Lady Emily's Guardian

Mr. Singer

I sat quietly at the office desk, gazing out of the large window at the snow-covered grounds of Wainwright Hall. The sloping acres were spotted with trees, now bare in the mid-winter chill. I had made Wainwright Hall my home for the past 12 years, but I still marveled at its beauty all year round. In the spring, the hills were covered in yellow and white wildflowers, and the trees were lush and green. Beyond the hills there was a small valley and a pond, a pleasant place in the warm summer. In autumn, the trees turned gold, and shed all upon the hills. And even in the dead of winter, the frost-covered trees and white hills had their own kind of haunting beauty.

I should have been working that cold afternoon. I was an attorney, and though I mostly served the sparsely populated villages surrounding Wainwright Hall, I was kept plenty busy by the wealthy neighbors and local businesses. I had a successful practice, and adding that income to the small fortune that I had earned years ago in South Africa, I could afford to live comfortably enough. The fact that I lived for free in Wainwright Hall, a place that I did not own, made amassing my fortune all the easier. I owned my own estate, further south, but leased it to various tenants, which was enough to keep the house staffed and maintained in my absence. I had my practice near Wainwright Hall, and my own responsibilities right there at the place that I called home.

I had come to live at Wainwright Hall after the death of my good friend, Sir Peter Wainwright. He and I had been close friends since our boyhood at school, and had gone together to South Africa to secure our fortunes. Sir Peter came from wealthy noble stock, and when we returned from our fruitful endeavors, he married a young woman of equally good standing and decent looks. Sir Peter and his wife Anne had one daughter, the young Lady Emily. Lady Anne died in childbirth, and though my friend was a fine-looking and wealthy young man, certainly an eligible bachelor, I don’t believe he ever desired to find another wife. He confessed to me that he had loved his wife very much, and had taken her death very hard. He turned all his love to his young daughter, a lovely child.

I figured that in time, my friend would come to terms his wife’s passing and find another wife. I was ready to settle down myself. But Sir Peter’s illness changed everything. He wrote to me, requesting that I come to him as quickly as I could. Though I had been living on my own since we’d returned to England, Wainwright Hall was only a day’s train ride away, and I spent many holidays there throughout the year. I enjoyed the time with my friend, who had been very depressed since his wife’s untimely passing, and was quite fond of little Lady Emily, a polite but precocious girl.

Of course, I went to Sir Peter’s side quickly. He had been struck by a mysterious and deadly illness, and was surely hours from death. Pale-faced and gaunt, he grabbed me by the arm and made me promise to care for my young goddaughter. “She has no family in this world to speak of,” he said. “And there would be many people eager to manipulate a child who has such a fortune in her name. You are the closest that I’ve ever had to a brother, Aaron…will you care for my daughter like your own?”

I gave him my solemn word, and he died the next morning. I held his sad child, the poor little orphan, in my arms as she cried, her mournful wailing dissolving into fearful whimpers until she fell into an exhausted sleep. She was only four-years-old. She needed protection, and I swore, to my departed friend and to myself, that I would be the one to provide it.

And so, I stayed on at Wainwright Hall. Young Lady Emily already had a nanny, so I kept the kindly old lady on to take care of the child’s day-to-day care and needs as I worked on building my practice. I had tried, and ultimately failed, to start up a business law practice in the south, and so I relocated and expanded my expertise to personal law as well. Though I stayed busy, I made the time to help educate the young girl. Like her father, she was intelligent, and could pick up new skills and information very quickly. She amazed me by learning how to read before the passing of her father; with my help, she mastered speaking, writing, and reading in French by the age of six. And though most people would say that it was unnecessary for a young lady to learn about math and sciences, I taught her in those subjects as well, keeping her up to date on new advances in science and medicine while teaching her arithmetic and even more complex mathematics. She was so incredibly bright, and I even debated sending her off to school to further her education. But she was a young lady, and the last of the Wainwright line, and her place was at Wainwright Hall.

Though she has always treated me with the respect of a daughter to her father, I have always emphasized that Wainwright Hall was her home. “I am only here to help you,” I would say. “I am your guardian, Emily, but I am also your friend.” By her teenage years, she was my most trusted confidant. Though I had a few friends with whom I enjoyed a drink or two at one of the village pubs on a weekend evening, Emily was the one that I trusted and cared for the most. Emily and I had always gotten along famously, and I can recall few disagreements between us. My plans to find a wife and settle down were put on hold, but I did not mind. I was happy enough at Wainwright Hall, and very comfortable indeed.

That snowy afternoon, Emily and I would have one of our few disagreements. As I sat daydreaming, gazing out at the gorgeous wintry scene before me, I heard a soft tapping at the open door. I turned in my seat to see the young lady herself, standing there patiently. At 16, she was the loveliest young lady in the area. I had thrown her an appropriately extravagant debutant ball only a few months before, and since then, she had received countless invitations to parties, some as far away as London. I rarely allowed her to make the trip just to attend a party, but I had accompanied her to a particularly lavish New Year’s Eve ball just the month before.

The pretty girl had also been entertaining a few suitors, many of them eligible young men of fine birth. I did not object to the courting, but I had feared where it might lead. My fears had come to fruition just a couple of days before, and I was sure that this was what my serious-faced goddaughter wished to discuss.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, ever polite when speaking to me, “I don’t wish to disturb you, but there is an urgent matter that we need to address.”

“You’re not disturbing me at all, Emily,” I said. “You have my full attention.”

I did not invite Emily into the room, but that would have been an unnecessary gesture. It was her house, after all. But she nodded and came in slowly, taking a seat across the desk from where I sat.

“I do not want to throw any accusations at you until I’ve heard your side,” she began. I nodded and she continued. “I was just visiting with Miss Catherine Gainsley. You know that her older brother Mr. Maxwell Gainsley has been courting me for several months?”

I nodded. “I do.”

“When you and I have spoken of him, you were very complimentary of his character and social standing,” Emily said.

“Indeed I was,” I agreed. “He is a respectful young gentleman, not unintelligent, and his family has a fortune that is comparable to your own.”

“Some would say that Mr. Gainsley and I are evenly matched,” Emily pressed.

I nodded again. “I suppose they would.”

“But you do not think so,” Emily said, and it was not a question. “That is why, when he requested you for my hand in marriage, you refused him.”

I didn’t say anything for a moment. I examined Emily’s face. She is usually a carefree girl, not usually so serious. Her father had been the same way, always joking around, taking almost everything as sport. I enjoyed talking and joking with Emily as much as I had with her father. I had never seen her looking so serious, angry, even, as she did that afternoon in my office. I had to explain my reasoning to her calmly and carefully. I felt certain that she would see things my way when we were through.

“That is what happened, according to my friend Miss Gainsley,” Emily continued. “Can you explain this to me, sir?”

“Emily,” I said, “you’re absolutely right. I don’t think that you and the young Mr. Gainsley are a good match for each other.”

“Why not?” Emily asked.

“Do you remember last autumn, when you and I spent a month in South Africa? That was very exciting for you, wasn’t it? And when you came back, you wanted to tell all of your friends and suitors about the strange and interesting things you’d seen and done there, didn’t you?”

She nodded at the memory. I had taken Emily on a few trips away from her home, always using my own money to finance these excursions. I had taken her to Paris, America, South Africa, and to visit some friends of mine in Germany. She loved to travel. She was a modern woman, a bit before her time, but wealthy enough to do whatever she wanted to do.

“I remember,” I continued, “walking past the parlor while you were entertaining young Mr. Gainsley, only a few days after we had returned. You were telling the story of how we had taken that tour in the jungle, and the strange monkey that had stolen your hat, do you remember? And you told that story so well, each time with more and more enthusiasm. I daresay that you saved your best performance for him. But he could not be more disinterested in what you had to say. I found that very odd. Didn’t you?”

“I…” Emily paused for a moment. “I don’t remember.” But she did remember, I could tell that she did, and I smiled.

“This young man does not share your interests,” I said.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t get married,” Emily argued, her voice hinting to whine. She was never a whiney or bratty child, so I knew she wouldn’t pout as I calmly explained my position.

“No, but it means that you shouldn’t. Emily, you cannot really love someone unless you have something in common with him. What do you and Mr. Gainsley have in common?”

“We both like riding,” Emily said firmly.

“Ah,” I said, “and how many times have you and Mr. Gainsley shared an afternoon ride together?”

“I like to ride alone,” Emily said.

I shook my head. “Not always. You’ve ridden with me countless times, and you meet your friend Miss Tatiana Howard every other week to take your horses to an open pasture. And the only time I’ve see young Mr. Gainsley on a horse is during the annual fox hunt, and his riding skills leave much to be desired.”

“You just don’t like him,” Emily accused me.

“Not so,” I said, still as calm as ever as she began to boil. “I have no issue with the young Mr. Gainsley. And I meant all the complimentary things that I said. I do think he’s a fine young man…I simply don’t feel like the two of you are well-suited.”

Emily changed tactics. “But sir,” she said, “I’m 16. It’s time for me to get married.”

“You’re too young,” I said simply.

She practically did pout this time. “I’m not too young,” she huffed. “Mary Steepleton got married when she was 15, and had her first child at 16.”

“That’s all well and good for Mrs. Steepleton,” I said. “It was an appropriate time for her to marry. Her family was in financial trouble, and Mr. Steepleton was a wealthy widow. She married advantageously, saved the family name and property, and will live more happily than she might have. Good for her.”

“What difference does it make?” Emily asked.

“It makes all the difference, my dear,” I said. “You, Emily, are a very wealthy and intelligent young woman. You have a sense of adventure, and if you were to marry now, you would never get to see all the places or do all of the things that you’ve talked of doing.”

“We could travel,” Emily said, but her argument was weakening.

“I don’t know the Gainsleys to travel much,” I remarked.

Poor Lady Emily looked to be on the verge of tears. I had been relentless in my counterarguments, but she is typically a more worthy opponent. Her emotions had gotten the best of her. “Emily,” I said, more gently than before, “why do you love this young man?”

She looked at me, confused for a moment, her eyes brimming with unfallen tears. “Well,” she said, “he…he’s handsome, and kind, and he comes from a good family.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “you are buckling under some pressure that has been placed on you by some our well-meaning friends and neighbors. They may think that they know what is best for you, that you should marry young and well, and that will be your key to happiness. But my dear Emily, the times are changing, and our old-fashioned neighbors do not know what is best for you. They do not know what is in your heart. You are still so young, even if you don’t think so. Take it from an old man, Emily. You are wealthy enough to take care of yourself, and to do everything that you want to do in life. Marriage can wait.”

“All right,” she caved, “I acknowledge that Mr. Gainsley may not be the best match for me. But what if I do find the right one? Would you grant me permission then?”

I looked at my beautiful goddaughter carefully again. She could have any man she wanted. There would come a time when I would not be able to stop her from marrying. But, for the time being, I still had influence over her. “I’ll make you a deal, Emily,” I said. “When you turn 18, you may marry whomever you like, if you wish. Until that time comes, I will not allow you to marry…unless I feel absolutely certain that the young man is the best match for you.”

Emily nodded. She did not argue this. She thought that I was only looking out for her best interests. She trusted me.

“Can we consider the matter settled?” I asked.

“Yes, sir,” Emily said.

“Good,” I said. “Why don’t we step into the parlor and have our afternoon tea? I don’t imagine that we’ll receive any more callers today, with the snow picking up.”

And we continued our afternoon pleasantly enough. Emily forgot her troubles, and was fully herself again as we had our tea. We spent the afternoon reading quietly in the study, as was our custom when going outside was impossible. But as I stared at my text, I was now the one with a troubled mind.

I had lied to my young Emily. Oh, I had not lied about thinking that young Mr. Gainsley was not a good match for her. That was the truth. But I had told her that at 18, I would allow her to marry. This was not entirely the truth. She would marry at 18, but it would be to the man that I had already selected for her personally. That man was me.

Yes, I had fallen in love with my young charge, but she did not know it. She may have suspected it, but I never asked her, and I will never know if this was the case. But I had been falling in love with her since she had started to become a woman. I would lie awake in bed at night, and would fantasize about going to her, climbing into her bed and waking her gently before giving her all of my love.

Such thoughts disturbed me at first. I had never looked at Emily with anything but fatherly love since the day she was born. I was not a lonely man; I had a couple of women in the villages that I would see regularly, and my whores kept me satisfied enough. But I began to think of Emily constantly, thinking about her soft dark hair and her lovely light skin. She looked quite a bit like her mother, as far as her features went, but while Anne had been passably pretty, Emily was stunningly beautiful. She had a special glow to her, and I was convinced that she had inherited that from her father. Like his daughter, he had been irresistible to the opposite sex.

As time passed, and I saw Emily with her suitors, I began to think of what life would be like with Emily as my bride. And over time, I began to realize that I didn’t want my life any other way. I needed my sweet Emily, my little girl, to be mine forever. Even then, as we sat together on that stormy yet pleasant afternoon, I was formulating a plan for her. The plan would go into effect on her 18th birthday; for the time being, all I would have to do was keep her unmarried and virginal. She was a virtuous young woman, and would not give herself away to just any suitor. She would be mine, all mine, on her 18th birthday.

My plans for Emily had started to take form during a trip to Paris. It was our third visit, and Emily knew all of her favorite shops to visit. I would give her money and send her along with her nanny; I financed her little shopping excursions, not wanting her to dip into her family fortune just to satisfy her girlish whims. She was much more conservative with my money; if I had allowed her free reign over what was rightfully hers, I was afraid that she would not be so responsible. She was still able to get everything she wanted; I ensured that she was a spoiled child.

She was 15 on that trip, and just starting to come into her womanhood. Her little breasts were forming nicely, and she kept a slim but womanly shape under a tight corset. I found myself looking her over much more than I had when she was young and undeveloped, and I would look away, embarrassed, hoping she had not noticed the extra attention. She knew she was pretty, and she was vain enough already, always glancing at herself briefly in any reflective surface.

Little Lady Emily enjoyed staying with the latest fashions, and that trip, her mission was to find the perfect gown for her debutante ball, which, as she did not fail to remind me several times, was only two short months away. She succeeded on our fourth day there, and that evening, she excitedly modeled her evening gown for me in our large hotel suite. The gown was silk, a lovely sage green that complimented her light grey eyes. The neckline of the dress was almost scandalously low, and the straps upon her shoulders were thinner than was the style, decorated with silk flowers that draped around her upper arms. The gown flowed out only slightly, creating a slimmer silhouette than most ball gowns of the time. The train spread behind her elegantly.

Had I viewed little Lady Emily as just my little goddaughter, I would have insisted that she return the gown and would have exchanged harsh words with her nanny for allowing her to make such a reckless purchase. But sweet Emily looked so beautiful and elegant, and I had to fight the urge to sweep her into my arms and kiss her deeply. The sudden urge made me flush, and she smiled.

“Is it too ‘Paris’ for Wainwright Hall?” she asked anxiously. I could tell that she really liked the dress. It was forward, certainly, and might draw a few judgmental glares. I warned her of this, but she smiled. “Who cares? The sort of people who might judge this gown harshly are not the sort of people whose attentions I require, anyway.”

I grinned at her. “I think it’s lovely. To hell with the conservatives.” She laughed at my declaration, and because we were in Paris, we enjoyed a glass of champagne together while she strutted around the hotel suite in her gown.

It was not at that moment that I decided to make her mine, however. This came very shortly after. After we had taken our dinner at the hotel and taken in a show, we went back up to the suite for the evening. The nanny, staying two floors below, had already finished putting Lady Emily’s new things away and had retired to her quarters. As Emily occupied the lavatory, I noticed one of her little shopping bags had been left out.

I went to the bag and took a peek inside. I was more than a little surprised at what I found. I recognized what they were immediately, for I am no stranger to sexual activities that many would call “deviant.” But to see them in my little Emily’s shopping bag was quite a shock. Inside the bag were little metal nipple clips. It was unmistakable. She could have picked them up at any number of back-alley shops specializing in such wares; I had visited a few myself. But how had she slipped away from her nanny long enough to procure them?

I was not to find out. I quickly put the clips back in the bag and sat down in an armchair, pretending to ignore the bag as Emily came back into the room. She had gone out in a more conservative dress that evening, but she still looked lovely, her dark hair styled in neat curls around her prettily flushed face. She smiled at me. “I think I will retire for the evening. Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, Emily.”

She spotted the bag on the floor. “Hallo! Nanny must have forgotten to put this one away.” I noticed that her cheeks took on a deeper shade of red as she left the room with her taboo purchase. “Goodnight,” she said again, a bit awkwardly, as she went into her private quarters, closing the door.

I stayed up for a while. It was a cool spring evening, and it had started to rain. I lit the fireplace and sat in my armchair, enjoying a generous glass of brandy. As I stared at the fire and listened to the pattering of the cold steady rain against the windows, I thought about the events of the evening. First that sexy little debutante gown; she certainly would draw a number of disapproving stares, but she would draw many more appreciative ones. Then, on our evening out on the town, she had been just as charming and lovely as she always has been. A perfect companion in every way. Then the biggest shock of all, finding the nipple clamps.

I wondered what it could mean. Why would a girl so young have interest in such forbidden things? Perhaps for just that reason, just for the fact that they were forbidden. I remembered a conversation that I’d had with Sir Peter, before his wife’s death and his daughter’s birth. Over a private smoke in his library, the same room that later served as my office, he had revealed that the Lady Anne was a very sexually adventurous woman. Sir Peter, a gentleman, did not divulge any more details than that. Perhaps Lady Emily had inherited that trait from her mother. The thought made me smile.

I indulged my sexual fantasies about her, allowing myself to lie in bed and rub my stiff cock as I thought of sweet Emily, wearing her nipple clips under her pretty clothes. Over the next few months, I began to form my plans for her. But I decided to wait until she turned 18; it seemed appropriate, considering that it was the same age that her mother had been when she married. Yes; when she turned 18, she would be mine. Until then, I would simply have to wait.

But it proved to be very difficult, especially after her big debut into society. Her party was a smashing success, and surprisingly, her dress received rave reviews from all in attendance. She looked “sophisticated and lovely,” and she certainly did, wearing her gown and her mother’s jewels (and her own nipple clips, I hoped). I watched her dance with so many young men that evening. She saved one dance for me, and as we faced each other in our row, I couldn’t help smiling at her. She looked so happy and beautiful.

And I certainly wasn’t the only one who thought so. It was painful to see her flirting pleasantly with her many suitors. I could tell right away that she preferred the young Mr. Gainsley, though she frequently hosted other young men in the parlor as well. But I figured it was a necessary process. I would allow her a couple of years to be a young available lady, before making her my own. That was my gift to her. And during that time, I continued to provide her with the same care and loving guidance that I always had. She did not know that I was guiding her to my bedroom, to my arms.

After I got little Lady Emily to agree to hold off on marriage, I was faced with one last obstacle: the presence of her loving nanny. I considered dismissing her, providing her with a generous amount of money to retire on. But to do so would hurt Emily; she was so attached to her nanny, who had been with her since she was born.

I was spared having to make this difficult decision. Nanny came to me and reported that her sister, a widow, was in failing health. “I must go to her,” she said urgently. “I don’t wish to leave Lady Emily alone, but…”

“She is practically a woman now,” I finished for her. “It will be painful for everyone to lose you, Nanny. Wainwright Hall will not be the same without you.” And Lady Emily had certainly been upset, but she understood that her nanny needed to go. I gave her nanny money, as I’d originally planned, and she was out of our lives. That would make things so much easier.

A couple of months before the big event, I went to visit my friend, Dr. Yates. I complained of insomnia, and after reporting that my diet and amount of physical activity had not changed as of late, I admitted that there were circumstances that weighed heavily on my mind. “I find that I cannot sleep. My troubles crowd my mind; I can hardly get any relief.”

My sympathetic friend gave me a bottle of sleeping medicine, guaranteeing that a spoonful in a drink before bed would grant me a full night’s sleep. I thanked him sincerely and left after a cigar and pleasant conversation, and more than once on the way home, I reached into my coat pocket and felt the small bottle. I had pretended my symptoms; I slept like a rock. But the medicine would factor in to my plans for my sweet little Emily.

Her 18th birthday came. We had a private dinner at home, but she still wore one of her lovely new gowns from our most recent trip to Paris. She looked irresistible in the candlelight; as I gave her a glass of wine (with an extra special ingredient just for her), I reminded myself that in just a few short hours, she would be mine forever.

After dinner, we sat together in the study. She played on her piano for a little while. She took lessons when she was young, but had never kept to her practicing. So she only tinkered, until her groggy head forced her to sit heavily in the armchair opposite mine. “Oh, my,” she declared, “I feel so tired all of a sudden.”

“Close your eyes for a moment, my dear,” I said softly. “We’ll be retiring to bed soon. Would you like me to read to you?”

“Mmmm, yes, please,” she sighed. The drug was taking over. I picked up a book of poems by Alfred Lord Tennyson and began to read, glancing over the top of the book occasionally to see Emily’s progression into unconsciousness. The moment that I noticed that her eyes were closed and her breathing had gone shallow in sleep, I put down the book and gathered her in my arms. She is a light girl, having inherited her mother’s little physique, and I easily carried her to my bedroom, the master bedchamber of Wainwright Hall.

I would rape my sweet little Lady Emily that night. I knew that it was what she wanted; I knew her secret desires. Besides the nipple clips from Paris, I had found two other pieces of evidence that led me to my conclusion. I am still ashamed to admit that I went into her bedchamber, without her permission, when she was out calling on a friend. I did this on several occasions.

The first time, I found a piece of literature that startled and pleased me. It was a work by the controversial and perverted writer Marquis de Sade, his La Philosophie dans le boudoir. I found the book under her pillow, and it was clearly well-thumbed. I was not unfamiliar with the author, but I was fascinated by the content of the book. I so forgot myself in reading that when I heard the Lady Emily greeting her nanny downstairs, I swiftly replaced the book and hurried out of her bedchamber just in time to go unnoticed. I would later procure my own copy and would have various scenes selected, to try on her when the right time came.

On my second trip to her bedchamber, I found her personal diary. I sat at her vanity and flipped through it. Much of it was trivial and girlish, but there were some interesting entries. She would write out her sexual fantasies. She wanted to be tied up and taken by a strong, dark man. I remembered her flirting with a small group of black laborers in Paris, only briefly smiling and waving at them as we passed by. I knew she had enjoyed their appreciative stares. The memory made me smile.

I was pleased to see a couple of comments in her diary regarding feelings of sexual tension around me. She had written: “Mr. Singer, my guardian, is so kind to me. He is such a handsome and good man, and I hope that he will marry well. I will admit, only in this my private diary, that I have had forbidden thoughts about my dear old friend. Such an idea is a silly one, I know. And still…” Another comment in similar form, made just a fortnight before my reading, was found. Though I had often joked with Emily, referring to myself as “an old man” over the years, in actuality I was only 38 when I claimed her. I liked to think of myself as an attractive man still, and I was happy that my sweet girl felt the same. I left little Lady Emily’s bedchamber feeling very pleased, and set in my plans.

And so, on her 18th birthday, I carried Lady Emily into my bedchamber to rape her, just as I knew she craved. She would be in deep sleep for hours; I had given her a double-dose of Dr. Yates’s medicine, to ensure that I would have plenty of time to set my plans into motion. I laid her gently on the large bed, and slowly removed her gown. Her corset was tricky, as tight as she liked to pull it, but I’d had some experience undressing a woman before.

I was pleased to see her wearing the nipple clips under her corset. No, no…they were different ones. I smiled, wondering what sort of collection of taboo accessories she had been gathering over the years. I kept the nipple clips on, and nothing else, as I prepared her.

Before restraining her tightly to the bedposts, I brushed out her hair carefully. She wore it in tight curls, as was the fashion, but I preferred her hair long and loose. I didn’t often see her hair undone, but seeing her that evening, naked with her hair looking so wild and lovely, was nearly enough to stop my heart.

I tied her tightly but carefully, using silk ropes that I had purchased years ago for just this sort of activity. The bedposts were tall and sturdy in the four corners of the bed, made for tying up little girls, I suppose. She was spread-eagle, lying on top of the covers, completely exposed to me.

I examined her naked form carefully. Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed, forming a neat little triangle over her cunt. I was so tempted to touch her, to finger her virgin pussy. Because in spite of all of her sexual urges, I knew that she was still a virgin. She had kept her dark desires a secret, as far as she knew. A recent diary reading had confirmed this. She was certainly all mine.

I restrained my urges, and after shoving a wadded handkerchief into her mouth to serve as a gag, I prepared the room. I lit several candles on the bedside table and on the table by the large windows. I lit the fireplace; it was a chilly evening, unusually so for May, and I did not want my sweet little Emily to be cold in her nakedness. She would be spending quite a lot of time naked.

I sat and read another Marquis de Sade work as I waited for Emily to awaken. I looked forward to being able to share the book with her. She finally began to stir just after the clock struck 2. I put the book aside and sat at her hip on the bed, as naked as she, waiting for her to open her eyes.

When she finally looked up at me, she was confused at first. Then, her confusion quickly turned to fear as she weakly struggled against her restraints, letting out a tiny muffled cry. “Don’t be afraid, Emily,” I whispered, touching her face softly. “Happy birthday, my dear. I have a surprise for you. A very big surprise.” I stroked my cock, already hardening. Oh, God, I would have her so soon.

She let out another muffled cry, and I shushed her. “I know what you want, Emily,” I said. “I know what’s in your heart. You’re a dirty little girl, aren’t you, Emily?” She shook her head, clearly distressed. “Yes, yes, you want to be naughty. I know everything, Emily. I’m going to give you what you want tonight, my dear, because…I love you.”

She was quiet then. I had never said the words to her, nor she to me. We had always cared for each other. But this was so different. I loved her passionately, and I would make love to her passionately. I touched her face again, and I was surprised and displeased to see tears in her eyes. “Oh, no, my Emily, what’s the matter?” I removed the handkerchief from her mouth.

“Oh, please, sir,” she sobbed. “Please, please, I’m sorry, don’t do this.”

“Emily,” I said tenderly, “I’d like you to call me by my name.”

“Mr. Singer…”

“No, my dear,” I said, still patient. “My Christian name.” Though I’d known the girl her entire life, and had raised her for most of it, she had never addressed me as anything other than ‘sir.’ Never ‘Uncle Aaron,’ as her father had called me in her presence when she was a young child, and only ‘Mr. Singer’ to friends and acquaintances, and even in her own diary.

“Aaron,” she said hesitantly. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, Emily?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“I know it’s bad to have the nipple clips,” she said. “I…I was just playing with them. I only just bought them in Paris last month, and was just trying them out…”

“That is a lie, Emily,” I snapped. I’d never known my sweet Emily to lie to me before. “I know that you bought your first pair of clips over two years ago. And it was not the same pair as the one you are wearing now.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Please, sir, I’m not…I mean, I don’t…”

“Emily, I may as well be honest with you,” I said. “Since I saw that first pair of clips, I’ve been doing a little spying on you. I know that you are interested in sexually deviant activities. You blush, even now, only enjoying your private little thoughts by yourself in your own bedchamber. You need not be ashamed of your desires, Emily. Just as it says in your favorite book, you should enjoy your body. And as I am your oldest and dearest friend, I wish to aid you in that endeavor.”

She was certainly shocked. She was speechless. I slowly and gently began to touch her left breast, only stroking her soft skin with the tips of my fingers. Vain little Emily, the outdoorswoman that she was, kept her skin well protected from the sun, so her skin was pale and silky to the touch. She shuddered slightly, and her clamped nipples hardened, causing her to moan softly and arch her back very slightly. She was already reacting so well to my touch.

But she snapped out of her shock and declared, “Please, sir, we cannot do this!”

I stopped touching her, withdrawing my hand. I could indulge her for a while yet. I would have her soon enough, whether she was willing or not. “Why not, Emily?” I asked patiently.

She said in a hurried panic, “You are my father’s oldest friend. Don’t you feel that this is not right?”

“Absolutely not,” I said confidently. “I have thought this over for years, Emily. Your father is long gone; I am the one who has taken care of you. I have told you that I wanted to find the right match for you. All things considered, I believe that you and I are very well matched.”

“You do?”

I nodded. “Oh, yes, Emily. Have we not always gotten along well? We have many of the same interests in music, sport, and literature. We both enjoy traveling. And we both happen to have an interest in strange sexual activities.”

“I’m a virgin, sir,” Emily whimpered, and I smiled.

“I know it, my dear, and I’m so glad,” I said. I kissed her softly on the forehead. “Not to worry, my sweet little Emily. I will be so gentle with you.” I whispered in her ear. “I am your friend, Emily. I am only here to help you.”

I climbed on top of her, straddling her waist. She began to sputter weak protests, and I smiled and shoved the handkerchief back into her mouth after planting a kiss on her sweet lips. After gagging her, I kissed her neck softly, nibbling at the sensitive place between her neck and shoulder. I have found this to be a pleasure spot for some women, and was pleased to find it so for my Emily. Her muffled little cries of fear turned to soft moans as I kissed my way down her neck and to her chest.

I licked and teased her nipples through her clips, and she arched her back again beneath me. This gave me an idea. I left her briefly and retrieved a thin chain from my own collection of toys. I was able to easily link the ends of the chain to the clips. I planned to grab hold of the chain and tug softly (and perhaps less than softly) while I rode her, but for the time being, I let it sit and kissed my way down her soft little stomach. She was such a tiny girl, but she had a delicious set of hips and a tight, shapely ass. I reached beneath her and grabbed at her ass; I felt her tighten against me, and I laughed softly. “Relax for me, Emily. I will know your ass very well, soon.”

She let out another muffled cry, but relaxed again as I slid down between her legs. I first explored her virgin territory with my tongue. I found her hymen to be broken, but I was not displeased. This meant that she liked to play with herself, a fact that I had already verified in her secret diary. I found her little clitoris and took it gently in my mouth, sucking on the sweet bud. Emily shuddered wildly, moaning much more loudly than before.

I brought her to the brink of climax, but I wanted her to experience it with me inside of her. I brought the tip of my ready cock to the opening of her cunt. She was mine, mine, mine. She looked up at me with fearful eyes. I touched her face tenderly as I began to slide into her. “Relax, Emily,” I repeated, and I felt her do so. She had been training her little cunt, and it was about to pay off for her. “That’s it, my dear, very good.” I thrust into her, full hilt, smashing the tip of my cock into her cervix as I fucked her as deeply as possible. Her virgin cunt was so tight and lovely around my suffering cock. I had not had a woman in weeks, in anticipation of my little prize, and the wait had been worth it.

I held myself inside of her for a moment. Emily moaned in pain, but relaxed after the initial shock. I began to thrust in and out of her, slowly but deeply, enjoying the feel of her. I watched her face for reaction. She winced as I stretched the walls of her virgin pussy, but again, began to relax under my prompting. I spoke to her as I raped her. “Emily, my sweet Emily, you are such a good fuck. I’ve never had a sweet little virgin like you. I’m going to give you everything, my lady, just relax for your friend and let me make you feel wonderful.”

I put my hands on her hips and raised them slightly, angling her so that I could go deeper. I felt the walls of her pussy quiver wildly around my cock. Her breathing was becoming more and more rapid, wild moans escaping her lips, her chest heaving. I grabbed the chain in one hand and kept hold of her hips with the other. As I pulled on her tortured nipples, she let out a scream into her gag. Drool ran ungracefully down the corners of her mouth as she arched her back, raising her hips even higher for me. “Relax for me, my dear, and let yourself lose control,” I instructed, sensing that she was going to orgasm. I felt it the moment that she did; she screamed even louder, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. At the same moment, I allowed myself to release into her, filling her with my own cum. When I finally removed my cock from her, my semen leaked slowly from her now-gaping hole.

I smiled at my sweaty, panting Emily. I reached over and removed her gag. She only gasped for breath for a moment, saying nothing, and neither did I as I sat by her side, waiting patiently. She stared into my eyes. She still looked fearful, but there was something else there, a glint of desire. I had been right; she had wanted this, and she was so glad to have gotten it.

We talked it over as she lay, still restrained to what would now be our bed. We came to an agreement: she would be my submissive little whore. We would go away for a while, and while we were abroad, we would marry. We would return to Wainwright Hall and resume our lives, as husband and wife. She would be Lady Emily Singer of Wainwright, and I would be her adoring husband, Sir Aaron. She did not hesitate to agree to any of my terms, and seemed especially enthusiastic about serving me as my little sex slave.

I had her once more that night. After kissing her roughly for a time, I untied her and turned her around, her ass facing me. I tied her wrists together, binding them to an opening in the headboard. I had her bend her knees and tuck them under herself, so she was kneeling with her head down. I spread her legs and tied her ankles loosely.

Kneeling behind her, I rested the tip of my already hardening cock against her ass. Her cheeks were forced wide by her position, but her little hole was quite small. Some lubrication, and a lot of brute force, would be required.

I spoke to my Emily gently as I stroked her ass with my fingertips. “Your favorite book features many scenes of sodomy,” I said. “Is that something you’ve been wanting to try?”

“Yes, sir,” she said shyly. In spite of my request for her to call me by name, she would never do so again after her first nervous attempt. I would always be ‘sir,’ and given our situation, it only seemed appropriate.

I stroked her ass cheeks softly. “You have a pretty little ass, my Emily. I am going to sodomize you. It will hurt, but I have a feeling that you will like it.”

“Yes, sir,” she said again, and I laughed softly. I lubricated my cock with lotion, and spread some onto my fingers. I would take my time and prepare her. I kneeled behind her again and raised my hand, smacking her ass hard enough to leave a red imprint of my hand. She yowled in pain, and I decided that I would leave her without her gag for this part. I had no fear of the servants hearing our activities; the married couple in our service lived in a cottage nearly a kilometer from the main house, and our other maid resided in town with her family. Her screams would only fall on my appreciative ears.

I smacked her again, harder this time, before shoving two lubricated fingers into her asshole. She yelled and writhed in pain, but did not beg me to stop, which prompted me to spank her even harder. Between blows, I would thrust my fingers into her, lubing her little asshole and stretching her in preparation for my cock. I am not a small man, by any means.

I said nasty things to her as I spanked her ass. “You are my dirty little whore, Lady Emily,” I hissed, spanking her again. I was leaving her ass red and raw, and it felt so hot to the touch. “You’re going to be a hot little fuck for your good friend.” I grabbed her hair and yanked her head back roughly. She gasped at this harsh handling as I nibbled on her neck, guiding my cock to her asshole and thrusting into her. She screamed, a little, a halted gasp of a scream as I thrust into her again, and began to fuck her roughly. She screamed for me, saying things that pressed me on and on.

“Oh, God, sir!” she cried, as I pounded into her. “Oh, it hurts! You’re so huge, sir! Oh, God!”

I reached down and found her clit, rubbing roughly as I continued to fuck her. She moved her hips with me, getting into a rhythm as I stroked her off. She came before I did, screaming and coating my eager fingers with her rich juices. As I licked her sweetness from my fingers, I groaned and came, filling her once again. When I removed myself from her, I licked her raw asshole, cleaning some of the semen that was leaking from her hole. She shuddered and moaned, and I knew she was feeling the pleasure and pain. Exactly what she wanted.

I groped her tortured tits as I came down from my orgasm-induced high. I felt dizzy as I leaned in to kiss her neck again. She smelled so sweet. I buried my face in the wild tangles of her dark hair. “I love you, my Emily,” I murmured in her ear.

“I love you, too, sir,” she whispered, and I turned her head to me and kissed her softly.

I eventually untied her and took her into my private bathroom. We bathed together in the large tub, and as I washed her back gently, she confessed all of her desires to me. She even admitted that, in her little fantasies, I was usually the one she was with. “It all shamed me,” she said. “I thought that having such forbidden thoughts about my guardian was…immoral.”

“And what is morality, anyway?” I asked, and to this she had no reply. I continued, “We have but one life. That is all we are guaranteed, is it not? There is not guarantee of any sort of afterlife, or reincarnation, or any of those religious ideas about what happens after death. This is all. Why not live for pleasure? Who would it harm?”

My sweet Emily had no response to that, either, and was silent as I bathed her gently. Her body quivered at the slightest touch, so sensitive from the shock of our rough lovemaking. She whimpered and cried a little as I finished washing her. Poor child; she was physically and emotionally exhausted. After our bath I dried her quickly, and took her by the hand, gently leading her back to my bed.

I brushed her hair before tucking her under the covers. As I sat against the headboard, I wrapped my bare legs around her, and she sat with her lower back against my crotch. As I carefully combed through her tangles, she said, “Oh, sir, I’m so afraid.”

“Why, Emily?” She could not say. “Don’t be afraid,” I said gently. “Tell me honestly, Emily. Did you enjoy what I did to you tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered without hesitation.

“Did you like when I spanked you, Emily?” I asked.

“Yes, sir,” she said, and I could tell that saying so embarrassed her. “It hurt, but I did enjoy it. Yes.”

“So you would want to do more of those things with me?” I asked.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “But I…I cannot put it to words, but it scares me so.”

I set the brush on the bedside table and wrapped my arms around her tightly. I kissed the top of her head. “My dear,” I said, “You have no reason to be afraid. You know that I care for you very much…I do love you, Emily. We will do things together that will be frightening, but I will be careful with you. You are so, so precious to me.” I kissed her again.

I tucked her beneath the covers and blew out all of the candles. The only light in the large bedchamber came from the glowing embers of the dying fire. I climbed under the covers and wrapped my arms around her quivering naked body. I dimly heard the clock striking four when we finally fell asleep. I was satisfied; it had been a very successful first night together. And over time, I would soothe my little girl’s fears, and she would learn to find joy in serving me. The next morning, she would shyly offer her mouth to me upon noticing my painful erection. She was already learning; and I would have much more to teach her in the week leading to our departure for India.