24 Inches: A MFM Romantic Comedy

by Alexis Angel

  There's only one way to find out.

  We are sitting across from each other and I push one of my legs forward until it meets his. I slip my feet out of my heels. I'm wearing silk stockings, and I drag one smooth foot up his leg.

  He coughs in surprise.

  "Are you okay?" my mother asks him.

  He waves her off. "I'm fine. I think a bite of food went down wrong, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

  I decide to drag my silky foot up further until it's pressed against his soft inner thigh. He's shifting in his seat again until I bring my foot to the secret center of his crotch and I feel him—his 12-inch cock is as hard and thick as a cucumber, and I stifle a smile. I bring my second foot up until both feet are cradling his manhood. I stroke him with both silky feet, slowly at first, and then at a faster tempo.

  He's trying not to look at me. He's trying to suppress the desire pulsing through his veins. He tilts his head back, tugging at the Windsor knot of his tie.

  "It's hot in here," he says, loosening his tie some more.

  "Carl!" mother shouts. "Please adjust the thermostat. Mr. Kane appears to be uncomfortably warm."

  "Yes, ma'm," Carl replies, and walks off to adjust the temperature.

  Little do they know, the thermostat can't help Mason. Things are about to get a lot hotter. I stroke his cock with increased pressure and speed, until I feel him twitch. His entire body is tense and I know I'm bringing him dangerously close to the edge of an explosive orgasm.

  But not tonight. Not now.

  I'm not going to give it to him that easy.

  I remove my feet and slip them back into their heels as if nothing happened. "Well, it's getting late," I say to no one in particular.

  Then I turn and look at Mason. "Perhaps I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

  His words catch in his throat and he doesn't respond. He merely nods.

  I've never seen Mason as speechless as I'm seeing him right now.

  Who has the upper hand now, huh?

  Bet he’s never gone up against a brat like me.

  MarketWatch Journal Flash Update

  Wall Street industry insiders were stunned yesterday when Mason Kane, the bad boy CEO of the Kane Price investment bank announced a surprise marriage with Lorna Lowell, his longtime foe.

  Ms. Lowell is an activist shareholder who holds a large percentage of stock in the Kane Price investment bank and in recent months has been more and more critical of the way that Mr. Kane has conducted himself.

  Her claims of Mr. Kane's inability to manage his position were taken up by other critics of the CEO recently after a scandalous episode in which Mason Kane was caught on camera engaged in crude sexual acts with a television reporter. That act was inadvertently broadcast nationwide during a camera malfunction and reached an unfortunate conclusion when Mason Kane proceeded to ejaculate on the camera, and by extension into the homes and faces of every viewer that was watching.

  Mr. Kane’s spokesman announced that the two were married in a private ceremony attended by extremely close friends.

  The marriage is surprising to many, however, not just for the playboy tendencies that Mr. Kane has been known to possess, but also for the loggerheads that he has often been at with Ms. Lowell and his Board of Directors.

  Since the initial public offering of Kane Price three years ago transformed the company from a closely held partnership into a globe-girdling organization, Mason Kane has emerged as one of Wall Street's hottest deal makers and its youngest billionaire. However, this self-proclaimed 'King of Wall Street' has not been without his detractors who claim that his hard partying ways have caused a crisis of confidence to develop among the firm's top clients, as well as his Board of Directors.

  In an industry where confidence and surety are prized, critics claim that Mason Kane provides neither.

  The marriage to Lorna Lowell may however, in the opinion of some industry observers, go a long way toward alleviating some of the concerns regarding Mr. Kane's temperament.

  "People love him. They think he's the life of the party. But quite honestly, you don't want the life of the party managing your money when you're talking about hundreds of millions of dollars. You want the most boring guy in the room. The guy who can't talk to any of the girls because he doesn't know how. All he knows how to do is count coins. That's what clients are looking for when they look toward an investment bank," commented a source who asked to remain anonymous due to the fact that his company was already doing some business with Kane Price.

  It remains to be seen whether any union between Mr. Kane and his critical Board members will have any affect on his image. However, one thing has transpired already, and that is undeniable.

  "People are definitely talking about him more. And Lorna Lowell's profile has risen on Wall Street as well. Considerably," commented one industry observer who also requested anonymity due to the delicate and evolving nature of the developments.

  The observer further commented, "It might just be enough to thwart any sort of revolt by the Board and prevent any no confidence motions. Maybe."

  Whether that is the real reason for the engagement, or whether there is genuine love, that is up for debate. What is established however is that Wall Street is watching. Very closely.

  Mason

  "Good morning, Mr. Kane," my secretary smiles. I can tell she's hoping to engage me in a friendly back and forth conversation, but I'm not in the mood today.

  "I need a coffee this morning, and I'll take it black," I say. I don't have time for small talk. I'm at work particularly early, 7 a.m. Too fucking early if you ask me, but there's a lot on my agenda.

  First things first. It's early and I'd like to monitor the European fixed income markets. I also need to meet with a few visiting traders, strategists, and economists from visiting banks. In other words, it's a full fucking day. There's no rest for the King of Wall Street.

  I walk toward the trading desk and I see her. Becca. The last time I saw her was at Lorna's house for dinner a week ago - back when I was a bachelor. She stood up and left me with a pair of balls bluer than the arctic. But the image of her right now stops me in my tracks. She's literally dressed to fucking kill.

  What is it about a perfect pair of long legs and a tight, heart-shaped ass that makes men lose all rational ability? Because that agenda I just mentioned to you, Gorgeous? Well, I no longer give a fuck about any of it now that my cock is twitching in my pants. It's growing harder by the minute, and if I'm not careful, it's going to create an obscene tent.

  Becca's bent over the trading desk and I can see every curve of her ass. She's talking to some broker who thinks he actually has a shot with her. The poor schmo is telling her about his latest market views, but he can't keep his eyes off of her tits. It's all so obvious. He's practically salivating.

  My eyes travel down her tight skirt to her gorgeous legs. She's wearing a pair of silk stockings that have a seam traveling down the back, and on her feet are a pair of five-inch black leather heels. I can't help but want to grab those hips and part those legs.

  I've never really noticed her like this before. Sure, we had one hot fuck session, and she teased me at dinner with Lorna at the same table … but now I seem to be hyper-aware of her body. Her presence sends an electric current down my spine.

  I walk toward the trading desk.

  "Mr. Kane, good morning," the broker says. I dismiss him and look right at Becca.

  "I see you're here early."

  "Yes, we were just going over market data," she smiles, and I'm not sure if it's my imagination but I swear she sticks her ass out a few inches closer to my cock.

  I contemplate standing close enough to feel the heat of her body, to secretly press myself into her curves, but I hear a voice behind me.

  "We need to talk."

  It's Lorna. I swear, her timing is impeccable, isn't it?

  "How can I help you this morning?" I ask. I'm hoping it's something simple so that she'll be on her way and I can qu
ickly get rid of her.

  "We need a set of investments," she demands.

  "With who?"

  "With Red Lion Aviation."

  "Isn't that the airline company that has low safety ratings?"

  She dodges the question and continues, "As Chief Counsel of this firm, I'm saying we need to invest in Red Lion Aviation bonds." Her tone is calculated and cold, and she speaks with finality.

  "That's ridiculous," I say.

  "I didn't ask for your opinion," she replies, giving me an icy glare.

  "This is more than just an opinion," I say. "Market research doesn't lie. The numbers show that this isn't a viable company."

  "Oh, you're certainly not one to talk about viable," she smirks.

  "I'm not about to throw our investments down a drain," I say. "I care about the future of this company, and I'm not so sure the same can be said for you."

  Lorna laughs, but it's not a good-humored laugh. It's vindictive and cold.

  "You want to talk about smart, viable decision making?" she asks. "You should've started thinking about that before fucking that MarketWatch anchor on national television."

  "Get off it, Lorna," I say. "That's over. I'm looking forward, not backward."

  "I think you're forgetting something very important here. I am the largest shareholder in this company, and I determine where our investments go and don't go," she says, her cold blue eyes sparkling like broken glass.

  I'm vaguely aware that Becca and the others on the trading floor are listening to every detail of our argument, but they're pretending to be busy. Now's not the time or place for Lorna and I to be arguing.

  "Again, I'd consider your investment strategy if it was viable, but Red Lion Aviation is not. It's a joke, and I won't move forward with such an unreasonable plan of action," I say. For better or worse, I'm not backing down from this.

  Lorna stares at me and she doesn't have to say another word because I can feel her wrath. I don't know what's going to happen, but there's no way I could move forward with such a bad investment in good consciousness.

  I watch as she turns on her heels and leaves. Her steps are heavy and brisk.

  I walk away from the trading floor as well and head into my office. I find my leather chair and sink into it. This morning isn't going as planned. It's gone up in flames and it's barely 8 a.m. I resist the urge to pull out the secret bottle of scotch that I have stashed in my desk drawer. I'd love one nice, long, warm pull from that bottle, but it's too early.

  Knock, knock. I hear a soft tapping on my office door, and I wonder if it's Lorna back for more. I sit up straight in my chair and brace myself.

  "Come in."

  I immediately see that it's not Lorna; it's Becca. She steps in and closes the door behind her, quietly turning the lock. She's not saying anything, but she doesn't have to; her body language says it all.

  My pulse leaps as she saunters toward me, her hips swaying like a gentle breeze. Again, I realize that I'd love to wrap my arms around those hips. Her steps are calculated, and she seems to almost glide into my office. I watch as her heels sink into the plush rug in the center of the room.

  Her eyes are glazed.

  She walks past my desk and to the windows behind me.

  Reaching up, she closes the blinds.

  My heart is pounding in my chest.

  Maybe this morning isn't going to be so bad after all.

  Becca

  What am I doing? Honestly, I don’t know and I don’t care. I just know I have to do this.

  After closing the blinds, I turn on my heels and look straight at Mason. There’s a fog in my mind, one hiding my rational mind and unleashing my deepest cravings. I’m so wet right now that I can feel my drenched black lace thong already sticking to my skin. This is wrong on so many levels, I know, but I just can’t help it.

  “What are you doing, Becca?” he asks me, getting up from his chair. Without taking my eyes off of him, I walk toward him, going around his desk. My heart feels like dynamite, the whole room feeling like the inside of a powder keg.

  “I’m a married man, now, remember?” he says to me, but he says it with a smirk and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

  “You know what I’m doing,” I whisper, placing both of my hands on his chest. “Let’s just call this my welcoming you to the family.”

  Seriously, what is wrong with me?

  Running my hands down his shirt, I only stop when I feel his belt, and I hook my fingers there, pulling him into me. “I want you,” I continue, my fingers fumbling with his buckle. “I need you.” I pull the belt out from its loops and let it fall to the floor; at the same time, he leans into me, my eyelids drooping as he closes the distance between our mouths. In his eyes there’s fire, an urgent need to dominate me; he wants this as much as I do.

  When he presses his lips against mine, the whole world around me starts to fade away. Outside from his office, the trading floor is still going through its daily chaos; there are people talking and shouting, anxious traders walking back and forth as they split their attention between strong coffee and spreadsheets, but I’m oblivious to it all. Right now, I’m in a world of my own. One where Mason reigns supreme.

  “You’re a wicked one,” he whispers, pulling back from our kiss and running his fingers through my hair. I reach for his mouth and bite at his lower lip, pulling it back as I place my hands on his waist.

  “You have no idea,” I tell him, my fingers finding their way to his crotch. Flattening the palm of my hand there, a shiver goes up my spine as I feel his hard cock straining against his pants. I curl my fingers around his thick shape, remembering how it felt to have him inside of me, and I grow even wetter. Squeezing his cock, I look up at him, a lewd smile on my lips. Grinning back at me, he tangles his fingers in my hair and yanks; I gasp and, a heartbeat after that, he leans in and crushes his mouth against mine.

  We kiss as if we are possessed, our tongues dancing around each other as a burning need takes over me. I don’t think I have ever wanted a man as much as I want Mason. Somehow, knowing that he’s going to be my stepfather, makes it even better. I never knew that doing the wrong thing could feel so right.

  As desire buries its fangs in my mind, I lose all control. I tug on his shirt, untucking it, and then take my fingers to his shoulders. I pull his jacket down his arms and, before it has even hit the floor, I’m already unbuttoning his shirt, my fingers moving anxiously.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he tells me, grabbing my wrists and forcing me to stop. Looking into his, I can almost see the flames of desire dancing there. This might be a dangerous game, yes, but Mason loves the way we’re playing it.

  “Yes,” I whisper, trying to break free from his hold, “and you love it.” A grin lights his face up and, forcing me to turn around, he pushes me back and against the wall. I breathe out sharply as I feel my back against the wall and, at the same time, he pins my arms over my head.

  “You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now,” he continues, slowly leaning into me and laying soft kisses on my neck. Closing my eyes, I surrender to the way his wet lips make their way from my neck to my cleavage, my nipples getting so hard they almost hurt.

  “Then do it,” I tell him, my heart racing faster and faster. I can’t believe that I’m asking him to fuck him here, in his office… I know that we fucked in a public bathroom, but this is different. Now there are consequences, and serious ones. The thing is, right now, I couldn’t care less.

  As his hands go down the side of my body, my skin prickles in anticipation and I sigh heavily.

  “Not until you beg me to, baby girl,” he whispers.

  I whimper. He feels so good. I can feel his hands traveling down as every nerve fires. When he finally meets the hemline of my skirt, he slides his fingers underneath it and pushes it up to my waist. I pant, throwing my head back against the wall as his hands make their way toward my inner thighs. As he moves closer to my pussy, desire starts to boil in my mind, my
insides clenching as primal desires take precedence over everything else.

  I run my hands through his hair, disheveling it, and then pull harshly. At the same time, he presses his hand right between my thighs, and I can’t help but let out a subdued moan. I don’t think I have ever been this wet. It’s funny, really; I’ve had all kinds of men chasing after me, but it took an older one to make me feel like this. Of course, even though Mason is 37, he doesn’t look like it; in fact, he looks better than men ten years his junior.

  “This,” he whispers, placing his mouth close to my ear as he starts to rub my pussy over my drenched thong, “is mine.” My insides clench at his words and I realize that he’s right; my pussy belongs to him and to no one else.

  “Yours,” I pant, letting go of his hair and grabbing his wrist. I pull him into me, forcing him to press harder against my pussy. My insides are on fire, but I won’t stop until both my mind and body are turned into ashes.

  I go back to his shirt and, with trembling fingers, I finish unbuttoning his shirt. When it’s done I press both my hands against his firm pectorals, feeling their hard shape under my fingertips, and then go straight to his abs. Sweet God, Mason looks better than men my age. He’s sin incarnate.

  As I push the shirt down his arms, he lets go of my pussy and takes one step back. I look at him, my eyes roaming over the ropes of muscle in his torso, and then he’s on me again. His hands go straight to my breasts, his eager fingers squeezing them softly. With a growl, he grabs at my blouse and, tugging on it, he makes all the buttons pop out, baring my bra.

  My hands dart to his head and, grabbing at his hair, I pull him into me. He dives in, his mouth going straight to the valley between my tits. As he runs his tongue across my cleavage, his hands go up my back and, with a simple flick of his fingers, he undoes the clasp on my bra. The cups droop over my breasts and, acting fast, he pulls the straps down my arms. I do the rest, pulling at the bra and throwing it somewhere on the floor.