The Proposal

by R. R. Banks

  I look back at him over my shoulder. I've never talked dirty before and honestly, am unsure how. I'm embarrassed to admit it to him, for some reason, wanting him to think I'm experienced. His eyes glitter behind his mask and that smile appears on his lips again

  “Eyes forward,” he commands, his voice gruff.

  I turn around and grip the rail of the gazebo hard, my nails digging into the wood as he pounds his cock into me from behind. I glance up at the house, making sure that nobody is headed our way, and let out a breath of relief when I see that we're still very much alone.

  “You're a dirty girl, aren't you, Bree?”

  I nod, but he smacks me on the ass, the sting of the blow radiating through my body. A soft groan passes my lips and I close my eyes, relishing the sensation.

  “Tell me,” he says.

  “Y – yes,” I say. “I'm a dirty girl.”

  “Say it again,” he commands and thrusts his cock hard, hitting that sensitive spot deep inside me. “Louder.”

  “Yes, baby,” I call out. “I'm a dirty girl. I'm your dirty girl. You like that?”

  His hand is firm and strong on my ass as he slaps me again, drawing another squeal from my lips. My mind is spinning, my cheeks flare with color, and my eyes grow wide. I can't believe the words that are falling out of my mouth. I'm not easy. I don't talk this way. There's something about this man though, something about the way he fills me up and stretches me open, that sends dual spikes of pain and pleasure coursing through me, that have made me lose all sense. All control.

  It's like this man has a key that's unlocked something deep within me. Something raw. Something primal. I've never felt sensations as intense as what I'm feeling right now, and it feels like it's consuming me. Swallowing me whole. My body is trembling, and my breathing is uneven.

  And all I want is more. So much more.

  His hand tightens on my shoulder and he drives his hard rod deep into me repeatedly. The sound of our flesh slapping together as he pounds his cock into me echoes throughout the gardens, blending with our soft moans, making an erotic melody.

  I've never been stretched open like this man is doing to me right now. Not that I have a world of experience. I don't even have as much experience as Elizabeth, truth be told. But, I like what he's doing to me. It's scary, but sensual and amazing in more ways than I could ever imagine.

  The man drives his cock into me harder and faster, plunging himself inside of me deeper. I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying out. Instead, a muffled moan bubbles up out of my throat as electric bolts of pleasure sear my every nerve ending.

  “Fuck me,” I moan. “Fuck me with that hard cock, baby. Yes.”

  There's another sharp sting of pain that tears through my body as he spanks me again and I bite back a yelp. He slaps my ass again and drives himself into me hard, hitting my sweet spot. I can't help but cry out as the mixture of pleasure and pain rocks my body.

  I hear him grunting as his movements become more erratic. His grip on my shoulder tightens and his body tenses behind me.

  “Come for me, baby,” I gasp.

  I'm rewarded with another slap on the ass, this one harder than all the others. I bite my bottom lip, pleasure and pain flowing through me in equal measures. I feel the pressure in me building. My pulse is racing and with each thrust of that glorious cock, he brings me closer to the peak.

  I push myself back against him, trying to take him even deeper, my whole body vibrating with ecstasy.

  “I – I'm going to come,” I moan.

  He smacks my ass again, even harder, and I can't bite back the yelp before it bursts out of my mouth. He drives his stiff rod into me and I feel like I'm being split in two, the sharp pain making me squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth.

  “Come for me, Bree,” he grunts. “Come all over my cock.”

  “Yes, baby,” I groan.

  He thrusts himself hard again and as if I'd been waiting for his approval, my orgasm tears through me like a searing, powerful bolt of lightning. My body shakes so hard, I feel like I'm having a seizure. I open my mouth, but if I had any thought of screaming out, it dies quickly. The only sound that comes from me is a gasping, gurgling noise that barely sounds human.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, letting waves of sheer ecstasy wash over me. I've never felt such intense pleasure before. The man thrusts his cock into me deeply once more and I feel his body tense. His cock begins to throb, and I hear him grunt as he fills the condom with his hot seed.

  Pushing back against him, the man gripping me tightly, our bodies crush together as we ride out the waves of ecstasy.,

  I draw in a shuddering breath and slowly release it as my orgasm begins to fade. He steps back, his deflating member slipping out of me. I feel a twinge of regret at the sudden absence of his cock and the dwindling feeling of pleasure in my body.

  I stand and pull my panties back up, turning back around to face him. He tosses the spent condom into one of the tall shrubs near the gazebo. Giving me a small smile, the man tucks in his shirt and zips up his pants, his mask still perfectly in place. I would give anything to take a peek beneath it. To see the man who unlocked such a dark, sensual part of me that I didn't even know existed.

  I reach a trembling hand out to peel away his mask, but he catches me by the wrist, that charismatic smile back upon his lips.

  “Some things are better left a mystery,” he purrs. “Don't you think?”

  “I want to see you,” I say. “We just had sex, I think I'm entitled.”

  “Oh, I wasn't aware there was an entry fee for the ride,” he says, a chuckle in his voice.

  “You son of a bitch,” I say, feeling my cheeks flaring and anger rising within me.

  His eyes glitter behind his mask and there is a bemused grin on his face. He stands there staring at me for a long moment and I ball my fists at my sides and resist the urge to smack him. I don't know why I feel so angry all the sudden - so used. I wanted this and allowed it to happen. He'd promised me nothing and I still gave my body freely. I don't regret it at all. It was my choice.

  I just want more. More of him. More of that.

  “Did you enjoy yourself, Bree?”

  “I think that much was obvious.”

  “Then why are you so angry?”

  I bite back my words because I know how childish and petty they'll sound. And for reasons I don't quite understand, I don't want to sound that way in front of this man. For whatever reason, I want him to think I'm mature, self-realized, and sophisticated. Not some silly little girl who, having just experienced mind-blowing, world-shattering sex for the first time, is going to be clingy or needy.

  “I'm not angry,” I say evenly. “I usually prefer to know who it is I'm fucking.”

  He shrugs. “You could have demanded it before we started.”

  “And would you have?” I asked. “Removed the mask?”

  He shrugs again. “I suppose we'll never know.”

  The truth was, the fact that we were both masked had made things a little more intense. A little more powerful. It played into the whole fantasy about finding a complete stranger, fucking them, and leaving. Except, this man obviously has the advantage of knowing who I am, which diminishes the fantasy – but only a little.

  “What if I want to see you again?” I ask. “What if I want to do this again?”

  The enigmatic smile returns. “Then, maybe we will.”

  “How will I get in touch with you?”

  Without a word, he slips his phone out of his pocket and punches in a few buttons. He hands it over to me and I look down. It's his contacts list. And he wants me to add my number to it. I punch in my number and hand his phone back to him. He tucks it away in his pocket once more.

  “Perhaps, I'll call you, Bree.”

  “Perhaps?”

  He shrugs. “Perhaps.”

  It's then that I can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice – he will call on me again. I know that he enjoyed our time
together as much as I did. And I know that he wants more, every bit as much as I do. I can see it. Sense it. I can practically smell it on him.

  “For now, though,” he says. “I want to thank you for a lovely evening. It's one I won't forget anytime soon.”

  It's one I probably won't be able to forget – ever. I have no doubt that it's going to live on in my memory as the most intense and erotic night of my life. And I'm already sure that I'll forever be comparing future sexual experiences to this one night – and likely finding that they don't measure up.

  He turns, and I watch him walk back toward the house. My legs still a little weak and shaky, I sit down on the bench and let the warmth of such an incredible experience wash over me once more. I revel in the memory and feel the longing for more already burning within me.

  “Damn you,” I whisper. “God damn you.”

  And damn me for letting it happen.

  Chapter Two

  Milo

  Later That Night

  “Girls, out,” I call as I step through the door.

  Kicking it shut behind me, I drop the twelve pack of beer on the counter in the kitchen. In the various bedrooms beyond the counter, I can hear my three younger brothers, Zachary, Dalton, and Quentin – Q for short – with their flavors of the night.

  That's the problem with a small town like Folson Forge – everyone knows everyone, and it can feel incestuous, really quick.

  Oh, they're all gorgeous. They're all beautiful Southern belles. But some of the girls in this town think that they are special and deserve the finer things in life. They seem to think that if they go down the line and fuck each one of us, it will eventually stick, and they’ll become part of the Sheridan clan – wealthier than their wildest dreams and set for life.

  What they don't seem to understand, however, is that to us, this is purely sex. Period.

  The women we'll eventually marry would never dream of throwing themselves at men as desperately as these women.

  “I repeat, get out,” I call again.

  “Fuck off, Milo,” one of the girls calls back to me through the wall.

  There's a bubbling noise from one of the bedrooms to the right that makes me laugh and shake my head. As usual, none of the doors to the rooms are fully closed, allowing me to see what’s going on inside. Zach is reclining on the futon, a thick cloud of pot smoke in the air around him, and a blissful look on his face. A girl named Alyssa – is on her knees before him.

  Quentin is in the room next to Zach’s. I can hear him fucking his flavor of the week, a girl named Cassidy. I’m assuming, based on the sound of flesh slapping flesh reverberating off the walls. I played around with Cassidy for a while about a year ago. She’s a little off in the head. That situation could end up in disaster if Q isn't careful. And Dalton is in the last room to the left, with the door wide open. He’s a bit of an exhibitionist. Always has been. He’s laying back on the recliner, a girl named Monica riding him enthusiastically.

  They move from me to Zach, to Dalton, and then finally to Quentin. And who knows, maybe when our youngest brother, Timothy comes of age, he'll fuck these girls too. But, that's still a few years off and I have a feeling Timothy won’t have any issues in that department. He's a good-looking, smart kid already.

  That, combined with the Sheridan name, ensures that he's going to have zero problems getting laid whenever he wants to.

  Twisting the top off a bottle of beer, I drop it on the counter and take a long pull from the bottle, relishing the feel of the cool liquid as it slides down my throat. As I look across the counter into the bedrooms, and see my brothers screwing their flavor of the night, I think back to my time with Bree.

  I don't know Bree personally. But I know of her. Which is to say, I know her public persona. Know of her sterling and saintly reputation. She's the town's golden girl and an object of admiration near and far. She's one of the most beautiful women in town and thought by many to be virtuous and sweet, and completely untouchable. And like every other man in Folson Forge with a cock and a pulse, I lusted after her from afar.

  Bree is the golden rose of the Longstreet clan – my family's most hated rival.

  The blood feud between the Longstreets and the Sheridans goes back to the Civil War and is one of the most violent, bloody, and notorious in the entire South. Our ancestors had started a company making and selling Folson Forge Bourbon. Something happened way back when, and old man Longstreet ended up dead, and old man Sheridan – my ancestor – ended up building a fortune off the recipe.

  My family is absolutely loaded because of Folson Forge Bourbon. And the Longstreets – although they've built their own empire of hardware stores that have made them the second wealthiest family in town – have never forgiven us Sheridans for that past transgression.

  Truth be told, we don't know what the transgression actually was, or even how old man Longstreet ended up dead. All we do know is that the Longstreets blame us and have despised our family ever since. In return, we hate them back and do whatever we can to thumb our noses at them whenever possible.

  Petty. Childish. Immature. Yeah, probably. But, fuck it. You can't have a real Southern town without a good blood feud between families.

  Which is how and why I ended up fucking Bree tonight.

  “Did you get it, Milo?” Quentin calls out.

  I look up from my bottle, half expecting to see him standing in front of me, but I can still hear him banging Cassidy from behind in the other room. I can hear an eagerness in his voice that has nothing to do with being balls-deep in the girl in front of him.

  “Yeah, did you actually do it?” Zach calls as a thick plume of pot smoke pours out of the doorway. “Or did you pussy out?”

  “Of course, I did it,” I say. “I told you I would, didn't I?”

  “Shit,” Dalton calls as he smacks Monica's ass, drawing a yelp from her as she rides him. “I owe you guys twenty bucks.”

  “You bet against me?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Sorry.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  I walk over and open a window, trying to bring in some fresh air to clear the haze of smoke out of the guesthouse. It's as thick as the sound of moaning coming from the women in the house. This guesthouse – one of several, but the largest – on the rear grounds of our family's estate serves as our clubhouse. Our father – whom we refer to as the old man – is a firm believer in the “boys will be boys” philosophy of life and raising kids.

  And to that end, the guesthouse is where we go to be boys.

  It's actually a longstanding tradition in the Sheridan clan. The walls of this guest house – though it's been added on to and renovated over the years – have seen debauchery and depravity of every flavor and stripe over the decades.

  The only rule is that nobody under the age of eighteen is allowed through the front door. No exceptions. The old man said the last thing he needs is an underage sex scandal on his hands. So, it's a rule we strictly enforce – much to poor Timothy's chagrin. After seeing Quentin, who just turned eighteen a week ago, take his place in the club, Timothy is anxious to be one of the Sheridan men. But, he's only fifteen and has a few years to wait.

  “Not that I don't trust you, but you do have proof that you did the deed, right?” Zachary says, finally finishing his thought.

  “What deed?” Monica asks.

  “None of your business,” I say. “It's Sheridan family business.”

  At first, it was strange, being in the same vicinity as my brothers while we were all having sex. Eventually though, it started happening more often, the weirdness began to fade. No more remarkable than walking in on them in eating breakfast in the kitchen.

  I take another drink of my beer and look down at my phone. The proof I have to win the bet is on it, but I'm suddenly feeling hesitant to share it. I can't explain it, but there's something about Bree Longstreet that clicked with me.

  Yeah, it was just sex, but I feel like we had some kind of a connection. She's every bit as
gorgeous as everybody says she is. She could easily be a beauty queen if she wants to. Maybe it's something as simple as physical attraction and lust. She definitely has that whole ‘good girl’ appeal – one that's only magnified by how downright filthy she can be. It's something that resonates with me. Maybe that’s all there is to it.

  I have no idea what it is, but there seems to be something deeper about her, more substantial. She's far more than just her physical beauty. I can't say what it is exactly, but I know that down to my bones. There's a spark, a fire inside of her, that I find compelling. It sounds crazy, given the fact that we barely spent any time talking, but there is something about Bree that I like.

  Of course, given the fact that she's a Longstreet and I'm a Sheridan, it's not something that I'll ever have the opportunity to explore with her.

  She's obviously not the angel of purity and virtue people think she is, as she told me – and as I found out for myself. But, she isn't anything like the girls currently fucking my brothers, either. She's beloved in Folson Forge and is very well-thought-of by almost everyone in town. Nobody has an unkind word to say about her. And for good reason. I don't know her well at all, but from everything I do know, she's a good person that deserves that saintly reputation.

  Unlike the gold diggers we use for pleasure, Bree is the marrying kind of girl. And I suddenly fear that if we follow through with our plan and release this video, her reputation is going to take a major hit.

  Not that I should care. The Longstreets are scum. Vermin. We cherish every opportunity to tarnish their name and bring them down. At least, that's how I feel about the men in their clan – men like Bree's brother, Clyde. He's an asshole. A self-righteous prick with a bloated ego. And I enjoy embarrassing him like I enjoy few other things.

  Back in high school, it was always on the football field. We played for rival teams and I delighted in always leading my team to a win over his. In always being considered the better athlete – and the better college prospect. I got offers from a ton of the major players in college football. He got a few.