Spy Games

by Cassandra Dee

  “I know you’re bad, that’s why I love you,” he ground out, chest tight, eyes devouring me. “And because you are, I want you to try it out, I want a newly-fucked virgin to fuck herself using a dildo and a mirror.”

  I paused, still confused.

  “But I don’t get it,” I said in a soft voice, playing with the strings of my panties, teasing him. “Don’t I just get on the couch and put the thingy in me?” It seemed simple enough.

  The big man let out a deep chuckle then, throwing his head back.

  “Sure, if this were some X-rated fantasy, then yeah I’d let you just lean back and push this into yourself,” he growled, “but honey, we’re not X-rated. We’re triple-X, you and I.”

  And I creamed a little just hearing that, delicious tingles running through my pussy. Because Mr. Marks and I were on the same level, both our minds in the gutter, willing to do anything to make the other come. So I stood up, sashaying over to him, standing between his knees, letting him look at my creamy form, bare but for the tiny strip of red lace and hooker heels.

  “What do I do then?” I whispered, running my hand up and down the rubbery toy, squeezing the material, my finger trailing over the ridges, the lifelike veins. Fuck, this thing was hard and so big, it was going to feel amazing in my tiny cunt.

  And Mr. Marks growled as if reading my mind, a gleam in those blue depths.

  “Let’s take it step by step baby,” he rumbled. “Let’s get this thing greased up for you first, get it real wet,” he said, and with that, he held the fake dick in front of his real dick and squeezed with one big hand. Sure enough, a little spurt of pre-cum came flying out, coating the rubber with sticky strands of jism. He then held out the toy to me.

  “Lick it baby, lick this fake dick, taste Daddy’s cum,” he commanded. And obediently, I bent over and ran my tongue along the rod, tracing every ridge of the toy, imagining it in my cunt, savoring the tang of Daddy’s semen at the same time. When I’d sucked it good, stuck the whole thing in my mouth and pulled it out, gasping as the long length withdrew from my throat, I looked at Tristan with big eyes.

  “What next?” I whispered. I could hardly breathe now and my cunt ran shamefully at this point, I was so turned on.

  Mr. Marks just smirked.

  “Baby, you ride of course,” he drawled, and with one big hand, slapped the dildo against the mirror. I gasped. I hadn’t noticed that the toy had a suction cup at the base, one that made it hold fast to the mirror.

  “Ride it, how?” I asked, taking the hard shaft between my fingers. I started pointing it between my legs, but Daddy’s big hand stopped me.

  “No honey,” he rumbled. “Put the mirror on the floor so that the shaft’s pointing straight up. Then mount it and let Mr. Marks see that little pussy get fucked.”

  All of sudden, I understood what Tristan wanted. The mirror was so that he could see everything, absolutely everything that was about to happen. With the mirror, he’d get a comprehensive look inside, watch my reflection as the toy squelched into me, devouring the sight of the pole fucking my insides.

  And I was so turned on by the dirtiness of it all, the unbelievable raunchiness that my pussy twitched, hungry to start the show, desperate to get that massive pole into me. Crawling on my hands and knees, I moved to the center of the living room and placed the mirror-mounted dildo on the ground. Then I faced away from Tristan and crouched over the shaft, spreading my legs, teetering in my heels, and pulled my pussy lips apart.

  “Ready Daddy?” I cooed, slyly winking at him. “Ready to see your baby girl get fucked?”

  And without waiting for an answer, I dropped my hips onto the toy, letting the big rubber shaft just kiss my lips at first, probe slightly between my labia, rubbing it up and down my clit. But I needed penetration, needed it deep, hard, and with a long sigh, sat down all the way, throwing my head back, brown curls draped over my back. Oh fuck! It was so good, the thick rubber filling me up, sliding into my depths, my slick pussy spread so wide, so deep that I gasped, feeling it probe against my cervix, tickling me within.

  “Oooh,” I gasped, my face flushed, hardly able to breathe as my pussy stretched. “Ooh!”

  And slowly, oh so slowly, I began bumping my hips up and down the dildo, letting the hard rubber slide in and out, the glossy shaft running in and out of my cunt. It wasn’t easy that’s for sure, I had to go slow, my pussy had just been de-virginized and I was still unbearably tight, my twat so fresh, still taut and new.

  But I wanted to make sure I was doing it right, that the audience was getting a good performance. So as I worked my hips, I swiveled around to look at the big man, winking over my shoulder.

  “Tristan, Tristan, Tristan,” I whispered. “You like?”

  And the big man couldn’t answer, he was so turned on, eyes glued to my cunt as the dildo ran in and out, cream dripping wetly from my snatch.

  The view in the mirror must have been amazing, my little pink hole fucked so hard, penetrated so fully by the rubber, seen clearly in the mirror. And the harsh rasping sounds from Tristan’s chest, his hand flying on his cock, the fact that his balls were high and raised indicated that everything was going just as planned, that the big man was about to let fly at any moment.

  But I didn’t want him to shoot without performing the finale, playing out a little fantasy I’d just crafted in my mind. So lifting up again, I let the dildo slip out, inch after inch of slick rubber dropping out of my cunt. With a clever twist of my hand, I wrenched my panties to the side so that my asshole was exposed and backed up a few inches. Without further ado, I began sinking down again, letting the rubber probe my anus, the brown pucker tensing and winking as the hard shaft sought to make entrance.

  “Oh!” I squealed. “Oh oh oh!” Even though I’d been an ass virgin up until last night, I was so turned on that I was sure I could do it, I could impale myself on this huge rubber dong coated in pussy cream. And so I worked my hips, jiggled them a little, squealing and whining as the rubber probed again, shoving my butt down, forcing the toy up my ass. And after some twisting and turning, wriggling and humping, the dong finally made its way inside with a pop, my sphincter giving it up.

  With a sigh, I slid down all the way, burying the shaft in my behind, my anus on fire, achy and sore at once, the tight rim burning so good.

  “Oh god,” I moaned, on my knees leaning forward, pausing for a moment, boobs heavy and pendulous, swaying rhythmically as I caught my breath. “Oh god.”

  But there was no rest for the weary.

  “Move,” ground out the big man, his eyes fixed to my butt cheeks, eyeing the part where the rubber disappeared into my anus. “Assfuck yourself,” he commanded.

  And as if in a trance, I lifted my hips again, letting the pole slide out of my butt, burning like fire before dropping down again, humping it, the friction so delicious, so sexy. And soon enough I was going at it full-steam, banging the dong, gyrating, wheeling, twisting, fucking my rectum again and again, gasping, shrieking as it reached up into my GI tract, the fit so tight, so dry.

  “Shit!” I screamed, throwing my head back. “Shee-it!”

  Because I couldn’t take it anymore, the dirtiness of everything, the red crotchless panties mixed with the mirror-mounted dildo, the pussy-fucking, the ass-fucking, the fact that I was putting a show on for my guardian. Sensations overwhelmed me and I came hard. My body pulsed and shook, earthquakes running through my frame, all of it centering around my quivering clit, ass and pussy clenching and clamping with orgasm, shaking so hard that I thought I might yank the dildo right off the mirror altogether with my vibrations.

  And Tristan was having a field day too. The big man’s hand was a blur on his cock now, chest and abs tight, that massive form on fire, eyes gleaming as he stared at the ass slide. With a roar, he slipped one hand down to his balls and squeezed them tight as he came, penis erupting with lash after lash of semen, drenching my back, my butt, my skin splattered with splashes of hot cum. Holy shit, jizz was even runn
ing down into my buttcrack, dripping into my asshole.

  And I couldn’t take it. I wanted it so bad that I ran a finger to the site and scooped up some of the semen, tasting it first, licking my lips before reaching back down to massage it into my pussy, working the sweet jism into my tight space.

  “Mr. Marks,” I breathed, seizing his eyes. “I need more,” I whispered, and with a roar Tristan was on me again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Daisy

  I wish I could say that everything was a happily ever after, but it didn’t turn out that way. Life isn’t a fairy tale, and things with my guardian didn’t work out, unfortunately.

  Oh sure, things were fine for the rest of the weekend. After I performed my little dildo show, I was floating on air, feeling nothing less than spectacular. The big man wouldn’t let me out of his arms, carrying me into the shower with him, making me bend over and take it, this time with his dick instead of the dildo all the while whispering raunchy promises in my ear.

  “You got that, baby girl?” he rasped into my ear. “Only Mr. Marks touches you, only Daddy’s cock goes in that sweet pussy. You belong to me.”

  And what could I do but gasp and nod breathlessly, my insides quivering, cunt fucked so good. Because there was nothing for me except Daddy, nothing for me except Tristan, my nights and days were filled with him, my thoughts complete, whirling with sensations, the power and glory that was being with this man.

  But once we got home, things ground to a halt. And I mean everything stopped - the sweet nights in bed, the dirty playtime, the intimate confessions, the emotional admissions. On the one hand, I hadn’t been completely sure that Tristan loved me because there were no words. But it sure as hell seemed like it. There was every indication that he wanted me, that it was more than just a one-time thing, that I meant more to him than a velvety, nubile body available for his desires. After all, there’d been the time in the chapel, the library, the multiple times he’d looked at me with emotion in his eyes, words on the tip of his tongue.

  But that’s the thing. Tristan never actually said, “I want to see where this goes,” “Let’s keep seeing each other after this weekend,” or even a measly, “I like you a lot.” I can’t say what I expected exactly but certainly not what happened next.

  Because when we got to the doorstep of his mansion, the big man drew me close to him, pulling me in for a deep kiss, gazing into my eyes, those blue eyes penetrating, so knowing, before swatting me on the butt.

  I’d giggled deliciously, figuring that this was the foreplay to another round of steamy sex, that we were just teasing, heating things up before taking them to the next level. And Tristan seemed to be in a good mood.

  “You’re cute, baby girl, so delicious,” he growled and I tittered, stepping into the foyer, our luggage a pile behind us. Oh, where was that sexy thong and the dildo? Packed in my bags and ready to be used again, pulled out in a flash.

  But oddly, I didn’t see Mr. Marks that night. I wasn’t sure where he was, maybe buried in work too busy to eat, and so I sat alone at the dinner table in my babydoll dress, feeling idiotic as I swung my heels like a child. Back down, I scolded myself. Tristan’s a busy man and took time out from his schedule to chauffeur me upstate, show me around his alma mater. He needs to catch up, to see to his empire. Besides, there’s tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow.

  But the big man was a no show the next day as well. Tristan didn’t come to dinner, didn’t knock on my bedroom door, didn’t intrude unexpectedly, didn’t even seem to eat anymore. In fact, it wasn’t clear he was in the house, it was so quiet, the mansion dim and gloomy, just my lonely steps echoing on the marbled stairs. Where was he? Where was my guardian? Why wasn’t he making an appearance? Didn’t we have a connection of some sort?

  But evidently Tristan could turn emotions on and off in the blink of an eye, his iron control and steely will making the impossible possible. And so I shook, shoulders heaving, my heart slowly folding in on itself, crumpling underneath the realization that I’d been nothing more than a fling. On the outside I looked okay, going to class as always, smiling and laughing as part of the cool crowd at school, cooing at cute boys, pretending that I was interested in a million things. But it was a mirage. I was a ghost floating among tumbleweeds, hollow, soulless, eyes hot from crying myself to sleep each night.

  And even my last hope collapsed. I thought for sure Mr. Marks would show up to my high school graduation. As I sat there under the sun, mortarboard perched on my curls, my breast fluttered, heart leaping in my throat. Was Mr. Marks here somewhere? My eyes scanned the crowd reflexively, pulse jumping. Was he here? Had my guardian come to see me on this big day, to usher me into the next phase of life?

  But there was no sign of the alpha male among the proud parents, the smirking siblings. There was no dark, looming figure, no gleam of blue eyes, no raffishly ruffled hair. Among the chattering crowds, there was no huge, masculine frame, ready to catch me up into an embrace, or even to share an awkward hug. I was alone, just like always.

  So heart heavy, I turned within myself. Slowly but surely, my mind shuttered as I consciously tried to block out thoughts of Tristan and our wild weekend, to focus on the life ahead. There was no sense in mooning over the impossible. I’m an eighteen year-old girl with the world at my feet, a ton of opportunities, about to enter the most exciting phase of my life. So why wasn’t I more excited?

  Because despite the happy smiles, the perfect clothes and sassy figure, life has gone dim. The fact is that I still crave Tristan, miss Mr. Marks so much that my bones ache, and every night alone in my dorm bed is a painful reminder of what we had, his big frame loving me, owning me completely. Those blue eyes saw deep into my soul, and I really thought we had a connection. But clearly, that’s not true. I was nothing more than a dust mite to the big man, a fun weekend fling with a nubile female body, and although reality hurts, life has to move on. There’s no other way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Tristan

  A year later …

  “Sir, good to see you again,” bowed Bowles, my butler.

  “Thanks, it’s been a while,” I rumbled, stepping into the foyer of the New Jersey mansion. It was quiet, but then I expected it to be.

  I haven’t been back in a year. I took off after my illicit weekend with Daisy, realizing that I was playing with fire, that we were both going to get burned to cinders, going up in flames. Because Daisy was gorgeous, funny, smart, and ambitious. She was everything I needed, everything I’d ever wanted. But the fucking problem was me, an older man cum lech who used that nubile body every which way when the sweet teen didn’t know better.

  Because sure, she was eighteen but that hardly excused things. I’d been ordained by her mom to take care of her, make sure the girl didn’t get into trouble. But instead, I’d been the cause of the trouble, popping her daughter’s cherries, violating all my promises. For one illicit weekend, one incredible, once-in-a-lifetime occasion, I let myself revel in the taboo, take what I’d wanted, however I wanted.

  And it had gotten out of hand. True, Daisy and I had been careful – to the outside world we were just a guardian and ward on a college tour, visiting my alma mater, nothing special. But holy shit, it was so much more than a simple tour of the campus. I showed Daisy the Labyrinth, the down and dirty nook in the library where couples got it on, taking her cunt, her ass, her virginity, her everything.

  And after it was done, she was so good, so tasty that I needed more. I fucking went ape-shit, putting it in her ass, making her cry out and scream, forcing her to fuck a dildo for crying out loud. Who does that to a virgin? Who the fuck? Me, that’s who, and I hated myself for it. I’m so depraved, such a fucking user, and I’d taken that girl for all she was worth, sating myself, watching that pink pussy pulse around my cock again and again.

  But I couldn’t live with it. I’d violated my sacred oath to Carolyn, I was the monster in the closet, I’d made promises and instead, taken from the vulnerable
, the needy. And fuck, but as CEO of Marks Holdings, I’m responsible for a vast portfolio of publications including publications like Sixteen, a teen rag for adolescent girls. What would the subscriber base say if it got out that I was banging my ward? That the guy who literally founded Everyday Dads and put Rachel Lewis Living, Healthful Life!, and Moms and Tots on newsstands was now drilling an eighteen year-old night after night, parting those cunt lips for countless sperm deposits? It was fucking bad business and there are shareholders to keep happy, a business to run.

  So I took off, leaving for Europe, managing my conglomerate long-distance. My staff was aghast at first, stuttering and grasping.

  “Mr. Marks, we need you in New York. Who’s going to preside over the board meeting?”

  “Mr. Marks, we’re looking at three executive hires, we need your input at the senior level.”

  “Mr. Marks, we need you for the quarterly earnings call. It can’t happen without you.”

  We need, we need, we need. I ignored it and as expected, the problems magically resolved themselves. Or maybe the problems had never been problems to begin with, they’d merely been the nervous blabberings of annoying underlings.

  So yeah, things worked out business-wise, I’ve still got Marks Holdings under control, our shit is selling like hotcakes, money’s pouring in in waves, making me a very rich man.

  Except that I’ve been miserable here in Europe, missing my little girl. I’ve tried my best to keep my mind off her, taking out a bunch of highly eligible women, supermodels, PR chicks, marketing babes, all of them six feet tall in stilettos and cocktail dresses, glossy hair swinging over their shoulders, stick thin with calculating smiles.

  But I’ve felt absolutely nothing. I smile, flashing a grin for the cameras, my arm around their waists, but I literally can’t focus. The women jabber on, their voices running like water through my head.

  “Tristan,” the latest one purred, hanging off my arm.