by Roxy Sloane
The Seduction
Part 1 of a filthy,
seductive new serial
by Roxy Sloane
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Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2014 Roxy Sloane
Cover Photo: Dylan Borgman
Cover Design: Louisa Maggio at LM Creations
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
ONE
All women look the same on their knees with their mouth wrapped around my cock.
You like to think you’re different, special somehow. You spend all that time fixing your hair and makeup, picking out a dress that your annoying friend swears makes you look like a million bucks. But you want to know the truth? I don’t give a fuck. After a hundred lays, you all look the same to me. Blonde, redhead, brunette-- the view’s the same from up here. The crown of your head bobbing, the round globes of your naked ass. The only thing that’s different is how you suck me off.
The woman down there right now is no pro, I’ll tell you that much. I’d bet she hasn’t been on her knees in years. No wonder her husband hired me, dealing with this bullshit. She’s eager though, lapping away at me, fumbling with my balls, letting out little breathy moans as she struggles to take my massive dick deeper in her mouth. She can’t get up a rhythm to save her life, so I save her the trouble: fisting my hands in her hair and yanking her closer, fucking her mouth, deep and hard, until I’m hitting the back of her throat and she’s whimpering like crazy, sucking me down, desperate for more.
Fuck yeah, like that baby.
I feel the tightness in my balls, that shiver in the base of my cock. I’m close, but fuck it, I’m not getting paid to cum all over her naked breasts. With a growl, I yank her off me and throw her face-down over the couch. She gasps in surprise, but I don’t wait a minute before grabbing her hips and slamming into her from behind, all the way to the fucking hilt.
She screams, arching back against me, grinding desperately on my cock. I shove her down again, trapping her in place as I piston in and out of her wet pussy, over and over,
“God!” she cries, gasping beneath me. “Oh my god! Vaughn! That feels so good!”
Her voice is irritating me now, distracting me from the warm, wet clench of her cunt, so I pull her body up against me, gagging her with one hand while I squeeze and pinch at her breasts. They’re damn fine too, big and ripe, bouncing with the impact every time I slam into her, impaling her with my cock, driving so goddamn deep I can feel her walls with every thrust.
Her pussy starts trembling. She’s close. I thrust, again and again, until the world goes dark and there’s nothing but the slide of my cock and the friction of her dripping channel. She comes with a scream, clenching around me, and I finally let go. She falls to her back, those gorgeous tits bouncing in rhythm. I let out a roar, fucking one final thrust then pull out, coming in a hot spurt all over her.
Fuck. I pump with my fist, spilling my milky seed all over her chest, her hair, her face until finally it ebbs away and I’m done.
She pants, her face flushed, staring at me adoringly. “That was amazing,” she breathes.
I’ve had better, but she doesn’t need to know.. “It was all you.,” I tell her with one of my trademark grins – the kind that would melt her panties right off, if she wasn’t already naked and dripping with my cum. “You were amazing.”
I zip my jeans up and take two strides to the console, picking up the digital camera I have waiting there. Before she can wipe me from her chest, I snap a photo.
“What are you doing?” she frowns, uncertain.
“Just something for my private collection,” I wink. “Smile and say, ‘pussy’.”
She bites her lip, but then strikes a pose, pouting her lips and pushing her breasts up with both hands. “Promise you won’t show them to anyone,” she says, spreading her knees and giving the camera what she thinks is a sultry look.
“Promise,” I lie, snapping off a whole dozen more. Naked breasts, shaved pussy, even the moles on her right hip in case she tries to cry Photoshop. “These will just keep me company, every time I think of you.”
“Why don’t you come pose with me?” She licks her lips again, but I’ve got no interest in a second go at her pussy. My job here is done. “I’m going out,” I tell her, turning away.
“But...” Her eyes fill with tears as she realizes she’s naked and covered in cum in some stranger’s apartment. “I thought... I thought...”
“What? That I love you?” I ask. Goddamn, these women are so fucking naive. “I knew from the start, I could never have you,” I explain, trying to look regretful. “You’re married. This can never be real. I should go now,” I add grabbing my jacket and head for the door. “Don’t make this harder on me than it has to be.”
It’s the same bullshit line I give all the women, like I want nothing more than to make this random fuck into something meaningful – and they’re the one’s keeping us apart. But the truth is, sex is always a lie. I learned that the hard way a long time ago, and this is my payment for ever caring. Caring is not worth the pain. So I changed. I became who I am today. A fucking machine.
“I’ll remember you, always,” her voice follows me out, cracking with regret.
I hide a grin. I won’t remember her name come tomorrow. This might have been the best fucking night of her life, but for me, it’s just another client.
Seducing women is my job. And I’m damn good at it.
TWO
KEELY
“I’m good at my job.”
“Try and sound a little more convincing.”
I take a deep breath and say it with determination. “I’m good at my job.”
“Atta girl.” My friend Justine hits the elevator button. She swears by positive affirmations. She takes a gulp of the venti-sized coffee I just bought her and yawns. I’m a paralegal at the firm, not her assistant, but she’s the one who got me this gig, so I try to repay her with lattes. I also do my best to make sure she doesn’t go into work looking like she just got out of bed from a weekend-long sex marathon.
“Your shirt’s done up wrong,” I tell her, as the crowd of businessmen cram into the elevator with us. “And you forgot to brush your hair.”
“Whoops.” Justine laughs. She holds out the coffee for me to hold, and rebuttons her shirt. All the guys around us stare, but she just winks. “Sorry boys, I’m all worn out,” she says, as we reach our floor.
“Justine!” I hiss, as we walk past the reception to Hudgens, Cartwright & Abrams, one of the top law firms in LA. “You can’t say stuff like that, not if you want to be taken seriously around here.”
“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I bring in a shit-ton of business and my billables are through the roof. They respect me plenty.”
I sigh. I could only dream of having Justine’s reputation as a cut-throat litigator and all round ball-buster. As a paralegal, I’m the bottom of the food-chain around here. It’s my goal to go to law-school and become a real lawyer one day, but that’s going to take a stellar LSAT score and a couple of
hundred thousand dollars in student loans I can’t afford.
For now, I’m stuck assisting the real lawyers on their cases: doing all the research while they take the glory. Most of the time, it’s not so bad: I’m learning a lot here. But then there are the lawyers who treat me like their own personal slave.
“Flaws!”
The yell makes me flinch. Carter Abrams IV, son of the senior partner here, and all round jackass. I’ve told him a hundred times my surname is Fawes, but he just likes to make my life a living hell.
“Remember, you’ve got to stand up to him if you want to be take seriously,” Justine reminds me. “Keep letting him treat you like shit, and you’ll never earn his respect.”
I could single-handedly win every case on the books right now, and Carter would still hate my guts, but I give Justine a smile all the same. “Thanks, babe,” I sigh. “I better get to it.”
“Flaws!”
I open the door to his office just as Carter lets out another yell. “I’m right here.” I try to sound like Justine: confident and in control. Carter just sneers.
“Old man Ashcroft is in Conference Room B. He’s got more questions.”
I pause, confused. “It’s a simple will we’re drawing up. I wonder what’s the problem.”
“I don’t give a shit what his problem is,” Carter says. “Go handle it. That old fart rambles on, it makes me want to blow my fucking brains out.”
“But you told me to gather case files for the Montgomery appeal,” I start to reply. I’m buried with work as it is -- not just from Carter, but three of the other associates too.
“So? I’m not your fucking mother. Multitask!” Carter scowls at me. “Now don’t leave him waiting. He’s an important client.”
Not important enough for you to get off your fat ass and work for a change, I silently reply. But Carter is already clicking at his computer again. As I turn to leave, I hear the first moans from his speakers that mean he’s looking at porn again.
“Close the door!” he yells. I shut it behind me with a shudder. One time I walked in on him without knocking and found one of the assistants on her knees. Carter treats the office like his personal playroom -- and because his daddy is the boss, he gets away with it too.
But as I turn down the hall to the conference room, my spirits lift again. Our client, Charles Ashcroft, is a great guy. He made his fortune in paper mills and shipping, back in the day. He’s in his late seventies now, and needs a full-time nurse to wheel an oxygen tank behind him wherever he goes, but he loves to chat and tell funny stories about his youth.
“There’s my favorite future lawyer,” Ashcroft greets me as I step into the room.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I tell him. “Can I get you tea or coffee, or something to eat?”
“Psh.” Ashcroft waves my offer away, his blue eyes bright and full of life, even against the wrinkles of his old, weathered face. “You shouldn’t be fetching and carrying for anyone.”
“You sound like my friend, Justine,” I laugh, pulling up a chair.
“She’s right you know.” Ashcroft nods. “That mind’s too good to waste on these fools.”
“I’ll let the partners know you said hello.” I smile. “Ready to get started?”
“Wait a moment. Before we get down to business, I have something for you.” Ashcroft reaches into his jacket pocket.
“For me?” I frown. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Here.” He pulls out a slim, rectangular jewelry box and passes it to me. I open it, still confused.
Holy shit.
It’s a bracelet. An antique-looking piece laid with sparkling stones that couldn’t be...?
“Are these diamonds?” I ask, stunned.
Ashcroft chuckles. “Wouldn’t be any good if they weren’t. A token of my thanks for all your assistance on my case.”
“I can’t accept this.” I regretfully snap the box shut and place it back on the table. “But thank you, it’s so nice of you.”
“Why ever not?” Ashcroft looks surprised.
“I can’t,” I insist again, unsettled. “You’re a client. And a gentleman. But I wouldn’t feel right.”
“I send Cartwright whiskey every Christmas,” he argues. “I’m allowed to give you gifts if I damn please. How is this any different?”
“It just is.” I know he’s rich and eccentric, but this is too weird. I wonder if he is losing it. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, “but I wouldn’t be comfortable taking this. It looks like an heirloom.”
“But you should have it.” Ashcroft’s eyes turn watery. “You have to take it!” He reaches across, trying to push the box back into my hands. I resist, but he’s insistent. “Please,” he begs, then suddenly breaks into a cough, the spasms shaking his frail body.
“Oh God, are you OK?” I leap up to grab a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”
Ashcroft sips at the water, and slowly his gasping cough fades away.
“Can I get you anything?” I hover, worried. “Where’s June?” I look around for the nurse who’s usually nearby.
“I sent her to run errands.” Ashcroft shakes his head, recovering. “There’s no cure for old age, my dear,” he says, his voice still hoarse. He sips the water again, and looks around the room, his expression confused. “What were we talking about?”
“Your will,” I tell him, carefully moving the bracelet box out of sight. I’ll give it to June to take back later; with any luck, he’ll forget all about the strange gift.
“Ah, yes.” Ashcroft blinks. “Of course.”
I sit down again, but keep an eye on him, just in case. “It’s all fairly straightforward,” I say, turning to his file, the one I’ve been working on all month. “We’ve gone over your assets, and you’ve drawn up a list of charities.” I pause, still wondering about one thing. “Are you sure you don’t want to name any of your children? According to this document, they get nothing.”
Mr. Ashcroft scowls. “Spoiled, selfish bastards, all of them. Spent their lives using my money, and what do they have to show for it? Never even visited for the holidays, until I had my third stroke and it looked like I might not make it. Then they couldn’t fly in fast enough. Vultures.”
“OK,” I calm him, worried he’ll have another coughing fit. “I’ll finalize the will.”
“I bet you treat your folks better than my pack of disappointments do me.” Mr. Ashcroft gives me a look.
I pause. “My parents passed,” I tell him, feeling a pang.
Mr. Ashcroft looks shocked. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. When did it happen?”
“A car crash, five years ago,” I reply.
“And you have other family?” he asks.
“Nope. Just me.”
“Terrible. Terrible.” Ashcroft coughs again, looking even more distressed. He’s still staring at me with sad eyes, so I force a smile.
“It’s fine,” I insist, not wanting to make him feel any more uncomfortable. “You couldn’t have known. Now, it looks like we’re all set here. I’ll have Mr. Abrams Jr. look over the papers, and you can sign them.”
“That doofus?” Ashcroft snorts. “No, honey, I’d rather stick with you.”
“You know I’m not a real lawyer,” I tell him, laughing. “I just help prepare the documents.”
“You’ve got more smarts in that pretty head of yours than half this bunch of asses put together,” Mr. Ashcroft tells me.
I smile. “Well, until I magically come up with a couple of hundred thousand dollars for law school, I’m afraid they’re the ones signing on the dotted line.”
My parents weren’t wealthy people, and they didn’t have life insurance. They left me a small amount from the house, but once their debts and the mortgage were paid off, it barely covered my college tuition and living expenses. Now I’m on my own with only my dying succulent plant for company, scraping rent on a tiny studio apartment, and working extra hours here at the law firm whenever I can.
Mr. Ash
croft gives me a piercing look. “Never say never, my dear. We don’t know what the future will bring.”
I smile and nod, but inside, I stifle a sigh. The problem is I know exactly what my future holds: another five years of fetching Carter’s dry-cleaning -- unless he fires me first.
THREE
KEELY
I see Mr. Ashcroft off, and then leave the documents with Carter’s assistant. “Oh, and he needs more of his juice,” Erin tells me with a superior grin. “Vitamin and kale. The place is just around the corner.”
“I was just going to take my lunch break.”
Erin just arches her perfect brows at me. “Sorry,” she coos, “I’m just passing on his message. It seemed really important,” she adds. “But I can tell him you said ‘no’.”
“No,” I gulp, imagining Carter’s reaction. “I’ll go.” I take the order from her and head out. Perfect. Now I get to spend my precious lunch-break running errands – just because Erin keeps him satisfied doing the one thing I never will.
I hope his precious juices give him diarrhea.
I’m feeling pretty depressed as I walk three blocks to the fancy juice store, thinking of all the hurdles I need to leap over before my dreams can be a reality and I can kiss goodbye to Carter’s power-crazy demands. The truth is, despite what I’ve told Justine and Ashcroft about law school bills, that’s only half the truth. Sure, I’ll need money to pay for the degree, but the biggest problem I’ve got right now is getting in to law school in the first place.
Because I suck at tests.
I’ve always been bad. There’s something about sitting down with that number two pencil that makes my brain freeze up. No matter how hard I study, how well I know the materials, it’s fifty-fifty whether I’ll make it through a quiz without having a minor panic-attack and forgetting everything I’ve ever learned. I managed OK in college by picking courses that were graded on essays and group work, but when it came to sitting the LSATS?
I bombed. I bombed hard -- all three times I’ve tried taking it. I’m trying to work up the courage for time number four, but part of me wonders what’s the point? I’ll never make it. And even if I did? I’d need to make it through law school, and the bar exam after that. I may as well give up and accept that I’m going to be running errands forever.
