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7 ASIAN BLOWJOBS IN 7 DAYS - DAY 2 - EMI free porn video
SEVEN ASIAN BLOWJOBS IN SEVEN DAYS
VOTE FOR THE BEST
PLESE SEE THE INTRODUCTION AND PART ONE
DAY 2 – EMI
“I know you’re a man of activity,” the man in the suit said the next morning after breakfast, “and Emi is restless here. Why not fly into Singapore with her for the day and go shopping?” I said I was at Emi-chan’s disposal.
Emi-chan was not awake yet. At 10:30 a.m. she came down the stairs to the main hallway. Although Mei was petite, she seemed sturdy. Emi looked as delicate as a bird. She was slightly taller than Mei, but her shoulders were barely wider than my two outstretched hands side by side. She had brown hair that looked like it had been professionally done that morning with subtle blond highlights, white skin that looked like it had never been exposed to the tropical sun, round eyes and tiny mouth and heart-shaped face, perky tits that looked like they might be B-cups under a white linen blouse, sky blue skirt with no hose, absolutely white and small almost-curveless calves down to tiny feet in sandals.
“Emi needs only to present a card in any upper-scale restaurant, boutique or department store in Singapore, and her requests will be honored from her employer’s expense account,” the man in the suit told me.
I held the door for Emi-chan and we got in the limo, then held a matching sky blue umbrella over her to keep the sun away as she boarded the jet – this one a smaller one than the one we had taken from Narita. The flight took about an hour. Emi was courteous but withdrawn. She had little to say to me and in response to a few of my questions made it clear that she really did not like white men at all. I had heard that some Japanese believe gaijin give off a naturally bad odor – maybe she thought I smelled. It was clear to me that I was her little personal assistant bitch today and an excuse to get off an island she probably found boring. At some point, she was going to have to suck my cock, I knew, but I couldn’t see how that was going to be that great for her, and so probably not for me either.
Singapore was Singapore. I saw very little of it as we were driven every place and did not go out on the street at Emi’s insistence. We were even driven into underground garages for a lot of the top-shelf boutiques we went to. We spent two hours in the first store as Emi flogged the staff, trying on at least fifteen different styles of shoes that all basically looked the same to me – at first I was game but after the eighth or ninth pair I told her that, and she ignored me afterward. She settled on two pairs and then went for the hand bags. You don’t even want to know what I and the staff went through. She never raised her voice above a soft tone but the cold looks that came with her requests – they were always requests – conveyed her sense of superiority to everyone. At last the proprietress came out personally, bowed and said something about remuneration. Emi waved the simple white business card at her and . . . the proprietress gasped and went pale. “Emi’s definitely the property of a yakuza or some other terrifying guy,” I thought, “probably the Japanese Kaiser Soze.” The proprietress seemed to be struggling with something, but at last, with much bowing and apologizing she had the shoes and hand bag packaged, and then almost shooed us out as politely as possible.
What the fuck?
The next stop was a little more fun for me because I got to see Emi change into about ten different gowns and dresses. My favorite was a strapless plum colored one with black lace everywhere, slit way up the thigh showing black garter belt, a tiara with diamonds and some kind of imitation gold leafing, matching black lace and silk plum gloves that reached up to the elbow.
Emi was kind of a rotten human being, but she was incredible to look at. Especially in that. I told her I liked it. “Suimasen not this one,” was her sharp but polite response. And so it went.
She bought three gowns – an off-white on that I thought made her look too damned pale, and some stylish burgundy thing that I personally thought was a nightmare.
Again the owner came out bowing and greeting and thanking her profusely. Emi acknowledged the owner by waving the card again. Same trick, same response. But this time, after the owner wrung his hands and bowed about a thousand times he began apologizing. After about five minutes of apologizing he said: “Unfortunately this cannot be honored.” Actually there were about 18 more superfluous words in that phrase, but that’s what he was saying. Emi’s face did not change at all, but I saw her fists clench at her side, and one word issued from her lips: “Baka!” I saw one eye begin to tremble. I felt her shock and despair.
“Fuck it,” I said to myself, “a damsel in distress is a damsel in distress, even if she is a spoiled little Japanese princess.” Out loud I said: “I’m paying,” and handed over my card.
“But on one condition I said.” They weren’t used to just saying shit straight out I guess, because they looked at me like I was a giant three-headed panda. “I want that plum-colored dress too.” Everyone started bowing and making relieved hissing noises. “And the gloves and stockings too,” I called after them. “Tiara thing too, I guess.”
They packed it all up with great eloquence, the folded paper was pure artistry. I looked at the bill presented to me – all in Chinese except some numbers at the bottom. I had enough credit to cover it, but only barely. I would have to have a talk with my boss when I got back, but no reason for Emi to see me flinch now. I signed the bill and a fleet of servants carried the packages down to the waiting limousine. They had to take the freight elevator, being the unwashed. We went down in a scented gilt carriage for the VIP customers. When the doors closed, Emi gently hooked both arms around my elbow and whispered, barely audibly “arigatou… arigoutou gozaimashita,” and expelled two tears down her perfect face right on cue.
So now the tables had turned. I saw my advantage, and I saw where this was going, either through chance or through her brilliant orchestration. What exactly was written on those cards anyway? I wondered, they were in kanji, so it could merely be an instruction to the owners to act a certain way. I wondered very much.
I slapped her on the ass, not hard for a sturdy American girl, but it knocked little Emi-chan halfway across the elevator card. “Not a problem,” I said in my biggest American voice, “glad to do it! Let’s go get something to eat, like steak?”
We had sushi. Emi was still in control of the situation and knew it. It was one of those elite sushi places that you don’t dare go into unless you’re on an expense account. We knelt in front of our pieces of sushi and chilled saki and had polite conversation. Emi’s eyes had been down at the floor ever since the elevator. I paid the bill – more quick panic when I saw we had somehow spent $600 and I was still hungry. It was dark now. The limo was downstairs, engine running.
“Let’s walk on the street,” I told her, “Just for a while.” We were in a bazaar area selling t-shirts and novelties. I put her arm through mine and we walked with the crowd. I made her look at all the tourist junk with me, asked her to admire some badly made samurai swords, even bought three t-shirts for $12 and said she could have one. She thanked me, very reluctantly, at my offer, and I made her pick out which one – all size large -- she “wanted.” Then I made her watch as I wolfed down some street food. I offered ice cream as a dessert – she said she couldn’t have milk. I bought her a sorbet, which she picked at while I licked at my double dip mint chocolate chip and double chocolate. We walked back to the limo – me still with my ice cream, to the horror of the chauffeur.
She was silent all the way to the plane. When we were in the passenger compartment, she bowed at me and said: “I have a big obligation to you.”
Let the games begin. “Not at all, Emi-chan,” I said, “consider it a gesture of our friendship that does not need to be repaid.”
“Please,” she said, “a favor like that has to be repaid.”
“Forget it!” I said, laughing.
“Please,” she said again, her eyes on the floor. “My honor,” she said simply.
I let a minute pass as I looked at her. “I want to see you in the plum and black dress,” I said.
They were still loading her purchases into the back of the plane. She asked one of the flunkies to get several parcels for her, and they carried them into the passenger compartment and set them on a table next to the wet bar. She took the parcels, went into the tiny kitchen area at the back of the plane, and shut the door. They had to hold the plane while she was back there. I could imagine the pilot and air traffic control freaking out as she took her time. At last the pilot told me to fasten my seatbelt, Emi-chan had called form the house phone in the back of the plane and said to go.
I didn’t see her until we were up in the air and the plane had leveled off. Then the door slid open and out she came in the dress, stockings, gloves and the tiara. No shoes. Her hair had been tied and pinned up expertly under the tiara. She stood in front of me as I looked her up and down, memorizing every inch of her, looking at her legs through the slit in the skirt, the tops of her breasts visible in the strapless dress.
“Mmmmm,” I said. “You are most beautiful Ms. Emi. I think you have more than fulfilled your obligation.”
She shook her head, almost sadly. She had not looked at me.
“You just can’t shake this obligation shit can you?” I asked her bluntly. She didn’t move. “Alright, I’ll cure you of it. How far do you want to go with this . . . ofera?”
She sucked in air at that last work, but she considered it and nodded. She kneeled down in front of me – I was seated on one of the wide leather chairs in the cabin. I unzipped my pants and took out my semi-hard cock, watching her reaction as I did it. There was none. She leaned forward and touched the tip of my cock with one lace-gloved finger.
I sat up and pulled away from her. “Know what? I changed my mind. Go in the back there and put on your new t-shirt – just that and panties, nothing else.” She stood to obey. “Oh, you can leave the gloves though,” I said.
In three minutes she was back. I still sat in the same position, but seven-inches of hard cock awaited her. She stared at it stone-faced. The t-shirt reached down to mid-thigh. She had taken off the tiara but tied her hair up loosely. She still wore the gloves.
“Kirei,” I said and smiled at her. “Please start by rubbing my cock a little with those gloves.” She knelt and did it, rubbing my cock with little jerks of her wrist until a little precum came up and oozed over the lace. “Mmmmm, Emi,” I said. Rub it on your lips now . . . now your chin . . . your cheeks . . . all over your chin.” She couldn’t completely hide the distaste of rubbing that gaijin cock all over her perfect Japanese skin, leaving little streaks of precum that would surely give her a rash the next morning. “Now I am ready for you to suck it,” I instructed. She slid the tip between her lips and began to move her head back and forth. “More,” I said, “faster.” I put one hand on the back of her head, guiding her, until more than half of my cock was in her mouth. Then I began sliding it in and then all the way out so that the top of my cock sc****d against her top teeth, flipping up and making light wet smacks on her chin before I moved my cock back between her lips. Then I grabbed her hair in each hand and began to really face fuck her. I am afraid I was not much of a gentleman. I stood up, leaning over her, making her lift my shaft, instructing her to lick and suck my balls as the bottom of my cock rested on her forehead. Then, leveraged over her, I began piledriving my cock straight down past her lips into her throat, almost gagging her, pounding her over and over again as she had to hold onto my hips to keep her balance. “Climb up on the wet bar,” I ordered her. She needed my help to climb up and kneel on the fine wood and marble surface. “Lie down,” I said, “on your back.” She did as I said, her knees together, ankles crossed. I grabbed her by the elbows and slid her until her head was dangling upside down and backwards off the long end of the bar. I rubbed my wet and gooey cock over her cheek and chin and then began to face fuck the daylights out of her. She began to half cry and half moan. I can’t stand to see a girl cry. My hard-on almost faded at that. I pulled out and asked her: “Emi, is the obligation repaid? We can stop.”
“Kekko desu,” she whimpered. “It’s okay.” She opened her lips again and I let her suck me, gentler now. I soon was fully hard again under her skilled powers, my balls just about level with her eyes, swinging against her nose. I felt myself tighten, about to come. I positioned her lace-gloved hand over my shaft so that she just sucked on the tip for a while. Yes, I was definitely going to come. I pushed her hand away and plummeted into her mouth three or four more times deeply and then guided her hand to my cock. “Finish it,” I said, the tip of my cock pointed at her forehead. She complied, jerking spurts of come onto her chin, nose, eyes, forehead and hair, soiling the gloves and t-shirt as well.
“Emi-chan,” I sighed, cock still twitching in her grip as she lay panting on the bar . . . “I think your obligation is repaid,” I concluded, as I shoveled a little puddle of gaijin cum between her parted lips.
I caught a ride back to the mansion from the pilot and let Emi take the limo back by herself. I figured she had been through enough for one day.
PART THREE TO FOLLOW . . . DON'T FORGET TO VOTE AT THE END.
VOTE FOR THE BEST
PLESE SEE THE INTRODUCTION AND PART ONE
DAY 2 – EMI
“I know you’re a man of activity,” the man in the suit said the next morning after breakfast, “and Emi is restless here. Why not fly into Singapore with her for the day and go shopping?” I said I was at Emi-chan’s disposal.
Emi-chan was not awake yet. At 10:30 a.m. she came down the stairs to the main hallway. Although Mei was petite, she seemed sturdy. Emi looked as delicate as a bird. She was slightly taller than Mei, but her shoulders were barely wider than my two outstretched hands side by side. She had brown hair that looked like it had been professionally done that morning with subtle blond highlights, white skin that looked like it had never been exposed to the tropical sun, round eyes and tiny mouth and heart-shaped face, perky tits that looked like they might be B-cups under a white linen blouse, sky blue skirt with no hose, absolutely white and small almost-curveless calves down to tiny feet in sandals.
“Emi needs only to present a card in any upper-scale restaurant, boutique or department store in Singapore, and her requests will be honored from her employer’s expense account,” the man in the suit told me.
I held the door for Emi-chan and we got in the limo, then held a matching sky blue umbrella over her to keep the sun away as she boarded the jet – this one a smaller one than the one we had taken from Narita. The flight took about an hour. Emi was courteous but withdrawn. She had little to say to me and in response to a few of my questions made it clear that she really did not like white men at all. I had heard that some Japanese believe gaijin give off a naturally bad odor – maybe she thought I smelled. It was clear to me that I was her little personal assistant bitch today and an excuse to get off an island she probably found boring. At some point, she was going to have to suck my cock, I knew, but I couldn’t see how that was going to be that great for her, and so probably not for me either.
Singapore was Singapore. I saw very little of it as we were driven every place and did not go out on the street at Emi’s insistence. We were even driven into underground garages for a lot of the top-shelf boutiques we went to. We spent two hours in the first store as Emi flogged the staff, trying on at least fifteen different styles of shoes that all basically looked the same to me – at first I was game but after the eighth or ninth pair I told her that, and she ignored me afterward. She settled on two pairs and then went for the hand bags. You don’t even want to know what I and the staff went through. She never raised her voice above a soft tone but the cold looks that came with her requests – they were always requests – conveyed her sense of superiority to everyone. At last the proprietress came out personally, bowed and said something about remuneration. Emi waved the simple white business card at her and . . . the proprietress gasped and went pale. “Emi’s definitely the property of a yakuza or some other terrifying guy,” I thought, “probably the Japanese Kaiser Soze.” The proprietress seemed to be struggling with something, but at last, with much bowing and apologizing she had the shoes and hand bag packaged, and then almost shooed us out as politely as possible.
What the fuck?
The next stop was a little more fun for me because I got to see Emi change into about ten different gowns and dresses. My favorite was a strapless plum colored one with black lace everywhere, slit way up the thigh showing black garter belt, a tiara with diamonds and some kind of imitation gold leafing, matching black lace and silk plum gloves that reached up to the elbow.
Emi was kind of a rotten human being, but she was incredible to look at. Especially in that. I told her I liked it. “Suimasen not this one,” was her sharp but polite response. And so it went.
She bought three gowns – an off-white on that I thought made her look too damned pale, and some stylish burgundy thing that I personally thought was a nightmare.
Again the owner came out bowing and greeting and thanking her profusely. Emi acknowledged the owner by waving the card again. Same trick, same response. But this time, after the owner wrung his hands and bowed about a thousand times he began apologizing. After about five minutes of apologizing he said: “Unfortunately this cannot be honored.” Actually there were about 18 more superfluous words in that phrase, but that’s what he was saying. Emi’s face did not change at all, but I saw her fists clench at her side, and one word issued from her lips: “Baka!” I saw one eye begin to tremble. I felt her shock and despair.
“Fuck it,” I said to myself, “a damsel in distress is a damsel in distress, even if she is a spoiled little Japanese princess.” Out loud I said: “I’m paying,” and handed over my card.
“But on one condition I said.” They weren’t used to just saying shit straight out I guess, because they looked at me like I was a giant three-headed panda. “I want that plum-colored dress too.” Everyone started bowing and making relieved hissing noises. “And the gloves and stockings too,” I called after them. “Tiara thing too, I guess.”
They packed it all up with great eloquence, the folded paper was pure artistry. I looked at the bill presented to me – all in Chinese except some numbers at the bottom. I had enough credit to cover it, but only barely. I would have to have a talk with my boss when I got back, but no reason for Emi to see me flinch now. I signed the bill and a fleet of servants carried the packages down to the waiting limousine. They had to take the freight elevator, being the unwashed. We went down in a scented gilt carriage for the VIP customers. When the doors closed, Emi gently hooked both arms around my elbow and whispered, barely audibly “arigatou… arigoutou gozaimashita,” and expelled two tears down her perfect face right on cue.
So now the tables had turned. I saw my advantage, and I saw where this was going, either through chance or through her brilliant orchestration. What exactly was written on those cards anyway? I wondered, they were in kanji, so it could merely be an instruction to the owners to act a certain way. I wondered very much.
I slapped her on the ass, not hard for a sturdy American girl, but it knocked little Emi-chan halfway across the elevator card. “Not a problem,” I said in my biggest American voice, “glad to do it! Let’s go get something to eat, like steak?”
We had sushi. Emi was still in control of the situation and knew it. It was one of those elite sushi places that you don’t dare go into unless you’re on an expense account. We knelt in front of our pieces of sushi and chilled saki and had polite conversation. Emi’s eyes had been down at the floor ever since the elevator. I paid the bill – more quick panic when I saw we had somehow spent $600 and I was still hungry. It was dark now. The limo was downstairs, engine running.
“Let’s walk on the street,” I told her, “Just for a while.” We were in a bazaar area selling t-shirts and novelties. I put her arm through mine and we walked with the crowd. I made her look at all the tourist junk with me, asked her to admire some badly made samurai swords, even bought three t-shirts for $12 and said she could have one. She thanked me, very reluctantly, at my offer, and I made her pick out which one – all size large -- she “wanted.” Then I made her watch as I wolfed down some street food. I offered ice cream as a dessert – she said she couldn’t have milk. I bought her a sorbet, which she picked at while I licked at my double dip mint chocolate chip and double chocolate. We walked back to the limo – me still with my ice cream, to the horror of the chauffeur.
She was silent all the way to the plane. When we were in the passenger compartment, she bowed at me and said: “I have a big obligation to you.”
Let the games begin. “Not at all, Emi-chan,” I said, “consider it a gesture of our friendship that does not need to be repaid.”
“Please,” she said, “a favor like that has to be repaid.”
“Forget it!” I said, laughing.
“Please,” she said again, her eyes on the floor. “My honor,” she said simply.
I let a minute pass as I looked at her. “I want to see you in the plum and black dress,” I said.
They were still loading her purchases into the back of the plane. She asked one of the flunkies to get several parcels for her, and they carried them into the passenger compartment and set them on a table next to the wet bar. She took the parcels, went into the tiny kitchen area at the back of the plane, and shut the door. They had to hold the plane while she was back there. I could imagine the pilot and air traffic control freaking out as she took her time. At last the pilot told me to fasten my seatbelt, Emi-chan had called form the house phone in the back of the plane and said to go.
I didn’t see her until we were up in the air and the plane had leveled off. Then the door slid open and out she came in the dress, stockings, gloves and the tiara. No shoes. Her hair had been tied and pinned up expertly under the tiara. She stood in front of me as I looked her up and down, memorizing every inch of her, looking at her legs through the slit in the skirt, the tops of her breasts visible in the strapless dress.
“Mmmmm,” I said. “You are most beautiful Ms. Emi. I think you have more than fulfilled your obligation.”
She shook her head, almost sadly. She had not looked at me.
“You just can’t shake this obligation shit can you?” I asked her bluntly. She didn’t move. “Alright, I’ll cure you of it. How far do you want to go with this . . . ofera?”
She sucked in air at that last work, but she considered it and nodded. She kneeled down in front of me – I was seated on one of the wide leather chairs in the cabin. I unzipped my pants and took out my semi-hard cock, watching her reaction as I did it. There was none. She leaned forward and touched the tip of my cock with one lace-gloved finger.
I sat up and pulled away from her. “Know what? I changed my mind. Go in the back there and put on your new t-shirt – just that and panties, nothing else.” She stood to obey. “Oh, you can leave the gloves though,” I said.
In three minutes she was back. I still sat in the same position, but seven-inches of hard cock awaited her. She stared at it stone-faced. The t-shirt reached down to mid-thigh. She had taken off the tiara but tied her hair up loosely. She still wore the gloves.
“Kirei,” I said and smiled at her. “Please start by rubbing my cock a little with those gloves.” She knelt and did it, rubbing my cock with little jerks of her wrist until a little precum came up and oozed over the lace. “Mmmmm, Emi,” I said. Rub it on your lips now . . . now your chin . . . your cheeks . . . all over your chin.” She couldn’t completely hide the distaste of rubbing that gaijin cock all over her perfect Japanese skin, leaving little streaks of precum that would surely give her a rash the next morning. “Now I am ready for you to suck it,” I instructed. She slid the tip between her lips and began to move her head back and forth. “More,” I said, “faster.” I put one hand on the back of her head, guiding her, until more than half of my cock was in her mouth. Then I began sliding it in and then all the way out so that the top of my cock sc****d against her top teeth, flipping up and making light wet smacks on her chin before I moved my cock back between her lips. Then I grabbed her hair in each hand and began to really face fuck her. I am afraid I was not much of a gentleman. I stood up, leaning over her, making her lift my shaft, instructing her to lick and suck my balls as the bottom of my cock rested on her forehead. Then, leveraged over her, I began piledriving my cock straight down past her lips into her throat, almost gagging her, pounding her over and over again as she had to hold onto my hips to keep her balance. “Climb up on the wet bar,” I ordered her. She needed my help to climb up and kneel on the fine wood and marble surface. “Lie down,” I said, “on your back.” She did as I said, her knees together, ankles crossed. I grabbed her by the elbows and slid her until her head was dangling upside down and backwards off the long end of the bar. I rubbed my wet and gooey cock over her cheek and chin and then began to face fuck the daylights out of her. She began to half cry and half moan. I can’t stand to see a girl cry. My hard-on almost faded at that. I pulled out and asked her: “Emi, is the obligation repaid? We can stop.”
“Kekko desu,” she whimpered. “It’s okay.” She opened her lips again and I let her suck me, gentler now. I soon was fully hard again under her skilled powers, my balls just about level with her eyes, swinging against her nose. I felt myself tighten, about to come. I positioned her lace-gloved hand over my shaft so that she just sucked on the tip for a while. Yes, I was definitely going to come. I pushed her hand away and plummeted into her mouth three or four more times deeply and then guided her hand to my cock. “Finish it,” I said, the tip of my cock pointed at her forehead. She complied, jerking spurts of come onto her chin, nose, eyes, forehead and hair, soiling the gloves and t-shirt as well.
“Emi-chan,” I sighed, cock still twitching in her grip as she lay panting on the bar . . . “I think your obligation is repaid,” I concluded, as I shoveled a little puddle of gaijin cum between her parted lips.
I caught a ride back to the mansion from the pilot and let Emi take the limo back by herself. I figured she had been through enough for one day.
PART THREE TO FOLLOW . . . DON'T FORGET TO VOTE AT THE END.
Kaylin
- 26.07.2022
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