Ladies Prefer Champagne Alpha Male Romance Mega Bundle

by Champagne Jackson

  “Please, sir… Please… Yes…” I moaned as he came in my ass, as my ass gobbled down his cum, as I swallowed it all…

  Finally, he pulled out of me with a sloppy pop and we were able to finish our shower in peace… So to speak.

  Silencing the Screams

  Ensconced in a soft, fluffy bathrobe, I followed David out into our suite.

  “Do you do yoga at all?” he asked me, suddenly. I shrugged.

  “I’m a girl.”

  He laughed.

  “You’re right. Take that off—“ and here he gestured to the bathrobe—“and get into downward dog.”

  I bit my lip, delighted at the idea. What naughty thing did he have planned for me in downward dog? Just the name sounded… Delicious.

  I assumed the position and I heard David going through a bag in the corner of the room.

  “Remember when I told you I’m not Christian Grey? I’m the real deal?”

  “Of course. That was only ten minutes ago,” I replied, thinking nothing of it.

  “Now I’m going to show you what I meant by that.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see him approaching me with a thick leather belt. My heart hung in my throat. A few of my clients had wanted to tie me up but I had never let myself be whipped. Spanked, sure, in the heat of the moment, but nothing else…

  “What… What are you going to do with that?”

  “I’m going to show you who your master is.”

  And then the belt lashed out, cutting into my flesh, leading up from my ass and down the back of my thigh. I cried out and shuddered.

  “S-sir!” I squealed.

  “Yes?”

  “It hurts…”

  “I know. That’s the point.”

  Of course, he was right.

  “And considering the juices running down your thighs right now, you don’t seem to mind at all.”

  And then the belt struck me again. It was David’s hand at the other end of that belt. Just that thought alone made me want him to fuck me right then and there.

  “Again, sir…” I whimpered pathetically, wiggling my ass deliciously for him.

  The belt again sliced into my tender flesh.

  “Please, sir…”

  “You know why I do this?” he asked me as the belt crashed into my skin once more, cracking viciously.

  “T-to teach me my place?” I asked, tears streaming freely down my cheeks now. David just laughed.

  “That’s more Christian Grey, Fifty Shades of Grey bullshit, Latoya… No, I do this to… To keep my demons at bay.”

  “Demons?”

  Another crack of the belt. My ass was becoming swollen now, alive with welts that throbbed and ached with each passing second.

  “What demons, David?”

  “David? I thought it was sir?”

  “Sir, what demons?” I said with an eye roll that I was glad he couldn’t see. Still, he must have heard it because the belt collided with my ass once more.

  “The demons that I have left over from Afghanistan,” he whispered, suddenly serious. He sliced his belt deeper into my flesh, hitting me harder, as if trying to take off skin. My body was racked with pain and pleasure and I shuddered. Was I going to cum from this?

  “The demons I brought home in my duffel bag. A little girl, prostituting herself on the streets of Kandahar to men old enough to be her grandfather. A little boy, nothing more than a skeleton, so malnourished—lying dead in the street, his guts plastered all over the dusty road…”

  “Sir…”

  Harder and harder did his belt rain down blows on my ass. I was in agony and ecstasy now. My body was wracked with sobs and with delight as my pussy spasmed.

  “And then… Seeing my friends, my comrades—slumped over, dead. The fear. The pain. The adrenaline.”

  He switched his tactic and the belt came at me from a different angle now. Now, it cut into my pussy, slicing into my tender, swollen cunt. I screamed, screamed so loud that I was positive all of Paris could hear me.

  “It’s a dull roar now. A dull roar in the back of my brain and all I can do to silence it is to make you scream…”

  “You can make me scream all you want…” I whimpered hoarsely through my tears. “Just… Please, sir… Make me cum…”

  And then, again and again, his belt, that whip like a slave master’s whip of times of old, cut again into my pussy, the tough, unflinching leather cutting deep into my clit. One, two, three, and then I was cumming.

  I collapsed, my body wracked with moans and sobs as my flesh spasmed, as shots of agonizing electricity flooded my neurons and made me weep, made me scream.

  “Sir! Sir!” I squealed pathetically, like a little child, like a whore. But I wasn’t just any whore… I was the screamer who kept the demons at bay.

  I had been reduced to nothing more than a quivering mass of flesh on the floor, my beaten, abused, swollen, and welted ass up in the air. I heard the belt drop and then I felt his hands on my ass.

  Just the pressure of his hands, resting ever so gently on my abused flesh—it was agony. He spread my thighs apart and then I felt his cock pressing against my pussy, ready to take me from behind.

  It was like hot fire cutting into my cunt, spreading me open and driving his dick deep inside of me. I screamed, pressing my face into the floor to muffle my screams as he began to pound me, his athletic hips driving his cock in faster and faster.

  He had already cum twice inside of me, inside of two of my holes—so here, he was using the third—and so I knew it would take him a while, that he would take his sweet time fucking my poor, throbbing, abused hole.

  “Please… Please… Please…” I begged, not really knowing what I was begging for anymore.

  “Please what?” he asked, grabbing me hard by the hair. “Don’t just beg. Ask for things, Latoya.”

  “Please, fuck me! Make me scream! Make me yours!”

  Impossibly, his cock seemed to grow inside of me, spasming, pumping, twitching, hitting each inch of my insides as he slammed into me harder and harder.

  And then, finally, I felt him arch his back. I felt his cock explode inside of me and I gasped with delight, my pussy gobbling down his hot cum. Even the feeling of his cum on my lips was agony, the most painful, agonizing ecstasy I had ever experienced. Tears fell freely from my eyes as I accepted his seed, accepted his cum.

  We lay there, in a heap, an exhausted, spent heap.

  “Not bad. Not bad at all,” David muttered.

  “Oh, come on… That was better than not bad…” I insisted.

  A knock came at the door. David slid himself out of me with a loud, satisfying pop. My pussy swelled and ached at the sudden loss of cock.

  David grabbed a bathrobe and donned it before answering the door. I was still lying naked in the middle of the floor, however, completely exposed, with various bodily fluids dripping out of me, my ass glowing.

  It was the same porter as before. He had a bottle of champagne for us. His eyes widened as he saw me. I smiled weakly back.

  David palmed him a euro note.

  “Keep the change, garcon,” he said with a grin before turning back to me.

  “Now, where shall this bottle go, my dear…”

  It was going to be a long weekend with my billionaire—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Hot White Passion

  Table of Contents

  Jailed

  Rumors

  Breakout

  Communion

  Disappearance

  Reawakening

  Savior

  Jailed

  “A 4.0 GPA and perfect ACT and SAT scores… Well, Ms. Washington, it looks like you’ll have a bright future ahead of you.”

  I tried to make myself smile.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wilson,” I choked out, shifting uncomfortably in my plaid skirt. The uniform at St. Benedict’s School for Girls was quite becoming but didn’t leave much to the imagination. I could never help but feel uncomfortable w
hen I was in Mr. Wilson’s presence. The other girls seemed to like him but he always struck me as lecherous somehow—a total creep, the way he looked us over, as if we were pieces of meat or prize horses up for auction.

  On the other hand, the uniform lent itself to flirting with boys… Oh, yes, it did. And most of the girls at the school were boy crazy. That’s what four years without the opposite sex with do to you.

  “Have you considered where you’ll apply to college?”

  “Well…” I started, looking at the floor. I had buttoned my shirt up all the way to the top of the collar but I still felt Mr. Wilson’s eyes boring a hole through my clothes, hunting for my soft young black flesh, looking at me where he wasn’t supposed to be. “Well… Neither of my parents ever finished college so… They just want me to go to the best school I can find.”

  “You’ve got some good choices, Londyn... I would look at Berkeley as well, plus all the other Ivies. University of Chicago is a popular choice now for students of your caliber and talent, as is Georgetown, Duke, Notre Dame… All are very interested in recruiting intelligent young African-American girls like yourself…”

  I swallowed hard. Of course. The affirmative action route. Thanks. I probably couldn’t get in otherwise, right, asshole?

  Mr. Wilson stood and circled around his desk, coming to stand right behind me. He placed his hands on my shoulders.

  “Of course, as you know, you’ll still need a recommendation from me, as your school’s head guidance counselor…”

  His strong, firm hands began to work the tension and discomfort away from my shoulders.

  “You’re eighteen, aren’t you?”

  My blood ran cold. His hands were sliding further and further down my shoulders, towards my chest.

  “I… I am…” I murmured.

  “Good. That means… Certain opportunities will be open to you. Opportunities that wouldn’t have been open otherwise.”

  “Opportunities… Like volunteer positions?” I asked softly. “Or… an internship?”

  “Sure, if that’s what you’d like. I could definitely hook you up with something like that…” he whispered, his hands sliding further and further away from my shoulders, along my collar bone. He pressed the bulge in his pants against me from behind, forcing it into my neck.

  Suddenly, outside, there was an incredible, angry roaring. We both looked up. It was the sound of four or five, maybe more, engines screaming, accompanied by the ripping of hot rubber. I took advantage of the momentary distraction to dart over to the window, peeking out.

  “Oh, Mr. Wilson, look—it’s a biker gang!” I said, pointing to the line of motorcycles hurtling down the road running along the school grounds. Our town is a tiny speck in the middle of no where and having a biker gang charge on through would provide gossip and distraction for weeks.

  I squinted, trying to make out the details of their outfits. They were dressed in black leather from head to toe. Many of them wore old, military-looking helmets, like the kinds the Nazis are always wearing in old war movies. They glanced at us as they rode by and one of them, out in front, grinned at me.

  He wore goggles over his tanned, soot-covered face, but his teeth were bright white—like the glowing fangs of some vicious forest beast. They practically glistened in the shining sunlight. I found myself blushing as he raised his left hand and flipped the school off. Yet, I could have sworn that he caught my eye at the same time and shot me a wink. It was over in a second, though, and if I had had to prove that it really happened, I would have been at a loss.

  “Hooligans,” Mr. Wilson muttered, grabbing me by the shoulder. “Filthy hooligans. Come away from the window, Londyn. We don’t want them to get the wrong idea about you.”

  What kind of wrong idea, Mr. Wilson? I wanted to ask him. That maybe I wasn’t like the other kids at this school? That maybe I’d just as soon flip off the school as that biker leader would? I wished I could be on one of those motorcycles, charging down the open rode like the bikers, the wind flowing through my hair… But instead, I’m stuck here at this lame school, with lame, lecherous teachers…

  “No, Mr. Wilson,” I said absently. “No, we wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

  ~

  The rest of the day progressed normally, or as normal as possible after a big group of bikers tear through a sleepy little town. Windgale is boring as all get out: a rural California hamlet with some big houses, St. Benedict’s, and then vineyards and farms all around. The money pouring into the valley in the last twenty or thirty years had made everyone pretty well off but it was the boring kind of wealth that doesn’t lend itself to culture or anything of interest.

  Instead of building museums, we built bigger houses or bought nicer cars to drive down to San Francisco for the weekend. Instead of bringing in nice shops or even building a mall, we bought everything online. The adults talked about how quiet it was, how much they liked having everyone so serene and rural, but for anyone under thirty, it was torture.

  My best friend Cassie and I found ourselves walking home that afternoon, book bags slung over our shoulders. A group of boys from the public high school the next town over drove by, eying our long, slender legs beneath our plaid skirts. Mine stood out, dark and bold, against Cassie’s pale legs.

  “God, I feel like a piece of meat whenever I get dressed for school…” Cassie muttered. “I wish we could wear pants.”

  “Wear leggings,” I said with a shrug.

  “Even then… I don’t know. Don’t you just fee like you’re… Like you’re on display? For everyone? Even for… Mr. Wilson?”

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  “He’s such a creeper,” Cassie continued, not even noticing my discomfort.

  “Yeah, I think he totally came onto me today when I was talking about colleges with him,” I finally managed to choke out before continuing on.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s too bad he’s got an in with every college admissions office in the country. He thinks he can do whatever the hell he wants…”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He got pretty freaked out when those bikers rode by today.”

  “Ew, those grease balls? They’re even worse than Mr. Wilson.”

  “Hey, what did they ever do to you?”

  Now it was Cassie’s turn to stop dead in her tracks, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “Why are you defending those creeps? They’re… They’re thugs, aren’t they? Just criminals and drug dealers…”

  I stuttered and just scowled. I had no idea if they were or not. The fact was, I had just spent most of the afternoon fantasizing about being on the back of a motorcycle, a piece of vibrating steel between my young legs and the hard, muscular body of a biker in my arms, feeling his muscles tense and maneuver as we roar down the highway…

  We got to my house after a few more blocks of strained silence. In the living room, my grandmother was watching the afternoon news. There was a snack for us on the kitchen table: apples with peanut butter and raisins. The same as every day since first grade.

  “Oh, I’m glad you girls got home safely. Thank the Lord… They’re saying on the news that there’s a biker gang roaming the streets. Can you imagine? Here, in Windgale?”

  “We saw them ride by the school today,” Cassie informed her. “It was pretty scary. They were making faces and eyes and all that at the girls… Flipping off the teachers.”

  “I didn’t think they were so bad,” I mumbled. Neither Cassie nor my mother heard me.

  “I hope the police do something about them, and fast.”

  “What laws are they breaking?” I demanded, a bit louder this time. “They’re just passing through, aren’t they? Have they robbed anyone yet?”

  “Not yet,” my mother grumbled. “But why wait until they do?”

  I could tell this wasn’t going anywhere and so, I tactfully retreated, seeking a glass of milk from the fridge. Cassie and I ate our snack, watched the tail end of Jeopardy, as we had every
weekday for the last six years, and then began our homework—again, just as we had done every single weekday for the last six years.

  Three hours later, Cassie’s older brother came by and picked her up. I waved her off and smiled timidly at her brother, Stu. He was home on leave from the Marines and had a chest like an old cartoon superhero. He didn’t even meet my eyes as he glared at Cassie, as if for not walking fast enough.