The President and the Starlet: A Forbidden Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  “There’s only one way to find out,” the girl coos. “And that’s to try. So whaddya say, boys? Should we go for it?”

  And just like that, we’re on her. We want this girl until the end of time, and we’re gonna ravage and cherish the female until she screams our names, over and over again. Matt, Tim, Will, Trent, Ford, Sam and Smith. MattTimWillTrentFordSamSmith. Oh yeah. She’ll moan it until her voice is raspy, that butt fucked so hard. Because Macy’s the answer to our dreams … the woman for seven sinners who adore her.

  EPILOGUE

  Matt

  Eight months later…

  Macy’s three days past her due date, cranky and uncomfortable but beautiful and sensual still. She’s made every one of our kinky pregnancy sex fantasies come true over the past couple months. Her belly is huge, a swollen, round basketball that sometimes ripples as if an alien is inside.

  And right now, that basketball-belly sits on my stomach as Macy bounces up and down like I’m a dime-store children’s ride. The woman vibrates, hungry cunt a vise on my cock, sloppy and wet. Shit, she’s got so much fluid these days, there’s literally a pool of female juice smeared on my groin as the brunette humps frantically.

  “Unnnh,” she moans deliriously, big boobs swaying back and forth as my cock hits deep within. “Unnnh, fuck.”

  “Come on, sweet girl,” I coax. “Give Daddy a good ride. Almost there.”

  And tilting her head back, Macy explodes then. The orgasm is electrifying, her sweet puss clenching my dick, nipples tight and hard as I tweak the hard orbs.

  “Fuck!” comes her helpless shriek, my hips going stiff as baby batter erupts. “Unnnh!” comes Macy’s sensual moan once more.

  Because yeah, I just dumped a load inside that sweet cavern, painting the female with my man milk. Never mind that she doesn’t technically need it anymore. Macy always craves semen, every second of every day.

  And now is no exception.

  Panting heavily, the girl’s cunt explodes once more on my dick, juicing madly, clenching so fierce I’m afraid she’ll go into premature labor.

  “Uhhhnnnn!” the female screams. “Unnh! Unnh! Unnh!”

  There’s something indescribably sexy about a pregnant woman getting fucked. It’s partly that her tits are so huge now that she’d qualify for the Guinness Book of World Records. It’s partly that her cunt is so fucking wet all the time, the chick horny like never before. Oh and did I mention that ass? Yeah we drill it non-stop now, wary of disturbing the baby if we use her vag too many times.

  But Macy’s a slut. She needs pussy sex, and what a pregnant woman wants, she gets. So here I am, fucking our sweet girl on the kitchen counter just like the first time, giving her the deep dicking she craves.

  Our woman loves it. Throwing those brown curls back, the female moans once more.

  “Unnh,” comes her pant, rocking back and forth on my joystick. “Oh oh oh yeah!”

  A warm rush of cunt fluid slides over my stomach then, wet and nasty. Oh yeah, that juice is like Niagara Falls, there’s so much that I’m not sure what to do for a sec. Grab a towel? Open my mouth and let it flood inside, tasting her female nectar?

  But suddenly, Macy’s eyes jerk open with a gasp.

  “Oh god oh god!” she pants, scrambling to try and get up. “That’s my water! My water’s broken!”

  Shit. Fuck. I wasn’t supposed to do it in her vag, the seven of us pledged on anal only so close to the due date. But she begged me for it, I swear. And now, oh shit, oh shit, the baby’s coming.

  Macy’s frantic, trying to scramble up. But it’s impossible, she’s seated deep on my cock, huge and bulbous like a beach ball, slippery with fluid. Her hands and feet slide this way and that and on the marble countertop, unable to get any traction.

  “Oh god!” comes her pant once more. “Oh god!” she cries again, both hands on her belly this time. It literally ripples as my eyes stare.

  But I’m not worried. The baby knows his mother is loved, and this is the manifestation of that love. So slowly, I reach both arms around that ripe torso and gently lift that curvy form off me.

  “Slow, baby girl,” comes my growl. “All in good time.”

  And as my dick exits her warm vaginal passage, a hard contraction slams down on my cock. It’s literally the tightest squeeze ever, and a groan erupts from my chest reflexively.

  But Macy’s eyes go wide.

  “Matt,” she pants. “That wasn’t an orgasm squeeze. That was a LABOR CONTRACTION!”

  Awww fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

  I shouldn’t have let myself get carried away.

  Our heir is being born.

  This very second.

  So calling upstairs, I let out a roar.

  “Yo! Go time!”

  And six sets of feet come pounding down, a herd of elephants if there ever was one.

  “Aw shit!” rumbles Matt, his eyes taking in everything.

  “Fuck!” snarls Smith, staring at Macy’s nude body, the semen dripping down her thighs.

  “Let’s go,” says Trent tightly, bundling Macy into a robe. “Sit still, honey, we gotcha.”

  And that’s how Casey Morgan came into the world. That’s right, she was born with her seven dads watching, almost swooning at the sight of the beautiful child. It was gorgeous for sure, Macy moaning and panting, the labor difficult. And yet, everything went off without a hitch. Our daughter. Our heir is here.

  Because life has turned out okay. Against all odds, we’ve made it work for the eight of us. For sure, it wasn’t easy at first. Our sweet girl was filled with doubts, having seen the wreckage of the past.

  “How do I know I won’t become like Heather?” came her soft voice once more.

  I hated that name. Heather. It was enough to make my dick wither.

  But my bros handled it better.

  “You won’t,” rumbled Will, resting one hand on top of hers reassuringly. “We won’t let it.”

  “Never again,” swore Tim. “We’ll never make that mistake with you.”

  But balance had to be struck in the world, and Macy wanted us to do something for the poor thing. And what our girl wants, she gets. So yeah, we checked our ex into a facility that helps with mood disorders, and last we heard, the blonde’s put on weight and is going to therapy three times a week. She’s young still. She’ll be fine.

  But more important is our relationship with Macy. Because the teen is the answer to our dreams, the mother of our child, and the lover of seven men. Yes, she takes us deep in her body all the time, screaming and crying to the heavens. Yes, she rides the dick wall with glee, humping each of our cocks one after another. Or she takes seven cocks simultaneously, opening her holes for an unbelievable pummel.

  But psychologically, she’s okay too. Macy has accepted that we’ll always be the way we are, the good, the bad and the ugly for better or worse. And she’s realized that there’s more than one side when it comes to using someone. Because yes, we used her. We used that sweet female body as a vessel for our heir, as the receptacle for our desires.

  But at the same time, Macy’s benefitted as well. The cookbook’s out now, published by Morgan Enterprises, and we’re in talks to buy a network. That’s right. Our girl wants to be on TV, and we’re gonna make it happen, even if it means owning the Food Channel to give her a platform.

  So yeah. Benefits run both ways in this relationship, and although it sounds materialistic, that’s the hard reality of life. But underneath it all is something much more solid. Love. There’s real love, caring and adoration, and we never hesitate to reiterate how much she means to us.

  “Sweet thing,” growls Ford, tracing a finger over her clit, watching as the girl moans and twists, spreading her legs even more. “Are you ready?”

  She mewls a bit, titties heaving.

  “I don’t know,” comes that whisper, eyes flickering as she gazes over her shoulder at Ford. “I don’t know because I’m already so stuffed.”

  Because yeah, she’s seated on
my thick rod already. I’m on my back, and Macy’s riding me, bent over with my pole stuffed deep inside. But this isn’t double penetration. Or it is, but not that type of deep dicking. This is double vaginal, two cocks in her puss.

  Yeah, that’s right, Macy’s gonna take two dicks into that sweet cavern, two stiff, hot rods into that slutty cunt.

  “You can do it,” I rasp, locking strong arms around the female’s torso so that she can’t move, those big tits squashed against my chest. “Try now,” is my low command.

  And Ford does it then. His dick nudges at her hole, the tiny crevice that’s already plugged full. But sure enough, his glans finds a way in, Macy moaning breathily, writhing helplessly in my arms. And then it happens. Aw fuck! I feel my bro’s dick slide against my own, hot, heavy and hard, and our best girl lets out a shrill scream.

  “Fuck! I’m so fucked!” she gasps, eyes squeezed shut, pussy stretched incredibly wide. “Oh god!”

  And Ford and I chuckle in unison. Because yeah, this is how we like it. Dirty and deep, with the woman of our dreams … and we’ll never let go of Macy Jones now.

  THE END

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  A SNEAK PEEK

  SOLD AT THE AUCTION

  By Cassandra Dee

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ellie

  “Seriously El, you can’t wear that,” said my friend Rachel.

  I looked back at her, a little miffed.

  “Why not?” I asked plaintively. The jeans I had on were nice, a dark denim wash, and I’d paired them with a long-sleeve top, crushed velvet with a scoop-neck. “Looks okay to me.”

  Rachel snorted.

  “Seriously El, we’re in Vegas for the week. We’re going clubbing at a place that doesn’t even have a name, it’s so hot. You can’t wear the stuff you usually do, now take it off,” she commanded.

  I thought about refusing flat out, putting down my foot and digging in. But the thing is my friend is the one with the fashion sense, Rachel always looks amazing, knowing exactly how to do herself up for every occasion. In comparison, I was a little frumpy, dazed and confused most times, my brown hair unfashionably curly, my curves unfashionably round. So yes, I got invited to good parties because I was Rachel’s friend, but I didn’t look like any of them, skinny minnies all.

  And frankly, it was amazing that Rachel and I are friends at all because we’re so different, she’s swan-like, thin and elegant, with a modeling portfolio, whereas I’m round and small, an A-student. So our interests are poles apart, not to mention our paths in life. But we’ve known one another since we were five, and have seen one another through thick and thin again and again. Take last year, for example, when Rachel’s parents got divorced. I was her confidante, her therapist, and her anchor when she was lost at sea, adrift on waves of sadness. And I know she’d do the same for me if our situations were reversed. So despite the fact that outwardly, it looks like we have nothing in common, in fact we have a bond that goes deep, far further than mere clothes or personalities would suggest.

  And since my body changed, my friend’s fashion advice was even more important. Because gone was the old Ellie from two years ago, an underweight mouse shaped like a broomstick, and in her place was the body of a woman, like Venus de Milo incarnate. I have big boobs now, a huge ass that sways when I walk, and generous hips making it hard to fit any type of pants. In fact, it’d been a struggle getting into my jeans tonight, I’d had to hop up and down desperately a couple times before they squeezed on, and the button was threatening to pop off any second.

  So I sighed again.

  “I don’t have anything else,” I repeated plaintively, gesturing with open palms. “There’s nothing else, look at my suitcase, nothing, nada.” And flipping open the purple travel case to reveal the interior was uninspiring. There was nothing haute couture or racy, just a couple more colored tops and a pair of grey jeans to mix things up.

  Rachel pulled a face.

  “Really, you didn’t bring a dress? Something a little slinkier?” she asked, picking through the stuff in my bag.

  I shook my head.

  “Nope, you know I don’t wear dresses that often,” I reminded her. “I’m more of a tomboy.”

  Rach pulled another face.

  “Tomboy, schmomboy, El, you’ve got a body now that’s decidedly not tomboyish anymore,” she emphasized. “Come on, you’re gonna have to wear something of mine then.” And with that she began pawing through her things, flipping through the closet where she’d hung a million outfits, each one colorful and gaudy, some even with pom-poms and sequins.

  “No, Rach, no,” I pleaded. Even if I wore something of my friend’s, we weren’t the same size, not even close. My blonde friend was your typical petite vixen, about five one and a size zero. Whereas now, I was up to a size fourteen, maybe. Possibly a sixteen, it depended on what I’d had for breakfast, or sometimes dinner the night before. There was no way I could squeeze into one of Rachel’s outfits, I’d rip it at the seams like a juicy tomato busting out.

  But my friend couldn’t be deterred.

  “How about this one?” she asked brightly, pulling a dress out of the closet.

  I groaned. It was terrible, all psychedelic colors, oranges swirling with purples, great big globs of green here and there.

  “No Rach,” I said firmly. “Absolutely not, I’m getting a headache just looking at it.”

  She sniffed, her pert nose wrinkling.

  “Just so you know El, this dress is by Missoni, they’re a famous Italian design house known for their zany patterns.”

  I shook my head still.

  “I’ve never heard of this designer, but no Rach, it’s like an acid trip,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t.”

  Rachel sighed dramatically, hanging it back up.

  “How about this one then?” she asked.

  I paused for a moment, stunned. The dress wasn’t even a dress, really. It was more like a band of cloth across the bust paired with a skirt, with the tiniest piece of material connecting the two vertically, enough to hide your belly button.

  “What is that?” I asked, horrified.

  “What you’ve never seen cut-outs before?” my friend scoffed like a grande dame. “This here is an Azzedine Alaia, I love his work,” she cooed. “So sultry, he knows a woman’s body so well.”

  I shook my head again.

  “Rach, that’s more like a swimsuit, I can’t go into a club wearing a swimsuit.”

  And my friend laughed.

  “It’s not a swimsuit, the material’s not waterproof,” she said airily. “Besides, look what I’m wearing,” she said slyly, untying her purple fur jacket. And I gasped because beneath the fur, the blonde had on something that looked like a violet handkerchief, a triangle bound around her breasts, dropping to a point that barely shielded her snatch. One flutter, and everything would be visible. I goggled, astounded.

  “Will they let you in the club like that?” I stuttered.

  “They better,” Rachel said cheerily. “Otherwise Miles will be soooo disappointed,” she cooed.

  And I shook my head again. We’d been invited to this no-name disco by a bunch of guys we’d met at the hotel pool earlier this afternoon. Miles was the one Rachel had homed in on, an overly-tan muscular dude whose swim trunks left nothing to the imagination. I didn’t want to go out with them tonight, not really, but Rach was determined to see Miles again and I was just along for the ride, the best friend slash sidekick, always the voice of reason.

  “Okay, this one then,” my friend said with finality. “Seriously El, lighten up, this would look fantastic on you.”

  And I gasped again, but for a completely different reason. The dress she was holding in her hands was absolutely gorgeous. Size XS, yes, but still stunningly beautiful, a silky slip in gold that shimmered under the lights. />
  “Try it on, okay?” asked my friend, pushing it into my arms. “Come on, chop chop, we gotta go, it’ll look amazing.”

  And with slow steps, I let myself into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and gazing in the mirror. What was going on? I was boring Ellie Danes, nerd extraordinaire, who never wore things like this. I was more a jeans and a t-shirt girl, swapping out the t-shirt for a sweater when things got cold, or a velvet top when things got sexy. No way could I ever pull off a dress like this.

  But never say never, and I was transfixed by the shimmering gold fabric, the material silky and glimmery in the light. Hesitantly, I pulled off my scoopneck, then squeezed out of my jeans, holding the tiny scrap of material in front of me. Did I dare put it on? Did I dare become someone other than plain old Ellie, always the wallflower? And with a sigh, I undid the zip and stepped into the shimmery fabric, sliding it up over my hips and breasts, pulling the spaghetti straps over my shoulders.

  Looking in the mirror, I gasped at the sudden transformation. Oh my god, I was someone else now. Whereas before I was curvy, yes, but hidden and discreet, now everything was out in the limelight. The fabric hugged my girls just so, emphasizing their creamy fullness, the tops of my mounds revealed in the deep décolletage. And the dress skimmed my waist, showing off how narrow it was before clinging to my hips, the shimmer emphasizing every sway of my booty.

  I giggled then, humping my butt up and down a bit just for fun, letting go in the privacy of the bathroom. It jiggled and jumped under the lights, the fabric sparkling and moving on my curves like liquid gold, casting a magical sheen around me, almost like a halo of sparkles surrounding my curvy form. I loved it, absolutely loved it, and opened the bathroom door.

  “Oh my gawd, it’s puuurrr-fect!” squealed my friend, handing me a jacket. “Now put that on otherwise we’re going to be late meeting Miles.”