Ember And Ashe Ch 5

We'd been invited to my friend's place on the Island for a special party. Very special, let me tell you. I'd not been over to see Reggie since Ember moved in with me six months ago. Ember and I took the Queen of Alberni, the ferry working the Tsawwassen crossing near Vancouver. Traversing the Georgia Strait didn't take long. We disembarked at Swartz Bay, and continued driving from there.

"Why are we going to this house, Ashe?" Ember asked me. She never ceased to stun me with her delicate Japanese beauty. She exuded evening chic in her gossamer thin, sleeveless dress with a keyhole chest and a high-neck collar. The slit skirt showed leg all the way to her waist on both sides. Did I mention that the smoky, charcoal grey garment was totally transparent? Only her white thong bikini briefs and bandeau top prevented her from appearing naked. A golden buckled belt and white Latigo and kidskin sandals with three inch cigarette heels added interesting accents to her ensemble. God, I loved those shoes of hers! The strappy, birdcage affairs featured plenty of thin leather instep straps knotted just over her big toe. Nothing looked better to me than a woman's feet properly displayed. The more visible skin, the better. The pale gold heel tips and ankle buckles complemented the white braided leather belt perfectly. Kitten could accessorize better than a window dresser at Macy's! She looked elegant dressed in her finery. Her natural beauty required no excess of makeup. She wore no lipstick, only a hint of lip gloss. Her finger and toenails went without coloured polish, but the clear-lacquered nails gleamed.

Ember turned her face to me, waiting for my reply. She had braided her hair into two thick plaits which she laced with white silk ribbon. These two braids coiled about each other, kept in check by small white bows interspersed along its length. The braid hung to the middle of her back. I moved my hand, about to stroke her hair, when she moved her head out of my reach. Her slight, beestung lips pursed together.

She looked so fucking sexy when she pouted.

"Why must we go?" she repeated. "I wished to remain at home."

"Why not?" I countered. "We should go out sometimes. Besides," I cracked a smile at her, "it's time you saw how other folks live."

My smile usually made her smile in return. Not today! Vexation robbed her of her usual good humour. "How they live? Do you think they live any different than we do?" She wore that 'Don't screw around' look I loved so much. It always made me want to fuck some sense into her. She looked sexiest when being difficult. Unfortunately for me that meant Ember looked sexy a lot of the time.

"Yeah. You know, sometimes I like to see guys who actually get to fuck their girlfriends every once in a while," I replied. I waited for and received the expected sigh of exasperation.

"Andrew, we have already been through this."

Andrew. Not Ashe. That meant she was upset. However, she didn't drop the dreaded 'Andrew Grissolm' on me, so that meant I still had some room to manoeuver. Hope lived.

"Come now. You didn't think I'd give up so easily, did you? I won't rest until every square inch of Ms. Yoshikawa has been sampled by me." I suited actions to words. I slid a hand into the nearest slit in her dress and massaged her box through her thong briefs. I liked the way my dark skin played over her pale thighs. More than her almond-shaped eyes, more than her flat facial features or thick raven hair or adorable slurred accent, I loved her golden skin tone. The way it contrasted against my cocoa-brown skin when we lay naked together always excited me.

"Andrew!"

"Shush. I'm trying to concentrate on the road. That's how accidents happen."

Ember made that peculiar tooth-sucking noise she often did when annoyed, but otherwise remained quiet. I sped up the pace of my crotch rubbing.

"Andrew ... Ashe ... " Her languid words held no anger, only lust. I slid my hand below her thong and massaged her baby-smooth gash directly. Ember stiffened beneath my fingers, but made no verbal complaint. Nor did she slap my face. I'd made some progress since our first scene in the bathroom over six months ago.

My fingers deftly split her nether-lips and zeroed in on her clitoris. It rose up to greet me, extending upwards and nuzzling against my fingertips. God, I loved this girl's joy buzzer! It stretched to almost three quarters of an inch long, and felt as thick as the tip of my little finger. I'd teased her about it once, telling her that her clit approached my dick in size. She hadn't appreciated the comment. Hey, it made me laugh! Women are strange sometimes.

"Play with your breasts," I said as I rolled her clitoris between my thumb and forefinger. She complied immediately, tweaking her nipples through her dress and tube top.

Her quim quivered beneath me. I moved my hand and cupped her entire sex, rapidly vibrating my palm so as to stimulate her. Believe me when I say I made sure I didn't penetrate her. That would result in an 'Andrew Grissolm' tongue lashing I'd no intention of enduring. Yes, we'd made some progress, but true results took time. There were still many barriers between us. I intended to force some of those boundaries back a tad tonight. That remained the true purpose of our little outing. The Kaizen Principle applied to more than building automobiles. I, too, sought to effect great change by instituting small improvements over time.

I brought my hand up from her snatch and put it to her mouth. "Clean it," I said. Ember tongue bathed it, taking my large, brown skinned hand in both of hers as she snaked her pink slip of a tongue over and around my fingers and palm. Her face remained absolutely clean, with not a hint of her pussy juices or saliva anywhere in evidence. She licked her upper lip hungrily.

"More?" I asked her.

She grinned impishly. "Much more." She lowered her head to my lap.

"Oh, shit," I moaned as she unzipped my fly. Times like this always reminded me why owning at least one automatic vehicle made sense. I don't care what some of my buddies say. Getting head while driving a manual transmission car is just a bad idea, period. It's hard enough synchronizing the stick shift, brake, gas, and clutch without having a woman play with your cock at the same time. I eased my pewter Acura over to the shoulder of the road and killed the engine.

"Spoilsport," she murmured as she popped my thick cock into her mouth. I guess popped is the wrong word. Forced, is more accurate. It always amazed me how she could deep throat that bloated thing. Thank God it wasn't particularly long, or it would've killed her. My thick dick had cowed almost every woman I'd ever been with. But not Eimi Yoshikawa. She always approached gobbling my cock Everest-style, like a summit to conquer. The passion and ferocity she displayed while giving head always fascinated me.

Her lips stretched obscenely around my rod as she gradually pushed herself upon it. Eventually, her lips nuzzled my pubic bone. I reached over and slid a spit- slickened finger underneath her clothing and into her asshole, working it in time to her thrusts. She wiggled her ass as if trying to dislodge my finger. This encouraged me to fuck her asshole with harder, deeper strokes. She groaned around my cock. My thick rod stretched her throat like a pelican's when downing a fish whole. Her ass flailed wildly, trying to buck my finger loose from her asshole. Then, suddenly, she stopped resisting me. She moved her ass up-and-down, meeting my hand pressing into her bottom stroke for stroke.

"Finish me," I said softly.

Ember went into overdrive, working my cock like it would vanish in the next few seconds and she intended to consume it before it did. Under her professional ministrations, what prick had a fighting chance? She squeezed my balls with her hand as she nibbled my glans, a manoeuver that always sent me over the edge. Recognizing the feel of my impending explosion, she jammed her thumb into the base of my prick, directly on the vein, and capped my cock with her exquisite mouth. She jacked my cock as she worked its head in and out of her velvet-lined oral cavity.

My aching balls pumped spurt after spurt of boiling jism into her. Ember swallowed it all, even sucking on my cock as if trying to draw every last sperm out of my nuts. That was her new thing. She now refused to let any of my cum go to waste.

"I love how you taste. So sweet." She nuzzled my softening prick against her cheek. My hand continued to work her asshole. She planted tender kisses on my cock and balls as I stretched out her bunghole with my finger.

"You like that, don't you?" I said. "That opens some doors for me."

I stopped fucking Ember, and replaced the thong between the crack of her ass. I smoothed the gossamer dress back over her ass cheeks, and patted her butt fondly.

"Ashe?"

"Later. You'll get to come later. Trust me." I sharply tweaked her nipples as I French-kissed her. Her gasp flowed down my throat, sweeter than nectar. I loved to do that to her.

"Soon. I promise." I stroked her face lovingly. "The sooner we get to this party, the sooner I can take care of your needs."

"Then drive, black man," she said with a grin and a wink. "I do love house parties."

I did too. Especially the ones that Reggie liked to throw. I fired up the Ac and pulled onto the road. We'd forty minutes left to go. I resolved to make it in twenty- five. The roaring engine was drowned out by Ember's tinkling laughter and by the rushing blood that filled my ears as Ember massaged my groin.

"Turnabout is fair play," she reminded me.

Even through my pants, her slim hand felt wonderful on my cock. "Indeed it is," I said. "Play on."

'''

There are few joys in life as grand as being in control of your own life. I know, because I've been trying to get control of mine for most of my thirty-five years. It all came down to three things for me: Money, Love, and Entertainment. Hey, I'm serious! Lose one, and the other two don't mean a damn.

Growing up, I thought that joining the army would be a good way to see the world, make a few bucks, and to have some fun. Boy, too bad no one told me that Canada's military had been decimated, crippled by the excessive budget cuts that robbed it of the ability to function efficiently. Mind you, military service did give me discipline, something my 18-year-old ass had sorely needed. I spent six years with the Armed Forces stationed in the Eastern Theatre. Boring doesn't even begin to describe my time there. So, it wasn't long until I resigned from active duty and did something a little more adventurous. I became a mercenary.

My cash flow increased, as did my fun. Work hard, play harder; I lived by the mercenary credo. Also, being Logistics Officer and Quartermaster definitely had its privileges. I became the most loved and the most despised man in my unit. Quite the cool situation to find yourself in, yes?

As a member of Perdition's Flames I saw more of the world than I ever thought I'd get to. Europe, North Africa, Asia; they're old friends to me. Like a lot of friends, they're best thought of on occasion but kept far away from you. The interesting times often were overshadowed by the horrors I experienced. My tour consisted primarily of enduring great hardships and inflicting them upon others. Who'd enjoy that?

While serving with the Flames I realized that happiness still eluded me. I earned an excellent income, enjoyed travelling, and fucked so much quality, Grade-A pussy I became bored with it. My life still lacked something.

Fast forward a few years to my assignment in Myanmar. That marked the end of my old life and the start of my new one. Critically injured, left for dead by my so-called friends, I reached the nadir of my existence. It took me three years to make it back home to Montreal. When I got there, I found that everything I'd left behind had vanished. My parents had died in a traffic accident while I was away. So there I was, alone, practically a cripple, and down to my last twenty bucks. In a fit of desperation I bought a handful of Super 7's and a tallboy of Bud from a corner store.

Bugger me if I didn't win $25 million that Friday.

Sad, isn't it? A man struggles for a good twelve years to make something of himself and ends up a friendless mass of scar tissue. The same dude buys a lottery ticket on a whim and is set for the rest of his days.

Life truly does suck sometimes. At least I got the coin.

I spent a couple of years undergoing intense physiotherapy, working out extensively, and deciding what the rest of my life had in store for me. Fuck soldiering! Too little pay for the risk. That last experience in Myanmar had also soured me for the whole lifestyle. Still have the love of combat and weaponry, though. Just not of jungle heat and privation. Give me the glamour and spare me the gore, I guess.

Even as a rich socialite with high-quality poon at my beck and call, I still felt empty. Perhaps I felt I didn't truly deserve my success. My mother had struggled away for years and had died living in squalor. The blood money I'd sent her had never been spent. She'd banked it all, but never touched it. Upon my return, I found out that her greedy sister, Faith, had been bequeathed the money in my mother's will, and had gambled it away in a month's time. How's that for ironic? My aunt had gambled away twelve years of my hard-won earnings, and I'd won many lifetimes worth of earnings by gambling. In some way, getting my cash from killing and bloodshed seemed much more honest than winning the lottery.

No way would I give up all my cabbage, honestly earned or not. I'd bled for over a decade to earn a tiny fraction of the amount of my windfall. Only a dolt would give up so much cheddar for no good reason.

So I floated for a few years, trying this and that, searching for happiness. I tried by hand at drawing, painting, and sculpture. It seemed I'd an eye for composition, detail, and balance. I could draw and paint, but not well enough to make a living from it. Next, I tried photography and film work. I excelled at them. Shooting things remained my life's work, but now my targets would live through the experience.

My twisted mind soon perverted even this wholesome talent into something degenerate. I went into hardcore fetish photography. I might as well like the subject material, right? I'd brought back something else from Asia besides scar tissue; a taste for deviant sex. Over there anything went, at least it did for those who could afford it or who had the muscle to take what they wanted. During my time with the Flames I found myself in both categories. Since I could, I did. And I did often, believe me.

Two years later my photography career took off. I'd lots of green in the bank, and I brought in tons of fresh lettuce from my fetish work. Hot looking women kept themselves available to me. Seems every lady wanted to star in the pictures, whether mainstream or ‘alternative.' My life was the shit! You think I'd be happy, right? Nah. You guessed it. I still felt empty inside.

This all changed on the night I met Ember. The first word she spoke to me had entered my heart and filled the void there. I know she felt the same way. But she'd been through hard times, a life almost as tragic as my own. It took months for her to accept that I was for real. She still had a hard time believing it. Why should I care, you ask? Because now that I felt like a whole human being, I would do anything to keep my world together, and Ember happy.

There's an old adage that the pursuit often has more value than the pursued. I'd no idea what that meant until recently. Now I knew. The kill paled when compared to the excitement of the chase. The striving often eclipsed the outcome. I needed a new goal.

My new mission? Cracking into Ember's sweet honeypot. Over six months had passed, and could you believe that I still haven't fucked this chick?

Yeah. Me neither.

This brings me to today.

'''

My Ac glided into the driveway twenty-two minutes later. I gaily leaped over the side then helped Ember out of the passenger. She seemed the epitome of elegance as she extended a perfectly sculpted foot to the driveway, and stepped out of my ride. She donned her white straw, wide-brimmed hat and Vuarnet sunglasses.

"We're going inside," I informed her. "No shades required."

She graced me with the smile I loved to see so much. "Much better to see than be seen, I am thinking." She slid her sunglasses into place.

I shrugged. Hey, they did look good on her. I tossed my car keys to the valet, a tuxedo wearing pimply-faced lad who didn't look a day over fifteen. "If you scratch it, son, you buy it."

"It's a Legend, not a Boxster. Chill, Bro," he said as he sat inside my ride. He didn't sound affected by my warning, but he did drive off at a reasonable 10 miles per hour.

"You are not a nice man," Ember admonished. She straightened out the lapels of my cinnamon coloured sports jacket, sliding her hands over my muscular chest. "I really wish you listened to me and put on a shirt and a suit, not just the turtleneck and jacket. Even the boy was dressed up."

"The boy was a servant, Kitten. He can't choose how he dresses. Since I can, I do."

"You really are not nice," she said again as she smacked my asscheek with her petite hand. She left her hand there, stroking my ass gently. She'd never admit it, but the Black Man Caboose turned her on. Don't go thinking only the Sistas got it stacked in the back! "I never claimed to be nice," I replied. "Let's go inside."

'''

Inside meant inside the sprawling Georgian style estate, one that had stood here for over a century. Blue blood ran in Reggie's veins. Or at least, as much blue blood as any Canadian could claim to possess. Her money was old money, that's for certain. For that reason and others, she always maintained an ultracool attitude when dealing with me in public. That suited me and my nouveau-riche ass just fine. I intended to spend all of my dough before I kicked. I saw old money as money gone to waste.

"Andrew. So good to see you." Reggie glided over to the entrance hall and approached us. She lightly gripped my forearms as she kissed both of my cheeks with that exaggerated loud smacking that the air-kiss crowd favoured.

Regina, Reggie to her friends, played the part of a well maintained lady of virtue. Svelte and stylish, she looked as elegant and demure as a pastor's wife. Don't let that fool you. The 66-year-old horny cunt fucked like a streetwalker with rent to pay. She wore a knee length peach silk dress, short-sleeved and belted. The loose fitting garment sported a narrow V cut right to her waist. A single strand of pearls and pearl earrings accentuated her clothes. A magnificent, three-strand black pearl bracelet hung heavily on her right wrist. Sheer black silk stockings adorned her well maintained legs which were capped by three inch high stiletto pumps in white patent leather. Her peach coloured macrame belt cinched her waist, practically the only thing that kept her small breasts concealed. She'd teased her short silvery hair, its wavy curl kept in line by hair spray and loving care. I shouldn't have call her hair silver. For Regina, only platinum would do.

Reggie noticed my inspection, which hadn't been subtle. She smiled wider at me, loving the attention I gave her. Ember noticed my stares too, and scowled. "Welcome to my home," she said, solemn as a priest officiating at a wedding. "What colour?"

"Red. For both of us," I quickly added. Reggie's smile slipped a trifle, but she raised a bony finger to the man at the desk. He pulled two red ribbons from one of the three baskets in front of him then presented them to us. Reggie tied the strip of cloth on my wrist, her hands lingering much longer than they needed to. The man from the desk fastened Ember's. She looked at hers as if it'd sprout needles any second.