by C. A. Bell
“Yeah? I bet no one’s ever hit you in these places before, huh, baby?”
“No,” she panted, her tits bouncing with every movement.
I continued to shag her senseless as I grabbed her tits and squeezed, using them to tug her down onto my dick.
She glanced over to the mirrored wall and smiled as she watched our reflection.
I followed her eye line and grinned. Fuck, I looked hot.
The Shemale
Brooke Knight
“Just get the fucker in my office, now.” I slammed the phone down, seething.
Christine Lowe was in for it, big time. The stupid little bimbo had yet again let me down on the main article for my magazine. As far as I was concerned, she was out on her arse. Today.
Knocking on the door forced me to stand and ready myself to give her the bollocking of her life.
“Come.”
I watched the door open. “Oh, it’s you.”
In sauntered Ava, my assistant, swishing her beautiful long hair and sticking her ever-on-show amazing cleavage out.
I peeked down her top as she placed my black coffee on the desk.
“Calm down.”
My eyes snapped to hers. “Calm down? We go to print in a matter of hours and I’m supposed to calm down? Have you seen this?” I waved the papers in her face.
I’d only just had the time to run over it due to my hectic schedule and I was mortified. Not a sniff of filth anywhere, just flowery crap, good for one thing—wiping her smelly arse on.
“She’s out. I’ve had enough,” I said, lowering myself into my chair.
“I know. Just stay calm and do it the right way.”
“Fuck the right way, Ava. I own this magazine and everyone who works for it. She’s gone. End of.”
Her cheeks rose.
“What?”
“I love it when you get all powerful.”
My lip quirked. I glanced at her tits again and licked my lips. “I bet you do.”
“Any chance of you working late any time soon?”
I leant across my glass desk on my elbows. “I’ll check my diary.” I winked. “Now go. I have some serious stuff to attend to, and I can’t concentrate when your fine arse is here.”
“Yes, Miss.”
I watched her sway out of the room and smiled to myself. Ava was nice. Too needy for my liking, but fuck, what she could do with her tongue was beyond belief. Nowhere near as good as what mine could do, but still… she’d put any bloke to shame, just as I would.
Ava had made her attraction to me very clear when I first hired her. Her sexy glances my way, innuendos, and winks were hard to miss. And well, one night when I was working late and getting very fucking agitated with an associate on the phone, she came in and rubbed my shoulders, and that’s when I finally decided to give it to her. Not because she wanted it, but because I did. I didn’t have sex with just any old Tom, Dick, or Harriot as soon as they dropped their drawers, but that night I needed something, and Ava was that something. What we didn’t do over my desk you could list on one hand. I fucked her into tomorrow. Fisted, licked, squeezed, slapped, bit. You name it, we did it. I guess the poor thing still hadn’t gotten over it yet, because since then she had been hinting at me fucking her again. I felt bad for her really. She needed to move on from it now and get laid. God knew I’d had dozens of cocks and pussies since our little lesbian fuck.
A knock came at the door. I stood. “Come.”
I watched Christine creep in like a scared mouse as I took my seat again and crossed my legs.
“Sit.”
She slowly stepped over and slunk into the chair. She knew exactly what was coming.
“Brooke, I—”
“Save it. I’ve heard it all before. Did I or did I not tell you that you were on your last life here after the Tony Hill story?”
She looked to the floor and nodded.
“I’m letting you go, Christine.”
Her eyes stayed fixed to the black tiled floor for a few seconds before looking up at me, tears filling her eyes. One blink and the waterfall of woe-is-me was surely going to fall.
I didn’t have time for that.
“Look, you had your shot at this. You’re just not good enough. I need someone I can rely on. Someone who’ll say they’re gonna go and grab something by the balls, and then actually go above and beyond to come back with them on a silver platter.” I took a breath. “You say you’re going to go and grab a pair of hairy testicles and then come back with a pube. It’s not good enough.”
“I know.” She sniffed. “It’s just I’m having trouble at home. My—”
“Ah.” I held my hand up. “No excuses. I don’t care if your kid’s sick with Russian measles or your husband’s chopped his gonad off while shaving. Your personal life should not impact your work.”
“I know it’s no excuse, but if you’d just let me explain...”
I shook my head. “Sorry, Christine. You’re out. You’ll receive this month’s paycheque at the end of the month.”
I looked down at the paperwork on my desk and picked up where I’d left off.
“Is that it then? I’m supposed to get my stuff and go?”
I huffed. If she didn’t leave in the next ten seconds, I was going to rip her another arsehole. I’d been nice enough.
I looked up. “Yes, Christine. Get your belongings and leave.”
Her bottom lip started to shake.
“Please, Christine, have some bloody dignity. This is exactly what I mean about you. You’ve got no balls.”
In one swift movement, she stood.
“No balls? No fucking balls? Well, I ‘d like to see you get the filth on these people. The job’s a lot harder than it looks.”
I crossed my arms and rested back in my chair, observing her mood swing.
“Oh, you can sit there all high and mighty in your big fancy chair. But everyone knows what a bitch you are. Everyone here hates you and talks about you behind your back. You know what they call you?” She headed towards the door and grabbed the handle before twisting her neck to look at me. “The shemale. Because you’re too much of a dick not to have one.”
The slam from the door as she left sent my blood straight to boiling point. No one but me slammed that door. I stood instantly and headed for the door, stopping myself as I gripped the handle.
Count to ten. Remain professional. You can’t go out there and slap her in front of everyone.
I turned on my heels, frustrated, and took several large breaths as I made my way back to my seat, counting the clicks of my Louis Vuitton heels against the floor.
I crossed my legs and began to swivel side to side, pondering my next move.
Shemale. Ha! How pathetic. Do these cretins not have an original bone in their bodies?
I opened my top desk drawer and took out my Chanel mirror and lipstick. After applying it with precision, I replaced the lid, snapped the mirror shut, and stood. Straightening my pencil skirt, I headed out into the open plan office space to put on a show.
Pacing up the centre aisle, I stopped in the middle. “Attention, please.”
The whole room fell silent.
“I would just like to make you all aware of Christine’s departure.” I glanced over to her desk to see she’d continued her hissy fit and made a mess of her stationary and files. “She will no longer be working for Suave. And neither will anyone else if I ever hear you referring to me as ‘The shemale’.” I tried to make eye contact with someone, but they were all avoiding it like the plague. I continued, “And just so you impotent idiots are clear, I am not, and nor do I have, a dick. It’s obvious we have a problem here, and I have just realised what it is.” I looked around the entire room, boasting the power and confidence that I possessed. “It isn’t that I am a dick. It’s that I hired a bunch of pussies.”
I twisted on my heels, head high, back straight, and wiggled slowly back to my office smiling to myself.
Closing the door behind me
, I sniggered. My wit was amusing and clever, and I always made myself laugh. Yes, my sense of humour may have been on the wicked side. I laughed at things like people falling over, dropping drinks over themselves, or getting rejected in public. But that was me. I couldn’t help it. Misfortune made me giggle.
I grabbed the shitty info Christine had managed to pull together for Suave’s article on Lennox Grant, one of London’s richest men who was in a love triangle, and skimmed it again, shaking my head at the utter bore-fest.
Pressing the intercom on my desk I directed Ava to get me Lennox’s people on the phone.
If I wanted balls on a platter, I’d have to rip them off and serve them up myself.
****
“Please, come through, Miss Knight,” the huge, muscular man in the very well-tailored suit said as he welcomed me into Lennox’s gaudy, gold decorated home. If you could call it a home. I thought my place was big, but holy mother of all that was holy. You could fit the average catholic family in here and still have room for God.
I followed the big guy through the mansion, checking out the erotic art on the walls, and lavish coloured vases scattered about the place.
“Miss Knight,” he announced as he stepped through some open glass doors that led out onto what looked like a patio surrounding a huge pool.
I side-stepped around him so I could get a better view of who he was broadcasting to.
“Miss Knight.” A man rose from a sun lounger and presented his hand to me as he removed his shades.
I smiled. Lennox Grant was hotter in real life than he was in his pictures.
“Mr. Grant, I presume.” I took his hand firmly.
“Come, come, now, you don’t presume, Miss Knight. You know.”
“Brooke is fine, Mr. Grant.”
“And so is Lennox.” He winked before shooing the muscled man off.
I checked out my surrounding. The garden was lovely. Tall trees lined the entire place for privacy, and a patio complete with bar, outdoor furniture, and an open pit fire ran the circumference of the rectangular pool.
I looked down into the clear water, chlorine and summer smells filling my nose.
“Would you like a drink?”
I took out my turquoise Tiffany pen, black leather notepad, and Dictaphone. “No, thanks.”
“Sure? My man can knock up almost anything. Cosmopolitan, whiskey sour, Tom Collins.” He slipped his shades back on. “Sex on the beach.”
I fought to hold back my grin. He was flirting with me already. I knew he would. I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Lennox Grant was notorious for chasing after powerful, attractive women. And, well, there was one sitting right in front of him. It was inevitable that he was going to come on to me at some point, or at least play with me a little.
I shook my head. “No, really. I’m fine.”
He took his position back on the sun lounger after grabbing his drink from the table. “Suit yourself.”
“May I?” I pointed to the sunbed next to him.
“Of course. How rude of me. Please.” He held his hand out to the seat.
Propping my bum on the edge and facing him, I switched on my Dictaphone. I didn’t need to take notes, the recording device was enough, but it was good to have a backup, just in case the phone hadn’t worked. Plus, it gave me a chance to use my fabulous pen.
“As you know, Mr… Lennox… my employee, Christine, who came to see you, forgot to ask a few questions.”
“You mean she couldn’t get any dirt on me?”
I ignored him. “Is it true your fiancé left you and is now living with Frank Le Corre?”
“You know it is.”
“Okay. Can you tell me what happened?”
“We came to a mutual agreement that our relationship had come to an end and we both wanted to go our separate ways. No hard feelings. We are still very good friends.”
“So the rumours about her and Frank’s affair aren’t true and that’s not the reason she left?”
He pushed his shades down his nose. “I love your directness and the courtesy of not beating around the bush, but no. Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not true.”
I looked down at my blank pad. I knew all of this. I was just warming up for the biggie.
I shuffled to get comfortable. I was going in for the kill with my exclusive and reliable gossip—the information that pussy Christine had been too scared to mention.
“So can you tell me what all the commotion was on Friday night at Bar Noir?”
I watched closely. His lip quirked. Bingo. He took a swig from his drink and sat up, turning to face me as he took his shades off again.
“What commotion?”
“It’s been reported that you and your now ex fiancé were seen having a very heated debate in the bar before leaving together.”
He tried to play it cool. “More gossip.”
“So you weren’t at Bar Noir on Friday night?”
“I think this meeting is over, Miss Knight.”
“Why?”
“Because no one makes me feel uncomfortable in my own home.”
“I do apologise. I guess I shall just have to go on what I’ve got then, gossip or not.” I stood, closing my pad. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Grant.”
I turned to head out.
“Hold on.”
My cheeks rose slowly. Gotcha.
“Yes?” I said, turning to face him again.
“Please.” He nodded towards the seat I’d just left.
I sat back down and poised my pen.
“I was there. So was she. She wanted to know if she could come back. I told her she couldn’t. Then she told me she’d made a huge mistake and wanted me back. I told her I didn’t care, that it was over. That’s when she kicked off big time.”
I scribbled every word down, listening intently. This was hot shit. And exclusive.
“We left together because I wanted her out of there. I knew there was bound to be some paps or, as I know now, gossip mongers about, so I wanted her out.”
“Did you take her home, back to Frank’s?”
He downed the rest of his drink. “No, she came back here.”
Silence lingered. All that could be heard was the chirping of birds and aeroplanes coming to and from Heathrow passing overhead.
Oh God, tell me you did. Tell me you had hot, passionate, I fucking hate you sex, right here on this chair.
“And?” I asked, willing the next words out of his mouth to be juicy.
“We had sex.”
I nearly wet myself with excitement. This stuff was H.O.T. and straight from the horse’s mouth. My rival magazine, Superior Buzz, were gonna slap themselves in the face with a wet fish when they read this one.
“The kind of sex that makes you want to punch them in the face but stick your tongue down their throat and tell them you love them, too,” he went on.
I continued to make notes, verbatim.
“And in the morning she went home.”
“Have you seen her since?”
“No. Not heard a peep.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Listen, you’ve got your story. Don’t make this harder for me than it already is by printing shit about my emotions. You’ve got what your readers want.”
I nodded. He was right. The majority of my readers just wanted the dirt. They didn’t care about how anyone felt.
“Thank you, Mr. Grant.” I held my hand out as I stood, eager to wrap this up and get away so we could go back to print. It was costing me by the hour having the printing company on hold.
“What are you doing later?” he asked, shaking my hand.
“Nothing.” I smiled.
“Do you fancy joining me for a drink?”
I knew it. He wanted me.
“I could be persuaded.”
There was no way in hell I was going to say no. This man was sexy as fuck, and mixing business with pleasure never concerned me.
“Here. Eight o�
�clock? We can chill by the pool.”
“I’ll bring my bikini.”
“No need.” He winked.
I smiled mischievously. I liked a man who wasn’t subtle about his intentions of getting me naked.
“See you later then.”
He beamed and gestured with a nod towards the glass doors. “I’ll show you out.”
I followed him back through the house, checking out his cute butt as I shadowed him. Later, his balls were literally going to be served up quite nicely.
Like Fucking a Pretzel with Hair
Max Harper
Alice. Nope. Amanda. Nope. Anna. Nope.
I continued to scroll through my phone looking for a booty call. I’d been busy all day, working out, getting measured up for new suits, and selecting new wines for my cellar. And right now, I needed a shag before tonight’s testosterone filled cigar tasting. I loved these nights—a bunch of wealthy fuckers all sitting around drinking whiskey, smoking the finest cigars, and taking about women. My idea of heaven. The only thing that could top it off would be to have a nice blonde on her knees sucking me off while I basked in the ambience and smoke.
Clarisa. Yes. I pressed the call button and listened.
“Hello, you. Long time, no hot sex.”
“You too, huh?”
She laughed. “Yeah, right. Like either one of us hasn’t been laid in the last twelve hours.”
“Two of a kind, baby.”
“Mhm. What can I do for you, stud?”
“You can get your fine arse round my place sharpish and in my face so I can give you a good licking.”
“Ooh, I love it when you talk so blunt. Makes my little panties wet.”
I squeezed my semi hard cock through my trousers. “Get your sexy arse and those wet panties over here now. I wanna taste.”
“Be there in half an hour.”
“Perfect.”
I hung up and slipped my hand inside my boxers. I desperately wanted to make myself come, but at the same time, wanted to deny myself for as long as possible, just so I could explode like a champagne bottle all over Clarisa’s face. I was a hard comer anyway, but when I’d been working myself up for a while, I was convinced I could knock teeth out with it.