More fun
Want to support CHYOA?
Disable your Ad Blocker! Thanks :)

Chapter 7 by TheOptimisticDuck TheOptimisticDuck

What's next?

Kiss her back!

Posh girls have good manners, but they go like the clappers…

Whoever said that knew what the fuck they were talking about, you think, dazedly, as Emma finally pulls away.

Her hair is coming down from the pretty, pinned-up style she’d had it in. Her previously perfect lipstick is smeared across her mouth. And she’s panting, shoulders rising and falling, as she stares at you with dark, unreadable eyes.

For all that, she’s never looked more beautiful.

Emma opens her mouth, then shakes her head slightly; it almost looks like she’s trying to resist something. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t just have…’ She trails off. ‘Well. Do you – I mean,’ and a flicker of doubt enters her eyes,’ ‘do you want to –’

This time you knock her backwards as you press her lips to yours.

Emma lets out a muffled squeak of surprise, but that’s shortly followed by an approving gasp as your knee finds its way between her thighs. You honestly didn’t intend that – her legs parted and you practically fell into them, but you can feel the heat radiating out from Emma’s core even through the fabric of your pants.

You rub, experimentally, and Emma properly moans, her eyes rolling up in her head. ‘Oh – Jesus –’

‘I’m not Jesus,’ you remind her, nipping lightly at her cheek. ‘I’m James.’

‘Oh – James – fuck!’

If that’s an instruction, it’s one you’re only too happy to follow.

Emma breaks away suddenly, and you feel a sudden swooping loss – but she’s just struggling to get her hoodie off, yanking it over her head. She smiles, a little self-consciously, when she hears your sharp intake of breath.

Because Emma Watson in her party dress is a sight to fucking behold.

The sheer white fabric sparkles in the light, like a slowly coruscating diamond; the dress is short, riding high up Emma’s thigh, ending just shy of her lovely, rounded arse. It’s strapless – which makes your heart beat even faster – held up, apparently, by Emma’s boobs and sheer force of willpower.

Looking up, you see that Emma looks almost shy, eyes down, not meeting your gaze.

‘Fucking Christ, Emma…’

‘Oh, stop it.’ But you can see her smile fighting to break through. ‘Do you really like it?’

‘I’ve never, ever,’ you say honestly, ‘had someone so unbelievably fucking gorgeous this near me. Not once. Not even close.’

Emma bites her lip bashfully – then she finally looks up at you, and her lips quirk into a smile. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls you get in your car.’

You just shake your head as Emma prowls towards you on her hands and knees, closer and closer, till you can feel the invisibly fine hairs on her skin. ‘But,’ she breathes, right next to your ear, ‘I didn’t say it wasn’t working…’

She swings her leg over yours, and now she is on top of you, brushing your neck with feather-light kisses, working her way up. You wish you’d shaved, so you can feel it better; but she seems to like the stubble, caressing it with a delicate finger.

It’s midway through one particularly excellent kiss that you notice that Emma has begun to rub her crotch against you. Slowly, yes, but unmistakeably; you extricate yourself from the kiss and raise an eyebrow at her.

‘Are you dry-humping my leg, Ms. Watson?’

Emma blushes, and laughs softly. ‘Was it that obvious?’

‘Well.’ You kiss her once for good measure, and straighten up slightly. ‘If you’re going to get yourself off on my leg, I think I should at least get to see your boobs.’

Emma’s eyebrows fly up. ‘Is that so?’

‘Come on.’ You indicate her breasts. ‘You have completely perfect boobs, Emma. I think I might die if I don’t get to see them.’

At this, strangely, Emma looks doubtful. ‘They’re not that good,’ she murmurs, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously. ‘They’re pretty small.’

You laugh, unable to stop yourself, and Emma looks confused. ‘All right, I don’t think you understand. You, Emma, are heartstoppingly beautiful. Therefore your tits are heartstoppingly beautiful. See?’

Emma rolls her eyes, but looks a lot happier. ‘Just don’t get your hopes up too high,’ she warns, before…


As Emma peels down her tight, figure-hugging dress, the fact that she isn’t wearing a bra becomes very, very apparent.

Because Emma Watson’s breasts are perfect. They’re just perfect. Petite yet rounded, small but sweet; her breasts look incredibly pretty, soft and squeezable. Each flawless, creamy breast is capped by a pert, pink nipple, sticking out proudly in the cool air – and as Emma’s arms finally fall to her sides, giving you a completely unobstructed view, you see a light dusting of freckles, completing the portrait of a topless Emma Watson.

You stare so long and so hard that Emma coughs, finally, looking self-conscious. ‘Is there, uh, anything wrong with them?’

‘God, no,’ you say with such vehemence that it catches Emma off-guard. ‘They’re completely fucking perfect, Emma.’

Emma smiles, and looks like she’s about to brush this off; but then something changes in her expression, and she looks back at you curiously. You just gaze at her, unable to do anything else now Emma Watson’s boobs are bared in the back of your car; your eyes rake over her face, her breasts, her cute little navel, her eyes, her smile…

Because Emma is smiling back at you now, apparently having finally conceded that you find her attractive. ‘No one’s ever looked at me like that,’ she murmurs softly – so softly she might almost be talking to herself.

You snort, loudly. ‘I find that extremely fucking difficult to believe.’

‘No…’ And Emma smiles again, happy and genuine, and it’s like a ray of sun splitting the back seat in two. ‘Not like you are. Not like… like…’

‘Like I’ve somehow got the most beautiful girl in the world in the back of my cab, and I’m about to die of shock and fucking delight because she just pulled her top down for me?’

Emma darts in and kisses you quickly on the lips. ‘Yeah. Something like that.’

‘Can I – I mean, could I –’ Your hands come up tantalisingly close to her boobs, but something holds you back even now – these are Emma Watson’s boobs, and you can’t actually just reach out and touch them –

Emma answers for you by leaning forward and pressing her hard nipples into your palms. ‘Of course you can, stupid.’

What do you do?

More fun
Want to support CHYOA?
Disable your Ad Blocker! Thanks :)