The Sadist's Series Season One (Love and Sex for Money)

by Michael Meadows

  He turned to me and whispered softly into my ear, in what must have been the only ten second period of quiet: "Do you mind me doing this, babe?"

  I shot him a glare, but after that flash of annoyance I let my eyes lock on the screen and I shook my head imperceptibly. He got the message and dove in. His subtle dance stopped and his hand lifted my skirt as his face broke into that stupid grin of his. I couldn't help thinking that if the theater weren't so empty, anyone sitting next to us wouldn't have had to look closely to figure out what we were doing; they'd have had a front-row seat.

  My panties were out. Anyone who wanted to see them just had to turn their head. Travis had turned to look at me now, rubbing furiously through the thin fabric. I could feel myself getting a little woozy; I wanted him. I wanted this, even as what little of my mind shouted that I needed to stop at all costs. I was completely lost to the world -- the manager could have come in and told us to leave and I'd have spread my legs a little further.

  Travis pushed aside the crotch of my panties and started to rub against my slit directly. I slumped lower in my seat and pushed against them, but he pulled away.

  "Ah-ah, not yet, little girl."

  I tried to fight for a moment to keep my wits about me, not to give in, but it was a losing battle as I felt his soft fingers probing me. "Please, Travis. Please."

  He unbuttoned the top button of my blouse. "Please what?"

  "Please make me cum, Travis." I was ashamed of how far I'd fallen, but there was nothing I could do any more.

  Another button came undone. My bra was almost out at this point. I couldn't be seen like this, absolutely could not, but Travis just pushed me again, pulling his fingers away from my waiting pussy.

  "What will you do for it?"

  "What do you want, please don't stop."

  "Offer me something," he said. My face screwed up in delicious agony.

  "I don't know Travis, just don't stop, PLEASE."

  His hand unbuttoned another button. I had one button left, barely holding my blouse together. For all intents and purposes, I was naked in the theater. If one of the four or five other patrons turned around, they'd see everything. My reputation, what little bit I still had, would be ruined. But that wasn't a problem any more.

  "Do you want me to fuck you?"

  "Mmmm," moaned, trying to grind against his ever-elusive fingers that teased without ever providing relief. "We shouldn't."

  Travis smiled and pulled my bra up, freeing my hard nipples to the hot movie theater air. "I want you to get up and sit on my cock, Jen. Do that, and I'll let you cum."

  I looked at him, the pleasure plain to see on my face.

  "Please, Travis, we shouldn't. It's a bad idea, please."

  "I want you to get up," he said, tugging on a nipple and then sucking it into his mouth. "And I want you to sit on my cock. Is that clear, Jenny?"

  I bit my lip. "Yes."

  I got up and pushed my ass into his lap; Travis rubbed himself against my pussy, a rough teasing that brought out the worst in me.

  "Do you want me?"

  "Please, Travis, I need it, stop teasing me. Please."

  He pulled me down onto him, finally pushing inside. I gasped out loud at the feeling of fullness, the feeling I'd been missing for weeks. I could feel his cock probing depths that fingers could never reach, a feeling that couldn't be duplicated in spite of my best efforts.

  I ground against him, feelings that I had denied stirring in me again. I knew that I shouldn't believe a word he had to say. I knew that he was just going to use me again, just going to slip up again -- but I couldn't help myself. I needed this -- I needed a cock in me. I needed to be used like a whore. I bounced on his cock, my tits swinging freely in the open air.

  I could tell that the people below us, presumably there to enjoy the movie, could hear. There was no way they couldn't. But I couldn't stop any more. I needed Travis's cum and I was going to get it.

  "Travis," I moaned. He took a fistful of my hair and tugged with just enough force to get the job done. "Cum in me. I need it. Please!"

  He didn't reply, pounding away at me from below. I could feel my orgasm approaching fast, a blinding sensation like I was moving a million miles an hour. I could barely see the screen, still playing in front of us. I couldn't hear the sound of my husky breath, even though I knew I was breathing raggedly. The only thing I could feel was my pussy, where we were connected. And then the world exploded.

  Travis pushed up into me one last time, pushing me off at the last minute.

  "Turn around, let me cum on you," he said, desperation and arousal putting a razor's edge on his voice.

  I did as I was told and was met with a rope of warm cum hitting me in the face. And then another. Another fell on my blouse. For a second, I was angry. But more than that, it turned me on. I could feel the warmth spreading through me again, the warmth of arousal. He pulled me back up and pulled me close, whispering again in my ear:

  "Leave it like that."

  I shivered in arousal. He guided me out of the theater, the film still in the middle of a bombastic final battle. I could feel his cum on my face; I could see everyone's eyes on it, there on my face. I wanted to hide, but Travis kept his hand on my arm the entire way. In a sense, I was mortified, but that was part of the appeal. It was incredibly hot. The way I felt, I would have gotten right on my knees and sucked him off in front of the ticket booth, but I didn't. He drove me back to my own car, and I went home alone again.

  I could feel a pit of loneliness, but at the same time I knew that it was what I'd asked -- even if getting fucked raw and walking around with cum on my face wasn't, and had been so nice. Maybe he did know how to respect a woman's boundaries.

  I got home and pulled a beer out of the fridge. I pulled my shirt off, throwing it in the hamper. I was getting ready to get in the shower when I heard a demanding knock on the door. I called out from the bathroom that I wasn't decent.

  The voice I heard made a chill run through my chest: "Jen? It's Jacob Stone. We need to talk."

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  His Black Baby

  A Billionaire's Interracial Surprise

  1

  In the heat of the afternoon, two people tangled up in sweaty bedsheets writhe with ecstatic gasps. Their touches are charged, full of primal desire. The woman's dark skin glistens with water that the man laps up at her neck. The salt brings his taste buds alive. The sensation of his slick tongue against her skin makes her clench around his manhood and moan out his name.

  Gripping his back with her hands and wrapping her legs around him, she throws off the bedsheet
s. The man's face dips down, his soft lips sucking in her nipple.

  They move in time until the woman's toes curl, her legs gripping him tighter. She orgasms around him, and then he follows her, spilling into her.

  Falling down with a gasp, Charlotte Spencer's black hair cascades over the bed like serpents. The man leans over her for a kiss, which she turns away from. His hand hovers over her forehead, wanting to push a strand of hair from her skin, but she pushes him away.

  “Thanks for picking me up, Max.” Leaning to one side, Charlotte grabs her phone from the table next to her bed. “I don't know what I would have done without you. I hate when Louis calls in sick, this is the third time in two months!”

  Maxwell Cooper, a tall, buff man with wild brown hair and a scruffy beard that Charlotte hates, grins down at her. “No problem. You've repaid me enough.” Max nuzzles his face into her shoulder, his perpetual five o'clock shadow scratching her skin.

  Today, like every other day that Charlotte might call Max to her, was nothing more than her way of dealing with stress. Friends with benefits, no strings attached. That was the deal they made after Max made his little mistake and forced Charlotte to break up with him.

  Max, on the other hand, has never cut those ties. His heart lies with this woman with hair like the darkest night and eyes fierce as any lion's. He has been fighting for her love ever since they broke up, but Charlotte has never relented.

  Reaching around her curvy body, Max gropes Charlotte's breast. Her brown nipple stiffens in response, but the rest of her body tenses as she sighs. She sits up, her lips tight. The sheet slips from her shoulders, her brown back glistening in the fading afternoon sunlight that streams in from the Southern window behind her bed. At all times, Charlotte looks like a goddess. Breathtaking, inspiring, terrifying. Capable of compassion and creation, or brutal destruction.

  “Max, we need to talk.”

  His heart leaps. He sits up straight, his eyebrows furrowing. Giving Charlotte his full attention, he hopes that maybe she'll finally relent and become his girlfriend again. He has been over to her house, in her bed, three times this week. He even fully satisfied her each time to the best of his ability. Surely, she's ready to trust him again.

  “What's up, beautiful?”

  “We can't keep doing this.”

  “Doing what?” Max reaches between her legs while kissing her hip bone. She smells like sex and spiced apple. “This?”

  Charlotte pushes off the bed, ripping the sheet from him and wrapping it around her body. With it draping down her thin frame, she looks even more like a goddess. Aphrodite, angry. “I can't keep sleeping with you, Max. I'm just leading you on, or you're reading more into this than you should be. I don't know who's to blame, all I know is I'm never going to give you the kind of relationship you want from me.”

  “What?” He asks, coming to the edge of the bed. His chest tightens, a familiar ache threatening to overwhelm him.

  “Please just go. I need you to leave.” Her jaw clenches, her fists at her side straining to keep her from lashing out. When Max doesn't get up immediately, she throws her arms up and turns, opening her drawers and slamming them shut as she grabs clothes. She throws them on the counter in the bathroom attached to her bedroom. The same bathroom where Max lost his virginity. “I'm going to take a shower, and when I get out you need to be gone.”

  “Wait!” Max stands up, not covering himself. His cock slaps against his leg as he runs to the door, trying to stop her. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because, Max! You fucked up, and I still haven't forgiven you!”

  Max grabs her arm, but she pulls away and slaps his face. He rubs his stinging cheek and tries to choke down a tear. “I thought you enjoyed this!”

  “The sex is great and always has been, but it's not worth it to keep torturing myself with your stupid puppy dog looks and idiotic dream of one day marrying me! It's never going to happen! You have to go. It was so stupid of me to rely on your help to deal with my stress, and now I'm cutting you off.”

  Charlotte stands there for another second, watching Max as he goes from hurt to furious to hurt again. He has a million questions he wants to ask her, and a million more insults he wants to sling her way, but before he can say anything she slams the door with a loud sigh.

  “God damn it!” Max bellows, throwing Charlotte's expensive bedside lamp to the floor and shattering it. He grabs his clothes and his cell phone, pulling a framed photo of her off the wall in the hallway and breaking its glass before storming out of the house. Hopping into his Lamborghini, his radio blares speed metal and he rushes out to the nearest club. He's going to dance, drink, and then fuck someone. Doesn't matter who. All that matters is pumping up the ego that Charlotte just stepped on, cut up, and ground to a pulp.

  With three stages, 10 private rooms, expensive liquor, and the students of an Ivy League college nearby, Paradise on Ten and Drive is the number one club in the city. It's a little slice of New York hundreds of miles away. Celebrities from all over the world travel to be seen at Paradise, and it's no surprise. It's been around for fifty years and has been owned by one of the top movie producers ever since then.

  Only a few people are able to bypass the line and just get into the club on any given night. Politicians. Celebrities. Exceptionally beautiful women. Max slides by the bouncer with a nod thanks to his heavy investment in the club and his father's work with the owner.

  The club is too crowded for bad emotions to catch anyone's attention, but Frank isn't just anyone. As soon as Max sits down in front of his bar with his head in his hands, the star bartender immediately sets down a glass of vodka and places a hand on his shoulder. “You don't look so good.”

  Frank is one of the few people Max considers a real friend, even though he's as old as his father and covered in scars and tattoos from years in jail. When Max was a kid and still sneaking into the club with a fake ID, Frank was there to take away his alcohol and give him a few words of wisdom. It was annoying at first, but now Max appreciates the fatherly attention that he rarely got elsewhere.

  “Charlotte shit,” Max grunts, fighting the urge to punch his own leg. Who does she think she is? Max is going to be worth billions of dollars in a few years! Who could turn someone like him down?”

  “Man, tough luck. You gotta get over her, she's worse than heroin for you.” Frank knows a thing or two about heroin. You can read his history on the lines in his face.

  Max slams his drink on the table, sloshing half the small glass onto the wood. “I don't know how! I know I fucked up, but... I love her, Frank!” He doesn't say that they have been fucking ever since they broke up and that she's always been distant with him, even when they were dating. It's not like she lived a bad life, so she had no reason to have that emotional wall up. Max just chalked it up to being emotionally stunted or having Daddy issues, but it may just be that Charlotte is a bitch.

  Fire pulls up from his stomach and into his throat, and Max apologizes to himself for saying something so harsh about his beautiful goddess. She's not a bitch. Maybe he's just a bad person.

  Frank hands Max another shot and then turns to help another customer. Her melodious voice is familiar to Max, so he looks up and drinks in the sight of Tiffany Jackson's long, unnatural red hair. It nearly swallows her whole body when she lets it down. He's seen her with natural hair or long black weaves before, and she looks beautiful either way.

  “When's the last time you got a haircut, Red?”

  “When's the last time you did volunteer work, Rich Boy?” Her thick lips turn up into a mean smile.

  Max sticks his tongue out at her and downs his shot. A sudden vision of Charlotte's beautiful dark face, with her long nose and dark brown eyes sends a jolt of pain to his heart and tears to his eyes.

  “Whoa,” Tiffany says, sitting down next to him and draping a dark arm over his shoulders. “All the blood just drained from your face. Are you sure you aren't sick or something, white boy? Maybe you should be drinking
water instead?” All these nicknames were Tiffany's idea, of course. She was teasing him before they were even friends.

  Max tries to shoo her away, shrugging her arm off his shoulders. “Mind your own business.”

  “Is Charlotte teasing you still?”

  Max wonders if everyone in the world knows that Charlotte secretly detests him. He keeps the thought to himself. No reason to piss off his only other female friend. He's had enough heartbreak for today.

  “You must think I'm an absolute joke,” he says. Frank brings him another shot, but Tiffany shoots the old man a dirty look that makes him back off.

  “I don't, dear. I just don't understand why you're wasting your time with her. There are so many others that would kill to be with you.” She doesn't mention that she's one of those people. Partially because she would never admit it, and partially because it doesn't really need to be said.

  “I love her so much, Tiffany.” Max's words drip with depression as much as they drip with alcohol. Tiffany winces, trying again to place her hand on his shoulder. He doesn't push her away this time.

  “She doesn't love you, though.” She rubs his back. Tiffany's ability to hide her own emotions has helped ever since she was the only middle-class kid in one of the most elite private high schools in the country. Tiffany got there on hard work, studying, and perfect grades. Max and most of the other kids got there on their father's bank accounts.

  His head droops toward the table, a single tear splashing on the dark wood. “I just don't understand why!” A couple men from the bar look at Max, annoyed at being disturbed. Paradise is a sanctuary, a place where only good things happen. Not many people come here to mope.

  “Alright, come on you big dork. It's time for you to get home.” Tiffany grabs Max's thick arm, wrapping it around her neck and pulling him up. For such a small girl, she's strong from years of weight training and martial arts classes. She's been taking them ever since her first homecoming date tried to take things too far.