Emma's Stiletto Seduction Pt. 02

Emma: Hi, will be with you in a few minutes x

David: Great, I'll get some drinks ready! Xx

I switched off the engine, leaving the key in the ignition. I reached over to my bag sitting in the passenger seat and took out my hairbrush and lipstick. I combed my hair a straight as possible, so that not a hair was out of place.

With a glance in the rear mirror to check to see if all is clear, I opened my car door and swung my legs to the side. My heels popped against the tarmac of the pavement. I stood up outside and reached across to grab my bag and jacket, just as I felt a hint of rain in the air.

I slipped on my jacket, the nylon lining sliding over the satin shoulders of my blouse, and fastened up two of the buttons on my chest leaving the top button open at the collar and three buttons loose at my hips and below. I pulled the leather belt tight, slimming my waist.

The rain started falling harder now, casting heavy white daggers in the street lamps. It was eerily silent as it fell, without a breath of wind. I took my bag, and placed it over a shoulder and onto my hip. Would I need my gloves? No.

I reached into the ignition and took my keys from the car. Carefully closing the door with my weight rather than slamming and pressed the fob to make it secure.

Once more I found myself stepping confidently into the night. In the silent evening, the only sound was my high heeled boots clicking, popping and scraping along the pavement.

"Out of the cul-de-sac, turn left, look for house 14." I repeated to myself, although I knew the address by heart. "Number 14. Number 14."

The house was just as Google Maps had shown. A high privet hedge shadowed the driveway. The windows were dark, with no light showing aside the porch lamp shining brightly in the night.

The front of the house was well kept, handsome, and looked like the garden rose-beds had already been trimmed and put to bed for the coming of winter. Davids's car must have been in the garage.

"Who puts their car in a garage these days?" I thought to myself.

This tells you everything that you need to know about my date, and a lot about why I like him. It's somewhat old-school in a sea of modern men.

The bright light had turned the dark glass of the front-door into a perfect mirror and once more I looked at the reflection before me. It was raining heavily now, and the shallow brick archway of the porch provided no respite from the autumnal downpour. I could see my leather jacket glistening with raindrops, and my black hair now very smooth and pulled straighter with the weight of the water. I glanced at my iPhone, 7.59pm. Time to ring the bell. Stage 2 complete.

A door opened to the rear of the hallway, and the light changed the glass on the front door from a mirror into a transparent pane. I could see a figure coming to answer my bell push.

It was a tall man, around 6 foot 2 or 3, with a large build. He was carrying a few more pounds than he did 10 years ago, but it just made him more attractive.

"Definitely nicer to cuddle." I thought to myself, and then shook my head to get rid of said thought.

Cuddle is a word I felt guilty about using. I usually meet men for sex, cuddling doesn't play any part in that. But after a dream about David I had decided, to my chagrin, that I actually fancied him. And having had my first taste on Wednesday evening, I was very happy to be invited for more.

"Good evening Miss Emma," David said, his eyes quickly looking me down and up, "please come in."

"Thank you," I replied, "I brought the weather with me!"

"Yes, you look drenched, can I take your coat?"

"Of course." I said, turning so that my back was towards him, "Let me unbutton it."

David, taller by 8 inches even though I was wearing heels, nervously placed his hands on both of my shoulders, grabbing the lapels and pulling the jacket free in one movement. He shook the raindrops from it, each cascading onto the mosaic of terracotta tiles in the hallway. I put my bag over the hatstand that my wet coat had been hung.

It was a nice house, with a formal lounge to the left leading into an even more formal dining room to the rear. Both rooms had been 'knocked through'. A galley kitchen ran the length of the house off the entrance hallway. It had been decorated in a style befitting its age. Furnishings were mostly dark wood, oil paintings and vases - with a giant aspidistra in the hall at the foot of the staircase.

"You have a lovely house."

"Thanks, we have not been in here long." Replied David, "About six months or so."

I could instantly tell that David regretted using the term 'we' to describe his current marital status. I had a feeling that he would rather forget about his estranged wife, at least for the rest of the evening.

Davids' wife had not wanted to move there, she wanted a more modern home and had grown to dislike it from the day they had moved in. She had wanted to move closer to the sea, in a modern apartment with a view if they could afford it. The house they now owned seemed to be a compromise, but one that came with a different price to pay.

"It's so boring," she had shouted at him in the days before she had left to move in with her sisters family in Surrey, "just like you."

"Why don't you come through to the lounge?" David asked.

"Shall I take my boots off?" I replied, brushing them gently on the doormat in the hall.

"Err well," stuttered David, "I think... I think I would prefer you to keep them on!" His eyes raised from my boots to meet my own.

"Whatever you say, sir." And we smiled at each other.

I walked into the Lounge, and David followed. The sound of my stiletto heels on the tiles were lost as the flooring changed into a deep pile carpet. Once more I could feel his eyes burning into my pert leather clad bottom.

"You look great," he said, " I love the leather again, it really suits you."

"Thanks, and your suit err...suits you too." I said, realising that David had stuck to his idea of a formal evening, so much that he was wearing a shirt and tie under his jacket again.

"Drinks!" He exclaimed, bringing his mind back to the present after allowing it to wander.

I hoped that he had been reminiscing about the evening we spent together earlier in the week. This moment was our first real contact since he left my apartment late Wednesday night.

David walked through from the lounge into the dining room. It had an old fashioned red-brick built fireplace over which hung an ornate mirror. A large rectangular dining table was set. Three church candles burned brightly in its centre. On the generous mantel was an open bottle of red wine and two glasses.

"Have you started early?" I joked, tilting my head to one side with a quizzical expression, my eyes darting from glass to his.

"No. No, I was just letting it breathe." He said quickly.

And without a thought and a glint in my eye, "I wish you had let me breathe on Wednesday." I said, giggling.

David smiled shyly, and looked down at his feet, before holding his hand to his mouth, coughing, and handing me a glass of red.

I looked him in the eye, and thought... not sure what he wanted or how he had planned the evening to go.

"Was he going to make a move or was he going to wait and let me seduce him again?" I thought quickly to myself.

I took a sip of wine just to whet my lips, and walked to the fireplace.

"I like your clock." I said awkwardly, fingering an old brass carriage clock sitting on top of the fireplace.

He turned and stood next to me, talking about how he obtained it from an antiques fair when on holiday some years ago in France, and that he has to take care not to over wind it these days.

"They were created so that you could take them travelling with you, it's why it has got the little handle on top. It uses a spring instead of a pendulum to keep time so you can bash it around a bit."

He seemed more relaxed now, talking about something he clearly knew a lot about. I thought that this would help him be more comfortable in my company again.

"What's this?" I said, stepping so that I was now in between David and the mantle, with my back close to his chest.

He reached over my shoulder and placed his glass on the shelf.

Our attention was on a small wooden box, several inches square. He lifted its lid and revealed an old electronic meter of some sort, probably for measuring amps or volts.

"It's from the 40s," David explained, "My father must have got it from somewhere and I've just kind of kept it.

"I like it."

This wasn't a lie from me, It was like it belonged in the house. It seemed as the property was only missing the gentle ticking of a long case clock, and I would not have been terribly surprised to find one in the bathroom.

David closed the lid of the box, and placed his hand on my shoulder. He was touching me for the the first time this evening. HIs fingers traced the outline of the black strap of my basque showing clearly through the material of my white satin secretary blouse.

I stood straighter and reduced the distance between us. I was too small even in heels to put my bottom directly into his crotch, but I could feel his penis now resting against the small of my back.

I took a drink from my glass as David explained that the candlesticks on the mantle were from his grandparents, whist absentmindedly his other hand strayed and rested on my waist. He pushed a thumb into the tight band of my leather skirt, his fingers feeling the texture of the supple material. I sighed, and his hand wandered to feel my pert bottom, which he stole courage to allow himself to squeeze. Twice.

I stepped up onto the stone hearth with the toes of my boots and, if I stood on tiptoes, gave me the extra inches necessary to put my leather clad bottom against Davids Groin. He steadied me with both hands on my hips and pulled me back in tightly.

I could feel his penis through his trousers and my soft leather skirt, it rested in between my arse cheeks, pointing erect towards the ceiling. I pushed my bottom back harder now to meet it, and slowly raised my height up and down, just enough for the friction of the material between us to pull his foreskin from and over the head of his penis.

David reached around, his arms under my own, and cupped each of my breasts in his hands. They were being held firmly but not being squeezed.

In the subtle flickering candle light of the room, we could see ourselves in the Victorian mirror above the hearth. We maintained eye contact though the glass in complete silence, as we both enjoyed watching me masturbate his cock by rubbing my body against his. It was thrilling. My tongue out, breathlessly panting, added to his amazement.

I tilted my head to one side, and he gently started to nuzzle his lips against my neck, kissing the top of my tightly buckled collar and running his tongue between the rough-cut leather and my soft white skin. Still his eyes watched me in the mirror. I held on to the mantle edge with my fingers, and let out a sweet moan of appreciation.

I turned my head and looked up at him and he moved his head closer as if to kiss me.

And then he kissed me.

I was taken aback, not because this once shy man was kissing me, but because I instantly felt his tongue pushing itself between my red lips. I turned in his arms, and his hands fell from my back down to my bottom, pulling his crotch tightly against me again as his tongue explored my mouth. I stepped down off the heart but at no point allowing his lips to stop touching mine.

Now I could place both my hands under his jacket, reaching behind his back to his broad shoulders. Both of his hands were heavily groping my bottom, one on each cheek holding firmly. I liked this position, and clearly David did also, I could feel an erection trying to drill its way into my belly.

David simply wasn't used to this. Why didn't his wife ever kiss him like this, or dress up for him anymore? He went over and over this in his mind. The answer was that she had never done this. They had fallen into a relationship and got married after leaving university so that they could live together and satisfy her rather straight-laced family, especially the mother. They had sex before they were married, but it was more functional than passionate. He was always left with the feeling that she had just done the bare minimum, her duty as it were, but never been pro-active or outwardly showing signs of enjoyment.

As the years went by the sex took a backseat to other interests and she always brushed off his advances. He thought she loved him, but just didn't seem to like him anymore. He wasn't a lover but rather part of the furniture. Like a bureau in the lounge. Something he felt that she had grown to be completely indifferent to. It did not come as a surprise that she had left, and he hated himself for missing her, especially in this moment.

He kissed me harder, forcing his tongue deeper in my mouth.

Men are so utterly fantastic. They have a built-in barometer that tells me instantly what they want, and Davids' was now pointing directly at me. As he held me tightly, I could feel him brushing his cock against me, he was definitely not holding back tonight. Should I have him? We have only been in each others company barely an hour.

But it was pointless resisting. His tongue filling my mouth now. His hands groping me so that my skirt had ridden up and he could touch handfuls of bare flesh above my stocking tops. His cock was grinding into me. I was very turned on, and at this point I needed his cock inside me again.

I kissed him back, harder. This time my tongue taking the lead and compelling itself up and into his mouth, even exploring his behind his front teeth. This proved a useful distraction as my hands found their way to his trousers, wrapping my fingers around his erect cock through the dark cotton material. His penis was hard, very hard, and 6" in length. My hands fumbled and unbuckled his belt, pulling down the band of his briefs revealing the cockhead. When I could hold his balls tightly in one hand and the shaft in the other, I stopped kissing.

David had not been able to rid his mind of our first date. He felt guilty the next day, wishing that it had never happened, however the guilt always brought up memories of having a girl dress up for him. A goth girl like he fancied in college. A girl who got on her knees and had given him a blowjob. It was the first time he had completely let himself go, to cum in another persons mouth. To simply not worry about it The logistics, the mess. But just to savour the build up to the edge. Going past the point of no return and, for those few precious moments, the intense pleasure before the explosive orgasmic release.

"It's going into her mouth!" He thought, and there is nothing she can do about it now.

"Suck it, slut."

I had only known David in this way, in a sexual way, for a few days. On Wednesday evening I had to take to lead and ask him if i could give him a blowjob. By Saturday night, he was using language like this. It was out of character, it didn't suit him, but I was glad that he could finally vocalise what he wanted. I was a slut. He wanted his cock sucked. The words were the correct words.

I sunk to my knees.

With his full erection in front of me, I licked from balls to tip, flicking the cockhead hard with my tongue as it passed. I could see it twitching with unconfined excitement. More licks of the shaft, slower now, savouring its length and lingering on the tip, waiting to catch and taste a drop of pre-cum.

Again, balls to tip, but this time taking the glans into my mouth, briefly. With each lick of the length of his shaft, I took his dick deeper into my mouth until its whole length was in, forcing itself past my red lips hard against the back of my throat.

David moved his hands first to my shoulders and then a strong hand against the back of my head. This was a cue to stop the licking and to get on with the blowjob, his hand now preventing me from removing the cock from my mouth on the outstroke.

Finally, he thought, he could see me on my knees again, worshiping him. The heels of my black patent leather boots parallel to the floor, my head bobbing up and down on his penis. Sucking. Licking. Gasping for air but continuing to service.

"Why didn't SHE do this for me?" Said his inner monologue. "Why didn't she suck my cock? Why didn't she let me cum in her mouth?"

His mind wandered, looking down at the leather clad trans woman on her knees pleasuring his cock rhythmically.

He had been together with his wife for over thirty years, thirty eight years in fact. How many blowjobs had he missed out on?

"365 multiplied by 38." He said to himself, "that's too difficult to work out right now."

"Ok let's do 360 multiplied by 10, that's 3600." He thought, "And 4 times 36 is 144."

"So that would be fourteen thousand four hundred blowjobs," he told himself, trying to distract from what could have been fourteen thousand four hundred and one if his life and marriage had worked out some what differently.

"Just don't cum too soon," he repeated over, wanting to prolong the pleasure.

The average volume of cum per ejaculation is between 1.15ml and 5ml. It has its largest volume and would peak in your thirties.

"Let's say I cum 3ml on average,"he allowed himself to believe.

"That's 14400 blowjobs multiplied by 3ml per ejaculate giving 43,200ml."

"It would be 43 litres, or over 91 pints of cum I could have put inside Emma in that time."

Clearly using mathematics was not allowing this accountant to distract himself enough to prevent an orgasm.

"Just learn to bloody well enjoy it." He admonished.

David's hand tightened and instead of continuing to guide his penis into me, grabbed my hair and tilted my head back from his dick so that he could look down at me. A strand of pre-cum and saliva hung between the top of his glistening purple cock and my dark red lips.

He held me there like this, transfixed, my own hands palm down in the lap of my black leather pencil skirt.

I caught my breath, breasts heaving with the tempo of my chest.

Slowly he moved his free hand to the base of his cock, gripping it as tightly as he was holding my hair. Bending his erection so that he was pointing it directly at me, directly at my mouth. I made an 'O'with my lips, and pushed my tongue out and as forward onto my chin as it could go.

He steered his cock once more into my willing mouth. Deep. And then out, making me gasp for air. And again held us both there in silence.

Down again.

And again.

Further, looking at me, with my expectant tongue silently begging this man for more.

And he started to fuck my face.

Not gently but thoroughly. Bringing my head hard so that my throat met the thrust of his hips. My hands still placed obediently in my lap, rocking backwards and forward on my heels to keep balance.

Without warning, he held my head deep on him, and he came. Filling my mouth with his cum, not letting me go.

I coughed, spluttered, so much that strands of cum, mucus and saliva came out of my mouth past the shaft and onto his balls. But still we held the position.

Should I swallow his cum, did he want to see it first? But I had no choice, his cock resting against my tonsils made me swallow involuntarily, and as I did so the gentle pressure of the lubricated cockead found the glans slip down briefly into my throat. He had just cum, and I had deep-throated him, however brief.

"This counts." I thought to myself.

He took his cock from my mouth, still hard and erect, holding it on the tip on my tongue. A final drop of cum leaked from the eye and onto my lips.

I licked the length of the shaft, sucking in the cum and saliva, cleaning it and swallowing it down. David run his hand up the shaft of his cock, milking another drop of cum out of the eye and offering it up to me, which I greedily licked and took into my mouth on my tongue.