First Meeting

Claire stood at the airport and felt like an idiot. She'd felt like an idiot before, but this was a new high in her forty plus years. Waiting for a man she barely knew, who wasn't expecting her, wearing something a woman half her age would, in heels. low heels, but heels, holding a sign. The sign she had made. Written in bold red lip stick. His name,on a huge piece of white card stock, with his name on it

She had argued with herself for three days about this. Ever since he'd told her his flight number, and the day of arrival. He was here for some conference or other, meet maybe for coffee, he'd said, and she had mumbled something like sure. And then gone into tailspin of doubt and fear. Meet him, not meet him. She was so unsure. And then last night, he'd called from the airport, and she had watched her phone ring on the kitchen counter and not answered it. She'd gone to bed, only to get up every hour to check the progress of his flight.

Then in a mad fit she's looked in her wardrobe found her shortest black skirt, black seamed tights, a too tight white blouse, and the matching jacket to the skirt, bra and thong. And lastly the only heels she owned. Grabbed her bag from the counter and a sheet of plain white card, and run for the tube. It had taken nearly two hours to travel across London to Heathrow, and at each stop she'd nearly got off. But at each stop her indecision had kept her rooted to the seat and she had moved ever closer.

At Heathrow the crowd had moved her along the concourse until she stood by the gateway exit point for foreign flights. The arrivals board had told what her phone had. He'd landed nearly twenty minutes earlier. She'd looked into her bag, and, of course, no pen. The red lip stick was all she had and so in bold red letters she'd scrawled his last name and held up the sign as each new flood of passengers had exited from customs. She had stood there an hour now. She knew how long it took to move though passport control, and customs, and his flight had landed nearly ninety minutes before, he should be close she thought.

Then the fear began again. She was nuts! They'd met online, played a little, well a lot really, and finally swapped phone numbers. The only picture she had seen of him was, in his own words, ten years out of date. A stupid, lop sided grin, under a mop of brown grey hair lean figure, standing between his four children, all of whom were in uniform. Coffee, yes meet him for coffee, later, or tomorrow perhaps. And the sign began to drop as the latest bunch of passengers exited, and froze. She saw him, and her heart lurched a little, but, he wasn't alone!

Her heart sagged. His head was bent, listening intently to some....some....blonde...tart! A mature woman, wearing a white skirt so tight you could clearly see her knicker elastic. Six inch black heels and a white tee that had a plunging neckline that died just above her naval. Damn it, if he dipped his head any closer she could stick her tongue in his ear. As it was he seemed to be pretty intently staring down her clevage. Fuck. She had to get out of here, and then his eyes traveled up, saw the sign, recognition of his own name, and his whole head came up and saw her, and he mouthed her name, "Claire". And somewhere, deep in her soul, a voice wailed, "SHITSHITSHIT!!!,"

Michael was tired, and bad tempered. Tired out of his mind. Somewhere out over the Atlantic this vampire woman had stuck her claws into him was just not letting go. He'd tried polite disinterest, and he'd tried to sleep as he normally would have in the flight, but she just kept talking,and talking. Boring husband, off to see the world. Ex-military, how nice. Still quite fit. She'd made a grab for his arm at that point. But a woman who trowelled her make up on, reeked of way too much scent, and a voice that made scratching a black board sound pleasant wasn't getting a look in, despite her obvious charms other wise.

What was really on his mind was why hadn't Claire picked up last night. He had called from home, and from the airport. He'd thought about paying for the wifi services on the plane just to try and reach out to her, but the harpy in the next seat had been relentless, and now she was following him off the plane and through the airport. Talk talk, bloody talk. And just they reached the gateway she'd made a move, grasping his butt in her claw like hands, and a softly spoken suggestion about breakfast. But Michael had seen his name written in red, held on white card, and the woman who held it, and he had breathed her name, And the world fell away.

Michael walked swiftly through the crowd, the vampires hand on him forgotten. She looked horrified as he steered his course towards her. And when he reached her, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he just stared for an instant. Then he stepped forward and planted a single kiss on her cheek, luxuriating for a moment in the scent of her hair and skin. He pulled back his biggest lop sided grin and smiled.

"Hello,love. I thought you didn't have time to meet me?"

And then the click of heels, and a groan, and Michael glanced around and cheerfully wished the vampire goodbye. He could see the, well whatever it was, mounting in her eyes as she looked Claire over, calculating. A woman her own age dressed in clothing that wasn't new, that had little or no make-up on wearing a single black pearl necklace, to her rings, chains and bangles. Then with a single nod and a wave of perfume, the vampire walked away.

And Michael spoke softly, "Thank Christ you was here, love..", and he turned gave a real, good, look, and taking her face in both of his hands he drew her close, and gave her a long, lingering, kiss.

Clare' s arm hung down by her side's. Her initial panic about seeing Michael for the first time, and the sudden panic he might be with someone, was now subsiding. She now wondering about this kiss. It was, well it was, had, so much passion in it. So many tines they'd talked online, on the phone, and he'd made her horny with a single word, now this kiss. Her own mouth received his tongue almost mechanically, allowing him the access he obviously wanted, and the suggestions it conveyed. He drew away from her, and gave her a big lopsided grin.

"Someone," he said, "has forgotten what she said To me three weeks ago, when I first told her I was coming."

Shit! What had she said? Oh, she would give him a kiss that would knock his socks off. She hesitated and started to move in, but he waved her off, grabbing both her hands in the process. He kissed them both at the wrist, the same silly grin in his face.

"You blew my socks off by standing here. My heads still spinning. This is the best surprise I've had, today."

"Only today?" she replied, trying to talk, "I must be slipping"

"Well, the day is yet young. You've got time to improve on it." And his head dipped again to kiss both her wrists for the second time. And then his head shot up, a slight look of panic crossed his face.

"How long can you stay?" he asked.

She hesitated again. Damn, she'd never thought that. She'd nothing planned for the day, not until tonight with her daughter and father, but should she tell him that?

" Erm, certainly most of the morning." It was just after seven now.

"Oh good. Time for breakfast. Maybe lunch?"

She nodded, then said,"We'll see."

He released one hand, and fished a mobile from his pocket. Put an earpiece in it to his ear and talked to his phone.

"Brother Keven? Oh hi, Ann. Where is the lazy bastard? Oh, I see. Look tell him I beat after the flight. I'm going to catch a few z's in an airport hotel. Catch up with him tonight. Later", and brusquely hung up.

"Madam", he said with polite courtesy, "would you care to walk with me". and he held out his arm.

She looked at, and bemusedly took it. He was certainly a confidant guy. And they rolled his luggage down the concourse.

Michael stepped from the shower and toweled himself dry. Booking himself a room for the day. At an exorbitant rate just to get into the breakfast room, had turned into farce as his waitress had poured orange juice over him. Then the hotel, after some apology had looked pointedly at Clare, as she walked after him, and Michael had equally pointedly glared at the hotel staff, and they'd backed down, but that didn't concern him. What was worrying him was Clare? He hadn't expected her to grab him, throw him to the floor, and have him, but she seemed, distant, hesitant. For himself, she seemed to be everything he'd imagined her to be. The skirt, blouse and jacket, right down to the way she walked. She was obviously uncomfortable in those heels, but how to break down her reserve?

He looked thoughtfully at in the mirror, and sighed. He'd had so many hopes and dreams, and it was going pear shaped in a big hurry. Maybe this had been a mistake to meet. He was so much older than her, she deserved so much more. He looked around and groaned inwardly. The pile on the floor were the soaked clothes. He'd forgotten to bring some clothes from his case in his haste to shower and get back to Clare. He looked around, no robe? Ducky. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out into the room.

Clare looked up at his entry, and the look in her eyes told him exactly what she feared. He deliberately walked as far away as he could from her, and reach his suitcase. He tried for nonchalance.

"Sorry, forgot my clothes. Haven't we played this scene before?"

She looked at him, "something like it, once, I think. We've done a few hotel rooms though, and she glanced around, the faint trace of a smile curved her lips in obvious remembrance. He pulled on a white tee shirt, and retreated to the bathroom to pull on his shorts, and discarded the towel.

The breakfast tray lay upon the table and he sat heavily on the chair, and sighed. At her inquiring look, he said, "I wanted so much for this, for us" and he stabbed at his eggs. "Maybe I'm just too tired, pushing too hard," and he essayed a smile in Clare' s direction, and saw her reaching down and pushing her shoes off her feet.

"Pinching?" he asked?

She looked, and gave him a smile, "Yeah".

He glanced at her feet, seeing the varnished toes through the nude nylons.

"Why did you wear them then?"and the answering smile told him why. He liked heels, she'd worn them for him. Crap, and with out thinking he pushed away from the table, shuffled it to side and held out his hands.

"Gimme"

Her face showed puzzlement, and he gestured down at her feet.

"Foot, gimme", and slowly she extended her left leg, and placing it on his thigh, his hands commenced to massage her foot.

Even as she extended foot, Michael felt a hard tug in his groin. Shit. This was nuts. Her foot on his thigh, and he was massaging, caressing, her nylon covered foot. Feet, nylon, and a massage, oh how to tick all the fetish boxes.

Clare was still in a bit of a daze. She'd said little, when he'd taken her into the hotel lobby. Her feet were beginning to complain about the heels. And watched as Michael negotiated with the hotel staff about his room rate, then leading her into the restaurant, where he'd got a good soaking before they'd been served. Then the look the hotel staff had given her when she'd started to follow him, unsure what else to do, and the answering look that Michael had given them. Whatever they'd seen in his eyes they had all backed away really fast, and had promised to bring the breakfast up to the room.

He'd excused himself almost immediately they'd arrived to go clean up,and she heard the shower running in the bathroom. Had they exchanged more than a dozen words since he'd arrived. Online, and over the phone, they never seemed to stop, whether it was role play, or just fluff. Damn, we know one another, why was it so hard to get a conversation going. She'd taken delivery of the food and set it out on the table.

And then he'd stepped out of the bathroom, and her heart had quailed again. He had the towel wrapped around him, and wondered for a moment if he was making a move on her, but saw that he shuffled away from her and she relaxed in her chair and for the first time she really looked at him. He was sixty one, that she knew, but for all that he was in pretty good shape still, well muscled, there was a trace of what looked like the beginning of a tummy, and wondered how much effort it took just to keep it down. There was also she noticed a cruel looking scar on his back, and a smaller one on his front which she saw as he pulled the case open and bent to retrieve the white tee shirt. Written on the front, ;Worlds best Dad". And with a few mumbled words about role play and her response he had disappeared back into the bathroom for a few moments reappearing again wearing shorts that finished just above his knee.

He had dropped into his chair, and somehow she wasn't listening, he was talking, she knew that and she watched as his mouth moved and his fork stabbed food, but she was totally unaware of the words, she had the strangest feeling that somehow, she was some how re living, something, but what? And then he'd moved his chair, held out his hand, gestured down, and the feeling had intensified, tantalizingly close in her mind. And she felt herself moving her foot, placing it on his thigh and his head had gone down and his hands begin caressing her foot.

And the disconnect in her mind began to clear. This was close to one of there role plays. Really close. What had they done then, and she felt her foot flex under his hands. He had a foot fetish she remembered, and one about nylons too. Inwardly she smiled, and for the first time she knew what to do. How to begin the conversation. It was so easy. No words necessary. None at all.

Her other foot moved now, up to his leg. Curving round the back of his calf, and she ran her foot up the back of his leg. She watched him stiffen in his seat, his head not rising, a momentary break in his fingers movement, and then resumed the massage. No, she thought not massages, he was really caressing her foot, caressing the intimate contours of her foot. She kept rubbing his calf, the back, the side, now what happened next. Would he remember what came next. And she watched as his head dipped lower, closer to her foot. Yes, he knew what came next.

Michael, had stiffened as he felt Clare's foot on his leg. Felt the warm rasp of the nylon against his skin. Then he'd started working her foot again, and somewhere the connection was made. He bent his head over the foot, catching first the scent of her sweat, shoe and nylon mixing together in his nose. The feel of her stockinged foot. The primal urge he felt as his head closed on her toes overpowering him. He took her toes into his mouth and began slowly to suck. His penis rising to needs, and the feel of her foot on skin, and then her foot paused, and ran the length of his calf, over inside of the knee, then along his thigh. Michael saw the foot coming. He knew what her foot was seeking, she'd chosen the wrong leg he knew, but she couldn't know that in these shorts.

His mouth came off her toes, and placed her foot into his crotch, pressing it against his growing member. He pulled his shorts up, and retrieved the other foot, placed it on his thigh and began sucking in these toes, he came almost to a complete stop through when other, questing under his shorts found his penis and began to roll it under her foot crushing against his thigh. He allowed a single slow moan to escape, and then she pulled her foot away, put it up against his chest and pushed him back in his chair. He was looking directly at now, saw the vague look of satisfaction on her face, and he felt the foot slide under his tee shirt, and nylon crawl over his stomach, up his chest to come to rest on his right nipple. Where she bunched her toes over it and began to squeeze.

Michael sat in the chair being worked over by her feet. She'd done what she'd done countless times before online, and on the phone. He was totally a slave to his two greatest fetishes. He knew She was only teasing him, driving him to the edge, just to leave him hanging there. But he was in her thrall, watching her mouth, her eyes, and then he looked down the line of her leg. The skirt was not that short, but all the movement had rucked it back a little, just enough to see the gusset of a pair tights.

He didn't care, he pulled her foot off his chest, caressing the muscles of calf and thigh as he did, and he saw the incomprehension in Clare's eyes as he placed it in the floor. The other foot slid out of his shorts and Michael knelt before her. The skirt had two zippers one on either side and Michael slowly moved them up to the waist band. He moved the flap of material over her stomach, surveyed her crotch. He put his hands to the waistband and began to pull them down. Clare s hips moved up slightly and they came away. He shuffled back slightly and rolled them further down her thighs. Then he ducked, and raised her thighs to come into the space between them and her pussy.

He contemplated her, the scent of her rising to his nostrils, hiding behind a scrap of material. He moved it to one side. And looked again, and then his face fell on her pussy. His tongue, questing and finding her, and sucking it slowly into his mouth, he felt the sharp intake of breath, and began to work on her.

Clare felt his mouth on her clitoris, A slow sweet sensation crept through her, a heightening of urgency. He wasn't going very fast,gentle pulls on her, the roughness of his lips, the slow soft feel of his tongue. And her body began to try match this slow lingering dance. her hips began to rock gently to the tempo, and under her bra, the nipples began to rise to her quickening, catching the lace material. His hands reaching up to caress her bum, sliding them between the chair and his nails began to dig into her flesh. Her hands moved her fingers through his hair and pulled him onto her, and his pace began to rise. The clitoris pulled deeper, the tongue on her harder, and the nails, raking her flanks, and back to bum. Fresh waves of pain, melding with those of her pleasure.

It wasn't just there she felt excited. Every part of her skin seemed to be prickling, craving even the briefest of touches of his hands. Her legs, trying to hold, and caress him. Rubbing onto his back and sides. She felt his body move slightly and realised he was rubbing his cock on her leg. She slipped her foot out from him, and trapped it, against groin. His answering murmur, and slight drive of the hips told her what she had already guessed, and unconsciously she matched the rhythm of his tongue. And for the briefest of moments, hips, feet, hand and tongue were slaved to the same pace. Joined together in growing pleasure, but it could not last.

Clare broke first, he was on her concentrating on her needs, before his own. Every part of her was alive now, even her skin was screaming for release, and she forget everything else. Her legs fell languishing on his shoulders, jerking to the beat of his tongue and mouth. Her hands clawed in the back of his head, trying to pull him tighter on her, Don't let him stop. Please God, don't let him stop. She heard herself telling him so out loud. And his response was instant.

His mouth, so slow, so measured in pace, was suddenly everywhere. His tongue inside, then his fingers, licking the length of her slit, back to clitoris. His fingers felt like bolts of fire in her arse, biting deeply into the flesh. Somewhere in her minds eye she was aware he'd been awake now nearly forty hours now, but she didn't care. Only his hands and tongue and mouth were real. And then she was on the edge, her whole body taut with expectation, and she came. A wave of delight coursing through her. Every muscle tight to better feel the waves of orgasm, and for a brief moment she forgot to breathe as even her lungs indulged in the moment of ecstasy.