Powerful Men 3: Four Hot Alphas who Take Whatever They Want

by Carla Kane

  ‘Jesus,’ she breathed as they broke lips again. She raised her finger to his chin and brushed it against his lips as though in a trance.

  ‘I thought you people didn’t believe in Jesus,’ Jon smiled.

  ‘You people? Really?’ Avigail narrowed her eyes at him, but playfully.

  ‘What?’ Jon shrugged.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said and leaned forward into his hold to kiss him again.

  With his arms around her lithe body Jon walked backwards towards the metal cage that housed the roof ventilation system, leading her along with him. Her body was warm and firm beneath her dress and her lips fresh and earthy on his as they kissed. His back hit the metal and he stopped.

  ‘Jesus,’ Avigail sighed again. Jon raised an eyebrow. ‘Shut up!’ she reproached playfully and slapped his hard chest.

  Jon looked her body up and down as he smiled possessively. She was so small and powerless beneath him, so vulnerable. She stepped closer to his body and he felt her spread her hands around the small of his back and up against his firm butt. Something feral awoke inside him and he grunted, stepping forward and pulling her harder against him. She yelped with pleasure as he pressed his masculine lips over hers once more.

  As they kissed they explored each other’s bodies with their hands. Avigail clutched Jon’s well-toned body and he drew his strong fingers down along the nape of her neck and the small of her back, taking the zipper and sliding it down as he opened her dress. A blast of hot ventilation shot out of the vents behind them and doused them in steamy, humid air. Jon slipped his hands inside Avigail’s dress and she trembled against the sensation of his suede-like hands as he ran them along her flesh.

  She sighed lustily as he began to open her dress further and slide it down around her waist. He could feel her nipples, hard as bullets, beneath her brassiere as she pressed it up against his chest. As he worked her bra open from the back (something which seemed to be getting more and more difficult with every new model that came out) Avigail began to loosen his tie and open the buttons on his shirt. As she slipped her hands in underneath and ran them over his strong chest, he felt his cock stiffen and bulge in his pants. He was going to enjoy this.

  He opened her bra and let it fall to the ground between them and then in an instant he spun the beautiful heiress around so that now her naked back was against the grille of the ventilation cage and he was in front of her, completely in control. He took a moment to check out her beautiful tits as she stood panting before him, staring at him as though he was a wild animal.

  He reached out and took her breasts in his hands, kneading and squeezing them while Avigail moaned in pleasure and clutched at the metal of the cage with her fingers. Jon bent forward and opened his mouth over her erect nipples, licking tantalizing circles around the rings as he continued to press her fleshy mounds together. She arched her back and threw back her head, her soft brown hair spilling over her face as she moaned and whimpered with ecstasy. Yes, she was certainly enjoying this. Jon Sugar had that affect on people.

  He pressed his teeth softly around the searing flesh of her nipples and she squeezed her hands against the back of his head, the nails digging into the scalp hard enough that it almost hurt. Almost.

  He licked a line up between her breasts and over her throat, sucking the skin of her elegant chin and tasting the flesh of her face before feasting on her mouth. She rocked her hips towards him and he ran one of his hands down around her naked stomach and over her hip, still covered by the lower half of her dress. He wrapped his hand tight around her ass and pulled her closer to his crotch. Pressing his huge, throbbing cock against her body. He couldn’t wait to feel it inside her, to fill her sexy snatch and claim her as his own.

  ‘Jon,’ Avigail moaned, ‘please, take me.’

  He drew his hands back up around her back and pulled the dress down around her waist, kneeling down as he lowered it to her ankles. Her panties were already wet from the juices of her cunt and he licked his lips as he faced them. The dress fell around her feet and he brought his fingers back up against the hem of her underwear. Avigail’s whole body shook and she ran her hands wildly through his short black hair as she waited for him to release her sex to the world. She moaned out with lust as he started to draw her panties firmly down.

  ‘I can’t wait to taste your sexy pussy,’ he said, his voice deep and throaty, heavy with his own sexual desire. In answer, Avigail thrust her hips forward willing him closer to her throbbing cunt.

  Jon moved in, placing his mouth against the flesh of her thigh and kissing her tenderly before working his way in towards her pussy. He could taste her juices on her leg as he moved closer and he relished the taste. He placed his hands around her ass and squeezed the soft flesh hard and tight as he began to lick towards her outer lips. They were plump and swollen, engorged with the overwhelming lust that electrified Avigail’s whole body as she stood there above him, pressed against the hard metal of the cage and giving herself over to him completely. This was Jon’s favorite part. Well, one of them anyway.

  He brought one of his hands under her thigh and began to rub his fingers against her lips as he moved his hot mouth up towards her pounding clit. As he flicked his tongue against it, he slid his fingers into her crevice and Avigail cried out with pleasure. Breathing on her hot pussy Jon flicked his cool blue eyes up to her face.

  ‘You like that, huh?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes!’ she moaned.

  Well have some more then, he thought and went over her again, this time dragging his tongue over her nub even slower and pressing his fingers harder against the throbbing walls of her cunt. She obviously liked it a lot; she was soaking and she rocked her hips back and forth against him in raptures of lust. Jon continued to skillfully pleasure her with his tongue and mouth and hands, driving her wilder still, until her whole body lit up and climax rattled through her.

  He smacked his lips against her pussy like a wolf and then began to kiss his way back up along her sensitized flesh. He wanted to kiss her on the lips again (the top ones) and then he wanted to fuck her with his hard, pulsating member.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Avigail whispered, in between kissing him passionately, ‘Jesus Jon, I’ve never felt like this before!’

  Jon smiled. That was always nice to hear.

  Continuing to kiss her hungrily he reached down and unbuckled his pants. As he drew them down, his massive cock spread full mast out into the hot steamy air. Avigail looked down on it in curious wonder and reached down to take it in her hands. Jon grunted deeply as she wrapped her fingers around it – a warning not to toy with the animal.

  As she drew her hands up and down over his dick Avigail bit her lip and smiled. ‘My God Jon, it’s so big.’

  In answer, he grunted again. He knew it was big, he didn’t care. He just wanted to put it inside her, to fill her out with his iron-hard flesh.

  She saw it in his eyes and her own widened. As he moved towards her she brought his giant cock down towards her pussy. With lust burning through his entire body, Jon reached under her ass and hoisted her up as she guided his cock against her pussy. He felt it slide past her lips and into her tight snatch. He smiled slightly, his whole face exuding power, and then kissed her hard and deep as his cock moved further into her snatch.

  He plundered her mouth with his tongue as he fucked her; tasting her, filling her, consuming and controlling her every pleasure and lust. She gasped as he pulled out of her, her legs and arms wrapped around his torso. With a grunt he thrust forward again and filled her up completely once more. He could tell by her responses that she’d never had it like this before, never had it so big and strong. As for him, well there was something new to enjoy in every encounter. That was why he couldn’t refuse, no matter how much he knew he should.

  She clamped her pussy around his hard cock in a way that filled him with pleasure and he felt his body tense as the fire rushed through him and he shot his cream inside her, in hard, powerful spurts. They stayed wrapped togeth
er as one for a moment longer and then parted.

  ‘My God,’ Avigail smiled as she pulled her dress back up over her body, now glistening from passion and sweat, her eyes shining in the darkness. ‘That was amazing.’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ Jon smiled. He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit one, before offering the pack to her.

  Avigail refused with a cheeky smile. ‘No thanks,’ she said firmly, ‘haven’t you heard? Those things will kill you.’

  ‘I heard,’ Jon shrugged, ‘but I’m not sure if I believe it yet.’

  Avigail shook her head in good-humored disapproval, as though only now seeing him for the first time. ‘It’s true what they say about you Madison Avenue men, isn’t it?’ she said.

  Jon looked at her coolly as he buttoned up his shirt. ‘What do they say about us?’ he asked.

  Avigail laughed, like she couldn’t believe the scenario she was in. Jon had no idea why. ‘Never mind,’ she said.

  ‘Whatever,’ Jon answered, ‘so what now?’

  ‘Now? Now I’ve got to get back to work,’ Avigail replied, ‘I have to work tirelessly if I’m to prove myself in this man’s world, you know.’

  ‘Well that’s your choice,’ Jon said, ‘don’t pretend like you couldn’t get a husband if you wanted one. They must be lining up outside this place.’

  ‘No,’ Avigail said, her eyes twinkling seriously, ‘there was no choice. This is what I had to do. It was my calling.’

  Jon drew a line of smoke and then exhaled. He understood what she meant, perfectly.

  ‘And I guess you’ve got to get back to work too,’ Avigail smiled, ‘after all, we’re expecting something fresh from your firm. So you better not disappoint.’

  Jon smiled, glancing at her sideways as he smoked his cigarette. ‘Trust me,’ he said, ‘I never do.’

  ###

  Yes Mister President!

  Orgasm in the Oval Office

  Only the first few minutes of light were creeping around the darkness of the night before when Sandra’s alarm went off. She rolled over in her double bed and reached out to hit the snooze button. Then she closed her eyes for two seconds, opened them and got out of bed. Any snooze liberties she might have once held were far behind her now.

  She walked across her small, messy bedroom and picked up her dressing gown, pulling it around the faded Daisy Duck nightie she’d worn to bed. Damn, she foggily considered as she made her way towards the bathroom, she really needed to clean this place up because soon enough she’d have a full blown floordrobe on her hands. If only she had the spare time to actually do something about it – she’d been working twelve full days in a row by now. Arriving at the office by six am (and usually before) and not leaving again until close to midnight. That was the kind of commitment the job entailed.

  She went into the shower and cranked it on, stepping inside as soon as it reached a tepid temperature. Unfortunately that was as good as it ever got. Three minutes later she stepped out again and wrapped a towel around her head. The water had already turned cold by then.

  Sandra had lived in this crummy little apartment in downtown Washington for just over a month now and she was already making plans for upgrading to the next one. She’d been at the job just a little bit longer than that and though she didn’t have much money saved up from the past, her new job paid so well that she’d be able to live wherever she wanted soon enough.

  Wasting no time, Sandra walked into the narrow kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. She took a bowl from the press and filled it with Rice Krispies. Then she went to the fridge and got the milk, checking out the date with some trepidation. It was technically already gone off but hopefully it would be ok. It would have to be.

  She poured the carton over her cereal and then exclaimed with disgust as the stuff came out more solid than liquid. With a wet thud she chucked the cereal into the trash, bowl and all (she didn’t have time to clean it out), grabbed the cup of black coffee and went back to her tiny room to get dressed.

  Seven minutes and eighteen seconds later she was putting the finishing touches to her make-up and looking absolutely sharp in a professional gray suit and black pumps. Outside in the rest of the world, no one would ever be able to tell that she’d come from such ineloquent surroundings, which was quite necessary really since she was about to go to the greatest residence out of all of them in the United States of America. She was on her way to the White House.

  Sandra Blake was an aide in the current administration, working closely with the Deputy Chief of Staff, Trina Scholl. For a twenty-four year old politics nut it was just about the best position in the world to hold. But if she wanted to get any further it would take dedication and commitment, she would have to give up every second of her life to the job. And if that meant a messy bedroom and the occasional out of date food-product in the fridge then so be it. Maybe if she was lucky, she’d have the time someday to meet a nice man to take home and make a househusband out of.

  She left the apartment and checked her wrist watch waiting for the cab to show up. She had an agreement with the local agency: if they didn’t receive a phone call from her on any given morning then that meant they should go ahead and send her a cab for five am. A few seconds later the car rolled up and she hopped inside.

  ‘Take me to you know where,’ she directed and the taxi sped away down the deserted dawn streets of Washington DC.

  Sandra had always been a politics junkie, even as a little kid when the other girls her age were playing with my Little Ponies and Barbie Dolls, she was sitting on her daddy’s knee cheering and whooping at the latest election candidates. It was only natural when she graduated high school that she should study political science at university and the logical progression after that was to move right on down here to the capital.

  As she sat in the cab cruising towards the White House, she looked out at the scenery, reminding herself to be reverent. When you saw it everyday you could forget what it all really meant. If Sandra had one private moment in the whole day it was spent in reflection of the history of that great nation and democracy as she sat in the Taxi on her way to the hub of the universe.

  ‘Thanks Sal,’ she said to the cab driver paying him the fare plus a ten dollar tip, ‘try to get there on time the next time, ok?’

  She stepped out of the taxi and made her way towards the entrance of that marvelous building. Sal had looked a little tired that morning and Sandra wondered if he’d ever experienced the kind of marathons she and all the others inside that building went through daily. The guy would probably have a stroke.

  ‘Morning ma’am,’ the Secret Service hunk by the scanner machine greeted, ‘please put any metals in the tray and step on through.’

  Sandra opened her purse and took out whatever jewelry she’d be wearing for the day and placed it in the tray. After the first week she’d stopped bothering putting her earrings et al on at home and just waited until after she’d gone through security. It was amazing how much time it saved.

  ‘Thank you ma’am,’ the meathead said and nodded from behind his dark glasses, ‘have a nice day.’

  ‘You too,’ Sandra answered and continued on into the lobby.

  It was only dawn but already the cramped offices beyond the public area buzzed with activity as people lifted bleating phones or gibbered orders and directions at one another. It was like walking into a beehive, except instead of honey they churned out pure sweet political spin.

  ‘Sandra,’ Trina Scholl barked, ‘get over here. What took you so long?’

  Sandra hurried over to the Deputy Chief of Staff, unsure if the older woman had been joking or not. ‘Trina,’ she greeted, ‘what do we have in store?’

  ‘I need you to get on the phone to the Élysée Palace en Paris. It’s morning over there so they’ll be having their, how you say, croissants et café, non? I need you on the phone to their people right now, finding out as much info as you can about the Toulon Treaty and I don’t want you to lower that damn receiver one sing
le inch until you know exactly how it’s going to go. The President doesn’t want any surprises on this and neither do I. Comprends?’

  She pronounced the French words with mocking scorn in her voice, sneering as she sounded them out. Trina was a crass, jaded woman who’d lived her whole live in Washington DC as the daughter of an erstwhile senator. The level of cynicism she had for almost every facet of life was certainly not unusual in this part of the world and Sandra wondered whether that was because politics naturally attracted those kinds of people, or if seeing the machinations of the universe up close and personal like this just had that affect on folk.

  ‘Uh sure,’ she said, ‘I mean, oui.’

  ‘Good,’ Trina said, ‘get to it.’

  With a flurry of papers, the Deputy Chief of Staff turned and strode off across the sprawling wasteland of cubicles to bark orders at the next worker bee who was unfortunate enough to cross her path. Sandra made her way to her own booth and prepared herself to get to work.

  For the rest of the day, Sandra sat at her cramped desk trading formalities with a variety of French officials and dignitaries. The Toulon Treaty was a European Union initiative with economic repercussions for the entire globe and particularly the United States. It was due to be ratified in three days but there were stories cropping up in several of the big name foreign newspapers saying that the French might be secretly preparing to veto. And that was something the President could really do with knowing before the fact.

  Unfortunately for Sandra the people she spoke to were not particularly forthcoming and definitely in no way understanding that the one White House lackey they were obliged to speak to had only a highschooler’s grasp of their language. As if they weren’t perfectly capable of speaking to her in English anyway.

  At twelve thirty, as Sandra sat in purgatorial boredom, still on hold listening to some wacky French song toot away, she heard a shout from behind her. It was Trina.