Fifty Days 2

by Taylor Shade

  “What?” he says. “What do you want?”

  “Fuck... me!”

  The words come out of me from my darkest most secret spot. My inner animal is lit and alive.

  “Say it again,” he says, still with that damned self-control.

  “Fuck me!” I shout.

  He glides up and down again, my clit going wild.

  “One more time.”

  “Fuck me!”

  This time I scream it.

  Then...

  Oh my God...

  ...he’s inside me!

  It’s like nothing I’ve ever known. I got a big dildo up there once, but it took some time. This is almost painful, a massive invasion.

  I groan, suddenly shocked back to reality.

  I look down. Shit, it’s just the head! He only has his head in me! Am I going to be able to take this?

  He’s smiling. The bastard is smiling at me.

  “Want me to stop?” he says.

  My breathing is so out of control I can’t speak. With clenched teeth, I just shake my head.

  He presses forward about an inch. I throw my head back, my toes in spasms as I get penetrated even more.

  So naughty. Not exactly painful, but almost. I’m no virgin. It’s just that I’m not used to this. Mental note: buy bigger dildo for practice.

  “Still good?” he says above me.

  I nod yes. This is so weird. He’s a vile beast, but he’s concerned about my health and safety at the same time.

  What a fucking amazing man!

  He moves further into me. Halfway now.

  Fuck! Oh, fuck!

  I don’t know how to describe it... a stretching, an invasion, a delightful surrender.

  Then he pushes in all the way.

  I inhale sharply, my mouth fully open and emitting a squeaking sound from the back of my throat.

  He moves down, his face hovering above me. Still smiling, the bastard.

  “I knew you could take it,” he says with in a knowing tone.

  Then he pulls back.

  Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod.

  Every fiber of my being is lit with charged particles, lightning bolts of pleasure erupting all over my skin.

  SEVENTEEN

  Drake

  Sloane Kenner looks better than I’ve ever seen her, my massive pole invisible inside her. From my vantage point, her body looks like it’s impaled on me.

  Her breathing is sharp, her skin is on fire, her eyes are darting all over, and her teeth are clenched inside a twisted mouth.

  I pull back again, sending ripples through her. Then I push into her again. Her eyes roll into her head, which goes back as her mouth goes slack.

  Her pussy is so tight. Almost too tight. This girl hasn’t been fucked enough. I bet she’s never been fucked to satisfaction by a real man.

  Well, babe, this is your time.

  I plunge harder into her. Her breathing almost stops as she gasps. My thrusts develop a slow rhythm now, her walls adjusting to my size as much as they can right now.

  God, she’s so tight I have to be careful! I don’t want to blow too soon. It’s not going to be easy, though.

  I re-position myself so that I’m at a higher angle. Then I speed up my thrusts a little, just a little.

  Her hips begin to move in sync with me.

  A smile spreads over her face and she giggles, a low chesty one. Her hands go up between her breasts, her eyes closed.

  God, I want to delight this girl. She’s the most goddamned perfect thing I’ve ever seen. I’m going to give her so much pleasure.

  I thrust a little faster.

  EIGHTEEN

  Sloane

  I was almost ready to tell him to stop, unsure I could take him fully. But something happened and I adjusted.

  Now my pussy is in heaven, clenching around the firm rod inside me.

  Yes!

  Inside me!

  He’s finally inside me!

  I’m getting fucked by Drake Concord!

  The very thought sends ripples of delight all around my body, relaxing me into a happy squirm. I feel my hips matching the rhythm of his slow thrusts.

  God, so good! I could do this forever. I never want him to leave my pussy.

  I hear myself giggle as my hands find him, probing his rocky chest, strumming over that tattoo with all the writing, feeling the raw strength of those muscular arms.

  Then his thrusts get harder.

  I open my eyes.

  He’s staring into me, reaching into a place that nobody has ever been, a place nobody has ever seen, a place I keep hidden from the world.

  But he sees it, knows it, feels it. He’s right there with me, guiding me along on the journey.

  He thrusts faster. I whimper in pleasure, waves of lush delight pulsating through me.

  “You’re getting fucked now!” he says.

  Oh God, such a filthy mouth on this man. His words, combined with his powerful movements, are almost enough to push me over the edge.

  “Yes you are,” he says. “You’re a fucked girl! So fucked!”

  The thrusts get harder and deeper. I begin to lose control of my breathing again as something builds within me. Not just a regular orgasm, but a volcanic eruption. I feel it growing like an upsurge of lava deep beneath a mountain.

  “You love getting fucked!” he growls, sinking his teeth into my neck.

  My head snaps back, my body totally under his control.

  “You love being my dirty filthy girl! You love my cock in you! You’re mine!”

  His rhythm is becoming intense now, a freight train of hammering vitality. My orgasm rises and nearly erupts, but then stops, staying right on the edge.

  “Not yet,” he says, reading my mind.

  “You’re not fully fucked yet. You think you’ve been fucked. But now... now, my dirty little whore... here it comes... you’re about to get fucked like you’ve never been fucked!”

  I growl through gritted teeth. He re-positions himself again and then...

  Oh my God!

  He becomes a machine, a fucking jackhammer, a ruthless piston. I’m not sure if I’m alive or dead anymore as my body shudders and shakes.

  “Come for me,” he says as he reaches peak intensity.

  My volcano erupts. I scream, spurts of sound shattering uncontrollably from my throat as I convulse in rapid vibrations of sheer ecstatic bliss.

  He makes a noise like a howl, smashing himself into me in hard beats, launching his seed.

  So good. So unbelievably good.

  I didn’t know life could be this good as his hard cock empties itself deep inside me.

  The volcano recedes, reality slowly returning. As it does, I realize how much of a mess we are, both covered in sweat and cum.

  He makes one more final thrust, then looks deep into my eyes and kisses me.

  NINETEEN

  Sloane

  As I stare out the window at the city lights, I can’t believe that fifteen minutes ago Drake Concord’s unbelievable cock was inside me, ramming me into heavenly rapture.

  I’m pretty sure I’m going to be sore tomorrow. Heck, I’m sore now.

  He lightly strokes my hair as we sit on his rug, spent. The poor rug. We made a mess of it. He may need a new one.

  He kisses me lightly on the forehead. My face is buried in his massive chest, my cavern of protection.

  “Time for dinner,” he says, breaking our hold as he gets up.

  “Um,” I say, guessing about my appearance, “I don’t think I can go out to dinner.”

  He flips on a light. It’s a soft glow, but we’ve been in the dark so long it feels like a bright sun.

  He looks down at me. God, did I just get fucked by this raw naked man standing in front of me? I’ve never seen anything like this in real life, maybe at a distance. But not up close like this. My damaged pussy nearly springs to life again at the sight of his fully exposed body, still radiating masculine vitality even after all that.

  He squin
ts down at me.

  “You’re probably right,” he says with a laugh. “We’ll eat in.”

  “Where is your bathroom?” I say.

  He points around the corner.

  I get up.

  Ow!

  Okay, I try to get up.

  Ow! Ow! Ow!

  I might be damaged permanently. On my feet, I feel aches in places I didn’t know I had.

  I start toward the place he motioned, but he moves toward me and places both hands on my shoulders.

  I look up at him. “What?”

  He peers into my eyes and then allows his gaze to dance all over my body.

  “Nothing,” he says. “I just want to admire my property. So beautiful. So perfect.”

  Yep, another twang in my pussy. I’m hopeless.

  He kisses me lightly on the lips and then disappears through the kitchen and over to the other side of the apartment.

  I walk into the door to the bathroom. I flip on the light switch and gasp.

  Everything is a beautiful gold and black marble. A hot tub sits in the right-hand corner, a huge shower stall facing it on the other side.

  I look at myself in the mirror over the ornate sink.

  Holy shit, I don’t recognize myself. My eyeliner is everywhere. My hair is a frazzled jungle. My skin is sticky and blotchy.

  I turn and look at my ass. Purple marks and raised welts greet me.

  Wow, I’m a mess.

  But a happy fucked mess.

  TWENTY

  Sloane

  I take a bite. Mmm, so good.

  “What is this?” I say. “It’s amazing.”

  “Lobster and crab in a Thai Béchamel sauce.”

  “I thought Béchamel was French.”

  “It is. I Thai-ed it up with some lemongrass, curry, and hot chilies. It’s my own recipe.”

  After I showered and changed into some girly clothes he just happened (hmph!) to have in a spare closet, I watched him cook dinner.

  The swarthy animal beast transformed himself into a master chef before my eyes, chopping vegetables and herbs with a flair for using a knife that would rival Jacques Pépin.

  Now we sit at a table along the windows, looking out at the incredible skyline in all directions. The only inside light is a glowing table lamp between us.

  I take a sip of my Pinot Grigio. Then I suddenly realize I don’t have any clothes to go to work tomorrow.

  “I have to go home after this,” I say. “I have to be in at eight-thirty, which is really eight according to Matt Hamilton.”

  “Please don’t say the words Matt Hamilton in my apartment,” Drake says. “I see enough of him all day.”

  I giggle. “He’s the opposite of you.”

  “Good observation.”

  “Why do you keep him around?”

  “He’s very good at what he does, even if most people want to punch him in the face multiple times a day. But I want you to stay here tonight.”

  Stay here? Really?

  “I can’t,” I say. “I need this job. And I don’t have my things with me. My clothes, my makeup.”

  He smiles at me, that devilish smirk back and set to high.

  “You don’t need the job,” he says. “Quit. I’ll hire you as my personal assistant.”

  A buzzer goes off in my head.

  “Personal assistant?” I say.

  “Yes, you can do research on my cases.”

  “No, I can’t do that. That would be... weird.”

  He eats some dinner, then nods.

  “I understand,” he says. “We’ll take things slow. I’ll have a car bring you home. I won’t be in the office tomorrow anyway.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” he says as he turns and looks out the window, a disturbed frown appearing across his steely visage. “There’s something I need to do.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Sloane

  I sip my third large coffee of the morning. Seems like no matter how much caffeine I ingest today, I can’t get going. Guess that’s what steamy sex with a swarthy dominating beast will do to a girl.

  Not to mention I’m incredibly sore. There isn’t a part of my body that doesn’t feel punished. My head pounds, my pussy feels damaged, and I nearly yelp every time my ass cheeks touch a chair.

  But I’d do it all again. In a heartbeat.

  Highlight, Sloane, highlight!

  God, these Dawson briefs suck. They’re so fucking boring. When is my morning break?

  I look at my watch. 10:13. Good. Two minutes.

  I lean my hand into my cheek and close my eyes, just for a second.

  Next thing I know Kayla is knocking my hand away from my cheek, gritting her teeth and mumbling, “Sloane!” under her breath.

  Oops, looks like I nodded off there.

  “Okay, everyone, break time!” says Tim DeLassuer in his super-serious voice. Tim is the tall skinny associate watching over us this morning. Reminds me of that guy on Criminal Minds who never smiles, only younger.

  I yawn and stretch. I have no idea how I’m going to get through this day.

  “Grab a coffee with me at Starbucks?” says Kayla.

  “Sure”, I say as I check my phone. “It’s not going to do any good at this point, but what the hell.”

  Hm, somebody from a number I don’t recognize called me and left a message. As we walk to the elevator, I dial into my voicemail.

  “Hello,” says a female voice. “My name is Trish. I used to work for Mr. Ronson. I think you’ve been working with him lately and I’d like to speak to you. Please call me back at this number. Thanks.”

  Shit. I had hoped that somehow the job with Ronson had been postponed, or forgotten about, or cancelled, or whatever. I’m so living in a different world right now.

  I’m still resolved to tell Ronson that I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to be a spy against this firm, sneaking a document into a copier. No way. I’m too scared. Besides, it’s not me.

  I know Ronson said it’s a matter of national security and people have died because of it, but what if he’s making it all up? I don’t know anything about him.

  And besides, I’m a bit enraptured with the leader of this firm. Just a bit. I don’t want to do anything that would even remotely jeopardize this new delightful relationship.

  “Are you all right?” says Kayla as the elevator door opens and we emerge into the lobby. “You look like you can barely stay awake.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Just had a rough night, that’s all.”

  I smile to myself. Kayla just looks at me quizzically.

  “Is anything wrong?” she says. “Or was it a good kind of rough night, if you know what I mean?”

  My inner smile expands into a big one.

  “No, not like that,” I lie.

  She shoots me a knowing look which I avoid as the elevator descends.

  We walk out into the bright sunshine. Cold today. Winter is on its way, the wind whipping up Lexington Avenue.

  “Kayla, can I ask you a question?” I say as we walk.

  “Sure.”

  “Why is it that so few guys know how to talk to us?”

  “Oh, God,” Kayla says, “don’t get me started. Why? Got some boy trouble?”

  “Well, there’s this... guy. No, he’s not a guy. He’s a man. And he’s unlike anything I’ve ever known. I’m a little scared.”

  “Scared?” she says as she opens the door to Starbucks and we go in, the warm smell of coffee a refreshing break from the dusty cold wind outside. “What do you mean by scared?”

  There’s a long line, which makes me a little nervous. We can’t be late, especially after the speech Matthew Hamilton gave us at eight o’clock this morning... about not being late, dedication to excellence, other short skinny bushy-haired lawyer things, blah blah blah.

  “I mean when someone comes along who is, I don’t know, different,” I say.

  “Different how?”

  “Like everything you ever imagined.”<
br />
  “Oh my God, is it somebody I know?”

  “No, I’m just asking hypothetically.”

  “No you’re not! It is somebody I know. And you did have a good type of rough night. You can’t hide it, girly. That’s okay. We just met. I’m not going to press you.”

  I smile at her.

  “Is it Glen?” she says after a long silence.

  I stifle a snort. “Um. No.”

  “I was going to say... no fucking way, right? Hm, well it’s not Matt Hamilton. Tim? It can’t be Tim. He looks like that guy from Criminal Minds, the one that never smiles.”

  “I was just thinking that!”

  Kayla turns to me and grabs my arm, squeezing tight, her eyes wide.

  “No! No! Oh, it is, isn’t it? Oh my God!” She puts her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God! Oh my God! I should have known! I saw the way he looked at you on Monday! I even mentioned it to you. Oh my God!”

  “No,” I say, as I blush. “What makes you think that?”

  “Because you just turned that color.” She points to a sign announcing the return of Starbucks’ Christmas Blend.

  “Kayla,” I say. “It’s not like that. We’ve just been... talking.”

  Talking. Ha.

  “Oh, you are so lucky,” she says. “I don’t blame you for being scared. Drake Concord is not mortal.”

  “Yeah,” I say, remembering the sharp sting of his rough slaps on my ass cheeks. “Look, forget it. Please pretend I never said anything. I’m just... confused, tired, and I’m doing anything I can to stay awake.”

  “Would you like an Adderall?”

  “Huh? Oh, no thanks.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a junkie or anything. I have ADHD. I take ten milligrams twice a day but I skip weekends so I have extra if you want it. Have you ever tried it? It really helps.”

  “Yeah, back in college it helped me stay up all night a couple times to study. But no, I can’t. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. Thanks anyway.”

  “Well, just let me know if you change your mind.”

  We’re at the head of the line.

  “Next!” shouts the barista and then we place our coffee order.