by Liv Bennett
No talking for us. No thinking. Just acting and fucking. And it all comes automatically.
Her dress hits the floor, and she’s stark-naked before us, save for her black high-heels. She might have initially thought she had some say in our play, but right now the only thing she has control over is her own breathing, and even that comes to a sudden halt every now and then when I or JJ hit an especially sweet spot.
I splay my hand on her back and push her down; exactly at the same time JJ unbuttons his jeans and releases his erection and forces it into her mouth. His fingers thread through her hair, his hand covering her head like a hat. She couldn’t get away even if she wanted, not that there’s a woman in existence who’d willingly abandon the wild peaks of pleasure that are about to come.
I hear her gagging, but soon, her head bobs up and down rhythmically against JJ’s crotch.
I run my hand down the crack of her ass and pause at her clit. I can practically feel it throb against the pad of my thumb. One gentle rub followed by another, and her legs are already wobbly.
I stop, cutting out her pleasure, and listen to her wordless complaint through her moans, smiling to myself in satisfaction. The evidence of her arousal is leaking and soaking my fingers. I move my thumb between the lips of her pussy, and she lifts her ass higher in the air, opening up her love channel, like it wants to catch my finger.
She moans, aching, desire palpable in her voice. My cock twitches, its desire to invade and conquer too big to control. I slip a finger into her opening to probe her pussy and test the waters before dipping my cock, literally in her case as the waters are streaming generously down her pussy.
A visible shiver runs through her body from inside out as I inch my finger deeper, rubbing around to find her weak spot. Her body reveals to me the answer by stilling when I hit a tight knot in the depths of her hungry pussy.
Smiling, I start massaging it, gently at first and then harder when her legs begin shaking. She rides my finger while expertly sucking JJ’s cock. I continue stroking her through her convulsions and whimpers, without giving her a break. One orgasm ends while another starts, and those just with my fingers.
At some point, when I lose count of her orgasms, I finally give in to my cock’s desire and release it. Its head finds her pussy without any direction from my hand. Smart, huh!
I hold the shaft nonetheless and thrust into her. She squeaks in surprise. My cock is exploring the depths of her pussy, with her juices as my only shield—now that’s much better than using a condom.
Baring my cock in front of Ace or any other man has never been a reason for concern for me, but Ace looks troubled and can’t keep his eyes on the wild action taking place right before his face. Why in God’s name did he open a brothel if he can’t watch a good-quality live porn?
I pump and ride her as she struggles to keep the rhythm of her blowjob. My eyelids feel heavy, my body fully attuned to hers. I nearly miss the door opening.
JJ’s body covers whoever it is that’s standing in the doorway, but I can tell it’s an unwelcome guest because Ace shoots up to his feet in a heartbeat and dashes around his desk.
“Lindsay!” he yells.
Cocking my head to the side, I glance at the silhouette behind JJ just to confirm my suspicion. Oh, well. Ace had his reason to look uncomfortable with our play, and that reason has a name. Lindsay frigging Doheny.
“What is going on here?” Her face contorted with horror and shock; Lindsay stares at Ace without blinking or moving.
Ace mirrors her, looking equally shocked, but there’s also something else beneath that expression. And that’s the look of shame for hurting someone who cares.
Ace is probably the last man on earth I should be jealous of, but right now I’d kill to have that look of embarrassment. I’d kill to have someone caring for me enough to get mad at me. I’ve been so occupied with my plans of overthrowing Michael that I’ve been able to overlook the excruciating pain in my chest.
The pain of loneliness and solicitude.
I couldn’t even take a moment to grieve after my mother’s death, Michael got me so worked up. But now, he’s gone. He can’t abuse me or my sister anymore. Now I can live and feel.
But, rather than happiness and freedom, all I feel is isolation.
Lindsay’s eyes find me, shocked and terrified by the sight, stopping the world around me with one direct stare, and suddenly all I can see is myself through the lens of her eyes.
The sight is horrible to say the least. Me giving it to a total stranger while she’s gulping another man’s dick in the middle of an office. No emotions or words of endearment involved. No loving caresses. No kissing.
Why did I think there’s pleasure in this messed-up, fake performance? How can I get any satisfaction out of such a degrading act that doesn’t even involve a simple kiss? What person, man or woman, in their right mind would give a shit about me when I keep acting like an untamed animal?
Wincing at me, Lindsay lets out a shrill cry and spins on her heels, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.
Not wanting to continue this charade, I slide out of McKenzie and stride out of Ace’s office, feeling dirty and belittled for the first time after many months of service at Pleasure Extraordinaire, and all it took was an unexpected confrontation by Lindsay.
CH 4 - The Wrong Boobs
~
“I want the church girl.” I stand at the doorway of Julie’s condo at ten at night.
She must have been dozing off or something because her eyes are hooded and about to close. A soft, “Excuse me,” rolls off her lips along with a wide yawn. Her t-shirt and pajama bottoms aren’t black, but green. Surprising! And when I peek through the open door, I note, with another surprise, she’s not drowning in a complete black and gloomy life.
“You told me you’d find me a good, loyal girl who goes to church. I want her now.” The five shots of tequila I gulped down before coming here has me slurring the r’s, but I suppose she understands my words…or not?
“What are you talking about?” She yawns again and stretches her arms. For the first time in years, her hair isn’t in a bun, but in a low ponytail—an improvement if you ask me. Who enjoys the sight of a giant second head? Well, not me.
“Can I come in?” Without waiting, I invite myself in. It’s not like she’ll have a man over, who’d be annoyed by my surprise visit. Even if she does, I’m her boss. My needs should have priority over a random man from a bar.
“Please!” she murmurs behind me in a mocking tone. “I bet you’d help yourself to liquor, but I don’t have any alcohol at home. Feel free to drink as much coffee as you want, though.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” I settle on the large cream sofa, spreading my arms around the back of it and stretching my legs out on the coffee table.
Her eyes narrow at me in fury, but she doesn’t express her dismay. Her condo has an open floor design with a small kitchen area. Walking around the breakfast island barefoot, she pours water into the coffee machine and turns it on.
I smile when I notice her red-polished toenails. Nice! I’ll add my observation on the short list of everything feminine about Julie. So far, I think I have two items on it.
“What was it about the church girl again?” she yells over the kitchen island as she fills the machine with coffee grounds.
“I want to marry,” I intend to say, but again with the r’s missing, I’m not sure what she’s made of my words.
She chuckles and gives her head a brief shake, glancing at me as she walks back into the living room. “Did you have dinner?”
“No.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“You need to eat if you don’t want to ruin your tomorrow with a hangover.”
“I’ll take an Advil.”
“Advil won’t help. I had lasagna from the dinner. Do you want some?”
I nod and watch her go back to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she takes out a glass container w
ith lasagna in it and a plate from the cupboard. She turns her back to me when she fills the plate with food. I lean my head against the back of the sofa and briefly close my eyes while listening to the soft noises she makes as she moves around the kitchen.
The house I live in has a living room bigger than her entire condo and several bedrooms that no one except for the housemaids enter. Julie’s condo is the perfect size for a single person, not like the monster of a mansion I have and barely live in.
“How many bedrooms does your condo have?” I ask, my eyes still closed, my body ready to pass out.
“Two and a walk-in closet.”
My eyes flutter open as I hear her footsteps on the hardwood floor of the living room. “Cozy place. Lovely location.”
“Thanks.” She sets the plate with lasagna and salad on the coffee table. “Now eat.”
“That’s a lot. I’ll have to hit the gym early in the morning.”
“That’s better than hitting the bathroom to throw up.”
I raise my hand and point at her with my index finger. “That’s right.” Grabbing the plate and the fork, I fill my stomach, barely noticing the taste of the food. “Thanks,” I say when I place the empty plate back on the table. “It was delicious.” At least it didn’t sit heavily in my stomach. She might have a good point with the cooking abilities of the woman who’ll mother my kids. “So, where’s your list,” I ask, words coming out of my mouth a little more clearly.
She grins and disappears down the hallway and comes back with a tablet. “This isn’t the final list. Feel free to add or subtract anyone you want. Also, I’d appreciate it if you’d fill me in on the type of woman you have in mind.”
I clasp my hands on my lap and stare ahead while thinking about the qualities of the woman who’ll chain me down into monogamy. “She should look great, at least a nine on the scale of attractiveness.”
Julie rolls her eyes in her typical ‘here we go again’ way. “Oh, please.”
“Hear me out. It’s no secret that I look great. I have money—tons of it. I’m wildly famous. I know what I’m bringing to the table. If I date a girl with less-than-delicious looks, I’ll always think I can have done better. Besides, girls’ looks deteriorate with time. If she starts with a solid nine, I won’t mind if she turns into a seven or six over the years.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“So I love big boobs and a firm ass. Sue me.”
“Looks shouldn’t matter when you find the one.”
I let out a sigh of disappointment. She’s been working for me and with me for longer than I can remember, but still fails to recognize my most basic needs. “Well, then why don’t I marry my housemaid, Consuela? She’s an excellent cook, far better than any five-star restaurant chef I know. She’s diligent with her work all around the house, goes to church regularly, and even prays for my health and wellbeing. She’s single and my age. I could turn her into a great housewife and mother of my kids, but I don’t. Do you know why? This’ll sound harsh, but it’s because she weighs more than I do with her 5”0’ height. All other qualities being equal, I’ll pick a Victoria’s Secret model who hasn’t turned on an oven in her life over an excellent cook with mediocre looks.”
“Ahh, you’re a superfici—”
I raise my hand to stop her before she can assault me. “Don’t call me that. I’m a man. I’m programmed to choose the prettier chick by nature, just like women pick wealthier guys as their mates. I’m wealthy. I can provide. So why shouldn’t I have my pick of women?”
“You’re absolutely right! I won’t argue your tastes. After all, tastes are personal.”
“That’s my girl!” I cheer along with an appreciative smile. I love it when she agrees. In fact, it’s sexy when she bows to my requests. Speaking of sexy, I feel a stir beneath my pants as blood starts pooling between my legs.
“You’re rich,” she continues mumbling as if she’s talking to herself. “Your looks are off the charts. You’ve got everything a girl can dream of. Why shouldn’t you choose the best possible woman as your mate?”
Pulling both her legs over the chair yoga style, she sits upright, straightening her shoulders. Her boobs stand up, and naturally my eyes fall to her chest. I can see the black bra through her cotton t-shirt and can even spot her poking nipples.
I know she’s noticed my obvious ogling of her boobs because her arms abruptly cross over her chest as she nonchalantly keeps on her self-talk. “The girl of your dreams must exist, and I promise I’ll find her for you.”
I blink and quickly get up, heading for the door, my hand scratching the back of my head. “I trust you will. I gotta go now.”
“Wait.” She pushes to her feet as well and walks toward me, her arms still over her chest.
I hate to be the one to make her uncomfortable. She was sexually harassed for several years by my father, forced to service the sexual desires of his clients and business partners. Objectifying her body is the last thing I should do as her friend and her boss who’s more than happy having her onboard. “Don’t you want to know how the interviews for the writer position went?”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” I push down the door handle and hurry out.
“Zane!” she calls out when I stand before the elevator. I turn toward her, still feeling guilty for staring at her boobs. “Are you free Friday night?”
I frown and consider my answer. “Yeah, I guess.”
She leans against the doorframe, her arms falling to her sides, her cheeks flushing a little. “I’ll set up your first date for seven p.m. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” I’m a jerk for letting my gaze drop to her chest again, but, fortunately, the elevator door dings and I hop in.
“I’ll call you with the details.” I hear her yell before the doors close. What the hell is wrong with me? She’s going to therapy to be able to heal from all the abuse she suffered, for Christ’s sake. And she’s my friend…in fact, my only true friend. How could I become one of those men who looks at her like she’s a piece of meat?
I’m disgusting, and to avoid the feeling of disgust, I need to distract myself. My only options are alcohol or more pussy. I should probably stay away from both to honor my new promise to change and become a better man. But, I’m only human, and I can’t strike both out of my life so soon.
So, I tell Daney to drive me to the apartment I bought for Penelope, the one and only lover I kept for longer than a year.
CH 5 - The Old Flame
~
I met Penelope the first day I started working at Hawkins Media Group, the day after my graduation, per Michael’s order. She was there for an audition for a side role in a popular sitcom.
She was shy, but perky, a strange mixture that instantly grabbed my attention, and when I found out she was a virgin, I couldn’t keep my hands away. She gave in to my advances pretty quickly and became my regular bedmate.
She didn’t get the role, but I arranged for her to get a better one in another series and bought her a condo. Over the years, she became obsessed with me, though she never questioned my promiscuity. I kept going back to her after every argument I had with Michael, and she’d calm my nerves with utmost care.
Soon, she started appearing as my date at galas and special events. The media attention brought her offers to appear in several blockbuster movies. She could have hit it big. Very big. She had the chance and the talent, but failed to take advantage of it.
Why? Because of her obsession with me. She made me a priority in her life. She’d rather attend to my sexual needs than learn her lines. She’d show up at movie sets without having a clue about the script because I kept her awake the entire night and she wouldn’t utter a single word about my selfishness.
After one failure after another, producers put her on the stay-the-hell-away-from list. She didn’t have a life outside of me interesting enough even to get a reality show. She’d become the pathetic mistress, who couldn’t even get knocked up by her lover to save her life.
She changed the locks of the condo I bought for her and blocked my phone number and email address.
I haven’t seen her in months and miss her gentle care to push away the dark clouds in my head. The feeling of disgust and loneliness that’s weighing me down right now is too much to bear. Either I’ll sink myself into her or drawn in alcohol.
I knock on the door of her condo. Once, twice, three times. I know when she peeks through the peephole because I’ve heard her footsteps.
“Penelope, open the door,” I say softly, my face close to the door.
“Go away!” she yells, but hesitation is thick in her voice.
I haven’t seen her in months; I have no idea if she has another man in her life.
“I need you,” I whisper.
Seconds pass. Minutes. She’s still on the other side of the door, listening. I can feel her defenses breaking, can hear the protests in her mind drowning out. The longer I wait at her doorway, the weaker she’ll become.
“Please, Penelope. I need you.”
The door opens and she stands before me, her blonde hair around her shoulders, her body still in perfect shape, her eyes wet with tears. A tank top generously displays the tops of her braless breasts, and short shorts around her slim hips expose her long, tanned legs. She’s mouthwatering.
I yank the door closed and launch myself over her, pushing her against the wall. She wilts beneath my body and lifts her teary eyes to mine, her green irises begging me to leave.
Holding the back of her head, I crush my lips against hers and dig my tongue into her mouth. A soft moan mixed with a sob is her reaction and it makes her even more desirable. My other hand travels down her throat and slides beneath her tank top, cupping her breast. She pushes her chest against my grip, her nipple hardening against my skin.