Flesh: Alpha Males and Taboo Tales

by Raminar Dixon

  As I descended back down to my bed and re-entered reality I saw coloured spots flashing in front of my eyes for a while and my whole body was quivering with the glorious effort of my orgasm. I’d never felt anything like it in my life and didn’t even notice that Mason had ceased his assault on my little bud and was now standing beside the bed, pushing his briefs downwards.

  Even though his underwear had hugged his package tightly, I still couldn’t help but feel intimidated by the size of it. Surely there was some mistake? Surely something like that couldn’t possibly get inside my snug little tunnel?

  However, that didn’t appear to be on his agenda immediately, as he remounted the bed he clambered over until he was straddling my stomach. With both hands he reached down and pulled my tank top upwards, bunching it up over my breasts unceremoniously.

  “Fucking beautiful, Tiffany, I love your tits.”

  “You don’t think they’re too big?”

  “They’re perfect,” Mason said, squeezing them even more roughly than I had.

  I ran my hands up his thighs, curling them around to hold his firm ass as he continued to knead my breasts, occasionally pinching my nipples, which felt like they had been hard forever. It was an incredible sight, Mason towering over me, dominating my field of vision with his massive cock leaking pre-cum like it was ready to be plunged into my depths already.

  I had only just caught my breath when I licked my lips and Mason seemed to take this as a queue to shuffle forward and bend his hard dick down towards my face. I was taken by surprise by his sudden insistence and turned my head to the side.

  “I can’t, I’ve never…”

  “Shut up and open your mouth.”

  The way he said it would have stopped a runaway train in its tracks, like to defy him would be to defy the very laws of physics, it just couldn’t happen. I turned back towards his imposing member and opened my mouth obediently, inviting his manhood inside me.

  Mason wasted no time being gentle, paying no heed to the fact that this was my first blowjob, and shoved his cock past my lips as if he thought my mouth could fit the entire thing. I had to open my mouth as wide as I possibly could to avoid touching it with my teeth, something I knew from hushed conversations with my new friends that most men didn’t like.

  The head of his cock slid quickly over my tongue, followed by his slick shaft, advancing ever further and leaving the quintessential flavour of man behind. It obviously didn’t take very long before there was nowhere else for his length to go and his rod hit the back of my throat with a meaty squelch, causing me to gag.

  Mason pulled out until I recovered, but instead of apologising he shoved his length back into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat with even more force this time if that was possible. I pushed at his hips ineffectually, trying to get his cock out of me so that I could breathe properly, but he completely ignored my struggles, only pulling his hips back for the purpose of thrusting his cock forward again.

  My billionaire Step-Father fucked my face like it could take any punishment yet conceived by man, using me like a toy. I had to learn and adapt to this new reality quickly if I wanted to breathe. With an effort of willpower I managed to calm myself and snatch gasps of air between his thrusts, and soon after that I felt a small candle of pride lit within me.

  I, Tiffany Blackwood, a poor girl from the middle of nowhere, was getting face fucked by notorious billionaire Mason Alexander and I was taking it like a fuckin’ champ! I rolled my eyes up at him lustily as if in challenge and he pounded into me with what I hoped was all the power he could muster, trying to force his cock into my throat, but the angles just wouldn’t allow it.

  Mason grabbed fistfuls of my blonde hair in each hand and pulled my head towards his sock, sustaining a long hard push at my throat until I felt the very tip slip in before he pushed my head back on the pillow.

  “You call that a blowjob, you little slut? You’re going to have to get better. A lot better. Aren’t you?”

  I was too breathless to answer and he slapped me lightly on the cheek.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, who?”

  “Yes, Daddy!” I gasped.

  “Damn right.”

  My Step-Father left me panting and with small rivulets of saliva and pre-cum dribbling out of the corners of my mouth while he shuffled downwards until he was between my legs again. Mason aimed his cock at my slit like he meant to just shove it right in.

  “Wait, what about a condom?”

  “I’m not using one,”

  “I’ve got one in my purse, let me just…”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  That voice of command again, like my muscles were under his control rather than my own. One by one I felt them relax until I was flat on my back again, my legs spread before him presenting my virgin pussy to him like an unconditional gift. I managed to squeak out just one last ditch protest…

  “But I’m not on the pill…”

  “Then I hope you’re not busy for the next nine months or so…”

  Mason’s engorged member pushed my delicate petals aside like a bulldozer going through a lacy veil, arriving at my virgin entrance, the pussy I had thought would be taken by the captain of the football team the very next night… oh how wrong I was.

  As Mason pushed forward with his hips I offered a prayer of thanks that my slit was so wet. I even gave thanks that he had fucked my face so hard first, thoroughly coating his cock in slippery saliva and pre-cum, because the burning sensation in my pussy was so intense.

  When I felt the head of his cock halt at my hymen I momentarily thought he might have changed his mind. I wasn’t sure if the thought disappointed or relieved me, but either way it was in error. Mason grabbed a handful of my hair at the back of my head and seemed to pull my entire body downwards as he pushed himself inside me to the hilt.

  The pain at the back of my head was a welcome distraction from the fire between my legs as my Step-Father began sawing his cock in and out of my hairless pussy.

  “Oh my fucking God, Tiffany… it’s been so long since I’ve felt a pussy like this. God damn, it was worth waiting for.”

  I blushed at the bluntness of his commentary, but briefly felt that candle of pride flare up. Mason’s thrusts quickly picked up pace and at some stage that fire of pain turned into a fire of pleasure.

  Our bodies slapped together over and over again, I had to hold my breasts to stop them from being painfully shaken up and down as the force of Mason’s fucking slammed into me each time he bottomed out. It was an incredible barrage of sensations and, so slowly that I didn’t know quite when it began, I felt another orgasm approaching.

  I was confused at first, having never had an orgasm by anything except direct stimulation of my clit, but it could not be denied that from somewhere in the middle of that fire of pleasure, another powerful climax was being forged. I couldn’t figure out exactly where my pleasure was coming from, and in the middle of trying to pinpoint it I was suddenly rocked by the onset of the orgasm that had been firing warning shots across my bow for the last few minutes.

  My pussy contracted and released with each wave of my pleasure and, through the not-insignificant noise of my own blissful screams, I heard Mason grunt as he blasted my insides with a hot, sticky liquid. It felt like he was filling me up with hot fudge sauce, the liquid served to fuel the fire of my ecstasy rather than quench it and I squeezed him with my pussy as hard as I could, milking him for everything I could take.

  Finally we became quiet and still, Mason’s breaths puffing softly in my ear as we basked in the afterglow. I wrapped my arms around his neck and ran my fingers through his hair. I could never have dreamed that the losing of my virginity would be so rough… or so pleasurable. I thought my Mom had been walking funny since she met Mason, and now I knew why.

  “Did I do OK, Daddy?” I asked.

  “Yes, baby, you did great. I think the marriage is looking pretty solid.”

&n
bsp; *****

  That was all a couple months ago, and Mason’s been fucking me like I was going out of fashion ever since. After that weekend my friends noticed that I seemed to be glowing. They thought it was because I’d let the captain of the football team pop my cherry. The truth was I told John I wouldn’t have sex with him, but I’d let him tell everybody he fucked me. He had an image to uphold, after all, and I had a Daddy to keep happy.

  I have a problem now, though. I got one of those home pregnancy tests and, well, two lines means I’m pregnant, right?

  ###

  Poor Little Rich Girl: The Complete Series

  Having been poor for as long as she can remember, eighteen year old Tiffany loves her Mom and loves her new rich-girl lifestyle. She still can't fathom how her Mom managed to even date notorious billionaire entrepreneur Mason Alexander, let alone get married to him, but is revelling in the material joys of her new life, as well as the overnight change in her social status. Little did Tiffany know that her virginity was part of the pre-nuptual agreement and Mason likes to fuck hard and without birth control. When Mason forces the issue, how far will Tiffany go to save her Mother's marriage and their new life?

  These five stories follow Tiffany’s transformation from small town poor girl to Poor Little Rich Girl.

  See more of Scarlett Skyes on Smashwords!

  ***

  Forbidden Fruit

  Polly J Adams

  © Polly J Adams

  Tell me: am I a bitch? Am I a double-crossing slut?

  No. On second thoughts, don't tell me. I know the answer.

  I met Reuben for the first time at a dinner party at Heidi's apartment. Maybe a dozen of us were there, each with some or other connection to our host.

  Katie was there. She was new, had only been at the law firm for a couple of months. She was our records manager, so I came into contact with her on a regular basis and in that short time we'd moved from nods and smiles to coffees and lunches.

  I knew she was an espresso in the morning, skinny latte in the afternoon kind of a girl. I knew she liked riding, and had her own stable somewhere out of the city. I knew she'd joined the firm to try to kick-start a new beginning for her and her waste of space husband. I knew far too much about their marriage.

  But until that dinner party, I'd never met the man himself. Her husband. Reuben.

  I knew he liked Katie in expensive lingerie. I knew he liked risky sex – in a lift once, or outdoors, or at parties. I knew he loved Katie to go down on him, but she had never really liked it and only gave in because he got moody if she didn't.

  But she'd never told me he was so hot! In his Armani suit, his tie loosened, his jaw dark with the day's stubble, and those dark, brooding eyes, all it took was a look. She'd told me what it was like to be fucked by him, the intensity, the power of his body, the passion. And when his eyes met mine I realised I knew too much already.

  Was I a bitch already, just for looking? Just for imagining what it must be like?

  My first fantasy image, as I was introduced to him and felt the firm shake of his hand and met that melting look: rough, uncaring sex, me against a wall, my skirt drawn up, one leg curled around him as he positioned himself and I felt hardness pressing against me, parting my lips, entering. Pumping like a piston and I'm trying not to cry out and... That was what flashed through my head.

  He released my hand, said, "Hi," and smiled. "Katie's told me all about you."

  I smiled back and tried to calm my racing heart. "Oh," I said, "and she's told me all about you too."

  Does that make me a bitch? A slut? Just for thinking, for imagining?

  Or was it what we did later that evening that tipped the balance?

  §

  It was a squeeze to fit all of us around Heidi's table, but we managed. Reuben sat next to me, and it was inevitable that there would be some physical contact. Was it deliberate? Did he press his thigh against mine just a bit too much? Did I allow my bare arm to brush against his one or two times more than I really had to?

  Not to start with, I think.

  To my left, Wendy sat with her leg pressed against mine throughout the meal with no suggestion that it was anything more than a space thing. It was just bodies, squeezed together. Unavoidable.

  So when did casual touch become more?

  We talked. Of course we talked. We were sitting next to each other. He was the husband of my new colleague. I'm a nice person. (And a bitch, of course.) We talked about how he loved the city, but was always glad to get away to their home a few miles up the coast. We talked about how the house had been given to them by Katie's parents and he had this work ethic thing that made him feel guilty that he hadn't earned it. We talked about how spring appeared to have come early this year and how beautiful it was up along the hill trails where he liked to hike.

  His thigh against mine was solid, immovable. He was fit. He ran along the beach most mornings, and he ran those hill trails too. His body was lean, his muscles hard. And he was pressing against me and I was wondering what it would be like if there were no clothes in the way and was he pressing just a little too hard, a little too long?

  I twisted in my seat so that I could move my leg away from his, but that only pressed my ass against his hip. Now he shifted, turned to say something to his wife, pressing back against my butt.

  Just a small movement in my seat, squeezing my legs together, and I was suddenly intensely aware of my pussy, my clit.

  I chatted to Wendy. I tried to banish from my mind any thought of Reuben.

  He was hot, yes, but I knew he was a selfish lover, an arrogant pig of a man... simply not a man who would ever interest me. And he was Katie's husband.

  §

  Tell me, which is hornier? Which is more of a turn-on?

  Sitting next to a man you can't have, a man you can't even want, and touching him. The uncertainty, not knowing when a touch is just an inadvertent thing and when it might be something more.

  Or the eyes. The looks across a room. The knowing you're being checked out, studied, enjoyed. Wanted.

  Which is hornier?

  Or maybe... different kinds of horny. Different kinds of turn-on.

  The touches... We couldn't help it. We were sitting so close together. Like I say: I pressed against Wendy on my other side just as much. And I bet Reuben was pressing against Katie to his other side.

  Did his thigh press against her quite as firmly, quite as insistently, as it did against me? Did their arms meet?

  Did he, late in the meal, reach under the table as if to scratch his leg but instead, lightly draw clawed fingers up her thigh, his touch surprisingly delicate and incredibly intense? Maybe he even did that to her at the same time as he did me. I didn't check what his other hand was doing. All my attention was focused on my thigh, his touch, the stabs of pleasure it was sending through my entire body.

  Maybe he did. I remembered that he liked risky sex. The three of us sitting there, all innocence: how much of a turn-on was that for him?

  Later, we went to the living room to drink port and bourbon. I had one end of the sofa while Reuben stood with Abe and Billy by the window with cigars and a bottle of Jim Beam between them.

  The first time he looked at me I smiled back, then wondered if that had been the right thing to do to someone who had just felt me up at the dinner table. I didn't want him. I couldn't want him. He was forbidden fruit.

  The next time he looked at me I pretended not to notice. His gaze lingered, wandered. It roamed my body. I wanted to raise a hand, modestly cover my cleavage. But then his gaze wandered further down, my black pencil skirt emphasising the curve of hip, the long legs in sheer black hold-ups. I pointed my toes, knowing that made my legs look even longer, then realized what I was doing and stopped, twisting in my seat to talk to Heidi who was perched on the arm.

  He ignored me after that.

  He seemed so at ease there, chatting with Abe and Billy. I was pretty sure he'd met them for the first time tonight. Ka
tie had kept him under wraps. Maybe bringing him out to meet people was an indication that their fresh start was working? But then I remembered all the touches and looks, the wandering hand.

  The suit hung well on him. I could picture his body. Lean. Not an ounce of fat, the muscles well defined from all the running and working out. A fine mat of dark hair across his chest, and spreading down that firm, flat belly, thickening at the crotch. His dick... Katie hadn't told me what his dick was like, just that he thought with it most of the time.

  He saw me looking and I glanced away. He must have seen where I was looking: that bulge in his trousers, wondering what he was like.

  I glanced up and he was smiling, still watching me.

  I turned to chat with Heidi again, trying to banish him from my thoughts.

  §

  That was the chat-up.

  That was the foreplay.

  We'd touched. We'd studied. We'd imagined and fantasised, stripping each other in our thoughts. In my head I'd held him, felt him growing hard against me. In my head...

  In reality. I'm a bitch.

  My new friend's husband. Sure, they'd had problems, but they were trying to work through them. That's what she'd told me.

  Late that night – well after midnight with work the next day – I found my way to the bedroom to rummage through the pile of coats on the bed for my own. I was a little tipsy from one too many glasses of port.

  I heard a sound behind me, someone else coming through to get coats. I stood, turned, and it was him, Reuben.

  I didn't engineer it. I didn't plan to be there alone with him. How stupid would that have been? Anyone could have walked in on us.

  Maybe he did, though. Maybe he'd been planning this all evening, since those early touches, since that hand clawing up my thigh.