Revealing Emma's secret

He hated his job. He never wanted to be a pap in the first place. He always believed paparazzi were men who were either too stupid to become real spies or too amateurish to become real photographers. But with a mountain of debt and bills to pay, there were no other options left for him than to hunt celebrities down. He hoped it might somehow be a stepping stone to fulfil his childhood dream – a celebrity photographer, who's the go-to guy for cover shootings. In this moment, that dream seemed further away than the moon.

Peter had foolishly decided to sprint after Emma, thus revealing his true intentions. She had made a quick left turn. He rushed after her and quickly stared into a bottle of pepper spray.

"Who are you? Why are you following me?!" a voice said.

His heart dropped. "I'm a photographer," he argued. "My camera is in my backpack. Just don't –"

"A fucking pap!" She paused briefly, shaking her head. "Of course," Emma stated and scoffed, before dropping her arm. "Why can't you guys stop following me," she said forcefully. "You've been taking pictures of me my entire life. I'm not a witch. I don't change every day. You can leave me alone!" She looked at him, standing there with his puppy eyes. "Have you taken any today?"

Peter shrugged.

"Delete them!"

Peter didn't move. If she wanted to destroy them, she would have to tear his backpack off. Pictures of her leaving her home were surely worth a week's rent.

Emma couldn't believe paps had managed to find her again. She had been so careful this time around. Even some of her closest friends didn't know her new home. How did this guy find her? There were no other celebrities in the neighbourhood; did he just get lucky?

Her eyes scanned the young man in front of her. He had brown hair and brown eyes. He was about her height and, Emma confessed to herself, he wasn't that bad looking. She especially fancied the large dragon tattoo on his right arm. She shook her head, ending her daydreaming. Finding a pap smoking hot went against the very first rule of her agent's PR bible, and she had never broken that golden rule before.

Peter's hand glided through his hair and Emma noticed his fake golden Rolex. Her heart skipped two beats and her mouth went dry. Her stomach twisted. This was one of Ben Clarke's guys, she realised. He ran his business like a cult – as soon as you got him pictures he could sell to the Sun or the Mail, you got a fake golden Rolex. What a clown, Emma thought.

"You're with Ben Clarke?"

Peter simply nodded.

Emma's mind rushed back to a fateful trip twelve months ago.

---

She was in Sandbanks with George, her friend with benefits since her schooldays in Oxford. He was the one guy, she had managed to keep out of the papers. But a weekend on the beach nearly changed all of that. She had been spontaneous for once and made the decision to fly back to England, call up George and book a hotel room with a nice sea view. They could use the private beach to relax a little, she thought. Maybe, just maybe, they would also enter their own version of heaven again. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Emma hated it when people misused the word "literally." She usually rolled her eyes when friends or family casually uttered the word in an informal way.

She was a bit nervous when she called him up. They hadn't spoken to each other in almost a year. The last time they saw each other, she was walking through Camden, with her boyfriend's big, strong arms wrapped around her. George greeted them and quickly walked on. He always behaved a bit strange around her boyfriends. In fact, he usually disappeared from Emma's life as soon as she told him about a new guy.

Emma stared at her phone's display for five minutes, before finally calling him. They chatted about the weather, books, and sports. It almost felt like old times. Emma's heart was beating a little faster as soon as she suggested a trip down to Sandbanks.

"Still got that black bikini?" he asked, not saying anything else.

"Yes…?!" Confused, she arched a bow.

"I'm gonna come pick you up on Friday then," he said and hung up.

Emma couldn't let go of him, kissing George again and again. It was just so easy with him. They always seemed to be able to go straight back to where they left off. There were no fights, no explanations, no talks about what she liked or didn't like. He simply knew her. Perhaps he knew her even better than she knew herself.

"Hey, kissing isn't a spectator sport," Emma seductively whispered into his ear. "Show me some action, cowboy."

He loved hearing his nickname come out of her mouth. It was a reference to his outfit at a party in Oxford, the first time he met the girl others described as "a little bossy." A mutual friend introduced them to each other and Emma – noticing the huge hat, brown jacket, and a pair of jeans that were way too large for George – gave him this nickname. Others tried to pick the name up and use it here and there, but every single time, George pushed back against it. He even got into a fight with another lad at Emma's birthday party a year later. She was – and remained – the only person, who was allowed to call him that.

George pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue flicked over her wet lips, pushing them apart and then burst into her mouth. Their kiss was hungry. His tongue was warm and eager on hers. Their skin became warmer. Emma's began tingling with desire. She had made the right call, she told herself. She needed this break. She needed to get away from being "Emma Watson." When she was with George, she could just be Emma – a giggly nerd with feverish passion inside and outside of the bedroom. George's tongue retreated. His right palm, resting on her blushing cheek, remained still. Emma kept her eyes closed, cherishing the sweet moment they had just created together for one additional second. She still felt the strength of his lips on hers, even though they were long gone. Her heart was beating furiously as she slowly opened her eyes again. His piercing green eyes grinned back at her. George leaned in towards her, stealing one sweet kiss from her sensitive lips. Emma felt her heart, her entire body steadily melting away. She smirked, then mouthed,

"Again."

Her wish was his command.

Their tongues twirled around each other briefly, before their lips sealed for another sensuous kiss. Emma moaned quietly on his tongue. George felt her hand brushing against his right cheek before she pushed her tongue deep down his throat. It started a fire inside him and he was sure she would come to regret that decision. This time, Emma ended their embrace, slowly pulling her lips away from his. She told him he was the best kisser in the world. His eyes gazed at her and a devilish smile flashed across his face. Her heart, Emma was sure of it, had now completely melted.

"Let's go for a swim, E," he remarked in a soft tone.

Emma didn't want to go. She wanted to stay right here, lying partially on top of him, getting lost in his eyes. After all, they were what first drew her to him. Then came his reputation as a bad boy, which, back in those days, made him extra appealing to her. But he was also much more than that. He was a bad boy with a very big heart. Emma often recounted countless of examples to friends or family members, who were critical of him. One of them would always stand out for her. When her beloved grandmother suddenly turned ill and had to get rushed to the hospital a few years ago, it was George who showed up. He traveled down from Newcastle, where he was supposed to spend the Easter break with his cousins. They had tickets to see a football match there. He never saw that game. Instead, he stood in the hospital front door one rainy Easter Monday afternoon, telling her he was here for her if she needed him. That memory occupied a special place in Emma's heart.

"Let's gooo!"

Emma chuckled, brushed his hair away from his forehead and pecked a long, soft kiss on his warm skin. She got up and suppressed her laughter, simply shaking her head. George, giggling out loud, had swung up and was now rushing towards the cold sea. That was his goofy side, the one which even their mutual friends never got to see. It made their unique relationship even more special, Emma concluded as she made her way down beach to join him.

They played around in the sea, getting lost in their own world. At one point, Emma splashed a big load of water into George's face. She giggled.

"That's it," he remarked after wiping water drops off his eyebrows and eyelids. "You are going down!"

George disappeared and seconds later he tugged Emma underwater with him. There she surprised him again, reaching out to him, cupping his face and pushing it towards her for a kiss. They exchanged air between them, before slowly rising to the surface again. Her slender arms were wrapped around him. Her hand playfully tickled his neck. His right arm was on her lower back, pulling her body towards him. They smiled at each other before sealing their lips for another kiss. Emma's tongue tapped against his, sending waves of ecstasy down his body. She explored all the sensitive places he kept hidden away from her. He never spoke about them. She would just always find them. His heartbeat increased dramatically with every second Emma's tongue spent in his mouth. He was close to losing total control. There was only one lady whom he allowed that kind of power over him, even if he did so reluctantly. He never knew – and refused to ask her – whether she realised how special she was.

He tugged her with him underwater again. He leaned in to kiss her. Emma shook her head and pushed her palm against his mouth. They rose to the surface again. The fire inside of him was gaining strength. He could feel it. He had to do something to release some pressure, otherwise – no, he thought, not Emma. She could neither handle it nor did George want to go to such extremes with her. He had to find a way to ease the tension, to contain the fire.

Emma could feel George's fingers sliding down her curves before slipping underneath her black garment. She looked at him. She noticed how his pupils had grown. Her heart pounded in her chest. His fingers reached further down and finally rested on her private lips, brushing against them. He could be rough and gentle at the same time, she reminded herself. George was the only guy, who was allowed to finger her in public. He was probably also the only guy, who would try to finger her in public, she concluded and smiled. He leaned in for a hot, sloppy kiss. His tongue burst into her mouth, twirled around her own in a hot tango. She felt her pussy getting wet as his fingers flicked over her sensitive clit. He added some pressure, and Emma gasped, ending their embrace.

"Should I make you cum?" he whispered, his penetrating eyes squinting at her.

He didn't wait for an answer. He slipped his fingers into her. She moaned quietly, feeling them move around inside of her. He was searching for the one spot that would always give her the orgasm of her life. He was inching closer and closer. Emma wanted to scream his name out into the world, but her body only allowed her to whisper gibberish words. He had taken control over her. He would always take control over her. It was the reason why she kept coming back. The reason why no other guy ever stood a chance with her.

"You're so fucking hot," George growled.

He never cared what others might think. He always remained true to himself. He spun Emma around and pressed her back against him. His finger eagerly dipped back into her growing wetness. He nuzzled her neck and listened to Emma's soft moaning. He wanted to squeeze her breasts and pinch her nipples, he whispered into her ear. Emma leaned her head back on his shoulder. He dared her to scream her cries of pleasure into the world once that sensuous orgasmic wave took hold of her body. His finger had finally reached the sensitive tiny spot inside her, and he rubbed against it. Emma's jaw dropped, but no sound occurred. He pressed against this rough spot, feeling her entire weight falling into his arms. She was close now but she had teased him so much, she should not be let off so easily. George reluctantly pulled out of her. Making her orgasm right away was also a rookie mistake, he knew that. Every guy who ever entered Emma's life seemed to make that mistake. Emma loved guys who showed self-control in that moment and, even if she was a little mad at them at first, she would always appreciate it in the end.

Cold seawater hit George's finger, almost adding fuel to fire. He briefly closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, before spinning Emma back around. He scanned her face. The feeling of being deprived to orgasm had driven her insane. George could see it – the passion in her lovely eyes mixed with a tiny dose of disappointment and anger. With a wry smile, he let go of her and walked out of the water again. He laid down on his beach lounger with a satisfied look on his face.

Emma, on the other hand, was furious. She had edged closer and closer to an orgasm when George backed out. She understood that it was all part of their play. But he surely would have to make up for that, she told herself as she sat down on George's lounger.

Hours later, she was in their hotel room, completely naked and bound to the bed. She was sweating. Her heart was racing. It was the third time in a row that George had pushed her to her limits without allowing her to orgasm. The last one had been the worst, she thought. George had bought a new vibrator for their little play. It was still inside of her, and he could control it via an app on his phone. Sitting in a corner chair, fully clothed, he joked about being her Mister Grey.

Back to level one, Emma thought and let out a soft, long "No!" She couldn't figure out what hurt more – the long edging session or the nipple clamps George had put on her and would occasionnally tug on. Her soaking pussy was craving for his cock now, that was for sure. She was craving for it. She needed to feel his stiffness inside of her.

"You like it, nips," George asked walking over to her again and with a strong tug, pulled her nipples up.

Emma bit down on her tongue. She could have screamed so loud that her agent back in London would hear it. Nipple clamps and vibrators were the only tools they ever used. The former was purely George's idea. He loved her thick nipples as they are and enjoyed calling her nips in reference to them but he could be a bit sadistic, she thought.

"ANSWER," George said.

"Yes."

George removed the vibrator. "Get up!"

She barely could at this point. Her legs were weak and wobbly, but she mustered all the power in her fragile skinny body to please him… and herself.

George placed tiny kisses on her arse cheeks – which were still hurting from an earlier punishment. He spread her cheeks apart. As he looked at her tiny opening, he felt his pre-cum soaking his underwear. The tip of his pinky circulated around her anus. Emma remained silent, which surprised him. He had never fucked her asshole before. She never wanted him to. Was this an indication that she had changed her mind? His tongue flicked over her opening. His cock hardened in his trousers. He hadn't been Emma's first, but maybe he could be the first… Her hips bucked away from him.

George got up and brushed his palms over her cleavage, building his own excitment. He began fingering her again.

"You dirty bastard," Emma whispered, knowing full well what the consequence would be.

Another pull on the clamps and pain turned into pleasure. Emma tried to think of something else, tried to imagine herself being anywhere but in that hotel room. But she couldn't do it; she couldn't concentrate on anything else. He pulled on her nipples again – harder this time and much longer than the previous ones. It hurt. It hurt a lot and Emma cried out.

"Stay here with me!" George said angrily.

He knew her better than any guy ever would, she thought. She loved this. She loved getting a little tortured by him. She could feel her orgasm approaching. She stared at her bad boy. Her sweet eyes were begging him to finally let her cum. She was inching closer and became slightly dizzy. Another long, hard pull on her nipples sent more tremors of pain through her small tender body. But she didn't mind. This was heaven. This was what she came here for. Her eyes reverted back and she felt the touch of George's arms around her, pressing her back against him. Emma could smell his cologne – this intoxicating cologne. He fingered her faster now and Emma's body began quivering. She lost her footing and just let herself fall back into him. He would always be there for her. She could feel her orgasm building up rapidly inside of her. She was nearly there.

George pulled his finger out of her, dropped his sweetpants and threw his shirt away. He was himself close to reaching heaven with here. Before Emma could even open her eyes again and realise what was happening, George had pinned her against the tall windows. Looking out at the beautiful, calm, dark sea, the two friends fucked each other hard. George was sliding so easily in and out of Emma's pussy, it would have been perfect for a long, soft, sensual fuck. But he had enjoyed the last half hour too much for fucking Emma slowly. The fire inside him was rampaging and he rammed his cock into her with so much **** that he hoped Emma would always remember how she had teased him that day and how he had treated her as a response.

Emma moaned loudly, then yelled out his name. He pulled on her clamps again. Emma - the whole world knew as sweet, nice, adorable actress Emma Watson – shouted words of insults into the air. George pounded her as she screamed her pleasure out into the world, ravaging her body. He groaned in a dark tone as his cock furiously pumped in and out of her. Faster. Harder. Deeper. He felt his manhood stretching her inner walls apart; it excited him even more. No man, he thought, had ever pleased her quite like this before.

"I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna cum," Emma muttered.

"Not yet!" he said, teeth-closed, and shot one more wave of pain through her, giving her nipples one last long pull.

He wasn't ready for it yet. He needed a few more thrusts. George gazed at the beautiful sight in front of him: Emma's back and ass in front of him, and the reflection of her beautiful face and perky tits in the window. It was literally heaven on earth, he thought. A dream come true. His body smacked her arse as his throbbing cock thrust into her again and again. Emma bucked her hips into him, pushing him as deep inside of her as he had ever been. George bit down on his lower lip, sensing the eruption of his inner volcano would soon occur. "Do it. Cum for me," he managed to say seconds before he felt the contractions in his cock and loads of his manly seed shot deep inside Emma. Just as his orgasm began fading away, George felt Emma's inner walls forcefully clutching around his stiffness. Emma, shaking, let out her usual "Oh's" and "Ah's." Her body tensed up, her tits looking as round and perky as ever. And then George soon experienced one of his favourite moments – feeling Emma's cum slowly dripping down his cock. This was heaven.

Emma smiled as she walked out of the elevator the next morning. She believed she was the happiest girl alive. She was so glad that George had made time for her on such short notice. She wanted to surprise him with a little gift. A small thank you for always being there for her no matter what. Emma had seen some beautifully handcrafted drumsticks in a small independent music shop in town. He would surely love them, she thought.

So she had gotten up early, got dressed, put a kiss on George's forehead and left. If previous experience was any indication, a wild sex night, during which he gave Emma three and a half orgasms, would put him to sleep until noon.

Emma walked into the lobby and there he was – Ben Clarke, the biggest fucking asshole on the planet, had tracked her down again. Over the years, he had probably taken more pictures of her than any other pap. He even appeared on her college campus in America one day. Luckily, the security staff at Brown threw him out.

Ben walked up to her, and her face hardened. "No pictures, please. I don't –"

"I got my pictures yesterday afternoon… and last night," Ben said and smirked. "Must have been quite the view from that window."

Emma's heart dropped. Her stomach got squeezed. She felt like she was about to throw up.

Ben gazed at her, frozen to the spot, and asked, "Any comment?"

"No." A small pause. "Er, yes, I do want to comment. You're a disgusting little perv!" She glared at him through her sunglasses.

Ben leaned into her and Emma backed away, taking a step back. "Next time you get kinky with a guy, don't assume that a private beach and a view over the sea means no one can take pictures of you. There are boats, you know," he whispered, his penetrating eyes grinning. "I can make them go away, you know. The video, too."

Emma felt close to vomiting. She crossed her arms in front of her and forcefully shook her head.

"Oh god, no. Relax. I'm not interested in you. Quite frankly, I don't know why any guy ever would be. You're not… Well, you're not the type of girl that excites real men, you know. You're no model." The emerging silence was deafening. "Never mind," Ben said, turned around and walked away.

"How much?" Emma asked, feeling disgusted for even asking that question.

Ben stopped and turned back around to face her. She walked towards him with her arms still firmly crossed in front of her like a shield of protection.

"How much money do you want?" she asked in a low voice.

"No money at all. I want a date… with your blonde model friend."

"Sophie?" she whispered, looking down, stone-faced. "You're blackmailing me," she said, gazing back into his blue eyes, "to get my friend to date you?! That was your plan all along, to date my best friend? How pathetic are you?!"

"Listen, Miss Perfect Public Image, there was no big plan, you know. I just want to have one dinner with her." He chuckled. "She will beg to see me more often after that one but…" A wry smile. "Listen, you either make sure that your hot friend is sitting at a dinner table with me in a nice restaurant somewhere in London next Friday night or the tabloids will have their best day of the year, the entire decade, next Saturday." He smirked, revealing his golden tooth. "And the traffic on TMZ will go through the roof, you know." He took a step back. "Man, I really enjoyed this weekend. This is a really nice place," Ben said and looked around, acting like someone who was blown away by the beauty of this boutique hotel. "Maybe I should cum back." He winked. "See you around, Miss Watson." He reached his hand out to Emma, who noticed his dirty fingernails and a dark golden fake Rolex.

Disgusted, she shook her head. Ben took out a cigarette, turned around and left.

"Can I go now?" Peter asked.

"Sure. Just don't follow me anymore. And not a word to Ben about this. I will destroy your little pap career if you tell anyone about what I did. Understood?!" Emma said, knowing full well that she had just lied to him. There was nothing she could do about him leaking this story to the press. In fact, she hoped that no one had seen them. Christina, her publicist, would break all of her bones, if a video about this incident were to end up online.

Peter swallowed hard. "Okay," he muttered. "Can you at least give me the finger for one picture? As an apology for causing me a major headache –"

"No."