by Mia Ford
“I want you,” I said, reaching down for her. “I want to fuck you. Now.”
Molly pulled her lips from my cock with the smack of her lips. She looked up at me with a smile. Licking her lips, she said, “I want to fuck you, too. Help me up and I’ll show you my room.”
I took her hands and lifted her up. She immediately wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me again, salty, hot and wet, her tongue swirling around my lips.
She backed away and crooked her fingers at me. “Well, don’t just stand there with your pants around your ankles and your cock sticking out, Brad the banker. Come on, big boy. Fuck me now!”
Chapter 8: Katie/Molly
The last time I dropped to my knees to give a guy a blowjob like that was seven or eight years ago, the summer before my last year of law school. The guy’s name was Martin Dean. Professor Martin Dean, to be exact, my contract law professor at Harvard.
I know what you’re thinking: aren’t all contract law professors frumpy old men who wear bow ties and wool jackets with leather patches on the elbows? You’d be partially right. Most law professors are frumpy old men, but Professor Martin Dean was just forty-five, with jet black hair, a swimmer’s body, and a neatly-trimmed beard.
And blue eyes that could make me melt in my panties. He did wear a wool jacket with leather elbow patches, but on him it looked like something out of a Calvin Klein ad.
We bumped into each other at a campus fundraiser for Legal Aid. We started chatting and after the event, went to a local bar with mutual friends for drinks. He drank several scotch and waters, and I downed half a dozen glasses of wine.
We got drunk.
Then we got handsy.
Things progressed quickly from there. He put his hand on my thigh under the table and slowly slid it under my skirt. I spread my legs and tried to pretend that nothing naughty was going on. He pushed my panties aside with his fingertips and fingered my clit until I came right there at the table. I put my hand on the bulge in his pants and ordered him to get me out of there.
Fifteen minutes later, we were at my place, him leaning back against the front door and me on my knees in front of him with his cock in my mouth. That seemed to be my thing. I barely gave either one of them time to get inside the door before attacking them and filling my mouth with their cocks.
Martin was average on the cock size scale, about six inches. Brad’s cock, however, was long and thick, girthy in my hand, veiny, with a bulbous head that blossomed in my mouth. I sucked him long and deep like my life depended on it.
Brad was breathing heavy within a few seconds. His body twitched as I sucked him deep in my throat. I knew I could have made him cum right there in my little foyer, but where was the fun in that. I wanted to feel the heat of him deep inside me. I’d never had a cock so big. Just the anticipation was nearly enough to make me bake a cream pie in my pants, as Monique would say.
When Brad reached down and told me he wanted to fuck me, I didn’t hesitate to comply. I let him pull me to my feet, gave him a hard kiss, and backed away, crooking my fingers at him playfully.
“Well, don’t just stand there with your pants around your ankles and your cock sticking out, Brad the banker,” I said with a grin. “Come on, big boy. Fuck me now!”
Brad stood there for a moment, his mouth hanging open and his cock bouncing in the air. He laughed and started shuffling toward me with his pants around his ankles like an old man. When he realized I wasn’t going to wait, he kicked off his shoes and socks, and peeled off the pants. By the time he appeared in my bedroom door, his jacket and shirt were gone. He was totally naked and ready to go.
Brad’s body was amazing; muscular, lean, deeply tanned, hairless. Even his pubes were trimmed super short, which made his cock look huge. I mean, it was huge, but the lack of hair made it look REALLY huge.
I ripped off my clothes and jumped backward onto the bed. The only light in my tiny bedroom was a lamp on the nightstand, but it was enough. I spread my legs to give him a good look at my neatly-trimmed red pubes. I think it’s sick, but guys always want to know if a girl with red hair also has red pubes. It’s my hair color, you fucking asshole, of course my pubes are red! I could tell Brad was curious, too, because when he saw my pubes he gave me a little smile.
“The carpet does match the drapes,” he said with a smile.
“Of course,” I said, cocking my eyebrows at him. “You like what you see, Brad the banker? Is red your favorite color?”
“It is now,” he said.
I used two fingers to show him how wet my pussy and clit were, hot pink and glistening with juices. When Brad saw me touching myself, he wrapped his fingers around his cock and sighed.
“That is beautiful,” he said, moving to the foot of the bed. I leaned up on my elbows to watch him masturbate, his cock swelling in his hand. He reached down with his free hand and dipped his fingers between my wet folds. He brought the fingers up to his lips and sucked them dry. “And you taste amazing.”
“So, did you,” I said, playfully licking my lips. “God, you’ve got me so hot.”
I was flowing like a hot river as I watched his hand moving up and down over his cock. I slid my fingers down over my clit and spread my pussy lips for him, revealing my throbbing hole.
“I want that inside me,” I said, breathing hard as little tingles of pleasure rippled from my pussy to my nips. “Now.”
“My pleasure,” he said, moving closer to the foot of the bed. He got onto his knees between my legs and guided the tip of his cock to my pussy hole. He swizzles it around for a moment, getting it nice and slick. Little shockwaves ebbed through me at his touch. He pushed against me and my pussy spread to accommodate his bulbous cock head. I suctioned tight around his shaft, but I was lubed up enough that he slid easily in.
“Oh… yes…” he sighed. “That’s the ticket…”
He braced his palms on the bed next to me and eased himself inside me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and closed my eyes as he slid slowly in until he could slide in no more. He rocked his hips back and forth slowly, setting a fire that swept through my body, making my nipples rock hard and my mouth bone dry.
“That is the ticket… oh… jeez… fuck me… Brad… slow… steady…”
Brad sighed as he moved in and out in a steady rhythm. He slid in until he hit my cervix, then slid out until just the head was inside me. He did it again. And again. And again. I felt the orgasm building from my head to my toes. My toes curled. I sucked in air between my clenched teeth.
“Fuck… you are so… fucking… tight…” Brad said.
“Faster now…” I said. “Fuck me faster… I’m… close…”
Brad sped up the pace, his hips moving faster, his cock ramming into me, jarring the entire bed, which creaked like a rusty door hinge. The headboard slammed against the wall. I expected the neighbors to bang on the wall, but didn’t care if they did. Brad was giving me the best fucking I’d had in a long time.
He was ending a very long dry spell.
Jeez, I loved to fuck.
I really needed to do this more often.
“God… faster…” I moaned, digging my heels into his ass to prod him on. “I’m going to… fuck… going to… cum… Brad… faster… harder… faster…”
Brad grunted like a wild animal and started banging into me harder and harder.
I put my hands on his arms and dug in with my nails.
He moaned in pain, but didn’t stop.
He was like the Energizer Bunny: he just kept going and going and going.
And I started cumming and cumming and cumming.
Chapter 9: Conner/Brad
I couldn’t hold back the orgasm any longer. I thrust hard into Mollie as the orgasm erupted from my tight balls, filling her with my hot sticky seed. “I’m cumming… oh… shit… fuck... I’m… cumming…”
I jackhammered into her until she started moaning, then groaning, then screaming my name.
“Brad… fuck me… Brad… shit… I’m cummi
ng… I’m … cummmminnngggg…”
I thought for a moment that the bed was going to collapse from me bouncing up and down on top of Mollie and her thrashing up and down beneath me.
The headboard was beating the fuck out of the wall. A framed picture above the bed fell off the nail and crashed to the floor.
We ignored it.
We were too busy to think about anything other than finishing what we’d started.
After a moment, Mollie screamed one last time and I pushed out the last drop of cum that I could.
We were a wet, sticky, gooey mess, but neither one of us seemed to care.
I lowered myself to lie on top of her, and once I caught my breath, gave her a long, wet kiss.
“Happy New Year, Mollie the paralegal,” I said.
“Happy New Year to you, Brad the banker,” she sighed. “Thanks for coming to my party.”
* * *
A short time later, Mollie was curled into a ball beside me, snoring softly with her luscious ass pressed to my hip and her cold feet pressed to my leg.
We’d cuddled for a while. I know, women love that shit and she did feel wonderful in my arms. After a while she kissed my cheek, told me goodnight, and rolled over.
Within a couple of minutes, her breathing grew heavy and she went out like a light.
I thought about just closing my eyes to join her. I wasn’t as drunk as I had been a couple of hours earlier, and her small bed felt warm and cozy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so relaxed.
Then I remembered that spending the night with a woman meant waking up with her.
Sure, there would probably be a nice round of hot morning sex, maybe more sex in the shower, but that would be followed by awkward small talk and the obligatory “getting to know you better” morning chit chat. Then the lie when I promised to call her.
As gorgeous and sexy as she was, my dance card was full.
I worked sixteen-hours a day and had more pussy than I could ever plow through. I’m talking primo pussy: models, actresses, socialites, and on and on.
And this girl did not impress me as the kind of girl who would settle for just being another of my fuck buddies.
I suddenly found myself wide awake, totally sober, staring at the ceiling, planning my escape.
Once I was sure she was sleeping, I got up quietly and gathered my clothes. I eased the bedroom door shut and got dressed in the living room so as not to wake her up.
I let myself out, made sure the door was locked behind me, and called my driver.
He was there by the time I stepped out into the freezing New Year’s night.
That was two months ago.
Though I’ve thought of her often, I never saw or spoke to Mollie the paralegal again.
Until tonight when she walked into the restaurant and sat down across from me with an angry look on her face.
Holy shit.
What was I supposed to do now?
Chapter 10: Conner
My best friend and boss, Reed Helstrom, breezed into my office like he owned the place, which, as a senior partner at the investment banking firm of Price Bean & Whitlock, technically he did. A small piece anyway.
I was sitting behind my oversized glass desk with my shoes off and feet up on the credenza, staring out the twenty-seventh floor window at the New York skyline across the way.
There wasn’t a cloud in the bright blue sky. It was another beautiful spring day in New York City. Too bad I couldn’t get outside to enjoy it. It was only four o’clock on the east coast, and I had conference calls with investors booked until at least half past seven, then a client dinner at eight.
By the time I was set free of my obligations the daylight would be a distant memory.
That was the downside of being me: I made millions of dollars every year, but had very little time to spend them; which was probably a good thing.
I was on a conference call on speakerphone, but had lost interest in anything they had to say nearly an hour ago. It was a venture capitalist firm in Silicon Valley, trying to convince Reed and I that PB&W should soak a few hundred million bucks into their latest and greatest find, some dating app for senior citizens called Gray Date.
Reed had been on the same call from his office. Obviously, he had gotten as bored as I had and decided to come into my office to hang out for the rest of the call. Or he had run out of liquor in his office and was looking for something to drink. It turned out to be a little of both.
He went immediately to the bar in one corner of my office and poured himself a tall scotch. He held up the crystal decanter to ask if I wanted one. I gave him a nod and held up two fingers.
He poured us both two shots of scotch and came over with a glass in each hand. He set my drink on the desk in front of me, made sure the mute button was pressed on the speaker phone, and plopped in the leather wingback chair on the other side of my desk.
“Remind me again why we’re even listening to this pitch,” he said, eyes rolling, head shaking. Reed was a good-looking guy in his early fifties, with short salt and pepper hair, a Kennedy jawline, bright blue eyes, perpetual tan. The women in the office loved him and he loved a few of them right back. So far without his wife, Gloria, finding out.
He took a sip of his drink and sighed. “Gray Date? Really? Do old people date?”
“The more important question is, do old people even know what an app is?” I asked, picking up my drink to take a sip. The scotch burned going down my throat. It made me all warm and tingly inside. “I know my folks wouldn’t have a clue.”
“No, the most important question is why should we give a shit about old people fucking?” he asked seriously. “Why should we give a shit about old people at all? Most old people are fucking broke and have one foot in the grave. If anything, we should invest in nursing homes or hospice care facilities, not dating apps.”
“You’re a cold son of a bitch, Reed Helstrom” I said with a smile. “You’ll be old someday. You’ll wish you had an app to help you get laid.”
“My money is the only app I need to get pussy,” he said. “Fuck old people. And fuck these guys if they think we’re going to invest one red cent in their hair-brained idea.”
“So, why are we wasting our time listening to their pitch?” I asked, a little confused. Reed was normally not a guy to waste a second of his time, which he claimed was more precious than money because he could get more money, but only had a finite amount of time. I always called bullshit on that one. Nothing was more important to Reed than cold, hard cash.
“We are listening to this pitch because that’s the old man’s great nephew speaking,” he said. He lifted his glass to me. “Try to pay attention because there will be a test afterward.”
The old man was Henry Wilson Price, the eighty-five-year old founder and senior partner of Price Bean & Whitlock, the Wall Street investment firm that paid Reed and I tens of millions of dollars every year to find and close deals that made the senior partners hundreds of millions of dollars. Gray Date was not going to be one of those deals, but the old man told us to listen, so that’s what we were going to do.
“So, guys, what do you think?” Price’s great nephew asked. I looked at Reed and held out my hand.
“You’re the senior partner,” I said. “You jack him off.”
Reed licked the scotch from his lips and tapped the mute button. “Very interesting concept guys. Why don’t you send over your financial and market test data and we’ll get with the powers that be here to talk it over next week.”
“Uh, okay, we can do that,” the great nephew said. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he expected a warmer reception than he was getting. “I was under the impression that we were already a go and this call was just a formality.”
Reed put his fist to his mouth and worked it back and forth, mimicking a blow job. He said, “You’re a go to send the financials and market data. We’d be happy to take a look at that and get back to you in a few weeks.”
We heard muffled voices on the other end of the line, then another voice came on the line. This one older and deeper, with an air of impatient condescension. “This is Oscar Patterson. I’m the senior partner here. Who are we speaking to again?”
“Senior partner Reed Helstrom,” Reed said with a sigh that was purposefully loud enough for the others to hear. “And Senior Vice President of Acquisitions Conner McGee.”
“Well, Helstrom, I was under the impression that this was a done deal,” Patterson said. “At least that’s what I was told before sitting through this long call.”
Reed gave me an evil smile. He ate cocksuckers like this for breakfast. He leaned his elbows on the desk and pulled the speaker phone closer. “Well, Patterson, old boy, there’s no such thing as a done deal when it comes to investing a hundred million dollars in unproven technology.”
“Unproven technology?” It was the great nephew’s voice again. “Dating apps generate hundreds of millions of dollars a year.”
“And there are a hundred million dating apps,” Reed said, just being a dick because it made him happy to do so.
“Yes, but there has never been an app for seniors,” the great nephew said. “We’d be breaking new ground with Gray Date. The upside is huge. People are living longer, having sex longer. This is an idea whose time has come.”