Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Dawn rose, casting its unwanted rays at me through the windows. The solar darts prickled my skin, and made beads of sweat appear on my brow. As much as I wanted to remain in bed, I knew I couldn’t. The blasted sun wouldn’t let me. She wouldn’t let me. Eimi Yoshikawa. Today she’d leave.
I showered quickly, shaved, then splashed on a little Halston Catalyst. A bone colored, long-sleeved shirt, a pair of khaki twill pants and a natural brown, zip-necked cashmere sweater slipped onto my body as if by themselves while I pondered the upcoming confrontation. What could I say to her, I wondered. I still didn’t understand why a whore would get so upset over someone fondling her privates. Well, understanding wouldn’t come by me standing here all morning. I left for the second floor to find her. The bedroom I had given her to use the night before lay empty. The bathroom looked equally devoid of life. Room by room I searched. My bare feet made no sound on the gleaming oak parquet flooring. Would she have left without saying goodbye? If angered enough, perhaps. My heart lodged in my throat at the thought of never seeing her again. Angrily, I pushed the feeling away, shoving it down into the depths from whence it had risen. She wouldn’t leave without getting her money first.
I stifled a yawn as I continued searching for her. My horniness had taunted me throughout the entire night. My futile attempts at relieving myself only further aggravated my condition. I didn’t crave my own hand, but Eimi’s flesh. She made a hot, all-encompassing fury burn within my breast. It tormented me without surcease. Not like the weak flicker Heather had caused. I laughed. I didn’t miss her at all. We had dated on and off for almost a year, and she held no place in my heart. What kind of witchcraft did the little Asian possess that made me slaver for her like I did? I had a number of women on file I could call. Women who would give themselves to me without hesitation. But I didn’t want them. It made no fucking sense! A starving man wouldn’t refuse to dine from a stranger’s plate, but I did. I only wanted to sup from Eimi’s honey pot. Ludicrous. Still, I couldn’t change the facts. My condition knew one source, and one antidote only.
It must be her, and no other. Just saying her name in my mind made my penis throb in anticipation, as if her name summoned up my libido from the depths in which it had been interred hours earlier. I slapped my prick in annoyance, pissed off that last night it had failed me, and now it stirred to life at the mere thought of the enemy. I went to the second floor kitchen to get myself some breakfast. Perhaps some food would settle my stomach and clear my mind. I turned the corner, then quickly pulled back lest Eimi spot me. My cock throbbed again, extending itself to its full-length. Blasted woman! Must I speak of her in euphemisms to prevent my body from acting this way? Who was this enchantress who created this all-consuming passion within my loins? I thought of other things. My war experiences. Seeing people die of hunger and disease. Fat, ugly broads! Anything I could do to rid myself of the hateful erection that sought to humiliate me in front of her. Slowly, my cock heeded my wishes and shrunk back to normal.
She busied herself at the center island and the stove top. She had miso soup on the element, with rice steaming in the cooker. Some various Japanese pickles sat contentedly in a bowl while two large fish steaks, cut lengthwise, grilled nicely on the tabletop broiler. The scent of maple-glazed salmon perfumed the kitchen. A most Canadian twist to a Japanese dish. I smiled, feeling secure in my hiding place.
“Please be seated. Breakfast’s almost ready,” she said. She had not turned. “Soap and spice,” she replied, answering my unasked question. I made a mental note to myself to start using a more subtle fragrance. This ‘cinnamon and cloves’ thing was becoming quite unsettling. I sat at the table and watched her. She seemed at home in the kitchen. No, it was more than that. She seemed happy to be in this kitchen, to have a place of her very own. She wore no makeup this morning. A red and orange scarf pulled her hair back into a ponytail. The yukata – the thin, unlined cotton kimono – fit her perfectly. The loose-fitting garment accented the gentle swell of her beautiful breasts and hips. Tabi socks hugged her dainty little feet. No zori, though. I’d have to remember to buy her a pair. All she lacked were the tatami-woven, oval tipped sandals. She certainly could play the part of a contented Japanese housewife enjoying her Saturday morning. I felt pleasure just watching her bustle about that kitchen.
She quickly served me my breakfast. Salmon and soup, pickles and rice. Green tea, of course. What meal would be complete without it? “Andrew, eat,” she said. She sat, staring at me. It looked like she’d not begin until I did. I picked up my rice bowl and my chopsticks, intending to eat my breakfast. “Oh, I almost forgot!” She deftly cracked an egg on the flat tabletop and plopped it onto my bowl of rice. Yolk and albumen jiggled on my gorukle escort breakfast like freshly brought up mucus from a person with a chest cold. I poked at my rice bowl with my chopsticks, half expecting the contents to scream back at me.
“Eat, Andrew.” Eimi’s downcast eyes focused solely on her food. She had not started yet. Her eyes blinked rapidly. “Why will you not eat?” she asked. Her low pitched, raspy voice filled with exasperation. Well, I had eaten less savoury things than raw egg in my time. Mind you, that had been a matter survival, and not on some pushy broad’s say-so. Still, I had no desire to upset her again. I still felt guilty about my boorish behavior last night. I put the bowl to my mouth and started to eat. The faint clacking noises of wooden chopsticks on her black and lavender laquerware bowl told me she did the same.
The fine breakfast put me in a happy frame of mind. Most food will, when you don’t have to eat it alone and someone you care about prepares it for you. I wished it could be like this every morning. Eimi gathered up the dishes and placed them into the dishwasher. When she finished, she sat across from me, with hands flat on the tabletop.
“We must speak, you and I,” she said. Her voice held a faint quiver in it, one that had been missing the night before. Her eyes still refused to meet mine. “I must leave here, Andrew. Today. You laid out no clothes last night like I asked. Please find something suitable for me to wear outdoors.”
I supposed that I could. I had been heavily into fetish photography for the last couple of years. That meant I had a whole basement full of pretty things she could use. More than just clothes, let me tell you.
More about that some other time.
“I may have something in your size,” I said to her. “But it won’t come cheap.”
“What’s the price?” Her even voice held no tremor at all. Eimi knew the difference between conversation and business.
“Oh, about seven hundred dollars, I’d say.” A beautiful smile graced Eimi’s face, but she quickly smothered it. Luckily I hadn’t blinked just then. I would have missed it.
“You’d have me work for nothing, Andrew? Unfair. A woman must be permitted to feed herself.”
“You found the fridge on your own. It will never run empty.”
“I’ll provide it.”
“The second floor is yours, if you wish it.”
She said nothing for a long time. “No,” she decided. “I will not stay here and live at your mercy. Please find me some clothing. I will pay your price. Seven hundred dollars in return for the outfit.” She still refused to look at me.
“Enough of this shit.” I leaped to my feet and darted around the table. I towered over her, a black mountain of muscle, attitude and irritation. “Look at me, Eimi.”
She shook her head.
“Please do me the honor of looking at me when I address you, Yoshikawa Eimi.” My Japanese, even though rough, had the desired effect. My words struck her like a blow. The phrase, though polite, had been delivered in an angry tone. Perhaps a touch more forceful than I had intended, but man, I was so fed up with this bullshit! She looked up at me, her face still bruised. Her cheek looked a brownish-yellow this morning. Anger glittered in my eyes like a blade’s keen edge. I felt it strip away her resolve, one thin sliver at a time.
“You spit upon me. I offer you food, clothing and shelter. What else do you expect from me?”
“Your respect,” she answered. Her voice had that raspy quality again. “Your acceptance. Your trust. Your guidance. Your support.” Her voice gained clarity and speed as she spoke. “None of these things exist when I am with you. If they do not come, I’ll not remain.”
I blinked in confusion and reorganized the last few sentences in my brain. It had been a long time since I had to translate rapid-fire Japanese, and sadly, I was out of practice. Slowly, the salient points emerged from her diatribe. My jaw clenched shut in response. The nerve of this bitch! Charging me seven notes for a little groping, and then sounding off about respect? Fuck. Whores these days!
“Eimi.” I held her gently by the shoulders and looked down into her eyes. She looked back into mine with a little trepidation, larded with a great deal of expectation. I don’t know what she expected me to say, but I had a lot to get off my chest. “I’ve known you for little over twelve hours. When we met, you were offering me sex in a back alley. What kind of respect should I have for you? Trust? I left you unsupervised in my home. For all I know, you could have been a sneak thief, and ripped me off blind, or knifed me in my sleep. Acceptance? I’ll never judge you for things you’ve done in your past, only for things you do to me in the future. Strike me again,” I tightened my grip upon her slim shoulders, “and I’ll make you wish that you hadn’t. Last night’s bathroom scene was the first and only time you’ll ever raise your hand to me and get away with it.”
“Hush.” I placed a finger eskort bursa across Eimi’s lips. “Guidance? Tell me what you wish to achieve, and I’ll do my best to help you. But we’ll get there in my way, not yours. Now, you owe me for last night’s little aborted tryst, Eimi. Let’s see about making things square, shall we?”
Eimi opened her lips to speak, but I kissed her instead. Her rapid breathing told me of her increasing desire. Her eyes flickered open, sparkling with an intense passion that had been absent this morning. “Good. Now pleasure me.” I pulled her to her feet and loosened the obi, the orange and white sash that held her yukata closed. Her tiny hands sought to brush mine away from the obi’s knot. I took them gently in hand and placed them at her sides. The affectionate peck I placed on the tip of her nose made her giggle. “Relax, Eimi.” I pulled the obi free of the yukata. Her robe opened up, showing me a tantalizing glimpse of her delightful tanned body. She wore nothing beneath the robe. I slowly pushed the yukata down over her shoulders and arms, revealing more of her body, inch by glorious inch. She stood naked before me, wearing only her tabi socks. Her fully erect, burnished copper nipples demanded attention. I rolled them between my index finger and thumb as I kissed her. Eimi’s tongue sought out mine. I stepped closer to her and massaged her firm buttocks. “Please me.” My repeated command slit her restraint wide open. She dropped to her knees and stared at my now erect penis. She took it in her hands and hefted its weight, as if inspecting a melon. Her eyes lifted from her labours and looked me a question.
I reached down a hand to stroke her silken hair. I playfully tugged on her ponytail. “I’ll leave the flow of the play to you, Eimi. Just get me off. My head’s going to explode if I don’t blow off some pressure soon. I’m suffering.”
I could feel joy radiate from her in heated waves as she got back to work. Her small, skilled hands worked over my thick black member with a fantastic technique. Her slim hands played over the heated skin of my prick. Her touch seemed to infuse every nerve in my cock with a bolt of lightning. My flesh felt so alive, it effervesced. Her dainty hands played over my meat like a blind man’s finger tips did braille. She discovered every vein, every fold of skin with her meticulous, questing touch.
At no time did her mouth come in contact with me. But it was close. Oh, so close! Her thin, pouty mouth, slightly opened, breathed its sweet breath on me. The moist air that exited her nostrils tickled my skin. She looked at me through half closed eyes, her long black lashes shielding her gaze from me. Not that my eyes remained open for long. Soon, her talented hands forced them to close, scrunched shut from the exquisite torture she subjected me to.
A blast of liquid heat scalded my flesh. My eyes flickered open, just in time to see a glob of spittle clinging tremorously to the head of my cock. She grabbed the head of my prick in the palm of her hand, and curled her fingers underneath it, just tickling the glands. She rotated her hand about its crown, as if polishing a brass doorknob. Her other hand slid down my shaft and into the curly nest that covered my balls. She stroked them, her dexterous finger tips manipulating them with finesse while her other hand rapidly jacked off my shaft. All the while, her mouth, slightly parted, kept tantalizing me with its heated breath. So close. I just had to fall forward. That would be all it would take. My cock would jam into her mouth, force its way past her parted lips, and lodge itself into the welcoming vice of her throat.
But is that what she wanted? Last night, I had taken more than she had offered, and had paid the price. Today, I had promised that she, not I, would control the play. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t take advantage of her. Although I did grab her head to stroke her luxurious black hair, I in no way forced her head toward me. I contented myself with the delightful feelings that her talented hands brought me.
I watched her in fascination as she jerked off my prick. The skin of my cock bunch forward towards the head, rippling like the accordioned flesh of an obese woman’s torso, then smoothing out, as smooth as the sheerest satin when she pulled it taut between her hands. Her magnificent touch ran over the protruding vein work of my penis. She applied more saliva. The stuff heated up under her constant friction like motor oil in a cylinder. Her fist was so wet and tight, it felt like a second cunt.
It was all too much. No way could I hold out any longer. My campaign to have an orgasm had commenced the day previous. I was ready to go off.
The geyser welled up in my gut. It felt as if I’d vomit, the need was so bad. Then I went off. Great gouts of seed fired out of my mahogany cannon. Eimi directed the blasts toward her breasts. She played in the creamy shots with delight. She continued to jack me off in her unique style as she massaged my spunk into the skin of her tits. Finally, it ended. Eimi kissed karacabey escort my cock-head, snaking a pink tongue along the slit. She worked out a couple of drops that had been lingering there. She washed my entire prick with her nimble tongue before tucking me back into my grey slacks. Her impish grin spoke of the happiness she felt. She looked vibrant. Her eyes practically glowed with affection, like an ember suddenly igniting after laying cold in an unattended fireplace for years.
I laughed out loud while stroking Ember’s hair. She nestled her face against my groin. “Did I please you?” she asked.
“Yes you did, Ember. Very much.”
She looked up at me with delight. “And you please me. My heart is full.”
“Me? I didn’t do anything. I just stood here and enjoyed.”
“Yes. You accepted my gifts without asking for more,” she replied. “And you said that you needed me.” Her arms circled around my waist. She hugged me, her ear pressing into my crotch. It actually became uncomfortable. Her two golden arms clenched me to her in a vice-like grip. But hey, I wasn’t going to spoil her good mood again. I felt her shuddering against me. I moved her head back so I could see her face. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Ember.” I drew her upwards, and kissed her. I delighted in everything that she was, and everything that she did. I had no doubt that she’d choose to stay with me from now on.
“Release me. I must wash.”
Personally, I loved a woman who walked around naked with my spunk drying on her tits and stomach, but that could just be personal preference. I waved my assent.
“When I return, we must discuss a few things.”
Shit. “Such as,” I asked her.
“What does ‘Ember’ mean, to start.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I do. It sings in my heart. I just do not know the word.”
“Fine.” I relaxed. So far, conversation with Ember always meant trouble. We got along great as long as we didn’t speak too much. “What else?”
“The remainder of my fee, of course.” She stooped over to retrieve her yukata and obi from the floor. I laid a hand on her bare buttocks. I gently massaged them.
“Your what?” I asked her. “I thought we settled that up. Seven hundred for the clothing.”
“Indeed, Andrew. But I have been here for twelve hours now. That is thirty-six hundred dollars. Minus your seven hundred, you still owe me two thousand nine hundred.”
I smacked her bottom. The brutally hard stroke made a satisfying crack. Ember leaped up, dropping her clothing. She rubbed her abused ass with both of her hands.
“Rough play costs extra, Andrew. Beware.”
“You’re fucking with me! You can’t be serious.”
“I am always serious about sex and income.”
Indeed. For Ember, it meant the same thing. She stood still, staring at me with her dark eyed gaze. Waiting.
“Fine. You’ll have your money. But we must renegotiate your pay scale. Perhaps work out some kind of bulk rate. You’ll beggar me in short order this way.”
She danced over to me on tiptoe and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “There. Was that so hard for you?” She said.
“You have no fucking idea.”
“You must be willing to pay for the good things in life, Andrew Grissolm. Pay a little, gain little. Pay a lot, gain the world.” She laughed as she ran out of the kitchen. Her long obi trailed behind her for a split-second before slipping around the corner like a serpent streaking into its bolthole.
I shook my head. I had abandoned my personal code when I had agreed to pay for sex. But somehow, I couldn’t feel sorry about it. Ember was worth every cent. Best not tell her that, though. She might adjust her rates in the wrong direction.
I went into the bathroom. She stood in the glass encased shower unit. A sweet-sounding melody echoed through the room. Something about finding a lost child after searching for a long time in the wilderness, and the joy that their reunion brought her. If I was to keep Ember around here from now on, I’d really have to bone up of my Japanese. It was sadly lacking.
I sat upon the side of the ornate marble bathtub and listened to her melodious voice. She sounded like I felt. Happy, and with no reservations. Horrible things might happen tomorrow, but I’d make sure that today was fantastic for both of us. I resolved to enjoy my life while the good times lasted. I’d be sure to enjoy Ember a few more times today as well. I quickly stripped out of my clothing and stepped into the shower with her. She turned, greeting me with a smile that held my world in it. I flipped her around and pushed her gently against the glass wall of the shower stall. My hands roamed freely over her water-slickened skin. Her singing stopped. I curled one arm around her waist, and stroked her belly as my other hand massaged the firm globes of her ass. I pushed my index finger against her asshole. She sucked in her breath sharply. I gently worked it inside her. Her song started again, this one a tune of heated arousal. I continue to stroke her belly and breasts as I reamed her anus with my finger. Her sighs of pleasure told me she enjoyed the treatment, as did the perfect ass that bucked against my thrusting hand. Oh yes, I’d be sure to enjoy my day.
But where the hell was I going to get $3,000 at this early hour?
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32