by Leda Swann
His breath was coming fast and shallow. “Your cunt is so hot and wet for me,” he grunted as he thrust deeply into her, “I can’t hold on much longer.”
Her pussy was tingling, as she felt herself on the verge of coming again. Grabbing his hips, she urged him to plunge deeper into her, wanting to feel him explode inside her. “Come inside me.”
One last guttural moan and his face contorted as his cock throbbed and pulsed deep in her cunt.
Feeling his orgasm pushed her over the edge. She exploded into a million tiny tremors, each one more intense than the one before, until she could only lay, limp and exhausted, under him.
Finally he rolled off her and took her into his arms. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold out any longer.”
“It was plenty long enough for me,” she murmured back sleepily. Two orgasms in one night and she was more than content.
“That was the first time I’ve made love with a woman since my wife died.”
Her sleepiness suddenly dissipated, replaced with surprise. “But that was—”
“That was Christmastime five years ago. I know.”
“And you have never had a lover since?” A man like Robert would surely have dozens of women panting after him. How many men were there in the world who had what he had? Oodles of money, a hot body and a touch that could melt an ice queen.
“Since Lisa died, I never met a woman I wanted to take to bed. Until you came along.”
She was silent, not knowing what to say to a man who had just unburdened his soul to her. How little she knew about Robert Barron.
The awkward silence was broken with a chuckle. “How could I resist a woman who creamed her panties when I was strip-searching her?”
His words only reminded her of the tenuous nature of her position. Sooner or later, he would want answers from her. And she would not want to give him any. “I should go.”
His arms tightened around her. “Stay the night.”
She hesitated. The bed was warm and Robert Barron was warmer. Outside was nothing but a cold wind and a long, cold walk back to her empty apartment. The temptation to stay curled up with him was great.
He wasn’t such a bad sort of man. Anyone who fucked like that couldn’t be all bad. Especially someone who had seen to her pleasure—twice—even though it had been five years since his last fuck.
“Please.”
The wistfulness in his voice settled it. Relaxing into his embrace, she stayed.
Chapter Two
Bonny awoke with the wintry sun filtering through the bare trees outside the window. The white sheets around her were disheveled with the gymnastics of the night before, and the comforter was all bunched up on one side.
She looked over at Robert, sleeping peacefully on his side. God, he had a nice body. She was surprised that a business mogul like him had the time to keep himself so well toned. Maybe he’d had nothing better to do since he lost his wife. He sure hadn’t spent his time picking up women. She was his first fuck in five years. Small wonder he’d exploded as soon as he’d thrust into her pussy. Not that she could complain. She’d exploded pretty damned fast too, and she didn’t even have the same excuse.
Her eyes were drawn to his cock hiding under the sheet, also sleeping peacefully, so different to the vibrant and rigid member it had been last night.
Just the memory of that wonderful cock in her cunt made her nipples harden and her pussy moisten.
He’d liked her Brazilian, too. She liked a man who appreciated a naked pussy.
And yet, despite the tingling in her pussy, she worried about the situation she had allowed herself to get into. How had breaking into his house ended up with them fucking each other senseless and then her sleeping all night in his bed?
So, what now, Beagle? she thought to herself. Sneak out before he wakes? Wake him up and leave? Stay for breakfast? Well, Beagle, you dumbass, you’ve put yourself into this, you can damn well get yourself out again.
Her musing was interrupted when she noticed Robert’s eyes were open, watching her. He hadn’t moved, but he was awake. How long had he been like that?
“Good morning. Sleep well?” His voice was husky with contentment.
“Mmmmm,” she said noncommittally. “And you?” She should have gone home last night after all. Mornings after were impossibly awkward.
“Like a baby. You were so responsive, so exciting, you wore me out.” He gently stroked her smooth mound. “And this, this is a delight.”
The discussion had caused his cock to stir to a semierect state, and was now quite clearly outside the sheet.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay for a while longer. To stay for just one more taste of his cock before she left. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I more than like it. It’s exquisitely sexy. And great for kissing.” To prove the point Robert flung back the remaining sheet and kissed at the top of her hairless pussy, his tongue questing for her clit, but not quite being able to reach.
Her good sense made one last play to be heard. “Do you think this is wise?”
Robert looked up at her, resting his head on her upper thighs. “You smell nice.” He glanced down at her cunt, just inches from his nose. “Look, it’s Christmas, goodwill to all men and women, and all that. I’m not going to turn you in to the cops, and you’re clearly not going to rob me and run, or you would have done so already.”
“You don’t know anything about me. Not even my name.”
“Maybe not, but I do know that I like you, and that you turn me on.”
“It’s Bonny, by the way.”
“Bonny. A pretty name.” He spoke to her pussy rather than to her face. “Speaking for myself, I’d rather we let go of the past and concentrate on the future. Friends now, not enemies.”
To reinforce the point he nuzzled up to her pussy again, and despite her misgivings about climbing into bed with Robert Barron, Bonny couldn’t help but open her legs to afford him better access to her clit.
Robert took the hint and the initiative and wriggled around so that he knelt between her legs. There was no resistance when he lifted her knees and spread her legs wider.
“Pass me a pillow,” he ordered her, his face muffled in her pussy.
His breath tickled her. She giggled and passed him one of his big feather pillows.
He placed it under her ass and pushed it up to the small of her back, lifting her ass and legs into the air. With the pillow under her, she was completely exposed and open to his gaze and to whatever else he might wish. Grabbing the back of her knees she pulled back even further, causing her pussy to gape in pink anticipation.
After a moment’s pause to enjoy the view, Robert bent down and gave her a long lingering lick with a flat tongue from her asshole, up over her cunt, to her engorged clit. Encouraged by her moan of pleasure he gave her several more laps before probing her pussy with the point of his tongue. As he fucked her with his tongue he lightly rubbed her easily accessible asshole with his finger. He felt her shiver as he gently slipped in the tip of his finger. “Is that okay?” He needed to prove to her that there was more to his bedroom style than what he had shown her already. He wanted to give her something a little different to make up for his speed in coming the previous night. Something fun and sexy at the same time. And a little bit daring.
“Mmmm, I like it.” The reply was husky. The increasing wetness of her pussy confirmed her words.
He continued to lap at her pussy with short strokes of her clit. Sensing when the effect was bringing her to the brink, he moved to taste the wet opening just below. All the while his finger moved effortlessly in short strokes in her ass.
He looked up from her pussy, wondering how far she would want to go and what would turn her on. “Would you like to try something a bit different?”
Bonny, eyes glazed with lust and the pleasure he was giving her, nodded.
Reaching across to his bedside drawers, he rummaged around for a minute. Ah, there it was. God, he hadn’t used any of
this stuff for years. He hoped it was still all there.
Yep—just as he’d left it. A soft rubber butt plug. Tapered at the point, it fattened to a reasonable diameter at its middle then narrowed again at the base. As a touch of fun it was colored with bright blue and red swirls.
Applying a generous amount of lube he eased it into her accommodating ass.
She panted at the feeling as it reached its widest point, a moan of pleasure escaping her throat as it slipped all the way to its disc-like base.
A look of concern crossed his face. “Is that okay?”
She couldn’t help but rub her clit. “Better than okay. Move it in and out a bit.”
He pulled gently until the plug reached its widest point, then allowed it to slip back in. Repeating the movement several times, he watched her approach her orgasm.
Leaving her teetering on the brink of an orgasm, he stopped and brought his cock to the entrance of her pussy. After rubbing the head over her wet entrance a few times, he slid into her hot pussy.
Her position with the pillow in the small of her back allowed for complete penetration, and his cock was angled to rub at her G-spot. She clutched at the pillow by her head, barely able to breathe. She had never felt so full, the butt plug in her ass and the large cock sliding in and out of her cunt. Too soon her climax came, and she cried out in absolute pleasure as his cock made short strokes over the sensitive entrance of her pussy.
Robert removed his still hard cock and moved around to her side.
“I saw you come. You look liked you saw heaven.” As he spoke he stroked his cock, slick with her juices and wiggled the butt plug a bit. “Did you like this?”
She looked at him dreamily. At first her eyes focused on his cock, only inches from her face. And he was stroking himself without the least bit of embarrassment. She’d never had a lover do that in front of her before. It was turning her on all over again.
“I’ve never done anything like that before. I would have thought having that thing stuffed in my ass would hurt but it didn’t. It felt good going in, and once it was in I felt really full. Like your cock was really huge. Porn star huge.”
Throughout her monologue he continued to massage his cock, a grin spreading across his face. “You sound like a blasted reporter,” he said with a laugh. “Now, play with your clit while I come across your gorgeous tits with their pointy dark pink nipples. I want to make them sticky with my cum.”
She looked into his eyes, then at his cock, while he rubbed his hand over the purplish head. Without too much conscious thought she teased her clit as instructed.
With one hand Robert massaged his cock with full firm strokes, while the other toyed with the butt plug, still buried deep in her ass.
Incredibly, so it seemed to Bonny, she was about to come again, even though his cock had brought her to such a peak barely minutes ago.
She could see by the fierce grimace on his face that he was about to come. Her own rubbing increased in tempo, as she watched Robert stroking his cock furiously until with a strained cry his cum splattered with some force across her breasts.
Seeing him come with such intensity brought on her own climax, and just as she cried out in pleasure he slowly pulled the plug from her ass, tripling the power of the ecstasy flooding her brain. The butt plug spread her ass wide, her clit was on fire, flooding her brain with unimagined pleasure, paralyzing her body with the exquisite sensations coursing through her.
She lay there, quite simply unable to move, breath coming in short pants. He lay beside her, his own breathing heavy with exertion. He pulled the sheet over her, keeping the cold away.
Slowly her body came back to life, and she rolled to her side to snuggle up to the man beside her. Outside the dull sun had risen in the gray sky, the dormant tree silhouetted in the window.
* * * * *
She wouldn’t have gone looking for it. Not deliberately. Not after she had shared his bed.
But there it was on his desk, the proof that she had been looking for, that Robert Barron, so generous to her, had the soul of a miserly Scrooge. There was nothing else she could do but stop and read it. She was a journalist, after all.
There it was in black and white. Signed contracts for the property development that would dispossess the poorest of the poor. Everything she needed and more. Her stomach felt sick at the thought that she had shared her body with a man who could thrust the poor and the helpless out into the streets just before Christmas.
She would make up for what she had done. By presenting his vileness to the world she could make up for having thought, for one glorious night, that maybe, just maybe, Robert Barron was a man who deserved her love.
Just a few moments ago she had been flying high. Now she had ice on her wings and was ready to crash.
The shower was still running in the bathroom. Moving quietly, she picked up her shoes in one hand and the incriminating papers in the other and moved off down the stairs.
The front door was soon unbolted. Without even pausing to put on her shoes, she took off down the street, running as if all the hounds of Hell were after her.
* * * * *
She was gone. He sat at the kitchen table, a cup of strong black coffee at his elbow, the Sunday newspaper rolled up next to his empty plate and forced himself to face facts. There was no point hoping for a Christmas miracle. She was gone and she wasn’t coming back. This holiday season was shaping up to be as lonely as the last four had been.
Hell, if she wanted to find him, she knew who he was and where he lived. That was more than he knew about her. Bonny. That was all. No surname, no phone number, nothing else that could identify her. Not even enough to get a private investigator on the case. He’d tried, but the dick had just laughed him off the phone. Wouldn’t even take the retainer he offered.
Bonny. He rolled the name around on his tongue. Even the sound of it was like a caress.
If she had wanted to see him again, she’d be able to manage it. She’d already shown him that locks couldn’t stop her.
He’d hardly left the house in the last week just in case she decided to drop by again, but he was out of luck. There wasn’t a cat burglar to be found.
He sipped at his coffee and unrolled the Sunday paper, and for the first time in a week he forgot all about Bonny.
The headline blazed out at him. “Robert Barron—the latest Scrooge”. With growing disbelief he read the front-page article. A lead article lambasting him for his latest property development, a development that would, according to the article, raze several blocks of inner city slums and turf the inhabitants out on the streets in the middle of winter, just before Christmas, to freeze and to starve. He, Robert Barron, was being publicly accused, on the front page of a respectable Sunday newspaper, of callous, savage, premeditated murder.
It was a travesty of justice. A complete travesty. Righteous indignation swelled in his chest until it threatened to explode right out of him. The reporter clearly had a personal grievance against him to misrepresent the truth so blatantly, though what it was, he had no idea. The reporter hadn’t even had the courage to sign his whole name to the litany of lies that he printed. The byline simply read “B. Eagle”.
He pushed aside his coffee cup and got to his feet, his depression forgotten on the instant. Bonny was a mystery he still had to solve, but she would have to wait until he had first unmasked B. Eagle and forced a public apology for the scurrilous and utterly unjustified attack on his business dealings. Such lies could ruin a man’s reputation and his credit rating if they gained credence.
B. Eagle would eat his words publicly or he would sue the little muckraker and the paper that printed his lies and ruin them both.
Newspaper companies were famed for their deep pockets, but his were deeper. And he’d spend every last penny to keep his good name intact. As it deserved to be.
His red sports car smoked the distance to the newspaper offices downtown. Sunday or no Sunday, they could damn well answer to him right now.
He stalked into the newspaper offices, ignoring the frightened-looking receptionist on the front desk and striding straight into the offices of the editor behind her. Tossing his paper down on the desk, he glared at the small man sitting behind the desk. “This is a bunch of lies. I want a retraction and I want it now. Front page of tomorrow’s newspaper, or I sue you and your paper for defamation.”
“Robert Barron, I presume.”
“Damn right I’m Robert Barron.”
The editor steepled his hands in front of his face. “I can’t print a retraction just because you dislike the story, Mr. Barron,” he said in a snooty voice. “I need rather more to go on than your complaint.”
Robert tossed a handful of papers onto the desk in front of the man. “Here is all the proof you need. Call my lawyer if you have any further questions.”
The editor picked up the papers and looked through them.
Robert Barron waited.
“Hmm, I see. This does put a rather different light on the matter.”
“Damn right it does. And one more thing. I want you to fire the reporter who made up those lies. Call him in right here and now and fire him.”
For the first time since he’d walked into the man’s office, the editor looked irritated. Worried even. “You want me to fire Beagle?”
“Damn right I do.”
The editor tossed the papers into a heap on his desk. “I expect it’s all a misunderstanding. Beagle is one of the best cubs I’ve got. Just about ready for a promotion to senior, too.”
“Misunderstanding, my ass.” He wasn’t going to be placated with such rubbish. “Call him in right here. Now.”
The editor sighed. “If you insist.” He picked up the phone on his desk and buzzed the receptionist. “Send Beagle in here, will you.”
Robert waited, his fury mounting against the weasel of a reporter who had written such lies about him.
By the time he had finished with him, Beagle would rue the day he made up such scurrilous lies.
Bonny opened the door to the editor’s office with no more than the usual trepidation she felt when summoned by the boss. She’d done a great job on the Barron story, even the editor had said so. Maybe this was payback time. Promotion time. Her insides did a little dance thinking about it. She’d been waiting for it for so long.