What the fuck would possess me to do it, make a little girl reach into her dirtiest depths and fuck herself onto a man her first time? Well, it’s partly my dirty mind. I’ve heard that virgins are the sluttiest of sluts, that girls who’ve never been touched are dying for it. And it makes sense if you think about it. If you’ve never felt a dick inside, never been breached, yeah, you’d be more than a little desperate. Fuck, I’d slit my wrists with a dull razor if I were still a virgin.
So yeah, I wanted to see exactly how horny the brunette could be, and my baby girl didn’t let me down. Lindy was a stellar pupil, learning how to do the camel toe slide in seconds, humping herself up and down my cock, dragging that clit slowly along my shaft to make herself feel good, moaning and creaming along the way.
And fuck, I almost came then, by the time she was through my dick was thoroughly coated in a layer of her cum, the white so thick, so viscous, it looked like I had a film of glue on it.
But that was only the beginning. Watching the brunette take my shaft in her pussy, watching those sweet, swollen lips part over my dickhead and then slide wetly down my pole, gripping it close, praying to never let go? Fuck, I could feel the sperm boiling in my balls, my body under iron control as I fought not to release in two seconds, fought to make it last as that tiny cunt tasted dick for the first time. And she’d wanted it so bad, needed it so desperately that yeah, she’d popped her own cherry, fucked herself on me until that hymen broke.
So yeah, I’m an obscene motherfucker, not exactly Mr. Nice Guy, but I’ve never pretended to be otherwise. I’m rude, arrogant, domineering, and women do what I say, when I want and how I want. And now that we’d breached Lindy’s barrier, it was time to set down some rules.
“Baby,” I drawled, “You warm enough?”
Because I’d taken her downstairs to get a sandwich, sex takes a lot of energy and god, the little girl didn’t know anything, she’d only just lost her v-card. So she was happily nibbling away, which made me smirk inside, the extra calories would help her put on more padding, make her extra sassy when she was in bed.
And the brunette nodded, her curvy form ensconced in my thick terry cloth bath robe.
“Yeah, Mr. Jones, I’m really toasty thanks. And thanks for making me this ham sandwich, you really have a way around the kitchen, I’d never guess.”
I grinned at her again.
“No worries, it’s partly the ingredients, they’re high-quality so it’d taste amazing no matter how you slap it together. For example, the Serrano ham is straight from Italy,” I said smoothly. “Twenty bucks a pound, and each slice as thin as paper.”
The brunette nodded before taking another bite, her eyes almost closing as she bit into the thick sourdough coated with mayo. I looked on approvingly. Oh yeah, the little girl was already learning that it was better not to argue, better not to put up a fight, everything would work out if you just listened and obeyed.
Because I wanted everything to go smoothly, and for that, there were rules.
“Lindy,” I drawled, casually seated on the chair next to her, fingering a tumbler of whisky, the amber liquid fiery through the glass. “I have a couple rules around this place that I thought I should explain.”
The girl swallowed, taking a sip of water.
“Rules? Sure, no prob, I’m a really great houseguest,” Lindy nodded before biting into the sandwich again. “I hang up all my towels, do dishes, all the good stuff,” she volunteered.
And that made me chuckle deep in my chest.
“No, not rules for houseguests, nothing like that,” I rumbled. “What I meant are rules especially for nubile young females that stay here.”
The brunette frowned suddenly.
“What do you mean?” she asked slowly. “You’ve had girls here before?”
And I cursed internally. Of course I’ve had women at the house, I lost my virginity thirty years ago and was still enjoying the pleasures of the female sex each and every night since. But Lindy was new to all this, precious and innocent despite the fact that she’d just been breached, so I tried to be gentle, brush it under the rug a little.
“I’m forty-five honey,” I said gently. “And I’m not a virgin, so I’ve had girls over before, yeah.”
And the brunette thought for a moment.
“But are you… are you still seeing anyone now?” she stammered, flushing as she put down her sandwich.
And that one was easy to answer.
“No one but you, honey,” I said genuinely. “It’s only you.”
And she smiled hesitantly then, biting her lip.
“Good, I’m glad Mr. Jones,” she said quietly, “Because I’m not sure ….” Her voice trailed off.
“Not sure exactly how you’d feel if I were seeing other women?” I finished.
And she nodded silently, her eyes wide and fixed on mine, her lips trembling as emotions crossed her face, a rush of elation, confusion, indecision, the mix so new to her that it was impossible to put words to.
But I merely took her face between my big palms and dropped a kiss on her lips before looking deep into those warm pools of caramel.
“Honey,” I rasped, imbuing my gaze with genuineness, with truth. “So long as you’re with me, I won’t be with anyone, I promise. It’s just you.”
And the girl grew rosy again, a smile breaking out and wreathing her lips, the indecision falling away.
“Oh good,” she whispered, “Thank you, Chris.”
And my heart swelled with what, I’m not sure. The way she trusted me? The way I felt like I had her heart in my hands, her sweetly giving nature, that warm body available and pliant in my arms? But I shook my head. This was a ten day thing, nothing more, so there was no long-term planning, no serious investment.
But something in my heart, my brain, knew I was lying to myself, knew that this was starting to be more, a kernel of emotion blossoming, taking root. I shook it off, cursing myself internally. This wasn’t the time to have second doubts because I was just about to lay down the rules, establish myself as the man of the house.
So I turned back to the brunette, who was nibbling on her sandwich once again.
“Baby,” I said gently. “While you’re with me I want to set some ground rules. There aren’t many, but there are a few I thought you should be aware of.”
And she nodded, licking her lips slightly, lapping up a couple crumbs. I was so distracted by that pink flicker that I almost lost my train of thought again, almost jumped her right there, under the kitchen lamps. But fuck, back to business.
“Of course, Mr. Jones, I’m all ears.”
And I nodded approvingly.
“Good, because the first one is this,” I said, pulling a tiny black g-string out of my pocket, the lace sheer and fine, the crotch nothing but a postage stamp of cloth. “When you’re in the house, this will be the only thing you wear. I want everything else bare, boobs, butt, ass, open and creamy.”
And the girl gasped, her cheeks flushing. Again, that g-string couldn’t have been more than a square inch of cloth at most.
“But Mr. Jones,” she sputtered. “I –I –I’ll get cold!” she protested helplessly.
I grinned wolfishly at her.
“I’ll set the house temp so that it’s eighty degrees at all times, you’ll be toasty baby, I’ll make sure of that. In fact, it’s already at eighty-five.”
And sure enough, the girl overheated again, a delicate flush rising to her cheeks.
“I did think it was a little hot,” she whispered, her eyes dropping to the table before stealing a glimpse at the g-string again. Fuck, the tiny piece of lingerie was so small, so flimsy in my hand that I bet she was already thinking how I’d rip it off in one fell swoop, that bit of fabric no match for my aggressive ways.
And I laughed deep in my throat because the teen was right. And there was more.
“Good, that was rule number one. Rule number two is that when I’m in a room, you’ll need to show me your pussy.”
“But I don’t get it Mr. Jones. Aren’t I supposed to be wearing … that?” she gestured at the lacy g-string in my hand. “That would co-cover me,” she stammered.
“Yes,” I ground out, my eyes hot on her body. “But you’re gonna be pointing your pussy at me at all times, pulling the cloth to the side so you’re bare. Like this,” I demonstrated with the g-string, stretching the crotch to one side so there could be no mistaking exactly what she was supposed to do. “Your kitty is mine and I expect it to be open for my gaze and touch whenever I want.”
And the girl gasped again but I could tell she was turned on too.
“Oh my god, Mr. Jones, oh my god.”
I could tell Lindy thought she was in the middle of some Fifty Shades of Grey dream scenario, but there could be nothing further than the truth. Christian Grey was a boy, a sissy trying to figure himself out. By contrast, I was an adult male, alpha, dominant, and had been playing with females for years. I knew exactly what I was doing, and exactly how I wanted to do it.
“Got that honey?” I rumbled deep in my chest, my voice as soothing as liquid amber. “Got that?”
And the brunette nodded slowly.
“Yes, I – I think I got it,” she stammered, blushing again.
That was good enough for now because I’d saved the kicker for last.
“And honey,” I said slowly, “My last stipulation is that you fall asleep with my dick in your body each night. It can be in your pussy, your mouth or your ass, but it’s gotta be in you somewhere, pushed up tight.”
And that one made Lindy audibly shriek then, her gasp sliding into a high-pitched whine. Because I’d said nothing about oral or anal so far, maybe she thought the ten days with me were going to be just pussy sex, just a little dick in twat, a little creaming kitty on my pole. But hell no. HELL no. I fucking love a woman’s ass, that dry, hot heat, the anal breach so tight, so mysterious, and I wasn’t holding back this time or ever.
And the girl’s mouth? Well those pink pouty lips had had me distracted from the get go, made my motor rev for years, and there was no better place for them to be than circled around my dick, kissing me, licking my member, sucking me hard until her cheeks hollowed. So yeah, rule number three? It was the cherry on top and I was looking forward to having those lips on me tonight in fact. Fuck, I was looking forward to being in Lindy every night from here on out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lindy
My time with Chris has been shocking, blowing through all of my boundaries … and so arousing too. Because I’ve been tutored by a master, Mr. Jones knows exactly what he wants and is always in control, taking, stroking, kissing, loving, making me feel good all over.
And it was shocking at first, I admit. I knew my ten days here would open new frontiers, that he was going to take my virginity, that I’d have cock in me every night. I just didn’t realize how sensual it would be, how much I’d want it every second of it.
Take rule one for example. I saunter around the mansion now in nothing but a lacy g-string and black patent heels, everything about me out on display, boobs jouncing, hips swaying, my little cunt so wet all the time that my thighs are constantly smeared with cream.
And the big man? It’s like it’s normal to him to have a conversation about current events, about what he’s making for dinner with me perched on the stool, totally nude. He acts like nothing’s wrong, sautéing away, putting together five course meals while asking me about school, my job, my interests and hobbies, except that my huge tits are resting on the table all the while, the white flesh creamy and enormous, my pink nipples pointed at him while we talk.
And he notices, of course. I see the constant bulge in his pants, the way those blue eyes trace my figure, watch my tits glisten, the curve of my ass generous and firm. But he goes right ahead with whatever he’s doing, cooking, cleaning, getting my bath ready, it’s all par for the course.
And I have to say that it’s changed me too. I used to be kinda shy and conservative, wearing clothes that covered me up, swathing me entirely so that I was shapeless and frumpy. But since rule number one, I’ve developed a new awareness of my body, loving the way it jiggles, how it’s able to turn Mr. Jones on without even trying, my curves out to here, my ass out to there, the big man’s eyes glued to me all the time, appreciative and hot. And the truth is, it makes me tingle inside, my pussy starts steaming, there’s a burning sensation that never goes away now, a slow, exciting arousal that’s with me 24/7.
So as you can see, we don’t leave the house much. I’m not sure how Mr. Jones is able to work from home so much, but he’s the boss so I guess he calls the shots. Obviously, I can’t go out because I’m not dressed, and it seems that Chris is more than happy just to have me trail him around, sit quietly as he works, watch TV as he lifts weights.
But that’s when rule number two gets put into play. Because I’m not reading in a chair, or watching TV on the lounger. No sir. I’ve got to respect rule number two and that means that even though I might have my nose buried in a book, I’m reading on my hands and knees, my ass facing him with my panties pulled to the side, cunt on display.
“Mmm, that’s good,” he rumbled the other day, seated at his desk.
And I giggled a little before shaking my kitty at him.
“What was that, Sir?” I murmured dulcetly. Mr. Jones likes to be called “Sir” or “Daddy” sometimes, and the names roll off my tongue now.
He frowned a little.
“Seems the stock market’s doing well,” he rumbled.
I pouted a little myself. I thought he was talking about my kitty, how it gleamed and ran under the low lights. So I went fishing for a compliment.
“Sir,” I murmured. “If the market’s doing well, maybe you could celebrate … right in here,” I said, sassily wiggling my cunt.
Okay, so my come-ons aren’t exactly masterpieces, I’m not gonna be winning a Pulitzer Prize any time soon, but you know what? It works. Because the big man groaned, his gaze hot on my ass, dick out, the tip leaking wetly as he stroked it slowly.
And I giggled again, shaking my sweet cunt, the folds open, wet, bare for him.
“Daddy,” I said naughtily. “This book on the Kama Sutra you asked me to read is so amazing, I’ve learned so much just looking at the pictures,” I purred. “See this one? The woman’s foot is way high up over here, and then the guy’s dick is … oh my god, it’s like he’s turned upside down! Sir, can you do that?”
And the big man let out a curse deep in his throat.
“Baby you gotta be a yogi to do some of that shit, you gotta be able to bend over double, grip your ankles all the while sticking your tongue out.”
And I giggled again. Chris’s words were so nasty, he talked dirty to me sometimes and I should have been disgusted but instead, it turned me on. Besides, I agreed with his comments. The Kama Sutra was ridiculous and I don’t know how people twisted themselves into those poses without having a Ph.D. in acrobatics. But that didn’t bother me.
“No worries, I’m young and flexible,” I cooed. “I can do it.”
The big man just grunted again. I saw from the corner of my eye that he’d completely turned away from his monitor now and was fisting his dick slowly now while staring at my bare ass, my boobs dragging on the ground as I crouched over.
“So Mr. Jones, what do you say?” I baited again, shaking my kitty at him once more. I heard an incoherent grunt come from his direction, those blue eyes blazing as they took in my wet folds. “Wanna try position number three hundred and fifty seven here? It just means that we’ll have to … um, stretch a little first, maybe warm up and get our muscles loosened.”
But Chris was done with games.
“Face down, ass up,” he ground out, eyes hot on my curves.
And I moaned throatily because suddenly playtime was over, the tone of his voice had changed so that the alpha was at the fore now, commanding, dominant, forcing me to do his
bidding.
And like a little fuckdoll, I did exactly as I was told. I pushed the book aside and lowered my cheek until it was pressed against the Persian rug, my ass high up, wafts of warm air drifting across my pussy, shivering across my thighs.
“Sir,” I murmured breathily, “Is this what you want?”
I half-expected him to be on me in a moment, to feel the tip of him probing at my soft folds before pushing inside all the way, making me cream and shiver uncontrollably, my cheek smashed into the ground as he pounded me again and again. But instead, the big man just watched.
“Baby,” he growled low in his throat. “Pull yourself open for me.”
And I did as he ordered. Bracing my narrow shoulders on the ground, I reached both hands in back so that I was cupping my ass cheeks and slowly pulled the meaty orbs apart, my white flesh opening to show my pink slit, everything from clit to asshole.
“Like this, Daddy?” I asked. “You wanna fuck me like this?” I panted against the ground. Oh god, I was dying for his touch now, I wanted it so bad, my clit throbbed hotly, my channel creaming in anticipation of his touch.
But I hadn’t been thorough enough.
“No baby girl,” he growled in reply. “Show me what you got up that passageway.”
And I moaned throatily then, my eyes closed. Because Chris is a master and my pussy is his playground. He wanted to see absolutely everything I had to give. And so with another whine, I let go of my ass cheeks, spreading my legs further before reaching between my thighs with both hands and delicately pulling my labia apart, baring my inner pinkness to him, the folds so steamy and wet, pulsing for his touch.
“Daddy, like this?” I murmured again. “Is this what you wanted?”
And this time the big man was satisfied.
“Fuck, little girl,” he ground out, “Fuck fuck fuck, you’re so beautiful, that cunt’s so tight, so small, so …”
Double Dare: A Fake Fiancee MMF Romance Page 77