Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody. Somebody had placed her, several years back, at Mrs. Goddard's school, and somebody had lately raised her from the condition of scholar to that of parlour-boarder. This was all that was generally known of her history. She had no visible friends but what had been acquired at Highbury, and was now just returned from a long visit in the country to some young ladies who had been at school there with her.
She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort which Emma particularly admired. She was short, plump, and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look of great sweetness, and, before the end of the evening, Emma was as much pleased with her manners as her person, and quite determined to continue the acquaintance.
The next time that Harriet brought up Robert Martin, Emma took her work gently from her hand and looked into her wide eyes.
“My dear, you must know that I have other plans for you. Mr Martin may be very nice, in his way, but he is, after all, just a beta.”
“That is true,” Harriet confessed. “But, you know, my background – ”
“Your background does not really signify,” Emma said, not waiting for her to finish. “Any alpha of taste and discernment would value your sweetness and beauty. An omega as lovely as you could ornament any parlor.” After a moment, she squeezed Harriet’s hands in suggestion and went on, recklessly. “Or any bedchamber.”
“Oh!” Harriet’s eyes, already pleasingly large, grew rounder. “Truly?”
“Of course. You know my taste is always the best, isn’t it?” This was not really a question, so Emma did not wait for an answer. Instead, she took Harriet’s chin between forefinger and thumb, tilting her head to just the right angle, and claimed her lips in a light kiss. She backed away again to survey the girl: Harriet was relaxing in the way of an omega presented with the intoxicating pheromones of an interested alpha, with a slight smile on her rosebud mouth, so she returned for a deeper one. Although this was her first experience of seducing an omega, and one not in heat, at that, Emma found it all to come very naturally, her instincts rising as Harriet’s body responded. Applying a little pressure, Emma pressed her softly down onto the arm of the sofa. It is a very good thing that I placed the larger pillow there this morning.
“How nice this is,” Harriet whispered when Emma next broke away; if only, Emma thought, she could express herself more eloquently! But perhaps she would learn from the instructive reading list that had been made for her. Emma shushed her gently, then kissed her again; her left hand roamed over Harriet’s bodice, feeling for the soft roundness of her breasts where they swelled above her stays, while her right was tucked neatly in the small of Harriet’s back to pull her closer. Harriet was so delightfully rounded – her figure seemed made for the pleasure of an alpha.
After a few more moments of toying with Harriet’s lovely chest, Emma started to trail her hand downward, passing from a nipple (which she pinched lightly, and smiled a little at the gasp emitted by the object of her ministrations) down to the curve of the waist and the embonpoint of her stomach, held in by her corset busk. This was pleasing enough, but Emma was still not at her goal. Shifting her weight to her right leg, her left dipped in between both of Harriet’s, prising them apart smoothly as her left hand began to inch up the muslin of her morning dress and petticoat.
“What if someone comes in?” Harriet asked, but without any appearance of urgency or fear – very satisfying omega-signs to Emma, who leaned back slightly to answer.
“Nobody comes into my private drawing-room unless I expressly wish it.”
Once the skirts were over her knee, Emma’s hand could explore freely beneath the linen shift. Harriet’s stockings were smooth, and Emma had no fault to find with the silk garters she had likely knitted herself; but they were not what she had come to find. Inching higher and higher, Harriet’s breath beginning to hitch a little, Emma’s fingers finally came to rest at the crux of her legs. Pulling back again a little so that she could survey Harriet’s fluttering eyes and open, pink lips, she slowly drove her fingers between the folds, very pleased to find them as wet as they could possibly be.
“Such a good omega,” Emma whispered, and kissed her neck below the little ear; “a sweet, open, ready omega.” Harriet was exactly as she should be – a pretty and plump little treat, like an apple dumpling, and so responsive to an alpha’s desires. Emma’s fingers, slick already, stroked in time with her kisses, Harriet writhing beneath her to the same rhythm. Her own hands rested on Emma’s shoulders, submissively holding on with just enough pressure to keep them there, and they tightened slightly each time Emma slid against the tender button at the top of her slit. Enchanted with Harriet’s gasps and little cries, Emma’s touch grew less and less delicate; she pressed down firmly as Harriet’s hips raised seemingly of their own accord and Harriet’s head rocked back into the pillow. She did not cry out, quite, but as she spasmed under Emma’s fingers, she gasped, “Oh!” and repeated it, as though in utter surprise at the bliss she had found.
Extricating her hand, Emma touched her forehead to Harriet’s and closed her eyes, breathing in the omega-scent she could feel rising in the air. “You see,” she said, then let herself go, laying bonelessly on the sofa herself and resting her head on the pillow next to Harriet’s, “I do know what’s best.”
“Oh, indeed,” said Harriet, drowsily. “How nice this is.”