Americano part I, a short story by QarnivalQueen. Date added: 2012-07-18. Times viewed: 2118.
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- Intro: Emmeline Harper Oxford Professor will scandalise US politics with her open sexual relationship with a right wing Senator
‘Good evening, master’ I hear as I slink beside the Master of Hillary Marlborough College and dash up the stars to the Senior Common Room. Shit, I really am late. As I dash in the door I hear the Master inviting mister who-ever he is up for a drink before dinner. Running up the stairs I wish I worn my flats but high heels are what is expected at these evenings and I don’t want to let the College down. The plush deep blue carpet gives way to shiny floor boards and the tattered rug of the SCR. Inside the room are a dozen or so people, mostly dons, all wearing dinner jackets and bemused faces which seem to say ‘here we are again, another attempt to get money for the College’.
As I enter the room, I am overwhelmed by a sense of smell I can’t quite place, polish, newspaper print and something else, something slightly sweet that seems unusual. Mr Brooke, the High Steward, sees me rushing and smoothly glides over to offer me a glass of wine and guide me towards the window in the hope of giving the impression I’ve been there for at least 20 minutes. He knows how the Master hates unpunctuality.
The cold, crisp white wine is a welcome distraction from the day’s efforts. I mentally make a note to ask what it is with a view to ordering some for the apartment. I’ve never really taken much interest in wine, or at least, not enough to bother to find out about it. I tend to ascertain what the wine is and contact the college’s wine merchant to ask for a case to be delivered.
As I finally reach the window, I am struck by what a gloriousOxfordevening it is. It’s been one of those days when the heat is translucence and dry, with a light wind which brushes against the skin leaving a tingly sensation. I’m just starting to wonder whether Rhys has arrived or not when the Master begins his round of introductions. ‘Professor Ross, may I introduce … ‘ At this point, I zone out, knowing that a similar form of words will be made when my turn comes. Idly I consider my list of questions for the evening; How have you found the British lifestyle during your tour? How has your trip furthered the special relationship between are countries? How do you feel the role of a politician inAmericais different form that in theUK? Yes, those will do. They’ll allow him to talk extensively without my having to interact.
My experience of Americans since arriving inOxfordto take up my Chair has increased considerably. However, they all appear to have a number of common traits; namely, their total lack of interest in anything outside of continental USA and their inward looking megalomania about themselves and their way of life. The last American ‘visitor’ (as the master likes to describe them) was CEO of a major us company based inSeattle. His passion for improving the world was impressive, but his lack of personality and insistence on acknowledging his attractiveness made me decidedly uncomfortable.
I am brought back to the moment by my colleague nudging me with his elbow as he takes a step backwards away from the now-glowering Master. I’ve clearly missed what’s gone on but from the look on Ross’s face, I think it must be something to do the curtailment of his conversation with Mister Americano.
‘Elliott Miles may I introduce you to Professor Emmeline Harper, currently our Professor of Biblical Hermeneutics.’ Elliot Miles extends a well manicured hand and as often happens, I wish I’d painted my nails. ‘Delighted to meet you Mr. Miles.’ ‘The pleasure is all mine Professor Harper.’ ‘Sycophant’ my Mother hisses in my head. ‘Shame he can’t think of anything better to say.’ Mr Americano tries to hold my hand in one of those terrible society handshakes I abhor. However, I don’t let him get away with it and force my hand further into his and shake it vehemently. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, with a white shirt and non-descript blue tie. Gold cuff links protrude from under the jacket of the arm he offers me. ‘Mmm,’ my mother muses. ‘Well cut suit, cotton poplin twill say 40 milligrams, tie which neither ….’ Shut up my internal voice shouts at her. I DO NOT need a run down of every potential suitor in terms of their wealth and therefore marriage potential. And YES, I’m using capital letters to suggest I’m shouting at you. Go away. My mother slinks off in the direction of the drinks table where the ever solicitous Mr Brooke is waiting.
‘Do excuse me Mr. Miles. I’m sure I can leave you in the capable hands of Professor Harper.’ The Master turns away from the two of us and as he does so he gives me his most withering ‘don’t upset this potential benefactor’ look.
Without missing a beat, I turn my stylish self to Mr Americano and with a glowing smile, ask him how he has found the British lifestyle during his tour on the country.
Ten minutes later and the High Steward announces dinner. The Master reappears and smoothly glides Mr. Americano towards the door and the waiting dining room. I slink to the back of the queue and wait my turn to enter. As always for events like these, the catering staff have gone to town to make the room look impressive. The white linen table cloths positively bristle to attention with their vast assortment of accoutrements on them. The five course places setting each with a vast collection of glasses look utterly magnificent in the dimmed lighting. The crystal chandeliers give off a warm glow which compliments the dark oak panelling giving a feeling of intimacy even though there must be at least 200 people in the room. High Table look particularly beautiful resplendent as it is in the College’s finest 18th century silver, exquisite had made glasses and cream and yellow roses along the centre of each table.. I note the champagne glass standing tall amongst the collection and realise it’s going to be a long evening. I’d better watch my alcohol consumption if I’m going to have a gin and tonic later when I get home.
I realise too late that I haven’t consulted the seating plan; hell, were am I supposed to be sitting? I head for the far end of the table only to be beaten to it by Professor Ross, still looking decidedly put out. As I turn to view the rest of the table I note that virtually every seat is taken, except the one opposite Mr. Americano. Shit. It looks at though I’m the poor sod who’s got to sit next to this man for the whole evening. Mr Tatersall joins me by corner of the table and gently leads my elbow to this last seat. As he pulls the chair out for me I note wish I’d thought of more questions as I put my dress on earlier.
I manage to get through 3 courses before Mr Americano looks across me and asks me about my research. I count to three thinking shall I give him the layman’s speak or treat him as I would a colleague. I’m momentarily encouraged to let him off lightly but decide against it on the basis that I’ll never see this man again so why not give him to him with both barrels? I currently engaged in an exegesis of the Pistis Sofia with a view to explaining why the early Christian Church felt it was important to suppress the liberty and sexuality of early Christian converts. I sit back and watch the impression on his face; a mixture of fuck what have I let myself in for here and quizzical politeness born of breeding and genteel upbringing. He clearly has absolutely nothing to say to this, so sphere of reference and no idea what I’m talking about. He probably doesn’t understand the word ‘exegeses let alone what the Pistis Sofia. O god. This really is going to be tedious.
As I wait for a response, I see a myriad of emotions going through his eyes; is he pleased that I’ve assumed he knows what I am referring to or is he aware that I’ve only really said this to encourage him to resume his conversation on economics with the professor sitting next to him. He opts for neither of these, instead asking ‘and the pistisSofiais?’ I explain, as sympathetically and concisely as I can that the Pisitis Sofia is one of the scrolls found in jars in a series of caves around theDead Seain the 1940s. ‘The pistis Sofia is fundamentally a series of writings renound for their Gnosticism and suggesting that women held a much more prominent role in the early years of the Christian faith than had previously been thought.’
Has you research so far led you to form any detailed conclusions?
The temptation to shout: Jesus. I’ve been doing this for 6 years and became a professor three years ago so yes, I’ve reached conclusions. However, I refrain form this and murmur something about ‘still finding my way’. Unfortunately he seems to like this topic of conversations so goes on to ask ‘And how do you think you your conclusion from this research will alter perceptions of the world?’
For a moment I’m slightly flummoxed by this response. Is he challenging me to justify my research or simply asking if it has a practical application for the 21st century? As the silence lengthens, I feel myself flushing slightly. ‘They’ll alter my perceptions of the world in terms of how women are viewed and the impact this has had, and continues to have, on female sexuality in the world.’
‘So how do these writings link with the 21st century? Can they speak to us from across the years?’
My mind at this point begins to fluster and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. Does this man know what he’s talking about? Has he read anything on this or in he simply making an educated guess?
‘Well, yes and no’ and manage to say at last. ‘While we may dismiss them as rambling from over two millennia ago, their emphasis on the equality of women as visionaries and followers of a leader is in direct discordance with how women have been treated over the last two thousand years. If we can understand the concerns of those who demoted and demonised women over centuries we may be able to redress that balance in years to come. Ultimately it’s abut understanding our past in order to inform our future.’
‘Now there I would agree with you Miss Harper. Learning from the past in order to improve the future in one the reasons I am a Senator. I believe that equality of spirit as well and occupation, wealth and potential is the key to improving everyone’s life.’
I hear my mother snorting with derision at this point saying that ‘politicians do their job to improve their own life, not that of others.’ I choose to ignore her and ask Mr. Americano in a much quieter voice; ‘if you’re so keen on improving other people’s life, why did you and your colleagues scupper Obama’s healthcare bill?’
‘Miss Harper, the President’s healthcare Bill was not about improving the lives of others. It was about removing an American’s right to influence his own life by letting the state become too closely involved in his choices. By taking away the need to work and introducing a reliance of handouts, we would have increased our national spending, increased our public debt and ultimately, crippled our economy.’
At this point I am quite frankly appalled by what he has just said. I feel the blood rising through my body towards my neck and on towards my face. Who is this man? How is it that men like him, comfortable, white, well dressed think its okay to turn their back on those who have neither the opportunity nor the education to achieve what they do? ‘The idea that helping those on low incomes to overcome their basic problems surely has to be a benefit to the whole economy? Access to welfare, decent education and basic healthcare must be the goal of every salient government if they want to improve the living standards for their people.’
I realise too late that those around me have gone quiet and Mr Americano is looking at me as though I’ve slapped him. Shit. The Master is raising his eyebrows art me as if to say, what the hell. Emmeline? Americano notes the change of atmosphere too and sits up slightly taller before beaming at everyone nearby. Hushed and ? the table waits silently; Professor Cox is smirking at Ross and giving him his ‘Jesus that women is so dumb’ look while Mr. Americano is clearly struggling to keep his composure. I note that I haven’t exhaled for too long and do so in one long, slow breath. With a shaking hand I pick up my glass and take a gulp of water. As the ice cold liquid hits the back of my throat I realise too late that I may have underestimated Elliott Miles.
By 1045 I am running down the stairs having reclaimed my coat from the SCR. A quick glance at my iphone tells me Rhys has arrived and is safely ensconced in my flat. I mentally check my list; clean sheets, condoms, gin and tonic. As I walk pastMansfieldCollegeI am struck by how utterly infuriating Elliott Miles was; arrogant and condescending masquerading as public spirited and concerned for the welfare of others. I just hope he gives that dammed donation to the College after an evening like this.
Thankfully I am interrupted by my iphone; ‘Emily, where are you?’ Rhys demands. ‘Walking past the Lamb and Flag on my way to you’ I respond equally brusquely. ‘Home in 10.’ I increase my speed as I cross St Giles and walk up theWoodstock Road. Eight minutes later I’m at the entrance toBarrington Court, a small but highly sort-after apartment block. I bang in the entrance code, make sure the door slams behind me and jog upstairs grabbing the key from my purse. As I walk through the door I smell the familiar scent of ?? as Rhys lies on the sofa with a beer in one hand and his mobile in the other. He’s wearing black jeans, a pink Paco Raban long-sleeved shirt and no shoes. His hair is still wet after his shower and he looks as though his hair hasn’t been brushed for a week. As I close the door and lean against it, I realise he is looking well groomed, relaxed and incredibly sexy.
And he’s clearly talking to his wife; ‘Louise, I don’t give a fuck whether you like it or not. The children are spending next weekend with me. Period. I thought we had sorted all this out in court. Do you want me to go back to the Judge?’ A period of silence ensues while Louise is clearly trying to change the arrangements.
I thank god this is none of my concern and head to the bathroom.
I emerge two minutes later and I’m good to go. Rhys is now lying on the sofa looking like thunder has clapped overhead. I know what the problem is but that doesn’t make him any easier to deal with. ‘Do you want to talk?’ I ask tentatively. The look in his eyes tells me all I need to know. I head for the kitchen where I gather two glasses, soda water and my special gin and tonic ice cubes. Slowly filling the glasses, I realise I’m being carefully scrutinised. I pick two small mint leaves and rinse them under running water before adding them to the glasses. I cross the room to the sofa, hand Rhys his E-special G&T and notes how he eyes me with a mixture of hedonistic lust and utter fury.
I put my G & T on the small table beside the sofa and stand in front of him. He looks at me quizzically and I slowly undo the belt of my dress before slipping it over my head. I’m standing in a pale pink bra, matching panties and black pull ups. Rhys takes a long, slow look at me before placing his drink next to mine and sitting back with his legs spread in front of him. He reaches out and takes my hand before pulling me silently and swiftly onto his knee. He places his hands on either side of my face before kissing me hard. I gasp at his intensity allowing him to push his tongue into my mouth. Leisurely, his kiss depends and our tongues are sparring with each other. Round and round, forcing the other to concentrate on its intensity.
I pull away and slowly kiss his jaw line, his neck down to his ? As I do so, I undo the buttons of his shirt before pulling it out of his pants. Very lightly I push the shirt over his bronzed, muscular shoulders before tucking it behind him. His hands are pinned under my legs so he is immobile. I slowly continue my kissing down his stomach, along his hair line and back up to the centre of his chest. Using my tongue, I lick a line to his left nipple where I gently wave my tongue up and down until it becomes erect. Kissing to the other side, I lick his right nipple until it is standing to attention, pulsating slightly. He groans volubly, thrusting his groin towards me.
Will this make you feel better? I whisper.
His eyes widen in response and his breathing become shallower. Taking my time, I release his hands from my knees, remove his cufflinks and gently peel his shirt away from him.
Is Mrs Taylor around? Rhys asks in my ear.
‘No. She and Sophia have gone to her mother’s for the week.’
‘Good. I’m going to fuck you here before taking you in the bath.’
The thought is so exciting I feel my clitoris pulsating and my cunt getting wetter. I pull Rhys to his feet and slip my hand inside his pants. His erection is pushing upwards as I undo the buttons on his jeans. I hook my thumbs over the sides of his jeans and pull hard. As they and I slide down I smile inwardly at my lascivious thoughts. Oh yes, I’m enjoying this.
‘Step out,’ I command. He moves to the left and I discard his pants across the floor. Kneeling in front of him, I slowing run my finger down the full length of his impressive member.
‘Spread your legs.’ He does as he’s told as he threads his finger into my hair, releasing the clip which has been holding it in place all evening.
I run my finger the full length of his sex, starting at the top of his anus and moving leisurely across his perineum, towards his bollocks. Once there, I run my thumb and middle finger around them. Taking his bollocks in both my hands, I kneed the gently as his cock jumps to the rhythm. I run my thumb and forefinger up him until they reach the tip which is pooling slightly. Perfect. Taking him in both my hands, I slowly place my lips over his cock a take him into my mouth. I feel him pushing his hips towards me but I spread my hands over his belly taking my time. There’s no rush. Once he’s still, I leave one hand where it is and use the other to caress his buttocks; squeezing and pushing them together before pulling them apart.
My mouth completely covers his cock as I take him towards the top of my throat. As I do so, my fingers gently stroke his anus before my finger starts to run harder along it. My mouth moves along his length, my teeth grazing him gently as I do so. He taste like the sea; fresh and salty. As I go back for a second time I quicken the pace, allowing his to feel my lips moist with him. After the fourth time he catches my head; ‘I’m going to come if you continue.’ I look into his eyes testing how much he can take and seeing a chink of patience.
He pulls me up by my elbows. ‘You wanted a gin and tonic.’ A statement not a question. Quickly he catches me in his arms, carries me over to the floor by the window and carefully lies me down. Going back to grab my glass he deposits this by my side. ‘An E special G & T I think it was.’ I wriggle like a school girl in anticipation. Placing one leg on top of mine forcing them apart, he strokes my neck, his fingers travelling along my ? to the top of my arms. With infinitesimal movement, he drapes his fingers along the outside of my arm, over my hands before continuing his journey on the inside. When he reaches my underarms, he moves them to my bra where he slowly pulls down the left cup. He strokes the outside of my breast before moving towards the inside. My nipple begins to harden as he licks his fingers and gently runs his thumb and forefinger around it. The initial pain gives way to an intense feeling of desire which runs the full length of my body, from the hairs on the back of my neck to my toes.
As I gasp my body moves arches towards him involuntarily at which point he releases my nipple. As I sink down his hand travels to my right breast which he frees with one easy movement. ‘You’ve clearly done this before Mr Evans-David.’
‘As you well know Professor Harper.’ I manage to whisper as shades of pleasure sweep through my body.
As my nipples engourge I feel a longing in my belly for something more; a burning sensation which leaves my insides wanting. I arch my back again as his hands travel towards my sex, skirt around it before he inserts two fingers into my vagina. I moan softly as he moves them along my perineum into me and out again, slowing lengthening his strides as he does so until they are both on the cusp of me clitoris. Slowly he circles me sending out small tremors into my belly. I try to push myself against him but he pulls away as soon as I do.
‘No. Not yet.’ My body is feeling oversensitive and radiating heat. My face is flushed and my breathing short. I hear the chink of ice against the glass and suddenly the intense cold of an ice cube as it is run from sex to the inside of my vagina. Fizzing slightly as it goes inside, the sensation is cooling yet intense; by the time it reaches the top of the front wall I am writhing; quickly Rhys sucks the ice cube out and, holding it in his teeth, run it up and over my clitoris and as he does so, I become a million pieces, each one finding a different level to explode on. Before I finish, Rhys is inside me, pulling my legs to my belly, pushing deeper and harder, continuing my orgasm as he reaches his own, and making me shudder all over.
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