Spy Games

by Cassandra Dee

  And true to my word, after a few squelching strokes in her pussy, I pulled all the way back out and insistently pushed into that anus again. Aw fuck it was so good, so dry and tight, the answer to my dreams. I stroked a couple times in back, and then went back to her pussy with the alleged excuse of getting my dick wet again, before rotating once more to her anus. God, my baby girl is a full-service station, she’s got all the goods and then some.

  Because on my fourth or fifth thrust into her butt, Rachel shattered around me, that anal hole clenching me tight before dissolving into a series of spasms.

  “Oh god!” Rachel cried out, entire body shaking, rump quivering and heaving as her ass gave it up. “Oh god, fuck me!”

  And of course, I obliged. I did more than fuck her, I came like a man-made geyser then, dick blasting that rectum with lash after lash of virile, bubbly come.

  “Aw FUCK!” I roared, an alpha branding his mate with DNA, staking her with his personal marker. “Aw fuck fuck fuck!”

  And the jizz only made Rachel come even harder, both holes clamping and quivering, spasming on my shaft again and again. But like a complete asshole, in the middle of a particularly massive spurt, I pulled my fuckrod out and pushed it into her pussy, desperate to feel that flesh squeeze me again. Sure enough, her cunt milked me furiously, like an Energizer Bunny with quadruple batteries, and I burst again into those sweet, tight, hold folds.

  “FUCK!” I roared like a lion on his mate. “FUCK! Fuck fuck!”

  We collapsed panting, my big form all over the sweet girl with my dick still stuck in her puss. Oh shit, Rachel was so curvy, her hefty flesh cushioning me even though I was a hundred pounds heavier.

  “Mmph,” the brunette moaned beneath me, cheek pressed into the pillow as that pussy milked me of my last drops. “Mmmm.”

  I shook my head, big body shaking still with release, every sense on high. Because somehow, this female had penetrated my defenses. Somehow this eighteen year old nymphet had made me violate every rule I’d carefully constructed. We weren’t anonymous, we weren’t doing a finger fuck in some public place. Instead, I’d come over to the brunette’s apartment for crying out loud, and she’d teased and tantalized me until I’d sprayed into her cunt for the second time, giving her a healthy dose of male DNA.

  What the hell was going on? My plan had completely gone off the rails. I’d come by to drop off some Plan B for crying out loud, back-up birth control, and instead I’d just seeded the female again. Oh fuck yeah, that curvy body was absorbing my sperm again for the second time in twelve hours, and shit, I should have panicked. I should have run to the kitchen and come back with the birth control pills, opening the girl’s mouth and forcing the girl to swallow.

  But instead, I stayed where I was, dick fully embedded in her tight twat, and just rolled with it. Rachel was so beautiful, so gorgeous and sweet, and it felt absolutely right to be here, to enjoy the fleshy curves, the honey that was her calling card. Because despite the doubts running through my head, the misgivings that should have had me out the door in a flash, it felt fucking good. This was right, this was my female, and a growl of satiation and contentment escaped my chest. I, Donovan Jones, am completely lost to an eighteen year-old nymph … and the fall had never been so good.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rachel

  I don’t understand exactly what’s happening. It’s like a magic spell has come down, and I’m acting like a slut, giving into my dirtiest fantasies. Because Donovan was supposed to come by and drop off some birth control, a harmless enough encounter. I didn’t even have to see him, he was just gonna leave the packet on my table and then walk out.

  But instead I tantalized him. Or I did more than that. I was a total whore, getting naked and waiting for him on my hands and knees, pussy open for his dick. I wiggled my naked butt, baiting him with those pulsing fods, and of course the alpha male took. How couldn’t he? This is Donovan after all, a gorgeous, domineering asshole, and oh god, but Daddy took. He took and took until my butt was sore, pussy and ass both pulsing with desire.

  And I swear, I’m not usually like this. I’m a virgin, or I was a virgin until two days ago. But now? Holy cow, you’d hardly recognize boring librarian Rachel with the twin sets and knee-length skirts now. And that’s why I don’t understand what’s happening.

  Because Donovan left me money after our hot session. At first, I didn’t believe it, the gleam of green so odd, totally out of place in my shabby apartment. But it was there, and the cash so crisp and new-smelling that I couldn’t even touch it at first. Why was he doing this? I’m no working girl, he didn’t have to pay.

  But the alpha’s motives became clear soon enough. Because he left me a note too, and it read:

  Baby girl,

  Get ready to leave this dump. Daddy’s taking care of you, a car’s coming later tonight.

  Be ready.

  Daddy

  I gawped while reading the note and fingering the cash. A car? What kind of car? How would I know it was for me? And why all this cash? But with trembling fingers, I put the money in my pocketbook, the Benjamins looking strange and crisp next to the pathetic assortment of crumpled ones already there. I save, I scrimp, I’m really frugal, but a librarian’s salary doesn’t go far and it showed. My apartment’s in a bad neighborhood and I’ve done it up as best I can with cast-off furniture, stuff I scavenged from second hand shops, but it’s worn for sure. I try to brighten rooms with colorful afghans and needlepoints, but there’s no hiding the stains, even the prettiest drape can’t cover a particularly nasty spill. So yeah, the cash was much appreciated even if I felt weird taking it.

  But as I waited on the sidewalk, my gut churned uneasily. What the hell was going on? This was supposed to be an anonymous encounter but we’d gone so much further than that. We knew each other’s names now, we had each other’s numbers, and for crying out loud, Donovan knows where I live. Was he sending me a car now to take me to his place? Where in the world was I being taken? What the hell, what the hell?

  Unfortunately, the voice in my head spoke then. Rachel, it screamed. You’re crazy! You fucked this guy in public, you let him into your apartment to fuck you again, and now you’re gonna get in a car with him? What the hell is wrong with you? You’re asking for it, you’re gonna be chopped into pieces and left for dead, a story on the evening news.

  I nodded uneasily, a chill running down my spine as my toe tapped the curb. That could all be true, but the thing was I wanted it. I wanted to see where this was all going, the alpha had me on a tight leash but it was a leash I loved. I loved giving it up for him, never knowing what was coming next, whether dick in my pussy or my ass, whatever depraved things Donovan had in mind. I loved exploring, leaving shy, virginal Rachel in the dust. Instead there was a new me, the slut ready to pry her ass open for my man, the one whose pussy dripped non-stop whenever the alpha was near.

  And as thoughts churned in my head, a black town car pulled up, an elderly man hopping out in a jaunty chauffeur’s uniform.

  “Rachel Smith?” he asked kindly. “Miss?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” I chewed on my lip nervously. It was do or die, I could still make an escape now. But Donovan made it impossible because the chauffeur reached into his pocket and pulled out a note, handing it to me courteously. With slow fingers, I unfolded the heavy cream paper.

  My love, it read.

  Trust me on this.

  Come to Daddy.

  And with that, my fate was sealed. I had to go where Daddy led, I had to see what Daddy wanted for me. My life was in the hands of this man, this man whose last name I still didn’t know, who’d seeded me twice already. I was putty for him, a cum slut, his receptacle, his property, and I didn’t want it any other way. So with my doubts gone, I got into the car, calm and relaxed as it whisked me to god knows where.

  The landscape passed in a flash, but all I saw was what I’m used to. Desert, tumbleweed, the bright harsh rays of the Nevada sun glinting off the sand, cactuses
dotting the landscape. But soon enough, the car pulled up to a strip mall, one of the many that dotted the highway.

  “Oh are we getting gas?” I asked doubtfully. There was no gas station in sight, but it was the only reason I could think to stop.

  The elderly driver chuckled.

  “No miss, you’re headed to the Billionaires Club.”

  The Billionaires Club? What was that? I shook my head, confused, and slowly repeated his words.

  “I’m sorry, but where are we going? I see a Taco Bell and a JC Penney, but did you say a club of some sort?”

  The elderly man got out, and held the door open for me.

  “That’s right Miss, Mr. Donovan has directed me to bring you straight to the Billionaires Club.”

  This time, I knew I heard right, and yet it just didn’t make sense. Everything about the strip mall screamed Middle America, from the bright golden arches of the McDonald’s to the neon open sign in the window of the nail parlor. But shaking my head, I got out of the car, squinting under the bright desert sun.

  “This way, Miss,” the driver said, beckoning to me. “This way.”

  And slowly, I followed him into the mall. Again, there was nothing to distinguish this place from any other mall you might wander into. Polished floors greeted me, the chill of an A/C on high, with a food court on the right, and some slot machines on the left. Gotta love my home state, they never miss an opportunity to make money on unsuspecting tourists.

  But my driver led me to the right, and then to the left until we stood before a restroom sign.

  “I’m okay, thanks,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m okay.”

  The wizened man chuckled.

  “No, not that. Here,” he said, opening the door to what looked like a supply closet. “This way.”

  And I gawped because it actaully wasn’t a supply closet with cleaning fluids, mops and the like. It was an elevator, industrial-looking, grey and bland.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked, still confused. “Shouldn’t we take one of the elevators outside?”

  “No Miss,” said the chauffeur, shaking his white head. “This is a special elevator, one that will transport you to the club.”

  Again, this club. What was he referring to? Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, and with hesitant steps, I entered the grey cube. My chauffeur pressed a button on the outside.

  “Wait, aren’t you coming too?” I asked in a rush, face panicked for a split second. My driver was the only link I had to humanity, the only person that knew I was here other, and I had a momentary rush of doubt, a feeling of panic.

  But the driver was already waving a hand goodbye.

  “No miss, there’s no place for an old man like me in the Billionaires Club. Now you have a good time, enjoy,” he said with a wink, and with that, the doors hissed shut, enclosing me in the featureless cube.

  I have to be honest. I was a little scared because the lift literally plunged then, going down, down, and down, and as my stomach dropped, a sense of vertigo overtook me. What the hell was going on? My senses could have been off, but it felt like I was being drawn into the innards of the earth, that we were plunging some fifty stories downwards, and when the doors opened, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see molten lava and volcanic ash.

  But instead, when the doors whooshed open, I was greeted by a luxurious reception area. What the? With a hesitant step, I entered the clean, white, and even airy space. How did they get it to appear airy when we had to be far below the earth’s surface? Why did a supply closet in a strip mall open up to a reception area like this?

  A woman stepped forward then, middle-aged and professional, dressed in a black suit.

  “Welcome to the Billionaires Club,” she intoned. “You are Ms. Smith I presume? Mr. Jones is waiting for you.”

  I gulped, interrupting.

  “I’m sorry,” I said slowly. “But I have no idea what’s going on. Could you tell me a little about this place, please?” I asked, gesturing to the soaring white walls, plants that were verdant and green despite the fact that there was no natural sunlight. And taking a deep breath, I went for it. “What’s the Billionaires Club? I’ve never heard of it?”

  The woman cocked her head curiously at me.

  “Mr. Jones didn’t tell you?” she inquired.

  I shook my head.

  “No and I’m not even sure I know who Mr. Jones is. The man I know is named Donovan, his last name could be Jones but I’m not sure.”

  The woman stared curiously at me again but didn’t pry. Instead, she responded smoothly. “Of course, Mr. Jones is Donovan Jones. He’s a member here at the Club and he’s waiting for you downstairs.”

  I could tell she wanted me to move on, but I stubbornly resisted.

  “I’m so sorry, but can you tell me more about this club? I’m lost, I was whisked here in a car, and I’ve only met Donovan Jones a handful of times.”

  The look in her eye was professional and smooth, even if there was a knowing glint.

  “Of course, I’m happy to give you an overview,” she replied courteously. “The Billionaires Club is exactly what it sounds like. A private club for male billionaires, here in the Nevada desert.”

  That made me pause.

  “Billionaires?” I asked slowly. “Not millionaires or multi-millionaires?”

  The woman’s chuckle was low and throaty.

  “Absolutely not. Membership in the club is offered only to the elite, and all of our members are worth ten figures. Again, this is a club for billionaires only,” she stressed.

  My mind whirred but did not compute. Ten figures? Holy cow, I could hardly even envision that much money. Would that fill up a room with cash? Would the zeros wiggle and melt before your eyes? I didn’t have much more than two nickels to rub together, so the sheer amount was mind-blowing, throwing me for a loop.

  But I caught myself.

  “I’m sorry, but is Mr. Jones a member?” I asked slowly. “So he has a billion dollars?”

  The woman looked at me archly.

  “It’s not for me to comment on any particular member’s finances, but I assure you, the Club’s vetting process is thorough and exhaustive. Not only that, but Mr. Jones has been a member for many years now.”

  That threw me for a loop. Donovan was a rich man, and not just rich, but filthy rich evidently. I shook my head, unable to reconcile fantasy with reality. Because my alpha had been looking for girls online, surfing around on Discreet Encounters for anonymous girls to fingerfuck. Why would someone who had a billion dollars do that? Couldn’t he afford a private matchmaker, or at least splurge on the premium membership with Match.com? Surely there had to be better ways than a free subscription with some no-name website.

  But against all odds, Discreet Encounters had led me to this man, and this was his space. This was where he called home, or at least some kind of private area. And the middle-aged woman was already striding off briskly in her suit, heels clacking. She paused momentarily, turning to look at me.

  “Coming?” she asked, just a tinge of annoyance in her voice. “This way,” she corrected herself immediately, utterly polite once more, even bowing her head a bit.

  With numb steps, I followed, feeling shabby and uncouth in the gleaming confines of the building. My escort’s behavior didn’t bother me, I’m used to everyone looking down on me. After all, I’m a dowdy part-time librarian, hardly the type of girl to command attention, hardly the type to be the star of the show. It was only recently that things had been different. Only Donovan had had the insight to see beneath my staid exterior, visualizing my bountiful curves, treating me like I was a fantastically sexy female, and not a bumpy lump on the wall.

  So without a word, I trailed after my escort, barely able to breathe. Everything in the building was off-the-charts luxurious, from the simple yet expensive-looking furniture, to the floral arrangements, colorful and exotic against gleaming white walls. Even the staff seemed designed to serve with polished efficiency, moving quietly
through the gleaming corridors with soft, almost silent steps.

  “I’m sorry,” I interrupted again, placing a hand on the woman’s elbow.

  The black-haired woman shot a quick glance at me, stiffening oh so slightly. What, did she not like to be touched? Was she more robot than human? My hand dropped immediately, like I’d been scalded.

  “I’m sorry,” I tried again, meekly this time. “But where are we going? I feel like we’re underground somewhere, and you’re leading me just deeper underground?” Because we’d taken an escalator that with smooth efficiency, rolled four or five stories down a steep slope before opening into another airy atrium. I swear, it was amazing that these spaces felt light and welcoming given that there were no windows whatsoever.

  My handler replied.

  “Mr. Jones is waiting for you in the play area,” she bit out briskly. “We’ll be there shortly.”

  I nodded, forced to accept her answer. Evidently there’d be no further clarification why she was taking me to this so-called play area, or what in fact awaited me there. So nodding, my heart beat quickly, chest tight. My only consolation as we made our way through the neverending hallways was that I wanted to see Donovan again, and if he’d summoned me to the play area, then so be it. I trusted him, I was fine so far, and the alpha would make sure nothing would happen to me.

  Finally, we stopped before a gleaming metal door, featureless but for a button on the side.

  “We’re here,” the woman said peremptorily. “I’ll leave you now.”

  And with a bow, she pressed the button and the doors whisked open. I was astonished by what I saw inside. Because this play area was a nothing more than a white cube, completely empty except for what looked like a washing machine against the wall, and my man. Oh yeah, Donovan was here, waiting for me, casual and relaxed and utterly gorgeous in a black suit.