DILF: A Secret Baby Bad Boy Romance

by Alexis Angel

  My hands go to his back, and I lower them over the curve of his buttocks. Grabbing his ass, I urge him to go faster, bucking my hips at him as he thrusts. He takes the hint quickly enough, his rhythm growing with each stroke. Leaning into me, he goes for my breasts, laying his mouth right between them as he keeps on fucking me, his lips move over the curve of my right breast and he wraps them around my nipple, sucking eagerly.

  I throw my head back, an exhausted moan on my lips as I succumb to his body. If the human body didn’t have all these silly limitations, I’d want to remain here forever, Arsen’s cock deep inside me. I mean, is there anything better than this in the whole world? I really, really doubt it.

  Letting go of my nipple, he takes his mouth to my neck, nibbling at the soft skin there, and then moves upward to my ear.

  “I can’t get enough of this,” he whispers, his hands on my hips. “I could fuck you like this forever,” he continues, almost as if he could read my thoughts. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t even do that; my vocal chords are spent, and my brain is in no condition to form a coherent sentence. Thankfully, this is no time for conversation. He grabs me by the hair and yanks my head back, thrusting with such strength that I can’t help but open my mouth and scream, my throat burning with the effort.

  He’s ravaging me, fucking me without grace or mercy. Like a wild beast, he’s showing me what a real man can do with a woman’s body. I bury my fingernails on his back, gritting my teeth and preparing for the incoming storm. I already feel its roar inside of me, thunder and lightning looming on my mind’s horizon. This time, I’m truly not sure if I can withstand this—I mean, how many times have I come since I got here? Too many to count, I’m sure.

  Every single muscle in my body tenses up, my nerve endings charged with electricity as I feel the fuse of pleasure burning up. Two heartbeats, one deep breath, and I just explode: all the tension in my body frees itself, a painful scream leaving my mouth as my brain turns into mush. This is way beyond anything I have ever experienced… And still he keeps thrusting. He fucks me as if tomorrow would never come, ignoring all my shouts of ecstasy - my throat is raw and hurting, but I just can’t help it.

  Suddenly, he stops; his body turns rigid, his muscles becoming as hard as concrete. I look at him, see him with eyes closed and gritted teeth, and prepare for what’s to come—and I mean that pretty literally. His cock starts to spasm and a thought crosses my mind. With both hands on his chest, I push him to the side and, moving as quickly as I can, I go down on my knees and lean forward. I wrap my lips around his cock just in time, a torrent of cum filling my mouth at once. Cupping his balls as he comes, I stay in place while he empties his whole load inside of my mouth. His flavor is salty and raw, manly like everything in him.

  He keeps cumming for what seems like forever, his cum gushing inside my mouth with no end in sight. I feel my mouth becoming full, but even then I don’t pull back; I remain still, strands of cum dripping down my lips and chin. It’s simply too much for me to hold it all in my mouth, and it keeps on coming. Thicks drops fall to my breasts, my chin covered in his semen… Only when I’m a wet mess does he finally stop, pulling his cock out of my mouth with an exhausted grin.

  Proud of what I just did, I smile at him, opening my mouth and showing him his own cum.

  “You look lovely like that,” he says, leaning forward. His lips touch mine and, before I even know what I’m doing, I’m pushing my tongue inside his mouth, opening my mouth wide and swapping cum with him. Remember when I told you that the kinkier the better? This was what I was talking about: never in my life did I think I’d find a man with whom I’d be doing this… And damn, it feels just so damn fine!

  When our kiss ends, I open my eyes and lock them on his; I lick my lips wantonly, scooping whatever cum I can, and just swallow it. He looks at me as if he were entranced, the expression on his face one of pure delight.

  When I’m done, I simply collapse on the mattress, spreading my legs and arms to the side, exhaustion suddenly filling every fiber of my being. And this time, there’s no fighting it; the moment I feel the softness of his sheets against my back, I close my eyes and I’m out.

  What time is it? Oh God, I fell asleep in Arsen’s apartment. I look to my side and there he is, his naked body still pressed tight against mine, the warmness of his skin seeping through mine.

  It pains me to leave him. I wouldn’t mind closing my eyes and going back to sleep, my naked body against his… But there’s a whisper inside my head: I’ve got work to do. "King Henry," my new client, is going to call me at noon, and I want to be home by the time I get the call. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s not even about work… I just want to talk with him again.

  And so, with a perfect naked man lying by my side, I get up and get dressed. I could reschedule the call, I know that—but somehow there’s something inside of me that’s aching to hear that voice on the other end of the line. I leave the apartment on my tiptoes, wondering why the hell I'm caring so damn much about a man I’ve never even met.

  48

  Arsen

  I don’t know why I’m so fucking excited to talk to Ashley when she was just here a couple of hours ago. But regardless of the fucking reason, I shower, shave, go work out, and get some food at the gym, and by the time I’m sitting down in front of my computer, I have nervous excitement going through me like I’m 16 and in high school all over again.

  What the fuck is going on? I’m about to call a phone sex operator. Regardless of whether I had showered or shaved or whatever, she’d be looking to get me off. This is a sure fucking thing. It’s nothing to get excited about. It’s nothing to revolve my day around.

  But that’s exactly what I’m fucking doing. You’re probably laughing at me right now. I seem like that fucking 40-year-old virgin if you ever saw the movie where Steve Carrell puts on the candles and shit before putting on the fucking porno so he could jack off. Hell, chances are Dad’s company produced that porno in the first place. And now I wonder how much the old man is turning over in his grave when he sees his only fucking son getting a fucking hard on getting ready to pay money to talk dirty with one of his own phone sex operators.

  Jesus fucking Christ. I gotta calm the fuck own.

  I turn on the computer at my desk and scan through my emails. There’s nothing major going on in the world of sex today that’s interfering with my trying to divest out of this shit. I pull up the research on the Morozov family of companies that I had asked Gerard to do. That man is worth his fucking weight in gold. Not only did breaking up the company into chunks to sell give us who Luca Giannoni was working for, but it gives me a chance to dig a bit deeper and see just who I’m selling to.

  But wait, it’s already noon. And that means Ashley’s waiting for me to call her.

  Actually, let me fucking rephrase that. She’s waiting for "King Henry" to call her.

  Whatever, don’t look at me right now like that, ok? Until I met her, I used to be a normal, well-adjusted asshole. Sure, I used to fuck women left and right, but I never fucking lied to them. But with her, I’m living a double fucking life.

  “Hi this is Misty, who am I talking to?” she purrs into the phone and my heart skips a beat at hearing her voice all over again.

  “It’s King Henry, Kitten,” I say with the affected gravelly voice. I’m not using the coat anymore, and despite the computer showing me that emails are arriving; my mind and concentration are completely focused on the line.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, sir,” Ashley says with a purr.

  “Have you now?” I say to her while my cock stiffens at her submissive tone. “I’m not sure I believe you Kitten.”

  “It’s true, I came home just so I could take your call,” she insists.

  “What are you wearing, Misty?” I ask, taking charge of the conversation. “Tell me.”

  I lean back as Ashley starts to describe what she’s wearing. “I have on a purple lace thong with purple stockings and garters,” she sa
ys. “And a light purple matching lace bra.”

  I close my eyes, imagining the beautiful Goddess who was with me just a few hours ago and how she’s lounging in sexy lingerie now to talk to me.

  A part of my brain tells me this is wrong. This is fucking crazy. That I have plenty of work to do today.

  Fuck, I even look toward the computer. There’s an urgent email that just came through from Gerard.

  But the reptilian part of my brain tells me that Ashley wasn’t wearing any purple lingerie when she left here this morning. She must have changed. Or she’s making this whole thing up.

  “Did you just put it on?” I ask into the phone. “Was that what you were wearing before? Be honest with me, Misty.”

  There’s a pause on the line and I know she’s debating how far to go into this conversation. Because I’ve just blurred the edges of fantasy and reality now and if she plays along then she’s walking into fucking wonderland with me.

  “I changed into this just for you,” she tells me slowly. “I put it on after I showered once I got home.”

  “Did you come from somewhere else?” I ask. Fuck, don’t look at me okay. I don’t know why I’m asking this. I know perfectly well where she was.

  There’s another pause.

  “Yes,” she says on the phone.

  “Yes, what?” I ask harshly.

  “Yes, sir,” she corrects herself. Good, she’s listening.

  “A man?” I ask with another question almost immediately.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fuck. My cock is twitching in my pants for some reason. I glance at the computer at the email from Gerard. It reads simply: URGENT. MOZOROV IS PRESSING HARD FOR COMPLETE BUYOUT.

  Whatever. I can’t give it the time it needs right now because my next question to Ashley is just, “Did you fuck him?”

  She’s either going to hang up, or she’s going to go along with what I’m saying.

  I decide to take it further and tell her, “I’m buying you right now, Misty. That means I own you. That means you do whatever I tell you to do. Tell me you understand.”

  Another pause. Has she hung up? Has she put me on mute?

  “I understand, sir,” comes her response. Her voice is soft. It’s not so sultry. It’s more real.

  “Good,” I say, unbuckling my pants and pushing them down. “Now, tell me the truth. Did you fuck him?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replies. “Yes, I fucked him.”

  “Did you cum?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” I say, not sure why I’m getting off to this, but I’m unwilling to fucking stop. “Are you touching yourself now?”

  Again, she responds without shame. “Yes, sir.”

  “I want you to stop, Misty,” I say to her. I hear a whimper on the other end of the line. It sounds of disappointment. But I’m too far gone. My mind is in a haze of lust and it’s not controlling anything I say or do at this point.

  “Look south, towards downtown, Misty,” I tell her.

  “I am, sir,” she replies. “My apartment faces downtown.”

  “Do you see the spires of the city?” I ask. “Imagine the biggest one is my cock. Imagine my giant cock going inside of you. In and out. Fucking you.”

  I hear her moan.

  “Can I touch myself, sir?” she asks, a bit breathlessly.

  Jesus fuck. My cock is rock hard as I say, “No, not yet. Are you staring downtown?”

  “Yes, sir. Why am I staring out the window?” she asks.

  “Because what you see outside your window represents the highlight of human achievement, Misty,” I say to her. I’m not fucking lying, but I’m not sure why I’m telling her this. “When I was a kid in the city, my Dad would take me every Sunday to the Empire State Building so we could look out on the skyline. He would tell me that as long as I was willing to work hard, those buildings represented the idea that I could do anything.”

  “That’s sweet,” Misty says.

  Fuck. Her name is Ashley. I can’t forget that. I’m starting to think of her as Misty… as my Kitten. This is fucking dangerous.

  “Fuck sweet,” I tell her harshly, scared at how much I’ve given away. “I want you to picture my cock, Kitten.”

  “Yes, master,” she says and now I’m just completely hooked. Where the fuck did she get that in her head to call me master? “Is it hard, sir?”

  I grunt, my hand working my cock. “It’s veiny, thick, throbbing…” I start but Ashley interrupts me.

  “Can I put my mouth on it, master?” she asks. “Can I run my tongue over the tip?”

  Fucking Christ.

  “Can I run my tongue up and down the shaft, sir?” she asks with a sweeter voice and my body shudders. “Can I spit on it and then smear it over your big, throbbing head?”

  I can’t take any more, but she’s not done.

  “Can I lick the precum that’s coming out with my tongue? And then can I jerk your cock while you watch me?”

  I can’t answer. I’m too far into this fucked up world. I’m past the point of no return.

  Can I put my finger on your slit and smear that precum across the head of your cock, master?” she asks me sweetly.

  “I’m going to cum,” I manage to get out.

  “I still have my bra on because you wanted me to keep it on, do you want to cum on my tits?” Ashley asks. “My big, soft, firm, tits,” she adds for emphasis.

  “Urrgh,” I say out loud. Don’t ask me what I was trying to say because I have no fucking idea. My mind is in a state of paralysis as my orgasm rips through me and I shoot out spurt after spurt of thick, viscous cum out of my cock and onto the floor.

  I’m panting as electric shocks of pleasure race through my body and by the time I’m done I don’t know how I’ve managed to keep holding onto the phone.

  Ashley is waiting on the other end of the line. I can sense a smile on her voice as she speaks to me.

  “Can I touch myself, now, King?” she asks.

  Fuck me. I’m going fucking crazy for this girl.

  49

  Ashley

  It’s a pleasant evening and I look out toward the Hudson River from where Arsen and I are sitting at dinner. We’re at an outdoor restaurant called Southwest New York that serves Tex-Mex near the South Street Seaport. With our table literally right next to the water, it's been a pleasant evening.

  I look at Arsen. He’s staring back at me.

  God, he’s so freakin hot. I swear, just staring into his smoldering eyes is enough to get my panties wet. The way those eyes seem to look into my soul. The way that face is shaped—it’s so lean and tight. And then there’s that body. You’ve heard me go on and on about his body before, I know, but it’s so good it’s worth saying again and again. If I could, I’d tell everyone I know. I mean, I wouldn't tell my Dad or anything, but aside from him, I’d shout from the rooftops how much I enjoyed Arsen’s bulging biceps, his 8-pack abs that are oh so defined, his powerful legs, his wonderful pecs, or his strong back.

  But while his body is great to run my hands over and lick, I think what is completely unforgettable is basically that 12-inch cock that dangles from his legs. When that thing gets hard, I can barely wrap my hands around it. It’s as thick as my wrist. And it's so painfully delicious when it stretches my insides out.

  “What are you thinking?” Arsen asks me, reaching across the table and taking my hand. I can see the tattoos go up and down his arm. “Tell me.”

  I take his hand and smile at him. I’ve never had a man sit across from dinner and ask me what I’m thinking. To take an interest the way that Arsen has.

  He’s wealthy, cute, and considerate.

  How is it that I'm not head over heels in love with this guy?

  I can’t believe I’m sitting here complaining to you about this. I must sound like the world’s most spoiled girl or something.

  But it’s true; I can't say that I’m in love with Arsen. And I know the one major reason for that.

  Henr
y. Client 5.

  It’s been two days since the last time we spoke at noon. Two days since I’ve heard his powerful, commanding voice. A voice that basically says fuck the world—these are his rules and you can either obey them or get off the bus. Two days since he basically made me his over the phone.

  Do you want to know something? I haven't told anyone yet, because I’ve kept it a secret.

  Two days ago, when we were together on the phone, when he told me he wasn’t going to let me touch myself, I got so turned on just listening to himself telling me what I could or couldn't do. When he forced me to call him “sir” or “master” or "king," and started telling me to imagine Lower Manhattan and imagine his cock and how it would feel to have him plunge into and out of me, I swear to God I was dripping wet. I was panting. I could tell my heart rate had increased just from hearing his voice.

  But that’s not what I have to tell you.

  What I have to tell you is this. As I got him off with my words, it was turning me on like nothing else too—to the point where listening to my words and the effect it was having on him was only making me hungry to hear more. When he finally came, my body was a quivering mess. I hadn’t been allowed to touch myself and it was like desire was overwhelming every aspect of my body.

  When King Henry finally let me touch myself, I desperately brought my fingers to my clit underneath my panties. And it took me maybe five seconds and three flicks before I exploded.

  That’s what I wanted to tell you. That’s what I’ve been thinking about for the last 48 hours. What kind of a man can get me so keyed up, so on the brink already, that it took absolutely nothing to push me over the edge?

  It’s like he can make me cum with just the sound of his voice.

  You’re probably shaking your head at me. Thinking I’m just a stupid little girl, but I swear to God, I honestly think that if he wanted to, he could get me to cum just by talking to me.