by Francis Ashe
***
The next day was absolutely frantic. Cleaning and fretting took up most of my time. Jeff just sort of wandered around in a haze, still a little dumbfounded at everything. Usually before these encounters, he gets chipper but this time he seemed a little over-mellowed.
“You doing okay?” I asked, rubbing the back of Jeff’s leg as he rooted around for something in the attic.
He poked his head out of the hatch. “Hey honey, what’s up?”
“Seem kinda out of it. You doing okay? We can call this guy and tell him not to show if you’re nervous about it. Big step and all.”
“Oh, no, no – not at all. I’m really excited. Just have a lot to do. Mr. Richards, you know, he asked for rope, so I’ve been looking. I think I have one up here somewhere.” He stuck his head back up in the attic. A moment later, a strange thwip sound came from somewhere above my head. “Grab my leg!” Jeff called, muffled by insulation. “I gotta really pull this thing!”
Jeff braced himself against me and tugged.
“Got it! Whew!”
Very carefully, he descended the ladder and proudly showed me his dust-covered trophy: about a six-foot length of nylon rope with a dummy tied to the end. “Halloween, what, three years ago? Remember, we tied this little guy to the chimney.” Jeff wobbled the zombie’s head at me, making its googly-eyes go stupidly from side to side.
“Huh-hey, Athlee!” He jibbered.
In spite of myself, I snorted, sucked in a honking laugh and slapped Jeff on the back. After all the tension, stress and cleaning, it was good to know we could still laugh. We sat there and played with the zombie, who we named “Jed” for a few minutes until I happened to look outside to see the sun setting behind the tree-line.
“Oh, shit,” I said, “he’s going to be here soon. Maybe. Gotta finish getting the place ready. Does he seem like a ‘candles’ kind of guy to you?”
Jeff shook his head.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Ah, man. I don’t know what to do. I guess we should just have a glass of wine and relax a little. Calm my own nerves, if nothing else.” I had become acutely aware in the few minutes between our discovering Jed and seeing the sun set that I was the nervous one. Feels like a whole lot of dreams coming true at once – Clark Richards, hopefully a baby. Ash, Ash, Ash. You gotta calm down, girl. Thinking it and doing it though were very different, though. Jeff plodded ahead of me to the kitchen, poured a couple of very stout glasses of red.
“Here’s to... whatever happens,” he said, and clinked my glass.
“Whatever happens,” I took a swallow. The liquid tasted good and as it slid down my throat, the tension I carried at the top of my shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Everything’s going to be fine. Don’t worry, baby,” Jeff said after a few moments of silence. “Or is it just excited nerves?”
I nodded, eyebrows arched and eyes closed.
“Me too. I’m not going to pretend I’m not a little scared, but holy Hell I am looking forward to this.”
For some reason, that’s just what I wanted to hear. I also had the feeling that part of what Jeff was so riled up about was one of the last things Clark said before we left: “he’s going to get me ready.” Jeff had never done prep work with any of our bulls, and I think it was something he always wanted to try. He knew this one was going to be special. Leaning over, I gave him a kiss on the top of the head.
As much as my husband was excited about watching me be bred by this incredible man, I was looking forward to being fucked and filled. My thoughts turned dirty. They turned to the rope that Mr. Richards had requested. I hope he’s going to do something... rough. Something just a little dangerous, I thought, finishing my wine.
Darkness set in, and we waited.
But, not for long.
***
Seven o’clock rolled around and one glass of wine turned to two. Halfway through, I realized that a car had been sitting out front of our house for who-knows-how-long. We both peered through the blinds in a kind of hushed wonderment at the long, black, chrome-lined limousine. It seemed like something out of time – tall tail fins, side rails like on an old Studebaker, and white-walled tires.
This guy is the real deal. Even though that was apparent from his private elevator only office, the car drove it home. So to speak.
Clark Richards’ back was turned to the house, illuminated by the overhead light, and it was obvious from his movements that he had a phone to one ear. The driver sat perfectly still, his white gloves on the wheel the only part of him visible through the dark glass.
“Well,” Jeff kissed me on the back of the head, “this is it. I guess. He doesn’t seem to be making any moves. How long has he been there, d’ya think?”
I just shook my head, still in shock at the thing parked in front of my house.
Finally, the driver emerged and opened the door for the man who was about to father my – our – child.
When he finally stepped out into the night, he was gorgeous. Perfectly combed hair, just the right amount of stubble across his jaw, those big shoulders and arms covered in a perfectly tailored charcoal grey suit. His trousers were obviously well-tailored, but the muscles in his thighs made them fit tightly around him nonetheless. Oh this is going to be good, oh this is going to be good.
I watched him walk up our little stone path and straighten his lapels in the reflection of the door glass. That gesture made him seem a bit more human than he had in the office when he was just perfection.
As soon as I opened the door, the spicy, delicious cologne that I smelled between his legs the day before struck me. For the first time in my life, the whiff of a scent made me a little wet. Mr. Richards’ immediacy finished the job.
“Not much time,” he said, “I have an engagement soon. Well, now, actually, but I put them off for an hour. Do you have the rope?”
Jeff nodded.
“Good.”
I started to reach for his hand and take him around the house, like I would any guest, but he shrugged me off.
“No, apologies and all that, but I’m not interested. I came here for one thing. You. I’ve seen houses before. I hope that wasn’t too forward?”
Oh my God, I’ve never met anyone so abrupt and straight forward. A little rude, sure, but... It’s just so...
My thoughts were interrupted by our guest speaking again.
“Alright,” he cast his gaze at Jeff, “I told you that you would be getting me ready to fuck your wife. That you were going to get my dick hard so that I could do what you can’t, or even worse, that she doesn’t want you to. How does that feel, exactly? I’m going to fuck your wife, cum inside her, and you’re going to raise my child.”
My husband’s cock was already stiff. This is exactly what he wanted.
“I... er...” he stammered and trailed off. “Th-thank you, Mr. Richards.”
“Good. At least he knows his place.” He turned his eyes to me. “How about you? Are you ready to be fucked harder and better than you have ever been? Are you ready for this? Where’s the rope?” Jeff slid the coiled up and now dummy-free cord into Mr. Richards’ hand. Our bull billionaire arched an eyebrow and stretched out the length of rope, nodding.
“Undress me. Be careful not to wrinkle the suit.” Mr. Richards said in Jeff’s direction. “And you,” he turned to me, “entertain me. Now.”
Luckily, my outfit was planned for being easy to remove.
First, I loosened the lace-up neck of my blouse and moved closer to where Jeff and Mr. Richards were positioned. Vague hints of my cleavage flashed when the shirt fell open, and although he was staring at me, most of Mr. Richards’ attention was focused on the work that my husband was doing.
With a care that belied his eagerness, Jeff began to remove the layers of fabric from Mr. Richards. By the time he was down to an undershirt and trousers, my husband was almost beside himself with excitement. His hands trembled as he fumbled with the front of Mr. Richards’ pants and belt.
�
�If there’s anything special, I...” Jeff began.
“Stay quiet. And you,” he gestured to me, “come closer.”
Jeff pulled the tight-fighting trousers down and felt Mr. Richards’ half-hard cock as it swelled.
“So... so big...” he breathed, a little heavier than before. Slowly, he drew the elastic down until the thick beginning of a cock was visible. Even soft, this man was at least twice as big as Jeff. That thing is going to be in me. I shook my hips playfully back and forth, shimmying out of my skirt.
A thin smile stretched across Mr. Richard’s lips when I threw my shirt to the floor in a heap.
“I changed my mind,” he whispered barely loud enough for me to hear. “No more show. Jeff. Suck my cock. Quickly. I want to fuck your wife as soon as I possibly can.”
Doing just as he was told, my little husband watched in awe as the dick sprang up.
“Suck,” he said again. “And you, Ashleigh, show me what I’m going to fuck. Show me everything.”
Quickly, I finished stripping off my clothes and moved close enough that he could touch me. His hands physically did what his eyes had been doing for some time now – devoured me. As Jeff closed a fist around the base of his cock, Mr. Richards brushed the side of my face with the back of two fingers.
His cock slid between Jeff’s lips and I heard my husband sigh around the behemoth in his mouth. Chancing a glance downward, the sight of my husband sucking a dick started driving me a little wild. Almost unconsciously, I slid a hand up my body and led the fingers that were dancing around my nipple downward and urged them between the folds at the top of my cleft. For the first time tonight, Mr. Richards let out a little groan as his fingers slipped between my velvet and he felt my juice.
“That’s enough Jeff. Go get a chair, bring it back and sit down.” Mr. Richard said, stepping back from both of us and taking his own cock in hand for a few strokes. God he’s huge, I mused as I watched him, watching Jeff.
A moment later, my husband returned with a wooden chair and sat down.
“Good. Now, Ashleigh,” he said, bending to retrieve the length of rope, “tie him down. Bind his feet to the chair. He can watch, and he can touch that little prick of his, but no getting up.” He looked back at Jeff, “Understand?”
Jeff, his mouth a bit agape, sat back in the chair as I did what I was told. Our bulls were always strong types, alpha types; they had to be at least a little bit. Nothing like him, though, had ever come through our front door. Both of us, I think, were amazed at just how commanding and powerful he seemed. He’s going to make one hell of a baby, I thought, cinching down the rope.
A hand tangled in my hair and pulled me to my feet sending little tingles of thrilling pain all over my scalp. “Mister Richards!” I yelped, before he stopped me.
“Your ad said you wanted a real man. Now you have one.”
At that instant, I knew that whatever he wanted to do, he could. Physically, there was nothing either of us could do to stop him if he began crossing a line, or lots of lines. As he slid his fingers back down my body, stopping on the way to my pussy to pinch my nipples, I realized though that a man like this, one who did whatever he wanted, was exactly what I needed.
“Kneel.” He said, before dipping two fingers into my slit for a moment. I let out a little moan and hesitated, hoping he planned to play with me more.
“I said kneel.”
The fingers came out and went to my mouth.
“Taste yourself. Lick these sweet juices off, and then put me all the way down your throat.”
Stunned, I flicked my tongue out, savoring my pussy, and went to my knees in front of him.
“Suck.”
My lips barely touched his tip before Mr. Richards pushed forward, thrusting himself inside. He put one hand underneath my chin, stroking me, almost as though he was rubbing my neck to relax my throat. Pulling back until my tongue rested under his glans and then ramming forward again, his cock butted against the entrance to my throat, just like he had done in the office the previous day. I felt, already, my pussy getting so wet that little trickles of my sex juice ran down my thighs.
“Relax,” he said, “relax.”
Still stroking my neck, Mr. Richards thrust again, so far into my mouth that he gagged me.
I coughed twice and tried to catch my breath. He held me fast. Soon, my gagging calmed down and I had a moment to wonder what he was going to do with the rest of his prick before he pulled back again.
“Good,” he said, looking down at me with eyes that were oddly kind, “are you enjoying this?”
My first instinct was to say “no!” and push him away. Of course, my second instinct was the one I went with. I reached up, grabbed the base of his big, thick rod, and urged him back to my mouth. Turning my tongue around him made Mr. Richards breathe heavier for a moment. That was when I noticed he still had a hand tangled in my hair at the back of my head.
He pulled me nearer his body, making the tip of his dick slide slightly down my throat.
Again, my instinct was shove him back. But, as a drop of pre-cum slid down the back of my tongue, my mind changed.
That one savory droplet turned me savage.
I grabbed him hard, relaxed my throat and tugged him forward; something I had done before, but not for a long time, and certainly never with a tool this huge. I gagged again as he slid in, but the instant those heavy, hot balls touched my chin, I didn’t care anymore.
One hand turning hard, tight circles around his base, I let Mr. Richards move at his own pace. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t shy about what he wanted.
An “mmm...” escaped the man’s lips as he pulled back and then rammed himself home again, balls slapping against my face. The third thrust surprised me, and I gagged again. Something about my writhing and the tightness of my throat around his dick excited him and caused him to groan again, and push deep.
“Your mouth, Ashleigh, your mouth is incredible. It makes me wonder how that pussy feels.”
Off to the side, I heard Jeff grunt. He had undone his pants and let his stiff little prick stand up free, but he chose not to touch himself. Not yet, anyway.
Looking up at the beautiful, aggressive man whose cock was jammed down my throat, I saw him staring, transfixed by his rod sliding between my lips and over my tongue. He pumped again, and again, letting his mouth drop open slightly.
He pulled back, leaving a void in me that ached to be filled. At first, his throat-fucking hurt, but when he stopped, that seemed worse – like he made me need something, and then took it away, just to tease me. The look on his face told a different story though; it told me that if he didn’t stop, the load meant for my cunt was going to go down my throat. Fair enough. Mr. Richards grabbed my hair again and dragged me back to my feet.
As soon as I was up, he reached for his trousers and whipped out the belt. He popped it against his palm a couple of times, like he was thinking about his next move.
Thwap.
Thwap!
“Get my jacket,” he said, releasing my hair. “You’ll find something in the front pockets.”
I felt his eyes on me as I crossed the room. At first, my hand closed around what seemed to be a handkerchief, but when I withdrew it, I realized he had brought two swatches, rather long ones, made of some kind of satiny material.
“Give those here. Now put your wrists together,” a smile crept over his lips.
Expertly, he wove the material around and between my wrists and finished with a snug slipknot that, once tightened, did not budge when I struggled. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said when I tried to wiggle my wrists, “that will just make it tighter. Now, what to do, what to do with you.”
Mr. Richards circled me, striking the belt against his palm and clicking his teeth together.
What I want you to do is whip me with that thing, throw me over this couch, and take me from behind. God what I wouldn’t do for that to happen.
He paused behind me for a moment, and then I felt, for the fi
rst time, the sweet sting of leather against my ass.
“Oh!” I squealed, as the belt sent another surge up my body.
“Do you like that? Do you like being spanked?”
He breathed harder, almost desperate sounding, as the leather bit again into my ass. I lurched forward, bracing myself on my hands against the back of the couch.
Thwip! His strikes were growing harder and faster. Each one stung at first, warmed my flesh and left me aching for another.
Again and again the belt slapped my ass and every single lash made me want more.
“Please!” I begged, “Please give me more! More and harder, Mister Richards! Please!”
He obliged me with another strike, another stinging whack.
Then, out of nowhere, as I expected more spankings, two of his fingers slipped inside my soaking wet, aching-to-be-fucked hole.
Throwing my head back and writhing with delight, I caught a glimpse of Jeff, who had started to pull on his dick as he watched Mr. Richards ravish his wife. “Yes!” I nearly yelled as his fingers turned inside my pussy, “yes! More! Ram those fingers in deep!”
Mr. Richards surprised me by looping his belt lightly around my throat and taking the two ends in his hand, like the reins used on a horse. He tugged my head back and dragged his fingers along my front wall, touching a spot that sent electricity up my spine before jamming in another finger.
I drove my hips backwards, forcing his fingers deeper.
His fingers working in circles and his palm pushed against my clit brought me, before I knew what was happening, to the brink.
A gentle, squeezing, tension between my legs soon gave way to the waves of my first orgasm, and forced my body to pulse rhythmically around those delicious fingers.
“Oh, is my dirty little girl cumming? Do you like how it feels to have a real man’s fingers inside you? Imagine what it’ll be like to have this big cock in there.” Mr. Richards let out a soft groaning sound as he stroked his length between my legs, withdrew his fingers and pushed his dick up between my lips. The top of his shaft stroked against me, getting all nice and slick from my juice. “Imagine how deep it’s going to be. How good it’s going to feel when your tight little pussy is all stretched out around me. You think that’ll feel good? Hmm?”