Mister Cubic Zirconia: A Single Dad Fake Fiance Secret Baby Bad Boy Trillionaire Ghostmance
Page 2
She blushes so pink I think she has a sunburn.
Chapter Three
Skip ahead in time two weeks because it fits the narrative and not much really happened. Usually, I’d have James go on and on about mundane details and try to stuff in some kind of conflict, but this is the short version of my alpha ghostmance.
They’re still attacking me. It’s even worse now. Ramazon has pulled all my books. My life is in shambles, reduced to nothing but audio. Zirconia’s psycho ex keeps driving by doing cliché stalkery things like making that gesture with his thumb like he might cut someone’s throat. Last night he took a piss in the furnace and my house smelled like a hobo’s acidic egg farts. That part wasn’t cliché at all.
God, I should live in a trillionaire mansion, but I’m humble and need to appeal to the middle-class demographic while satisfying the trillionaire trope.
When I’m not pounding out Zirconia’s sweet, moist (yeah, I said it) love canal with my sausage monster I’m poring over Ramazon’s terms and conditions, looking for loopholes. I can’t find one. I’ve never been able to not find one.
I was hoping to give my zirconias on Facebook a promotion to a better gem stone, like rubies maybe, but how can I afford that now? I haven’t shaved. I’m scraggly looking. It’s no way for an alpha bad boy ghostmancer to live his life.
James has written fourteen hundred manuscripts and I can’t use any of them because they’re really the same books I’ve already published with the chapter orders reversed and it would cost a fortune to have covers designed for all of them.
Jesus, I may even have to build a new fake brand all over again under a new name. I can’t sacrifice the zirconias, though. I’ve come to cherish our time together and helped so many of them with their personal lives. I give them the self esteem they need so they’ll buy my books. I mean, it’s not a requirement to make purchases, but if they don’t, they’re banished from the group. I mean, they have to read my books so that we can discuss things, so it only makes sense.
My Zirconia walks by in some sexy lingerie that I’m too lazy to look up the details of the actual fashion terminology. I have to have her immediately. Stuffing her is the only way to forget all my problems.
I need to plant my throbbing meat dowel into her hot snatch-o-saurus or I might spontaneously combust and die of self-immolation. I don’t know if I used self-immolation correctly there, but who needs editors? All they do is cost money.
I’m overcome with the urge to claim her and devour her and stuff her like some absurd simile I’m too lazy to think up. I already have enough quotes for the teasers, so it’ll have to do. I’m a busy man with many, erm, problems.
Now, a mere mortal could never pull this off, what I’m about to do with Zirconia, but I’m an alpha male trillionaire bad boy real fiancé who has been known to shapeshift on occasion when the demographic calls for it.
I quickly lie flat on my back on the table and perform what I like to call the “h to H position.” So it goes from lower-case h to upper-case H. It’s very tricky to explain, but you have to imagine me flat on my back, then I roll up to my shoulder blades so that my back and legs are perpendicular in a straight line pointing toward the ceiling.
Zirconia gets on all fours and then backs her ass up as my petercillin-filled cock thrusts into her bowl of honeysauce. My hands grip her by the thighs and I pull her into me.
Her hands are firmly planted on the table in front of her. When I hit her spots just right, she arches her back so extremely that her head is tilted up to the ceiling and our bodies go from making a lower-case h to an upper-case H.
It’s glorious. I don’t know if I’ve ever come so hard in my life.
Actually, the come keeps coming in waves. I don’t mean through my body. I mean like waves of jizz (yeah, I said it).
It won’t stop and I just keep spurting into her over and over until it gushes out the sides of her babymaker oven. I’m grossly unprepared for an atomic orgasm of this magnitude.
As it gushes out it drips all over my face, slowly at first, but soon turns into a forceful waterfall.
Goddamn it!!!
I can’t even fuck my fake-ish wife without waterboarding myself in my own tadpole yogurt.
I try to squirm and move, choking on my own load. My cock is still so hard I can’t pull out of her like we’re a couple of dogs stuck together.
I shouldn’t be able to see her face because of the angle, but somehow I can because it’s convenient for the plot. She’s basking in the moment, looking full-blown catatonic whilst filled with my salami sword. She’s unable to respond to my pleas and obvious gurgling.
It’s an alpha male trillionaire curse having a dick this good and so full it could fill a milk bucket.
After a healthy dose of deus ex machina, somehow, I begin walking to the bathroom with an unswollen floppy dickpecker that couldn’t puff white steam like a cappuccino maker if I pulled on it. I stare at my face in the mirror. It looks like I was just gangbanged in a self-ejaculating bukkake film.
My life has hit rock bottom.
It’s all over.
I stare back at my sweet sweet Zirconia and try not to think of all the plot threads I’ve left open because I have to get this book to market as soon as possible.
Zirc scoops up some of my jimmy tadpoles from the table that’d streamed down around my cheeks and puddled up. She swirls them around on her fingers and then sticks them inside of her.
I smile.
Oh, my sweet Zirc. She wants my baby. They all do. It’s why they buy my books.
She does it time after time, collecting my seed…
Wait…
That’s it…
The loophole I’ve been searching for…
Ellipses make the triple spacing and line breaks okay…
Now, I’m just stalling so you’ll click the pages…
Okay, I’ll tell you what I just thought of…
I can just take all my overstuffed books and call them…
COLLECTIONS!
The End
P.S. As soon as I can hire someone to write the sequel I’ll answer all the unanswered threads in this story like if Zirc got preggers and if James quits and how I’ll find a way to sell those fourteen thousand books if my “collections” scheme doesn’t work out and if Ramazon gives my account back and if the reader zirconias forgive me.
Thanks for reading!