Curves for the Billionaire
Page 11
“I am, of course. Who did you expect to be?”
This is why my dad was worried, I realized. Old Mr Hudson had known him for years and knew how good he was at his job as an investment banker. This young upstart would only see the money he would lose if he lost Mrs North’s account. I decided it would be foolish to beg him for anything.
“Never mind, then.” I grabbed the side of the door wishing that I could back through it instead of having to turn around and walk through it. My mother claimed that the cheeks of my ass were visible under the skirt, but I disagreed totally. The only things visible were the tops of my thighs as they curved into my ass, but I didn’t particularly want him seeing that much of me.
“Come back here, Bruiser!”
I wanted to stick two fingers in the air and tell him to sit on them, but my father’s job kept me in a style to which I had become accustomed. If he lost it, I would have to find one of my own.
My Dad's Boss – Amazon US
My Dad's Boss – Amazon UK
REAR ENTRY
Twenty-two-year-old, newly-wed bride, Christina Richmond, wearing black garter belt, stockings and sheer babydoll nightgown, turned obediently onto her stomach and then let her sixty-seven-year-old groom, Royce, urge her up on all-fours.
“Are you going to fuck my ass?” she asked hopefully, tilting herself up in anticipation.
“Why would I fuck your bottom, my dear, when you have such a delectable little pussy?” Arranging his fingers as though making the sign for a gun, he poked the two straight fingers into her pussy and finger fucked her vigorously. “I leave ass fucking to gay men and such.”
No ass fucking for a year, she thought in dismay, she wouldn’t survive, would she? She should have gone for the settlement of five hundred thousand pounds—she would have only had to stay married to him for six months. Instead, she had been greedy and opted for the prenup for twice the money and now she would have to stay married to him for twice as long. Her ass would need therapy if it was denied fucking for that length of time!
She sighed aloud as he pulled his fingers out and buried his cock smoothly inside her with one long thrust. At least his cock was still reasonably meaty and long, although it must have atrophied a little with age. He had already fucked her once, missionary style. She had then expected to snuggle up to him and sleep for the remainder of their wedding night. Instead he had insisted on fucking her again, briefly building her hopes of an ass fucking when he had turned her onto her front, but instead it was another pussy fucking, only this time from the back. He was a fit man who played tennis twice weekly and jogged early mornings when the weather was good, but she wondered vaguely, as he pounded his cock into her, if his vigour was natural or Viagra-aided.
Finally he grunted one last time and came with a bang.
Then he pulled himself free, collapsed onto the bed next to her and immediately started snoring.
Christina rolled onto her side and smiled at him fondly. Her very own sugar daddy! And the poor dear, he had worked himself to the bone fucking her….
Theirs had been a whirlwind courtship. Only six weeks ago she had met him and known immediately that she wanted to marry him…for his money. The forty-five year difference in their ages hadn’t mattered. When he’d proposed, she hadn’t played coy and asked for time to think it over; she had said yes immediately.
Rear Entry – Amazon US
Rear Entry – Amazon UK
SPANK ME, SANTA!
My four-year-old niece Camille crossed her podgy arms, pouted her cupid-bow lips and said, “No!”
“Camille, please darling,” my heavily-pregnant sister Diane pleaded.
“No!” her daughter repeated, staring mulishly at the smiling Santa Claus.
“Why not, honey?” my sister asked, looking puzzled.
“Because he’s fat!”
“Honey, he’s cuddly not fat!” Diane gave Santa an apologetic smile as she crouched beside her daughter. “All Santas are cuddly, sweetheart. Your teddy bear, Mr Wiggles, is cuddly and you like him.”
Camille turned and gave Santa an assessing stare before turning back to her mother and saying, “But Mommy, he’s not a teddy bear!”
Diane straightened and caught my gaze. I tried not to laugh, but a giggle escaped my lips. This year’s Santa was much taller than last year’s and much fatter as well. Camille had been younger and less discerning the year before, and had obediently sat on Santa’s lap so that my sister could take several photographs for her ever-expanding album.
Earlier Diane had teasingly said that I should sit on Santa’s lap this year and maybe I would get my Christmas wish. And in the ruthlessly selfish way that only small children can be without an attack of conscience, Camille had demanded that she got to sit on Santa’s lap first! I had agreed and she had skipped merrily between her mother and me as we had approached Santa’s grotto. But, as soon as she had seen the outsized Santa, she had changed her mind about sitting on his lap.
I understood her reluctance—this Santa was not like the half-dead, sometimes-drunk little Santas whose laps I had sat on when I was a young girl. This Santa was a man mountain and incredibly hot! Okay, I have a Santa fantasy which I will explain later, but this Santa could have walked straight out of my dreams. I knew that most of his bulk was padding, but the breadth of his shoulders and the thickness of his thighs were all gifts from God and his parents.
“Auntie Laura, you go first,” my niece turned her cherubic face in my direction and gave me her most winning smile.
“Your Mum was just joking, sweetie,” I told her gently. “Big girls don’t sit on Santa’s lap.”
“I’m a big girl, too,” my stubborn niece responded. “My daddy and my mummy said that I’m a big girl now!”
How could I argue with her? She had been initially upset when Diane got pregnant, not wanting a sister or brother to usurp her place as the only and therefore spoilt rotten baby in our family. Her parents in trying to prepare her for the birth of her little brother had told her she was old enough to help them look after the baby. Now she was looking forward to the birth with as much eagerness as her parents.
“Laura, perhaps you can sit on Santa’s lap first and let her see that it’s okay,” my sister suggested.
Was she mad? She was the only other person in the world who knew about my Santa fantasy. I had confessed my wicked desire to have Santa spank me for being a naughty girl only two months ago while I was half drunk on the night of my twenty-first birthday. I was wet from just looking at the man. I would probably squirm in his lap until I found his cock and rub my aching pussy against it!
Spank Me, Santa! – Amazon US
Spank Me, Santa! – Amazon UK
Amazon UK & US links to all other books by Alexis Moore
Club Rules (UK) / Club Rules (US)
Elusive Innocence (UK) / Elusive Innocence (US)
Image is Everything (UK) / Image is Everything (US)
My Brother’s Best Friend (UK) / My Brother’s Best Friend (US)
My Dad's Boss (UK) / My Dad's Boss (US)
My Sister’s Boyfriend (UK) / My Sister’s Boyfriend (US)
Rear Entry (UK) / Rear Entry (US)
Spank Me, Santa! (UK) / Spank Me, Santa! (US)
Toni (UK) / Toni (US)
Turning My Man Out! (UK) / Turning My Man Out! (US)