Friends with Benefits

by Amy Brent

  As I remembered his final statement, a pleasant coating of goosebumps spread down my flesh. Property. He was coming in to fuck me, and use me to his pleasure. That I would experience that, and yet be with my Roger, filled me with so much excitement that I considered taking out the bullet and using it already.

  But I didn’t have time. A second later, I heard the sound of the card being fed across the slot at the door. The handle dipped, and then Roger entered.

  A sardonic, knowing grin spread across his face as he saw my get-up. “You slut,” he said, and charged towards me.

  I expected him to kiss me, perhaps shove me back on the bed, but instead he seized me by the hair, and with a single wrench forced me to my knees. His hands fumbled at his fly, and the next thing I knew his hot, steaming dick was pressing up against my face, my lips. I couldn’t help but open my mouth and begin to suck.

  He had me in an instant, I thought in wonder. If I had resisted – if I’d actually wanted to resist, that is – I would not have been able. His cock would be in my mouth no matter what.

  He thrust, and I opened my lips wider. His dominance was absolute, controlling each dip of my head with the back of his hand. Like this, he guided me over to the bureau and leaned against it.

  “Nice collection of toys you got here, slut,” he said, and I could hear him shuffling them about. I tried to pull away to take a look, but his hand clamped me firmly in place.

  “Uh-uh. Did I say you could stop sucking? Do your job, you fucking whore.”

  And he thrust into my mouth.

  Minutes later, he wrenched himself free of me – slapping my jaw with his dick as he did so – and pulled me to my feet. I staggered, feeling slightly dizzy after such deep penetration of my mouth, and with a simple shove he toppled me to the bed.

  “Fight me, you slut,” he said. “Resist.”

  Oh, so that’s how he wanted it.

  I turned to me stomach and made to crawl, as if I was escaping, but in that moment Roger was on top of me, pinning my legs in place. I felt his arms reaching around me and his hands pinning my wrists, and I felt a moment of true panic, bred my claustrophobia. I bucked and twisted, trying to free my wrists from his grasp, but he was too powerful, and soon he had me completely grappled beneath him, panting hot air into the pillow.

  I waited, thrumming with anticipation for that dick to fuck me from behind. But it didn’t come. Instead, I felt a shifting of weight as he grabbed for something beside the bed, and then soft leather encircling my wrists. In under a minute, I was bound helplessly to the wooden spokes of the bed, flat on my stomach. Roger reached under me, and pawed at my tits.

  “Good slut,” he growled. “Good fucking whore. Now, I’m going to teach you a real lesson in who’s in charge.”

  As he spoke, his fingers scraped and pinched at my nipples, and I felt wetness flooding my insides. I wanted to be him to put it in me, but I resisted, but I knew that he wanted me to resist.

  So instead, I worked my knees under me and got up into a sort of crouch, tugging futilely at the bindings and trying to throw off his weight.

  Roger laughed, and then reached between my legs to pinch my clit. I gasped, and froze in place at once.

  “Good girl,” he said, and then he was off me.

  I shivered. It was cold, suddenly half-naked and exposed on the bed. I wished he would climb on top of me again, and throw some blankets over me, because I didn’t like being so chilly. I opened my mouth to say something, and –

  Hot fire exploded across my flesh.

  The whip! The leather whip! Snapping through the air and connecting with my back! I moaned, more surprised than in pain, and twisted as Roger lashed again. But there was nowhere to go. I just had to lay there and take it, like the slut I was.

  Was the safe word on my mind? Not at all. Roger wanted to give it to me as hard as he could, I wanted to take it.

  So when he grabbed the little green bullet and slipped it inside my pussy, setting it to vibrate hard as he whipped me again and again, I did not protest. Instead, I screamed, feeling myself cumming with the combined impact. Roger laughed, and bounced my tits, pinching the nipples.

  “Next time,” he whispered, before biting my ear, “wear the nipple-less ones.”

  I flushed with pleasure. Next time. This was something we could do, over and over again.

  The bullet slipped out of me. I felt exposed coldness there, and a hesitation with Roger’s whip. I tried to turn around and look, but was held fast by my bindings.

  That’s when I felt his dick touch my inner thigh. And as hot as the whip had felt when it struck me, his cock was a million times hotter.

  He thrust inside me. I screamed, tugging so hard at the leather cuffs that my wrists bruised. He fucked me so hard that my whole body jerked with it, and bed creaked and groaned.

  I knew he was enjoying himself. I could tell by the way his tip swelled, and his shaft got rock-hard. His balls swung with every thrust, feeling huge with their building load. Every time he got close to bursting, he would pull out, and slap me with the whip again. I fought and moaned, feeling streams of wetness down my thighs, cumming and cumming as he demonstrated his complete mastery over me. He owned my body, now and always. When he was whipping, I was his slave, and when he was fucking, I was his whore. When he was inside me, he’d reach round with the whip and caress my naked flesh with the soft leather. Pain and pleasure, bound together into one.

  I climaxed. Wetness shot out of me, and I buried my scream in my pillow. Roger pulled out, and I could hear him once again at the bureau.

  “I’m surprised you got this, you slut,” he said, hefting something in his hand. “These are usually for more advanced sluts, but I guess you like it dirty, huh?”

  He grabbed me by the hips and flung me round, so that I was on my back. The leather bindings turned with me, so that I still helpless, still pinned in place, but not in too much pain.

  Roger mounted my chest. There he was, kneeling over me, his cock and balls filling up the sky.

  And then, he thrust the final toy inside my mouth:

  A ring gag, with a ring the perfect size for Roger.

  He placed his tip against the opening. If I had thought myself dominated before, now, I was utterly helpless. He could slide his dick in and out of my mouth as easily as he could squeeze himself.

  And he knew it. I saw him, grinning at me from those miles above, looking down at my pinned face and heaving tits. He knew I was in his power – there for the sole purpose of pleasing him.

  And please him I did. He thrust into my mouth, caught the tight edges of the ring and the hot wet firmness of my throat, and exploded.

  I swallowed his cum like the slut I was, licking his tip for every last drop.

  *** The End***

  Thank you for reading and for your support.

  Continue reading for yet another bestseller – My Best Friend’s Brother.

  My Best Friend’s Brother

  Chapter 1

  Sarah

  “Good afternoon, Dallas. Today, we have a very special guest here with us. Mason Baker, branded in the media as the second-coming of Steve Jobs, will be here with us today sharing his story, his success, and his secrets. Stick around because it’s going to be a doozy.”

  “Sounds good to me,” my makeup artist said.

  “You think so, Ang? I wasn’t sure if I should use his media persona in the opening or not,” I said.

  “It’s what all the newspapers and magazines are saying about him. Can you believe his success? I think he made a deal with the devil,” she said and gave me a look.

  “Have you seen his looks? I think he definitely made a deal with the devil.” I tried to hide the smirk playing at the edge of my mouth. Anyone with a pulse knew how fucking hot Mason was. Hell, he knew it too.

  Angie and I giggled while she put on my makeup. In the three years I’d hosted my talk show in Dallas, she was the only veteran still here. ‘Does This Affect Dallas?’ was a show prem
ise I had rolling around in the back of my mind for years before I finally pitched it to someone. All the talk shows nowadays were glorified gossip tables. I wanted something that would inform as well as entertain, a show that would dive into things that affected our beautiful city, breaking them down in entertaining ways to educate as well as distract.

  And Mason Baker was just that.

  “I can’t get over his dimples. I wanna poke my fingers in them,” Angie said.

  “I could swim in those beautiful peridot eyes all day,” I said.

  “And that thick, dark hair of his? Kill me in the face, please. I’d pay so much money to run my fingers through it.”

  “His hair? I’d give anything to run my hands up those meaty arms of his. Did you see that picture of him in the media last week? Jogging around like he didn’t know the entire world was watching him?”

  “Did you see the fucking video?” Angie asked. “The guy needs a damn jock strap.”

  “There’s a video? Let me see.”

  Angie put down the makeup and pulled her phone from her pocket. I watched the video and practically salivated, watching that cock swinging between his legs. The man was doing this on purpose. He had to be. No one made a hundred and fifty-seven million dollars in revenue their first year in business and didn’t understand he was being watched.

  Then again, he wasn’t only known for his quickly-rising technology company.

  “No wonder he’s a playboy,” I said, smirking. “That swinging cock could satisfy an entire block.”

  “Then come back around for dessert,” Angie said, mumbling.

  Out of all the interviews I’d done, I’d never been nervous. I had scored daily interviews with scandalous senators and had video interviews with some of the hottest names in Hollywood so they could talk about their charities. Anything that could educate Dallas and get them off their asses to help the world is what I focused on.

  And Mason Baker’s product was no different.

  His idea started with a social media campaign and the premise was simple, a device you could adhere to any surface to keep track of something. It came with an application you could put on your phone, tablet, or computer, and from there you could track up to thirty different devices. Thirty. You could stick it on the inside of your phone. You could wrap it around the keyring of your keys. It was pliable, bendable, waterproof, fireproof, and you couldn’t ruin it if you stepped on it.

  The original campaign was set to raise two hundred thousand dollars, and it ended up raising almost four million fucking dollars.

  All from donations.

  The applications of this item were endless. You could put it on your car and track your car. You could put it on your children’s electronic toys and track where they were. Hell, you could put it on your fucking kid and track where they were.

  The moment the product launched, it flew off the shelves, and it was Baker’s customer service setup that took the prize for that one. Complaints came flying in immediately from people who used it, and they used those complaints to tweak the product further. An updated product hit the shelves while those who complained about problems got a free upgraded replacement, and the product went viral.

  Eight months into their official launch, they were trying to figure out how to ship overseas, and from there the rest is history. One hundred and fifty-seven million in flat-out revenue for their first year, and they’d only begun to scratch the surface.

  It was absolutely incredible, and it was something that most definitely affected Dallas.

  But those piercing green eyes and that muscular body. It was almost disarming how sexy this man was. Angie was finishing up my makeup while everyone started bustling around me, and that’s when I heard someone say it in the distance.

  I heard them whisper that Mason Baker was here.

  I knew I was going to nail this interview. I always did. But never had I found anyone I’d interviewed this hot. I mean, I could feel my pussy heating up for crying out loud. That was beyond unprofessional, and it wasn’t a road I was willing to travel down again, not after I’d caught my ex-boyfriend making out with who was now my ex-host.

  It really wasn’t a big deal. I’d gotten the bitch fired within five minutes of figuring it out. Then, I took to kindly blasting them on social media. I made it apparent that the show does not tolerate unprofessional behavior of any kind, especially when it hurts multiple people involved. I told my fans that I’d interviewed senators and mayors and governors caught in scandals where they’d cheated on their spouses, and I took those accusations seriously. I used the moment as a platform to take a stand against men who manipulated, abused, cheated, and otherwise dealt anything else less than full respect to women they claimed to love.

  Especially after what I’d endured in high school.

  “Sarah?”

  “Yeah, Ang?”

  “You’ve got about ten minutes. You okay?” she asked.

  I double-checked my makeup in the mirror before I gave her a confident smile. I stood from my chair and embraced her, pulling her close to me. She was the closest thing I had to a friend in this town, and I would always respect her and love her for allowing me to talk to her before every single show I did.

  “You know I appreciate you, right?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. I know,” she said. “I just have to remember not to make out with your boyfriends. I quite like my job.”

  We giggled one last time before I shook my head at her. I walked out of the room and down the hallway, smoothing out my outfit one last time. I got to the entrance of the stage as they were running the intro to the show, and then it was time for me to take my place on stage.

  I walked up to the middle of the stage as the crowd cheered. Cameras panned around me, and I waved to the audience. Then, I made eyes with Camera 3 as it panned around me. I waved to my at-home audience and blew them a kiss like I did every show. I drew in a deep breath and started the opening I’d rehearsed in the makeup room.

  “Good afternoon, Dallas. How’s everybody doing?”

  The crowd of people erupted into cheers as I clapped for joy.

  “Today, we have a very special guest here with us. Mason Baker, branded in the media as the second-coming of Steve Jobs himself, will be here with us today sharing his story, his success, and his secrets. Stick around because it’s going to be a doozy.”

  I walked back to my chair and took a sip of water while the credits for our sponsors rolled, and it gave me just enough time to fluff my hair before the camera was back on me.

  “I could go on and on about the man standing backstage, but something tells me he wants to do that himself,” I said, winking. “Without further delay, welcome into your homes Mason Baker.”

  I stood from my chair as I watched him come out from behind the screen. He was even taller in person, standing at a looming six-foot-four. His beaming white smile contrasted with his tan skin wonderfully, making his peridot eyes sparkle more than ever. His thick, luscious mane of dark hair was parted to one side, combed back expertly as his gray suit tailored itself to every curve and dip of his strong, throbbing muscles. He shook my hand, his palm dwarfing me, and for a second, I could’ve sworn he winked at me.

  “Mr. Baker, thank you for your time. I’m so glad you could be with us,” I said as I sat down.

  “It’s a pleasure. Anything I can do to educate the city of Dallas is all right by me,” he said.

  The crowd whooped and hollered at his statement while I simply shook my head.

  “So, tell us a bit about this product. How in the world did you come up with a concept like this?” I asked.

  “To be honest, I can never find my wallet. Ever. And I got sick and tired of hunting it down at the last minute only for it to make me late. I tried going online and finding something that could work, but everything on the market was subpar.”

  “Define subpar,” I said.

  “Products were either not reliable, only detected a product within fifty feet of the base
, or was simply too bulky to do anything with,” he said.

  “Never in my life did I ever think too bulky could be a bad thing,” I said, grinning.

  “Depends on where the bulk sits, I suppose,” he said.

  I felt his eyes heavily on me, and it took everything I had to keep pushing through the interview. I could feel a flush creeping up my neck, threatening to burst forth on my cheeks and destroy the professionalism of this interview.

  “So you created a social media campaign,” I said. “Did you have a prototype when you created it?”

  “Nope. Just some designs, schematics, and an incredibly detailed professional video of how the technology was supposed to work.”

  “And by professional you mean …?”

  “Me sitting in front of a camera and stuttering out my idea,” he said, grinning.

  Laughter trickled through the audience again as I shook my head.

  “Mr. Baker—”

  “Please, call me Mason,” he said.

  “Mason,” I corrected, “did you ever think it could become this big of a success?”

  “No. Not in a million years. I just wanted to find my wallet, and that was it. Even if I made this product and was the only one who used it, at least I’d solved my problem. But apparently, people lose things all the time.”