by Taylor Shade
Fifty Days
Book Three
of a hot dirty new adult serial
by
Taylor Shade
Copyright 2014 D2Rev Publishing / Taylor Shade
First edition
December 17, 2014
Promotion: Mark My Words Book Publicity (markmywordsbookpublicity.com)
Cover design: Romantic Book Affairs (designs.romanticbookaffairs.com)
Editing: Missy Borucki (missyborucki.com)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
All characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Special thanks to Morgan Black, Brina Courtney, Rachel Marks, Missy Borucki, Letitia Hasser, all the amazing bloggers who promote my sordid tales, and everyone who reads my books and cheers me on. I so appreciate you.
INTRODUCTION
Now we’re in it together.
We’ve done some pretty amazing things. I know how your body responds now... and exactly how long it’s going to take to train completely.
Ha!
I wonder what they would say now.
If they could see the things we’ve done... the things you’ve done.
The best part of all is...
You still want more.
You want it so that you won’t be able to walk for days.
You want to take pleasure in things that would make most girls say “Ew!”, even though secretly they envy you.
Deviant things. Sordid things. Submissive things.
Most girls say they want a “nice” guy. Who’s maybe funny. And charming.
You say it too.
But they... and you... all want the same thing.
A man like me.
A man who takes charge, makes you do unspeakable things, and fulfills your deepest yearnings to submit and please.
You’ve already proven it to me by the way you respond to me when I command you...
So now...
It’s time to take things to the next level...
You want to be a good girl.
You want to please.
You want to submit completely and fully.
To me.
It is time.
Let’s begin.
ONE
Drake
“Your honor,” I say, “my client respectfully requests a dismissal.”
“On what grounds, counsel?” says Judge Nguyen.
“On the grounds that Berrar Enterprises hasn’t provided enough evidence that my client Naomi Stanley willfully disrupted anything at all. Now they’re impugning her reputation without reasonable cause. That, your honor, is harassment, not a case.”
Naomi Stanley smiles at me with her thick lips and big brown eyes. Then she uncrosses and re-crosses her luscious dark-skinned legs. My cock twitches inside my Anderson and Sheppard suit.
“Counsel?” says the judge, turning to Bart Avery, who rises.
Fucking Bart Avery. Ha. I’ve gone up against this schmuck before. Tall and wiry with a twisted mouth and deranged eyes, Bart Avery has had it out for me for a long time.
Bring it, pansy boy.
“Your honor,” begins Avery, “Naomi Stanley was seen removing files from the file room at Berrar Enterprises. Three eyewitnesses saw her walking out at three-twenty-three p.m. on April the eighteenth, the day in question.”
“Counsel,” says the judge, “wasn’t it her job to retrieve files for senior executives?”
“Y-yes, your honor,” says Avery in a stumbling voice, “b-but this day was the day Jean-Louis Berrar was meeting with Ashton Brantley about the acquisition of the firm.”
“Objection, your honor!” I say, standing again. “Irrelevant to the case.”
“Sustained,” says the judge. “Mr. Avery, if you don’t have any solid evidence that Miss Stanley had anything to do with private records of Berrar Enterprises falling into the hands of Mr. Brantley, then I must dismiss this case.”
“Your honor,” says Avery, now sweating, “three employees saw Miss Brantley exiting that room right before the stack of files was placed before Mr. Brantley in the conference room.”
“Again, that proves nothing. Do you have anything solid to show that Miss Stanley actually brought those files to the conference room?”
“Yes, your honor. Testimony from Miss Courtney, who stated that she overheard–”
“Objection!” I say again. “Miss Courtney has already been discredited as a rival to Miss Stanley’s position who said... quote... ‘I would say or do anything to get that bitch fired’... unquote.”
“Irrelevant!” shouts Avery.
“Enough!” says the judge, banging his gavel. “Case dismissed.”
I smile at Bart Avery, who shoots me an evil look.
I walk over to Naomi Stanley and gather my papers into my case.
She hugs me, her frizzy mop of black hair with golden highlights piling all up into my face and around my nose. My lungs fill with the scent of jasmine and lavender. Then she allows her hands to fall down my back to my buttocks.
I look deep into her eyes, then drift my gaze down and around, all over her silky deep brown skin. She’s all curves under the most professional gray pinstripe suit with a bright red camisole.
“You’re amazing, Drake,” she says in her utterly captivating English accent.
“I know,” I say. “I told you it would take less than five minutes to tear apart that nebbish. And look, I clocked it at four minutes thirty-three seconds. A new record.”
Overcoat on and briefcase in hand, I lead us out of the courtroom, then out onto the street.
“Fancy a drink?” says Naomi. My cock twitches again.
Nothing hotter than a black girl saying “Fancy a drink?” in an English accent.
But I get a flash of Sloane Kenner’s face, big blue eyes and high cheekbones under pale skin surrounded by long flowing locks of blonde wavy hair.
Damn.
Several times during the morning’s proceedings I slipped my finger over my lips, relishing the fact it’s been deep inside Sloane’s hot wet pussy.
What is wrong with me? I’m not usually like this. Yesterday, I was all about conquering her. Today, I’m irritated that I can’t seem to get her out of my head.
“I don’t drink with clients,” I say to Naomi Stanley with my trademark smirk.
“Didn’t you hear?” she says. “The judge dismissed the case.” She slinks her arm around mine. “I’m not your client anymore.”
I get a flash of the thick red lips of Sloane Kenner, wrapped tightly around my thick hard cock. Those big sweet innocent eyes looking up at me, silently begging to be rammed hard.
What the fuck?
“Yes,” I say to Naomi. “Let’s get a drink.”
Snap out of it, Drake!
Women are just women. I’m not going to let one get so into my head that I see her face while another one is offering me her delightful body.
I’m Drake Concord.
Shit like that just doesn’t happen to me.
TWO
Drake
Damn, Naomi Stanley knows how to suck cock! She’s taking me all the way back into her throat without so much as a squeak.
We’re in the men’s room of the quiet bar, not my number one spot for a blowjob at lunchtime. But when a woman like Naomi Stanley says “I want to suck your cock right here right now” a man w
ouldn’t be a man if he said no.
I look down at her magnificent lips and stunning eyes as she looks up at me while bobbing and slurping. But again I see Sloane Kenner’s face.
Damn.
I grab Naomi Stanley’s head by her ears and begin fucking her face. She seems to like it, making happy little squirrely noises. No sloppiness. No gagging.
But I’m losing steam. My dick has left me somehow.
What?? Why??
I don’t get it. Naomi Stanley is hot. Fucking hot. Amazon breasts and a killer ass. I bet she’d be screaming my name in no time as I ram her like an engine piston, my nine inches buried all the way to the hilt inside her.
But all I can think of are those flowing blonde locks, probably on her lunch break right now. Big curls surrounding a pale flawless face. Big blue eyes that convey an innocence I rarely see.
Naomi Stanley is the opposite of Sloane Kenner. I knew it the first day she walked into my office. A real pro.
Even now, she’s giving me one of the top ten blowjobs I’ve ever had. More suction than a Dyson vac. A million times better than the messy ones I’ve received from Sloane Kenner.
And yet I’m going limp.
Fuck!
I yank Naomi Stanley off my cock and spin her around, pressing her firmly into the wall of the stall. I don’t waste time, lifting her skirt, moving her panties aside, and placing my tongue firmly up her ass.
Oh, delightful!
She groans in pleasure, her sweet rosebud spreading in warm acceptance. I place a finger at her slick front entrance, swirling it around her pussy juices as my tongue presses deep into her perfect asshole in sharp wet little jabs.
She braces herself with both hands, little shivers traveling all over her body. I insert a finger into her hot cunt, curling it up and backward in little strokes.
That’s when I get another flash of Sloane Kenner, sitting at the firm in her spot in the law library. I see her bored out of her mind as she highlights the Dawson briefs, surely thinking about last night with me.
Goddamnit!
I stand up, placing the tip of my cock at Naomi Stanley’s wet entrance. I can’t see, but I imagine her hot pink tunnel wrapped inside those slick black lips.
I slide it back and forth, encouraging it to get hard so I can slip it on and fuck her right here.
But it’s no use. My boy is not complying with me. He’s made his choice and there’s no reasoning with him.
I want to shout at him, “She’s a hot black girl with a big round booty and an English accent! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
But it’s no use. He wants what he wants, and he isn’t budging.
Fine.
Well, I’m not going to leave a woman unsatisfied. I do have a reputation to maintain.
So, I wrap my left hand around her throat and press in a little. She bucks as my right hand finds her pussy again. This time I ram two fingers in.
Hard.
She quivers and moans.
“Shut up,” I growl into her ear as I bite her earlobe and finger-fuck her.
After about a minute, her breathing is out of control. I slip a third finger in as I dip my thumb up her ass.
“Oh, fuck!” she shouts as she comes, little throbs of energy pulsating through her body. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Her fists beat the bathroom stall.
I pull my hand out and smack her ass, then reach down and pull up her panties. Then I buckle up my own pants.
“Oh, you’re a solid lad,” Naomi says as she turns and faces me, grabbing the lapels of my suit. “Your turn, guv.” She pulls me into her, kisses my lips, then sinks to her knees.
But I pull her back up, pat her on both shoulders with a smile, and say, “I need to get back to work.”
“Sod it,” she says. “That’s a bloody pile of rubbish, innit? Who is she then? Does she think she owns this?” She grabs my balls and licks my chin all the way up to my ear. “I want this inside me, in any hole you want.”
She bites my neck under my ear but I push her away.
“No, Naomi,” I say. “Seriously, I need to get back to work.”
She backs off a little, staring into my eyes.
“Fine, Mr. Hotshot Barrister. But this isn’t a one-off. We’re not finished.”
“I’ll call you,” I say, not sure if I’m lying. I don’t want it to be a lie because I’d love to fuck Naomi Stanley.
I just seem to have a bit of a Sloane Kenner problem.
Out on the street, Naomi and I part ways with a quick hug. I’m only six blocks from the office so I decide to walk it.
My phone vibrates. I take it out and look at the screen.
The words Unauthorized Entry flash and vanish, providing me with a 1080p HD image of my office. I have a camera set up to alert me if there’s an intruder when I’m not there.
I smile when I see who’s there. I duck into the lobby of the Hyatt to get out of the wind.
Then I proceed to dominate my sweet girl Sloane Kenner by text. She complies nicely, masturbating on her knees... putting on quite a show in the process.
My dick rises to attention as I watch her rolling her arms through her hair for me on my iPhone screen.
Goddamn.
I had a curvy luscious woman pressed up against a wall ten minutes ago, waiting to get plunged by me. And yet I couldn’t do it.
Now, in the elegant lobby of the Hyatt, I’m a rock hard missile watching a fully-clothed Sloane Kenner on a four-inch screen.
Not good. This is not who I am.
But I can’t help it. I duck into the men’s room, find a private stall, and jerk my cock as Sloane Kenner makes herself come.
THREE
Drake
I clean myself up, wash my hands, and walk back out onto the street.
Goddamn, Sloane Kenner is going to get fucked again. I don’t care. I can’t help it. She’s the only woman I want right now. Maybe if I fuck her hard a few more times I’ll be able to get my fill of her so I can fuck other women again.
First thing I’m planning to do when I get back to the office is yank her from the law library and into my office. I don’t care who sees or knows. I want her tight cunt clenching itself in happy delight as it squeezes the hot cum out of my balls. I’m going to make her come so hard she screams my name all throughout the office building.
When I arrive back in my office, I see that my messages have piled up. Fiona called out sick and I didn’t bother to have anyone fill in for her because I assumed I wouldn’t be back today.
So before I head up to the law library to claim my sweet prize, I play my messages.
I freeze when I hear one in particular.
“Mr. Concord,” says a female voice, “my name is Trish. I used to work for Sam Ronson, a private investigator. Mr. Ronson passed away, so I’m cleaning out his office. I have something here that you might like to know about. I don’t want to say what it is over the phone. Please call me back at this number. Thank you.”
Hm, that’s weird. I remember seeing that Ronson guy’s face in a Daily News article. Didn’t think much about it at the time. But what does it have to do with me?
I write down Trish’s number and am about to call back when I notice the next voicemail is from the same number, about ten minutes after the first.
I click Play.
“Mr. Concord, this is Trish again. A bike messenger I know is heading over to your building with an envelope. It’s the item in question. I thought you should have it. I’ve also been trying to reach Sloane Kenner, who works at your firm. I probably shouldn’t have done that because of reasons you will see in the letter. It pertains to her as well. Please call me to let me know you received it. Thank you.”
Sloane Kenner? Involved in this?
I look around. No envelope.
I dial the reception desk.
“Kelly,” I say. “Did a bike messenger deliver an envelope for me?”
“Yes, Mr. Concord. I slipped it under your door, which was l
ocked.”
“Thank you, Kelly.” I hang up.
I get up and look around. Nothing under the desk or chairs.
Kelly said the door was locked. There was only one time my door was locked today. That was while Sloane Kenner was in here on her knees, following my commands. That was about what, a half hour ago? Forty-five minutes?
Shit.
I’m about to trudge up to the law library, but get an idea.
I dial up the video of Sloane Kenner on my iPhone. There she is, all sultry as she pleases herself. My cock springs to attention.
Not now. Down, boy.
I fast forward to where she leaves the office.
From the camera angle, I can’t see what she bends down to pick up. But there was definitely something.
Then she’s out of the frame.
Could it have been the envelope? It must have been. Why would she take it?
Because she’s involved somehow.
Sloane Kenner. My Sloane Kenner who ruined my rug with me last night? The sweet innocent girl who I made beg to suck my cock?
Hard to believe. And yet, there seems to be a connection.
But what?
I dive out the door and up the stairs to the law library. When I approach the main entrance, my heart skips a beat.
Sloane Kenner’s seat is empty.
I march in, scanning the rows of gorgeous heads. No Sloane Kenner.
Tim DeLasseur sits facing the girls in a chair, engrossed by his laptop.
“Tim,” I say.
Everyone turns around to look at me. I catch the eye of the girl who sits next to Sloane. Kayla is her name, I think.
Hm, nice dark hair. Gorgeous Asian-American eyes with big brown irises looking up at me seductively. Beautiful thick lips. A nice heft of breasts encased in caramel skin under that suit jacket.
Focus, Drake!
“Tim, could I see you for a second?” I say.
He nods, gets up, and joins me in the hallway outside the library. The rows of windows facing us are being splattered by light snowfall.
