by Dark Angel
I know, it sounds so easy, doesn’t it? But it wasn’t, and you were with me every step of the way. And, because of that, you know what I know: love and happiness don’t come easy, but they’re always worth it.
Even if the whole world tells you ‘no’, remember that sometimes the most appropriate response is to shout a ‘yes’ right back. Especially when hot men are involved, of course.
Dirty Daddy
It’s Time To F*ck Your Dirty Daddy…
No man can match me. No woman has tamed me.
My billion-dollar empire makes me the most powerful man in the city. And I have a body to match. 8-pack abs. The face of a prince. The physique of a god. Money. Fame. Power.
And the 12 inches that dangle between my legs, hardening as you walk by.
Face it. You want me. You know you can’t resist.
And if you can walk afterwards, then we’ll do it all again till you can’t.
Touch me. Tempt me.
Tease me. Please me.
Nothing will be too much in this forbidden land of taboo delight.
Because baby, no matter how wrong it seems, with Daddy, it’ll always feel right.
**Come join Alexis Angel in this full-length standalone romance. No cliffhanger but it's going to be a scorcher with scenes so hot that your lady parts will need a cold shower. HEA? You know it, babe.**
Magnus
"Oh baby," Mandy moans lewdly as the sound of my thighs slapping against her ass fills the air.
It’s a fucking great sound. If you were here, you’d be touching yourself at the sight of us.
You’d want to join in once you saw my gorgeous fucking body fucking her. You wouldn’t mind sharing. You wouldn’t care. You’d lick my cock with whoever else just to get at my cock.
Pretty arrogant and confident right off the bat, aren’t I?
Pleasure to meet you. I’m Magnus Davion.
But let’s get back to Mandy and the ungodly things I’m doing to her.
I can hear the lewd sucking sounds as my cock plunges in and out of her pussy. I can smell her fucking juices as her scent permeates the air.
Her wetness is smeared across her thighs. Her pussy is spasming around my thick cock and I grunt in pleasure at the feelings that are going through me. "Don't you dare stop fucking me, baby," she adds one last command as she turns her head back to me to look at my monster pole piercing her.
But wait, who the fuck does this bitch think she is, giving me fucking orders? I'm Magnus fucking Davion, the 15th richest man in the whole fucking world, if you read Forbes Magazine. I just bought a fucking NFL team—the New York Nailers—from the previous owner, Apollo Kane.
That’s right. If he sounds familiar to you it’s because he’s fucking famous now. Alexis Angel wrote his whole story and how he owns Blush Magazine, or whatever the fuck.
But he had to get out of the football franchise.
And I didn't mind paying $3 billion dollars for it. That kind of money is literally fucking nothing to me.
So I certainly don’t take fucking orders from anybody—but in this case, I can let it slide.
You're just getting acquainted with me, aren't you? You must think all I do all day is talk about how wealthy I am and shit. That's actually not true. I don't spend my day only bragging about how much money I have. I also spend it talking about how fucking good I look, and how much you're probably wanting to fuck me.
Oh, you think I already did that, don't you? But you have no idea, darlin’.
I’m literally a god amongst men.
That's right. You heard me fucking right. I stand taller than all the men you will ever fucking meet. No one of this world really compares to me.
I'm fucking wealthy. I'm the fucking founder and CEO of Davion Development, one of the most ruthless real estate firms in New York City.
We’re not like some private equity firm or investment bank either. Hell fucking no.
We build things. Buildings. Bridges. Dams. We get our hands dirty.
We take over abandoned places and we create gleaming skyscrapers that inspire the fucking imagination.
I'm 6' 4", built like a Greek God—with a massive chiseled chest and a rock hard 8-pack of abs. My skin is tanned to a perfect bronze and flawless. My face is chiseled and rugged. My hair is just right. My nose is royal in its cut. My chin is even fucking aristocratic looking. But aside from the handsome looks that you see on the outside, there is one very fucking large reason that you want me to fuck you.
"Oh my god, baby, I'm about to cum!" Mandy screams as I slam into her. She closes her eyes and contorts her face as it's wracked with lust. I feel her entire body shake and quiver. Her pussy clamps down around my cock. It's intense. I feel her go slightly limp as her muscles lose all voluntary control and pleasure seizes her body.
That's why. The cause of her orgasm. The rod that's pistoning into her box.
My 12-inch, thick, throbbing, pole of a cock. It swings between my legs and one taste of it and you'll be fucking begging me for more. You'll do whatever I fucking ask for another lick. Another taste. Another fuck.
My cock will make you worship it. It'll make you fucking beg and plead. And it'll make you cum like you've never, ever, fucking cum before.
"Oh my fucking god!" Mandy screams and her body writhes like that of a woman possessed.
I look down past Mandy.
I may have forgotten to tell you where I am. I'm in the team skybox room of Nailers Arena. Today is the first day of the regular season and it's the Nailers' first game at their refurbished stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey. The crowd is waiting for kick-off and I was gazing at the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the skybox when Mandy Marsten, the head cheerleader for the Nailers, came to see me.
"Admiring the view?" she asked me, walking in. We hadn't talked much before, but I can fucking tell when someone's giving me the eye and she has been eye-fucking me all fucking week. But so do a lot of women, so I just go with the flow.
"Maybe I was looking in the wrong direction," I said, walking toward her.
In hindsight it seems unreal because I had just walked up to her and reached over and pulled her close. Before I knew it, the few clothes that she had on were off, and on the ground. She was sucking my cock like a fucking pro in five minutes and bending over the table looking out at the crowd through those same floor-to-ceiling windows in ten.
I gotta say though, if we had to pick any place to have sex, this would be it. This room, with its fucking plush leather couches and mahogany wood trimmings screams to have people fuck in it.
All the better when it's game day and you have 150,000 screaming fans who don't know you're about to bust a fucking nut high above their heads.
I can feel myself getting close to my own fucking orgasm. It's going to be fucking intense. Already I see Mandy begin to blink a couple of times as she comes out of the pleasure-coma that I put her into. Her chest is heaving and she's winded, with fucking sweat dripping down her back. It's a fucking beautiful sight.
But like all good things, shit has to get in the fucking way. Something has to come and fuck it all up.
I look up to see the roving camera pan the crowd. Normally, it wouldn't make too much of a difference but the fucking camera that's displaying on the Jumbotron is slowly panning over the crowd, and people are cheering when they see their faces—until it pans over to the skybox and they see that I'm fucking Mandy doggie style, straight on the Jumbotron.
That's fucking right. Its got me right there, on a 33 foot by 110 foot screen. My head is bobbing and Mandy’s face is grimacing.
At first, people don't know what to fucking make of it. I mean, this has got to be the largest porno viewing in the history of the fucking world.
But after numerous sex tapes, countless scandals, Presidents who marry their stepmothers, and a host of other situations, the sexual mores of Americans have changed. They're not scandalized by my fucking the shit out of Mandy.
They're apprecia
tive.
At least, that's what the cheers are telling me! Literally, people are standing up and cheering me on!
Okay, you got me. I was worried for a fucking second. I was worried that people were going to start to do the same old bullshit and call me a bad role model.
But wait, I forgot. I'm Magnus fucking Davion. I can do any fucking thing I want.
With a roar, I push against the glass door that leads out to the terrace. Part of the renovation took some of the floor-to-ceiling glass wall and made it into a door and added a small terrace.
The door swings open and the tint from the glass goes away on the Jumbotron. The camera zooms in and I'm larger than life looking down on the stadium at 150,000 fans who are screaming and swooning.
I raise my heavily tattooed arm and point out at the stadium.
The crowd goes fucking wild.
Mandy opens her eyes and looks out the window. The first thing she sees is herself bent over a table except now her face is 30 feet by 110 feet.
"Oh God," she moans, "Everyone can see us!"
She whimpers and the thought of being so public makes her body spasm and convulse and I know another orgasm has just ripped through her.
I don't fucking blame her. I'm about to cum myself.
But something seems incomplete as thoughts of cum race through my head.
I figure it out.
Why cum into a condom when I'm in front of this many fucking people?
That's right. I need something dramatic.
I pull out of Mandy.
Already the crowd is beginning to chant, as if they realize what is about to happen.
"Cum on her! Cum on her! Cum on her!"
Little fucking grandmothers with foam fingers are pointing at me, telling me to do my fucking job as a man.
Mandy knows what's going on, and as if in a trance, she slides down to her knees and faces my cock. She does not put her back to the crowd and they can still see her as she pulls the condom from my cock and flings it off the terrace onto the fans below.
If this isn't like being a fucking god, I don't know what is. Mandy wraps her lips around my tip and sucks.
I groan.
"Cum on her! Cum on her!" the crowd continues to chant.
I see Mandy staring at me as she removes her mouth and begins to stroke my shaft.
Those slutty eyes are the last things I see as my mind goes blank and a seizure of pleasure grips my balls, and electricity jolts through my body.
Arcs of white, hot, thick cum race out of my cock and onto her face.
A thick rope splashes her on the chin. Another hits her neck. Her beautiful, slutty eyes are staring at me and milking me as two shots cover her forehead. Cum starts to drip down her. She opens her mouth and a shot of ropey, thick cum goes in. Another few shots hit her tits and cover her with semen.
The crowd goes wild, cheering me on as I finish spraying the cheerleader before me with my cum.
She begins to scoop it off her tits with one finger and bring it to her lips. I groan as I see her take one long swab of cum on her index finger and bring it to her lips.
My cock twitches again.
The Jumbotron captures it.
The crowd starts to chant my name. I wave and take Mandy’s hand and lift her to her feet. We both bow.
The crowd goes fucking wild; the roar is deafening.
Welcome to my life.
Want to keep reading?
I guarantee you, if you do, you'll be following me into something that makes this seem like a boring walk in the park.
But you won't know till you come find out.
The New York Daily Journal
It’s Time for Us To Come Together!
Gossip Central on Page Eight. From the Desk of Vicky Durner - All the gossip you never even knew you needed to know!
Good morning Gotham!
Hope you enjoy a nice spraying of cum on your face with that coffee and toast! Because that's exactly what we got yesterday with Magnus Davion at the New York Nailers arena.
In case you just spit out your coffee reading the above line, fear not, brave denizen of New York City. You did read that correctly.
Billionaire real estate mogul Magnus Davion was so happy with his recent purchase of the New York Nailers that he went ahead and began to celebrate by having sex in the skybox of the stadium—during a home game.
I know that in the Tri-State region we try to give billionaires their due. After all, they've managed to accrue all this money so it's only natural that we give them an opportunity to enjoy it. But honestly, if you're going to be enjoying it by sticking your giant rod into the head cheerleader of the team that you bought in the skybox of the stadium where there is a game going on, maybe think about closing the blinds?
Because it didn't take long for the cameras to find Magnus. And when this showman found himself on the JumboTron, did he shy away?
Of course not.
He doubled down.
And sprayed the cheerleader in the face with his love gun. To the cheers of over 50,000 fans.
I'm sorry, but I thought I was going to stadiums to watch football games. I didn't realize I was going to Nailers Arena to watch the live re-enactment of Debbie Does Dallas.
Is this really the kind of environment we want our kids to grow up in?
Do we really want the next generation of New Yorker men to aspire to one day shoot their ejaculate onto a woman's face in front of 50,000 cheering fans?
Because that's exactly what we're doing by rewarding such gross and boorish behavior from Magnus Davion.
How exactly are we rewarding it you ask, my fellow Gothamites?
Consider our tax dollars that we pay to the city of New York. Those tax dollars are being used to procure services from real estate developers.
Think of the Equinox Tower, one of the most iconic and celebrated building projects in the world. Once it's built in three years, it'll be the tallest building in the world.
And right now, the City of New York, which is the landlord for the site, is considering a host of developers to carry this project forward. The chief contender?
Yep. You guessed it.
Davion Development.
It's time for us to put a stop to this.
It's time for us to draw a line in the sand and say that we're done with the filth washing up into our homes. We're done rewarding bad behavior.
I call on all New Yorkers today to join me in telling the city and the state to pull all contracts and refuse to do business with any business entity that's controlled by Magnus Davion.
Start sending him a message that it's not okay to be so focused on yourself that you don't care about anything else.
That it's not okay to be the baddest boy on the block.
That it's time to join the human race.
Let's bring our voices together, New York. And let's be heard.
Until then, keep your ears to the ground, New York. I'll be listening!
Penny
Monday morning. Most people hate it, but not me.
I think there’s something exhilarating about the start of a new week. New challenges, new opportunities … you’re probably rolling your eyes at me right now. I know, I know—I’m one of those people lucky enough to have a job that they love. What can I say? I fell in love with words when I was young, and that love kept on growing and growing until I became a reporter.
Ever heard of Gossip Central? Of course you have; I bet you don’t miss a single column. Well, I’m the gal (or, well, one of the gals) behind the keyboard. I know the byline under each column says a certain Vicky Durner wrote the piece, but that’s just part of the show. It’s a pen name, you see? A nom-de-plum if you want to be fancy about it. Because I, Penny Wright, am the one cranking out these columns. Okay, I’m not the only one working under the name Vicky Durner, but I sure as hell am the most prolific.
I’m only twenty-one and, now fresh out of Yale, I want to prove to the world how good I really am. That’
s why I work so hard, and that’s why I’m this cheery on a Monday morning.
I know the name Gossip Central might have you rolling your eyes again, but don’t get too hung up on the name: there’s serious journalism in these pieces. Gossip is fun (I’m not above a good afternoon of it), but I also care about this city where I grew up, and I hope that shows in what I write.
“You’re early,” one of the new interns yawns, stretching out his arms as I walk inside the main floor of the New York Daily Journal office. “I’ve heard the boss wants to see you,” he adds, attacking the cup of coffee in front of him with lazy movements. There are bags under his eyes and, judging by the way he’s slumping over his desk now, I’m betting he was on call the whole night, doing edits and re-edits on articles that are supposed to be buried deep in the newspaper. I remember my days as an unpaid intern during the summers, and I can sum them up with two words only: not fun.
“Thank you, Hank,” I reply with a smile, reading the name from the ID card hanging from his breast pocket. He throws me a half-asleep smile, and then he’s back to his laptop, his fingers lazily banging at the keyboard.
I stroll toward the Editor-in-Chief’s office, the one at the end of the main room, and make my way through the dozens of still-empty desks filling the whole place. I rap my knuckles against the door, and a heartbeat after that I hear a familiar voice replying.
“Come in!” I hear my mother say, and I push the door open and step inside. Yep, you’ve heard it right; my mother, Rhoda Wright, is the ‘boss’ around here. But don’t think I’m working here just because she’s my mother. In fact, that’s one of the reasons behind the fact that I work so hard: I don’t want to live under her shadow.
She’s sitting behind her massive desk now, a monstrosity made out of oak that dominates the whole room, and goes up to her feet the moment I get in.
“G’morning,” I greet her, “I heard you wanted to see me and I --,” I trail off as I see a woman sitting in front of her desk, forgetting what I was about to say. She turns around on her seat to face me, and I can’t help but be surprised as I realize that the woman right in front of me is the Mayor of New York City herself.