Buying A Bride

by Cassandra Dee

  But I scolded myself, mentally berating the hope within. Geez Louise, the little voice went, get a grip! The CEO of Luxor just caught you (1) feeling yourself up in the bathroom, (2) looking at porn on your work computer, and (3) with a drawer full of sex toys. Ever heard of three strikes you’re out? Well, girlie, you just used up your three strikes.

  Except evidently this wasn’t the three strikes game. Instead, I was a cat with nine lives and it wasn’t clear I’d used up even one life. Because instead of kicking me to the curb, ordering security to escort me out of the building, the big man was still talking, curiously casual and relaxed in the chair despite his massive hard-on.

  “Sure, I can help you with stress,” his tone of voice casual, blue eyes gleaming wickedly, “but I need you to help me with something first.”

  I sat up straight in my chair.

  “Anything,” I babbled, “Just give me a chance and I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  The man chuckled at that.

  “Baby, you’re going to find my request a little unprofessional but I guess you’re used to that right?” he smirked. I wanted to slap him right then, slap that smirk right off that sensuous, chiseled mouth, but stopped myself and forced myself to look grateful instead, pasting a smile on my face.

  “Yes,” I promised. “I’ll do anything.”

  And the man just grinned at me lazily, like a cat playing with a mouse.

  “Show me your pussy,” he drawled. “I want to see that pussy one more time today before I get back to work.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “Wha-what?” I stuttered. I’d thought we were done with the unprofessional, the naughty acts that had already landed me in hot water, but evidently not.

  “You heard me,” he growled. “Put your legs up on the desk and show me that pretty cunt,” he commanded, brows lowering ominously. “I know you don’t have your underwear, it’s in my pocket now,” he smirked. “But I want to see that pink kitty one last time before getting back to work.”

  And I stared at Nick still, my breathing fast, before slowly pushing back my chair and lifting my stilettos to rest them on the desk. Oh god, why had I worn fuck-me heels today? Oh god, it’d been the wrong day and I swallowed heavily.

  “Like … like this?” I trembled.

  The man stared at me hard.

  “Don’t pretend to be so innocent,” he threatened, his voice a low rasp. “I know that slutty cunt wants to come out, so do it,” he hissed. By now, the big man had pulled his dick out and was stroking it slowly, the tip glistening, a bead of white forming at the top.

  I gasped at his nasty words, so dirty yet turning me on. And true to form, my cunt was running wetly already, the moistness unmistakable between my thighs. So slowly, oh so slowly, I obeyed. I pulled my skirt up, hitching it over my thighs and began spreading my legs, more and more creamy white thigh coming into view.

  “That’s it,” rasped Nick, his eyes never leaving the widening vee, gazing at it hungrily, his hand a blur on his dick now. “Keep going.”

  And slowly, I parted my legs, opening myself up until my pink pussy was on display once more with the man’s heated gaze sliding over my folds, making me moisten even more, a sweet drip of nectar collecting at my hole before running down into my crack.

  “Oh!” I cried softly, never taking my eyes from his. “Oh!”

  But the man hadn’t had enough yet.

  “Show me your clit,” he growled, eyes glued to my twat.

  And my hands slipped between my thighs to obey. With one finger on each side of my labia, I pulled my nether lips apart until he could see straight up my inner channel, the pink walls pulsing, wet and delicious under his gaze. Shamefully, my clit was positively vibrating with pleasure, hard and alert, standing up between my folds, I was so turned on.

  “Play with yourself,” he ground out, running his hand up and down his shaft as he stared at my secret space.

  And as if in a trance, I obeyed. I circled a finger around my clit, lightly rubbing it, making myself moan as tingles ran from my cunt throughout my insides, my pussy gushing wetly at the sensation. And teasingly, I dropped another finger into my hole, inserting it into the soft flesh, working it into my vaginal opening all the while moaning with pleasure, my head lolling on my shoulders.

  “Oh Nick,” I sighed, never taking my eyes from his big form. “Oh gawd.”

  And we stroked ourselves in rhythm, me frigging my little puss, the big man running his hand up and down his dick. It was amazing, we were in concert with one another, making each other feel good without actually touching, our minds attuned, our bodies in sync. And it was so sensuous, so dirty, that I began to come, a tidal wave cresting in my pussy, dragging me under with rolling waves of pleasure, making my cunny shake and clamp as I screamed.

  And the big man wasn’t immune either. But instead of coming wetly in his hand, he leaped over to my side of the desk and pointed his dick at my naked cunt, spurting heavy reams of white all over my pussy, lash after lash of hot juice hitting my clit, my hole, spattering my thighs and dripping all over my butt. I shrieked even louder, the dirtiness overwhelming me. I’ve dreamed nasty dreams, seen a lot of depraved acts on the internet, but never had I actually done anything with a man, had a strange man spray his semen onto my cunt.

  And I loved it, I loved every second of it, feeling that hot jism hit me again and again, drenching me in his sticky juices. The semen was a creamy white, running between my thighs, splashing me everywhere, making me gasp and moan with lust, thrashing under the fire hose of his spray, my cunt spasming to draw it up inside me.

  And after Nick finished, he shook his dick off a little, further spattering me, the droplets hitting me everywhere but I didn’t care. At this point, he could have creamed on my face and I would have gladly licked my lips and asked for more.

  And the big man knew it. He could tell that I was basically his sex slave at this point, my body in thrall to him, a panting, heaving, trembling mess. Chuckling deeply in his throat, the billionaire watched hungrily as I massaged the sweet jism into my folds, pushed it up my hole and into my sweet cunt.

  “That’s right,” he growled, his eyes on fire even as he tucked his dick back into his trousers, zipping up and looking perfectly groomed in an instant, not a hair out of place. “I’ve marked your pretty little pussy and you’re going to go around all day with my semen on your skin,” he rasped, eyes ravenous, gazing at my lush form sprawled in the chair. “You’re mine now.”

  And without a backwards glance, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving me gasping, panting, oh-so-turned on … and desperate for more.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tammy

  I didn’t know what to think. I’d had a career high and a career low in the space of half an hour, the events so incredible that I couldn’t wrap my head around them.

  “Oh my god, are you serious?” breathed Marie into the phone. I’d gotten to know the sales clerk at the Pink Cherry so well that we were bona fide friends now, calling each other and gossiping on a rainy night.

  “Yeah,” I said, my cheeks flushing as I thought back to the events of the day. “Nick caught me red-handed and I dunno, it was so …”

  My sentence trailed off but Marie interrupted.

  “Super hot? Super steamy? Like you wanted to lick him all over, devour that big cock?” she asked, giggling.

  And I laughed breathlessly too, my cheeks flushing again. Because it’d been the greatest sexual experience of my life, in fact the only sexual experience I’d ever had and I was so turned on that I wanted to see Nick again … to my utter shame. But before I could process my feelings, Marie barreled on ahead.

  “So what happens next?” she asked breathlessly. “Do you fuck him now? Does he come hard into your pussy? Oh my god, please say you’ll use one of the toys from the Pink Cherry with him,” she gushed.

  “Marie, I- I think we’ll be using more than one,” I said, stuttering a little. “Because he caught me with a
drawer full of your inventory, I’ve been diddling myself at work in my free time.”

  “Oh my gawwwd, are you serious?” my friend screamed into my ear. “You dirty, dirty slut! You wicked, nasty, evil girl! You’ve been boning yourself at work? You go, girl!”

  I didn’t correct her and say that I hadn’t actually used all of my Pink Cherry toys. Instead, I’d stuck with the vanilla ones, the massagers, the clamps, flicking them on my clit, playing with my nips, making me moan and sigh. I dunno, the dildos were still too scary for me. After all, I’m a virgin down there and the thought of popping my own cherry? Hell no. It was too much, my thighs automatically tensing, my pelvis tightening at the thought of a massive penis on me.

  But somehow with Nick it was completely different. The thought of his cock buried in my pussy made me feel melty and warm, a little tingle starting down below, growing breathless, my lungs tightening with anticipation and arousal. It was weird, Nick’s cock just had that effect on me, the ten inch erection making me tremble and shiver, my insides growing warm. But Marie didn’t have to know about this, so I hedged.

  “I dunno,” I said into the phone cautiously, “Mr. Martin implied he wanted more but didn’t exactly stay around to make plans.”

  “Of course not!” squealed the blonde. “This isn’t a guy who carries his calendar around with him. He has people who do that for him, his people will call your people and then you’ll set up a date, and then he’ll put his dick in your pussy, and then you’ll have to tell me all about it.”

  I just rolled my eyes. Marie was so over-the-top with this sex stuff, in her mind sharing was truly caring. But I was a little more circumspect.

  “Marie, I don’t have any people, I answer my own phones and do everything myself,” I reminded her gently. “If Nick Martin wants to send his people over, then they’ll just be dealing with yours truly.”

  And the blonde giggled again into the phone.

  “I bet he will,” she said wickedly. “He’s gonna do something, an alpha male like that doesn’t just walk away without touching your pussy.”

  And I smiled again to myself, huffing a sigh.

  “Okay girl, I’ll let you know,” I promised, feigning a yawn. “Now I’ve got to get to bed, it’s almost midnight. Why aren’t you in bed too? Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

  “Not until the night shift,” she said smugly. “The Pink Cherry is open until 4 a.m., you know, for folks who want to get it on late.”

  And I laughed again. Oh right, horizontal shenanigans often happened in the wee hours of the night, I was just so beat by the time I got home that I’d forgotten that people actually had active sex lives after they hit the sheets.

  “Okay, gotta go girlie, talk to you later,” I replied and hung up.

  But once I was alone, I let out a saucy smile in the quiet of my room, my body tingling once more. I was dying to see Nick again, dying to touch that hard body, see him without any clothes on in his full manly glory. I wanted to see his cock again, touch it, taste it, maybe rub it against myself, let it rub my pussy, and was that so wrong? After all, a gorgeous, powerful man had just landed on my doorstep and seemed more than a little interested. I gushed again, my panties soaked as my pussy clenched with anticipation. Oh yeah, I was eager, willing, shit, dying for him.

  But that was all tomorrow. In the meantime, I needed to get a good night’s rest for my commute at the crack of dawn again tomorrow. Fall asleep, I commanded myself. Fall asleep, you’ve got a lot on your plate.

  And after counting about a million sheep, restlessly tossing and turning, finally I fell into a shallow slumber, my face hot on my pillow as my curvy body relaxed, my breathing still.

  When the alarm buzzed the next morning, I was up in a flash, jumping off my mattress. Instead of sleepily pulling on my usual uniform of a skirt and blouse, I carefully squeezed myself in a sheath dress, a body-skimming purple outfit that hugged my curves without being over the top. It was snug at my bust and bottom, but with a modest neckline and knee-length. Pairing the dress with violet pumps was the perfect match and I tried to blow dry my hair a bit, carefully aiming the diffuser at my curls so that they hung just so, a gleaming mass down my back.

  And fortunately I didn’t see that disgusting middle-aged guy again on my morning ride. Heaving a sigh of relief I sank into a seat by the window, dreamily looking out the window, thinking of Nick as the wheels started to turn.

  But after I let myself in Luxor Corp., I was in for a shock. Because there was nothing in my office, it was a small, windowless space without a scrap of furniture inside.

  “What the?” I gasped. “What’s going on here? Where’s all my stuff? Where’s my spare jacket?” I always left a nice blazer on the back of the door in case I was called into a business meeting but my real worry was my drawer of sex toys. Oh god, I’d left that locked last night, right? Hopefully it hadn’t come spilling open when they manhandled the desk out the door. Or worse, taken pliers to the lock and busted it open.

  But the movers were unhelpful, shrugging at my question.

  “We were told to move everything in here to another location. Didn’t someone tell you?” a scraggly looking guy answered, picking at his teeth with a finger.

  “No, no one told me anything. When I left yesterday at 5 p.m. I thought everything was fine!” I choked. “I never expected to come in and find … this,” I said helplessly, gesturing at the empty space. Now that my metal desk and chair were gone, the windowless office looked even smaller and sadder, the walls a pale yellow, the floor a shiny institutional grey.

  “I dunno,” shrugged the scraggly guy again. “Ask up top.”

  “Fine. I’m getting on the phone with HR,” I said tightly. “They can’t just do this to me,” I huffed.

  But evidently they could. When I finally got through to HR, the woman was just as dismissive.

  “What was your name?” the woman drawled.

  “Jones,” I replied tightly. “Tammy Jones.”

  “Jones … Jones … Jones, there are so many Joneses at Luxor. Did you say you were Tabitha? Teresa? Tamara?”

  And I interrupted there.

  “Yes, Tamara is my full name, I go by Tammy,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Tammy is short for Tamara.”

  “Right, right,” said the woman disinterestedly. “Hmm, let’s see what it says here. What’s your social security number?”

  “My social?” I choked. “I’m just trying to figure out where my stuff is, can’t you do that with just my badge number?” I pleaded. This was entering the seventh circle of hell and I was desperate to locate my missing drawer. “Please,” I added, a choked tone in my voice. “I don’t know my social off the top of my head.”

  And the woman seemed to take pity on me.

  “Okay, yeah says here that you’ve been transferred to headquarters.”

  “Headquarters?” I sputtered. “Why? Where is that?”

  “I dunno, you’ll have to ask your boss,” replied the woman again, clearly bored. “We just process paperwork. Your new office will be at 1 Time Warner Center.”

  And I gasped then. The Time Warner Center was probably the most expensive piece of real estate in Manhattan, prized for the building’s unobstructed view of both the Hudson River and Central Park.

  “You mean at Columbus Circle?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Of course at Columbus Circle,” snapped the woman. “What other Time Warner Center is there?”

  And slowly, I put the receiver down. I’d certainly moved up in life if my new offices were going to be in such a shi-shi location. I only prayed that my desk was still there, intact with the drawer locked.

  Slowly, I put on my coat and walked the few blocks to the new place, breathing in the air, letting my lungs expand and deflate slowly, taking deep breaths. The good thing about the Time Warner Center is that to get there from 666 Madison, I could walk along Central Park South and breathe in the scents of autumn, the unmistakable fiery smell of crackling leaves, the beautif
ul fall foliage turning the sky red and yellow.

  “You got this,” I told myself silently. “Just march in there like you belong and no one’s going to say a word.”

  So when I stepped into the lobby of the Time Warner office building, I flashed my badge with a confident smile and was immediately treated like a VIP.

  “Ms. Jones is here,” said the security guard, calling upstairs. He added, “They’re expecting you on the thirtieth floor.”

  “Thank you,” I said graciously, “Where are the elevators please?”

  And the guard gestured to a pair of doors that opened magically, not a whisper of sound despite their construction from heavy metal. I was whisked upstairs, the elevator so fast, so luxurious that within seconds the doors were flying open again to reveal an elegant foyer.

  I stepped in confidently and went straight up to the receptionist.

  “Hi, I’m Tammy Jones,” I said, business-like. “I’m not sure …”

  But the elderly woman gave me a kind smile.

  “Yes, we’ve been expecting you. I’m Norma,” she said, extending her hand. “We’ve desperately needed a new addition to the typing pool, so your arrival is much anticipated. Let me show you around.”

  A typist? My heart sank. This was definitely old-school, I hadn’t even realized that typists still existed in the modern era. But it wasn’t for me to say. I was lucky to not be fired and I wasn’t about to complain about a demotion from my marketing position.

  So I followed Norma around obediently, greeting various staff members including the guys who operated the copy machines to the in-house caterers who were whisking away a late breakfast of some type.

  “Oh wow, the view here is beautiful,” I said, pausing at a floor-length window in the conference room.