The Billionaire's Kitten: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  “Oh god, oh god!” I screamed. “Mr. Jones!”

  And the big man was encouraging.

  “You’re almost there baby girl,” he soothed. “We’re at the breaking point, do you feel that? My dick tip is pressed against your hymen baby. If you really want me in you, you’ll do it.”

  And I knew it was true. I was so stretched, so full, so fucked, but I needed him in me all the way, balls pressed against my asshole, clit tight up against his pelvic region. So I took a deep breath, screwing up my eyes and screamed once before impaling myself all the way.

  “Fuck!” I screamed. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

  Because I’d done it. I’d pushed myself all the way down until he was buried to the hilt, and my pussy ached from the penetration, he was fucking me so deep and I could hardly breathe, the shock of having a man in my most secret space, buried all the way to the core, psychologically and physically spinning me onto another plane.

  But the big man held on to me, nuzzling me, soothing me, encouraging me.

  “That’s it baby girl,” he murmured against my neck. “You’ve been a good girl and busted your own hymen on my cock. Good girl, I’d say you deserve a reward.”

  And with that, he rocked his hips forward once, jolting me. Oh fuck, oh fuck. I’d thought it couldn’t go any deeper but suddenly Chris was pushing even further up my vaginal channel, so full I thought his dick my pop out in my throat, my pussy gushing loads of cream as he breached me, touched parts in me I didn’t even know existed.

  “Chris,” I moaned, grabbing those broad shoulders, pulling him to me. “Chris.”

  And he chuckled deep in his chest, although there was a hitch to his voice, like he couldn’t quite control his body’s reaction either.

  “Fuck little girl, you fucking feel so good,” he rasped. “Now I’m gonna fuck that kitty until you can’t walk.”

  And he was as good as his word. Grabbing my fleshy hips in his hands, he began to rock, pushing up, then down, up, down, each thrust of his penis making me mewl, moan and gasp breathily, my forehead dropping limply against his shoulder as my boobs bobbled between us, the tips trailing against his chest.

  “Oh god,” I cried, “oh god, yes, just like that.”

  And the big man turned it up a notch then.

  “Fuck you, honey, I need to fuck you hard now, I gotta cum in that sweet puss.” And with renewed energy, he grabbed my hips so that they were still and began fucking upwards like a piston, his dick drilling into me again and again as he grunted, his body coursing with energy, the cords in his neck tight as his jaw clenched with strain.

  “Fuck,” he panted, “fuck fuck fuck, I’m gonna ….”

  And it ended in a roar as he threw his head back in a shout of agony and ecstasy, that big body clenching tight beneath me as he released blast after blast of hot jizz into my pulsing channel. And oh god, the feel of a man searing me with his juice, pumping me full with his special batter, tipped me over the edge, pushed me into freefall.

  “Fuuuuuck!” I screamed. “Oh gawwwd!” I squealed as my pussy went wild on his dick, clenching and spasming with electrical tingles, my entire body seizing as I milked him, desperately pumping him for more, more, more.

  And the big man answered, his own body rigid with tension, spurting again and again into my hot hole, repeatedly creaming me, his shaft pulsing with heat between my swollen folds, lash after lash of creamy jism exploding like a gale force.

  “Ohhh fuck,” he grunted hard. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

  And I just twisted more, trying to eat it all up, my boobs heaving and jiggling as I bounced on his dick, draining my lover of everything he had to give, every last drop a precious gem that belonged inside me.

  And after it was over, we collapsed, our bodies heaving, me on top of him, his dick still buried in my cunt.

  “Fuck baby girl,” he grunted as a big man stroked the smooth curve of my back, trailing the S-shape of my haunches. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

  And I just giggled, pushing my boobs against that massive, strong chest, feeling his dick twitch in me in response. I clenched my pussy muscles around him experimentally, and sure enough, another dick twitch came, plus a little spurt of something hot. Oh god, had I made him do that? Did I coax that last bit of cum out by pumping my kitty?

  And the answer was obvious. Chris groaned, then dropped another kiss on my nose.

  “Like I said, baby girl,” he rasped, holding me still against him so I had to stop wiggling. “The death of me.”

  And I just giggled again. Because sure, Mr. Jones was in his forties and my dad’s boss, but you know what? We were perfect together and I was determined to show him exactly how.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Chris

  The way Lindy gifted herself to me was amazing. Okay, maybe that’s a nice way of saying it. Because I’m a dirty fuck and there was no “gifting,” no fairy tale with a Prince Charming and happily ever after. Nope, like I said, I’m a sick fuck and I made the virgin fuck herself on me, breaking her own hymen on my dick shaft.

  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.

  Beca
use 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.”

  She gaped again at me, mouth open.

  “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 b
e, 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.