24 Inches: A MFM Romantic Comedy

by Alexis Angel

  "Phone sex is an art. I don't think it'll ever be completely dismissed like you say it will."

  "Maybe so, but it'll be relegated to some small niche. Why not cash in when the money's still very good? You'll be a very rich man from the sale of this."

  "I'm already a rich man!" I growl. "Are you forgetting that? I'm worth billions, so before you say another word about money, I want you to remember everything Dad left me with."

  My mood has soured again, and I want nothing more than to end this meeting, but Gerard can be like a fly that won't go away and his incessant buzzing in my ear is wearing me down. He's doing a good job of making me think that this issue may never go away. Nothing I say seems to deter him. He always has a rebuttal, and frankly, it's pissing me off.

  I know rationally speaking I should be blaming this on Luca Giannoni and the Russian Mob that wants to buy me out. But instead the anger is manifesting itself toward the one man who is always there for me.

  And he’s giving it right back to me as much as I’m giving it to him.

  "Yes, yes, of course you're a rich man! No one is doubting or forgetting that. But who has ever said no to more money? Arsen, I just don't understand it. It's completely irrational and bordering on madness! Why are you so hell bent on throwing away a golden opportunity? Why can't you see the value in this deal?"

  “Maybe it’s the way the mob is going to treat the staff?” I say, rhetorically.

  “What’s wrong with how they treat their staff?” Gerard asks. “It’s always on the up and up.”

  “You wouldn’t feel a little guilty knowing we just sold someone’s business to the mob?” I shoot back.

  “It didn’t seem to stop you from unloading the porn studios, the web cam operations, the sex dungeons, the brothels, the escort services, and strip clubs,” Gerard says. “Name one time for the other businesses when you brought up an issue with how the mob treats its workers.”

  “That’s not the same Gerard, and you know it!” I shoot back. “The strip clubs independently contract out to the girls. They can leave any time. Hell, we don’t even know if they’ll come in on any given night if its raining or snowing. And the bouncers and managers are all men; they can take care of themselves.”

  “The other businesses?” Gerard asks.

  “They’re too decentralized. The sex dungeons, if the mob wanted to lay down the law or do anything, no one would show up. And we contractually dealt with everyone on the web cam operations or the porn studios. The escort services we just got a cut. Nothing much would change.”

  “And so nothing much would change for this sale either, Arsen,” Gerard says, getting up and grabbing a glass of water and running his hands through his hair. “This is the best deal that’s out there and you’re dragging your feet.”

  “These people that work at Simulated Pleasures have never worked with gangsters before,” I tell Gerard.

  “And neither have you, Arsen,” Gerard says to me. “We’re not dealing with blue chip corporations here. They can make this personal.”

  “Then why would I want them in the lives of my current employees?” I ask back. I think I’ve got a point.

  But I know that Gerard has one too. Why didn’t I care so much about letting the mob into the livelihoods of the employees at the other establishments? I mean, fuck, I just told myself back then that they were tough and they could handle themselves.

  “Arsen,” Gerard says sitting down and leaning back in his chair. “Something is bothering you about this entire situation. Ever since your father died the single goal you’ve had was to rid yourself of your father’s empire and start from scratch at something else. To cleanse yourself of his filth, as you put it. But the closer we get toward achieving that goal, the more you pull back.”

  I’m silent as he continues. “You asked me to find out who Mr. Giannoni’s client was. Against my better judgment I pursued it. And I found out. You wanted to break the sale into pieces. We did that. Now at the last business, you hold everything up. Luca Giannoni and Mr. Mozorov have been patient,” he says in the voice filled with wisdom. “But if we are to continue, I need to know what your reasons for holding us back are. And I need to know now.”

  Perhaps it's the way he's asking—questioning my sanity, or maybe it's because I feel as if I've been interrogated for nearly an hour straight, but just then, I lose it.

  "I'm in love with a girl!" I snap, slamming my fist down on the conference table and flashing my snarled mouth at Gerard. "There, I've said it. Are you fucking happy? Is that good enough for you, Gerard?"

  He’s taken aback, clearly not expecting this to fucking tumble from my mouth.

  "Arsen, I don't understand. What does you being in love with a girl have anything to do with the sale of Simulated Pleasures LLC?"

  "She's one of the phone sex operators."

  He stops for a moment, and a pregnant silence fills the air. For a few awkward moments, neither of us says anything, and then I continue, "She doesn't know."

  I see a wave of understanding come across his face and he finally speaks. "You should tell her."

  "Who are you, my fucking therapist as well as my lawyer?"

  "I mean it."

  "What good would that do?"

  "Well, for one, are things getting serious?"

  I think about that question for a moment. Have things gotten more serious between Ashley and I? It feels like it certainly can, but am I imagining that? Where exactly do I want this to go? Where does she want this to go? I love her. That much I understand.

  "I don't know," I say, and that's the truth. I grab the glass of water sitting on the conference table and take a sip. My face is pensive.

  "If you think things will—or can—get serious, you should tell her," he says, noticing that my mind is pre-occupied.

  I don't say anything, but I nod my head in agreement. Of course he's right, but that's easier said than done. It's one thing to sit here at this conference table and say these things—and even agree with them—than it is to approach the woman you know you love about a secret that you've been keeping from her. Things are working right now. We're fucking happy. I don't want to fuck it all up by coming clean. If she finds out that I've been masquerading as King Henry, there's no telling how she'll react.

  "It's not something you want to hide forever," he says, breaking my train of thought.

  "I don't know what I want."

  "Oh come on now," he says, almost laughing. "Quit kidding yourself."

  "Says the man who's strong arming me into selling the one business I'm adamant on keeping."

  "It's just obvious to me that you want the girl, so do something about it."

  I look at him and know he's right.

  Ashley

  If Arsen is going to keep feeding me like this, I’m going to have to start spending an extra hour at the gym. I mean, seriously. We’re sitting on his terrace balcony, overlooking Central Park. He has a massive table that’s laid out with breakfast. I have my choice of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, slices of white or wheat bread, fruit, yogurt, granola, and croissants.

  Oh, there’s also pancakes. There’s coffee, tea, orange juice and cereal.

  Apparently, the building concierge has been instructed to prepare a breakfast spread every day for Arsen since I’ve started spending more and more time with him.

  Arsen however, is just eating some bacon and a croissant, with some coffee, and reading the New York Daily Journal. The sound of taxis and delivery trucks wafts over to our little terrace in the clouds and I look over at my handsome breakfast companion.

  “You live very well, Arsen,” I tell him, smiling. He looks over at me and smiles. Last night he took me to the MOMA where we saw the unveiling of some new Frederick Hart sculptures that hadn’t been released to the public after the sculptor’s death. Variations on Three Goddesses and Cross of the Millennium on both bronze and acrylic resin. I look into the room. Arsen bought one of the pieces and it’s sitting in the living room, purchase
d and now forgotten. Which would be fine if it was a dress from Bloomingdales, except that this tiny sculpture costs around $150,000.

  After we got home, he wasted no time in celebrating his acquisition by unzipping my black dress and kissing my neck. Actually, if we’re being completely honest here, I was already wet when he pulled me over at the MOMA and whispered into my ear, “I want to fuck you senseless right now, Ash. Just rip your fucking panties off and shove my cock inside of you and pound you till you scream so loud that only the fucking birds can hear you.”

  I mean, sure, I had splurged a bit on the dress. It was backless and showed off my ass pretty good. But work has been great. I got a $500 bonus this week. So I mean, I didn’t mind that I was having that effect on him.

  I take a piece of toast and bite into it, thinking back to last night. It had been a nice night, so by the time his clothes were off and my panties were…I don’t actually know what happened to them. Either he ripped them off or I took them off, but we threw them somewhere and I can’t find them this morning. I think I saw my bra in the kitchen sink. Oh well. Where was I? Oh yeah, by the time I was naked, we actually ended up on the terrace. He lay me down on the table and proceeded to defile me in the most delicious ways possible.

  Seriously, having sex with this man each time is like having sex for the first time with him. I cum at least once for sure, but as many as eight times. Although by then, the orgasms are all ripping up my body in one wave after another. There have been times I’ve blacked out for a few minutes because it’s just too much pleasure. And then afterwards, I’m in like some sort of post-orgasm coma, where I just sit there blinking and enjoying the endorphins going through my body.

  “What are you up to today?” Arsen asks me looking up from his paper with a look like he just remembered something as I look at him. I’ve never really made a big deal about our schedules, telling him that my schedule is pretty flexible—I mean, I can work whenever. But still, out of habit I pull out my phone.

  And I freeze.

  I have a meeting with Client 5 on my calendar. Oh my God!

  How could I have forgotten? I thought it was yesterday.

  No way I’m letting him go to another girl. Not because I’m worried about losing the fees. No, more because I want to talk to him.

  As sexed up as Arsen has gotten me, King Henry hits another spot in my brain and in my heart. Because we only talk for little bits, I crave the time I have with him jealously. I need him.

  But the meeting—or call—or whatever is scheduled in ten minutes.

  I look over at Arsen, wondering what it is that I can say. I mean, what can I even say to someone, anyone, if I have to leave in 10 minutes? Like, sorry I didn’t realize but I have to go have phone sex with a client? To the man who is feeding me breakfast?

  How did I ever end up in a situation like this? Where I’m lying to two men?

  “Ash, I need to go do something real quick that I forgot,” Arsen says not looking me in the eyes. I nod absently, wondering how I’m going to get away. “You think you’ll be okay having breakfast for like half an hour or so? I just need to pop out real quick but I’ll be back, I promise.”

  Wait a second! He’s giving me an out. This is almost like Divine Providence or something giving me an opportunity. Although later on I need to remember to make sure and find out where he’s going. Under normal circumstances I’d be pretty curious where he was off to, but right now, I’m not going to take a gift horse and look it in the mouth. Not this girl. I'm smarter than that.

  “I’ll just go lay down for a little bit then,” I tell him with a coy smile. “Still a bit exhausted from last night.”

  I give him my best innocent smile and kiss him goodbye thinking to myself how ironic this situation must be because normally I would be so curious where he’s off to.

  But not right now.

  Now, in this moment, I’ve already started getting wet thinking of King Henry’s deep, gravelly voice. Within a minute, Arsen is out the door. I rush inside and it takes me just a few seconds to slide off my yoga pants and whip off my tank top. I lounge on the bed in my bra and panties, my heart trembling at the call that will get re-routed to my cell phone.

  Four minutes to go. They seem to last an eternity. My heart rate increases with each passing second. I feel the dampness in my pussy and can tell that without even talking to me, King Henry has gotten my panties wet.

  At last, the call comes and the phone vibrates. It startles me and for a second I’m scared. But the fear doesn’t stop me from accepting the call and with a shaky voice filled with excitement I speak into the phone.

  “Hi this is Misty, who am I speaking to?” I say, seeing Client 5 on the screen and holding my breath till he speaks.

  There’s a pause and a rustle and finally, “Hi, Misty, where are you?”

  Now it’s my turn to pause. I don’t know what to answer.

  “Are you at home?” he asks me.

  “N-No,” I say.

  “No what?” he retorts.

  I close my eyes. “No, King Henry.”

  “Good, you remembered.”

  “Yes, King.”

  “Where are you? Are you with someone? At their place?” he asks me and I close my eyes.

  “Yes, King, I’m at someone else’s place. On their bed,” I answer. My heart is beating at what he’ll say.

  “What are you wearing?” he asks.

  “I have on a pink cheeky and a lace pink bra, King,” I reply back. “I’m on his bed talking to you.”

  “Does he know you’re talking to me?” my King asks.

  “No, King,” I tell him. “He went out for a while.”

  “Does he make you cum when you fuck him?” my King asks.

  I gulp. But I’m this far in anyways. And I’m so wet. “Yes, King, he makes me cum,” I reply. And I can’t help but add, “Hard.”

  “Good,” the King says. “I want you to touch yourself and tell me what you’re doing.”

  “I have my fingers under my panties,” I tell him. “I’m stroking my clit.”

  “Are you wet, kitten?” he asks.

  I gasp. A momentary shudder goes through me. “Yes, King,” I say. “I’m very wet.”

  “I want you to imagine me next to you, kitten,” he says. “I want you to imagine me pressing my fingers over your wetness, sliding one finger into your pussy.”

  My heart races as I begin to stroke my clit to his words.

  “I want you to think of my hands stroking your clit, faster, and harder, and faster still,” he says and my fingers time themselves to stroke with every cadence of his speech. I let out a moan.

  “Are you enjoying this, kitten?” he asks.

  “Yes, King,” I reply. “Please don’t stop.”

  “Beg me to not stop,” he orders. “Beg me to keep going. To tell you how my tongue traces the contours of your pussy and flicks itself against your nub.”

  Oh my God. I’m panting as my fingers continue.

  “Tell me,” he commands.

  “Please don’t stop, King,” I moan as he breaths deeply. “Please don’t stop licking my pussy.”

  “I want to slide another finger inside of you kitten, do that for me now,” he commands and I do as he says.

  “I want to hook it inside of you and massage your walls while my tongue flicks your clit,” he continues.

  The way he says the word clit sends shivers up my spine and it times perfectly with my fingers as they do their work.

  “Are your nipples hard?” he asks me. I can feel that they are and it takes me a moment to clear my throat. “Yes, King, my nipples are hard for you.”

  “I want to twist them. Do that for me,” he orders and I pull my bra down, place the phone on the bed putting it on speakerphone and begin to flick and twist my nipple.

  It feels so wrong, doing this on Arsen’s bed. I know what I’m doing. But I just don’t care at this point. Lust has overtaken my brain as King Henry comes through the speakers of the p
hone.

  “Now imagine my cock, thick and hard, kitten,” he says. “Blood pumping through its veins as it hovers over you, ready to penetrate your pussy. Imagine it as it slides in and fills you. Expands you.”

  I can’t take much more of this. I’m going to cum soon. I feel the threshold lowering and myself passing the point of no return.

  “Imagine my hands over you, squeezing your ass as I pound your pussy,” he says over the phone. “Imagine as I suck your tits and spank your ass. Hard.”

  I wouldn’t care at this point who walked in the door. At that very moment I’ve lost myself to the pleasure I’m about to experience.

  “Imagine my hands as they spank your ass cheeks. My cock pistoning in and out of you…”

  I don’t hear any more. I’ve lost the capacity. I close my eyes. The body of Arsen Hawke is over me in my head with the voice of King Henry. Fucking me. Dominating me completely.

  I let go and cum.

  Waves of pleasure go through my body and I let out a moan that is earthy and lewd at the same time. A fire spreads from my loins and rips through my body, leaving me sweating and trembling as my muscles seize up and contract. Pleasure knocks me out and my eyes roll back inside my head. I arch my body and feel myself give way to numbness and nothingness. I’m awake, but incapacitated by fire. And ice. I’m weightless but can’t move. My body twitches and I lose my sight. Stars fill my vision and I lose myself in a void.

  When I come to, I’m breathing heavily. So is King Henry on the other side of the phone. My heart is pounding and I take the phone.

  “Are you there?” he asks me.

  “Yes, King,” I say weakly, still recovering from the orgasm that ripped through my body.

  “Good, be kind to your friend when he returns,” King Henry says, and with that he hangs up.

  Leaving me lying there on Arsen’s bed.

  My panties are wet so I take them off, and I throw my bra across the room as well. I’m lying naked in a haze on Arsen’s bed and all I want is more sex. I don’t care if Arsen asks me what I’m doing when he comes back in and I lay there.