Four Billionaires for St. Patrick's Day

by Sierra Sparks

  He moves his head across my lips and clit like it’s his mouth, not his penis. Like he’s Eskimo kissing me with it, not waiting to penetrate.

  “Is this what you want, Mistress?” he asks in a deep husky voice.

  “You’re such a good boy, Jordan. Such a good, obedient boy.”

  Having him pleasure me in this way is not the only reason I lie back.

  I’ve decided to give this boy something no one has ever taken from me. Something I've never given. Maybe lust has driven me insane. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and grieve the gift I'm offering him. But I doubt it. This boy is more man than anyone I’ve ever met. He gets me and because of that he gets to have me.

  Another reason I’m laying down is a practical one. It’s a way for me to reach into my pink bag and grab a condom for him before we really get started.

  Snatching one of those “barely there” condoms from the dark recesses of my bag, I bring it to my mouth and rip the wrapper open. I spit out the bits of packaging and remove the rubber.

  “Roll this on,” I say, putting back on my commanding tone. My dominating presence, despite being on my back and seemingly the one who’s submissive.

  Jordan stops immediately and takes the condom from my hand. Swiftly, deftly he robes his cock, making sure to fully cover himself.

  When he’s ready, he returns his head to my gluttonous and hot pussy. He hovers just at the entrance, caressing me ever so lightly.

  “Mistress?” he asks raising a questioning eyebrow and visibly shaking. “Are we going to… I mean do you want me to fuck you?”

  I nod. “Be a good boy now. Don’t keep your mistress waiting."

  “I won’t,” he murmurs, and then penetrates me fast. Hard.

  But I love it. You really are my good boy, I think, feeling his fullness stretch and command every inch of my pussy and womb. You deserve this, Jordan. No man but you has had this, and no man but you ever will again.

  Chapter 14 – Jordan

  Jesus-fucking-Christ! The minute I enter Bianca, slide my cock into her hungry and waiting pussy, it literally takes my breath away. Her tightness tells me one thing:

  She is a virgin.

  A virgin!

  I’m honored.

  I’m astounded.

  I’m privileged.

  I gasp aloud, feeling her warmth envelop me.

  On the back of that warmth is a delightful sensation of pressure. Of being hugged and squeezed by her as I move further in. As I caress myself along her textures. Her insides.

  “Aw, daaamn,” I growl/moan, never having experienced anything like this before. It’s so pleasurable — so overwhelmingly intoxicating inside her — I feel like I could explode right here and now. I let out a big, deep breath, deciding I need to fuck her not just stand marveling at how intoxicating she is.

  “I’ve never felt anything like this before.” When I say this, I don’t know who I’m speaking to more. Myself or Bianca. But either way, it’s true.

  Never with any of the other girls I’ve slept with — and trust me: I’ve slept with a lot of ‘em — they’ve never felt like this. Sure, they’ve been warm. Textured inside. But they’ve also felt empty. Careless and heartless. Like I could pump and pump and pump, and never really reach them.

  But not with Bianca. From the moment I begin to move rhythmically in and out of her, to the point where I start to increase my speed, I don’t feel lonely. Left adrift to fill an empty chasm. Instead, I feel held. Loved. Seen. Fed and nourished with every plunge and retreat. The more I dip, the more I crave.

  Soon I’m thrusting at a regular rhythm and speed. Somewhere in the lower to middle of what I can do. I roll my hips back and forth, making sure that Bianca’s lips and clit get to taste me, thirst for me, tense for me.

  And it must be working because it’s not long before she looks up at me with her neon-emerald eyes and shouts, “More! More, Jordan! Give me more!”

  “Of course, my lady,” I growl, picking up my speed. “You can have as much of me as you want.” With these words, I let my hips and balls slam into her. Slap her ass. I even go so far as to pull her off the bed a little more and hold her legs up and open.

  Even that, however, seems to do nothing more than stoke her fire. Increase her appetite for me. She moans under my hold. Bites her lip and says, “I’m still hungry, Jordan, I want more.” Having someone moan and shout at me the way she does sends a shot of intense pleasure straight through my dick. It starts in my head and buries itself somewhere deep in my balls. My prostate.

  I pound her more and decide to take her off the bed and into my arms. As I wrap her legs around my hips and lift her off the bed, my back protests. The skin screams under memories of the flogger swatting my skin. But instead of being painful, the screaming, burning sensations are further fuel to my fire. Something about the way my skin itches, feels rashy and hot — something about that makes me even more sensitive to Bianca’s pulsating walls and lips.

  And yes, that’s exactly what they do, as I hold her with my cock still plunged deep inside her. As I walk her over to a wall, I thrust her up and down on me. On my cock, like she’s one giant toy goddess. I don’t know how I manage to do it, but I manage to have her moving up and down on me while walking.

  I position her against the very same wall I was up against just a few moments prior.

  And once she’s pressed firmly against it, I fuck Bianca with everything I have. With every ounce of strength and speed, I pump in and out of her. I alternate my pumping with thrusting her pelvis down on me. Anytime I do this, I have my fingers softly yet securely locked onto her hips. Her legs. And that drives her wild.

  She repays my grip on her hips with her fingernails in my back. Buried there at first and then dragged down and across my back and shoulders as I go at her with maximum energy. I’m panting hard and fast as I move — I’m reeling under the sensations her nails are causing in my tender back — but not once do I slow. Not once do I stop or give her anything less than every bit of me. Right down to my balls, I let her have me.

  Somewhere between the scratches she’s leaving on my back, and the dull thudding, slapping sound and sensation on my shaft and pelvis-region, I feel my balls constrict. In seconds, I’m aware of the telltale rush of my oncoming orgasm.

  Before I have to worry about whether I should slow down, pull out, or find some other way to delay climaxing — Bianca didn’t give me express permission — she whispers, “Oh, Jordan! I’m close! So close.” She jerks under her own impending orgasm. “You can go when I go.”

  Almost instantaneously after she says that she loses herself. Shoots up against the wall, straining and screaming against the strongest orgasm I’ve ever felt go through a woman. And to top it off, nothing is faked or over performed about this. It’s wild. Rugged. Real. Bianca’s hair hangs wildly in her sweat-drenched face.

  Seeing the veritable sex goddess mounted on me, I come seconds later. I jam myself into her hard and close, willing each pump of my cock to please her. To show her what a good boy I am for her. No guy has ever served you like I have, I think, getting close. And no guy ever will. I’ll make sure of that.

  I grunt, actually crying out, as a final spear of pleasure and cum lances through me, and into her. Into the rubber I put on just for her, to be on my best behavior.

  For a moment, Bianca and I stay where we are against the wall. Panting. Sagging into each other.

  But that doesn’t go on forever. After I’ve got enough air back into my lungs and muscles, I take her away from the wall and obediently carry her to the bed. I set her on it first before collapsing next to her.

  The toys she laid out, a good number of them, clatter to the floor after being bounced off their resting place.

  Neither of us pay these any mind.

  Bianca’s too busy petting me.

  And I’m too busy cuddling her as she tells me again what a good boy I am.

  I answer I always want to be her good boy. I always want to behave for her.


  That’s the last thing I get out of my mouth besides a kiss before falling into a deep, dizzying sleep.

  Chapter 15 – Bianca

  February 15

  I wake up next to Jordan almost surprised to see him. All night intense dreams involving him filled my slumber. I’m almost afraid he isn’t real. That I’m still asleep. So, I reach over and touch his face. His wavy blond hair is still mussed and glued together in places thanks to my sweat and other fluids.

  To my immense joy, he’s one-hundred percent real. He’s a dream come true, and he isn’t just a figment of my sex-starved brain.

  Last night got pretty crazy, I think, spying the lingering redness and flog marks zigzagging Jordan’s back. They rest there alongside numerous scratch marks from my nails. Really crazy. Intense. Way more intense than I ever imagined they would. Than I’ve ever had with anybody.

  A dull almost bruising but pleasurable ache fills my pussy. Not for one second do I regret giving him my body. My virginity. It seems as if he’s the one I’ve been waiting for.

  As if Jordan’s playing the role of sleeping beauty, and I the dashing princess come to rescue him from his slumber, he opens his eyes as I let my mind wander over our night together.

  “Good morning, my lady,” he says, sounding like he’s already drunk on me. Definitely hung over from the night before. “Did you sleep well?” As he asks this, he draws me closer. I let him do so, enjoying the warmth of his body. In our excitement and ensuing exhaustion last night, we didn’t bother to pull back the covers. We just fell asleep right on top of them.

  “I did,” I say, curling into him and kissing him on the cheek, then on the mouth. Faintly, I can still taste my own musk on him. Not unpleasant in any way. It simply reminds me even more of how delicious last night was. How unbelievably good and unexpected.

  “You?” I ask.

  “Great,” he says, stroking my back, and then resting his hand on the small of it. “Slept like a baby.” He smiles, chuckling at what I guess he feels is a dumb comparison. “It’s been a long time since I’ve slept that well or had such a good time.” He kisses me again. All over my body. My cheeks. My breasts. “You set me free, Bianca,” he says, tracing his lips around my nipples. Already erect from the cold, they’re puckering up even more from his attention. “Saying ‘thank you’ is not enough for what you did for me last night. You gave yourself to me. I’ll never be able to thank you enough. You gave me a precious gift.”

  I put my hands in his hair. Stroke my fingers down it, and on to his cheek and chin. His jaw is boyishly strong. Sexy in the low light. And just about as irresistible as the rest of him. I return his storm of kisses with my own. I kiss his chest and shoulders, relishing their broadness. Their strength. How manly they are while also being tender and sheltering.

  “You were a very good boy,” I whisper, afraid of the emotions whirling up inside of me. Threatening to overwhelm me. I can’t let him know how deeply I already care for him and how much I crave him. “It was intense, wasn’t it?

  “Totally,” Jordan agrees, sounding like my kisses have the power to get him high. “But I didn’t mind. At first, I was surprised by how much I could take, how much I enjoyed it. I loved every minute.”

  This only makes me kiss him more. And this is trouble. Once I start kissing him, I can’t stop. And it fucking scares me. Terrifies me.

  Somewhere between his stomach and his groin, I stop short in my affections. I pull myself away, feeling too vulnerable. Too out of control.

  Simmer it down, Bianca. You’re falling too hard and too fast for him. You can’t lose yourself to him this easily or this quickly, woman. He may have been your good boy last night, and you may be able to have him continue being your good boy for part of today, but that means nothing will continue between you and him after this weekend. He may not even be from around here, you know.

  Like the good, observant boy Jordan is, he notices right away something’s wrong. That I’ve frozen up. Distanced myself from him under my current thoughts.

  “Bianca.” He sits up, taking me to him. Virtually into his lap. “What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?” His big, earnest eyes fill me. “I’m sorry if I said something that offended you, my lady. Please forgive me if I’ve done such a thing.”

  I don’t know what to do. I don’t know whether to let myself succumb to him or to fight it. If I continue to fight it, he might continue to think I'm upset with him. I lower my eyes briefly. But if I continue to allow myself to carelessly and completely give into his charm, I’ll be a wreck when we have to part ways.

  After a moment of silence, with Jordan just patiently stroking my back, rubbing my shoulders, I decide I’d rather have a broken heart than regrets. Than memories tainted by me rejecting Jordan’s closeness. So, I look up at him and say, “Oh, I was just trying to think of how I want the rest of the day to go, whatever of it we have left. And I was afraid I might not be able to think of something that would be able to follow how great last night was for you.” It’s a lie, but it’s a good one. It’s believable, and it’s partly true. I do want to spend the day with him. Explore his limits more before the weekend comes to a close.

  Jordan traces my cheek with his bejeweled fingers, looking completely calm and at peace. “Well, would you like to start with breakfast?” he asks. “My friends — the ones I had to abandon you for yesterday — they’re expecting me to join them again this morning. But I’d like to take you with me.” He snuggles me to him. “That is if you want to do that kind of thing.” He turns my face toward him and kisses my forehead. “If not, I can just tell them we’ve got other plans, and we can ditch them to do something else.”

  “No,” I say, climbing from his lap to take his face in my hands, “that sounds lovely. Besides” — I let my fingers drift seductively from his chin as I wander to the wardrobe to grab some clean clothes (something presentable) — “I’d like to meet your friends.” I give Jordan a smile though a pit opens up in my stomach again. “At least then, I’ll know who to thank for bringing you to me this weekend.”

  ***

  By the time Jordan takes me down to the hotel restaurant where everyone’s apparently agreed to have breakfast, service is already in full swing. Most tables are packed full. But as Jordan raises his hand, flagging the attention of a particular group of people sitting at a table closest to a fire, I realize I don’t have to worry.

  His friends are already here, already seated and saving a place for us.

  When Jordan and I reach the table, I recognize the two men who get up to greet him. They were the men with him at the Club last night. The taller, older, more rugged-looking of the two — definitely not sub-material goes to pat him on the shoulder. Jordan avoids the contact, snatching his hand up instead.

  “Been waiting for us long?” In his tone, I hear a splash of hope. Like he’s looking for a way to irritate this guy.

  “Not long enough,” the guy answers, chuckling.

  Jordan ignores him and pulls out a chair for me. I sit, and he scoots me all the way up to the table before sitting down in the chair right next to mine.

  The other guy, much younger looking, and more baby-faced (not as baby faced as Jordan), bumps fists with him. “Don’t worry about it. We kind of figured you might be a little slow in getting up” — he lowers his head closer to us — “and that this place was gonna be hella busy, so we decided to get here early and get a seat.”

  A blonde, sporting to-die-for curves next to him jumps in. She’s wearing a large, flashy engagement ring on her finger. “Don’t worry about Paul, hun,” she says, “he’s just angry because he didn’t get enough time with Mariah this morning.” She waggles her eyebrows at us before extending her hand. Her nails are impeccable like the rest of her. “Hi! I’m Jane, and you are?”

  I take her extended hand and shake it. “Bianca.”

  “Bianca,” Jane murmurs, “what a lovely name. Sounds beautifully classic.” I see her wink and smile at Jordan. I
’m not sure what that’s about, and I don’t care. All I care about is maybe getting some food and giving my good boy some attention while we’re here.

  “Why, thank you,” I say, slipping my hand down into my lap, and then over to Jordan’s. As he feels my hand come down on his jean-covered knee, he stiffens. Jumps a little, but quickly moves to cover it in the act of looking at a menu, which he brings over to me.

  I glance at it halfheartedly, deciding to put more attention into stroking Jordan’s inner thigh than actually picking out something to eat. Though I know I’ll have to.

  “This is Mariah,” Jane says as I turn my attention back to her. She points out the girl next to her, who is the opposite of her in every way. Curvaceous still, but more bookish. More reserved. She waves shyly. “And this,” Jane adds, doing a flourish around her like she is a game show hostess, “is Paul.”

  Paul, the tall rugged-looking fellow, lets his golden-brown eyes flirt with me. I can already tell he and I won’t get along.

  “Everyone, this is Bianca,” Jane says, finishing her introductions. She forgets to introduce her “honey.”

  I let her know by saying, “who’s that honey of yours, Jane?”

  Jane blushes. “Oopsie!” She hugs on her main squeeze as if he’s something she could never forget. “This is my fiancé, Alex.”

  “Hey, Bianca,” he says, letting an adorably geeky smile part his lips. For as cute as it is, it still doesn’t hold a candle to Jordan’s soft, silky lips. His radiant smile.

  Thinking this, I resume my stroking and petting of Jordan’s inner thigh. When the waitress comes by and asks for people’s orders, I start lightly touching his balls.

  Again, I feel him quiver. Jump. But again, he shows none of this above the table.

  Jordan and I both decide on the same thing: a cup of coffee. Good boy. Saving room for something more, I see.

  When the waiter departs, I set about asking how they all met. As I’m talking, I continue to stroke and caress Jordan's leg, inner thigh, and balls. Slowly making my way up to more and more of him. The more I touch, the more he trembles, but he still doesn’t give away the action happening under the radar.