The Good Twin's Baby: A Billionaire Baby Contract Romance

by Vivien Vale

  Tonight, he’s doing an okay job in the practical manhood department as well. That stunt-style drivin’ wasn’t too bad, even if he likes to ham it up like he’s on the set of some fucking third-rate car chase movie.

  On the other hand, treating real-life peril like a movie isn’t a bad way to make my juices flow, but I think Jason’s gonna have to wait a bit before I wrap my lips around his ample cock again, despite what he’s thinking.

  Okay, so my mouth is a bit dry after that nice little chase punctuated by some of that loud-ass gunfire that I’m getting all too used to these days.

  I can tell Jason wants to put his hand on my back, or maybe hold my hand like some love-struck little kid as he walks quickly across the parking lot.

  He wants me to go faster, upset that I cramped his style in front of his old bald lil’ buddy. I’m showing him by keeping up with what he thinks is a fast stride.

  “Come on, let’s go!”

  That’s what he has to settle for, more hollering at my ass.

  “The quicker we get into the room, the quicker we get laying low, the better,” he proceeds to seethe out in a gravelly whisper.

  I’ll reiterate: what a fuckin’ ham. All these new sides of Jason coming out tonight are kinda growin’ on me, though, and I know there’s one part of him that’s probably growing as we walk, just thinking about what’s gonna happen when we get into whatever shit-ass back roads motel room is waiting for us.

  I watch for signs of walking funny.

  “What you fucking looking at? You’ll get plenty of opportunity to take it all in soon enough.” Jason’s giving me a crooked smirk.

  “Doesn’t this place specialize in whiskey or something? They’re advertising their whiskey-ness in neon.”

  Jason’s smirk drops into his own resting bitch face. Fuck it, he’s so fond of that word, I’m gonna use it, thinking and speaking about his as I please.

  “I told you to let me handle this, and you ignore that and get out of the car with me again. And I don’t say shit! The least you could do is let that pretty mouth rest for like five goddamn minutes so it’ll be in good condition for my throbbing cock.”

  I do my best to make my own face into something resembling a crooked Jason-like smirk.

  “My crooked mouth is feelin’ awful dry. I think some of that roadhouse whiskey is in order to prepare me properly for our room fun.”

  “Room fun? It’s this weird bullshit I’m talking about! You’re gonna get us killed, or worse, with your nonsense. You better wait in the fucking car for both our good.” He shakes his head. “You of all people should know better than this.”

  I look back at the parked vehicle, like I’m even considering getting the fuck back inside. Very little good can happen inside that thing, as I’ve been learning slowly.

  Maybe a little good happens there, but that doesn’t involve me sitting in there like a quiet little lady by my fucking self as fucking Jason goes and plays cowboy biker or whatever the fuck he’s planning to do in that Whiskey Place nightmare.

  I look back at Jason’s face. He looks serious. Fuck, he looks shit-scared.

  Maybe he has a point.

  “Just what kinda barroom dealings are you planning on up in there that are manly and important that I need to hide out in that death-mobile?”

  I watch for Jason to start getting angry, because that could be kinda fucking hot. Fuck, it would definitely be hot.

  If he wants for me to start up that blowjob again at some point soon, he has to give me a little bit of fire.

  I mean, gunplay is one thing, but I don’t like that dumbly violent crap. I like to watch a man’s face turn into passionate anger in the intimacy of a sketchy biker bar parking lot.

  But no, still just fear. The motherfucker’s still just shit-scared. Maybe of the situation, maybe for me and my safety, or maybe of just how I can mess it up somehow.

  I don’t mess shit up as a rule. But nobody’s perfect, and rules have exceptions.

  “Fear can be good,” I purr, tryin’ to throw in a bit of menace to maybe inspire the blood to start flowing to Jason’s nether regions.

  “More weird shit. What the fuck are you talking about?”

  I nod back toward the car.

  “I see you’re scared. And fuck, that makes me a little scared. And, I’ll say it, a lot turned on. Two things you want: the rest of that blowjob, and for me to wait in hiding in the car. The least you could do is step with me back there for a few.”

  I can see Jason seriously considering the possibilities. I’d like to think I can see his cock expanding through his jeans as well.

  Jason nods a bit too slowly, if I do fucking say so myself. And I realize that in spite of how we fell so easily back into each other’s arms, I don’t know for sure who he really is anymore.

  But if I know him at all, he’ll never pass up a chance for a blowjob.

  “So,” I ask him, “is that a yes?”

  Kat

  The walk back to that motherfucking car is only a few feet, but it feels like it takes a goddamn eternity to get there. The pavement is rough, like this shitty little place needs some serious fuckin’ care.

  I get to the car and pull up at the handle. I scoff. “It’s locked still, asshole.”

  “Hang on. Jesus Christ, you have no patience, Kat,” Jason remarks.

  “Well, excuse me, fucker. What the hell was I supposed to do if you didn’t come back with me then?” I love testing this guy. Fuck, I just love this guy.

  I like watching that little vein on the top of his head start pulsing. That’s how I know I’m really pissing him off. And when he’s hot, the sex is phenomenal. Nothing’s changed.

  “You’re pushin’ it, Kat.”

  I giggle. After fuckin’ around and getting the keys in the door, Jason gets into the driver’s seat. He reaches his arm over and lifts the lock on the passenger side, and I crawl into the car.

  I see Jason all panicked again when I look over at his face. “What the fuck are you so hung up about?” I demand.

  “Nothin’, alright? Stop worryin’ about me. Get the fuck to work, baby,” Jason commands.

  I sit up on my knees in the seat, facing Jason. My butt cheeks peek out from underneath my tight leather skirt, and the heels of my boots are hard-pressed against the passenger side door.

  I reach my hand over and grab at his pants, feeling his hard cock in my grasp. A man so well-endowed just drives me insane. I smile, bite my lip, and shake my hips in excitement.

  I move my hand up and unbuckle his belt and unfasten the button to his light-blue jeans. I unzip his pants slowly and carefully.

  “Hurry up, Kat. You’re gonna give a guy some blue balls!”

  This man knows just how to get me going. I stick my hand into his boxer briefs, grab his cock, and pull it out of his pants.

  I stare at it, marveling at its massive girth and length. Fuck. Let me have some of that.

  I open my mouth wide, take the whole fuckin’ thing into my mouth, and let it slide down my throat. Jason grips my hair tight and gasps. “Holy fuck, Kat,” he exclaims.

  I giggle with him in my throat, sending vibrations against his cock, and I feel him twinge in my throat.

  I start bobbing my head up and down on him. As I suck his huge cock, I take my hand and cup his balls and start massaging them some.

  I love handling his cock. It’s just what I need after the fuckin’ day we had.

  Jason takes a deep breath in. As he inhales, his hips flex up and his cock pushes farther into my mouth than I’m ready for, and I choke on it. I gag a couple of times and feel his cock pulsing as it rests against my tongue.

  I take my hand that’s been on his balls and wrap my fingers around the base of his cock and start stroking him, the edge of my lips meeting where my hand ends. I twist my fist up and down his cock and rotate my head in the same direction.

  That shit makes me feel like a porn star.

  As I’m bobbing and stroking on Jason, his precum
hits my tongue. It’s really ShowTime now. I take my tits out of my low hanging blouse and pull my mouth off his cock.

  I push my boobs together and lower them against Jason’s cock.

  “Oh fuck,” he shouts. He’s always loved tit fucking, and today is going to be no exception. I thrust my chest up and down against his cock, and I put my face into position so I can keep sucking at the head of his cock.

  As I force my tits up and down his cock, I swirl my tongue all around the head of it and play with his frenulum. He shudders underneath me. His hand is gripping my hair tight, and he’s guiding my head and my body.

  I love when he’s forceful with me. My cunt is dripping, just dying to have that cock inside me.

  I moan with his cock in my mouth, and he simultaneously starts moaning out loud. He pushes my head down on him hard, and his hips flex up and hold position while he shoots a massive load of cum toward the back of my throat.

  I take some of it onto my tongue and lift my mouth off him, letting my tits get sprayed with the rest. His cum covering me is so hot. When the last of it lands on my nipples and starts dripping down, I take my hands and start rubbing his load onto my skin.

  I even spit the cum out of my mouth and onto my chest, letting him get a sexy view of cum-laced drool fall down my chin and onto my big tits.

  “Fuck, you’re gorgeous, Kat. How the hell did I end up here with you?”

  There this fuckin’ guy goes again, being all sweet. Well, I guess it’s not bad all the time. As I roll my eyes at him, there’s a knock at Jason’s window.

  A large man in a leather jacket is peering into the car, staring at me while I’m dripping with cum.

  I do my best to cover my tits with my hands, but no one can mistake sex hair. Worried, I press my back against my window and fix my clothes. Jason reaches to his side and grabs his handgun.

  He rolls down his window, just slightly enough to get sound out so he can talk to this fucker.

  “What the fuck do you want?” he demands.

  The man, with his own gun pulled up in our view, smiles and looks over at me and smiles. “Her.”

  Bruce

  I lick my lips. I can’t believe my fucking luck.

  When I first see the car, a beat-up old thing, I’m tempted to call for backup. No lonely cop wants to come face-to-face with a bunch of scumbags doing a drug deal or some other dirty shit.

  Something stops me, though.

  I inch a little closer. In the dark shadows of the wall, even my extra-large frame stays hidden, and that’s saying something. Some of the guys who work with me can’t believe I made the cut.

  Fuck the fitness, I tell them, it’s brains you need.

  It’s dark, fucking dark, but with a half moon, I catch a glimpse of what looks like two people in the car.

  My hand finds my gun.

  How dangerous can two people be? What’s more, two people are hardly here to plan a heist.

  I inch forward, comforted in the knowledge of my own protection in the black of the night.

  My black leather jacket was a stroke of genius. It gives me added camouflage. When you weigh in at about two hundred and fifty pounds, you need all the help you can get. I stopped wearing the uniform when I hit the two-hundred-pound mark and someone said they no longer catered for my size.

  Back then, I received a letter. I still recall it word for word. Lose weight or lose out.

  But I have my own connections and ways. Whoever thought they could get rid of Bruce played with the wrong man.

  Fucking dickheads, some of the boys.

  It doesn’t take me long to work out what’s going on in the car.

  This might become my lucky night.

  God knows I deserve to be lucky. Women barely look at me, and when they do, it’s with that sort of sour lemon face. Think they’re so fucking superior. Fucking joke.

  To make sure I get the best vantage point, I creep forward slowly, snail like. A loud crunch makes me flinch.

  I stop dead in my tracks. My eyes are fixed at the car the whole time.

  Shit.

  Nothing happens.

  My dick is getting agitated. It hasn’t seen action since the last time I paid a visit to Contessa Amore’s place. I pretended to be there on official business, nothing like throwing my weight around a little.

  The girls there are mostly young and of some ethnic background. But I don’t give a fuck. A man has his needs, even a man of my size.

  But from what I can see, this fucker in the car has caught himself a goddess.

  I can see the back of her ass, and all I want to do is spank it with my large hand. My fat fingers want to find that pussy of hers.

  If I want to make the most out of this gift sent from the universe, I need to make sure I plan this absolutely to perfection.

  No need to strike too early.

  I can already see the smirks from the other guys when I return to the station at the end of the graveyard shift. And I might share my story with them. Then again, I might not.

  I’m so close now I can hear the dude moaning. And I can see the chick’s tits.

  My dick is threatening to explode. I resist the temptation to use my fingers to help myself along.

  No. Don’t spoil it, big guy.

  This one is for you. In a little while, she’ll be all yours. And you can do with her what you want.

  In my mind, I’m already playing the scene out of how I’m going to fuck this chick. She can pay for all the insults I’ve suffered at the hands of women like her. And the best part will be there ain’t anything she’ll be able to do.

  As the guy looks like he’s about to cum, I’m finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on the plan. I have my hand on the gun already.

  There’s no doubt I’ll need plenty of persuasion for this dickhead to give up his chick. And no doubt the chick will need some…persuasion to participate in what I’ve got planned for the two of us.

  I play with the idea of simply kicking the guy out and driving off with her. We could go somewhere, somewhere more comfortable, somewhere with plenty of mirrors.

  The idea of seeing myself with this fucking hot babe has a certain appeal to it. Wouldn’t it be awesome to see my flesh drown the delicate skin of this floozy?

  All women who hook up with assholes like this one in the car are floozies as far as I’m concerned. Decent women wouldn’t hang around dark deserted parking lots in the dead of night fucking a guy.

  Briefly, I think of my mother. My dick loses some of its hardness. What would my mother think of me now?

  Who gives a fuck? An inner voice pipes up. She left you when you were six years old.

  I turn my attention back to the car. Now is not the time to dwell on my mother, who ditched my father for some fucking asshole who took her away.

  Maybe this chick in the car has a husband and kid somewhere at home. She probably told them some lies about a girls’ night out, when really she was here fucking herself stupid with another man.

  Fucking bitch.

  My cock is back to full attention and ready for action.

  I watch with a little drool coming from my mouth as the chick grabs her tits. Any second now, I’ll make my move.

  The timing is going to be everything. I don’t want them to drive off, and I don’t want to do it too soon. Although my dick is getting impatient, it wants some of the action.

  “Easy, boy,” I purr, and I pull myself up to my full height.

  And then I make my move.

  It’s Bruce time.

  Will

  The term five-o, yeah, I fucking know it well. A lot of my, uh, colleagues...no, that term sounds wrong for who they are—who we are, who I am...no, associates—fuck, that’s fucking better. Associates.

  Those motherfuckers think it’s from hip-hop that it originated there along with po-po and such...wait, where did po-po start?

  I’m getting off track, and there’s a fucking five-o approaching the vehicle—a term those 5-0 mother
fuckers use—and it’s not a vehicle that I fuckin’ know. But I digress, so I’m driving the speed limit like a decent fucking citizen down a road that I know is always quiet cause that’s the way I like it these days, and there’s one of those big five-o motherfuckers.

  Damn, either I’m getting old—hell, I know I’m getting old—but either my age is showing its ugly fucking head or my past decisions are catching up with me. Either way, to finish what I was saying about that five-o term, I remember Hawaii 5-0, at least the reruns; I know where that shit comes from.

  Anyway, I’m driving the old Continental, ‘cause what else would a motherfucker like me drive? I’m going as slow as I goddamn want to when I see one of those new-ass squad cars—the kind us honest fucking citizens have to foot the bill for, and with my past, I cannot not take notice of those fucking things wherever I see them.

  And it’s fucking parked. Great.

  But now, I see your stereotypical officer of the law just waddling away from his taxpayer-funded vehicle. Now, allow me to expand on what I mean by stereotypical in this particular fucking instance: this stereotype is the kind born in the heads of hacky-sacking college smoke hounds who think that cops do nothing but sit in donut shops all day.

  This officer of the law likely visits his share of donut shops. But to be fair, in my world of endless white flour-based delicacies with the requisite cannoli—that’s plural, the singular is cannolo—and Italian cookies for dessert, a lot of my associates make this blue uniform-wearing dude look like Christian Bale in the fucking Machinist.

  This poor guy is still bursting out of his blues, which, to be fair, were probably fitted a few dozen Boston creams ago. I slow down even more to watch him wobble to a car that looks too old and rundown for anyone to fucking care about.

  At first, those 5-0 po-po mobiles gave me an instinctual pause. In my line of work, a job of any size can be grounded to a halt, along with your whole motherfucking life, by some nosy beat cop just looking to fill his fucking parking ticket quota.

  The bit of pause, even in this law-abiding section of my life story, is now giving way to amusement with a bit of pity for the poor po-po...fuck, when would I ever feel that for a dude like this?