Birthday-girl Brooke accepts a dare to hit on the suave English businessman she and her friends encounter at a New York club. But when Gavin – the gentleman in question – invites her back to his suite at the New York Plaza hotel, she wonders if she’s just a tad out of her depth…
“So,” Brooke’s new companion asked her as they set off and she scuttled in her heels to keep up with his broad strides, “first time in the Plaza?”
She could hear innuendo in everything he said now. “Yes.” Conversation was tough in the circumstances. That she was climbing the red-carpeted steps of the New York Plaza’s magnificent, canopied entrance could not help but thrill her, more so hanging on the arm of such a debonair beau. Of course her slutty off-the-shoulder dress and starry tattoo did feel incongruous. She was way too down-market for the high ceilings, glittering chandeliers and vast gold-flecked spaces of the entrance hall. And for the glorious marble stairway, splitting off at the first landing and sweeping off to the hotel’s luxury bedrooms and suites.
But then she wasn’t there to be romanced, was she? That much had become abundantly clear in the back of the cab and the firmness of his grip as he swept her through the hallway reinforced the point. Romance was for women who matched his James Bond image, but Brooke was a silly girl too easily impressed by his cool arrogance. She was only getting a cursory look at the hotel’s glamorous trappings—its potted palms and ornate plasterwork—as he propelled her smoothly towards the elevator. This man had other concerns.
“I’m not getting the full tour, then?” It was a bold quip, she thought, quivering as she was next to her seducer while the elevator descended to collect them.
“You can go look around later if you like,” he said, “but it won’t be a swanky hotel you remember in the morning. Trust me on that.” She saw it again, as she had when he told his wedding tale, a raw carnality seeping out from beneath that elegant façade. It was in his eyes and straining against the crotch of his pants. He was driven by hunger and she had as good as offered herself to him back in the bar.
Oh god, he’s going to have me on a cracker.
She could still run. There was time. What was he going to do, hurtle after her through the foyer? He’d just go find someone else to satisfy his needs. But the thought sparked jealousy within her that stalled the impulse to flee. She was still wrestling with her doubts as the elevator doors rolled smoothly apart and disgorged itself of occupants.
“After you.” Still polite to a fault.
Brooke held up her chin, clutched her purse and walked into the golden mirrored cage as demurely as she could manage. She wondered how long her companion would retain his show of gentlemanliness.
Precisely, it transpired, until the elevator doors had closed behind them. Gavin spun her around before she had properly taken in her surroundings and pushed her roughly up against one of the reflecting walls. She took in a great gasp of air as his massive frame pinned her relatively slight form, his face an inch from hers and one massive hand reaching around to grasp her ass-cheek.
“Floor eighteen,” he said, having stabbed one of the buttons on the panel. “How many dirty things do you think I can do to you between here and there, in the event that we don’t acquire any company along the way?”
Brooke gulped. She sensed some kind of answer was required. Or maybe the question was rhetorical. “I don’t know. A … A few?”
“Oh, quite a few.”
He cupped her cheek firmly, fingers digging into the crevice above her thigh. “My time management is excellent. Suck my fingers.” He pressed them against her lips, three broad but smooth and carefully manicured fingers of his free hand. She parted her lips and let them slide over her tongue, filling her mouth, as he watched in close proximity. Her mouth closed around the digits and she sucked, salivating around the clean slightly salty taste of him. It was so intimate and invasive along with his crushing bodily presence that she buckled a little at the knees. “That’s it, Brooke. Now undo the flies of my trousers. That’s ‘pants’ to you. Find out what’s waiting.”
She insinuated a hand between their bodies, compelled by some understated power in his voice. Jesus, he was bulging fit to split a seam, like whatever in there was bursting to free itself. Her fingers scrabbled against the buttons, each one of which strained under pressure. As they popped loose she felt the give underneath, and her heart, as she went searching inside his pants, thudded in her chest. Her palm fitted around his cotton-etched shaft, but only just.
What a thick trunk, massive like his ego. Her hand drew back warily, but he shoved his fingers deeper into her mouth and she grabbed back in scared response, clutching him. Oh god, that was a whole lot of cock to fit inside any girl and no conscience to restrain it. This throbbing beast plundered brides on their wedding day, so what mercy would it show her? You’re in one shitload of trouble, girl, and you fucking know it! She searched upwards to explore the full extent of her trouble and her head went light before she found the end.
“Going to be a tight squeeze fitting it all inside you,” he breathed, reading her thought. Her mouth watered helplessly around his fingers. That right hand of his had made its way between her cheeks, drawing up the skirt of her mini-dress so he could brush the curves of her fish-netted cleft. “I hope that tight twenty-one-year-old cunny is getting nice and ready.” His fingers slid wetly from her mouth leaving her lips parted in astonishment as his hand dived. She was still caressing his shaft as he plucked up her dress at the front and grabbed underneath. His fingers found the crotch of her tights and tangled themselves in the netting, before tugging downward sharply.
“I always figure these are made to rip.” He rolled the R in accompaniment to the snapping of threads as the crotch of her garment was torn out. Brooke gasped once at the ripping and again when he clasped a hand to her thong and let one finger slide to the wetness beneath. “And yes, here we have one slutty little pussy,” he proclaimed softly, fingertip skating a silky back-and-forth path on her labia. “All primed to take me to the hilt.” His middle finger popped inside and she gave a start, throat releasing a breathy squeak. His gaze almost seared her eyeballs as that finger stroked gently inside her.
“You going to be a good girl for me, Brooke?”
She could only mouth the response. “Yes.”
“You going to do every damn thing I tell you?”
“Uh-huh.” Her pussy was weeping all over his hand.
“That’s what I like to hear. Now suck on those again. They’ll taste better this time.”
He’d withdrawn his hand from between her legs and now he shoved the same fingers as before to her lips. She slurped them up dutifully, her own tang spreading over her taste-buds. The elevator, she realised, was slowing, but as it turned had not quite reached their floor.
“Keep the taste on your tongue,” he said, retracting his fingers and adjusting the flies of his pants. “And pull that skirt back down. We don’t want anyone mistaking you for a filthy little fuckslut.” He winked at her and she tugged the hem of her dress back, face burning with a crazed blur of emotions as the doors slid apart.
An older couple accompanied them for the final few floors, Gavin’s frame partially blocking her view of them. The silver-haired husband’s eyes kept flicking their way, like he was taking a discrete interest in what was going on, crushed as she and Gavin were in one corner of the ascending room. The Englishman’s stare was impassive. Her pussy’s flavour lingered on her tongue, her mind on what it would be like taking this man ‘to the hilt’. It felt like she was lined up for a roller-coaster, but instinct told her this ride would last much longer.
Oh Christ, what have I done? I should have stayed with the girls …
Then the doors parted noiselessly and they were exiting onto floor eighteen, leaving the couple to think what they liked. Gavin’s hand was on the small of her back propelling gently, insistently, guiding her down the long corridor even as her legs threatened to give way. Blue-and-gold patterned carpets, pristine white-lacquered doorways; the setting was peripheral to her main preoccupation. Fucked silly. That’s the phrase people use, right? I’m going to be fucked silly all night long. Oh my god. Oh my sweet god.
“Here we are.” They were standing at the door to his room, that semi-fastened pants crotch still bursting with male potential as he reached for his key-card. “And to answer the question that’s currently burning in your mind,” he said, stony features creasing into a smile, “everything you imagine, and then some. How do you feel, Brooke?”
“I’m …” The question took her unawares and she fumbled for the bravado that had deserted her. “… A little nervous I guess.”
“Clever girl,” he said amiably. “But don’t worry, I have that meeting to consider. I’ll need some sleep, though not a lot.” The door clicked unlocked and he swung it open. He flicked a switch on the inside panel to throw his room into ambient relief. “After you, my dear.”
On another occasion Brooke might have been impressed by the suite. Its ornate French-Renaissance styling would have appealed to her vague taste for the historical. She’d have shed her heels and scrunched toes into the plush carpeting, while running hands over thick velvet drapes, drinking in Manhattan’s neon cityscape and revelling in the contrast of umpteenth century with twenty-first. Tonight, however, it made a limited impression on her. With the crotch ripped out of her tights and the erectile boner of brides shutting the door behind her, what matter if it was the Plaza or a by-the-hour motel?
“Wow, nice room,” she managed weakly, staring around at the gorgeous trappings. She turned as she spoke and he grappled her to him, expunging all the breath from her lungs so sudden was the motion.
“Bit fussy for my tastes,” he said, groin pressing against her soft belly. “But when in NYC … Besides, it’s a grand backdrop for a birthday debauching, don’t you think?”
Brooke couldn’t think of a great deal beyond her companion’s rampant maleness and all the hard bulk he had to put behind it. ‘Debauching’ was such a curious word to use, yet one in keeping with their faux-historical surroundings, rich as it was with connotations of bodices ripped asunder in the French court. A romantic notion in at least one sense of that word; as Gavin’s massive frame pressed against her, there was little romance and much raw desire.
“I guess so,” she said, the last of her affected boldness evaporating to reveal the scared girl beneath.
“Good.” He pushed her back from him to pass an appraising stare over her body. “Then let’s get those fucking tights off.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond—a man of action, this Bond-esque Englishman. While she simply stood there, he yanked up her dress, seized hold of her tights’ already sundered strands and tore apart, shredding the garment completely. Brooke stared and squealed, hands clenching in panic, as he bared her thighs and legs with ruthless efficiency. “See how much fun this is?” he said, jaw tense with enjoyment. He ripped down as far as he could, till her tights were a ruin of threads around her knees. “Come on, Brooke, get your heels off. I know it’s your birthday, but do I have to do everything myself?”
“What? Oh … yes …” She kicked off her heels, instinctively apologetic but not sure why. Gavin resumed his operation and she raised one foot at a time to let him strip the tights from her feet, clutching his shoulder lest she tumble.
“There, that’s better.” He arose and smiled at her, stroking her face as though calmed utterly by divesting her of the scant leggings. “Couldn’t have you in anything ripped, now could we?” He lifted her body to meet his and she was tiptoe in her bare feet, being kissed with a restrained passion, his fingers strumming the pinned strands of her hair. Firm practised lips undulated on hers, tongue-tip stroking hers playfully; her fears by some miracle were assuaged and she linked arms around his neck, clinging to him and kissing back.
Their mouths were united till she lost sense of time, partly due to the cocktails, but as much from her awakened sense of being a lover to this wicked man. Maybe there was something about her to which he was drawn. Something deep inside with which no other woman had connected. Christ knew what it was; perhaps he was stilled by the vulnerability he’d seen in her as the tights came off and it had brought him back to the lost love of his boyhood. She’d found the tenderness within the savage beast. How joyous.
His lips broke contact with hers and he traced her cheekbone with his fingertips. She smiled into those hard features, looking beyond the hardness to the glint of humanity in his eyes.
“Did you like your birthday kiss?”
“Yes. Yes I did, very much.”
He laughed. “Well just wait till you’re taking your birthday fuck. You won’t know which damn planet this is. Now get your heels back on and keep them on. Lose everything else.”
The steel in his voice shocked her. Whatever she’d thought she saw in his eyes was gone. “You want me to …”
“Strip,” he told her, “to your birthday suit. Heels on. Do it.”
She fumbled her way back into her shoes, clutching his torso to sustain her balance. Even then she didn’t quite know how to go about the next bit. “How would you like me to …”
“Slowly. Would some music help?”
She looked into his eyes and grasped for any concession he had on offer. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.”
“Come with me.” He led her from the sitting area where he’d enjoyed the tight-ripping interlude, through a moulded archway to the bedroom. Clicking on the lamps either side of the regally carved bedhead, he found the control for the suite’s entertainment system and spent a few moments flicking through the digital read-out on the wall-mounted television screen. She looked on, timid and helpless. “Got it,” he said with a degree of satisfaction. “You know this one?”
Feist’s Inside and Out. “Yeah, I like it.” Though somehow she felt the slinky tune would never sound the same to her again. It was something to sway to, something on which to focus as she took off all her clothes for this man. He sat down on the edge of the bed, relaxed and expectant, the dark bulged cotton of his shorts showing through partially unbuttoned flies.
She moved to the music in front of him, her body striving to remember what it had done so easily on countless dance floors. He propped himself on the covers and considered her. Cool jazz helped relieve her of her stumbling, that and the task of unfastening her dress at the back. No dice—her fingers felt way too clumsy. Hesitantly, with some unaccountable need to please, she brought herself to the V of his parted legs and turned about. “Would you …?”
He unclasped her deftly and drew the zipper downwards, a long, slow movement. She imagined his eyes following the smooth valley of her spine as he unzipped her, all the way down to the curve of her butt, where her thong began its plunge. When she made to move away and continue her dance, he stopped her. “Turn around. Take the dress off here.” She shifted to face him, heart fluttering at his casual upward gaze, those eyes calmly awaiting her exposure.
She eased the single strap from her untattooed right shoulder and was amazed at how much, despite all her anxiety, she wanted to strip for this man. It didn’t matter to her whether or not he deserved it—she simply hoped his cock would swell harder at the sight of her. The thought stayed as she let the bodice’s padding part from her breasts. James McFerrin had gazed in awe and gratitude anytime she let him see her firm, ample C-cups; it was enough that Gavin’s stare softened a little in appreciation. Her nipples, she knew, were rosy in the light and hard for him. She found the courage to peel off the dress completely and step out of it, displaying herself for him in thong and heels.
“Keep dancing,” he said, before her self-consciousness could kick in again. She swayed her hips to the smooth groove and palmed her tits for him, soaking her thong anew when his hand moved to his crotch and began a casual stroke. “I like this version,” he told her, and she didn’t catch his meaning for a moment. “Bee Gees sang it originally, but this is the one they were playing the night I took Clarissa to my club. She remarked on it.”
“Who’s Clarissa?” Brooke closed her palms to tug on her aching nipples. She didn’t want him talking about other girls, however many he’d fucked.
“She stripped for me as well,” he told her, “for me and an audience of over a hundred, in a bathtub on a stage. She hadn’t expected to, but she was unfortunately compromised and I made her do it, all those eyes on her naked ass. You, however, get to strip for me alone. So turn around and take your panties off. Don’t rush it.”
Goddamn. Mr English Stud—he thought all his big-talk about what he got other women to do would shock and appal her, that it would knock her off balance, make her knees quake with anxiety even as she creamed her thong. And he was right on every fucking count.
She manoeuvred herself about between his legs to provide him a bulls-eye view of her ass. Compelled somehow to give this bastard her very best, she thrust out her rear in all its gym-worked pertness, gripped her tiny thong two-handed and pushed. Her breath caught in her throat. The sexy tune was still playing and it felt so right, to peel the narrow strand free of her butt-crack and show it all off to him, every girly secret she had. Shit-scary, but oh so very good. God, she was glad she’d had that pre-birthday waxing.
Taking care not to stumble, she disentangled the panties from her high-heeled ankles and, pinching them between finger and thumb, dropped them daintily off to the side. A girl could retain a touch of the demure even when naked with a stranger, right? She focused on the music and attempted a sexy flourish, bending into a crouch and shimmying her ass for him, brushing it against the loosened trappings of his crotch. So damned dangerous, her delicate lady-zones lingering in such proximity to his bulged maleness. It was testament to how much she suddenly wanted to please him. He could do anything he wanted, any moment he wanted, but she pressed herself to him nonetheless. Then he shifted his body, hands clapping to her cheeks so firmly that she squealed.
“Bend over. Spread your legs and grab your ankles. Do it.”
He retained his possessive hold on her rump as she bent and spread, hands reaching lower than she could recall since high school gym class to grasp her ankles. Back then she had been subject to the wolf-whistles of some leering jocks. Today only Gavin was party to her stretch, but he had the added bonus of looking on her splayed wet sex at close range. She gripped the straps of her shoes and wondered momentarily what was next.
Then she felt it. Thumbs parting her cleft even further, so that the blade of his tongue could access her parted cunt-lips, teasing up and down. He searched between her forked thighs and found her clit with ease, tongue-tip flicking with hummingbird fervour, while she emitted disbelieving breathy moans. Electricity surged from her erotic centre through her entire body, resolving her nipples to hard peaks. His mouth ascended once more, a slick journey to her welcoming hole; on arrival he plunged inside her, hands grappling her butt-flesh as he writhed and flexed his muscle against her cunt-walls. His lips were sealed to hers, mouth surging with a controlled hunger, fingers prising her cheeks further apart so he could feast on her.
“Oh-oh-oh my god …” She was panting with embarrassed ecstasy, wide open before him and at the mercy of that experienced mouth. Her cunt was pulsing under his assault like a ripe fruit squeezed to bursting. But for the command to clutch her own ankles she’d have rubbed herself into a stupor. She fought to absorb the wild sensation so she wouldn’t collapse, but before she could gain any mental traction he blew her mind completely. Hands shifted subtly, tongue slithered out and upwards, and suddenly he was thrusting into her anus, poking and licking concertedly while his mouth undulated about her tight rosebud.
The mortification was eye-watering, but her cunt was trickling too with sheer excitement at this most intimate invasion. He reached around with both hands and clasped the soft flesh of her groin, pulling her to him and tongue-fucking her ass so that her face burned with sweet shame. The bastard was doing it to shock her, she knew, to amplify her sense of exposure, and it was working so damn well. All she could do was cling on to her laced-up ankles, yelping and squealing as her head swam. Oh fuck, oh fuck, what’s he doing to me? God I’m so close …
When his tongue retreated and he let her go, she almost fell over and he had to catch her again by the thighs. “Come on, stand up, straight. Focus.” She was reeling from near-orgasm, but somehow his voice rescued her and she found the resources to straighten herself. What now? What the hell next?
“Go get your tights. I might need them. Take it slowly, I want a good long look at that ass.” His plans for the tights and his preoccupation with her rump—those two thoughts tussled for supremacy in her mind. Then came the rustle of his clothes as he stripped them off, and images of how he might look naked joined the melee. She set off nonetheless, giddiness severely compromising her attempted catwalk poise. High-heels and buckling knees made it a balancing act of supreme difficulty, but no doubt he would be entertained by the increased shake of her ass.
She’d wobbled her way from the bedroom area when he gave his next instruction. “Stop.” She halted mid-stride. It did not even occur to her to turn around unless he bade her to do so. No college boy could ever have commanded her the way this man did, or put her in her place for her presumption like she needed. She was a brat, she knew, and brats needed punishing. See, James? This is my come-uppance. This is what I deserve for leading you on. “Get down on the floor,” Gavin told her. “I want you to crawl the rest of the way.” Of course he did. Without hesitation she obeyed. It gave her cunt-drizzling pleasure to drop to the carpet and crawl for him, that and a shot of adrenalized fear.
“Come on, stick that bum in the air.” The thick-pile cushioned her progress as she elevated her ‘bum’—how she loved the exotic sound of the word in his clipped accent—and let it sway. Her heels would be pointing to the moulded ceiling as she made her way. From behind her could be heard the continued slither of discarded clothes—Gavin getting naked in preparation for her. Her pussy resumed its spasms in response to the mental image. She paused before her own cast-off garment, holding back the urge to pick it up in her teeth before he’d made the inevitable demand. When the words came, however, they weren’t quite what she’d expected.
“Ball them and stuff them in your mouth.” He was intent on surprising her at every turn, this man. Dutifully, heart pounding, she rolled the ruined netting into a ball and pushed it into her mouth, salivating instantly so that the mesh soaked through. “Now close your eyes. Keep them tight shut and turn around. Don’t open till I say.”
She played his game to the letter—crawled about in self-imposed darkness, thrilled and debased. “Good girl. Keep it like that. Now come to me. Come and get your birthday present.”
A present which had no doubt just been unwrapped.
Heart in mouth along with her tights, Brooke started towards him in a nervous prowl. She wondered if his gaze was lingering more on her suspended tits or on the slope of her back. The commands had stopped and there was silence now from the stereo. God she wanted to open her eyes, look on her imminent future. Was he still seated casually on the bed, or had he stood up in expectation? Would she find him on her arrival towering over her?
The answer came quickly. She had not crawled half a dozen paces before a broad hand laid itself on her forehead and halted her. Gavin’s sudden proximity stole her breath and tensed her body. “Sit up,” he told her, and she obeyed like a good little doggie, panting to match. “Stay right there and keep those eyes shut. Don’t you move a muscle.” Like she had anywhere to go … She knelt with her hands resting lightly on her bare thighs, scared of and craving what was next. Two fingers pincered into her stuffed mouth. “Open that pretty mouth wide. And keep it open.”
The sodden ball of netting was extracted deftly, leaving her mouth vacant and ready. Gavin’s hand closed to the back of Brooke’s head and guided her where she’d known she was going—onto hard pulsing cock-flesh. She had to widen her lips to get him in. Then her mouth was full with the hot and salty head of Gavin’s erection. His hand moved to grip her jaw, tilting back her head.
“You can look now.” She opened her eyes and looked all the way up, over the wall of his hard stomach and his rock-hewn chest to where he stared down upon her. Stared, and photographed. Her eyes widened as they were caught in the flash. “It’s okay,” he said. “This is your phone. A memento. Look how well it’s come out.”
He flipped her iPhone around so she could see what he saw—a naked slut with hooped earrings and wide-staring eyes, her lipstick-painted mouth stretched in a capital O around one huge trunk of a cock. The hand caressing her jaw made the situation very clear. This slut was owned.
“Now that’s one pretty birthday-girl,” Gavin said, his features calm although his dick was bulging huge. “Apologies in advance for smudging the effect. Unless of course that mascara is run-proof. Shall we see?”
Oh god! She was bracing herself for his experiment when her phone buzzed in his hand. He checked the read-out and smiled. “Expecting a celebratory call from your dad?” Her face scorched in mortification and he laughed. “I’m playing with you again, Brooke. It’s your friend Kimber. Like to chat? No doubt she’s worried about you.”
She pleaded ‘no’ with her eyes, but he ignored her, clicking to receive the call and holding the cell phone to her ear. His thoughtfully withdrawn cock made a soft ‘plop’ as it left her mouth.
“Oh, so you’ve decided we’re worth replying to, lady. I hope your English muffin man is worth abandoning all your friends for.” Kimber sounded considerably further down the road to full inebriation. “So does he have a stiff upper lip?”
The girl’s malice grated on Brooke, despite all else on her mind. “He’s got a stiff everything,” she informed her sometime friend, the proof brushing her lips. “You’d be amazed. I oughta thank you for sending me his way.”
“It was a joke,” Kimber slurred. “I didn’t think you’d be slut enough to really do it.”
Brooke fought for a response, but her paramour withdrew the phone from her ear and supplied it himself. “Hello Kimber,” she heard him say in a tone of sheer pussy-melting gravel. “We didn’t get properly introduced. My name’s Gavin and I’m about to give your friend Brooke the kind of evening you so clearly wanted. Because frankly, I find her more interesting. Enjoy your night.” He tossed the phone onto a nearby sofa and tightened his grip on Brooke’s jaw. His eyes were flashing wicked. “Now tell me that’s not worth a suck.”
Damn, it was worth a whole lot more than a suck. Brooke opened wide and slurped him up, trying to get her mouth around that magnificent girth. The bride-fucking bastard had just given her a present to die for and sucking his beautiful cock was the least she could do in return. She was full with him, his pre-cum secreting all over her taste-buds as she guzzled steadily, rhythmically, slavering a precocious tongue about the base of his shaft. It was a stretch, literally, but she could manage. He’ll like this. He likes me. He’ll go easy on me. She reached two-handed for the base of his great column to steady the situation—prevent things from getting out of control.
Gavin was having none of it. “Oh no you don’t, girl. Put those hands where they were and use that fucking mouth like God intended.”
Brooke’s hands retreated to her thighs like she’d been naughty. Her confidence in the task wavered, but she sucked air through her nose nonetheless, readied herself and gobbled more of him. Oh my god he’s huge. He’s gorgeous and he’s fucking huge. I’m sucking this wicked man’s cock …
She applied the most loving suction she could muster, blinking up at him slowly, looking for flickers of reaction in that granite visage. Her mouth swelled and ebbed around him, slipping back to where he narrowed beneath the glans so her tongue could tease the sweet spot she knew would be found there; then she dived and took in a great mouthful, stretching her lips into that wide pink circle in which she hoped he would delight. She repeated the move a few times, holding the down-moment longer each time and waggling her tongue to blanket his underside.
Is that good? Is that good for you?
His hand had strayed from her chin to stroke the clipped tresses of her hair and her heart fluttered, at the thought of the pressure he could apply any moment. She came off him and flickered her tongue-tip against his salty slit. “Do you like that? Am I doing it well?”
“You’re a talented young lady.” He stood there relaxed, even though every muscle in his body was hard, none more so than that which hovered glistening in front of her face. “You’ve worked up that skill on a few lucky boyfriends, haven’t you?”
She chewed her lip and nodded, suddenly shy. “Yeah. A few.”
“Plus the guy in the bathroom you stole from Kimber, right?”
“Uh-huh. There was him.”
“You drained his balls, didn’t you, Brooke? Drank it all down, thick and hot.”
“I did. I took it all.”
“He must have thought this little cock-sucker was sent from heaven, right?”
“He really liked it, yeah.”
“I don’t doubt it. Did you take him down your throat?”
“Did you take his cock down your throat, Brooke?”
“I– Well– No.”
“Have you ever taken a cock that way?”
“No.” Oh god. “No, I haven’t.”
“I did wonder. Well you’re twenty-one, now. Don’t you think it’s time you learned how to give that to a boy?”
Her breath had grown progressively shorter during the exchange. It was all she could do to squeak her response. But somehow she braved his gaze as she did it. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” If she managed this monster, it occurred to her, she’d be good for anyone. Strong fingers gripped the back of her head as she opened wide.
Brooke’s heart boomed in her chest as Gavin’s cock made its long steady progression past her lips, over her tongue and into her throat. There was a brief panic as he passed from the back of her tongue and went deeper. She made to gag, but the great fuck-pole made no concessions, simply continuing in its dive. She could hear the grating squelch as it squeezed into her vocal tract. He held it there a moment, hand resting lightly on her head as she gurgled on him. Then he withdrew, slow and succulent, till he bobbed before her again, her saliva drooling from his tip.
“See? You’re a natural.”
She marvelled at how much cock had just been thrust beyond her lips, and then there it was, plunging again, forcing her wide. At least this time she knew such a task was feasible.
He made it last longer this time, pressing deeper, as his thick-veined colossus searched down her throat, her mouth gaping around its base. “There it is, sweetheart, there it damn well is. All the way down.” His voice was raw but controlled, throbbing with sexiness. Even as she glugged on his meat, the sense of his pleasure kept her focused. He pulled out suddenly and sprang tall before her face, her relish dripping thick from every inch of him. There was approval in his laughter as she spat out saliva and gasped in air. “Now isn’t that a beautiful fucking mess?”
“It is. Oh god, it is.” That big drenched phallus—how could she disagree? In her heart-pounding excitement she made the crazy offer. “I’d like to try it on my own.”
“Well be my guest.”
Brooke gobbled him up and dived onto the shaft before she could chicken out, but minus his insistent hand and purposeful thrusting she only made it halfway. She came off him gagging, but composed her mind and went for it again, pushing herself past the danger point and making it further inches down his shaft. It still wasn’t near the base, but it was a worthy throat-ful and she held it long, thinking to stick out her tongue and waggle it on his hard flesh. This time she withdrew hopeful, looking to him for approval as the wetness dripped from her lips and trickled to his balls.
“Was that okay?”
“Yes, Brooke,” he said, and there was humour in his eyes. “That was most definitely ‘okay’. Now clean me up like a good girl.”
Heart soaring with elation she went to work, slithering her tongue up the underside of his cock from balls to head, collecting every drop. She skated about the ridge of his glans, then worked her way down again, slavering busily to lap the excess spit from every inch of him. Her mouth wandering all over this bastard’s hard-pumped length—god, he’d made quite the good little whore of her, hadn’t he? It shocked and thrilled together and she couldn’t get enough.
“Please—please let me touch it …” Her fingers twitched with impatience.
“You are a bold slut.” She looked at him pleading, knowing she was both. “Go on,” he said, indulging her. It was like watching someone else’s hand reach out, their slim fingers stretching around that massive girth. Smoothly, luxuriously, she let her palm glide up and down the length of that great big dick, loving the resolute hardness under her touch. What an amazing thing, to have the throbbing engine of this man’s masculinity in her grasp, its slick, vein-embossed surface hot to the touch of her fingers.
She massaged slowly, observing her own progress and gauging his response when her tongue flickered on his tip or teased under his head. Was that a hiss of in-drawn breath she heard? Lovingly she let her tongue meander down him, then she sucked with care on those shaved and swollen plums of his, while her hand still treated him to an even back-and-forth stroking. Oh my god, check me the fuck out! His balls are in my mouth! Her slutty presumption scared her and her eyes flicked up to his, even as she lavished him with her mouth. “Am I doing well?” She let her breath flow all over his sac.
Gavin responded by stroking her hair, guiding her gently to her feet and drawing her into a kiss. She extended onto tiptoe to meet him and his mouth caressed hers, her hands went wandering, one hooking around his neck, while the other palmed its way across those broad developed pectorals, down to his hard stomach, clutching again at the junction of his groin with his cock. Feeling him, feeling all of him. Getting this massive athletic body within her grasp and enjoying all its scary magnificence. Falling, tumbling further by the second into lust.
“God,” she gasped when their mouths parted, “did you really do those things you said?”
“What things?” His fingers splayed over the base of her spine and pulled her closer. With his other hand he cupped her breast and squeezed rhythmically.
She fought for breath under the influence of his touch. “The bride on her wedding day?”
“I fucked her hard, Brooke, in all her white-gowned glory. The cock you’re holding now was the one thrusting in and out of her cunt hours after she’d promised herself to another man. What else?”
Brooke’s hand almost retreated from the cock in question, such was her sudden qualm. “The girl who stripped …”
“In a bath of soapy water under spotlights. Slithering and fucking with a second girl, one of the regular performers, while the audience cheered. I screwed them both backstage.” His hand continued to knead, harder now. “You want to know anything else?”
“Like …” She was trembling again, her pussy oozing and her knees threatening to give way, but she still gripped his hard body.
“Like how I like to give my female employees a good working over on my desk or on the copier? What a joy it is to ram it inside the wife or girlfriend of a business colleague and make her scream for more? I could drop the name of the actress I fucked in a bathroom during the London premiere of her movie. How much do you need, Brooke? You know what kind of man I am.”
“I do. I do.”
“And what kind of man is that?”
“Bad. Badder than any man I’ve ever met. Or imagined.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“You know how.”
“Like it shouldn’t. Hot. Hot and … and … and crazy-fucking-horny.”
He clutched her breast and made her gasp. “Well that makes you a very bad girl, doesn’t it? Wanting to fuck a man like me. Doesn’t it, Brooke?”
“I guess it does.”
“A naughty, bold, presumptuous, immoral, slutty girl. I think I’m going to have to punish you.”
“Punish me?” The word had a scary exciting resonance.
“That’s right.” He began to walk her in reverse, still fondling her tit. She held onto him lest she stumble in her heels. He guided her between sofas and around an ornate occasional-table, the head of his cock brushing her tummy as they proceeded. His eyes had the quality of a brewing storm and she was transfixed, depending utterly on him to steer her. “Of course,” he said, “the items on that list are all qualities I like and admire, but call it a perversity of my nature … I feel the impetus to punish them as much as reward. Of course to a hot bitch like you, Brooke, punishment and reward might not be too far apart. Turn around.”
She turned and found herself nose-to-nose with her reflection in a large gilt-framed mirror. “Stretch those arms. Grip the mantle.” Gavin was manhandling her into the desired position, quiet determination on his face. “Now stick out that ass.” Brooke could imagine only a limited range of outcomes to this, but she obeyed, heart accelerating wildly once more. Then Gavin’s hand was on her out-thrust derriere, moving in smooth circles about her cheeks. “This is one well-toned bum you’ve got,” he observed. “Very taut and athletic. How do you keep it so trim?”
“Circuits,” she explained, voice quaking at his manual exploration of her naked ass. “And … And I do a butt and thighs class every Friday.”
“It pays dividends. This is one finely-sculpted bottom.” He continued to grope the discussed area, eyes fixed on it. “Remind me … How old did you say you are today?”
“I … I … Twenty-one.”
“Good. Start counting.”
“Sorry?” Gavin’s hand withdrew from her rear and whipped back, smacking her soundly. The initial shock of impact gave way rapidly to stinging pain. “Owww!”
Understanding dawned along with conflicting emotions of dread and excitement. “One.” Oh god, my poor ass.
Whack. The second spank landed on her other buttock with heft equivalent to the first, resulting in a similar sting. “Shit! Two!”
“That’s it. That’s the game.” There was calm enjoyment in Gavin’s voice. “I’m going to take you right up to twenty-one. And then …” He gripped her shoulder to brace himself for the next application of his palm. “… Then I’m going to ram my cock inside you to the balls. Now just you think on that, birthday-girl.”
Brooke thought on it, and the thought made her weak at the knees.
TO BE CONTINUED