Fool Like You

by Bella Shade

  Bastard. Fucker. Arrogant. But I can’t resist the dog.

  I have never enjoyed a cock inside me like this before, feeling exposed to feelings I only read about in erotic novels.

  “Harder,” I scream at him. “That’s not good enough,” I tease him between shattered breathes.

  Finally, the anger on his face shows as his brows tightens. “Teasing bitch,” he growls as he and pulled out.

  What? I was just about to come. This is the second time I am so close to it. Was he going to leave me like that as punishment for teasing him?

  He grabs my arms, yanks me off the table, and kisses me like his life depends on it. In my dizziness, I am moved by his arm until he plasters me to the wall, lifting my hands up and entering my core again. The coldness of the wall kisses my cheeks as I was stuck between his thrusts and it. Still, my body is on fire as he slapped me hard from behind.

  “You like that now?” He snarls.

  “Yes. Damn. Yes.” I pound the wall with my palms.

  “Not the answer I like to hear, Alice,” he says.

  “As you wish,” I answer without even thinking. All I can think about is how hard I will come. How much I can enjoy it.

  “That’s right,” He takes my earlobe between his teeth. “How hard to you want to come, Alice?” He pants like a dog, but very much in control. I am the one who thinks that if I don’t come soon enough I will faint. My nipples start to hurt against the cold wall. I don’t think I can stand on my shivering legs any longer.

  “Shut up, and fuck me!” I scream, thinking this is my last breath before I lose my voice from the pleasure.

  Then the bastard slows down, “Please,” he whispers in my ear. It confuses me that he says that for a moment before he continues, “Say ‘Please fuck me, Mr Dyer’” he follows. “or I’ll let you suck my cock and gag on it so hard until you can’t speak anymore.” He hisses playfully.

  “Yes… fuck… please fuck me, make me come.” I cry out, my entire body quakes from the orgasm that rushes through my body so hard I gasp for air with an open mouth. He doesn’t pull out until I enjoy every bit of the orgasm. I feel as he is watching in enjoyment as I do. Once it subsides, he turns me around and kisses me. My hand lost in his hair, grabbing at it as our tongues battle with lust and hate. My hand strokes his throbbing erection as he groans in my mouth.

  I pull back and slap him on the face. “Do you want to come so hard you can’t stand on your feet anymore?” I growl, still catching my breath. His eyes widen at my attitude but his mouth curves up, unable to hide his amusement. “That’s right,” I smirk, and go down on my knees, taking his entire cock in my mouth. His body shivers and lets out sounds like I did; groans of pleasure mixed with surprise. I try to take his length as deep as I can in my throat, gripping his hands tightly so I stay n control. When I look up to him, his head is pushed back, looking up at the ceiling enjoying the my mouth down here.

  “Look at me,” I demand from down here. He bows his head down, surprised again by assertiveness. I am sure he thinks it’s just cute and such, but I am going to get this man out of control.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” he shouts as his cock pulses in my mouth. My eye contact makes him finally give in and lose control. I dare his eyes as I swallow every drop, licking some from my lips too. I have never swallowed anyone’s drops, but I couldn’t help but show him what I can do to him.

  “Blow of your life, eh?” I sneer at him as he falls back on the chair, breathless, still looking at me, amazed. I pull the front of my torn shirt together, then pull my skirt down, rearranging my cloths.

  “Better get yourself together,” I say. “We have a meeting in an hour. The real one, not the fake one!” I pretend that I am strong and let my shaky legs walk me out. I dress up and I dash into my private room – which has and internal door directly from his office – without no one seeing me and lock the door behind me. If he comes knocking – which is unlikely – I will pretend that I am not here.

  Calmer, I take my breath, not knowing what really happened again. Every scene of the memory playing again in front of my eyes, and it sends different emotions to my face, loathing him for a moment and lusting him for another. I sit on my desk, holding head with my shaky hands, wondering if I should check my face on the mirror in my private bathroom in my office. I am sure that the reflection of the woman staring back at me now isn’t really the me I thought I was yesterday.

  5

  Sebastian Dyer

  Holy fuck. What was that? How did I lose control like that? The elevator, and then in the conference room? I mean I had sex in much worse locations. But this isn’t about having sex. It’s about losing control when she is around. This is not me. I am fucking Sebastian Dyer. I never lose control. Not only do I control my business, a big potion of this city, and the people around me. I own everything I lay my hands on.

  But when it comes to Alice, it’s like she has a voodoo spell on me. I don’t believe in fairy tales but can she be some sort of a witch? Because frankly I am screwed. Since she has been working for me, I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop fantasizing about her. How can’t I stop fantasizing about some I don’t like, I don’t want, and nearly hate? She is one of the biggest bitches I have ever met. She totally gets on my nerves. No one has ever been able to push my buttons like her.

  Who the fuck does she think she is?

  I have accomplished everything a man dreams of and I am only twenty nine years old. Still, I can’t control my dick when she is around. If I will have to live with continues hardened dick for her, I am going to die soon. I mean I own everybody around me. Own them! But it seems like my dick owns me now. And that’s because of her.

  I should have known when I woke up this morning, having been fantasizing about her since the first day she set foot in my office. I don’t even know why I gave her the job. She is definitely qualified. Hell, overqualified. She is hardworking, a fast learner, smart, presentable, and loyal. No sane businessman wouldn’t want to have her in his staff. But since when do I give a shit?

  I hated her the first moment I saw her. I couldn’t stand her. Still can’t. It’s as if she sees through me, as if I walk naked before her. I hate that bitch.

  I shouldn’t have come to work today. Everyday, I try my best to push her away. I treat her like trash. I yell at her. Taunt her. Tell her she is doing a bad job and embarrass her, but she still won’t go away. And I can’t ignore her. She is in my fucking head. Her scent in my nostrils. Her lips so eatable.

  I couldn’t help myself in the elevator. I have always wanted to do this. She tastes so nice. Well, nice is not the word. She tastes good and provocative in an addicting way, an opium or a sweet drug.

  I tried to be mean to her. When I demanded she takes off her clothes, I was secretly trying to irk her away. Maybe she would cry and resign the job and leave me be.

  But no, she dared me. She came closer, and it was killing me. I tried to humiliate her by ignoring her, pretending to be working after she started to take off her cloths. Still, it didn’t work.

  Even though I played aloof, my damn body took over, yearning for that perfect ass, for those breasts, and for that thing that I can’t describe about her that makes me want to fuck everyday of my life.

  Her lips taste of sweet dreams, and it makes it harder for me to stop my body from moving on its own volition.

  I threw her on the table, begging her with my eyes to stop me, to oppose me, to scream and cause a scandal, and maybe leave me be forever. But she didn’t as I ripped her expensive panties. I like her taste in cloths. I like how she wears sexy stuff underneath her work cloths. And I still keep her panties with me as I was hexed by them.

  When she slid my fingers inside her, the sound of her pleasure was killing me. I wanted to be inside her immediately. I was never like that. I used to tease and slow burn a woman’s desire for me until she is almost hypnotized by her need for me to enter her.

  The trouble with Alice is that she follows h
er instincts when she needs to, and she takes no prisoners. The way she pulled me from my tie made yearn for her. The way she bit my lower lips and reached for my belt. I never met someone like her who goes for what she wants when she wants.

  When I entered her she was tight and enjoyed her immensely that I was afraid that if I didn’t come I will not be able to stop and die fucking her. The truth is that I felt as if possessed by her as if I was fucking her out of my system, to kill my desire fore her. But it didn’t work. The more I pounded in and out the more I felt that I want to be doing this for a long time in the future. And it bothered me to feel that way because I never do. It was a new feeling for me.

  When I taunted her, she mocked me. When I pushed the limits, she opposed me. When I kissed her, she kissed me back, biting my lower lip. When I made her come hard and beg for it, she made me come harder and made beg for it too.

  She makes me feel I want to own her. I want to erase every other man she’s ever knew from her memory. I want to kill every other man who has ever laid his hands on her.

  So I thrust into her, harder, purging myself of needing her, wanting to own her, even if fucking her so hard ended up killing me. When she moaned, I enjoyed it more, and hated myself for that. Making her feel like that made feel like the king of New York. Hell. The king of the universe. I could feel her muscles clenching around me, threatening me that if I dare pull out she will turn my life to hell. The bitch couldn’t get enough, pulling closer as if I was never close and inside enough.

  I looked powerful and in control, cornering her to against the wall, but the truth was that I was helpless, unable to control my body that longed for her.

  I felt her orgasm and loved it. Never have I cared for a woman’s orgasm before. Never did I want to be sure she get the best of it. Then when her hot mouth enveloped me, I was at the zenith of my orgasm. I thought a chunk of my inside was going to spurt out of my body from the pleasure.

  Now, replaying the scene in my mind reminding me of my Mr Dick that is still hard as stone. I pick up the phone and sweet talk one of my other lady friends. This is what I always do when I feel horny. I can ask any woman I know to come over to my mansion when I feel like it, and they are more than happy to come over. We talk a little, drink some wine, and I get that release out of my cock by have the best sex.

  What would stop me tonight from doing this? Fuck that bitch, Alice. Does she think she can control me? I am my own master and no woman has such power over me.

  I take a shower, waiting for the girl I called to come over. I even prepare some food since I like to cook to stop thinking about my hard-on. The girl coming over is a super model I met in Czechoslovakia last month. She is twenty four, three years older that Alice. Men die to have her blow them a kiss from her hand. I fucked her twice before and today is going to be her lucky third.

  After Eva and I have dinner, we go back to my bedroom. She starts kissing me, and I kiss her back, neglecting that I don’t really like the taste of her mouth tonight. I assume I need to skip the foreplay and get into banging right away to release my aching throb in my member. She complies and takes off her cloths. See? That is how woman obey when I demand something.

  When she pulls out my cock to suck it, my hard on is gone. I try my best to bring it back but I fail. What the fuck? What’s wrong with my dick? Wasn’t hard and throbbing the past two hours? What happened?

  It’s that moment when my hate and loathe for Alice increases more and more. It’s as if she really has a spell on me. Since my body tasted her this morning, it only wants her gain.

  Help. Me. God.

  I walk Eva to the door and go back to sleep, unbeknownst of what tomorrow has for me.

  6

  Alice Lively

  The next morning, I arrive precise on time, but Mr Dyer isn’t present.

  I ride the elevator with a bunch of other men dressed to kill in Armani suits and fancy shoes, wearing black ties with silver linen. Their cologne is expensive, their bodies are probably waxed, and most of them are almost six feet tall. It happens that by the 15th floor, I am the only woman standing, almost squeezed in between them. Everything about them is perfect, but none of them does it for me. They don’t have that something that I don’t know what it is but know what it feels like. That something that if I ever find a descriptive word for it, I am sure it won’t be in English. I’d imagine it to be in French maybe, or Italian, or in some ancient Greek text, or in a book written by Aphrodite. It’s that something that makes me miss the billionaire bastard. With all those staring eyes of men in suits, probably checking out my ass fitting excellently in my tight skirt, I don’t feel that something. Where the hell is my billionaire bastard the one I despise and hate so much?

  Yesterday he was out of office all day. He called in sick, which he never, ever, did before. If he doesn’t show up today, I swear I am going to his house. I have a surprise for him.

  I was fucked in his office yesterday and left on a whim without saying a word. Today, I have a surprise for him. I pull my skirt down as I feel my new expensive under panties on my body. I’ve always had a knack for expensive lingerie, but I couldn’t bring myself to spend money on it. Lately, I’ve found a way to pay for it. And baby, it feels so good good wearing them underneath. I feel like a power ranger, a feisty girl who can take down Mr Bastard today.

  When I enter the office, he is talking to a fellow business man. I pull my chin up once he gets a glimpse of me and ignore him, walking toward my office, making sure he see my photogenic side. I am dying to see the look on his eyes, staring at my knee length trench coat that only showed my legs. Men always tell me I have merciless beautiful legs. With the trench coat on, it gives men the fantasy that I am naked underneath it, only wearing my strap heels which look super sexy on me.

  Before I enter my office, I stand for a moment talking to a co-worker and take my coat off, showing my new dress underneath, which is bit shorter. Bit by bit, asshole! I am going to tease you until you go to hell.

  I get into my office, hang my coat and check some files then get out again. There I see his piercing eyes looking at me. I smirk, chin up again, flap my hair back and head for his office in front of him. I am one of the few who are allowed inside his office when he is out. I place an envelope on his desk, right above all piles of paper. Here is my surprise Fucker!

  On my way out, he is still staring at me, probably wondering why I entered his office in front of his eyes. It isn’t unusual, but we both understand that since yesterday work is the last thing on our minds.

  I see him squint at me, stripping me naked with his angry eyes, and I love it. What if he yells in the middle of the office now and tells the others that he just fucked me in the office yesterday? Silly thought. I will lose my job, and I need my job. Since yesterday, I am worried if someone knew about the incident. I don’t think someone did. At least as long as I express my hatred for him – like I always do. I am, by far, the last woman in the office that anyone suspects sleeping with the bastard. Even I don’t know how this happened. I promised myself this will never happen again. I will make his life miserable for what he has done yesterday. Just wait and see.

  I stop in the middle of the office space, right behind a cubicle, where he can only see my eyes, and text him.

  ‘You’ve got mail on your desk!’ I message him.

  Without lifting his eyes off me he feels his phones’ vibration and picks up and reads the message. He writes back instantly with a smirk on his face. My phone buzzes.

  ‘I imagine it’s an official request for having the company compensate you on the damaged I caused with your panties from yesterday.’ He writes.

  What. A. Jerk.

  But that’s good. I have this flirting message from him on my phone. I can blackmail him. But wait. He didn’t send it from his phone. What’s this number? Ah, so he has another secret number for stuff like that. No problem. I will get him anyway.

  ‘Nah. It’s an even better surprise. Also don’t worry about my p
anties. I have been compensated already.’ I write back.

  He reads my message and feels a little uncomfortable, not knowing what I mean. I leave him and walk away while glimpsing him trot toward his office.

  Stretching my arms inside my room and staring at the sun outside, I have a feeling today will be a beautiful day. Revenge feels so good.

  I lock my room and sit on my chair with a smug on my face, waiting for his next move, wondering what his reaction will be while holding onto my phone. I don’t imagine he will lose temper and come right to my room, screaming and pulling hair. But maybe he will send for me, which I have to be really careful about. I don’t want to be alone in a room with him these days. Especially in that conference room. I don’t want to sink week to my knees again because of his silly beauty or assertiveness.

  My phone buzzes. It’s him. I wonder if I can blackmail him in the future with these messages he is sending me, if I tack the number and prove that it’s his. They will be surely amusing to the rest of the office. Hell, to the whole city of New York.

  “You let Mr. Donovan, the director of the company we’re about to sign a very important deal with, buy you $4000 lingerie from Paris on his company’s credit card and you want me to sign that receipt you sent me?” he writes, and I smirk. Here is my surprise, bastard. I gotcha by your balls. The lingerie feels so good on my skin. Even better after reading this message. I am only curious how he looks like mad now, gritting his teeth, beads of sweat on his forehead from anger, and his hair dancing crazily on his head. I would really love to see the look of a madman on him right now. But I am too afraid to get into his office. How I wish they had invented emotions in message texting so I can really feel the words on his beautiful lips.

  “Some one tore my cloths and stole my panties, asshole!” I write, pushing the game up a notch by calling him asshole, and sending the message to his other secret number. I am quite aware that my career might end right now. I am not in control of my emotions, right now. I guess I have to blame it on my stifled high school days; rough memories I haven't gotten over yet.