Emma Watson

The garden party was in full swing, so nobody noticed as Emma slipped through the crowds and made her way back to the grand house. Her mind felt clouded, like in a dream, as she thought of the tall, handsome, brooding man who had welcomed her into his home not more than an hour ago.

She had to find him, to thank him, for the invite to this wonderful occasion. Walking past an open window, Emma saw him, all alone, standing in a darkened room.

His eyes were closed, his fists clenched, as if he was deep in concentration. He seemed to be chanting something, in some language Emma didn’t understand. She waited at the open window, staring at him. Half aroused, half frightened, Emma knew she stood on the threshold of something important. 

He stopped chanting. Eyes still closed, fist still clenched. He took one long sigh, as if his work was complete. Emma waited. And then, all of a sudden, the words came to her. The demeanour too.

He opened his eyes, and turned to the window, hoping, expecting, knowing. Emma stood there, posing seductively. One leg lazily stroking up and down the other.

“You’re clearly a man of power. One who knows what he wants, and knows how to get it.” purred Emma, elegantly climbing down from the windowsill and into the room, “Well, tonight I’m your property. Your plaything, your object. To be used by you, in any way you desire.”

Emma approached him, lazily throwing her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her. She smiled that seductive, slow, naughty smile.

“I’ll do it all. Act out all your fantasies. Perform for you. You can fill me with your power, with your seed, and best of all, I won’t remember a thing once I leave this room, unless you command otherwise. Now, shall we begin?“