Emma had listened to ‘Moments of a Welsh Village’ by her favourite author a thousand times. Well, not actually voiced by him, but by a cast of actors and actresses. The leading voice was of the best narrator, in her opinion, that ever lived. She even had the DVD of the movie, with the same actor playing the leading role, though in her mind, she didn’t think it was as good as the hypnotic voices that echoed in her psyche.

And here she was, in the very village it was written; to the home of her hero and poet. Emma was fortunate to pick up a copy of the manuscript from her local library before her journey, though as it turned out, every bookshop in the town had copies spilling out of the door.

With a spring in her step, Emma hopped along the cobbled street and up the three steps into the Sailor’s Arms. She spoke briefly to Sarah, the barmaid and owner before ordering a pint of lager. A wry smile crept across her face as the clock on the wall indicated that it was eleven thirty. Picking up her pint she headed through an archway for ‘the snug’, passing the elderly gentleman in the chair with a half pint of Guinness and looking out of the window as if not seeing anything at all. Emma admitted to herself that she, unconsciously of course, sneaked a long peak at Sarah’s ample breasts. Hopefully, the early afternoon would not bring too many people into ‘the snug’ and she could get on with immersing herself in her book.

Emma sat in the corner of ‘the snug’, took a sip of her lager and opened the book. As the famous words invaded her retina, they also echoed in her mind. She could feel the stillness settle around her as she read-

‘And here we start, at the beginning. Where else…’

The narrator’s voice permeated her senses. She couldn’t even read the text without hearing that voice, as his gentle tone added so much more to the words themselves. Emma put the book down, sipped her lager and repeated the words over and over in her head. A smile crossed Emma’s face; one that was associated with Sarah’s breasts. It has been a long time, she thought.

Emma read the first page but then began to thumb through the manuscript. She came across all those famous sentences; the ones that identified this text uniquely.

‘A moment of your time please…’ Echoed in her head. Emma closed her eyes, and while holding the text in her left hand let her right wander up to her left nipple. She squeezed it, sighed and then started to flick through the book again.

The words, ‘…the dreams of all those people in the waking moments…’ immediately placed her in the dreamy and sleepy realm of the people about to wake from their slumbering sleep.

Emma wondered. She wondered what they would be up to. Her fingers pinched her nipple through her shirt once more before the words that introduced Mrs. Evans rang out in her mind.

“Mrs. Evans. Rosalind Evans. Opens her doors to the whole of mankind…’

Yes, Rosalind Evans. Emma wondered whether, in those times, Rosalind was a slut or a good time girl. She imagined all sorts of action that was openly given to the sailors of the time, for a little reward, of course. Rosalind’s open arms and legs, welcoming the men for some quick action as they shipwrecked themselves between her thighs. Emma wondered how many babies she had.

Her attention suddenly transferred to Miss Melissa Owens the sweetshop keeper, as she flicked through a few more pages. Emma thought of Melissa Owens as a voluptuous busty woman dreaming of her lover Morgan Thomas. She remembered the phrase well and the tone in which it was conveyed.

‘His eyes, wide as an owl, floated silently over her lonely-sleepy body…’

Emma closed her eyes and rested the book on the table, her right hand snaked over her thighs as she lifted them onto the bench. Her hand pressed against her breast as she remembered Melissa Owens from the text and the landlady, Sarah. Emma smiled, gritted her teeth and let all the sexy thoughts flow through her. Her hand and her finger came down on her mound and she pressed eagerly inwards.

As Emma teased apart her pussy lips; still covered by her crinkled skirt and knickers, she uttered the words.

‘Yes, Morgan, take me now, be mine…’

It wasn’t the true intention of the phrase but it made Emma feel much better to think it was sexual in nature. Her finger would have almost disappeared inside her hot cunt, if it wasn’t for the elasticity of her tight knickers. Her knickers would have to go soon, thought Emma, there are far worst passages in this manuscript than that of Melissa Owens.

Emma flicked over a good few pages until she settled on Bevie Richards; always taunting the boys to kiss her before she pulled away. Was that all it took in those days, thought Emma, smirking, a tilt of the head and pursed lips. Tipping her head back, she wondered if Bevie ever kissed a girl or whether Bevie would kiss her given the chance. She hoped she would. Her lips extended as if to kiss Bevie Richards, right there, in ‘the snug’. She closed her eyes as she kissed the cool air.

Emma’s brown eyes flung wide open as she remembered where she was. She looked around, wary that someone was watching her, but the fact that no-one had caught her daydreaming sexy thoughts was a relief. Emma took a large gulp of her lager and continued reading the pages.

Emma stopped once more, this time reading about Emily Davies, the young schoolteacher. Emma wondered what kind of nymphet she really was. The text made Emily out to be a real tease more than a nymphomaniac; though there were many men interested in her svelte figure. Indeed, Emma would have been interested in her as well, purely from the erotic perspective of course; nothing to do with getting her fingers wet from the leaking fluids that would flood from her groin.

Emma started to feel herself. She was getting wet, and decided that it was better to keep her knickers dry. She lifted her skirt and pulled her knickers to one side, positioning them so that they could not get in the way anytime soon. She took a squig of lager and thumbed the book with her left hand. Her right hand slipped up her skirt in anticipation.

“Oh, fuck yes,” cried Emma, remembering that Mr Jones always got spanked every night of his married life. Her finger penetrated her, but what she really wanted, right there, was a hard hand on her bottom, preferably the one belonging to Mrs. Jones. Yes, Mrs. Jones would surely spank her hard.

Emma recited the words in her head. She didn’t really need a book. Mrs. Jones was a fastidious and precise old woman. She ran a small hotel that didn’t take on any customers, because, as she put it, ‘I don’t want people dirtying my clean rooms, with muddy feet and greasy fingertips. Not to mention the mess they leave on the bedclothes….’

To Emma, she couldn’t have made any money at all. But, because of her strictness and regimental preciseness, Emma could imagine Mrs. Jones dishing out a hard and pleasurable spanking. Emma envisaged herself on all fours on one of Mrs. Jones’s clean beds, her knickers around her ankles and her skirt up around her waist, waiting for…

Yes, waiting for the hand to contact her bare bottom and thrill her to her very core; only for the hand to be raised, and lowered several more times.

Emma’s finger flicked at her clit as she remembered how nice that sensation was. At least it was with her last lover, the one that left her for another woman only four months ago; the bitch, thought Emma. She opened her eyes to gaze around ‘the snug’, but no-one was there and her attention was, once more, back on her pussy. Emma stroked herself, leaving the wetness to lubricate her fingers as they searched ever inwards. The book lay in her hand that rested on the table, next to her lager.

She was nearly there. Her orgasm was blossoming and yet. Emma pulled the book upwards and concentrated on the words. She rested the book on her left thigh and flicked through the pages. She knew where she wanted to end up. She could hear the words in her head. Words from the song rang out loud and clear.

‘Not one, but two, and I look forward to three…’

That was the same song that rang out from between Suzy Phillips’s lips.

Emma had one last look around the room to make sure it was safe before she delved her fingers into her pussy. Her left hand dropped the book on the floor. The song that Suzy sang echoed in her head. Emma knew it word for word, as did especially those hurtful words at the very end of the song. The same words that her lover, so venomously spat at her, as they parted company.

‘And all this love I will take away. Leaving behind a poor old crone…’

No thought Emma, that’s not true, I will find love again, I will.

Emma’s fingers pushed inside her. Whimpers and muffled squeals left her mouth as she fingered herself. Her lips pushed out the occasional vulgar ‘fuck’ as her fingertips teased and circled around her clit like a vulture in need of food.

Emma thought of all those naughty people in this little village, the married men with lovers, and wives, the young studs who would fuck their way through a host of rampant teenage women; all of them, ripe for the taking, under the Oak and Rowan trees of nearby forests. The naughty men who would let their lovers spank them at night, and at first light in the morning. And the likes of the Rosalind Evans’s and Suzy Phillips’s of the village that just couldn’t say no.

And what of the Lesbians?

“Fuck, there must be lesbians in this village,” said Emma, out loud, her eyes still closed.

There was at least one lesbian close by; the one who was watching Emma from the open doorway to ‘the snug’. The one, that was lifting up her dress and snaking her fingers into her own knickers. The one who’s breasts heaved at the thought of stumbling across such a beautiful rampant and horny woman, alone in ‘the snug’. A woman that she thought was reading and taking a lonely tipple every now and then. The same lesbian, who had come to inform the horny woman, that she was closing up; because of the lack of clientele and the fact that the elderly gentleman had now left.

Emma fucked her fingers into her pussy and with an almighty gasp, came on them. Her bottom left the bench for what seemed like ages as she balanced on tip-toes. Her left hand reached out to rest on the table giving her that all needed balance. Her juices seeped out onto the wooden bench but not before Emma tried her best to gather up as much as she could and suck them into her mouth. By the time her fingers were replaced, they were clean.

Sarah watched Emma come down from her intense orgasm from the safety of the doorway. In the beginning, she had decided that if Emma looked in her direction she would quickly hide behind the door and pretend that she had just walked into the room. Yet now, Sarah just stood there, her fingers stroking her own pussy in tune to Emma’s rapid and harsh intake of air. Sarah’s fingers were far too wet to even contemplate taking them out. Far too wet to do anything other than finish herself off.

Emma never opened her eyes. She eventually controlled her breathing and with her hand resting between her legs, slumped into a calm and well deserved sleep.

For Sarah, the minute Emma rested her head against the wall of ‘the snug’ the moment was lost. Finishing herself off would not have been as exciting as being caught by Emma in the throes of her own orgasm. However, she needed to close the pub for the day and she would have to wake Emma. And as she thought about it, right now, she needed to get into this woman’s knickers more than anything.

Sarah crept up to Emma and watched her deep breaths lift her small, yet perfectly formed breasts up and down. Sarah could smell her sex as it filled the room. It would have been obvious to anyone that entered now that someone had been sexually active in ‘the snug.’ It wouldn’t be the first time, thought Sarah.

Sarah lifted the book from the floor and looked at the cover. She knew the book all too well, but couldn’t think what would have made the woman want to masturbate while reading it. Sarah closed the book and placed it on the table. She started to lean in towards Emma.

Oh - how she wanted to plant a kiss on her lips, or worse, take Emma’s fingers and suck on them. She waited with anticipation. Waited for Emma to open her eyes and discover her. Thirty or more seconds must have passed when she realised that she hadn’t taken a breath. She sucked in some much needed air.

Sarah wiped her fingers on her dress and reached out with her hand to touch Emma on the shoulder.

Emma jumped. Her eyes flung open and she screamed out as she realised that the barmaid was hovering over her.

“I’m sorry,” said Sarah. She smiled; it was a poor excuse for creeping up on Emma.

Emma noticed an almost disconcerting and intense stare before she calmed down.

“What? What is it?” Emma stared at Sarah, her previous actions raced through her mind. When was the last time she checked the room before she allowed herself to come? How loud were her moans? Where was her hand? Inadvertently, she allowed one of her eyes to search out the position of her hand.

Emma looked at her hand. Thank fuck for that, thought Emma; it was outside her dress and not buried in her pussy.

“I’m locking up,” said Sarah, “I’m sorry I startled you.”

Emma grunted, “What time is it?”

“It’s just gone one o’clock, it’s just that there’s no trade.”

Emma nodded, “I must have fallen asleep,” she lied.

Sarah smiled at the false truth as she looked at Emma’s lips. If it was going to happen, it needed to happen now, thought Sarah. Her pulse raced. She could hear the roar of a formula one car just beneath the surface of her chest; the same car that was attached to her heart, causing her lungs to lift and drop at the speed of sound.

Emma caught her anxiety too and looked Sarah in the eye.

“Was it a good read?” Asked Sarah; the moment she uttered the words she thought, ‘fuck it’.

“Not bad, I know it off by heart…” replied Emma, “…How long have you been here?” She asked, eventually.

Reprise, thought Sarah.

“Long enough,” she smiled.

“Long enough for what?”

“Long enough to want to taste your fingers.”

Emma nodded, and for some reason looked towards the open door.

“That long eh!”

Sarah nodded, but this time it was associated with an expectant rush of blood that flooded her very soul, an almost shy smile and searching eyes.

They didn’t need to search very far as Emma surprised her and stood up quickly. Her hand came around the back of Sarah’s neck and she found herself being pulled towards the nicest set of red lips this side of Swansea bay. Emma closed in for the kiss; a passionate kiss at that.

Sarah felt the red lipstick smear on her lips. She could taste the scent of Emma’s sex on her tongue as it probed her mouth.

It took Sarah a few awkward moments before she started to respond. But respond she did. With eagerness and an energy that had been lost for far too long.

It was Sarah that broke the kiss.

“Like I said, I’m locking up.”

“So you are…” replied Emma.

Both women stared into each other’s eyes; neither of them wanting to break the searching glare from the other. Lips quivered as intentions were sought early in this rapidly developing game of seduction. For Emma, it was a game of love at first sight and she was Rosalind Evans with her full red lips and the barmaid was…

“What’s your name?” Asked Emma.

“Sarah,” she replied, with a little concern creeping into her voice.

Emma’s smile caused Sarah to relax and she took Emma’s hand leading her from ‘the snug’ and into…

Into what? Thought Sarah.

Emma smiled, she liked the name Sarah but she immediately labelled Sarah as Melissa Owens.

What would the village wives say? In her own words, Emma made up the missing dialog.

Wife 1: ‘Wha-at a girl.’
Wife 2: ‘It isn’t right, not with another...’
Wife 3: ‘Shouldn’t have been allowed.’
Wife 4: ‘I blame her mother, should have been firmer with her.’

Welcome to the village, she mused to herself. Emma liked the thought of being led away, to be fucked, by Melissa Owens.