Emmy And Me

Luisa wasn’t what I had imagined at all. I guess in my mind I’d pictured a slightly heavyset middle-aged woman, maybe with her hair pulled back in a bun or something like that. Comfy, sensible shoes and some sort of dress with maybe a sweater on top.

That description was far from accurate. Luisa was younger than I expected- she was twenty-nine years old, and instead of somewhat overweight and dowdy, she was built like a Playboy model. She also wasn’t wearing practical and somewhat frumpy clothing. No, she was wearing an extremely chic pencil skirt in a sort of burgundy and white check, along with a tight velour long-sleeved top in a deeper burgundy under a fashionable black leather jacket.

She told us she was a third-generation New Yorker, but had gone to college in Boston, and had a Bachelor’s in Fine Arts from Boston University. “That’s as far from New York as I ever want to live,” she told us.

“Is that why you didn’t move to London with the Daltons?” Emmy asked.

“Well, honestly, it was only one of the reasons,” Luisa admitted. “London is nice enough to visit, but live there? No, thanks,” Luisa said. “Cold and rainy just gets to me.”

“What were the other reasons?” I asked, wanting to know more about this woman who might be living in our house.

“Well, my degree is in art education, and I’ve been teaching in the mornings, and I didn’t want to give that up. I could maybe get a teaching credential in England, but it just seemed like too many hoops to jump through just so I could keep doing what I’m already doing here, you know?”

“You were teaching while working for the Daltons?” I asked, wanting clarification.

“Yes, for the last couple of years. I’m always back at the house by noon, so it never affected my duties as house manager.”

“You did not make them breakfast?” Emmy asked.

“Mostly no. The Daltons had a full-time cook, so I only cooked on the weekends,” Luisa explained. “Well, I made breakfast on Saturdays and Sundays, then dinner on Sundays. Saturdays they always, I mean always, went out.”

“I spoke with Mrs. Dalton, and she had very good things to say about you. She explained to me what it was you did for them, and it seemed to match well with what we have in mind for this house,” Emmy said. “We need someone to manage the house, and she said that you did that very well. However, we will need something from you that I do not believe the Daltons asked of you. We will be remodeling this house extensively but will not be here when it happens, so we will need for you to be our local intermediary. Is that something you think you would be willing to do?”

“Actually, with the Daltons I was in charge of several small projects,” Luisa replied. “I don’t see that it would be any different. Bigger, maybe, but not fundamentally different.”

“Excellent!” Emmy said. “Would you like to see the house?”

As we toured the townhouse, Emmy explained the changes that she had in mind while I just sort of followed along, letting them chat. As far as I was concerned, this house was Emmy’s pet project, and whatever she wanted was the way it was going to be. It was her vision, her choice of designer, her say on whether we hired Luisa or not.

My mind drifting as I followed the two of them upstairs, I caught myself checking out Luisa’s ass in that tight skirt of hers more than once. I rationalized it to myself that I was just glancing at the menu, right? After the third time or so I just gave up and told Emmy I was going to do some work and parked myself in the office on the sixth floor. I had some work emails I had to respond to, so it wasn’t really a lie. I had a hard time focusing on the screen on my laptop, despite my best intentions.

It wasn’t as if I was about to throw Luisa down on that big four-poster bed and ravish her until she screamed out my name in passion or anything like that, or even subtly hint that ‘special treatment’ might be well rewarded. I was satisfied with my sex life with Emmy, but it just seemed as if there were beautiful women everywhere I looked and as I’d become more aware of that fact, my eyes simply had to take stock.

I didn’t really like that about myself, but it was something that seemed a bit out of my control. I guess it’s a lot like stereotypical male behavior, staring at tits and ass and objectifying sexy women. That scene in that movie when Billy Crystal explains to Meg Ryan that men and women can’t be friends. The sex thing is always there.

Heck, even the slight hint of Luisa’s perfume made me feel a bit turned on, the way Emmy’s jasmine did to me every single time. I’m not going to say I didn’t like the feeling- no, in reality, the smell of a beautiful woman is one of the very best things in life.

If I had to name the source of my discomfort, it’s that these feelings made me feel a tiny bit unfaithful to Emmy. I mean, she was the love of my life, so I should have eyes for her and her alone, right? Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?

I was just staring out the window at the brick apartment building across the street (thankfully mostly screened by some trees) when Emmy and Luisa came into the office, chattering like old friends.

“Leah, Luisa has some excellent ideas for the house! I will have to tell you all about them!” Emmy said, her usual enthusiasm rearing its pretty head.

“I should head back to my sister’s place,” Luisa said. “You’ll let me know soon, right?”

“We will talk it over tonight and let you know in the morning,” Emmy assured her. “How will you get to your sister’s house? Should we call a car for you?”

“What? No!” Luisa exclaimed. "It’s in Murray Hill- not even a mile from here. I’ll just walk.”

Catching the look Emmy gave me, I said “I’ll walk you back home. It’ll give me a chance to grab something for dinner on the way back,” I added to head off any objections.

Once we stepped out the front door, Luisa sheepishly grabbed a pair of running shoes she had stashed just outside the front door. “No way was I going to walk over here and back in these,” she said, holding up the stylish pumps that she had worn for the meeting.

Laughing, I said “O.K., I have to give you points for that. Stylish when necessary, practical when called for.”

“Exactly,” Luisa said, giving me a grin. “Well, shall we?”

We chatted about inconsequential topics as we walked down Second Avenue. I told her about volleyball after she commented on my long legs giving me one hell of a stride, and she told me about dealing with the Daltons’ teenaged kids- making it very clear she wasn’t any sort of nanny. Soon enough we arrived at the step of the brownstone where her sister lived. “It’s a walkup on the fourth floor- you don’t need to come up,” Luisa explained, and I could tell she was uncomfortable with me seeing her living circumstances. She’d told Emmy and me that she was couch surfing until a job came along, so I figured it was probably not as nice as the glamorous image she wanted to portray would lead one to believe.

I wished her a good night but made sure she got in the door alright and it latched closed behind her before I headed back to the townhouse. I’d spotted a pho place on the walk over that looked decent, so visions of rare beef soup quickened my step.

“What did you think of her?” Emmy asked almost as soon as I’d stepped inside.

“She seems nice,” I said, leading Emmy down to the kitchen for dinner. We had been eating in the sun room, but it was just that much easier to eat at the little table downstairs. After all, that’s where the bowls and utensils were, after all.

“I would like to hire her,” Emmy announced as I served up the pho.

“Then we’ll hire her,” I agreed.

“That is O.K. with you?” Emmy asked, sounding a little surprised.

“Why wouldn’t it be? Emmy, this is your house, you get to decide who works here, what the house looks like, what tiles go in the bathroom, what plants go in the pots on the terraces. This is your house, babe. I’m just here to keep you company.”

“You do not like this house?” Emmy asked, a worried expression on her inky black face.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” I said, laughing. “What I meant is that as far as I’m concerned this place is yours to design, decorate and set up as you see fit. Whatever it is you want to do is just fine by me- as long as the bed is comfy and the tub big enough for the two of us, I’m satisfied.”

“After dinner, would you like to test the tub out with me, to see if is big enough for the two of us?” Emmy asked, a gleam in her eyes.

“You know how I feel about soapy time, Em. I would absolutely love to evaluate the existing tub to see if it needs to be replaced or not. But not immediately after dinner, though- I have a few more emails I have to answer tonight before we can have our play time.”

Emmy’s lower lip came out in an exaggerated pout, making me laugh. “I promise I’ll make it quick.”

True to my word, it couldn't have been more than half an hour after we finished dinner that we were running the water to fill up the tub in that monstrous green marble bathroom.

As usual, Emmy filled the tub with water so hot it was nearly scalding, so it took a while for me to ease into the near-boiling water. Emmy, however, got in without any sort of hesitation. I’d asked her once how it was she liked her baths so hot, and she’d just shrugged and said she’d always enjoyed really hot water, and had since she was little.

After a few minutes the water cooled off enough (or I became inured to the heat) and I began to feel comfortable. Of course, Emmy leaning back against me was very welcome indeed. I loved looking down over her shoulder at her breasts, nipples right at the water line, begging for my touch. Who was I to deny those perfect little nubs the love and attention that they deserved? I could never be so heartless, so I cupped her breasts in my hands and gently toyed with her nipples, giving them exactly what they needed.

Emmy sighed with pleasure, pushing back into me to get more body contact. I dropped my right arm to her waist and pulled her into me even harder, nuzzling and nibbling under her ear. Looking down, I saw that her hand had slipped down between her thighs and was busily at work.

“Hey! That’s my job!” I said, sliding my hand underneath hers, moving her fingers out of the way of my own. The feel of her most delicate flesh, the soft petals of her labia and the firm little nub hiding under that little hood… I could never tire of playing with her adorable little box. As I stroked two fingers up and down, Emmy’s head lolled back on my shoulder and her breathing rapidly grew ragged, but I didn’t want my little play session to end too soon, so I eased up as I felt her start to fall over the edge. I kissed her behind her ear as I slowed down, only returning to my task when Emmy impatiently ground my hand against her vulva with her hand on top of mine.

This time, I ignored her labia and that ever-so-sensitive little clit of hers and slid one, then after a few strokes, two fingers inside. I kept a gentle pressure with the heel of my hand on her pearl, but devoted most of my attention to sliding my two middle fingers in and out with a slow, steady rhythm. The point was to prolong the pleasure, to build the fire slowly, and it was working just right. Every now and again I’d slide my fingers out entirely and use them to circle her bud, maybe giving it a light pinch, but nothing too serious before slipping into her depths again. My left hand was busy stroking and squeezing her breast, even pinching her nipple once in a while, simply to add to the experience. My lips were busy kissing her neck and behind her ear, with the occasional nibble on her earlobe thrown in for good measure.

As much as I tried to prolong it forever, eventually it was all too much for Emmy and she came with a full-body shudder and a gasp, before falling boneless down onto me. I slowly withdrew my fingers and simply cupped her mound in my hand, the way I had that very first night we’d made love.

“I love you,” I whispered in her ear, rubbing my face against the side of hers. “I love you so much, Em.”

“Oh, Leah,” Emmy sighed, still unable to move. “I love you even more.”

We stayed like that for a while longer then got up and toweled off. I caught myself staring at Emmy as she used the big, fluffy towel to dry her hair, mesmerized by the way her breasts swayed back and forth with the motion.

Unable to resist, I dropped my towel on the floor and pulled hers from her hands. Puzzled, Emmy gave me a quizzical look. I answered by scooping her up in my arms as if she weighed nothing, then carrying her into the bedroom and tossing her on the bed, making her squeal.

She scrambled backwards up the bed in mock fright as I advanced on her, climbing onto the bed and crawling forward on my hands and knees.

“Oh!” Emmy cried out. “You are insatiable!”

Saying nothing, I hooked my hands behind her knees and pulled her towards me, pulling her legs wider as I did so. I started by kissing the inside of her left knee, then worked my way down into that playground that my fingers had been enjoying only a little while before.

Sure, we’d just taken a bath, but Emmy was slippery again with her own juices as I slid my tongue up and down her slit. I wrapped my lips around her little pearl, gently swirling around it with my tongue, first one way, then the other.

That whole ‘spell out letters with your tongue’ thing is mostly bullshit, but really the basic idea is sound. Use your tongue in a variety of ways and you’re bound to please the object of your affections. Emmy arched her back as I lapped like a kitten at a saucer of milk, then her breath caught as I slid her recent companions, my two fingers, back inside that place they never wanted to leave.

My tongue glided up and down her folds, only stopping to tickle her swollen clit when I could feel her tightening against my fingers. This time I wasn’t going to show any mercy- I was going to slam her into a gigantic climax good and hard, so as she started to pant with the sensations in between her legs I worked harder and faster, slipping my fingers in and curling them upwards, caressing that little bumpy section inside. Timing my tongue in opposition to my fingers, I worked her clit from the front and back, driving her crashing over that cliff of pleasure.

This was one of these special times when I actually got Emmy to cry out as she came. With a shuddering moan of gratification she spasmed, clamping her legs on my head like a vise, shaking with the overload.

After a few moments, she collapsed onto the bed, a dazed look on her face, her body covered with a fine sheen of perspiration.

“You truly are a beast,” she murmured. “That was incredible.”

“Em,” I said as I crawled up next to her.

“What?” she asked, still unable to move.

“You’re going to need a shower,” I said.

“I am very sweaty,” she agreed, running her hand on her hip.

“No, that’s not why,” I said.

Puzzled, she turned her head to look at me. “No?”

“No.”

“Why, then?” she asked.

“Well, because my juices are going to be all over your face,” I said as I got up and threw a leg over her shoulders.

Her eyes big, she looked me in the eyes, then dropped her view down to my pussy, which was rapidly approaching.

“Yes, that would be a good-” she started to say before I cut her off by parking my vaj right on her mouth. Leaning forward to grab onto the headboard, I rocked my hips forward and back to find just the perfect amount of tongue and lips right where I wanted them. I had been turned on fingering Emmy in the tub, then had a little sympathetic orgasm when Emmy came on the bed, but I wanted to feel really good and fucked, so I was going to put Emmy’s skilled tongue to best use exactly where my body demanded.

Thankfully, Emmy was just as committed to this course of action as I was, her hands cupping my butt, squeezing and stroking them as she licked, tickled, and inserted her tongue as I moved above her.

It didn’t take long before all that attention on my most sensitive spots did the job and I fell of the cliff. My last thought as I went over was to not crush Emmy beneath me, so I made sure to fall to the side as I crumpled to the bed.

Emmy wasn’t satisfied, though as I lay there panting and trying to catch my breath, she rolled me onto my back and parted my legs. I weakly tried to protest, but she slipped her fingers inside me anyway. The feeling was too much, but Emmy fended off my weak attempts to get her to stop. Emmy drove her long, slender guitarist’s fingers deep inside, then drew them out completely, before driving them in deep again.

I gave up my protestations. Yes, it was too much, I was too sensitive, but at the same time it was just right and felt wonderful. After a little while of these deep, deep strokes, Emmy gathered my moisture and stared rubbing slow circles around my painfully swollen clit, gently pinching it as she continued her assault on my cervix.

On top of my earlier orgasm, the depth of the sensation was enough to rapidly drive me to an even greater wave of pleasure, and when I came crashing down I felt that rare moment when I slipped out of consciousness on pure satisfaction, that ‘little death’.

I lay there, completely unable to even think, much less move a muscle. I was roused from that state by Emmy climbing on top of me, lying down on me as I lay sprawled. I opened my eyes to see her green eyes looking into mine, a very self-satisfied smile on her face.

“It seems that I can defeat the beast,” she said with a saucy (and somewhat wet) smirk.

“I am defeated,” I groaned.

“Are you too defeated to take a quick shower with me?” Emmy asked, leaning in for a kiss. I tasted myself on her lips, and I’m certain she tasted her own juices on mine as we kissed, and kissed some more, and then kissed even more for good measure.

“I think I can walk now,” I said when we stopped to catch our breaths.

“My kiss roused the sleeping beauty?” Emmy asked.

“I think you’re mixing up your fairy tales,” I laughed.

Rolling off me, Emmy stood up and beckoned me to follow her.

“One thing, though,” I said as I slowly sat up. “No fooling around in the shower.”