The Owned By Studs Bundle
Owned by Studs
Nadia Nightside
Published by Midnight Publishing, 2015.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE OWNED BY STUDS BUNDLE
First edition. July 1, 2015.
Copyright © 2015 Nadia Nightside.
Written by Nadia Nightside.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Owned By Studs Bundle
Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older. | The Owned By Studs Bundle
Recent Releases
Owned By Bare Lust: The Call Girl | Rule #1: Look terrific.
Rule #12: Be Preparing Dinner As I Arrive.
Rule # 4: Say Please and Thank You. For Everything.
Rule #14: Enjoy yourself.
Rule #15: Never Break Character.
Owned By Bare Lust: The Princess
Owned By Bare Lust: The Renaissance Fair
Owned By Bare Lust: The Supermodel
What's next?
Further Reading: Revenge On His Unfaithful Wife
About the Author
* * * * *
Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.
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The Owned By Studs Bundle
Subscribe to the Nadia Nightside New Release Newsletter for a private link to THREE completely free stories—including one NOVELLA-LENGTH erotic tale—available ONLY for subscribers! Not only that, but you'll also receive exclusive access to regular special offers and discounts! It's free, it's instant, and you get hot, free tales!
Recent Releases
Gang Up: The Big Gang Theory
The violence in Temple reaches a boiling point, and the town looks as if it will be ruined forever. But luscious babes Robin and Abigail have a plan—a body-thrilling plot that will have the two fertile beauties on their knees in front of every member of BOTH warring gangs, ready to serve!
Her Mind, His Control, Your Bundle
Four smoking hot stories of scintillating mind control, with beautiful fertile babes bowing down to the men they were born to serve!
Revenge On His Snobby Step
Warren is moments away from completing his ultimate conquest—that of his deliciously hot stepsister—when his wife interferes and steals the magic watch. Can he still fulfill his dreams of re-uniting his family in the most taboo way?
Revenge On His Unfaithful Wife
Warren must conquer his gorgeous, seductive wife Melinda to retrieve the magic watch and establish the dominance he deserves over all the hot women in his life.
Stories of Giggles And Lust
Hot bimbo transformations abound in this bodaciously busty bimbo babe bundle! Three stories of gloriously sexy women enjoying their bodies to the fullest with the alpha studs and lucky fellows who can keep up with their fevered, lusty pace.
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Owned By Bare Lust: The Call Girl
Rule #1: Look terrific.
Vanessa sat at the carved wooden table in her kitchen, tapping a pencil on the sheet of rules her new john had emailed her. He was arriving later that evening. A half-full glass of orange juice sat near her, starting to sweat down to the little flower-shaped coaster she had placed beneath it.
This rule was both easy and hard for Vanessa. It was easy because she did, as she well knew, already look terrific in anything she wore. It was hard, of course, for the same reason.
Maybe some women had only a few outfits that they really knew would flat out impress a man.
Vanessa, on the other hand, couldn't stop impressing men no matter what she wore.
Having earned her liberal arts degree a few years back, she certainly could maneuver her way into a job that paid a living wage somewhere in the business world. Businesses would always need someone who could communicate.
But, that kind of work didn't appeal to her, or make sense to her, when she was as drop-dead gorgeous as she knew she was.
It wasn't just every kind of woman who had such effortlessly voluminous chestnut hair, for example. Or a slim, heavily-toned frame that easily fit into all the designer clothes she wanted, or full round tits that filled out any hands that she allowed to come her way. She had fantastic legs, because she had fantastic skin, naturally bronze, and fantastic bone structure—a result of her mixture of Brazilian and Swedish heritage. Her cheekbones and lips shaped her every expression into a vision tinged with desire.
Modeling as an undergrad had brought her all kinds of offers, but the one that stuck, just a few years before, was when a man offered her more than two grand for a night with her.
Vanessa was a pragmatist. That was more money than she made in a month. Of course she said yes.
She specialized now in girlfriend experiences. A kind of fantasy for a man, letting him believe that his dream of having his own special fuck-fantasy sex toy for a girlfriend was something that had come true.
It was enough of a specialized service that, when combined with her beauty, allowed her to charge outrageous prices for short amounts of time actual working.
This surplus of cash had allowed her to move into her spacious, mid-city condo, with its enormously high ceilings, wooden floors, long hallways, and tall church-type windows. It cost her an easy ten grand a month to keep the place, and that was barely chump change. Her kitchen alone was six hundred square feet.
Most of the time on jobs? She just listened to the men. She would nod appreciatively at their accomplishments, coo at their appearance, and pat them on the back as they complained. Easy money. Sex, if it entered the equation, lasted for short amounts of time and required very little effort on her part. She had the unique ability—as probably many successful girls in her profession did—of never showing her boredom.
This new john, though, seemed like something different. Usually when a man was as specific as he was, it meant he had designs.
So, back to the problem at hand. What to wear?
Having designs meant he would want something to design himself on. He was paying ten times her normal rate, so certainly she couldn't present him with the old panties-and-tee shirt route. Some guys loved how “natural” that was, even though her make-up would be done up perfectly.
She got up from the table and strolled across her large apartment, past the living room, past the sun room, past the hallway bathroom, into her massive bedroom to her cavernous walk-in closet.
Outfits were ordered by type, and then color. Dress by dress, top by top, she flipped through her enormous collection of choices.
It didn't take all that long to settle on a good idea, though. She had a knack for this sort of thing.
Silk black panties and her lacy push-up bra underneath. Her tits were too lovely not to show off to someone with this much money.
A silk lavender blouse, unbuttoned a bit on top, to move his eyes down to the little gold star necklace she would have dangling in her cleavage. Then a skirt of a paler lavender, the hemline hovering just around the decency mark, which would lead delightfully into the patterned black thigh-high socks she would have on. The socks were transparent in long lines down her legs, showing off plenty of skin.
Her legs were like highways to her privileged pussy, and attention on her legs would draw his attention to where she would want him.
Oh—he may have been ugly as a mule, but with the money he was paying, Vanessa definitely wanted him inside her. Those customers were the most regular. Most men were happy simply with blow jobs from her—usually, they thought asking more than that was an imposition! Another privilege of her b
eauty.
Glossy lavender leather calf skin pumps completed the outfit.
Vanessa smiled wickedly. He wouldn't be able to help himself.
* * * * *
Rule #12: Be Preparing Dinner As I Arrive.
Vanessa had a flash of inspiration with this one.
She was an excellent cook—so often, that was what constituted a man's definition of “good girlfriend”—and so had prepared a lovely small little meal of braised chicken with tomato sauce and a small garden salad with walnuts and apple slices.
He was set to arrive at 7 o'clock, and so Vanessa started at 6:45. That was long enough to just finish preparations, and still set time enough aside to let him watch.
She knew he would want to watch her. She had left her blouse and her bra on a hanger in her bedroom. Covering her bare tits now was a green silk apron with lacy straps. Her heavy, hot breasts pressed against the fabric, creating a lovely line of cleavage. She had her hot mass of hair pushed up in a thick pony tail, coiffed and styled perfectly.
She was just finishing off the sauce, wooden spoon in hand, when the doorbell rang. Her heels clicked down the wood as she approached the door.
It was hard to say why, but she felt herself getting excited for once.
Rule #5 stated to greet him with a smile and a kiss, so she was ready to do this anyway.
When he opened the door and happened to be a painfully handsome hunk, kissing him became much easier.
He was tall, well-built, his tailored suit clinging perfectly to the wealth of muscles he possessed. His hair was cut short, a thick dark beard framing the delightful cut of his strong jaw. Everything about him—his frame, his arrogant stare at her displayed body, the wealth his suit exuded—just screamed a tantalizingly hot aura of strength.
Before, she had been prepared to kiss him—but she felt herself wanting to kiss him.
“Clint!” she squealed, leaning into his much larger body and sliding her lips against his. “I'm so glad you're here. Thank you for deciding to come straight home tonight.”
He seemed a bit stiff at first, but her lips pressed insistent. Her tongue flicked into his mouth, running quickly over his teeth, pulling on them just slightly. His hands came around her waist, the naked skin there. In her high heels, even with as tall as she was, she was just under his height.
“How are you, love?” she asked him, locking eyes with him. His were dark, with little flecks of green. “I hope work was okay?”
“Yes,” he said. “Long.”
His voice was deep and resonant, sitting in her belly like the roar of some wild animal.
“My poor dear.” She moved back for a moment. “Oh, drat. I've messed your face with the sauce. I'm sorry.”
This had been entirely on purpose, the reason for the spoon in her hand in the first place. She licked the sauce up off his cheek with a soft little giggle.
“There,” she purred. “All clean.”
His breathing had become heavy and somewhat ragged.
She knelt down and attended to his shoes. Rule number 9. They came off easily. She didn't have to kiss each foot before sliding it back down to the ground, staring up at him with her big brown eyes, but she felt it couldn't hurt, and it wasn't against any rules.
She stood back up and took his suitcase and his coat.
“Here, darling,” she said. “You've had such a day. Let me take all of this for you, yes?”
He made an affirmative sound.
“Thank you,” she cooed.
She strutted down the hall, bending over at the waist when she reached the little desk where she placed his suitcase. It had taken some time, finding a desk that low to the ground—but Vanessa knew months ago when she got it that it would be a lovely way to show off her amazing ass.
“You don't have a top on,” he said. Almost critical. “Why not?”
She turned back and smiled. “Oh, that.” She fluttered her fingers. “It just gets so hot in the kitchen when the oven is preheating, you know? I was more comfortable like this. My top is in the bedroom. I was going to grab it after I finished up.”
She stepped forward, running one hand down her tight, busty torso. “You know. I mean. If you really want me to.”
He smiled at her, lips not showing any teeth. As if he knew exactly what she was doing. “I do, as a matter of fact.”
Vanessa was somewhat surprised, but she had planned for this. “I understand. Randy man that you are, you want something to rip off my chest later. An apron isn't good enough?”
“It's a nice apron,” he said. “I'd hate to see it get ruined.”
“The top isn't nice?”
“My feeling is, the less tops you have, the more likely you are to just walk around in an apron all day, and that's something that needs more active encouragement.”
Vanessa laughed and walked back into the kitchen. It was good he had a sense of humor. That always made a night pass more quickly.
“This should be ready in just a little while,” she called out. “Maybe twenty minutes?”
She thought he was still in the hall, maybe checking out the place. Johns often did.
Clint did not. He was right behind her—sneaky man—and slid his hand up her skirt to the crack of her ass. His grip was enormous, hard, clasping down on the entirety of one cheek, treating her rear like a handle.
“Twenty minutes is fine.” he said.
His fingers pressed forward, finding her slit. Vanessa gasped and held on to the marble counter, trying to find a grip. She pushed back into his grip to allow him ease of access.
“Finish,” he said, pointing at the chicken.
“Y-yes,” she said. “Of course, darling.”
She picked up the chicken, and his fingers pushed in more. She gasped, nearly dropping it. Her cunt was moistening quickly. Her decorated thighs rubbed together softly.
“Problems?” he asked, digging his fingers deeper.
“N-no,” she choked out.
She pushed the oven down with the bottom of the dish, and stuck the chicken inside. His fingers pushed in and out of her now-totally slick pussy as she set the temperature and the timer. His other hand came up and pressed her head against the pleasantly warm door of the oven. She tried to jerk upward, and he held her firm.
His finger-fucking increased, pumping in and out for nearly a minute. She could feel his legs pushing up against her own, his bulge growing in his pants. The size of it, from what she could feel, was huge.
He was good at this. Most men had no idea how to properly finger a pussy, how to apply pressure in just the right places. But Clint was clearly, to be blunt, an old hand. Vanessa couldn't stop herself from moaning out.
“D-daarlliinnnggg,” she whined.
Abruptly he slowed.
“I think it would be good if you got dressed for dinner. What do you think?”
“Yes, please,” she said. She tried to stand straight up again, and he let her.
His fingers popped out of her pussy. He slid them in her mouth and she sucked obediently.
“Thank you,” she breathed after he withdrew them.
Vanessa walked back to her bedroom, flushed and confused. She leaned on the wall, drifting her hand back down to her still throbbing, dripping wet pussy. Her knees were weak.
This whole job, her whole realm of safety, was about control. She always had it. Men did what she wanted.
There was some...some power he had. Some influence over her. She couldn't explain it. It wasn't natural, but it was acting on her. But she couldn't do anything about it, either.
Her control was rapidly going away. And, fingers dancing on her clit, letting herself ride that wave of euphoria she had just experienced for a little while longer, she couldn't say for sure that she minded.
* * * * *
Rule # 4: Say Please and Thank You. For Everything.
There were a few things she was learning about Clint.
He liked her cooking, as seen by how quickly he was wolfing down his me
al at the table.
He liked the way she looked, as seen by how he kept wolfing down the sight of her tits and ass.
And he liked it when she knelt down in front of him.
“Please, baby?”
“I'm still eating.”
“I know. But . . .” she bit her lip. “But, fuck, it's right there and I just can't stop thinking about it.”
She wasn't sure how much of this was an act anymore. She could feel his thoughts in her head, almost, pressing on her. Shaping her. Making her his.
She was sure that he was still definitely interested in fucking her, in having his cock inside of her. Even with her blouse on, covering up her beautiful tits, he was openly staring at the delicious curve they presented. And he was definitely enjoying her hair falling down, no longer in its ponytail, halfway down her back. It was so thick—thousands of tresses and curls, all done up exclusively for him. Hot long hair that showed she was little more than a sex ornament to adore and desire.
“Please, can I suck you while you eat the meal I made you? I've been dreaming about it all week.”
He set his fork down on the plate for a moment, considering. He stared down at her. Vanessa straightened her back, ensuring her chest was out and up. She knew she had terrific cleavage. Her little pendant sparkled in the light.
“Go grab my suitcase,” he said. “I have something for you.”
She stood up, a bit confused, but of course obedient. She wasn't being paid to argue. She added a deliberate sway to her walk, her ass sashaying in her short skirt.
What was in the case? Some weird sex toy that he thought would shock her? He would be sorely disappointed in that regard. Vanessa's collection of dildos wasn't exactly exhaustive, but it was remarkable. Many of them she had even used on clients.
She grabbed the suitcase and brought it back, setting it on the table before kneeling before him once again.
The Owned By Studs Bundle Page 1
