12 Days: A Dark Reverse Harem Christmas Romance

by Dark Angel

  Damien pulls me further back on his lap, not allowing me to sit on the edge of his knee tentatively. I feel the full length of the undeniable form of Damien’s cock in his trousers. I nearly yelp out loud but contain the screaming to my mind. A small gasp escapes. I hope no one notices. I can’t hear anything other than the rushing of my blood, blasting through my ears, as if it's playing through speakers.

  Damien

  I came here to collect. That's all I should care about. You steal from me, I will collect from you.

  When her pale thighs catch my eye, I should see an asset. Sarah strolls in with her porcelain doll face and her creamy skin, and I'm thinking with my cock.

  My cock doesn't get a say in business affairs, not normally.

  Sarah's father tells her to come in, and my cock wants to make all the decisions.

  A cracking sound of porcelain hitting tile interrupts the whiny grumblings. I rub my temples, wondering if his petulant wife decides now is a good time to speak on her husband's behalf. When I open my eyes, however, there's no washed up screech owl covered in makeup and plastic. No nouveau riche skank. Instead, it's a young, striking woman that has all my thoughts leaning toward hope that she'll bend over in my view to pick up the mug she dropped.

  Her father stops bemoaning his own plight and calls her in. His daughter, Sarah, he says her name. It isn't right for him to be involved in this. If he cared about her, he'd tell her to go. For a moment, anger flares beneath my business casual surface. He isn't just a degenerate; he is that kind of degenerate.

  It's unlucky for Sarah that her father sees the opportunity and he takes it. Tells her to sit on my lap.

  But what do you expect from a man who swindled millions of dollars from my company when by providing shoddy building materials for my buildings?

  A man who cut corners and whose negligence put my employees at risk. At first I thought he was just lay and I would have to fire him.

  But then I found out that he wasn’t actually lazy - but manipulative and cunning. He was far from lazy - rather, he was quite busy stealing from me.

  In the past, with other dealings, I knew there was something I didn’t like.

  So I trapped him. Threatened to involve the police.

  And now, to get out of this, he offers me his daughter.

  Now I'll find out what kind of girl she is. Those innocent eyes could be a facade, and I'll know by her approach if she has been used. It irks me that Sarah is willing to do it. She seems tentative but makes her way toward me, her eyes the size of the moon when she starts drinking me in.

  Poor girl. Sarah knows to be afraid, but she doesn't understand. It isn't too surprising; she doesn't know about her father's dealings, surely. That graceful, timid set of steps toward me tells me, no, he's never used her before. Not to close a business deal. Fuck, she's so innocent, she perches her tiny round ass on the edge of my knee like I'm a mall Santa. I pull her back against me and I feel the heat radiating from her pussy.

  Of course she fucking likes what she sees. If she's this turned on though, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe her father is her pimp and he has me come here to show me the goods he has. It sickens me. I can't help but feel every soft inch of this girl, and I don't want her to be like her scummy mother. Her mother once offered to fuck me to close another business deal in the past … as if I'd want that.

  “You can refuse to accept,” I tell Sarah. “No way will I drag someone against their will.”

  But she’s silent. If she objected in the slightest, then fuck the father - I’d be out.

  If Sarah offers...I will want it, but fucking doing it is not payment alone. I cannot think about her soft curves. I need to think about business. Still, I pull her tight against me because that edge-of-my-knee stuff isn't going to work.

  It wouldn’t work for anyone. You know this.

  Her heart is beating furiously and her palms are sweating. This is no act or stage jitters. Fuck, she's just some little girl whose father has decided that he can't pay his debts so his daughter's pussy should do it. Sickening, but I fucking want this girl. Her innocence isn't fake, and I want to taste her. Her trembling limbs need soothing. I want to soothe her, and then I want to fuck her so hard her creamy white skin is flushed pink and red like she's made of strawberries. And now I wonder why I'm being such a little bitch about this. I can't accept the offer that this slime ball is currently extending. Sarah doesn't even fucking know what it means.

  Goddamn it, I'm taking this deal. I am. Part of me just wants to get her away from men like her father.

  But what kind of man am I? I want to take the deal. And I can tell myself that I'm saving her, but when I can feel how damp my thigh is getting on my slacks because of her pussy—fear never stems back arousal—I can think I want to save her all I want but really I'm justifying this erection that I'm pressing into her back. Yeah, I'm no savior. Sarah needs saving, and I'm not the one to do it.

  Still, I agree. I'll take her. I know I won't be able to think straight unless I get her out of this house. I'll send a car for her and bring her to the condo I always intended to rent but end up staying in most nights. I have a mansion, but it's so fucking empty. I like that penthouse so much more.

  I accept the deal. This is what slipping into the darkness of your soul feels like. I don't think I can resist the way this girl enraptures me.

  “I’m fine with this arrangement,” she says softly.

  Then she stands up and looks at me, and I see fear. There's the thick coating of it from her not understanding what has just transpired. And there's the moment when she realizes her panties got so wet that she soaked through to my trousers. Oh, I don't mind, little girl. I don't mind at all. I want to tear off those pants right now and impale her on the painfully erect cock tenting my pants.

  It doesn't change an ounce of my disgust for her scumbag father. Accepting this deal is not a wise move for me, but I couldn't have it any other way.

  I have to have her.

  How has she cast this spell on me? I can see her eyes flickering to the stairs, to go hide in her room.

  Dream of me, little girl. I know I'll be fisting my cock when I'm alone and don't have to worry about thinking about everything I shouldn't do to you. Even if you want it. She has no idea what I have in mind.

  I have to punish her father. Both her parents, really. They deserve to suffer. Unfortunately, Sarah is how I'm going to do that. She's going to be my slave. A mind as innocent and fragile as hers won't take much to break. I'm excited to have the opportunity, twisted and cruel as I am.

  Sarah is a sweet girl. I'm going to savor that sweetness as I break her.

  Sarah

  I gasp. No, no, this can't be real.

  Except I can tell it's real. I don't have to pinch myself because Damien's hard cock jabbing my ass is doing that just fine. I can’t breathe. I'm caught up in the reality of what’s transpiring. A hot, sinful, dangerous man is pressing his very hard cock against my delicate ass cheeks.

  And I want it. I want him. I've never been with a man, and now the idea of being with Damien is all I can think about. His body feels so incredible against mine; I can't summon any sane thoughts. Can’t think about anything good or proper. I can’t bring myself to think about how insane this is. What would I even do with a monster like that? A dark thought inside me whispers that Damien knows what to do with it. He’d know what to do with me. That’s so taboo. So wrong. Why can’t I stop thinking it?

  I find something downright naughty within me because my thighs are sticky and at the juncture of my thighs, my pajama pants are so wet. Wet enough that I realize I've soaked through this thin fabric and onto Damien's trousers. Oh God, he must feel it. Damien is a real man and he knows what that means. I'm screaming internally. My blood is rushing to my core, making me feel every breath he takes. I'm trembling against him.

  They close this deal; make this arrangement, and all while I simply sit here. Damien's appraisal of my assets, my worth as an asset to him, takes away my
ability to say anything else. I just want to form cogent thoughts, but all I can think about is what I've been missing. What I don't miss anymore.

  I'm some kind of bargaining chip for whatever trouble my father is in, and all I can think about is the man who will broker the deal. Will I be his? I'm breathing steadier now, but more shallow. Still, I say nothing. I can't believe this is happening. Could I be his? I can’t even begin to fathom what it would mean. Damien, though, oh he definitely knows. My skin is on fire. My heart is a drumbeat.

  "So, it’s a deal, then?" my father says to Damien. I can't look Father in the eye. He’s a weasel, sounds so weak. I should feel terrible for thinking that about my father if he hadn't just treated me like a bargaining chip.

  I mean, am I wrong here?

  So instead I dwell more on the comparison that my mind can't help but make. I'm in the presence of a foreboding, real man. I've never seen such a gorgeous man. One so full of danger. I'm touching him, and there's a wildfire in my mind sparking through my body. My father disgusts me in this moment, but I’m having just as strong of a reaction and making just as strong a judgment about Damien.

  The hot air in this room hangs heavy and for a few seconds, no one says anything.

  Damien so slightly runs his fingers down the center of my spine. He leans forward just a little and says to my father, "Yes, I'll accept your offer." Then Damien lifts me, placing me down and standing to look at me, his eyes dropping to the spot on the thigh of his trousers where my wetness seeped onto his clothing. He knows what I’m thinking. How my body responds to his. Am I imagining this eye contact, the split-second recognition? I can't be when I see that devilish grin. There's sin bolting through his dark eyes and connecting directly with my core. My pussy throbs. My clit twitches.

  I've never reacted to a man like this before. My face is so hot I must be blushing a furious red. I look up from my lashes at him, daring myself to return that gaze. When I do, heat burns in my belly. I'm singed with a single look from him. I can't stop thinking about the throbbing monster that had pressed into my ass while I sat on his lap. He's awakes a hunger in me that I didn't know I could have.

  Damien steps forward, mesmerizing me. "I'll send a car for you, tomorrow, to take you to my condo in Manhattan," he says, tucking a finger under my chin. Even though he doesn’t need to make me look at him, he adjusts my gaze so firmly that I'm stunned in place for several beats. I can't tear my eyes away from him, drinking in the site of him like I'm drowning and he's a sparkling water saving my throat with every velvety swallow. He quenches a womanly desire in me that I've never paid attention to.

  I hear that he's going to send a car. His condo. Manhattan. That’s not far from here in Westchester, but it feels like a million-mile journey to the lair of this dark tempter.

  The family Christmas is already ruined. Reality rockets back into me and I realize I won’t be with my parents. Then I start to think, oh crap, what about school? What about my friends? What about my life? And then Damien is turning to walk away and any thoughts I have about my life are sucked into the vortex of my mind and replaced with the filthy thoughts permeating my soul. Watching him walk away is pure sin. I didn't know that men could have sexy asses. I thought only girls wearing tighter clothes than I do could have asses that people want to look at.

  The sensual shape of Damien’s ass, the way the slacks fall on his legs just right, a perfect angle, the way that he glides away. How every last bit of air in my lungs collapses and exits when he leaves the room. All of this, as I'm sure you can understand, makes it a little difficult for me to focus on Christmas. I mean, hot chocolate was the only thing on my mind tonight. Trying to avoid thinking about my frustration with my parents for being too busy for Christmas. Now, I know they aren’t making time for me at all because they are making deals. Making money instead. I know that after the trouble with school that they need to make money, but how is this the way they choose to solve their problems? I gulp because no way this was the first resort. Selling me? That's a last resort action.

  Still, I can’t justify this behavior. How could they do this to me? I'm their daughter!

  I should be angry.

  I should be terrified, particularly of Damien. He emanates danger from every pore of his masculine being, yet the mystery he presents enraptures me. Distracts me. I find it hard to fear Damien when I just plain want to know more about him. I want to see what his body looks like under his clothes. I want to know what he really thinks about the mess I left on his thigh when I sat on his lap. I know some boys my age, in college, think that I'm gross. But Damien isn’t a boy. He's a powerful man with a raw sexuality that tells me, no, he’ll have much more interesting thoughts about my arousal. Not that I could ever ask him. Oh God, what if he sends the car for me, and I see him again, and he brings it up? Any bravery I feel is leaving me in shivers.

  I run up the stairs as soon as Damien is gone. Let my parents think whatever they want; I want to be alone. They shut me out all night to handle this business. I lock my door, turn off my lights, climb into my bed, and bury my hands in my panties under the covers. I think about Damien here where everything is safe to explore when it's just my hand, my dreams, and my heavy breathing to contend with.

  Except, I'm not the victim of a killer in hot pursuit. I'm the one in hot pursuit, of a fantasy that is taking hold of me stronger than anything ever has before. I need to get my hands on my body and relieve this pressure building up within me.

  Like, I’m also the one whose parents are planning to sell her to a strange man. Yes, I know I should focus on that part. Instead, the fantasy in my mind? That’s safe. That’s what I want to focus on—the heat in my blood and not the fear.

  Now, I'm a virgin, but I'm not a prude. Not exactly. I'm just really nervous, okay? Like I haven't quite figured out what to do once I'm turned on, and I need to figure it out nice and slow by myself.

  Except the lust sweeping through my body right now doesn't seem to think that I need any lessons. I'm feeling certifiably thrilled at this exhilarating new confidence. I have to get my hands on my body because I can't get the way he felt pressed against me out of my mind. I turn off the light. It will help to set the mood. I tear off my clothes, fast, like I'm a skinny dipper rushing to get in the safety of water. No, I haven't gone skinny dipping before, but I'm a girl who reads, who watches movies. Who does everything to live her life utterly vicariously through the experiences of others.

  Not tonight. I drop my panties to my ankles and step each foot out and I walk slowly toward my bed. I'm eager, and I know I want touch my pussy. I dip my hand down and feel how wet I am, sliding a finger through my slippery folds. Wow, it's kind of incredible.

  What would it be like if Damien put his massive hand here on my wetness?

  I lie down on my bed, scooting my pillows so that I'm half sitting up, imagining that I'm looking right into his eyes as he touches me. Now, could I ever, ever be so bold? Of course not. But in my fantasy, he wants me. I want him. And everything feels right. I let my eyes flutter closed. I press my palm against my whole pussy, thinking about his hand there. His hands were easily three times the size of mine, if the look I got was correct. Of course it was. I memorized his every trait I was able to see today, or feel, better than any vocabulary words.

  I start to rock my hand, and at first, the only real titillation is the fantasy, but I hit a certain angle against my clit and it starts to feel good. My head falls back, and I bite my lip. Picking up the speed and adjusting the angles of how my hands touch my wet pussy, I'm finding that it feels really good.

  Of course, it feels even better imagining his hands on me. My other hand travels up my stomach, a trail that makes me shiver. I imagine it is Damien's hand that brings chills to my stomach, then my breast, and squeezes tight. Almost too tight.

  The intensity of the sensation makes me bolder. I have to heighten the sensations I've created in me, and I imagine one of Damien's large fingers inside of me. I slide three of my fingers
against my wet opening. I feel how swollen with desire I am. Should I start with fewer fingers? Perhaps. But Damien's large fingers, just one of them, would be so much more than my slender ones.

  So I slide all three together inside me, and I feel strange. Thinking of him doing this makes me twitch a little. I keep up the pressure on my clit because the instant I relent, I'm losing some of the sensations that were heating my whole body up.

  I slide my fingers in deeper. My body gets used to the feeling of such fullness, and then I feel a spongy, sensitive zone. My g-spot. I curl my fingers up against it, and the sensation makes me yelp. I furiously pump my fingers, my pussy squeezing my fingers in return, and I work my clit and keep up the speed as best as I can because I need to keep this feeling going.

  The fantasy in my mind, Damien's hands touching me, Damien's voice saying naughty things to me. His eyes looking into mine while he makes me feel this sensation that seems to jettison from my pussy to every inch of my body and make me erupt with quakes of ecstasy.

  It keeps me going from one orgasm, to another, and another, and I keep going as long as I can until my body feels weak and I'm oversensitive.

  Now, sated, I feel the pooled sweat around my body and the large damp spot on my bed where I came, again and again, thinking about him. I should take a shower, but I just want to curl up and sleep. I yank the comforter off the bed because it now has that massive wet spot. I might be a little cold later tonight, but I'm tired and I'm slipping under my sheet, falling asleep still warm from the orgasms. I'd never made myself really come before, and now I've been able to find something that felt good and was able to keep doing it enough to really experience an orgasm. Now I'm certain that I've made myself feel good before, but those were my first orgasms. For some reason, even though Damien didn't really give them to me, I feel like I've gotten something incredibly special from him. That night, I dream about nothing. I'm so pleasantly exhausted that I don't have a stress or concern for once in my harried college student life.