But just like before, the beautiful girl is aware of her position, and the role she needs to play. Judging from her secret smile and the hardness of her tips, I’m guessing that she likes it too. Sure enough, she spins around on her heels, and slowly angles her legs so that they’re shoulder-width apart.
“Bend over, sweetheart,” I growl, but my direction isn’t necessary. She already knows what needs to be done. Slowly, that narrow back drops forwards, and her skirt begins riding up her thighs. Inch after inch of creamy flesh is revealed, and my mouth waters at this delectable sight. Sure enough, the slight mound of her pussy comes into view, and then higher and higher until that steaming slit is presented before me.
Oh god, she’s so beautiful. Immediately my dick hardens and the need to pound into her is overwhelming. But that’s no way to treat a new girl on the job, so instead, I merely inhale deeply, enjoying the scent of aroused pussy.
“You’re gorgeous, Gemma,” is my low rumble. “Absolutely enticing.”
To my satisfaction, her pussy visibly plumps a bit, swelling before my eyes. A small bead of liquid gathers at her hole before rolling downwards towards her clit.
“Do you think so?” she breathes, looking at me from over her shoulder. “What do you like about it?”
Well, a million things for one. But I want to get dirty, and induct my new playmate into the debauched activities of the Billionaires Club. So taking my tumbler in hand, I dip my finger into the whiskey and then slowly smear it over her plush lips.
“Oh!” she cries out, eyes closing in ecstasy. “That feels good!”
“It only gets better, sweetheart,” I growl before leaning forwards and gently licking up her left pussy lip, crossing over and then licking down her right pussy lip. Oh fuck, it’s so tasty. Her cream’s coming fast now and the sweet, tangy mixture of female nectar with alcohol drives me insane.
“Fuck, you’re delicious,” is my growl into her aching twat. “Let me have some more.”
With that, I push my tongue fully into her hole, and she squeals slightly, bucking a bit.
“That’s right, baby girl,” I rasp. “Fuck yourself back onto my tongue. I know you want it.”
She mewls, breathing heavily, as those big breasts sway.
“Oh my god, I didn’t know it could be like this,” she pants, even as I begin tongue-fucking her hole from behind. “Oh god, Mr. Carmichael,” is her musical mewl. “This feels soooo good.”
I grunt with approval before pulling my tongue out and gently tracing it over the bottom of her clit while stroking the hood back to reveal the hard pink nub.
“Does that feel good, sweetheart? How do you like your clit massaged?”
She pants then, back arching reflexively.
“Like that!” she cries out. But then Gemma turns to meet my eyes over one shoulder again. “Bite it,” she invites breathily. “Make it sting a little. I’m ready.”
Holy shit, this girl is so fucking dirty, but I’m a man that never says no to a beautiful woman. So with gentle teeth, I nip her clit and Gemma’s reaction is automatic. She grunts, bracing her hands on her knees, and then it happens. Her pussy dissolves into a series of tremors on my mouth, the girl gasping and crying as orgasm takes over.
“Yes,” she heaves, her personal ambrosia running like a river into my mouth now. “Oh god, yes.”
I push my tongue into her hole again, and the strong clenches and clamps of her cunt practically squeezes it right off. But that’s what I love. A woman coming hard on my hand, mouth, or dick. It makes life worth living, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything.
“Keep going, pretty baby,” I rasp into her spasming folds. “Give me everything. Let yourself let go.”
She mewls again, eyes closed as jets of liquid erupt into my throat.
“Oh god, Mr. Carmichael,” is her throaty moan. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
But this is no dream. This is reality, and I plan to own every inch of that delectable body. After she’s done, I gently lap her cunt again, savoring the final trails of sweet nectar. “You’re real wet,” I compliment her. “Just the way I like it.”
Her cheeks blush, even as she holds still under my ministrations.
“I know, I tend to get really wet when I’m aroused, and oh god,” she gasps, suddenly remembering she’s in the club. “We’re in public. I forgot.
My smirk is immediate, even as I back off and deliver a solid smack to her rump. She’s curvy and full, so the butt cheek reverberates with my slap.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” I say with satisfaction. “Because wasn’t this fun?” I ask rhetorically. “You just enjoyed yourself big time,” I say, licking my lips and tasting the remnants of her cream again.
She smiles at me, slowly straightening while pulling down her skirt so that her pussy’s out of sight once more. But not for long. I intend on using her body over and over again, and tasting her sweet cream on my tongue all night. I intend to have that female nectar glistening on my fuckrod, and to have this woman trembling and shaking with desire as I own her. After all, Gemma’s mine …. she just doesn’t know it yet.
Chapter 11
Gemma
It’s hard to believe this has happened. I went from being a prisoner, to becoming a waitress at the Billionaires Club. But I’m not even a server anymore. After our first encounter at the bar, Mr. Carmichael spirited me off to his suite, and I’ve been his kept woman ever since. It’s crazy, really. Food is delivered by room service, or we go down and eat at one of the restaurants at the Club. I have full access to the gym, library, spa, sauna, and every beauty treatment you can imagine. I live in a lap of luxury, and my only “job” so to say is to keep Mr. Carmichael happy and sated.
Frankly, I love that part of the job. Peter are I are so compatible that it’s eerie in some ways. After all, I’ve only known him a month. But it’s been a crazy month of togetherness 24/7, and I’d say I’ve gotten to know him really well.
Take for example, his pet peeve.
“I hate cats,” he said flatly one day. “All types of cats. Big, small, striped, and furry. I hate them all.”
“No way,” I smile. “How can that be possible? You’d love my cat Henry if you met him.”
Pete wasn’t having it, and he shook his head. I paused for a moment to admire how handsome he is. The billionaire’s got bright blue eyes that can make me melt on the spot, and right now, he was sitting upright in bed showing off that bronzed chest. Working out makes me put on weight because I get so hungry, but for him, it’s the opposite. Working out keeps him toned and muscular, and I gazed with admiration at the six pack peeking out from the bedsheets.
“I would absolutely hate Henry,” he says in a deadpan voice. “Just thinking about cats gives me the creeps.”
“Oh please,” I say with a laugh, waving one small hand at him. “You don’t know my cat. If you did, you’d fall in love.”
Pete harrumphs in his chest and then reaches over and pulls me into his lap. I laugh, settling myself into the warm curve of his arms.
“Maybe if it was your cat, I’d be okay with it,” he concedes. “But probably not.”
I nuzzle against his throat, teasingly running my tongue up and down that bronzed column.
“If I do this more, would you like my cat?” I ask playfully. “Or how about this?” Pressing my tits against his chest, I haul myself up so that we’re facing one another, my knees splayed on each side of his thighs. Slowly, I lower my pussy onto that hard shaft, gasping a bit as my cunt tries to adjust to his massive size. Oh god, he’s so huge and hard, but it feels so good. Mewling a bit, I press myself down, but it’s damn tight. Squealing, I gyrate my hips while reaching one hand down to rub my clit. That seems to do the trick. A burst of pussy juice coats his shaft, and I slide down slowly, moaning as my sensitive spot is rubbed so good.
“Oh god, Peter, I don’t think I can move,” I gasp once I’m fully seated on his shaft.
“Don’t worry
, sweetheart,” he grunts, gripping my hips with both big hands. “Just stay still, and I’ll fuck up into you. Shit, you’re so small and your pussy’s so wet. You feel So. Fucking. Good.”
With that, his hips begin to jackhammer upwards and I moan and squeal as my pussy gets pounded to the max. He’s huge, but somehow my body is able to manage it, and with a scream and a cry, I let go. My spine arches, and then my cunt clamps down like a vise on his fuckrod before shaking violently and dissolving into a series of tremors.
“Unnh!” is my helpless cry as I milk his dick hard. “Oh god!”
Peter grunts as well, and then his hips arch up as he fucks into me deep.
“Take my sperm,” he rasps. “Take it all into your pussy sweetheart. I’m going to fill that sweet twat up until you’re dripping cum night and day.”
I sigh and my eyes close, blissed out beyond belief because it’s like this every time we’re together. The sex is always unbelievable, and we get along on a personal level too. When he finally finishes spurting, I lean forwards to give him a kiss.
“Is that enough?” I ask throatily. “Or do you want more?”
He gazes at me lazily with a gleam in those blue eyes.
“I want more,” he says simply. Even though my lover doesn’t say the words aloud, I know what he’s asking for. Wordlessly, I dip a hand between my legs, catching his sperm as it seeps out of my pussy. Then I reach backwards and begin lubing up my back hole.
“Are you ready?” is my throaty purr. But Mr. Carmichael doesn’t need to answer because I can see the evidence myself. His shaft is already hard and full once more, ready to own my ass this time. And with a throaty moan, I do it. I grab onto his shoulders, positioning his tip at my sensitive pucker, and then begin to press down.
Oh fuck! He’s so big and my head falls back with the effort. My anus never gets used to his size and I mewl again, trying to work him into the compact tunnel.
“Unnnnh,” is my moan. “Oh god.”
He kisses my throat, running his tongue up the slender column.
“Go slow,” is his encouraging murmur. “You can do it, my little butt slut.”
And sure enough, after more insistent pressure, my sphincter gives way with a pop, and his entire ten incher sinks into my bottom. Oh shit. He’s so big and it feels like his hot rod goes all the way up to my lungs. But Mr. Carmichael knows what he wants.
“That’s right, my little pet,” he rasps into my ear. “I love how your anal ring grips me, so hungry for more. Now ride,” he commands. “Fuck my dick with your butt, sweetheart. I know you want it.”
The dirty words get to me and I begin pounding myself down on his shaft with a vengeance. After all, I may be a hungry slut, but the billionaire loves it. So I raise my bottom and drop it down again, my butt cheeks clapping with the exertion.
“Fuck!” is my breathless cry as I near the edge. “Oh shit!”
“You little butt slut,” he growls. “Fuck my dick with your ass, my little whore.”
The nastiness pushes me over the edge, and stars explode before my eyes. I let out a high-pitched, keening cry as my pussy and anus spasm hard, clamping down on his cock.
“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck my life!!!!”
With that, Mr. Carmichael bursts again, depositing load after load of sperm into my bottom. He pumps non-stop, gallons of the good stuff blasting my anal canal, until I’m overflowing. Finally, we stop and I press a kiss to the bronzed column of his throat. Semen is leaking from my sore anus, but I love it.
“So if I do this for you every morning, will you like my cat?” I ask teasingly, while rubbing my breasts against his chest. Mr. Carmichael can barely breathe because he’s still dribbling the last bits of cum into my sweet cavern, but he grunts low in his chest.
“If you do a double-header for me every morning, that fucking cat can sleep on the bed with us,” he manages, while swiping one big hand between my legs. “With that kind of performance, you can do anything you want, sweetheart.”
I like that answer so I kiss him again and wiggle my hips a little. “Oh good because my neighbor’s taking care of Henry right now, but one day, you know you’re going to have to let me out of here,” I say playfully. “You can’t keep me here forever and ever, as your little sex slave.”
Peter grunts, pulling my curvy form close. His dick finally exits my anal chamber, and I gasp. Sometimes he feels so hard coming out, that I think we’re about to start another round of hot loving. But evidently, not this time.
“We’ll see about that,” is all he says. My heart thrills. Does he want to keep me with him forever? Maybe not here at the Billionaires Club, but at his house in the real world? Could we even interact in real life, and maybe go out on dates like regular people? My heart rushes and I look at the dark, devastating man with love in my eyes. Because yes, I’ve fallen in love with Peter Carmichael, my captor … and I can’t imagine living without him.
Chapter 12
Peter
Gemma’s amazing. Beautiful as all hell, with a sharp wit and a sweet smile that makes me go all soft inside. Can you believe it? Me, Peter Carmichael. Asshole extraordinaire who’s never been in love before. Yeah, it blows my mind too.
After all, I never expected this. I figured that I’d live my entire life as a single man with nary a care in the world. What was there to worry about? I’ve got billions in cash, a couple houses around the world, and a car collection that would make Billy Joel jealous. Not just that, but women throw themselves at me every single minute of every single day. It gets tiring, to be honest. Sometimes, I just want to mind my own business, whether it’s getting a coffee at Starbucks or working out in the gym. But no, the women can get aggressive. They throw themselves at me, uncaring that I’m sweating bullets and panting like a madman trying to run five miles at a heartwrenching pace.
So Gemma is real different, and I mean that in a good way. Of course, she’s sweet and sensual, but she sasses me back too, and I like that. Too many women lay back and let me do anything I want given the amount of money at play. After all, I treat them nice. Or more accurately, I buy them nice stuff to keep them compliant. Clothes, jewelry, even a car once in a while. There was a girl way back when who wrangled an apartment out of me. It’s a lot but you know what? I don’t really care because what’s one more apartment? Just a few hundred thou, which is nothing to a billionaire like me.
But that’s the thing - even though I’ve showered Gemma with every luxury, she doesn’t let it get to her head. She doesn’t become some docile fifties housewife with a lipsticked smile while running the vacuum cleaner. Instead, she gives as good as she gets.
“So what’s going on with the waitressing gig?” she asked me the other day. I looked up from the paper I was reading. It’s nice having her stay in my suite. Comfortable really. We were sprawled out, eating bagels and drinking OJ while reading different sections of the New York Times.
“Well, I just want to know if I should go back to work at the bar,” she said with a sassy smile. “I mean, I am supposed to be earning my keep. You made that clear during our first meeting.”
I put down the Style section. I admit it. I’m a guy who likes clothes, and sometimes they have good stuff in there. There’s definitely a focus on menswear, which I find gratifying. Of course, the women’s stuff is interesting too, what with the occasional feature on high-end designers. But I like my woman nude, and Gemma knows it. Currently, she was sitting on the bed completely flushed and rosy, with just a sheet pulled over her breasts as she flicked through the Business section.
“You’re not going back,” I growl. “Isn’t that obvious? You’ve been here for what? Two months now? And you’ve never set foot back in the bar.”
She shot me a knowing smile.
“That’s because you never let me go back,” she says. “I’ve been a prisoner here, eating your food, drinking your wine, and doing all the things a girlfriend does.”
I laugh at that one, even though her words make my hea
rt jolt in my chest. Is she my girlfriend? Well, yes. I guess. Kind of. After all, she makes me happy. Isn’t that what significant others are supposed to do?
So I prowl over to her on the bed, and the light in my eyes makes her squeal in anticipation.
“No seriously, Peter!” she huffs as I get closer and closer, my massive body stalking her small one. “What am I doing here?”
That makes me pause.
“Making me happy,” I say simply.
“Is that all?” she asks with a wry smile.
“For now, yes,” I say. “Why, is that a problem?”
She shoots me another knowing gaze.
“We both know this can’t go on forever. As much as I adore making you happy, there’s still the outside world. You know, a job. My cat. All that.”
I snort.
“Please sweetheart. That waitressing job at the Silver Star was total shit, and you know it. You deserve better than that. You deserve the sun, the moon, and the stars, and I intend on giving it to you.”
I advance again, ready to kiss and bite the delicate curve of her neck, but Gemma puts one hand on my shoulder in warning, pinning me with a stare.
“No Peter, I’m serious,” she says. “You know I can’t stay locked up here forever. As much as it’s great being a lady of leisure, it’s not real life. Real life is up there,” she says, gesturing towards the ceiling, “and we can’t ignore that forever. I mean, I have to pay the rent on my apartment, take care of utilities, and … I dunno, save for retirement.”
I laugh uproariously. This girl is so cute, and I’m tempted to turn her over and swat her behind for a little fun. But her stare tells me she means it, so I sit on the bed next to her and take that small hand in mine.
“Sweetheart, you know I’m taking care of that stuff for you already,” I say. “The rent and utilities are being paid by my property manager, and I’ll find you a new job if you can’t get your old one at the Silver Star back. Plus, isn’t your neighbor taking care of Henry? I thought that old cat was getting fed and watered just fine.”
Claiming Her At the Bar Page 7
