more than £30k to have her with me for the weekend, and her life-partner, Miss Alisa had, in effect, taken the money and let me have her.

Miss Alisa put the machine back in her fashionable bag, smiling.

“I shall see the two of you soon,” she said. The look she gave Belle spoke of her love for her, but there was more to it; however, I did not know her well enough to read the riddle. “I shall send some things over for you, my Belle.” That seemed to me, to speak volumes, but in a language I could not read.

As Belle and I caught a cab back to Eaton Terrace, the erotic tension between us sizzled. I was not sure what would happen, or even how it would work, but I know I wanted it. This weekend would be a watershed; from it the river of my life would flow in another direction.

As we got into the drawing room it hit me. This was going to happen. But I hardly knew her. Oh, but how I wanted to. As we sat, I said:

“Belle, it is the brilliant, unspoken erotic tension between Emily and Sansa which draws me in to the heart of that brilliantly-written story. Emily starts as her superior, but the change is subtle. Perhaps we can start at the point where Emily realises what she needs and hopes Sansa will intuit it?”

I knew that Belle had read EvieUKNE’s story, “Love and Prostitution”, and the fact that she had volunteered to be my “date”, to become Sansa, Emily’s servant and then lover (and more), told me that she had seen something there; the question for me was whether it was what I had seen?

Evie smiled warmly:

“I agree the gradual building of their love and the revelation of Emily’s submissive side. Your idea sounds just perfect to me”

I was so glad and responded enthusiastically:

“Emily found it difficult to speak of what she needed, but Sansa loved her and knew of her instincts. There was an element in that of Sansa making Emily admit what she desired.”

Belle smiled at me, and silently beckoned me to continue.

“Oh Sansa, our love is wonderful, and you know I hope that you are all I want, even if our business may mean we have sex with others. It is purely business. It is you to whom I am devoted – forever!”

Belle looked at me with love in her eyes.

“I am devoted to you too, my precious love. I cannot quite speak for my Alisa, who may yet I foresee have her conditions, but I am sure that if this is to be what you, and now I, wish, you will agree to them. I already adore you for your trust and love, and will support your aspirations because I want our love to be possible. We shall explore it in our “date” Pixie.”

I replied that I would accept any and all conditions for the same reason:

“I am, or want to be your Emily, in all the senses in which Emily was in the story. But I am hoping that just as our love grows, you might find the role of Sansa in private one you would… well… oh golly, I suppose that’s why I will accept any conditions. Somehow it makes me, well, you arouse me beyond words, and any conditions I accept because, well because that is how much I want you!”

Smiling, knowing that I knew she knew, but drawing out the tension, Belle responded with another tease:

“I want to be your Sansa in every sense and because we both love the story so much but each other even more, I wonder if there’s a way you perceive that would make it even better for you?”

She was going to draw this out of me slowly and with exquisite agony.

“Emily is, well I am not sure of the right word. Submissive is a word which gets abused, if the pun might be pardoned, but it is the closest I can come to it. She allows, nay needs, on occasions for her Sansa to take a lead in their private life and to do as she says. Oh my, is that too bad of me?”

I felt the blood rise up my neck and flood my cheeks. I was relying on her understanding the story and understanding me, and yet I hardly knew her. But I knew what my spirit was telling me. The role-play would be wonderful; if that is all there was, then she was still worth it. Oh, but if only the other, the connection I thought was there, really was there?

Her words shot thrills through me. Like Sansa with Emily, she let the erotic tension sizzle.

“I am shocked my love.” She paused for a micro-second. “Shocked in the nicest way possible. I embrace being your Sansa in every sense and even further if that pleases you. YOU are my centre, my heart. Without you I am nothing and I desire that WE be as ONE in everything. Please tell me your deepest desires and I promise to do my best to fulfil them for you.”

I felt faint. Suddenly there was not enough air in the room. The shivers of recognition ran through me like a series of shocks; I tingled everywhere it was possible to tingle.

And then I got onto my hands and knees in my own house, and slowly approached Belle, looking up into her beautiful eyes, I smiled.

“There are times, and this is one, when my most earnest wish is to be yours and for your will to lead me to do what pleases you, my love, my heart’s desire most. You know if it were, otherwise, I should want us to be ONE, but I accept Miss Alisa is your life-partner. And if she makes conditions, I can accept them as long as I can have a share of you.”

Kneeling there, looking up, I thought I had done enough, but still she held back. The tease was torturing me. Had I mistaken it? Was I simply projecting my own desires onto this beautiful woman I wanted to be with so much?

“I think your secret wishes must be very deep or very dark my love. I would love you to be open with me, openness is a really useful fertiliser in a relationship that is to grow and flourish.”

There was to be no hiding place, no euphemism, the key was now in my hand. I either used it to turn the lock, or I refrained. To do the first was to take an enormous risk. She could look at me uncomprehending and tell me this was simply an escort job for her, and that I should not confuse that with reality; that would be fair enough; it was where we had started barely a couple of hours ago. To do the second was to lose any chance there might have been. I knew what I must do.

So, taking a deep breath I said it:

“I want to be both your lover and, in private, your servant girl, my will to be aligned with all and any wishes you have. Just as for you, my darling, the selling of yourself provides a sweet debasement which arouses you, for me, submitting utterly to your will here, is the debasement which both arouses me and yet at the same time debases me. I would, in short, wear your collar in things private, and for me the belt is that collar!”

I bit my lower lip. The blow could come at any point. My stomach felt full of butterflies. Then, to my relief, she smiled:

“Good girl, my good girl! How delighted I am that you find it in yourself to trust me so. The very idea of locking you into a belt and keeping you in it until my desires for you cry out to be satisfied thrills me beyond words. I cannot abide slavery or the bdsm equivalent, but what you propose is such a gift that delights me beyond measure. To sate your wish for debasement in such a manner makes me want you forever. Let us go to your bedroom and consummate our love.”

So saying, she stood and helped me to my feet, bending to kiss me. As I felt our lips touch for the first time, the feelings almost overwhelmed me. Fortunately she was holding me and so, together, we went upstairs.

Belle sat on the bed as though it were her room, an act decisive and subtle; she seemed so on the same wavelength that, once more, I was surprised – but delighted. She looked at me with those lovely dark eyes.

“I must say, dear Pixie, that I am utterly delighted that it seems from what we have just said to each other that there is more between us than client and escort; is that your understanding?”

“Yes, Miss Belle, it is, and can I say that I am delighted that you share my feelings? I will always, though, respect that Miss Alisa is your life-partner, and I am in no way discouraged or downhearted or jealous at playing a lesser role, as long as I am in your life!”

The way her face lit up, told me all I needed to know.

“Can I explain to you, dearest Pixie, how I think we might make this work for us? And though you will be my personal servant, let me emphasise the ‘personal’ part of that. You MUST always be able to tell me what you want and think; I think you will find the process a pleasant one.”

From the way her face lit up as she said it, I was confident that she was correct. Even the short conversation we had just was enriched by our exchange of ideas and her drawing me out of my shyness.

“Now Pixie, if this works, we shall be wanting you to be an escort too. You must be willing to enjoy the debasement of others having your body; I shall have your soul. But I hope that I have intuited correctly, that a part of you will enjoy the fact that I have Alisa?”

Blushing, I admitted that it was as she had said.

“Well, perhaps a first step on the way to becoming my Emily would be if we reversed our roles here? Though I am the escort in name, I think the real fact, Pixie, is that it is you who are the escort; I have a sense you will offer more than money for what we both want. Would it be agreeable for me to treat you as though you were the escort?”

Belle was, of course, correct. Though I had paid money for the weekend, the facts were as she had presented them. I was giving my whole self for this, so yes, if anyone was the whore here, it was me.

“So, my Emily, the first thing I require is that you divest yourself of all clothing and jewellery. I want you stripped of all outward signs of who you have been. You will do that now!”

Her words were firm, but not stern.

I unbuttoned my blouse and put it, folded, to one side.

“I see you favour a chemise, Pixie.” She smiled knowingly. “And why would that be?”

As I unzipped my skirt, shimmed out of it, and put that to one side too, I answered:

“Because my breasts are too small to need a bra, Miss.”

She smiled broadly.

“In that sense, Emily, you are my little one; but fear not, I rather like exquisite small breasts, and I have a feeling yours will not disappoint me.”

In an effort to see if that was the case, I pulled my chemise off with more haste than elegance, rather entangling my hair, to her amusement.

She surveyed me as I stood in my knickers and stockings and heels.

“Come closer my dearest, I wish to inspect what I have here.”

Then, in a way novel to me, she lavished praise and attention, and kisses, on my breasts. For the first time I was pleased with them. So often they had made me feel inferior, silly I know, but there you are. But with Belle, my Sansa, it was otherwise.

“I should like your stockings, heels and garter-belt off next, dearest Emily.”

I obliged, taking care to remove these garments with rather more elegance than had attended the removal of my chemise.

“You are a skinny little thing, Emily/Pixie, but again, you are fortunate, I rather enjoy the charms of a petite woman, and so will, I am sure, enjoy exploring yours. Now I should like you to turn and bend, keep your knickers on for now, as I shall be exploring their state.”

I loved the soft laugh she gave as she uttered those words. She was entering into the pleasure I was getting, and so becoming part of it, as I became part of her pleasure.

I turned and, widening my legs, I bent, hands on my knees, knowing how open, how exposed I was but for my knickers. I felt her breath on me and then I whimpered as I felt her fingers press my knickers where they were sticking to my wetness.

“It seems to me, my Emily, that you are pleased to be in this state for your Sansa. But is it not a little odd that a professor should be so presenting herself to one old enough to be a student at your university?”

At that thought, shivers passed through me.

“Yes Miss Sansa, but I am yours to do with as you want.”

“A correction, Emily Pixie. What I want is what you want.”

Then she pressed my knickers, so they and her fingers went into me. I moaned, but stayed bent over.

“You see my Emily Pixie, what we do is never what I want, the love that is there between us is creative and redemptive, it allows you to release to me all you want for one simple reason. What you want is what I want. The same is true in reverse.”

As Belle, or Sansa as she was now firmly in my mind, spoke these wonderful words of hope, her fingers teased the entrance to my wetness, making it hard not to sway. As she pulled my knickers down to reveal my bottom and rosebud, I gasped. When her wet finger rimmed it, teasingly, the gasping grew louder, and I felt myself get wetter.

“Is it the sensations, Emily, or is it the context?”

Trying to order my thoughts as the sensations surged through me was not easy, but somehow, with a struggle I did it.

“The one creates the other; it’s both!”

Then I groaned. But that was because her teasing finger had moved down between my thighs to explore my wetness. As it slipped along my open pussy, I wanted to thrust back and down; but didn’t.

“I like that you are showing restraint Emily. Is that hard?”

Somehow, I managed a high-pitched squeak to the effect that it was.

“You may stand, but do not pull your knickers up. If you keep your legs parted, they won’t fall off.”

So aroused as to be shivering, I nonetheless did as she told me. It was not that my own selfish desires did not matter, neither was it as though she was making me do anything; this was an act of mutual pleasure giving and the sweeter for it.

My body quivered as if surprised, when she knelt, and her sweet lips closed around my button. Her tongue gently flicked the end of it repeatedly. I whimpered in sweet pleasure with my button tingling. To steady myself I put my hands on her head, but still felt as though I was losing my balance. Belle helped to provide support by inserting two curled fingers inside me, quickly finding my special spot, which she massaged gently as my whimpers turned into moans. As she increased the tempo of her attentions, I began to lose restraint, the warmth spreading through me. I knew what would happen if she continued. The same was true for her; she stopped.

Belle looked up at me. Her lipstick was smeared, and I was sure marked my lips. I felt myself shiver again.

“I should like you to put that into practice, my Emily.”

Immediately what had been my own need for a climax

I gasped audibly when I saw her lacy white bra and g-string which highlighted the contrast in our skin tones. That lace triangle attracted my fingers, and pulling it aside to reveal her smooth wetness, my fingers slid slowly, gently, up and down between her lips. Smiling, I asked if she could just raise her bottom so that I could slide her knickers off. I loved the glee in her eyes as she did do. I slid them down, noting the spider’s web strands of wetness which stretched and broke as I pulled them towards her knees, leaving a residue of wetness as I removed them. Smiling, I asked her to put her long, shapely legs across my shoulders. As she adjusted her position, I could smell her scent. I so wanted to explore her treasure.

My fingers touched her soft, swollen lips, which made her gasp. As I parted them, I pushed my face closer until my extended tongue could dip between them, licking slowly upwards. The taste of her nectar, slightly salty, on my tongue made me tingle. Pressing my face into her wetness, I lapped her essence; the mewling sounds coming from her told me all I needed to know, and encouraged, my tongue wriggled its way through her lips to taste the tangy inner wetness; she gasped.

For a few minutes I rested there. Her lasered mound occupying my gaze, my tongue curled up to press her button upwards; I massaged it. Her groans became louder, audible even though her thighs were pressed against my ears. The intimacy of the headlock, her scents, her tastes – her – aroused me almost beyond the baring.

As she wriggled and held me tight, I moved my lips until they were touching her button. I sucked on it, slowly at first, and then in pulses. As she shuffled and pressed herself against me, I crossed two fingers and sent them to follow where my tongue had explored the way. Parting her petals, they made their way to the heart of her intimacy; I loved the gooey feel of her there, and began to explore her inner wetness. Finding her special place, I began to massage it, simultaneously increasing the power of the pulse-sucking on her button. That made her push into me, and I could hear her calling “Emily, oh Emily!”

Sansa could not help but press forward now, and sense of decorum lost in the fog of lust and love that enveloped us both until, out of the mists, there emerged a small squirt of her essence. It was the prelude to the flood.

I felt her grip my head and spasm into my face. As she came, I felt a tingle shoot through my sex, my nipples ached. As her juices coated me, I felt myself have a petite mort; I shivered. We were ONE.

How much time passed I do not know. Time stood still. Those feelings shooting through me had come from her; we were that close.

As her thighs gradually relaxed their hold, I licked her clean. I felt her hands on my head. I looked up.

“You look delicious like that, MY Emily! That face cream suits you!”

Feeling both red, and sticky, I smiled.

“Well it tastes delicious. Would you like a taste?”

“I should like nothing better my dear Emily.”

She adjusted herself, as I did. Kneeling up between her thighs, we kissed tenderly. Breaking the kiss she looked at me, her eyes sparkling:

“You are correct, Emily. Miss Sansa loves the taste.”

“Thank you, Miss Sansa!”

I loved the light laugh she gave that.

“Are you pulling your knickers up, or are they staying down there?”

“Well at least I have them on, sort of,” I joked.

“Get them off, I doubt you will need them!”

Nor did I.

I helped her undress, and we retired to my bed.

An orgasm or three later (well one for me and two more for her, if anyone was counting), we fell asleep in each other’s arms. Aroused by the coolness of the night air, I snuggled into her and kissed her breasts.

Moving quietly so as not to wake her, I donned a robe and wandered to the kitchen to prepare a light supper of smoked salmon and spinach with lightly toasted wholemeal bread. She smiled when I woke her.

“You are the best, MY Emily,” she said. I was thrilled. That was what I wanted,

The rest of the weekend could not have been more perfect.

The closeness which had manifested itself in our lovemaking was present elsewhere. We spent a morning down at Borough Market, lunching out by the Thames, followed by a walk along the South Bank, before returning to my house.

“I know this is hard for you, Belle,” I said, reverting to her name rather than her role.

“Hard, Pixie? In what way?”

“Well,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed, but knowing I was going to confess all so I might as well do so now, “this is a ‘date’ for which you are being paid and for which I am paying, but unless I am utterly deluded – and you are in line for an Oscar – there is more to it than that. Am I right?”