by Daphne Dawn
My insides burn with desire.
I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire fucking life. Fuck, this is almost poetic.
I may be a wielder of words, but I’m not one for poetry. However, this display of sheer sex leaves me drooling at the mouth and searching for something like a fucking sonnet.
Keats, Frost, Shakespeare, are some of the names that come to me, but I can’t recite a single line of what either of them has written. However, I doubt they ever wrote something about an exotic fucking hot chick that is able to throw her body around like this.
Pink rosebud nipples are erogenous
And have me feeling like touching her clitoris.
My fucking cock’s throbbing
And sobbing.
If I don’t grab her soon
I swear I’ll use a spoon.
Not very good, I admit, but it’s the best I can come up with while this fucking vixen is torturing me like this. I have no doubt Keats would be far more eloquent.
I watch Chloe point one leg right up in the air as the other is wrapped around the bedpost. She’s like an elite sex athlete, a sexthlete, a fucking Olympic sexthlete. I love that word. I’ll have to try to use it sometime in one of my catfishing chats.
If there were such a thing as the sex Olympics, she’d be a gold medal contender for fucking sure.
In my frustration, I launch myself at her again, and this time my arms wrap around one of her ankles.
In victory, I punch the air. Yes. I’ve fucking caught her.
I yank her leg and unbalance her. She comes crashing and giggling onto the bed.
Before she can scramble away, I sit on her. She writhes beneath me. Turning left, right and left again. Up and down, she pushes her hips. My cock’s almost just sliding into her fucking wet pussy by her own efforts to get free.
My hands push hard against her abdomen and hips to push her right into the mattress. Chloe giggles but stops fighting me.
“Now you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”
She’s issued the challenge and I’m going to have to rise to it.
“Well,” I growl and lower my head. “First of all, I’m going to do this.”
My teeth find her fucking clit and nibble on it. Tiny shivers ripple through her abdomen.
In my own body, explosions are going off everywhere.
Nibbling and biting turns to sucking and licking.
My tongue explores her wetness as my fingers push hard on her clit.
Chloe’s purring like a panther.
Doesn’t sound like I’m punishing her very well.
I lift my head and she looks at me.
“Run out of ideas already, have you?”
Her tease leaves its mark. I get off her.
Instantly, she rolls over and scrambles away on all fours. She’s so damn fucking fast; she’s off the bed before I’ve even registered what she’s doing.
I take off after her.
She’s a bit ahead of me and my eyes feast on her delicious hole. And suddenly, I know the perfect punishment. My cock’s hungry for a little bit of ass.
She rounds the corner of the bed and disappears out of sight.
Spurred on by pure animalistic lust, I’m after her.
Halfway across the room, my hands grab her ankles and stop her from moving forward.
She turns her head and grins.
This time, I don’t let go.
My fingers crawl up the back of her legs until I’ve got a hold of her around her hips.
“Now what?”
Without thinking I smack her ass hard, really fucking hard. I can see all five fingers on her ass cheek.
Chloe howls, wolf-like. She throws her head backward and her hair spills everywhere.
I give her another good spanking. This one, though, is harder and faster.
When I’ve finished, my fingers scoop up her juices and I rub it all over her ass cheeks. I also spend particular attention around her hole. I want to shove my fucking cock into her asshole so bad. I’m so going to fuck her ass. Hard.
My fingers massage, lubricate, and play. I don’t know if she knows my intention, but this time, when she looks back at me, she’s a little less cocky.
“Ready for your punishment, my fucking little slut?”
She barely nods. Her wide eyes look a little worried.
With my cock throbbing in anticipation, I push into her tight hole. I feel her quiver beneath my touch.
I ease into her. At first, gently. And when she groans with pure fucking pleasure, I push in all the way. Then I start ramming into her hard and fast. Her asshole is responding in kind. She’s gripping and massaging my dick as I slide in and out. I feel as if she might snap it in two she’s clamping down so hard.
Her groaning is turning to screaming moans. I know everyone else on this floor can probably hear her. And fuck yes to that.
“Fuck, Aaron, fuck me, pleaseee.”
I can see her tits bounce from side to side and I listen with pleasure to the sound my balls make when they hit her ass. Splat. Splat. Splat.
I feel another poetic wave wash over me.
However, now’s not the time to get all lyrical again. My body’s about to explode with pleasure and my insides are engulfed in giant flames.
To make sure Chloe will come when I come, I move one of my hands away from her hips and play with her pussy.
My fingers push right into her, where the pulsing walls grab and massage me.
I know it won’t be long before I’m going to come. My muscles in my abdomen are starting to contract and deep within my balls, my orgasm builds to an almighty crescendo.
When I come, it’s as if I’ve jumped off a cliff and am floating weightlessly through the air. The fire has increased in intensity and threatens to burn me up. I close my eyes and unload my cream-colored cum into the plughole.
It’s fucking sweet poetry. An entire orchestra is playing a symphony in my head.
At the same time, the walls of her pussy are contracting hard and clutching my fingers, matching the way her ass clutches my cock as she’s starting to ride her own fucking wave of orgasmic pleasure. She shudders beneath me and when she’s done, her body goes limp.
I wrap my arms around her to hold her up. My cock’s still buried deep in her tight little hole, emptying the last bits of cum into her.
Eventually, I pull out and collapse onto the floor next to her.
She curls up in my arms, and I can’t believe how she’s the perfect fit—in every single way.
Chapter 17
Aaron
I stare dumbly at my open laptop, smelling the familiar scent of freshly ground French roast as I brew my fuel for the next few hours.
I can't do it right now, though. This is the first time I can remember that the site of an open Thebadboys.net chat window is all the motivation I need to focus. Focus on what, you ask? On the world of continuing to build one of the most successful sites in the game and honing it to a fucking tee to ensure I only put the very best out into the world.
The aroma of my upcoming caffeine fix, clear and present in my kitchen, is struggling to compete with the memories of Chloe, the blend of scents that made up her astonishing pussy, sweet fragrances that mixed with the earthiness of her pure, animal appeal.
An appeal that I cannot stop fucking thinking about. An appeal that’s been distracting me the way nothing has ever before.
I just want her so fucking bad. Every fucking second. From the time I saw her in that bar, to the time we were sprawling, intertwined on that epically colossal bed, my mind was relentlessly yet refreshingly on a one-track mission of desire.
Yes, even after we both gave all we could to that monumental spell of passion, enveloped by the extravagance of the best suite at Palace One, feeling refreshed, relaxed and even blissful―but not content.
Getting to know Chloe the way I got to know her in the elevator and in that suite, I feel like ‘content’ is out of my vocabulary―as long
as those memories are fresh, at least. And I’m okay with that, I think, because my want for her overshadows any of those concerns.
And it feels fucking awesome.
So, that’s happening now, and hopefully, I’ll get the chance to explore that more with Chloe, and we can have some great fun doing so.
But right now, my work is calling to me from that patiently waiting laptop, and whether my mind’s completely on it or not, I need to keep doing what I’ve been doing to build on what I have so far and stay as keenly in the game as I’ve been up until now.
For the sake of everything I’ve built and taken pride in, I sure as fuck can’t let myself falter in the face of my responsibilities for even one goddamn second, and right now, my responsibility is to stay on the ball with the mysterious Mr. BadBoy.
Even after standing him up, if I fall out of contact with him, I could lose touch with the elusive, evolving culture and user experience of my own website.
The chat window’s already open, and I can see the green light next to Mr. BadBoy’s screenname, meaning that he’s currently logged into the site and doing who fucking knows what.
Knowing that he could just decide to ignore me at this point, I start with an inauspicious first message:
Hey there.
I hit Send, delivering the greeting into the empty chat window, hoping it doesn’t just linger there on its own. If it that stays like that, it means that this lead has gone cold. Trying to keep my attention on this is hard enough today; the last thing I want is to have to start all the way fucking over.
Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about this as long as my laptop plays the short sound of an incoming message as the bad boy himself replies.
Now here’s someone I like to hear from.
That didn’t take long, and he may not be thinking about this bullshit at all right now. He might not even be keeping track of who’s sending him which messages and connecting it with whatever’s happening when he meets these women.
I clarify with my next message:
I’m feeling seriously guilty about being a no-show last night. I had a family thing come up, and I had to run. I mean, knowing you, I don’t think your feelings were hurt or anything, ha ha. Still feel bad, though.
I look over the message after I send it, seeing if it looks fish,y even though it’s already out there and there’s nothing I can do about it. Again, Mr. BadBoy replies before I get a chance to think about it too much.
You should know better than to worry about that by now. I found someone else to have fun with in about two seconds. Great fucking night.
I don’t think he just met some random person in the restaurant or the hotel. Thebadboys.net is how he rolls, and it seems like he has no lack of success with it, no matter what the circumstances, even at the last minute when he’s already out.
Oh great, I’m glad it worked out. You’re right, I should know you better than that!
Then he just keeps it right on fucking coming.
It worked out very nicely. I forgot all about why I was even out in the first place, so don’t worry yourself for another second. Unless you want to, I can’t stop that.
This guy’s the real deal, from what I can see. Total player. The good news is that he’s leaving the door open for me, though. I can’t speculate about what that means or if that’s part of what he does. Not yet. Now’s the time to keep him engaged; I can speculate all I want later.
Don’t sell yourself short. I bet you could stop me from worrying anytime you want without breaking a sweat. Isn’t that right, Mr. BadBoy?
His reply comes fast.
You really don’t know me at all if you think I would ever sell myself short. I know what I’ve got to offer, and I’ve got no reasons for exaggeration or modesty.
I seriously want to roll my eyes here. He’s being talkative today, and I should be getting some of these lines down, at least taking a screenshot, but I don’t feel like bothering. The coffee’s beyond finished brewing now, but I can’t find it within me to give a shit about that, either.
The chat with this BadBoy figure is barely interesting enough for me to stay with. I’ll have to accept a baseline level of work from myself today.
So true! What was I thinking? I should know better coming from you. ;)
No problem. You’ll be happy to know that my heart is quite large. I’m very fortunate in that way.
A new phase is starting in the conversation, and he’s expecting me to match his banter. He looks to be having fun, but I’m having problems detaching and immersing myself in the Ms. Winters character.
Up until now, this was just work, placed in a separate compartment that had nothing to do with me personally. But talking to BadBoy today is different, and I know the reason why. It’s a simple reason, and it might seem ridiculous, but it’s so fucking strong I can’t deny it:
I wish I was having a conversation like this with Chloe.
A wave of heat surges through me just thinking about that idea. I developed this site, I should know every reason that people enjoy this chatting format inside and out.
Yet thinking about a light, teasing back and forth with Chloe, a few words that only hint at the experience we’ve had, working each other up at the possibility of having it again—damn, no wonder some clients like the chat feature so much.
The issue now is that I’m not talking to Chloe, I’m just talking to some random guy, and I need to get back to him.
If that’s the case, wouldn’t you need some help finding the forgiveness over an area that vast?
I don’t need help finding that, but if you want to come explore the vastness with me sometime, I think you’ll find some things you didn’t even know you were looking for.
I give him a half-assed response:
That sounds like quite the expedition!
It’s an expedition you’ll remember for quite some time, I assure you.
Holy Christ, this is insane and kind of hilarious. I’m having this conversation with some dude, which is crazy enough in itself, and he has no idea who he’s really talking to. For all I know, he’s getting hot right now.
I’m totally laughing now, but I don’t think I can continue this pretense—not today. If I’m going to have this type of chat with someone right now, there’s only one person I’d be interested in, and it’s not this Mr. BadBoy guy. Time to say my goodbyes.
I’ve got to run again. There’s so much going on these days. Talk later?
I might be around.
I take that as the last word and exit the chat, closing the browser window for good measure. I’m fucking done with that, and I wasn’t going to be very productive if I continued.
Now if I were talking with Chloe, discussing plans for future fun in flimsy metaphors, lightly toying with each other back and forth, trying to keep it up for as long as we could before yielding to the urge to tear away the façade and talk about how fucking hot that was at Palace One last night...
That feverish wave of tingling heat is making a comeback, not dissipating like last time, but staying with me as my mouth grows dry thinking about Chloe’s lips, her tongue, her dexterous fingers, and the elevator ride of a lifetime.
The heaviness I’m feeling around my cock is evolving rapidly. I picture Chloe’s faultless body, and that show she put on last night, the way her tits bounced around wildly as she exuded pure sassiness.
My cock is at full mast now, throbbing under the zipper of my jeans. In a horny daze, I unbutton my fly and nearly throw my jeans and boxer briefs down past my knees as my cock springs out, pointing straight upwards and demanding attention.
Knowing that this won’t last long, I run through a quick montage in my mind of everything that happened at Palace One, trying to remember every detail at once, but settling on Chloe’s astounding body as I grab my cock and instantly, fervently come all over the fucking place.
This girl. Fuck. She’s driving me out of my mind.
Chapter 18
Chloe
&
nbsp; It never feels right, coming home to an empty apartment.
I can tell the living room is vacant without even turning on the lights. The television screen isn't lit up with Keeping up with the Kardashians or old Bogart films like it usually is when Cassie is home, and there's no faint scent of an uncorked bottle of Moscato lingering in the air.
I slip off my heels and pad through the plush carpet of the living room into the kitchen in the dark.
When I pop the fridge open, the inner light emits the same kind of soft golden glow that you imagine hangs around heaven. It's a total joke, though, because our fridge is kind of a hellscape right now. Chinese takeaway containers, beer and our fancy water pitcher that turns the gross tap water from the kitchen sink into something halfway drinkable.
I pour myself a big, tall glass of it and do my best to avoid the takeaway containers. Who knows how long those things have been in there. Probably, we're growing some kind of fungus-based ecosystem in the chow mein at this point.
Like keeping pet sea monkeys, only way, way grosser. Swerve!
The water is perfectly cold on my tongue. It washes all the swears and insults I've been holding in my mouth from the journey home right down my throat.
I don't consider myself an angry person or anything, but man. Fuck traffic. Sometimes, you get the sense that you're the only one who knows how to drive around here and the rest of the fuckwads on the road learned their vehicular skills from playing Grand Theft Auto or some shit.
Easing all the tension out of my shoulders, I make my way down the hall towards Cassie's room. She's got the cutest little Gucci Dionysus bag that I'm just dying to borrow for this weekend. Since she's not home, you bet your sweet ass I'm tiptoeing in there to see if it matches the jacket I want to pair it with.
But then I hear it.
A little sound.
Something between a mouse’s squeak and a muffled murder mystery scream.
The rational part of me is like, Chill babe. Probably a rational explanation for it. Nooooo need to panic.
But, the rest of me is shrieking insistently, MURDERER! KIDNAPPER! OMG! PANIC!!!! PANIC HARD!!!!!!!
