by Dark Angel
"I don't know," I say, and that's the truth. I grab the glass of water sitting on the conference table and take a sip. My face is pensive.
"If you think things will—or can—get serious, you should tell her," he says, noticing that my mind is pre-occupied.
I don't say anything, but I nod my head in agreement. Of course he's right, but that's easier said than done. It's one thing to sit here at this conference table and say these things—and even agree with them—than it is to approach the woman you know you love about a secret that you've been keeping from her. Things are working right now. We're fucking happy. I don't want to fuck it all up by coming clean. If she finds out that I've been masquerading as King Henry, there's no telling how she'll react.
"It's not something you want to hide forever," he says, breaking my train of thought.
"I don't know what I want."
"Oh come on now," he says, almost laughing. "Quit kidding yourself."
"Says the man who's strong arming me into selling the one business I'm adamant on keeping."
"It's just obvious to me that you want the girl, so do something about it."
I look at him and know he's right.
Ashley
If Arsen is going to keep feeding me like this, I’m going to have to start spending an extra hour at the gym. I mean, seriously. We’re sitting on his terrace balcony, overlooking Central Park. He has a massive table that’s laid out with breakfast. I have my choice of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, slices of white or wheat bread, fruit, yogurt, granola, and croissants.
Oh, there’s also pancakes. There’s coffee, tea, orange juice and cereal.
Apparently, the building concierge has been instructed to prepare a breakfast spread every day for Arsen since I’ve started spending more and more time with him.
Arsen however, is just eating some bacon and a croissant, with some coffee, and reading the New York Daily Journal. The sound of taxis and delivery trucks wafts over to our little terrace in the clouds and I look over at my handsome breakfast companion.
“You live very well, Arsen,” I tell him, smiling. He looks over at me and smiles. Last night he took me to the MOMA where we saw the unveiling of some new Frederick Hart sculptures that hadn’t been released to the public after the sculptor’s death. Variations on Three Goddesses and Cross of the Millennium on both bronze and acrylic resin. I look into the room. Arsen bought one of the pieces and it’s sitting in the living room, purchased and now forgotten. Which would be fine if it was a dress from Bloomingdales, except that this tiny sculpture costs around $150,000.
After we got home, he wasted no time in celebrating his acquisition by unzipping my black dress and kissing my neck. Actually, if we’re being completely honest here, I was already wet when he pulled me over at the MOMA and whispered into my ear, “I want to fuck you senseless right now, Ash. Just rip your fucking panties off and shove my cock inside of you and pound you till you scream so loud that only the fucking birds can hear you.”
I mean, sure, I had splurged a bit on the dress. It was backless and showed off my ass pretty good. But work has been great. I got a $500 bonus this week. So I mean, I didn’t mind that I was having that effect on him.
I take a piece of toast and bite into it, thinking back to last night. It had been a nice night, so by the time his clothes were off and my panties were…I don’t actually know what happened to them. Either he ripped them off or I took them off, but we threw them somewhere and I can’t find them this morning. I think I saw my bra in the kitchen sink. Oh well. Where was I? Oh yeah, by the time I was naked, we actually ended up on the terrace. He lay me down on the table and proceeded to defile me in the most delicious ways possible.
Seriously, having sex with this man each time is like having sex for the first time with him. I cum at least once for sure, but as many as eight times. Although by then, the orgasms are all ripping up my body in one wave after another. There have been times I’ve blacked out for a few minutes because it’s just too much pleasure. And then afterwards, I’m in like some sort of post-orgasm coma, where I just sit there blinking and enjoying the endorphins going through my body.
“What are you up to today?” Arsen asks me looking up from his paper with a look like he just remembered something as I look at him. I’ve never really made a big deal about our schedules, telling him that my schedule is pretty flexible—I mean, I can work whenever. But still, out of habit I pull out my phone.
And I freeze.
I have a meeting with Client 5 on my calendar. Oh my God!
How could I have forgotten? I thought it was yesterday.
No way I’m letting him go to another girl. Not because I’m worried about losing the fees. No, more because I want to talk to him.
As sexed up as Arsen has gotten me, King Henry hits another spot in my brain and in my heart. Because we only talk for little bits, I crave the time I have with him jealously. I need him.
But the meeting—or call—or whatever is scheduled in ten minutes.
I look over at Arsen, wondering what it is that I can say. I mean, what can I even say to someone, anyone, if I have to leave in 10 minutes? Like, sorry I didn’t realize but I have to go have phone sex with a client? To the man who is feeding me breakfast?
How did I ever end up in a situation like this? Where I’m lying to two men?
“Ash, I need to go do something real quick that I forgot,” Arsen says not looking me in the eyes. I nod absently, wondering how I’m going to get away. “You think you’ll be okay having breakfast for like half an hour or so? I just need to pop out real quick but I’ll be back, I promise.”
Wait a second! He’s giving me an out. This is almost like Divine Providence or something giving me an opportunity. Although later on I need to remember to make sure and find out where he’s going. Under normal circumstances I’d be pretty curious where he was off to, but right now, I’m not going to take a gift horse and look it in the mouth. Not this girl. I'm smarter than that.
“I’ll just go lay down for a little bit then,” I tell him with a coy smile. “Still a bit exhausted from last night.”
I give him my best innocent smile and kiss him goodbye thinking to myself how ironic this situation must be because normally I would be so curious where he’s off to.
But not right now.
Now, in this moment, I’ve already started getting wet thinking of King Henry’s deep, gravelly voice. Within a minute, Arsen is out the door. I rush inside and it takes me just a few seconds to slide off my yoga pants and whip off my tank top. I lounge on the bed in my bra and panties, my heart trembling at the call that will get re-routed to my cell phone.
Four minutes to go. They seem to last an eternity. My heart rate increases with each passing second. I feel the dampness in my pussy and can tell that without even talking to me, King Henry has gotten my panties wet.
At last, the call comes and the phone vibrates. It startles me and for a second I’m scared. But the fear doesn’t stop me from accepting the call and with a shaky voice filled with excitement I speak into the phone.
“Hi this is Misty, who am I speaking to?” I say, seeing Client 5 on the screen and holding my breath till he speaks.
There’s a pause and a rustle and finally, “Hi, Misty, where are you?”
Now it’s my turn to pause. I don’t know what to answer.
“Are you at home?” he asks me.
“N-No,” I say.
“No what?” he retorts.
I close my eyes. “No, King Henry.”
“Good, you remembered.”
“Yes, King.”
“Where are you? Are you with someone? At their place?” he asks me and I close my eyes.
“Yes, King, I’m at someone else’s place. On their bed,” I answer. My heart is beating at what he’ll say.
“What are you wearing?” he asks.
“I have on a pink cheeky and a lace pink bra, King,” I reply back. “I’m on his bed talking to you.”
“Does he know you’re talking to me?” my King asks.
“No, King,” I tell him. “He went out for a while.”
“Does he make you cum when you fuck him?” my King asks.
I gulp. But I’m this far in anyways. And I’m so wet. “Yes, King, he makes me cum,” I reply. And I can’t help but add, “Hard.”
“Good,” the King says. “I want you to touch yourself and tell me what you’re doing.”
“I have my fingers under my panties,” I tell him. “I’m stroking my clit.”
“Are you wet, kitten?” he asks.
I gasp. A momentary shudder goes through me. “Yes, King,” I say. “I’m very wet.”
“I want you to imagine me next to you, kitten,” he says. “I want you to imagine me pressing my fingers over your wetness, sliding one finger into your pussy.”
My heart races as I begin to stroke my clit to his words.
“I want you to think of my hands stroking your clit, faster, and harder, and faster still,” he says and my fingers time themselves to stroke with every cadence of his speech. I let out a moan.
“Are you enjoying this, kitten?” he asks.
“Yes, King,” I reply. “Please don’t stop.”
“Beg me to not stop,” he orders. “Beg me to keep going. To tell you how my tongue traces the contours of your pussy and flicks itself against your nub.”
Oh my God. I’m panting as my fingers continue.
“Tell me,” he commands.
“Please don’t stop, King,” I moan as he breaths deeply. “Please don’t stop licking my pussy.”
“I want to slide another finger inside of you kitten, do that for me now,” he commands and I do as he says.
“I want to hook it inside of you and massage your walls while my tongue flicks your clit,” he continues.
The way he says the word clit sends shivers up my spine and it times perfectly with my fingers as they do their work.
“Are your nipples hard?” he asks me. I can feel that they are and it takes me a moment to clear my throat. “Yes, King, my nipples are hard for you.”
“I want to twist them. Do that for me,” he orders and I pull my bra down, place the phone on the bed putting it on speakerphone and begin to flick and twist my nipple.
It feels so wrong, doing this on Arsen’s bed. I know what I’m doing. But I just don’t care at this point. Lust has overtaken my brain as King Henry comes through the speakers of the phone.
“Now imagine my cock, thick and hard, kitten,” he says. “Blood pumping through its veins as it hovers over you, ready to penetrate your pussy. Imagine it as it slides in and fills you. Expands you.”
I can’t take much more of this. I’m going to cum soon. I feel the threshold lowering and myself passing the point of no return.
“Imagine my hands over you, squeezing your ass as I pound your pussy,” he says over the phone. “Imagine as I suck your tits and spank your ass. Hard.”
I wouldn’t care at this point who walked in the door. At that very moment I’ve lost myself to the pleasure I’m about to experience.
“Imagine my hands as they spank your ass cheeks. My cock pistoning in and out of you…”
I don’t hear any more. I’ve lost the capacity. I close my eyes. The body of Arsen Hawke is over me in my head with the voice of King Henry. Fucking me. Dominating me completely.
I let go and cum.
Waves of pleasure go through my body and I let out a moan that is earthy and lewd at the same time. A fire spreads from my loins and rips through my body, leaving me sweating and trembling as my muscles seize up and contract. Pleasure knocks me out and my eyes roll back inside my head. I arch my body and feel myself give way to numbness and nothingness. I’m awake, but incapacitated by fire. And ice. I’m weightless but can’t move. My body twitches and I lose my sight. Stars fill my vision and I lose myself in a void.
When I come to, I’m breathing heavily. So is King Henry on the other side of the phone. My heart is pounding and I take the phone.
“Are you there?” he asks me.
“Yes, King,” I say weakly, still recovering from the orgasm that ripped through my body.
“Good, be kind to your friend when he returns,” King Henry says, and with that he hangs up.
Leaving me lying there on Arsen’s bed.
My panties are wet so I take them off, and I throw my bra across the room as well. I’m lying naked in a haze on Arsen’s bed and all I want is more sex. I don’t care if Arsen asks me what I’m doing when he comes back in and I lay there.
After a few minutes, I hear the door open and footsteps come into his room.
I’m staring at the ceiling, lost in a sea of post-orgasmic bliss when I notice him taking his clothes off. He joins me on the bed, kissing my stomach, and then my tits. I shudder. Not in fear, but in pleasure as his hands roam my body before settling on my mound, pressing down on it.
I’m ready for more and I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer to me.
“You look like you need a good fucking,” Arsen says with a smirk.
“Less talk,” I say to him, wrapping my legs around his torso and bucking my hips like a wild woman. “More cock.”
I’m going to have a price to pay at one point. I know that. But for now, all I can think of is the moment. I just pray that this pleasure never stops.
Arsen
I’m standing in Gerard’s lushly appointed downtown law office. For as much as my office has the power and glamor of Midtown, Gerard’s has that old world style found only in Lower Manhattan. With it’s winding non-numbered streets and history that predates America, Gerard seems to fit right in. I mean, the building his offices are in have fucking gargoyles outside of them to get rid of the excess rainwater. Talk about something you don’t see in Modernist, cubist, Midtown.
We’re having our weekly wrap-up on disposal of the properties that Dad left me.
“I think if we move in this direction, we should be approaching full divestiture within three to four months for certain,” Gerard says with the characteristic seriousness. But despite his normal seriousness, there’s something about him that seems a bit off.
“Gerard,” I ask, eyeing him. “There’s something different about you.”
He looks at me from his desk, and then gestures to his tie.
That’s it!
It’s a maroon tie with white hearts.
“A lady friend of mine suggested that I lighten up the wardrobe a bit, sir,” he tells me a bit stiffly.
For everything that’s going on with Luca Gianoni and the divestiture, I can’t help but laugh out loud like a fucking kid.
“I didn’t know you were dating someone, Gerard!” I say out loud.
“I’d prefer not to talk about that now,” he says to me, a bit flustered. “Already too many changes in my life, if you know what I mean.”
He looks at me and I nod. I know exactly what he’s talking about.
But still, I can’t get the thought out of my head. How different my lawyer is now than say six months ago. Back then, if you said you saw him in a tie with hearts on it, he’d tell you to go fuck yourself.
I mean, I totally get it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not fucking complaining.
Ashley does the same thing to me.
I’m thinking about this as I sit in my limo as I leave Gerard’s office and head uptown.
In the short amount of time I’ve known her, I’m doing things that the old me would have had a fucking heart attack if he ever saw.
Forget the one and done policy of one night sex, or at most the ‘use ‘em and lose ‘em’ philosophy of two weeks of raw lust and then a diamond necklace and a Dear John, I’m starting to go to the ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ side with this woman.
It doesn’t help probably that we’re always so close by. Ashley loves cavorting around my apartment; it’s so much bigger at One57 than the tiny rat-hole that she lives in near Penn Station. And sure, I want to do different thi
ngs for her. To protect her and keep her happy. So it’s no surprise I’ll join her in making dinner—even though I have a perfectly decent personal chef.
It's just that I've never felt the way I do with Ashley with anyone. Not a single fucking person I've ever met. And the things that she does, when other girls tried it on me, I'd fucking snort and it would slide right off me. When Ashley does it, it looks so cute it seriously melts my fucking heart.
Don’t believe me?
Well first off, I don’t fucking care if you believe me or not, but just to show you, let’s take what happened yesterday.
I was in my office in Midtown, wrapping up some meetings.
Now, I see the gears in your brain trying to figure this out so let me just explain real quick. I may be trying to get rid of Dad’s fucking smut empire, but I’m also having to manage the vast amount of money. That’s a fucking job in and of itself.
But all of a sudden, who do we have but Ashley walking into my office around 3 pm.
“Arsen, can we go to dinner tonight?” she asked me, batting her beautiful fucking eyes. Normally girls bat their eyes at me and I immediately get all fucking defensive. I was exhausted as fuck—having to wake up at 6:30 in the fucking morning after having hours of sex the night before will fucking do that to you. But I looked at her, and all I could say was, "Sure, Ashley. I'll have one of the girls outside make some reservations to Per Se."
Now, my personal secretaries are more than capable of making me dinner reservations and letting me know, but in this instance, I followed up with them three times to make sure it was fucking perfect. And then I made sure my car was ready and I even got to Ashley’s apartment ten minutes ahead of time. As if I had nothing better to do than take this woman out to dinner.
But let me tell you, when she finally did come down, it was completely worth the fucking wait. I would have waited a whole fucking month just to see her in that amazing blue dress that was tight in all the right places, hugging her curves and emphasizing her slender but still curvy body. All of a sudden, being exhausted completely left my mind and all I wanted to do was fuck. I tried not to stare at her wolfishly as she turned away from me and began walking to the car, swaying her ass. She knew that I was staring too, because she stopped before getting in, turned her head back to me, and asked me with a leer, "Feeling all right, Arsen?"
