by Francis Ashe
Her Breeding Bull Billionaire (Billionaire cuckoldry and breeding erotica)
By Francis Ashe
Copyright 2012
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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***
“Ash,” my husband Jeff called to me over a stack of papers, “I think I found a good one over here. Check it out.”
My glasses slipped down my nose as I got up from behind my pile, stretched my back and crossed the room. “Oh yeah? What’s this one got that the other hundred thousand don’t?”
“Says he’s a ‘successful businessman’ and that he has an alpha type personality, adventurous, experienced bull, entrepreneurial, blah blah blah – the works. And, he included a picture. Not a bad looking dude.” Jeff offered the paper, and as soon as I saw his face and read his words, I knew this guy was the one.
He was just as Jeff described him. Able looking, sharply dressed, hair impeccably styled to look not-styled. Piercing gray-blue eyes and a playful smile that I could tell was something the man in the picture did not normally wear. He looked stern but had an air of kindness to him.
“Let’s meet him. I think this is our guy. Are you sure you want to go through with this?” I asked, still a little unsure that Jeff, who loved to watch me get fucked, was actually serious about wanting to raise someone else’s baby.
“Yeah, I think you’re right Ashleigh.” Jeff stood up and kissed me behind the ear. “And yes. You’re the most important thing in my life, and I like seeing you satisfied, seeing you happy. And, I like... well,” he trailed off for a moment, “I like to watch. I love the faces you make, the sounds that come out of you. There’s nothing in the world I love more than to watch some big-dicked honcho stuff you up and cum all over you. I think it’s time we go to the next step.”
***
He is a good, kind man, Jeff. Works hard, does his best to please me, all that sort of thing. But, not too long after we got married, our life together became very bland in a face-to-face-missionary way. We tried other things; toys, handcuffs, even a threesome, but nothing could have prepared either of us for the utter thrill of a huge cock slamming inside me over and over, ringing me out, and pounding my tight, twenty-something pussy while my husband watched from a chair halfway across the bedroom.
It suited him well. He may be nice and responsible, but he is certainly not enough to sate me. His little cock, his belly that sticks out – I love him, but he’s not what I need. In fact, the first time I ever actually had an orgasm with his dick in me, I was also stuffed with a big, thick vibrating dildo. Our first time with a bull was a revelation. The first guy was a musician that we met at a bar. Anyway, after he was finished ringing me out and gushed his load in my mouth, Jeff begged me to kiss him, and then he wanted to suck the rest of the cum off the guy’s cock, to taste the dick that made his wife cum harder than he had ever managed.
We went on like that, Ashleigh and Jeff Hanson, for a couple of years. Most all our men came from personal ads – the old way to do it, in the backs of dirty magazines. Eventually, that well dried up and we had to start hunting through cuckold message boards. The guys were always friendly, always satisfying, but something was missing. Not just from the sex, but from our lives.
One day while Jeff was off toiling away at his dead-end job and I was at my studio teaching a class of young up-and-coming painters about the finer points of capturing the ecstasy of coitus on canvas, I realized what was missing. I’m almost thirty and these eggs aren’t gonna last forever. Baby?
A baby.
After a long day at work, rolling in to my driveway felt good. The whole baby thing had drifted a little past the fringes of my thoughts into that space where most everything goes when I need a glass of wine and a foot rub. But, as soon as I walked in the door, Jeff was at the door to greet me. “Check your email, honey,” he said, “I made up another ad. Tell me what you think – and... I totally understand if it is just too much for you. Totally understand.”
At first I shrugged it off, thinking the ad was just a little kinkier than usual, and no big deal. He always got more excited than I did. Outwardly, anyway. I got my wine, snatched my laptop and collapsed into my favorite cushioned heaven. His email was the most recent one.
Subject line ‘what do you think?’ Well, let’s see what I think. I clicked it open, started to scan. The message was succinct. “J&A seek bull. Must be successful, must be good looking, and must be fertile.”
Fertile. I read the message again.
It all came flooding back to me.
A baby. A baby!
“Are – are you serious Jeff? I thought about this exact same thing only a few hours ago.”
He nodded and smiled.
“Okay,” I said, “but you know the rules. You make the post and I make the choice.”
***
A day after my husband called the number listed on the application, we got a call back. The man in question, a guy named Clark Richards, informed us that he would like to meet before going forward. He informed us that we were to meet him at his office the following day at half past eight.
“He’s interviewing us,” I said to Jeff as we parked and made the hike past security and down a long wood-paneled hallway to a private elevator. The only buttons on the elevator’s panel were labeled ‘executive’ and ‘lobby’. “I like him already.”
Jeff nodded. I could tell he was nervous. He always got like this when we met a bull. Something about this guy though, was different. I thought maybe it was just the gravity of the situation, the baby and all, but he insisted that was not the case.
“This is such a different world than we’re used to, Ash,” he said, “I mean, what does this guy do anyway?”
Good question, I thought. “Well this architectural monstrosity is labeled ‘Clark Richards Financial Group’ so maybe he’s some kind of investment consultant?”
He shook his head. I could tell what he was thinking.
“Honey,” I said, “we can turn around if this is making you uncomfortable.”
“Oh no, no,” Jeff stammered, “I’m really, really excited. All this power, all this wealth. Just imagine...” His thought hung in the air as the elevator acknowledged the end of the ride with a friendly chime.
“Are you... Mistah and Missus... uh... Hanson?” The secretary said as we exited the elevator into a futuristic-looking space surrounded entirely by windows. The office behind her was marked ‘Clark Richards, CEO’ and, except for the clear door, was all frosted glass. She looked like a sit-com stereotype - popping gum, nasally voice, oval glasses and too much lipstick.
“Yes ma’am,” I said, “I’m Ashleigh and this is Jeff.”
“Okay. Mistah Richards has been expecting you. Go on back. It’s the... uh... big glass door behind me with the stencil of his name.” She returned, immediately, to her magazine and popping gum.
I pushed open the door, Jeff behind me. As soon as we were both inside, it swung closed with a magnetic click! Behind the very clean mahogany desk across the room sat the man from the pictures.
“Good
morning,” I said, crossing the room. I stuck my hand out, but he just gestured to the two chairs.
“Please, sit.” He said, and as we did, he stood.
“Now, before we begin, I realize that my demands are a little abnormal. But understand that my time is valuable. I have to know that what I’m doing will benefit my desires before I waste it on frivolity.” His voice was calculated.
I’ve seen alpha type guys before, but holy shit. I looked over at Jeff, who seemed cowed by this man’s wealth, confidence and obvious power. As for me, I just wanted him to throw me across this desk and fuck my brains out.
“You – ah, Ashleigh? Are you ovulating presently?”
That took me out of my little fantasy. “Well, yes... sir, I am. But what does that...?”
“Good. I like the way you look. I can tell you’re serious about this arrangement. I only take women when they’re ready for me. My time, as I said, is valuable. Who are you?”
“I’m... uh, I’m Ashleigh and this is Jeff.” Jeff nodded.
“No, I mean who are you? Why should I want to give you a child? You see who I am, what I offer you. Why are you worth my effort?”
That took me aback.
“Well, I’m an artist. I teach classes at the university in town, and I also have a studio. Lots of... ah... painting. Is... what I do. Painting.” The last time anyone had dumbfounded me like Mr. Richards just did was, well, probably in High School.
He shifted his gaze. “And you?”
“I’m... uh... sales manager. I’m the sales manager at the software company down the street. Intellitrac.”
“Hum. Well, alright.” Mr. Richards leaned back against his desk and wrung his hands. “You say you’re a teacher, Ashleigh, at the university? Are you a professor? Graduate student?”
“Yes sir, I’m a professor. And run the studio, which does well for itself.”
Clark Richards answered with another cryptic nod and more hand wringing. His face did soften a bit. He looked pleased.
“So that’s the business of it. I’m satisfied. I can’t have any possible offspring of mine being placed in helpless situations. You understand.”
Unbelievably, I nodded.
“One last thing, though,” he said as he pushed off the desk and moved across the room. “I need to know that you’ll be able to satisfy me sexually. Men like me can afford to be choosy. Ashleigh. Prove to me that you’re worth my time and my energy. I have a meeting in eight minutes. Make it quick.”
Clark Richards brushed a tendril of hair back behind my ear. Jeff, beside me, squirmed.
“What do you...?” I asked, as I rose from the chair. That was the first time I noticed how tall, how dominant-looking this man was. About six inches taller than me, and quite well-built from the tightness of his suit, he towered over the two of us.
“Take initiative,” he said, “do something.”
Hopped up on a mixture of lust and fear along with a dash of that feeling I get in my gut when someone dares me to do something, I reached for the man’s belt, unlatched it, and undid the two buttons of his slacks. As I knelt, I looked up and chewed my lip, pensively. “What should I call you?”
“Sir.”
That got my juices flowing. “Yes sir.” I drew his zipper down and ran my hand up one leg, then the other. When I got almost to his groin, I felt a long, hard lump running down his left thigh. Oh my God, it’s huge! I gave him a brisk rub with my palm before sticking my hand into his open fly to fish out his cock. Through the slick fabric of his underpants, his warmth tickled my fingertips. I looked up at him again, locking eyes for a moment and as I stroked his generous length, asked him “is there anything in particular you would like?”
Mr. Richards crunched his eyes to slits. “For you to stop talking. Impress me. Now.”
If anyone else on planet Earth had said that to me, there’s a solid chance they would have gotten a slap across the mouth. But for some reason, when he commanded me and made demands, I liked the way he spoke. He was so totally unlike my husband; so strong and self-confident.
“Yes, sir.” I nodded, meekly.
A thin smile parted Mr. Richards face for a moment. “Good. Go on.”
I shot a glance over to Jeff, and when I did, noticed that somehow the office’s frosted glass had darkened, like the tint on eyeglasses. Nervously, Jeff shifted his weight in the chair and adjusted the tent-pole in his trousers.
Just by feeling his rod, I could tell that Mr. Richards was much, much bigger than Jeff. His dick felt like iron against my palm as I rubbed his entire length with the hand I had stuck down his pants. Even if it weren’t for all this money, this guy would have the reason for this overdeveloped sense of confidence right here.
He relaxed his neck and loosened the first button of his collar, slipping his tie knot a couple of inches from his throat. “You have six minutes.” Mr. Richards stated flatly. “If I don’t cum, the deal’s off.”
My hand trembled a little at his insistence, but as soon as I pulled the waistband of his pants and underwear down far enough so that I saw the beginning of his thick, ready cock, I just had to have more. I fished down deep and dragged him fully out into the open air – he was magnificent. Tan like the rest of Mr. Richards’s skin, his prick was long, rock hard and so thick that one hand did not reach all the way around. His balls hung clean shaven and heavy between muscled thighs that I ran my hands over to feel the lines of his quadriceps and the smooth warmth of his skin.
Mr. Richards’ round, proud tip pulsed lightly every time I tickled my fingers around his cock, and when I dared look up again, saw that his eyes were closed, his head relaxed. I gripped him, as much as I could in one hand, and cupped the other around his balls. Hot and smooth, the first thought I had as soon as they touched my palm was to drag my tongue up between them, suck one of them into my mouth.
“Five minutes,” Mr. Richards announced.
Breath hitched in my chest as I leaned forward and reached out with my tongue. A vague hint of the spicy, leathery cologne Clark Richards wore greeted my nostrils as I gave him a slow lick from deep between his legs to where his cock began. I moved both hands to his shaft, and began to slowly pump. He spread his legs a bit more, shifting his weight to his heels.
A little groan slipped out of Mr. Richards’ mouth as I pulled one of balls between my lips. I felt a hand come to rest on my shoulder with a light, but urgent, squeeze. My tugs sped up to match the revolutions my tongue was making around Mr. Richards’ sack, back and forth between the two globes, back and forth sucking one and licking the other.
“Three minutes,” he said. This time, I noticed that his voice was a little higher pitched. He had to catch his breath between the words. Right track, Ash, I thought, and took a deep breath.
Tracing a line up his shaft with just the tip of my tongue and turning increasingly tight circles with my hands, I noticed that when I hit the little place right underneath the head of his dick, Mr. Richards squirmed a little. Lollipop licks, slow and fat, slicked the underside of his cock and I tugged harder, dragging my hands up the wet streak my tongue left behind.
My eyes drank in the cock before me, and when I noticed the vaguest hint of cum dribble out and over my knuckles, I had to taste him. Shooting a glance over at Jeff, I saw that he was rubbing himself through his trousers. I’d never seen him this excited over a blowjob, but then I was really doing a hell of a job here.
“Two... ahhh...” Mr. Richards’ time announcement was cut short by my lips closing over the ridge of his cock. I squeezed hard, pulling my hands from his balls to my mouth with wrenching quarter-turns that he seemed to enjoy.
Clamping my lips around him, I slid my mouth down his shaft until I felt his tip butt up against the opening of my throat. Hands pumped harder, tugging, yanking, I wanted to taste his cum. I needed to taste him. All thoughts of our little deal, or anything else, were gone from my mind. The only thing that existed for me, right then, was the feral urge to suck every drop of cum out of Clark
Richards while my husband watched and impotently rubbed his dick through his pants.
My pussy tingled. That never happens when I’m giving someone head. I knew this was serious.
The harder I jerked him off, the harder Mr. Richards breathed. Finally, squatted in front of him, dragging my lips and teeth gently up and down his prick, I heard a little “aha!” behind me. Jeff cumming, I thought, this must be quite a show. And then, the moment I stopped sucking to catch my breath, the billionaire exploded over my tongue.
He opened his mouth, but this time, only to let out a rumbling sound that seemed to come from deep in his belly. The hand on my shoulder went to the back of my head and grabbed my hair; shoving my face forward and plunging the gushing cock in further.
All I could do – all I wanted to do – was mumble an “mmm!” and coax every last drop out of Mr. Richards. As soon as I gulped down his first spurt, he filled my mouth again, and again. I tried to suck it all out, to not waste a single drop, but there was just so much that a little trickle of his hot, thick juice dripped down my chin.
I left his cock in my mouth until he stopped pulsing and his breathing began to calm.
Behind me and to the left, I heard Jeff’s chair make a sound as he shifted. Looking up, Mr. Richards had an eyes-half-open look of relief on his face, and the barest hint of a smile.
“Good,” he said, as I pulled the trousers up his body and buckled them for him. “Very good. Forty-two seconds to spare. I will see you tomorrow evening. I can’t be more specific than that, but it will be late. Be ready for me.” He stopped speaking for long enough to nod at Jeff. “He’ll get me ready to fuck you. Understand?”
Jeff acknowledged him with a soft “yes, sir.”
“Right. That’ll be all for now.” His voice took on a slightly menacing tone, and for the first time, I noticed his strange accent. He rounded his ‘a’ sounds.
“Oh, one more thing,” he intoned just as my hand touched the doorknob. “Have ropes.”