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The Wicked Stepmother	By : Ksennin Category: M through R > Once Upon A Time Views: 41904 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time nor any of the show's characters. I make no money from publishing this work.

Chapter List
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Snow White heard her baby crying; it doomed her and it saved her. A minute ago, knowing she'd just begun twenty-eight years of separation from Emma, she'd have given anything to hear her little coos and cries once more.
But now that sound crawled inside her and wrenched her open. Snow White had sent her away with Charming. Why was he bringing Emma back? Was it even him? What was wrong?
Then Regina walked in and Snow knew: everything. She was holding Emma, rocking her like a born mother. The baby gurgled curiously. Regina paid her as much attention as a lap dog.
"You know, I will give you and Charming this. You have obscenely good genetics. Do you think baby Emma here will grow up to have your cheekbones? I can't imagine her any other way."
Snow opened her mouth to speak, but a quick gesture from Regina and a guard had slapped her across the face, his metal gauntlet bringing blood to her mouth.
"Yes, I know, I know," Regina said, all mocking sympathy. "Don’t hurt my baby, don't hurt my husband, kill me if you like. Do you really think it's about killing you at this point, though? I'm more about sadistic choices at this stage in my life."
The baby started crying again. Regina hummed disappointedly, then made another gesture. The guard ripped open Snow's dress, exposing her to Regina and her whole cadre. With a sniff of amusement, Regina pushed Emma into Snow's arms. "Give the little brat something to drink."
Mustering her dignity, holding her dress shut as best she could, Snow pulled Emma's mouth to her breast. Despite everything, she could take some comfort in how Emma quieted instantly, suckling peacefully at Snow like they were the only two people in the world.
"Look at me!" Regina demanded, her voice promising swift retaliation if Snow didn't. Snow shot her a hateful gaze. "You're going to miss the sadistic choice. And," Regina nodded to the window, the Cursed land that was stained in a way that reminded Snow of blood despite the purple color. "You can have your baby, in my new world. You can even have your husband. You won't remember—you get to forget," and for a moment, Regina's voice was ruing, envious even, "but you'll be a family."
Snow refused to break down. If anyone else had promised that, if the lowliest serf had said as much, it would've brought tears to her eyes. She kept Regina fixed in her glare. "And?"
"And in eighteen years, when your darling child is as beautiful and fair as you or I was, I'll return. I'll take her from you. I will corrupt her to the marrow of her bones. And you won't even be able to warn her. You'll watch as I take my prize. Who knows. Perhaps you'll even approve of me, courting your little princess."
"And what's the choice?" Snow asked, not even letting herself think of what Regina had threatened.
"Well, I could just kill you now. And your husband. And your daughter."
The first sentence filled Snow with hope. Even the second left her with a little; he'd agree with her without a second's hesitation if it would protect Emma. But losing everyone, even if it would put them out of Regina's reach once and for all… no. No. "We'll take our chances."
Regina smiled. The Curse was at the door now. It seeped in through the door, as subtle as a dream shifting into a nightmare. "I knew you would. I guess I'm not much for sadistic choices after all. From here on out, I'll just take what I want."
***
It was Emma Blanchard's eighteenth birthday party and she was bored sick.
There was pizza, sure, and ice cream and… well, balloons. Perfectly fine for, like, Tuesday. But as soon as her mom's party was up, she could go hang with her friends and have some real fun. Instead, Mary-Margaret was threatening to watch Practical Magic with her like it was some kind of ritual, and she thought she saw Jonathan and her mom actually going over lesson plans. None of her real friends were here, it was all her parents' friends and people she was supposed to be friends with, and she was twenty seconds away from just bailing. It'd probably take hours for anyone to notice.
"There's the birthday girl!"
Emma plastered a smile on her face as Mary-Margaret returned, bearing another guest to introduce her to. At least this one wasn't a thousand years old like most of her friends. In fact, Emma had seen her around town a few times, usually jogging in the mornings wearing a kinda-dorky, kinda-not-dorky-but-sexy spandex bodysuit. She was Emma's thinspiration.
And hearing her wish Emma a happy birthday reminded Emma of those town hall meetings Mary-Margaret occasionally dragged her to. She was the only interesting part of those too. The mayor. Regina Mills.
"Miss Mayor—Madame Mayor—" Emma wasn't sure what the protocol was. There probably wasn't a protocol. She wasn't the President, for Christ's sake.
Regina seemed to agree. "Ms. Mills is fine. Eighteen years…" She looked Emma over, her eyes seeming to suck in all of Emma's body—the breasts that had finally come in last summer, the legs that had sprung up two years ago, the hair that she'd stopped wearing in a ponytail so it could messily wrap around her shoulders. "It seems like only yesterday you weren't even as high as my vintage boots."
Emma blushed for no reason she could figure out. "Well, I've filled out a lot—grown a lot," she corrected hastily.
"And how important that we take a moment to recognize that," Regina said as she stepped closer. For a mad instant Emma thought Regina was going to collide with her, but Regina just pressed a tiny gift box into her hands.
"Jewelry?" It was about the right size.
Regina slowly retreated from Emma's space. "It's not locked."
Emma wondered how long she should wait before ripping it open, then decided that was long enough. The wrapping paper came clean off. It was a small box. Dumbly, Emma wondered if it was an engagement ring. She opened it. There was a key, on the key was the fob, on the fob were little buttons with car stuff on them.
"These are car keys," Emma said, in the same voice she'd muster to say "He's hot" if Hugh Jackman walked in without a shirt on.
"You need to start your car somehow," Regina said with a smile.
"I have a car?" Emma squeaked.
Regina nodded to the driveway. Emma raced out, nearly taking a header into her birthday cake before making the turn and hitting the front door. With it open, everyone could see the pristine '77 Chevrolet Camaro, black with purple racing stripes, freshly washed and bowed like a present.
Emma took tiny steps toward it, like she didn't want to scare it off, while Regina and Mary-Margaret stepped out onto the porch behind her. "You bought my daughter a car?" Mary-Margaret asked, voice gracious but brow furrowed.
"Hardly. It was time for me to buy a new car and I decided to give my old one away instead of letting some dealership lowball me. I am a little old to be tooling around in a muscle car, after all."
"I wouldn't say you're old."
"No, you wouldn't," Regina said smartly.
Emma finally reached the car. She put her key in the lock. It fit. The only noise she could conjure was a manly giggle. She opened the door and climbed it, fitting as awkwardly through the door as a square peg in a round hole. She finally got herself situated by the time Regina and her mother joined her. Regina leaned against the car, head through the window, while Mary-Margaret stood back.
"This is a car," Emma said, vibrating a little.
Regina smiled, understanding. A Subaru or a Toyota was fine. The looks of an overgrown shaver, but fine. But if you went far enough back, you dipped into a sort of ancestral memory of what a car should feel like. And nothing could feel more right than a car that fought back a little, responding to every pump on the pedal or twitch on the wheel, but with just enough sass to make you think it had a mind of its own. You had to earn a car like that.
"Emma, what do we say?" Mary-Margaret called, her arms crossed, her reflection on the hood.
Emma's face colored instantly. She wasn't a child; she'd been about to thank Regina. She just hadn't wanted to spoil the moment.
"Thank you, Mayor Mills," Emma said graciously, trying not to take her embarrassment out on Regina despite the sarcasm desperately trying to make its way through. "But… why?"
"Well, it is an election year, my sweet. And you are eligible to vote now." Regina turned her head, looking out the windshield along with Emma. "Now, how about a test drive?"
"Hell yeah!"
"Language!" Mary-Margaret said, striding forward as if intending to block the Camaro with her body. "And Emma only has a learner's permit, she can't drive."
"Mooooom!" Emma enunciated, biting off the vowel when she remembered Regina was in earshot. "My license is in the mail, it'll be here any day!"
"Nonetheless, until that time, you won't be driving alone. Not that your gift is unappreciated, Madame Mayor," Mary-Margaret added hastily, "my daughter will just have to be patient for now."
"What about the Mayor? She could drive with me."
Regina grinned bemusedly at the thought. Emma met her eyes and smiled back. She didn't know why. Mary-Margaret looked between them. The skin prickled at the back of her neck, like something was going terribly wrong but far beyond her reach or sight.
"Well, Ms. Blanchard?" Regina asked, facing Mary-Margaret now.
Mary-Margaret hesitated. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Mom!"
"Emma is very inexperienced; the last time we went for a drive she hit a trash can. I'd like to teach her a few more things about the road before I let anyone else drive with her. I'm sure you understand."
"Of course," Regina said, her vowels clipped off in a painfully formal way. She laid her hand down on the hood, the long fingers pale strips of gold on the dark finish. Emma found her eyes drawn to those coyly curled fingers as they moved over the car as fondly as a lover's caress. "Another time, Emma. Perhaps when you get your license, you could come by my place and give me a ride."
Emma nodded like a broken bobblehead. "Cool! I mean, I'd like that."
"I'm sure you would." Regina took her hand away from the cool metal, catching it in her other hand. Emma imagined the chill of the metal fading between her fingers. It probably would've felt amazing to be touched by her. Like winter and spring all at once.
Where'd that come from? Emma wondered.
Regina was eyeing Mary-Margaret now, her back wholly turned on Emma. "Now then, tell me there's cake at this little gathering."
***
Emma had expected her boyfriend to jump at a ride in a genuine American gas-guzzler. Scott was always talking about how he planned to go sky-diving someday. But apparently going over 55 MPH only appealed to him when it was a mile off the ground. Nut.
Emma had had her car for a week, and her license almost that long, so she'd already learned how to put the Camaro through its paces. They orbited town like a satellite, going almost the same speed too, throwing up leaves with their velocity like a child splashing in puddles.
Scott held onto the oh shit handle like it was an oh free candy handle. "Do you have to go so fast?"
Emma's hands kneaded the steering wheel. "No, I don't have to. But I can." Hands throttling the wheel, Emma spun them around a tight twist in the road. Scott whimpered a bit.
They'd been together since elementary school, where he'd been the only boy willing to keep pulling her ponytail after she clobbered Billy Finch. In middle school they'd been bros, Billy sneaking her his dad's beer and Emma bringing him her mom's lingerie catalogs. In high school, they'd made it official, going out to Sandra Bullock movies together and everything. There'd been some make-out sessions, he'd let her feel her up when those Sandra Bullock movies got steamy, but… her mother had this lecture about waiting for the right guy that her mind skipped to like a radio preset whenever he reached below her waist. It was total bullshit, but she was a virgin at eighteen. Fucking Maine…
Emma noticed Scott biting his lip like he was trying to keep from screaming. Trying not to take too much pleasure in his distress, the big baby, she grabbed his hand and pulled it onto her thigh. She was wearing a skirt.
"Hold on tight," she told him. "You wouldn't want to—"
"Look out!"
Emma's eyes darted back to the road. There was a car parked half a mile in front of them. She stomped on the brakes with videogame reflexes, but nothing happened. For two whole seconds, she was practically standing on the pedal, then the wheels locked and the Camaro slowed. Just in time to slap into the other car instead of smash.
Emma pulled herself out of the car like she was jumping out of a haunted house. She'd tested those brakes. They should've stopped in time. Her mom was going to kill her. How could this get any worse?
"Emma?" Regina stepped out of the woods, pulling her cell-phone from her ear. "Is everything all right? I thought I heard tires screeching."
Emma just moaned and sunk to her knees.
***
Emma apologized about a hundred times before Regina could calm her down. The coolest person in Storybrooke and Emma had nearly run her over. God!
"Now the important thing is that we're all alright," Regina said, briskly taking charge of the situation. She'd already seated Emma and Scott on a boulder beside the road and checked them for injuries. Of course, she'd also made Emma call her mom and explain what had happened. "It was really my fault. I didn't expect my new car to break down so soon. I never should've bought from Purdie Boot's used car lot."
"C'mon. It's my fault, Miss Mills. I wasn't exactly driving defensively."
"Ixnay!" Scott whispered. "Ixnay!"
"And who's this?" Regina asked, swinging her eyes over to him like a prison guard manning a searchlight.
"He's my—"
"I'm her boyfriend," Scott said, almost defensively. "Scott Willow."
"What a fine young man. You must keep Emma very happy."
"Well, yeah. I mean, she is."
"That's good." Regina nodded. "It's so hard for a young woman to ask for what she wants in this world. I'd hate to see our girl go unsatisfied."
Emma felt a sudden urge to ask Regina what she meant by that—it felt layered, like when her parents had watched Dr. Strangelove as a little girl and all the jokes had gone over her head. But just then, Mary-Margaret's van came hurtling around the corner almost as fast as Emma's car had. It pulled to a stop well clear of the fender-bender and Mary-Margaret stalked out. Emma winced inwardly. This must've been what criminals felt when they saw the Batsignal.
Crossing her arms, Mary-Margaret regarded the three of them. After a brief, but intense glance at Emma, she turned her attention to Scott. "Scott Willow. I talked to your mother. She seems to think you can walk home and I happen to agree with her. You'd better get going if you don't want to miss supper."
"It's, like, two miles!"
"Good. You're having lasagna tonight. It has a lot of calories."
Regina quirked an eyebrow. "You'd better get going then."
Sensing he was outnumbered, Scott took off, remembering a few steps later to look back at Emma. "I'll text you."
"Yeah," Emma replied half-heartedly, in the hopes that if she played dead, maybe Mary-Margaret would pass up an easy kill.
Drawing out the torture, Mary-Margaret looked at Regina. "I cannot begin to express how sorry I am for this." Grabbing Emma's arm without looking, she pulled her to her feet and roughly handled her back towards the van. "I really thought Emma was more responsible than this. And I want to assure you that she will pay you back every cent of the damages if she has to flip burgers every waking moment for the rest of the year."
"God!" Emma pulled away from Mary-Margaret, her glasses sliding down her nose before she fixed them. "I said I was sorry, it's not like I killed anyone!"
"No. You crashed your new car. Into a parked car. That belongs to the woman who gave you your car!"
"Maybe I already feel bad about it, Mom, you don't have to—" Emma stumbled over not saying the F-word. If it were anyone else… "rub it in!"
"Wow. Guilt. I didn't know you were capable. I'm sure that will pop her fender right back on."
"I'm going to pay her back, okay, but I'm not shoveling fries while some old manager guy leers at me. I'll take a few extra babysitting jobs, it'll take a while—"
"But you'll be able to hang out with your friends," Mary-Margaret finished. "Because that is what's really important, right?"
"Yes! It's my senior year! I'm leaving! Dad would've under—"
"You will not tell me what my husband would or wouldn't have done."
Emma just bit her lip and looked away. Mary-Margaret never understood. She thought she idealized him. But she remembered. He'd always tried to protect her.
"If I may," Regina began, stepping forward. With a blush, Emma remembered she'd been there the whole time. "It so happens that my estate's old gardener retired last spring and I'm ashamed to say that the vines and such have gotten a little out of hand. I could really use someone with a strong back to come by every week and help out. It's not hard work, just… sweaty." Regina looked in Emma's eyes at that word. Emma wanted suddenly to look away, but she didn't. "Perhaps Emma could work in my garden for the rest of the year. That'd give me time to find a replacement and wouldn't cut into her schedule too much."
"That'd work," Emma agreed. "I'm really good with plants, I mean, I am awesome. I grew one of those jar-potatoes for my sixth grade science project, it kicked all the other jar-potatoes's asses."
"Lan-guage," Mary-Margaret reminded her sotto voce. She looked from Regina to Emma, noticing a nervous little smile on Emma's face. The girl was actually rocking on her heels a little bit for her savior. "Mayor Mills, thank you for the generous offer, but my daughter really needs discipline."
"Oh, I'm sure she does. But sometimes a soft touch gets the best results. My house is near the high school. Let's say we have the bus drop her off after school to spend an hour working the lawn. Afterward, I can even help her with her homework, as well as those all-important college applications. I certainly have more time to offer her than you do. And once I'm completely satisfied with her efforts, she can go spend time with her friends. You'd be surprised how important a strong social life can be in finding a career."
"It's not like you're ever at home anyway," Emma offered, shutting up when Mary-Margaret glared at her.
"I really can't ask you to make that sacrifice—" Mary-Margaret pleaded.
"No sacrifice at all," Regina countered. "I find your daughter a charming young woman, and I'd enjoy her company far more than having a gloomy old house all to myself. Please. I insist."
"Well… I'd expect her to be back for dinner, every evening."
"Of course."
"And," Mary-Margaret's voice lowered seriously, "I'd consider her safety your personal responsibility."
"What, does she have to baby-proof the wall outlets?" Emma asked incredulously.
"I promise, I'll take excellent care of your little girl." Regina put an arm around Emma and pulled her close. "I think we'll get along famously, won't we dear?"
Feeling Regina's body against her own and Regina's voice purring in her ear, the conversation coiled back around Emma. I'm sure she does need discipline. But sometimes a soft touch gets the best results. It's not hard work, just… sweaty. Emma felt her stomach twisting itself in knots. Must've been that second chili dog at lunch.
"Yeah. You can be like the cool aunt I never had."
"Alright," Mary-Margaret said at last, and Emma resisted the urge to cheer. "But don't let her weasel her way out of work just because she has puppy dog eyes."
Regina laughed and gave Emma a shove back toward Mary-Margaret. "Oh, I promise I'll be very hard on her."
Emma's stomach was a balloon animal.
Putting a much-less-welcome hand on Emma's back, Mary-Margaret steered her into the van, thanking Regina twice for being so understanding. As soon as the doors were shut, she asked "And why didn't I hear anything about you driving off alone with Scott Willow?"
Emma groaned. Maybe her mother should've been spending some time with Regina. She could learn not to be such a drag all the time.
***
The next day flew by for Emma—Mary-Margaret giving her the stinkeye over breakfast, school, then a bus ride where she had to politely remind the driver she had a new drop-off point. She'd seen Regina's manor a few times before—mostly on Halloween, where a few sparse Jack-o'lanterns turned it into the background of a Scooby-Doo episode. In the day, it was house porn. The grounds were overgrown, but they weren't a jungle. All the weeds and wildflowers made it look like the Garden of Eden.
Emma had always figured Eden wouldn't be an orderly garden. It'd be wild and free.
On the long walk up the driveway, Emma groomed herself a little, gathering up her hair into a ponytail, adjusting her stockings, even putting on both straps of her backpack. All of a sudden she wanted to look her best for Regina. Maybe it was just the house, so intimidating in its near-perfection. Even it couldn't live up to Regina's impeccable fashion sense and general elegance, but it did throw her into stark relief. She was like the crown jewel of her own life.
Emma wanted to be, like, one of the other jewels. Maybe that ball thing royals had; with the cross on top? She rang the doorbell and was actually a little disappointed when Ruby answered it. Then confused when she saw what Ruby was wearing.
Emma was tempted to call it a "sexy French maid" costume right out of a Halloween party—or a strip club. Black silk formed a short skirt and a low-cut top. The skirt flared out like a tutu so Emma could see the black stockings Ruby had on, all the way up to black lace garter belts. There were starched white cuffs and a collar, a white apron, and even a little white cap perched on Ruby's hair (itself pinned into a wavy updo). All in all, Ruby looked like she should be on American Horror Story, making someone crysturbate.
"Oh, hey Emma," Ruby said, smiling warmly. "Regina said you'd be coming by. You want some tea or something?"
"Really? We're not even going to get into all this?"
Ruby looked down at her attire. "Oh, this. Well, I make some money on the side cleaning Regina's house and she lets me dress this way. She actually mailed me a set of jeans, but I think she's given up on it now. They were mom jeans."
"Okay. It's just for a minute there I thought I ended up at the Playboy Mansion by mistake."
"Thank you!" Ruby said sincerely. It was a dream of hers to have her own reality show, although not one where she slept with rappers or anything. More like her racing around the world and she just happened to be wearing a shirt tight enough to cut off circulation.
The thing was, Emma couldn't help compare her to Regina, who always looked so tasteful and buttoned-down and tempting, like a librarian who moonlighted as an burlesque dancer (which, according to all the magazines Emma read, was what men thought of as the perfect woman). And Ruby, for all her body-rocking, came off crassly. Regina would've dressed like she was auditioning for The Help and made it look like something Angelina Jolie would wear on the red carpet.
Emma had idolized Ruby back in junior high, but now, she kinda wondered if Ruby didn't just have bad taste in clothes.
"C'mon, Miss R's in her office."
***
After finishing up a phone call, Regina invited Emma in and insisted she have a snack before getting started. Ruby's brought them ginger snaps and Sprite, and Regina smiled embarrassedly when Ruby's lean-in to serve broadcast her cleavage to the both of them. Regina solicited about how Emma's day had been and Emma gladly told her. It felt nice, just having someone ask her what was up and not expecting an essay. Mary-Margaret always grilled her at dinner, like Emma might spill the nuclear launch codes over green peas.
Finished with their snack, and hurrying to get away from Ruby mooning them as she dusted Regina's piano, Regina escorted Emma to the garden shed. It, at least, was in good repair from the last gardener, and Emma quickly proved to Regina that she knew her way around the various tools. She really was good with plants; she'd helped Mary-Margaret with her garden back before her mother had gone batshit over the possibility of Emma ending up on Teen Mom 3.
"Well, I suggest you start with the weeding," Regina said sweetly, handing Emma an angle hand weeder that would make it a breeze. Emma had begged her mother for one of those, but no, doing it by hand built so much frickin' character. "And if you need anything, just let me know."
"Will do, Mayor."
"Please, call me Regina. I think it's time for my hour of sun; I'll be on the patio if you need me."
***
Regina's backyard had six-foot-high hedges that hid it, and a goodly portion of her house, from the rest of her land. Emma decided to take that section first, killing anything that looked like a dandelion and stuffing it in the trash bag she dragged behind it. She was getting pretty into it, Zening out and letting her mind wander. It worried at her mother, and how much longer Mary-Margaret would be giving her the cold shoulder, and then flitted back to Regina.
Oh, I promise I'll be very hard on her. It was great how Regina had just… defused Mary-Margaret, finding a way for everyone to be happy (except for Mary-Margaret, since she was never happy). Emma hoped someone at college would be just like her. Maybe one of the teachers. She could go all Dead Poets Society on Emma. Or maybe Emma would visit Regina on break. Tell her mother she was going to Cancun and just stay at Regina's place. Watch old movies and drink wine. Regina could tell her how to kiss Scott. She always felt like she was doing something wrong.
She was almost finished, about to go inside to see if she could scam anymore ginger snaps off Regina, when the woman herself came out. She wore a loose silk dressing gown, the material nearly translucent, seeming to beckon Emma to try to look through it. The flesh underneath was…
Emma quickly concentrated on the next weed. God, she was perving on the Mayor, what was wrong with her, why couldn't she crush on Michelle Obama like all the other girls?
Regina waved at her and Emma waved back, her hand doing a palsy-thing instead of the graceful acknowledgment Regina had perfected. Then Regina took her gown off, laying it ever so neatly across a patio chair. She sat down on a sun lounger, every inch of herself stretched out for the light.
Emma only allowed herself to look out the corner of her eye. All Regina wore was a bikini, the two-piece covering like garnish on a steak. The rest of her… in Emma's photography class, the school district was too cheap to hire models and too prudish to get them naked anyway. They had to make do with photographing volunteers from the class, which meant that Emma had wasted far more rolls of film than posterity could justify on Keisha T-shirts and jeggings. But Regina… God, Emma wanted to photograph that body every which way. Low-light, blinding light, silhouette, black and white. Under the bleachers, against a white background, in the woods, everywhere. She wanted a portfolio of Regina, proof to convince the harshest skeptic that a woman really could look like that.
Regina gave her neck a crack, did her fingers, and finally picked up a pair of sunglasses off the patio's dining table. She slipped them on like the finishing touch of the picture she was making of herself.
Keeping herself very focused on her work—seemingly—Emma craned her head just barely to the side. Her eyes took in the cute little toes on Regina's bare feet. She dared to tilt her head further, now taking in Regina's legs. They seemed impossibly long with Emma's gaze traveling up them second… by… second…
A glob of white liquid squirted onto them and Emma looked away hurriedly, pulling the next three weeds at record speed as if somehow she'd glazed Regina's legs with newfound psychic powers. When she finally looked back, she saw Regina was smearing suntan lotion up and down her calves. Completely ordinary and responsible. Emma looked away just as Regina's legs started to shine with the oil.
She pulled weeds and pulled weeds and pulled weeds. Quietly, efficiently—her mother would've been so proud. And when she looked back, it was practically by accident. A drop of sweat ran into her eye and stung, and as she wiped it away, she happened to look over at Regina…
As those hands traveled over her breasts, up her throat, over her cheeks like the caress of a lover. Emma had the feeling of being an intruder, stumbling upon a private moment—Regina in an moment of autoerotic pleasure. Then Regina's hands slid back down, over the tops of her breasts, applying the lotion with the lightest touch. Emma felt her mouth go dry. If she'd tried, she would've found it impossible to look away. Not that she tried, but…
Regina tugged her top a little ways down her cleavage. It was loose-fitting, the kind of thing that might come off at a quick pull. She spread the lotion over her areolas, almost to her nipples—almost letting Emma see them. Then she saw she'd gotten a dollop of lotion onto her top. Sighing, she moved to untie the knot in the middle, deciding to forego it entirely. Emma felt her breath hitch and couldn't imagine ever exhaling again.
Then Regina looked right at her. Her expression was impossible to make out with black glass blocking her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, Emma, I forgot you were there."
"No, it's… okay… don't mind me…" Emma tried to force a chuckle, but all that came out was a very hoarse cough.
Regina smiled graciously. "I know, it's just us girls, but if your mother knew, I think she'd run me in for corrupting a minor. She had such a fit about the English department at your school teaching Harry Potter. 'They weren't proper fairy tales,' something like that…"
"It could be our little secret!" Emma said desperately, and instantly regretted it. Beneath her poker face (which had been frozen on ever since Regina acknowledged her existence), she cringed.
"Maybe when we're a little better acquainted," Regina joked, and turned over with her top held to her chest. "I think I'd better do my back."
And what a back it was. Supple muscles, slender waist, and… a feature men were a fan of whose appeal Emma could very well understand. Regina's bottoms could've been mistaken for body paint at first glance.
And it all needed suntan lotion on it.
"I could—" Emma started, unintentionally coming out as a squeak. She cleared her throat, but before she could start again, Ruby came out with a tray of lemonade. Two glasses.
"Here's your drink, ma'am." She set one on the ground under Regina's lounger. "Need someone to get your back?"
"Mmm. Desperately. Emma?" Regina called suddenly.
Emma felt like she was going to pass out. "Uh… y-yeah?"
"Would you like a drink?" Regina offered as Ruby rubbed the suntan lotion between her hands.
"No thanks." Emma finally caught her breath. "I think I'm gonna do the rest of the yard."
On the other side of the hedge, Emma dropped flat on her face and just breathed. God. Shit, shit, shit. What was she doing? Regina was good-looking, but she wasn't that good-looking. Okay, she was, but Emma didn't care. She was straight. She had a boyfriend. She had posters of Josh Hutchinson. So Regina was getting a tan? Good for her. It was probably just to stop her from getting Alzheimer's or something like that, not so she could give a teenager (a girl-teenager) wet dreams. Fuck! If Emma kept this up, she'd find out which gay slur her name rhymed with. She was sure there was one. 'Blanchard'. That might as well have been gift-wrapped. It just sounded like an euphemism.
"Do you mind if I remove my top?" Regina asked, the question drifting distantly through the leaves of the hedge.
Emma felt her head shoot up like a prairie dog's, despite the split-second realization that Regina wasn't talking to her.
"No problem there, boss. Just us girls, right?" Ruby replied.
Emma now knew what game show contestants felt like when they flubbed a million-dollar-question. That could've been her. She could be Regina's confidante… apprentice… friend… instead of just the stupid silly bitch who rear-ended her car.
"Oh, that's it…" Regina sighed, and Emma realized they'd started already. Her eyes darted to the hedge. She could just make out Regina, quivering under Ruby's strong fingers, the oil being lathered onto her shoulders. "And get my sides too, if you don't mind…"
Emma felt herself being pulled to the hedge as if her head had a magnet in it. And the leaves were magnets too. She nearly shoved her face in it as Regina leaned up, her breasts swaying under her, Ruby's long fingers running down the sides of Regina's body. They barely touched Regina… there. Emma suddenly developed a keen appreciation of Ruby's self-control. How could you not want to touch those? They were just so… and they were really… and then there was just how round they were!
"That feels good," Regina cooed, and Emma imagined she could see the shiver going down Ruby's spine. There certainly was one going down hers. "But… just a little lower. You missed a spot."
Emma knew what Regina was talking about. So did Ruby. Her hands traveled back up Regina's ribs, towards her—
Emma pulled herself away so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash. This was so wrong. Ruby was just helping Regina put on some suntan lotion and Emma was using simple skin cancer prevention like an issue of Maxim! What, had she been a teenage boy in a previous life? Gross. She'd helped her friends put on lotion plenty of times and there'd never been anything sexual about it. It was just something you did at the beach.
"And my lower back now?" Regina asked. Emma forced herself not to listen. There was work to do. She'd totaled Regina's car, after all. She owed her. She should be making it up to her, not… whatever that had been. Almost viciously, Emma returned to tearing out weeds.
"God, you must have magic fingers, Ruby."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Oh, I should be thanking you. Just work your magic on my thighs and I'll be absolutely beholden."
Emma heard herself groan. Okay. Just this once. Gently, her hands actually shaking a little, Emma spread the branches of the hedge and eased her head down to look through the hole she'd made.
Ruby was on her knees between Regina's legs (they were spread, Jesus Christ), her oily fingers 'working their magic' just below Regina's ass. Her hands moved with firm strokes; if she was nervous about touching Regina, she didn't show it. Maybe she had a lot of experience with it.
Emma heard another groan make its way up her throat.
"I need the oil between my thighs, Ruby," Regina said, her voice just barely carrying to Emma, and that was thanks to the wind. Her words were low. Intimate. "That's where I burn up."
"Me too," Ruby said, cheerfully oblivious to any double entendre. Her hands moved up Regina's thighs and then down between them, like she was spreading Regina's legs. If it weren't for the distance, Emma could've sworn that Regina raised her ass a bit.
"And I wouldn't mind a little inside my bikini, just to be on the safe side."
"Yes ma'am." Ruby's hands disappeared between their bodies. Emma involuntarily arced forward for a better look, but there was none to be had. She could just make out Regina's mouth. It seemed to be opening and closing. In pleasure, or was she just breathing…?
"Almost done," Regina said, breathing hard. "Rub wherever you think I need it. Anywhere you like."
At least, that's what Emma thought she said. It was hard to tell, with her voice so soft.
Did she hear Regina hiss in breath, like she'd just been touched somewhere sensitive, or was that just her imagination?
"Lower," Regina said.
Emma didn't notice she was leaning forward until she lost her balance and crashed through the hedge, displaying all the grace of a Bigfoot sighting.
***
Out of mercy, Regina didn't mention the possibility that Emma had been peeping on her. But it was hard not to notice that after that, she never tanned when Emma was over. Emma had mixed feelings about that. In the coming days, she pruned the hedges, revved up Regina's riding lawnmower, and learned how to trim back the roses.
Cultivated to Regina's exacting specifications, the estate became more imposing. And yet, the more Emma was there, the more familiar it was. Maybe she was becoming a vampire. Coming to call the twilight at Castle Regina home.
Oh Wednesday, the weather was all fog and drizzle, not at all like the sunshine she'd gotten used to working in. The tanktop Emma usually worked in now left her damp and shivering. She was already griping in her head about spending an afternoon rooting around in the mud. But, splashing closer to the front door, she saw Regina had it open. A much-abused welcome mat had been added to the austere porch. Emma wiped her shoes off on them, as an army must've done before her.
Regina appeared as if a switch had been flipped, carrying a towel that she threw around Emma without a syllable of greeting. "We're having such awful weather. I would've understood if you hadn't come by."
"Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow," Emma quoted. She shut up as Regina wiped off her wet face. "It's fine. I've had worse summer jobs. At least it's not retail."
Regina bundled Emma up in the cloth like they were in Tehran. "I admire your work ethic, Emma. But I have something altogether different in mind for today."
The memory of Regina, next to nude and glistening with tanning oil, blew into Emma's mind like a summer storm. My usual masseuse is out sick. You don't mind, do you? Stupid. It was raining. And Regina was a girl. God!
"As I hear it, you have a senior project coming due."
Emma had to stop herself from shaking her head. She was used to this treatment from Mary-Margaret. Ve have vays of making you talk. "It's just an essay. Nothing huge."
"Twenty percent of your final grade, Emma. An A or a C. What's it going to be about?"
"The trash island in the Atlantic."
"You mean the Pacific."
"It's trash. It floats."
Regina pulled the towel away so fast Emma wondered if she'd be naked underneath, like a magic trick. She wasn't. "Come with me."
As they walked, Regina dropped the towel into a hamper. Emma wished she could fit in so easily. Her tennis shoes squeaked on the floor, leaving wet marks. Emma felt like a little girl tracking in mud. She would've given anything to make Regina see her as a woman.
They passed many windows. The sound of the rain striking them lulled Emma out of her doubts. She found her eyes pulled to the muscles of Regina's back, working under the tight cloth of her Oxford shirt. It was a more casual ensemble than Emma had ever seen her in. The skirt barely reached her knees.
Emma was thrown out of her reverie by the creak of Regina opening a door for her. They were deep in the west wing of Regina's manor.
"Welcome to my library," Regina said, crooking her finger to usher Emma inward. Emma didn't hesitate. She followed Regina to a table and sat down in the chair Regina pulled out for her without a question. Regina patted her on the shoulder, then indicated a stack of books in front of her. "I've put together a little reading list on the subject. There isn't anything that's very detailed, I'm afraid, but it has to give you a few ideas."
Emma flipped through the first book. "This is perfect. Did you buy this for me?"
"No, I just had them lying around. These shelves hold over five hundred books."
"Wow." Emma looked around. The bookshelves towered like skyscrapers. Intimidating, but welcoming. "You must spend a lot of time on the can. Reading, I mean."
Regina took a moment to blink. "Actually, I have a Barcelona I prefer."
"I probably would too."
Regina's hand returned to Emma's shoulder. "But I did get the joke." Her fingers played at Emma's skin, flowing through the strap of her tanktop. If a cat was trying to decide whether to undress someone or not, Emma could imagine its touch being like that. Not that Regina would ever take so much as a stitch off her. "What have you got so far?" Regina asked.
"I have an outline," Emma said, feeling like she'd just confessed to a skin condition.
"Alright then, here's what we'll do. I'll fix us supper. You stay in here and write your paper. We'll eat presently. If you need any help, I'll be right next door. And neither of us will leave until we have this thing… licked."
Emma really wished Regina hadn't used that word.
***
Her introduction popped right out of Emma, but the rest was pulling teeth. Her teachers wanted everything in some lame, passive-aggressive style, like the people in the Star Wars prequels talked. She kept having to go back and express herself worse, just to get a good grade. It was ridiculous. In three hours, she had two thousand words. The assignment was ten thousand words.
She wrote the same factoid fifteen different ways before a headache started in. It was one of those that got right behind her eyes and danced a jig in steel-toed boots. She tilted her head back in a failed attempt to relieve the pressure. A groan escaped her.
"Is something the matter?" Regina purred, and with a start Emma realized the Mayor was in the library with her.
"Just a headache."
"Perhaps it's time for a break."
"No, we already had supper. I'll just plow through like you would."
"I would ask for help. And accept it." Regina took a seat beside Emma, her hand traipsing through Emma's hair as she slid past. "Now let's see about that headache. Take a deep breath. Hold it." Regina's hand hovered over Emma's skin, moving down to her stomach. Emma could feel its electricity.
Regina's hand stayed on her as she exhaled softly. Her belly sunk into her body. The pressure made it hard for her to inhale.
Too quick to process, the hand was over her breasts, under her throat. "Breathe," Regina told her. It didn't sound like a suggestion.
Emma's chest rose and fell, Regina's hand going with it. Regina watched avidly. A part of Emma wished her interest was more personal. She'd given up wondering why she thought that way sometimes.
"Your air flow feels very tense," Regina said concernedly. "When was the last time you got a massage?"
"Uh, never?"
"Oh, darling…" Regina's hand rolled in a circle on Emma's flesh. Emma tried to control her breathing before it pushed Regina's hand away. "I think I've been working you too hard."
"You can work me as hard as you like!" Emma protested.
Regina laughed. It sounded warm and deep, from far down in her body. "I wish more of my staff were like you. Here, tell me if this helps…"
Suddenly, her hands were on Emma's temples, the first two fingers gently rubbing away in small circuits. Emma felt her headache go on the fritz. "Yeah, that's good… maybe I could come work for you. After I graduate."
"Mmmm. Are you sure?" Regina worked her fingers in deeper, starting to dig her fingertips into Emma's skull. Emma's headache receded into the distance; she nearly moaned her relief. "I work some long nights."
"I'm a night person," Emma offered feebly.
"I'll keep that in mind." Regina stood, taking her hands away. Emma bit her lip to keep from protesting. "Do you still have a headache?"
Emma didn't, really, but she didn't want Regina to stop either. "A little one."
"I thought so. You have a lot of tension; it can't be easy, growing up in a single-parent household."
"My mom… tries," Emma said, defensive.
"I'm sure. But it can't be easy for her to understand you, can it?
"Like she'd want to," Emma muttered.
Regina smiled sympathetically. "I'd really like to deal with some of your kinks before you get any more stress."
"My kinks?"
"In your back," Regina clarified. "I've seen girls with your level of toxicity develop real health problems."
"Holy shit," Emma said, nearly clapping her hand over her mouth after realizing what she'd said to Regina.
Regina just kept on smiling, a little bemusedly. "Would you mind taking a break from studying for a proper massage? I learned how in college and I've never gotten to use my skills." She shrugged. "It was an easy credit."
Emma played it cool. "Whatever you think is best."
"What a wonderful attitude you have. I don't know what Mary-Margaret complains about." Regina took Emma's hand and led her inexorably to a window overlooking the backyard. Half-tamed and half-wild, the dew the rain had left made it look like a wonderland. She pulled the blanket off the window seat under the glass. "Now, just take off your shirt and lie down here. It's not as comfortable as I'd like, but it'll do in a pinch."
"Take off my shirt?"
"Unless you'd like me to do it through fabric." Regina pursed her lips suddenly. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize—it's fine if you don't want to, we can do it with your shirt on."
"No, no, it's fine. See?" Emma pulled her shirt over her head, not giving herself a chance to be self-conscious. "Let's get our massage on!"
Regina's mouth twitched in approval. "Indeed. I like your bra, by the way."
It said 'Boom' on each cup. Two years ago, back when she was an idiot sophomore, she thought it was sexy.
"It was a gift," Emma said quickly.
"Good to know you're friends with someone with good taste."
"I'm friends with you, aren't I?"
"Absolutely, my dear Ms. Blanchard."
Regina watched as Emma mounted the couch, pausing for a moment on all fours like some kind of model before she dropped down onto her belly. The way Regina beamed made her feel like she'd captured some kind of pride, gotten an approval she'd never gotten from teachers or Mary-Margaret. And why shouldn't her daring be as appreciated as a bunch of nerds making science projects? She was getting a bare-skin massage from Mayor MILF. Finally, something worthy of Texts From Last Night.
"Now you just wait there one moment," Regina said, poking a finger into the top of Emma's spine. "I think I have some oils from QVC around here somewhere. We're going to make you a brand-new woman."
Emma suddenly remembered Regina, covered with oil, basking in it. And now she was touching Emma. The teenager had to take a deep breath to keep from humping the seat cushion.
She was alone with her thoughts just long enough to rethink this, to decide on it again, when Regina returned. The sound of her heels clicking on the library's tiles seemed to drill into Emma. Funny. The massage was only making her more tense so far.
A few moments of Regina dithering and a stereo in the wall came to life, speakers around the room piping out a soothing melody from a string quartet. It sounded familiar, but Emma couldn't place it. The lamps were turned off, so the only light was the sun flowing through the overcast sky. Emma heard the click of a lighter, and smelled a subtle touch of incense from far away. Then Regina was at the window seat, diligently laying bottles of massage oil in front of Emma. They were all in exotic bottles, colored glass with stickers bearing exotic names.
"This is my own blend," Regina said, scooting a small green bottle close to Emma's face. "A little cocoa butter, some sesame oil, and a base of sweet almond. You're not allergic to nuts, are you?"
"No."
"Good girl."
Emma beamed, not that she'd done anything.
Regina took the bottle away. Emma heard it being uncapped, then a little swish of liquid as it was poured into Regina's cupped hand. A tink as it was set down, then a slow, sensual friction as it was rubbed into Regina's hands. They parted with a wet sound, then Emma felt them, flat on her shoulder blades, shockingly warm. She almost cried out.
The smell was what surprised Emma the most. It was intoxicating. Sweet and dark, seeping through Emma's senses and lighting up her brain. It was like the scent of chocolate making you hungry, but Emma didn't know what this made her want. Yes she did.
"I should warn you, a massage can be very intense, intimate even," Regina began, and was it Emma's imagination or was her voice lower, richer? "Even if it's only meant to be platonic. Even if it's between two women."
"That's, uh… I'll remember."
"What I want you to do, Emma, is completely dismiss the concept of sex from your mind. Pretend you haven't even heard of it. That you've never even been touched… you pure thing. The only hands that have touched you are mine." Slowly, like the first snowflakes of an avalanche, Regina's hands moved lower. They took their time. Spreading the glistening oil over bare millimeters. "There is no past. There is no future. There's no judgment or expectation. You're free of all that. There's only new ideas. New experiences. Can you see me that way, Emma? Not as how you see me now, but merely as someone who is touching you and bringing you pleasant sensations—pure sensations?"
"Yes. Regina…" Emma couldn't raise her voice. It was trapped at a whisper.
"Good, Emma. Clear your mind. Close your eyes. Listen only to my voice. Feel only my touch. I'm feeling a lot of tension in your body. Especially here." Regina's fingers ran along the strap of Emma's bra. "I'd like your permission to take it off."
"Of course. Anything."
"You're very open-minded. That's a lovely trait in someone so young."
With the ease of a knife entering butter, Regina opened the bra hook and set the straps to Emma's side. Although Emma would still characterize herself as PG-13, she felt impossibly naked. It was wonderful.
Without that clunky old thing in the way, Regina's hands could go anywhere. And they did. "What I'm doing now is just touching you, and letting myself be felt. All your attention is on my hands. All your concerns are secondary to this feeling. It's funny, isn't it… such a simple, human thing as being touched, yet we go days without it. Without being hugged… or held… or kissed…"
Regina's hands felt too good. She was right. It was so natural to be touched, yet if Mary-Margaret caught Scott doing something as innocent as this to her, there'd be hell to pay. Regina reached the hollow dimples at the base of Emma's spine, dipping into them before returning to the sensitive skin she'd left in her wake. Emma moaned in pleasure, then her eyes jolted open as the sound echoed in her ears. Christ, had she just…?
"It's alright," Regina said with a chuckle. "It's supposed to feel good. Relax. No one here is going to judge you. It's just me, after all. Little old me…"
"You're awesome," Emma muttered, her eyes closed again. She felt herself being drawn into a curious state: too awake to sleep, like she was on a caffeine high, yet with the peace and solitude of dozing off on the couch on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Regina made a pleased hum as her hands rolled back up Emma's strong back. "What I'm doing now is stimulating your blood's circulation. Just like a healthy bout of exercise would, without the lactic acid that would accumulate in your system. Your blood is racing all through your body. It's being returned to your heart, being purified and cleansed. The toxins deep below your skin are being drawn by the motion of my hands, carried away by the motion of your blood and destroyed by the harmony of your body. When you get up, I promise you, it's going to feel like you've slept for a week."
"Thank you…"
"Don't thank me yet. We're far from done. Now, I want you to take a deep breath. I've placed incense around the room; can you tell me what scents I've selected?"
"Yeah, umm…" Emma took a whiff. "Lavender…"
"Deeper, Emma. Fill your lungs. It's what they were designed for, after all."
"Okay." Emma inhaled again, deeper this time. She could detect something mingling with the lavender. "Lilacs?"
"Yes. It enhances feelings of calm. And fertility."
"Don't think I need that…"
"Maybe it's more for me," Regina teased. "Another deep breath. I've been touching you very lightly so far. That can heighten sensation."
"I like it."
"Now I'm going to be firmer." Regina's hands bore down on Emma, the new pressure seeming to bring her body to sudden gasping life. Emma's eyelids fluttered, but she remembered Regina's words, letting the sensation enter her, fill her. "The long strokes I make are connecting the many facets of your body, placing them all in harmony with the others. I need you to tell me if there's any part that you want me to touch. That's your body telling you what's not in harmony."
"Just… lower."
"Here?" Regina asked. Her hands were flowing to just inside the waistband of Emma's jeans, but it wasn't enough.
Emma said so.
"Lower?" Regina asked, and her voice was so deep, so soothing.
"Yes."
Emma felt her pants being drawn down. She raised her hips so Regina could do it. And Regina just kept pulling, taking her pants down, down, down until they were being helped off her feet. Lying there in nothing but her panties, Emma felt like she was about to get a spanking.
She expected Regina's hands any moment, but instead—a liquid swish as Regina got more oil. The anticipation physically pained her. Everything she felt was heightened, more powerful, more primal. She needed more of it. She needed more of her body to belong to Regina, being filled with pleasure that felt so secret, so… her own.
"Ooh!" Emma cried out. Regina had touched her, alright, but not with her hands. Her elbows and forearms were coming down on Emma's ass, massaging it roughly.
"Too rough?" Regina sounded amused.
"Fine. It's fine."
"I know. I like it a little rough too." Regina went lower, now brushing Emma's lower buttocks with the sides of her hands. Emma wondered if that was a technique, or she just wanted to avoid using her open palms on what Emma's momma gave her. She wished there was a way to tell Regina it was okay to touch her bathing suit area without being really creepy.
Her hands finally came back to press down on the backs of Emma's thigh. It was an area that went untouched, and the sudden flurry of contact made Emma feel like kicking her little feet. Regina's fingers, masterful and strong, dug into the flesh of Emma's legs. They prodded, they pulled, they rolled, they pinched. Emma's face seeped down into the cushion, the shock of Regina elbowing her butt completely evaporating.
Finally, Regina came to Emma's feet. She didn't even bother to ask before she pulled Emma's shoes off, followed by her socks. For long minutes, she just seemed to play with Emma's feet, flexing and stretching Emma's toes, sliding her thumbs up the grooves between the bones, and then a seemingly endless succession of pleasant sensations that Emma couldn't even qualify.
It was almost a surprise to feel herself getting aroused, her suddenly hard nipples rubbing at the cushion under her with every breath, but then it was also the most natural thing in the world. Regina's hands moved upward, playing the receptive muscles of her calves like the keys of a piano, and Emma felt certain they could only be traveling to her sex.
"I should've asked earlier," Regina said, her voice so soft Emma wouldn't have been surprised if it were coming from her own mind. "Are there any particular aches or pains in your body? Something you want me to massage? Something you need me to rub?"
"Legs," Emma said. She felt like a ventriloquist dummy perched on Regina's lap, telling her exactly what she needed to hear as those amazing hands glided over the backs of her knees. "My thighs."
"Spread them."
Emma did. She couldn't do anything else.
After what seemed like an eternity, she felt Regina's fingers lightly fall on the inside of her thighs. Just the tips, not any real pressure. They moved, just a little, and Emma knew she was being felt. Then they truly went into motion, moving in tiny circles, pulling Emma's flesh in a gentle orbit. Emma felt her breath, so relaxed and serene for the past few minutes, now start to quicken.
"I can feel a lot of tension here. I may need to really grind down to get at."
"Yes, yes, anything."
The little circles Regina was making became wider and deeper, more of her fingers settling on Emma's flesh until her hands were dug between them. Emma's toes curled as the pleasure from Regina's touch reached them. Her hands shrunk into fists. The feeling was almost painful in its intensity. But she liked the pain.
"Breathe," Regina reminded Emma gently. Her hands seemed to be flowing up Emma's thighs, getting higher with each tiny motion.
"Can't…"
"Am I hurting you?" Regina asked, her hands starting to slow…
"No!"
"Perhaps the tension isn't there…"
Regina's hands moved away, but before Emma could protest, Regina touched her. There.
It was just a brief contact, the back of her hand brushing against the crotch of Emma's panties. Regina had moved away before Emma had even reacted, as if she hadn't even noticed, and now her hands were back in the gentle slope between Emma's back and her ass.
But Emma realized now that she was wet. Very wet.
"Here it is," Regina said, almost teasingly, as her fingers lightly brushed from the base of Emma's spine to the top of her ass. "Yes. Your sacrum has all sorts of pressure on it."
"My—"
"Sacrum. It's a bone nestled at the base of the spine. From the Latin word 'sacred'. Divine." Her fingers moved faster, and Emma felt her breath running away from her. Her eyes were open. She couldn't shut them. Off to the side, she could see a painting against the opposite wall. Nymphs and satyrs, frolicking through the woods. Naked.
Regina was oblivious, or pretending to be. "Did you know the pudendal nerve originates in the sacrum? It innervates the genitals. Do you know what that means?"
"It… I…" Emma was trying hard not to come. So hard. She was trying to think of a way to get Regina to stop (she didn't want her to), to excuse herself (she wanted to keep going), without admitting how turned on she was. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe (she needed to come), she could only keep holding back her orgasm until this stopped feeling so good.
"Shh. Don't think too hard. That'd be missing the whole point. The pudendal nerve supplies the nerves to the genitals, so it stimulates orgasm. That makes it a very powerful erogenous zone. Something to keep in mind the next thing you're with your boyfriend. What was his name again?"
"S… S-s-s…"
"There I go again. Asking you to think. But why? What's there to think about when this feels so good? All you have to do is enjoy it."
How could she be so close and not come (she had to come)? But she was. She was on the verge of coming and she couldn't stop (and she wouldn't stop) and Regina was watching her, would watch her come. It made Emma feel so dirty. She liked being dirty.
She loved being dirty.
"Enjoy it." The simple phrase echoed in her head as if Regina had just whispered it in her ear. Maybe she had. Emma was past caring.
Her climax literally exploded within her. Something wet and hot escaped her, warming her on the way out, like electricity jumping through a circuit. She felt her panties become leaden and moist, her mouth falling open in a silent scream. It wasn't that she was able to hold back anything. It was just that not a sound could escape the black hole of pleasure that Regina had started within her. Everything fell into it. Every embarrassment, every taboo, every doubt. She came like never before. Like it had never felt before.
Regina brought her hands back from Emma's overworked pleasure nerve, smiling at the flawlessness of it all. What luck that her arch-enemy's child had grown into such a lovely creature. Regina had enjoyed the orgasm almost as much as she had.
"I think I got the kink out," Regina said mildly.
At the sound of her voice, Emma's eyes snapped open. She realized where she was. What had happened. Regina had given her a friendly massage and she'd squirted all over the love seat.
"Oh god." Emma tried to move and a little aftershock of pleasure went through her. "Oh god." Perhaps angry at not having been touched, her pussy was now a throbbing hunger, demanding a repeat performance. She'd had the back massage. What about the front?
"Is everything alright?" Regina asked. She made her voice as sweet as sugar. "You feel good, right?"
"I, uh… I have to go! I just remembered, I have a date, I have to go." Emma's hands fluttered about, not sure which part of her to cover first. She suddenly remembered to do up her bra. "I need to go, right now, so sorry!"
Emma rolled off the window seat, grabbing her pants from the floor and pulling them on, not caring that they were backward. Her shirt was next, then her shoes, no time for socks. She popped up with Regina still standing over her, far too close for her sex to ignore. The urge to just grab her and rub together was overwhelming.
"Of course, I understand. Do you need a ride?"
Emma nearly fainted. "No, I'll walk, I should walk!" She ran out of the room, hoping Regina hadn't noticed the rapidly growing wet spot on the front (back) of her pants.
Regina waited until Emma had left the room to laugh. The girl had left her books behind. She'd be back. But then, even if Regina put in a moat full of crocodiles, Emma would be back. Regina had seen to that. Men, women… you didn't just have a fuck like that and lay off.
"Keep in touch," she whispered after the departing teen, cracking her neck. A kink seemed to have gotten into it, her having been bent over Emma for the last hour.
Perhaps her own massage was in order. She'd have to call Ruby. And undress.
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The Wicked Stepmother