Then, the handsome man plucks the hundred dollar bill from my pussy, dropping it on the floor, before lining his glans up with my little hole. The anticipation is intense, and I throw my head back as he strokes his cock along my folds for a bit, getting himself lubed up.
“Fuck, you’re drenched,” he growls. “This is going to be amazing.”
And then it happens. Tim begins increasing the pressure against my little hole, and at first, nothing happens.
“You’re too big!” I cry out. “I can’t do it!”
But he merely shakes his head, every muscle in his chest tense, his abs rock hard.
“Yes, you can little girl. Just relax. You’re soaked, so I know you can stretch.”
Then, the pressure increases again, and the head of his cock slides into my plush interior. I let out a low wail because I feel like I’m being split in half, but it’s so good too. My fingers find my nipples and I begin tugging on them as the pressure in my pussy intensifies.
“Unnnnh,” I cry out. “Oh god!”
“You’re doing well,” Tim growls in back of me. “Just a little more, baby girl.”
But I know Tim’s just trying to soothe me because he’s probably only in a few inches. Sure enough, when I glance back, I see that only his head has made penetration and I cry out again.
“Oh god! How much more?”
But then Tim reaches around and begins circling my clit with his fingers. I tense, and then sparkles begin to build in my pelvis and I let out another breathy moan.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Relax sweetheart, and let the juices flow. It’ll feel good.”
Sure enough, I gush again with desire and the added lubrication helps him ease another few inches inside.
“Mmm!” I cry out. “Oh god! Fuck!”
“Almost there,” he rasps. “You’re doing well.”
Then, with one last push, he’s balls deep and I’m completely impaled on that enormous length. We stop for a moment, both of us breathing heavily. His big hand strokes my hip before moving up my back to caress my skin.
“You really are as soft as a petal, sweetheart,” he rasps. “So beautiful.”
With that, my pussy clutches around him as he begins to move. The penetration is so intense and yet wonderful too. I gasp, bracing my hands against a nearby chair as my breasts sway beneath my torso. A heavenly pressure is beginning to build inside, and then with an unexpected jolt, it overtakes me.
“Oh Tim!” I scream, my pussy convulsing in ecstatic spasms. “Unnnh!”
The gorgeous stranger erupts as well, his hands gripping my hips as his cock jerks and begins to spray inside me.
“Fuck!” he curses. “Oh shit!”
But it feels too good, and both of us continue to shake, overcome by the ecstasy of our climaxes. He pulses for what feels like forever, filling me to the brim with thick male seed, and my pussy pulls it in deeper with every ecstatic tremor.
After a while, the shudders die down and he slides himself out of my body, that enormous length glistening with our mixed juices.
“Fuck Petal,” he breathes. “You’re so beautiful.”
And then he reaches for his wallet and pulls out another one hundred dollar bill as an additional tip.
“How many of those do you have?” I ask coyly. “You certainly came prepared.” He swats my bottom playfully, making the creamy flesh jiggle.
“As many as I need,” he growls in return before rolling it into another cylinder and inserting it into my pussy. “I want my seed to stay in you sweetheart. I want to plug you up so that none of it escapes, and this is the perfect cork.”
I gasp because these are the words and gestures of a nasty, possessive man, but the fact is that we don’t even know each other. Tim’s a client, and I’m a dancer at the Krazy Kat. So where is this going exactly?
4
Tim
* * *
Fuck, last week was so wrong, and yet I can’t get what happened out of my head because Petal was so sweet yet dirty at the same time. I understand that men get lap dances all the time because it’s part and parcel of going to a strip club. But does that happen? Do dancers let men touch them, sample them, and ultimately taste their curves however they want?
After all, I was at my most debauched. Sure, I go to strip clubs every now and then, but it’s not a regular thing. I don’t consider myself one of “those guys” because “those guys” are usually losers. It’s just a way to relax with a drink and some pretty girls. Yet that last time at the Krazy Kat blew me away. Petal is everything I’ve been looking for in a woman: a vixen, yet somehow innocent too. She’s got lush curves, a willing body, and a sweet smile that has me still thinking about her even now.
That’s what’s so fucked up. Tonight is the night of the bachelor auction, and although I’m here in person, I’m not here in spirit. I’m still mooning over the gorgeous dancer, unable to get her out of my mind. Yet ironically, at the moment, I’m standing backstage with ten or so other guys, about to go out onto a stage myself. We’re getting dressed before the auction, or undressed, I should say. We have the most ridiculous get-ups, reminiscent of a Chippendales costumes with the dark trousers, white cuffs and a white collar – but no shirt. What the fuck? It’s ridiculous, but the other guys are already passing around a bottle of baby oil, smoothing it onto their torsos so they gleam.
It’s goddamn gross if you ask me, but then Kyle holds the baby oil out to me.
“You need it,” he grunts. “You’re not shiny enough.”
I frown.
“Fuck, this is disgusting.”
Kyle merely shrugs, making sure the definition in his six pack is perfect.
“Hey, it’s all for charity. We’re doing this for the kiddies, don’t forget.”
Reluctantly, I take the bottle and squirt some liquid into my palm. Then I rub it up and down my chest so that my pecs glisten and my abs are defined. There, that’s enough. I don’t want to look like a total greaseball.
Yet, I can understand why the organizers have chosen us. All of the bachelors to be auctioned are in great shape, with full heads of hair and magnetic smiles. This doesn’t surprise me. If they want to get the big bids, they should feature men who look like they work out regularly, and this crew looks like a twice-a-day-at-the-gym type. If anything, these guys are way too excited, and a nervous energy buzzes backstage. I should be excited too, yet all I feel is dread.
After all, I know the cause is a worthwhile one, but I would have preferred just to write a check instead of getting up on stage. I mean, really? Do women find this get-up sexy? I’ve avoided looking at myself in the mirror, but it’s bad. I’ll never live this down and hopefully, there won’t be too many pictures.
It’s for a good cause, I remind myself through gritted teeth. You’re doing this for the kiddos. Honestly, my hopes aren’t high though. I’m expecting to be “purchased” by an elderly widow with purple hair and bifocals. We’ll go to dinner and she’ll drone on and on about her grandchildren and knitting club. But that’s the best case scenario. The worst case scenario is that I’m purchased by a young woman who actually wants to go on a real date, with a real kiss and some hot action at the end of the night. I shudder at the thought.
After all, I’m not really into dating. I keep to myself most of the time, and when I do take a woman out, it’s discreet and low-key. Certainly not the fancy dinner most of these ladies are anticipating, followed by a night of clubbing. Even the thought of a club makes me shudder. How do people get out of those places without going deaf?
For a moment, I let myself think back to Petal. I wonder what she’s doing right now. When I close my eyes, I can smell her sweet, floral scent once more, and touch the softness of her cheek. I also remember the way she gasped and moaned in my arms that night. I remember how lush and steamy she was, and how she dripped everywhere, she wanted it so bad. Damn. I should have gotten her real name.
But no. That’s stupid of me because Petal’s a stripper,
dammit! She doesn’t want to get to know me. She’s a professional, and I paid her well that night, so she did her job. I wince inwardly at the word. The connection I felt for her that night goes so far beyond a “job” but maybe I’m the one being dumb. Maybe I was caught up in the magic of her swirling hips and the warmth of her embrace, and lost my head as a result. After all, that’s her job: to place a spell on unwitting men.
Letting out a grunt, I run a hand through my hair, messing up the black locks. I haven’t felt right since I left the strip club, almost like a piece of me is still there. As if I have unfinished business that I need to take up with Petal again. Maybe I should go back to the Krazy Kat just to talk to her, but then I catch myself. Talk to a stripper? Who am I kidding? Those girls are there for the money, and talk is cheap. Suddenly, a woman’s voice enters my daydream, harsh and scratchy.
“Hey, stud.”
I turn and the woman standing before me looks like a female lion tamer with black leather pants and boots, a crimson red vest, and a top hat. What is this, the Ringling Brothers circus? She merely shrugs.
“I didn’t choose this costume any more than you chose yours,” she says pointedly. “Besides, I’m Kristine. I’m the MC, and in a few minutes, I’m going to ask you gentlemen to go out on stage. Tim, right?” she squints at me. “You’re fourth in the line-up.”
I nod stiffly.
“Okay, got it.”
“Good,” she says. “Just ask if you have questions.” Then, she winks at me and struts away.
Another few minutes pass, and I can hear the female audience chatting and tittering outside. My heart sinks. This is going to be bad. Suddenly, Kristine’s voice comes on over the mic.
“Alright, let’s get this auction started!” The audience cheers as she continues. “We’re here to raise some money for Kids Hope, so dig deep into your purses ladies! We’ve got some prime male meat here tonight, and you’re going to love it. Come on, let’s get our bachelors up on stage!”
The guys fall into line, and we stride out onto the stage, waving as we appear. The lights are blinding and the applause is overwhelming, but I remember to smile, even if it’s a grim one. Then, the bachelors stand with our hands behind our backs, facing the audience as Kristine starts her spiel. She asks the first guy to step forward, a man named Kross who I think works for the fire department. The ladies go crazy as Kristine reads off a card, describing his stats.
“Our first gentleman is six foot two and twenty-eight years old. A firefighter since the tender age of nineteen, Kross enjoys DMX racing, competing in endurance events, and of course, enjoying the company of the fairer sex. Do I have any bids?”
Kross is good-looking enough, even if I suspect he’s on steroids. But the ladies go wild, quite a few of them jumping to their feet while wildly waving their placards. My heart sinks when I see that most of the women in the room are middle-aged, with too much make-up and blonde bobs that look like helmets. Ugh. This is going to be awful.
But Kross works the crowd. He strides along the stage a few times, puffing up his chest and doing a few muscle man poses. The bidding is frenetic and he ends up being purchased for an impressive $700. Wow. Who would have guessed? Kross does a backflip off the stage to thunderous applause and stands next to the woman who bought him, who gazes at him with adoring eyes.
“Wow, what a stud!” The MC fans herself with her hand. “We’re off to a raging start!” Then Kristine moves on to the next bachelor as I watch in dismay. The auction is getting more and more raucous, with the women practically fighting each other to bid now. I literally see one middle-aged biddie strike another woman with her designer purse, and I grimace. This is turning into a battlefield, when it’s supposed to be a charity event.
The next two guys go for about $500 each, and then to my horror, suddenly, the spotlight’s on me. Kristine smirks as she talks into the mic.
“Next we have Tim! Tim is an EMT, known for his strong, silent personality and gorgeous blue eyes. Plus those pecs, ladies. Look at those pecs! Can I get a flex?”
Jesus. Who wrote these intros? If I find out it’s Sam, I’ll kill the man myself. But I force myself to smile, and flex my pecs just once, much to the rapturous delight of the crowd. Shrieks of joy ring out, and I swear one woman towards the back even faints. I force myself to smile brightly, although my face feels like it’s going to crack.
“Four hundred!” someone calls from the audience.
“Five hundred!” another woman shrieks.
“Six!” another adds.
But then, a voice from the back interrupts, low yet piercing, and the crowd falls into a hush.
“Two thousand,” she calls, her voice as clear as a bell.
The audience oohs and ahhs, turning to see who it is.
“What was that?” Kristine asks coyly. “Did I hear a two thousand?”
“Yes,” the woman says again. Then, she strides forward, stepping into the light, and suddenly the air whooshes from my lungs. Sure, she’s wearing a perfectly appropriate black cocktail dress today instead of a schoolgirl outfit, but I’d recognize that beautiful face anywhere. It’s Petal from the Krazy Kat.
What the hell is she doing here?
But it’s too late. “Sold!” Kristine caws. “To Paddle 20 for two thousand dollars! Tim, thank you for your service. Please exit on the right.”
I smile and wave, nodding my head as the audience cheers, but my heart’s pounding. What the fuck? What just happened? As I make my way off stage, I shake my head as if to clear it. But then, a small voice sounds in my brain. Isn’t this what you wanted? To see Petal again?
To my chagrin, the voice is right and a smile comes over my face as I anticipate confronting my curvy buyer.
5
Lina
* * *
I rush into my apartment, close the door, and press my back against it. I slowly slide down until I’m sitting on the ground, covering my face with my hands. My face and my ears are still bright red from seeing Tim again. Did that really happen? Was it just a weird dream? Or did I really just bid two thousand dollars—money I really don’t have—on a date with a man I met at the Krazy Kat?
I kick off my heels and pull off my pantyhose, then pick myself up off the floor and head to my bedroom. On the way, I wiggle out of my cocktail dress and my bra. I collapse on my bed in only my panties and huff out a long sigh of relief. At least it’s over, although I don’t know what to think. After all, I’m usually a shy girl so what got into me?
Suddenly, the phone buzzes next to me. It’s an alarm reminding me to water my plants, and I need this distraction. I roll out of bed, pull on my terrycloth robe, and shuffle into my house shoes. Then, I grab my watering can and move around the apartment, visiting each of my houseplants. I’ve worked hard to make my place look like the vision boards I save on Pinterest: (faux) hardwood floor, crocheted rugs, minimalist art, and dozens and dozens of plants and greens. I even grow my own herbs at my kitchen windowsill, and the little pots are cute even if each plant only provides enough for one meal.
My interest in botany comes from my grandmother and mother. Both ladies keep extravagant gardens and grow veggies, as well as all sorts of gorgeous flowers. As a result, I’m used to the deep, natural flavors of fresh vegetables, and the scent of new-cut blooms on a daily basis. One day, I’d love to have a house where I can have a garden of my own, but right now, I just have this tiny little apartment with its south-facing ledge. It’s enough, though. It gives me peace, and the plants are my friends.
Then, the watering’s done and I shuck my robe and jump into bed. Like a crazy woman, I grab my pillow and scream into it for a good while before turning on my back and clutching it over my chest. OMG, OMG! I stare up at my ceiling, unable to get the image of Tim in that Chippendales outfit out of my head. If he wasn’t working as an EMT, I bet he could make a killing off of being a male stripper.
But did he recognize me? I clean up well, and it was dark in the Krazy Kat that night. Maybe he di
dn’t put two and two together? Who knows? I’m still reeling from the adrenaline of seeing him again, and the image of the handsome man, his chest bare and gleaming gets my lady parts going again. The knowledge of what we did together has me swooning, but then I stop short because there’s a secret I haven’t revealed: Tim and I used to be step-siblings.
It’s true. About a decade ago, my mom was married to Ed Carlton, a prosperous banker in Wyoming. It was great for me and my mom because we’d barely been getting by on her measly salary as a waitress. So we moved into Ed’s mansion after the wedding, which was a huge step up from the trailer we used to live in. But what I didn’t count on was Ed’s son, Tim. Back then, I was nothing but a kid, but Tim was already in high school. He was gorgeous even back then, and my girlish heart melted when I realized that he was going to be my new stepbrother.
I worshipped the ground he walked on, but the thing is that as a teenage boy, Tim barely noticed me. I was nothing but a knobby-kneed shadow with frizzy brown hair and braces, always with my nose stuck in a book. Meanwhile, Tim was already learning to be a man. He was a volunteer EMT at the time, and he’d started taking classes at the local community college, as well as working out regularly at the gym. Plus, he started seeing a nurse who worked at the hospital named Lanie. She was the bane of my life because he’d sneak her into his room late at night after our parents were asleep. The incredible thumping and banging sounds were utterly scandalous, not to mention the breathy moans and audible cries of, “Oh god, harder! Deeper!”
It sounds silly, but I was so jealous of Lanie. I wanted to be tall and buxom and blonde like her because I wanted to be with my stepbrother, as taboo as that sounds. So yes, I’ve had a crush on Tim since I was a child, but alas, things were not meant to be. My mom divorced his dad for some stupid reason a few years later, and I moved with Judy to Texas. We never saw Ed nor Tim again, although my fantasies always featured a handsome, broad-shouldered man with piercing blue eyes from that moment forward.
Pregnant by My Stepbrother Page 3
