Mulan Blanc Ch. 01

It was often said by my friends who often spent the late hours of the night devoted to some hedonistic act, that I have far too sober attitude towards life than any 22 had any right to. In fact that was how my friend John would end his tales of his most recent debauched acts. We would often spend the Monday evening in the apartment drinking whiskey, while he boasts about his most recent conquests in what my father would describe as 'a most vulgar fashion'. But I did not mind. Having devoted my short lived years to the art of the written word, and moved from the town of my birth to nation's capital to pursue a career in journalism, this has meet I unfortunately had sacrificed my social life for success I was now enjoying.

John, who was a DJ by profession, was drawn to the city by the nightclubs, which deserved reputation draw the rich, powerful, and beautiful from across the globe. He was impulsive and brash never given a second thought any of his actions the complete contrast to my thoughtful and sober temperament. It was these differences that drew us together like the two poles of a magnet and become quite inseparable in our universities years. I lived vicariously through John and in return I provided the audience for him to tell tales of his prowess, both in his profession and bedrooms of the beautiful women he seduced.

John was finishing a tell of most recent exploits with a pair of twins from America before taking gulp of the remaining whisking in his glass before saying "I have been made an offer by Mr Sinclair, the owner of passions...."

"Is that one where the queue to get in is supposed to be three streets long" I interrupted, refilling both glasses from the steadily depleting whiskey bottle. Passions was the most popular and by the logic of business the most successful nightclub in the capital. John had signed a contract with Mr Sinclair for an exclusive three month trial period at passions, which had expired last night. "So have you been signed on for another contract then?"

"Yes but not at passions" I raised eyebrow in puzzlement at his reply. "It turns out "he continues "Mr Sinclair has been planning to open this new exclusive club, just for a higher class of clientèle, you know celebrities, models, the rich, anyone who can pay the overpriced bar tab. He's planning this massive opening event tomorrow, he's got some better known DJs for the night then I start 4 days a week." He takes another sip of his whiskey, and then taking advantage of the momentary lapse in the concession I asked "this wouldn't be the Mulan blanc by any chance?" To which he nodded in agreement. "And the best thing is he is invited me to the big event itself, even says I can bring along two other people, so how about it, fancy coming along"

The opportunist in me jumped. The culture editor of the newspaper I work that was trying, and failing to get interview with Mr Sinclair about the Mulan blanc ever since news of this development was heard. Mr Sinclair who is notoriously tight lips had refused all offers of an interview and had threatened to bar access to the club to all members of the press. John had just blown a hole in the anti-press defences erected by Mr Sinclair. A hole large enough for single journalist, to clamber through and snatched the biggest story of the year. I would have been a fool to pass this up. So we made our arrangements and retired to our respective bedrooms for some much-needed rest for the coming night.

I awoke first, making for my en-suite bathroom were I began my morning ritual of showering, brushing my teeth, dressing myself in a black suit of the latest fashionable cut before leaving the apartment. Grabbing a cup of Coffey from the coffee shop that was opposite our apartment before making the 20 minutes walk to the city centre where the offices of the newspapers was located.

Upon entering the building I was greeted by Emma, the receptionist. A pretty woman with long flowing blonde hair: no older than myself, whose petite figure was perfectly proportioned. She would often flaunt her tight breasts with a low cut top. Half of the office would stop whatever they were doing and watched the beautiful curvature of the legs clad only in dark stockings, short skirt, and high heels as she ventured from her desk to the water cooler. Each of these qualities alone would have justified countless advances of the other men in the office, which she would politely refuse. But what kept them coming back was the unique and almost musically way that she spoke. Like each octave is a musical note played an instrument. We would often exchange polite conversation with each other, she would tell me about her friends, family and weekends and the plans she had for them. I would sit there baffling in the Symphony of her condensation. Then eventually she would fix you with her deep emerald eyes: sending your heart flutter with a careless smile as she politely questioned you about yourself. You would feel yourself compelled to answer while she nodded reassuringly, like there was no one else in the world she rather be talking to. She would readily interject with flirtations, remarks which only served to stoke the fire of desire one would keep for her. I suspected that she enjoyed teasing men with forbidden fruit, I admit it was a revelation which made her no less charming. Today we simply exchange greetings, forgoing are morning ritual as I rushed to the office of Jack Lane editor-in-chief.

Mr Lane was aesthetic when I told him about jack's offer to accompany him to the Mulan blanc this evening. Then punched in the air pure ecstasy when I told him I plan to write an article on the grand opening of the club in the gonzo style that got me the job of the paper to begin with. " We got the bastards now boy, we got him now" pulling out two glasses and a bottle of bourbon he kept in his office drinks cabinet, to celebrate what he liked to call defining stories. "He fought that if you make it difficult the press will pack up and go home, ha. But you showed him that real journalists like you and I don't disappear into the night like petty criminals". He poured himself a glass before offering one to me, which I refused still feeling the hangover from last night.

The morning was mostly uneventful; I was working on an article on some new government policy. A boring and tedious from of journalism that offered little in the way of thrills compared to the first-hand account of the upcoming evening I was planning to write. The offices are usually deserted around 12, the staff led by Jack would believe the building in search of food and often find themselves in the nearest pub for at least an hour. I was about to leave when my name was called from the nearby stationary cupboard. It was a large room out of necessity, holding within the copious amount of printer ink and paper that is needed to publish a daily newspaper. Emma was hunched over the photocopier that we kept in there.

"I can't seem to get it to work" flashing me a seductive smile" can you give it a try". Looking back in hindsight I should have seen through the obvious rues, yet oblivious I crossed the room and began entering the various codes to spurn the machine in to action. Hardly noticing the unmistakable click of a door lock. I was so absorbed with the task at hand that it came quite a shock to find Emma's hands caressing my chest before her right-hand gracefully slid down to my crotch, tenderly squeezing it .

I slowly spun round to stand in profile to her, she responded by pressing full to mine in a kiss. He was slow and gentle, her hands still exploring my body. I responded in kind first caressing the curvature of a calf, the slowly her five, waist, flat stomach, finally the swell of her firm magnificent breasts. Then as if gripped my all-consuming hunger the kissing intensified. Our lips quickened keeping pace with our racing heart beats. I carefully unbuttoned her blouse and gently turned it off as she already has done to my shirt. Our lips broke apart. Both admiring the other bare-chested, Emma had forego wearing a bra, not that she ever need one.

She removed her short skirt and stepped out of the gracefully, fully nude but for her stockings, high heels and garter belt there was previously hidden by the skirt. The fantasies of sex crazed young men can never do justice to the naked form of Emma Burton. It was like every seductive curve was sculpted by the hands of God's to torment the flash of men.

Are lips meet again and felt my trousers losing as she removed my belt, my trousers and boxers following, reviling my 7 inch cock. Emma held my in action cock in her hand general tugging back and forth. Sinking to her knees. Her tongue ran from my balls up my shaft and add a flourish with her home when she reach the head. She repeated it twice before she took it in her mouth, sucking with surprising enthusiasm. her head bobbing up and down first with a tender slowness then picking up speed. Her tongue was gently massaging the underside of my cock sending goosebumps with every lick. The entire experience could only be described as magnificent. The warmth of her mouth, skilled use of her tongue was just, magnificent.

I was lost in the sensation was only brought out of it when the warmth grew to encompass the whole of my cock, and the tender contact between its head for and only could have been the back of her throat. I looked down to find that she taken the entirety of mine 7 inch cock in a deepthroat. she held it for felt like 5 long seconds before her gag reflex got the better of her and she spluttered it out, then resuming the ferocious blowjob she was giving me.

I lost track of time, I couldn't tell you how long she pleasured me in this manner, nor can I tell you at what point I pay back the favour by running my time repeatedly over her clitoris. But at some point I lifted her gently of her feet and onto the photocopier. When after another bout of desperate kissing she guided my cock into her aroused vagina.

All previous sensations paled in comparison to entering her, those beautiful legs locking means place as she released a long contented sigh. I began thrusting, slowly, all the while she held my gaze with those emerald eyes. We stayed at this for some time staring longingly into each other's eyes as I slowly thrusted in and out, in and out.

Then as if a dam holding back her pent-up desire broke, she kissed me ferociously me on the lips. My body, which at some point had detached itself for my conscious mind , took this is as a sign to quicken and intensify the thrusting. Her firm breasts bounced, slightly, in the rhythm with my thrusting. She held herself very still at some point during this lovemaking. Her head flung back, a sculpture of pleasure with her half closed eyes and mouth open in a silent moan. Then her entire body quivered as the waves of her orgasm broke apron her.

She had orgasm several more times before we were finished. Each time she would quiver in pleasure, each time I would begin to thrust harder and faster. My mind felt like it was perched on the edge of a tall cliff, waiting, longing to jump. The beat of a rhythmic drum had replaced my heart and it was driving me on, harder and faster, closer to the brink of some sweet abyss. Sensing this Emma leaned over and whispered a musical note into my ear "I am on the pill". And with the orgasmic wave hit us, both at the same time, sending my mind into a pleasurable yet temporary madness as I cumed.

I pulled out, kissing her again with the same intensity as before. We broke apart and dress ourselves leaving the room like nothing transpired between this. I remember thinking that at some point we going to work out what happened between us. Was this an expression of or animal lust something more?

I have returned to my desk moments before the absent staff returned from the lunch break. Mr Lane stop by my desk for a second, enquiring why I didn't join them for my lunch as I normally did. I told him that I use the time to finish some articles so I could focus on my evening expedition to the prolonged long. He granted, satisfied with the answer and left me to my work. My desk gave me a clear view of Emma's and I would occasionally glanced up at, sometimes I would find her staring back at me, with longing in her eyes. I found myself smiling. I don't think I would have if I knew what would transpire.