So I’m glad I never let that shit get me down. Another man would have stopped his life. He would have become a ghost and disappeared into the wallpaper, figuring he had nothing to offer anymore. But not me. With Melissa by my side, I stretched my arms out wide and reached for possibilities and opportunities. I wanted to embrace what I could, as much as I could, as often as I could. And with my wife by my side, anything was possible.
“Um Mace,” she moaned, before her eyes flipped open with shock. “Oh my god, are we gonna do it?”
“We are,” I rasped. “But be quiet because we don’t want to wake the baby.”
Because Heidi is the cutest thing. She’s a mini-me of my wife, down to the sparkling smile and dazzling caramel eyes. Plus, fortunately Heidi was sound asleep in the next room at the moment, her baby monitor showing a still bundle of soft features and sprawled limbs.
So it was perfect for Melissa and I to get it on. Because not only has my wife gotten the clit piercing, but there’s been something else we wanted to try together. Dual anal exams. Oh yeah, it’s dirty but ever since she burrowed her finger into my dark canal three years ago, I’ve wanted it. And tonight, we were going to do it simultaneously – her with her finger in my rectum, and me with my finger in hers.
“Upsy-daisy,” I said, pulling that curvy form upright so that we faced each other on the bed, sitting forwards. Melissa hasn’t lost the baby weight since giving birth, but I don’t give a fuck. If anything she looks even sassier, what with the extra large tits and rolling creamy flesh. And as she spread her legs, my cock grew, hardening until it was a fucking club.
Because goddamn, the brunette’s beautiful. She tittered a bit, spreading her pussy folds with her fingers to show me the clit ring.
“See?” she mewled, playing with the silver toy. “It does sound like wind chimes, doesn’t it?”
I wanted nothing more but to bend my head and cover that clit ring with my mouth. But there were dirtier things to do at the moment, and instead, I pushed her knees up higher so that her bottom rolled backwards a bit, showing off her back hole. It winked at me, brown and dry and oh-so-fucking tempting.
“You ready to go back there?” I asked on a growl, shooting her an intense glance.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she purred. “But you too, big boy. You sit like this facing me so that we can do each other at once.”
Because this is how the urologist and her husband roll. Simultaneous anal exams. Fuck, it’s dirty but I love it so much. And slowly, I, too, raised my knees so that we faced each other, our legs spread in vees and our holes showing. Of course, I had a massive horse cock in front, thick and veiny, dripping with cum. Melissa giggled a bit, wiping her finger over the glans to get it moist and then popping it into her mouth.
“Mmm, tastes good,” she moaned. “You ready for some action, big guy? I’m wet now,” she said, taking her finger out and showing me the glistening digit.
“Do it sweetheart,” I rasped. “And I’ll do you at the same time.”
So we lowered our fingers to each other’s anuses and started to play. Aw fuck. I tested her pleats, massaging them a bit before fingering that dark brown open. Melissa whined and tightened, before slipping her finger to my brown star and slowly inserting a tiny digit.
“Yes,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut as I pushed my finger deeper into her anal canal.
“Fuuuuck,” I grunted, as she simultaneously pushed further into mine. Because clearly, we’re made for each other. Birds of a feather flock together, and me and my wife have our minds in the gutter in exactly the same way. Simultaneous anal fingering? Hell yeah, that’s the way to do it.
So we pushed deeper and deeper into each other’s rectums, grunting and moaning with the sensation. My balls began to raise, growing high and tight as her pussy dripped sweet juices, coating my wrist. And then it happened. She touched that special spot deep within, and I ejaculated like a fucking firehose, the white spray painting her breasts with hot, gloopy cum.
“UNNNH!” I roared. “Fuck, fuck!”
“Oh!” she sighed as her pussy and ass clamped and spasmed, almost breaking my digit into two. “Oh god, yeah!”
And that’s how our dirty prostate exam ended. The threat of cancer was real, but it never became something tangible. Instead, my filthy exam at the hands of a gorgeous, intelligent woman revealed something much better: my desire to love and be loved. And now with Melissa by my side, all of that is possible … and more.
Extra Epilogue
Melissa
Fifteen years later …
Mace and I have always dreamed of a big family. After all, we’re the original baby crazy couple, and fate has been kind enough to give us opportunities. Most people take them for granted. They think they’ll live forever, and take a few years after getting married to “enjoy their marriage” and “savor being a pair.”
But not us. We had a fire under our behinds because of his potential illness. And when you added my hormones, it turned into an inferno. So after Heidi was born, we kept going … and going … and going. Well, let’s just say I’m only thinking about stopping now. After ten children, I can finally say that maybe I’m ready to stop having kids. This doesn’t mean that I’m getting my tubes tied or anything, it’s just that maybe I won’t attack my husband every time I see him, hungry for his seed like a whore who can’t get enough.
While I’m smiling to myself, Mace strides in through the door.
“Daddy, Daddy!” sounds up a chorus of voices. Of course, our older ones, Heidi, Henry, Herbert, Heather, and Helena are a little standoffish now. Although it breaks my heart, they no longer need constant hugs and reassurance. In fact, Heidi, Henry and Herbert are adolescents, almost too cool for their parents, and definitely too cool for this nightly ritual. They merely wave from their positions around the living room, Henry momentarily looking up from his iPad to give his dad a quick nod.
But the younger ones are a different story. Hermione, Hilda, and Hugo run to Mace, grabbing his legs with their grimy hands while begging for hugs.
“Daddy, Daddy!” they scream with joy. “You’re home!”
Mace shoots me a glance.
“Hiya kiddos,” he growls. “It’s good to see my basketball team’s doing well. And how’s my beautiful wife?” he asks. I smile back gently.
“Good,” is my murmur. “The babies are almost done nursing. Just give me a minute.” Because we finally got our set of identical twins. After eight children, numbers nine and ten are Henrietta and Helena, born two minutes apart with the same cowlick that goes to the left and the chubby baby cheeks that make my eyes tear with happiness.
Mace comes over, kissing the top of my head.
“They’re beautiful,” he whispers. “As is their mother.”
I look up with glowing eyes.
“Thank you,” is my dulcet reply. “I wouldn’t have them if I didn’t have such an amazing husband.”
Because it’s true. My man makes this possible. Not only is he a doting father, but he’s also a provider. He’s the one who hired four nannies for our family, plus a chef, a maid and a chauffeur. He’s the one who bought the big house in Westchester so that we could fit comfortably with seven kid-sized beds and three cribs. With me pregnant non-stop, I couldn’t do much except point to this and that and nod. It was Mace who saw to all the details, making sure that everything was delivered and set-up perfectly. He was the one who researched the town, the schools, and the community as we created a nest for our growing family.
Because believe it or not, I’m still a working woman, despite cutting down on my hours. Now, I go in to the office once a week to see patients. Any more than that would be impossible. Even with all the help, the kids still need me and our household is chaotic and full to the brim to say the least. But Fridays are my “professional time” where I become Melissa Carter, MD once more. Hopping a train to the city, I show up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to work. Leonie always looks at me with a wry smile.
“You got your wish, didn’t you?” she says ruefully. “I should never have doubted Fabio and those romance novels.”
“I got my wish,” I say with a blush to my cheeks. “And no, I’m not pregnant again,” I reassure her when her gaze goes to my burgeoning belly. “It’s just leftover baby fat.”
Leonie rolls her eyes drolly.
“Well, I’m happy for you, Melly,” she confides. “It’s good to see that a woman can balance motherhood and work, especially with ten rugrats underfoot. You’re a success story for sure.”
I smile.
“And don’t forget a husband on top of the pile!” is my playful interjection. “Because Mace needs attention too.”
And it’s true. Even after fifteen years of wedded bliss, we still have the hots for one another. My man is mouthwateringly handsome, a generous provider, and still horny for me even though I’ve put on thirty pounds. Sure, we started out as a doctor and a patient when I did that first prostate exam. But we walked the wilds together, what with his illness and my craving for babies … and came out ecstatically blissful on the other side.
THE END
LIKED WHAT YOU READ?
Then subscribe to our mailing list at www.subscribepage.com/alphamalesontop and get a FREE BOOK just for joining!
The President and the Starlet
~A Forbidden Romance~
© 2018
By Cassandra Dee and Kendall Blake
Want to hear about our newest illicit romance? Addicted to virgins and alpha males? Join our mailing lists at www.subscribepage.com/alphamalesontop and get a FREE book just for joining!
ABOUT THIS BOOK
The President and the Starlet: A Forbidden Romance
I’m a feature dancer.
He’s the leader of the free world.
Is it a match made in heaven?
Susie Hemphill’s trying to make ends meet working at a seedy joint on weekends while going to school at the same time. The Pink Flamingo’s not her ideal employer, but when she catches a glimpse of a dark man in the back one night, her pulse races. Could this alpha male be the man of her dreams?
Thomas Burke sometimes hits up local bars on the downlow as a way to unwind. After all, as President of the United States, it’s not easy to get away from the unrelenting eye of the public. But when he sees the beautiful Susie, everything changes because Tom will do anything to possess the curvy dancer … even if that means giving up the Presidential Suite!
CHAPTER ONE
Susie
I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, and this is one of them. Because if the folks from my hometown of Littleton, Kansas knew what I do to make ends meet, they would die. Heck, if I knew what had become of me, I’d die.
Because I’m an exotic dancer at the Pink Flamingo in Midtown Manhattan, flaunting my assets for gentlemen who walk through the door. It’s a long way to fall for someone who was once Homecoming Queen as well as class president, but real life isn’t a fairy tale. And I learned that the hard way on my first day in the city.
“Hey chica,” leered Chester, my new landlord. “You got that deposit in cash?”
I looked at the overweight man with puzzlement.
“Um, I thought my broker already gave you my deposit?” was my meek reply. “I gave her a thousand dollars which I thought she forwarded to you.”
Chester shook his head slowly with a sad frown, but his eyes were secretly happy.
“No, Cheryl never paid me anything,” he said. “We gave you the key to the apartment as a courtesy but chica, we need that one thousand pronto. In cash would be best, if you know what I mean,” he intimated, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together in the timeless meaning of money.
I flushed.
“No, there’s been some mistake,” were my quick words. “I definitely gave Cheryl the money, and she told me she was giving it to you. There’s a mix-up somehow. Just let me get on the phone and clear it up. I’ll have it to you in no time.”
Chester spun and began waddling down the dingy hallway, his wifebeater showing a dirty stain on the back.
“Sure, chica, but if you don’t have it by tomorrow, I wouldn’t bother moving in,” he called carelessly over one shoulder. “In fact, you might want to stop right now because you know what they say. No moolah, no boolah!”
What the hell did that mean? Moolah was money, but boolah? Was that New Yorker for “trouble around the corner” or “pay up or you’re toast”? Was I supposed to watch crime family movies to make better sense of my new landlord’s lingo?
But one thing was clear. There was a mistake somewhere. I’d definitely given my broker a thousand dollars for my move-in deposit, and Cheryl was supposed to give it to Chester. So where was the cash? The money couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.
Fishing for my cell, I furiously dialed the middle-aged woman. Fortunately, she picked up on the first ring.
“Hiya deary,” sang Cheryl. “How’s your new apartment looking?”
The truth was that it was horrible. The tiny studio had only room for a bed and a chair, and there was no space for a couch, much less a dining room table. Plus, the tub was in the kitchen, and all I’d have to do was reach past my dish detergent for my soap. But I was grateful for the place because at the low price of one thousand dollars a month, it was a miracle I’d landed anything at all.
“It’s great,” I said hurriedly. “Listen, the manager just came by and said he never got my deposit? But I thought I handed it to you last week, and that’s why they gave me the key? Or has there been some misunderstanding?”
Of course, there was no misunderstanding and Cheryl didn’t even try to pretend.
“No, honey, it’s just different terms,” she said.
“Different terms?” I parroted, perplexed. “What do you mean? I thought it was one month’s deposit, and they’d refund it to me when I move out.”
“It is one month’s deposit,” Cheryl replied in a soothing tone. “But what Chester’s asking for is different from a deposit. He’s looking for key money.”
“Key money?” I repeated like an awkward lump. “What’s that?”
Cheryl spoke airily like there was nothing weird about all this.
“Key money can mean a lot of things, sweetheart,” she said. “It can be the payment a landlord makes to a tenant to encourage them to move on. It can be the payment a new tenant make to a former tenant in return for handing their lease to you. But in this case, I think Chester means ‘key money’ in its most basic sense. He wants his palms greased, sweetheart. He wants a little extra as a part of this transaction.”
My heart thumped as all the blood drained from my face.
“So you’re saying that Chester wants to be paid a bribe,” I said slowly.
Cheryl paused for a moment.
“Not exactly a bribe,” she said like this was no big deal. “Again, it’s just something to grease the wheels, except in this case, you’re greasing his wallet.”
By now, my heart was almost pounding its way out of my chest.
“But I don’t have it,” was my hoarse whisper. “What do I do? Half my stuff is already in the apartment, and I can’t just lose the money I’ve already paid.”
Cheryl was silent for a moment, although I could almost hear the wheels in her head clacking.
“Well, do you have some family that can help? Maybe your mom and dad?”
I sighed.
“No,” was my curt reply. “My parents aren’t an option.”
“Well maybe a great-aunt!” suggested Cheryl brightly. “Everyone’s got a fairy godmother somewhere, right?”
I rolled my eyes although she couldn’t see.
“No, I don’t have a great-aunt, a great-uncle, a god-mother, or a fairy anything who can help me. I’m sorry, but I’m just a small girl from Kansas who’s here to pursue her dreams. So is there something else I can do?”
“Get an advance on your credit card,” said Cheryl promptly. “The gods
at Citi and Bank of America will answer.”
But that was the thing. I don’t have credit. As a recent high school graduate, I have no credit history to speak of. I’d only just applied for my first Mastercard last week, and it was a secured one where I put down five hundred dollars to open the card.
So I sighed again.
“I’m sorry, Cheryl. I just don’t have the money. Can you lend it to me?” I asked quickly. “I mean, this has kind of taken me by the surprise. In fact, it’s like a punch to the gut knowing that I have to fork over an extra four figures when I only just moved to the city. Could you spot me a little?”
I figured it would be no big deal for my broker because she dressed really fancy. During our week-long tour of New York, Cheryl had been wearing designer heels and carried a leather bag that was probably worth four figures in and of itself. Besides, we’d gotten friendly during our time together, and the real estate agent had assured me that once upon a time, she’d stood in my very own shoes.
“You’ll see,” Cheryl had chortled. “The city is like a big gift box. You open it up, and the most amazing ideas and inspirations come flying out, one after another. There’s no place like New York!” she rhapsodized.
His Baby: A Babycrazy Romance Page 9
