His Baby to Keep: A Forbidden Romance

by Katie Ford

  I stood up to start dancing again but evidently Matt wasn’t done with me yet. He wrapped the sopping material around his dick, winding it tight around that massive pole, and beckoned me to come closer.

  “On your knees,” he ground out, parting his legs.

  Obediently, I fell before him, my mouth already open. Of course he’d want to fuck my mouth, maybe make my eyes water by shoving hard into my throat. But instead he said, “Take it off me with your teeth.”

  Hmm, this was different. Looking up at him through my lashes, carefully I unwound the silk from his cock, daintily nipping with my lips, circling my head again and again until the drenched material hung down my chin, leaning back in supplication as I met his gaze.

  “Now eat it,” he growled.

  What? What was he talking about? But the big man did it for me. With clever fingers, he pulled my chin down and began forcing the silk into my mouth, stuffing my panties into my mouth. My eyes were wide with shock as the pungent scent of my own twat filled my nostrils. What kind of depraved man was this? Where had he gotten this idea? But obediently, I let him cram the material in until I could no longer speak, jamming even the dangling strings between my pearly whites.

  “That’s my girl,” he murmured, “I don’t like my women to talk when we’re fucking. Just grunt if you need something,” he added slickly.

  Oh fuck. I was done for. He was so fucking sexy, so depraved that I knew I’d met my match. I was running like a fire hose between my legs now, kneeling before him in supplication, totally nude with my eyes begging for more.

  And he knew it. With a chuckle, Matt stood, pulling me up with him, this time shedding his clothes so that we were both naked before shoving me onto the bed face first.

  “Oomph!” I grunted, the air forced out of my lungs. He roughly split my legs so that I was open before him, eyeing my pussy from the back. “Mmm, lovely,” he murmured before running a finger up and down my pink halfshell. “Just the way I like it.”

  And reader, before I could react, he’d knelt between my legs and licked me, from clit to anus.

  “Aiee!” I shrieked as best I could, my scream muffled by the panties in my mouth. What would Uncle Gordo think? What had happened to my psychological barriers? Ignoring my wail, he pinned a heavy arm across my lower back, his other holding down my thighs so that my pussy was exposed to the air, his mouth, his dick, whatever he wanted to do.

  “I know you hate oral,” he grunted, “but shut the fuck up.”

  My eyes closed for a moment, memories of my uncle looming in the forefront of my mind. How I’d gyrated on his lips, letting him lap me, letting him nip at my clit, dancing like a stripper on his tongue.

  But Matt was different. Now I was an adult, with full understanding of what was happening to me. I was sexy, I was powerful, I understood my body. No longer the simpering girl-child, I embraced the slut within and squealed again as Matt lapped me from behind, dragging that tongue all the way from clit to anus before circling my hole and poking at it, jabbing mercilessly into my vag.

  “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” I panted. It was so fucking good and all I could do was twist futilely as his mouth subjected me to the first full-fledged oral I’d had in ten years. And reader, it was absolute heaven, a million times better than what I remembered. I gyrated my hips as he held my pussy open, exposing that ruby red inside, bucked wildly as he kissed and bit my clit and finally, let go with a gush when he shoved his entire face against my puss, tasting me in my entirety.

  “Aieee!” I screamed, my spine almost bent over backwards, my legs jerking compulsively as my pussy spasmed again and again and again.

  “That’s it,” he breathed. “Keep coming, I want to feel you spill in my mouth.”

  I could no longer hear him, in the throes of an intense roller coaster. My pussy clenched and twitched, finding its release as he worked my nub, and before I knew it, I’d let out a spray of fluid, drenching the bedspread, coating Matt’s lower face with my tangy twat cum.

  To his credit, he didn’t move an inch, his face planted hard into my puss, his tongue still moving against my hole as I squirted every which way. Only when the twitches started to subside, when I was a limp, trembling mass, did he pull away, stroking my thighs, giving my clit one last pinch before running a forearm across his mouth.

  “Girl juice never tasted so nasty,” he said, licking his lips. “I gotta fuck it,” he said, positioning himself, looming over my back, and with one hard, merciless thrust, shoved that cockpole into my trembling puss.

  “Aieee!” I squealed again. Although I was loose and ready, the feel of that massive member stretching me was still a tight fit. I squirmed beneath him, panting, trying to adjust, trying to find room for that member between my vag walls. And sure enough, my channel expanded, the lube so copious, that the cock finally settled, Matt reaching a hand below to stroke my clit before starting up a rhythm.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted as he fucked me, letting his dick slide in and out, almost pulling out sometimes just to fuck back in full force. “Fuck you feel good little girl,” he groaned, his big shoulders and arms straining as he held himself up above me.

  The slap of our flesh was obscene, loud, wet, and utterly disgusting, and I loved every second of it. Without realizing it, I was bucking against him, meeting every thrust with a backwards push of my rear end, making sure he got in deeper, the better with which to capture his man juice.

  And I wasn’t disappointed. His thrusts grew more urgent, his growls louder and with a sudden roar, he came inside me, his dick pulsing with energy, the vitality coating my walls with slick streams of white.

  And reader, there’s nothing I love more than a man coming in my pussy. Some girls like it in their mouths, some like it on their breasts, but I love it when a man drenches my ovaries with sperm, those hot trails like lava inside.

  I followed him over the edge, my vag doing its second dance of the night, clenching and spasming around that hot rod, milking him dry for all he was worth. And when it was over, Matt collapsed on me, his heavy weight pushing me deep into the bedspread, crushing me so that I could barely breathe.

  “Mmmf!” I squealed, my balled-up panties still in my mouth.

  “Hmm, I kinda like seeing you like this,” he said silkily, tracing his fingers around my lips, massaging them. “All stuffed up with no place to go. Why don’t we shower, and then maybe, only maybe, I’ll fish that g-string out,” he rumbled against my cheek, lightly tracing a shoulder blade with a finger before lifting me up in his arms.

  And reader, those panties didn’t come out of my mouth … for hours.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Matt

  Teresa and I have been living the dream. I fuck her two or three times a day, losing myself in that delicious body, savoring her generous curves, coming in her puss, her mouth, her ass again and again. And she loves it too. I can tell by the way she bucks against my hand, begging for my cock, letting me touch her and use her any which way I please.

  And she seems to have lost that sensitivity towards oral sex. Like I said, I’m a pussy guy and there ain’t nothing that can keep me from my target. So I’m proud to say that the girl has lost all hesitation in that department, squirting in my mouth daily, letting me drink her fluids, savoring that tangy she-flavor. I even videotaped it once, that beautiful spray from her twat literally spurting ten inches into the air as I tried to drink from it like a geyser.

  But to be honest, she still holds back sometimes. When I’m fucking her, all is well, she loses it, her eyes half-closed in ecstasy, her body open to me, allowing me to plunder, to take, to punish. And I’ve never felt so connected to anyone, such a deep, forceful bond, the intensity making me heady, dizzy sometimes, like I’m going to spiral into some unknown dimension. But inevitably, Teresa’s eyes cloud afterwards, her private thoughts a Pandora’s box.

  Shaking myself, I chalked it up to the sex. Yeah, that was it. I’d never had such satisfaction before, the physicality over
whelming. It was so mind-blowing that even I needed some time to regroup, to re-assess where we were going in this charade.

  But truth be told, it goes beyond that. Because she’s been amazing as my girlfriend, my public partner on the campaign trail.

  “Mr. Sterling, do you foresee anything holding you back as you campaign for mayor?” a reporter had asked.

  “No, nothing,” I said with utter confidence. “I have deep knowledge and understanding of the issues that trouble our city and you have my absolute assurance that Teresa and I will do whatever it takes to address them.”

  I caught myself. Teresa and I? I’d only hired her for three months, which time was almost up. But no worries, I’d pay her more, or even better, extend the contract by re-negotiating a better deal … for me and for her.

  So I was relatively upbeat as we got ready to go to campaign headquarters. Voting had taken place today and the early results showed me in the lead. I already had an acceptance speech in my breast pocket, one that I’d make upon being crowned king. Mayor Sterling. Sounds fucking awesome, doesn’t it?

  But I was momentarily distracted by the sight of Teresa changing in our bedroom. She was so sexy even going about the most ordinary activities, although I guess fancy lingerie is never mundane on her bod. I watched in awe as she slipped off her day outfit to reveal a pink thong, her haunches gleaming and smooth, the tip of her breast just visible in silhouette.

  Almost as if reading my mind, she spun and smiled at me wickedly. Ah, the girl I adore. The one with the mind as dirty as mine, rutting in the gutter, the slut who I rode to heaven multiple times daily, whose juices were constantly on my dick now, coating me, covering me in her smells, her taste, her touch.

  And I fucking loved it. I love when a girl is a porn star, baring her twat, letting me pound her, pounding me back for all she was worth. Like I said … I’m going to re-negotiate this deal asap, this wasn’t the last she’d seen of me.

  So I watched with silent reverence as she turned to slip on a blue sheath dress, something totally appropriate for my acceptance speech. She’d been perfect on the campaign trail and I knew tonight would be no exception. She’d project the perfect persona as the hot, and yet smart and down-to-earth girlfriend, the voice of reason to my billionaire image. I knew voters liked me … but they loved Teresa.

  With a jubilant step I made my way to the car, my arm around her waist.

  “Mr. Sterling, Mr. Sterling,” a photographer called. “Just one photo!”

  And to oblige, I pulled Teresa into my embrace, the perfect couple as the cameraman took a couple snapshots. I nuzzled her hair fondly.

  “You look beautiful darlin’,” I complimented, inhaling that faintly spicy scent that was one hundred percent her.

  And damn if she didn’t melt a little, shooting me that special smile, her ruby red lips parting to reveal those tiny, perfect teeth. How I loved to see those teeth scraping against my cock, making each vein bulge with arousal, pulsing, eager to spill in her mouth.

  But we were headed to headquarters with people waiting, not a second to lose. I gallantly showed her into the backseat and then settled in beside her.

  “Darlin’,” I rumbled, putting a hand on her knee. “I hope you’re having a good time.”

  Her eyes met mine, and they were troubled for an instant before the clouds cleared.

  “Of course,” she murmured. “The best.”

  And I congratulated myself again … because there was a ring in my pocket at that very moment with Teresa’s name on it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Teresa

  The time had come. The hands of the clock were almost at midnight and I could tell my time as Cinderella was up. We were headed to campaign headquarters and although I was happy and bright on the surface, that image was brittle. Inside, I was a mess, a teary-eyed, poor immigrant girl, knowing that the pumpkin chariot was just that … a pumpkin.

  But Matt didn’t have to know. I’d secretly packed my bags earlier that day, taking only the things that I’d brought. The dresses, the heels, the things that he’d bought for me, I’d stashed in a closet downstairs. And almost broken down when I saw what else was in the closet … multitudes of evening gowns, furs, even jewelry, in all sizes, leftovers from his previous relationships.

  Because that was what I was, right? Just a figment of the past. I was someone he’d hired, someone he’d paid to soften his image as he campaigned, and it had worked, I could feel it in the energy of his staff, the buzz at headquarters, even the elation that permeated the City today. But that didn’t mean I could stay. The clock was striking midnight, and I’d let myself cry that morning, indulging this one time before straightening my shoulders, focusing on the job ahead.

  Because Matt was going to be Mayor, and my part of the contract wasn’t done until he sealed the deal. He’d achieved another stunning victory, another jewel to add to his already glowing resume as billionaire, philanthropist, entrepreneur, and executive. And I would be there to make sure it happened, melting into the background when the time was right.

  Matt was on a high though. His big hand was possessive on my knee even as he chatted jovially with Jones, our driver.

  “It’s a good day, Jones, a great day,” he rumbled, giving my thigh a squeeze. I felt myself grow wet, his proximity always my downfall, and he seemed to know it, skimming his fingers up my thigh to caress my puss lightly, grinning wickedly when he heard my sharp intake of breath.

  But this wasn’t the place or time. We’d arrived at headquarters and the car door was opened from the outside, bright lights flashing as they caught Matt stepping out of the limo.

  “Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,” voices called. “Is it okay to call you that? Or is it too early?”

  “It always sounds good to me,” Matt joked, exuding that down home country charm. And I watched adoringly as he was swept away by the pack, in his element, the scrum surging around this man I loved.

  Because yes, I’ve fallen in love. It wasn’t in the contract, wasn’t what I planned to happen, in fact it was the opposite of what I wanted to happen, but sometimes you just can’t help it. I knew this man inside out, had spent 24/7 with him going to countless events, and knew his foibles, his twists, his idiosyncrasies, and what a good man he was, kind, caring, open to diverse viewpoints.

  There’d been a few times when I’d almost told him about my own sordid past, I felt so comfortable with him now. We’d been lying in bed post-sex, sated, glowing with pleasure, and I’d lazily moved my leg to cover his, lightly brushing his still-hard member with my thigh.

  “Mmm,” he groaned, rubbing my puss in retaliation. “You want to start up again?”

  And I’d giggled because we’d been going at it for hours now, orgasming over and over. If we didn’t get some sleep, he was going to be a mess at his five a.m. morning call.

  But instead, I’d rolled onto my stomach and shaken my hair back, the dark strands covering his chest.

  “Matt,” I said, my tone light. “Aren’t we going to the women’s shelter today? You know the one that houses women and girls who were victims of sex abuse?”

  “Mmm,” was his grunting reply, eyes closed.

  But I was insistent. “Matt,” I continued. “Sex abuse is rampant where I come from, in fact girls as young as thirteen often flee on their own, with no money, no connections, no nothing except the idea that the United States represents safety. You know that right?”

  “Mmm,” was the sleepy grunt I got in return. “Honduras is bad, huh?” he said, his eyes still closed.

  I was so tempted to spill the beans, to tell him about Uncle Gordo and how I’d been molested for years, the nightly tongue-lashings. But the moment had been so perfect, our skin glowing in the dim light, his breathing even, soft and sated, that I couldn’t bear to mar the reverie with something so horrific.

  So instead I let the moment pass. But I was gratified the next day when Matt demonstrated caring and empathy at the women’s shelter, taking the hand
of one particularly downtrodden twelve year-old and listening to her story for an hour when we should have moved on to the next stop.

  “That was utter shit, what happened to that girl,” he commented to me once we were in the car again.

  And yes, it had been bad. I’d acted as translator, my voice breaking sometimes as I conveyed the story of her gang-rape by neighborhood thugs in Guatemala. But I’d maintained my composure and Matt had sworn afterwards to do something about it, even if he didn’t become mayor. With his resources, the options were limitless and I knew he’d stand by his word.

  So I watched with mixed pride and sadness as my man disappeared into the crowd. The clock was ticking … and it was almost time for me to disappear.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Teresa

  He was amazing during his acceptance speech. Charismatic, persuasive, filled with promise for the people of San Francisco. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the gorgeous man on stage and I smiled happily, proudly, as Matt expounded on themes of inequality, fair housing, and access to justice for all.

  The lights were bright so I couldn’t see the crowd very well, but who would be in the front row but that bitch Vanessa from the party. The one with the slut attitude, who’d stuck her fingers into Matt’s mouth, rubbing her bare snatch against him. He’d assured me it was nothing and I believed him. After all, he’d picked me at his running mate and not her.