by Tia Siren
“Oh,” she said, letting out a long moan as he sucked on her nipple. His hand found her other breast, his fingers pinching and rolling the nipple. She reached for the back of his head, her fingers sliding through his short, curly hair. “Bed,” she groaned.
“No,” he said, straightening and looking at her. The front door stood open behind him, and he was framed in silver moonlight. Behind her was a grand staircase, leading up to the second floor. The ground here was hard—it looked as though it might be polished marble—and Dana almost balked when he commanded her. “On your knees,” he said.
But she didn’t resist him. She knelt down, her bare knees going to the hard floor. She reached for his fly, knowing what he wanted, but he slapped her hands softly away. “With your mouth,” he said after he used one practiced hand to unbutton his fly.
Dana leaned forward, her large breasts heaving in the dim light, the breeze that came in through the door causing her arms and chest to erupt in goose bumps. Her lips brushed against the fly of his jeans, and then she curled them back and used her teeth to take his zipper and tug it down. She reached up again, but he grabbed her by the back of the hair and pulled her away.
“Don’t touch my cock with anything but your mouth or your pussy. Do you understand?”
Dana nodded. She looked up at the man as he reached down and pulled his cock out through his open fly. It was massive, throbbing in the air, red and angry with veins running along it.
Greg still had a hold of her brown hair, and he tugged her close. The head of his cock pressed against her cheek. He pulled her into a better position, and it pushed against her lips. He was pulling her hair so hard it hurt, and she felt her eyes water. She didn’t want him to stop, though. She opened her mouth, intending to tease him, intending to take him slowly, but the rich man had other ideas. She knew he wasn’t a man used to waiting; she knew he was the kind of man who would always get his way. He was rich, a self-made billionaire, and he was going to fuck her mouth.
He held her head still with one hand and thrust his hips forward. His cock was buried in her mouth, pushing against the back of her throat. She gagged, mascara running down her cheeks. His balls slapped against her chin, and then he was pulling out of her mouth. Before he fell fully away from her lips, he thrust forward again. He was using her, fucking her mouth roughly, the way a man who couldn’t contain himself would fuck a pussy. She slobbered and cried and wanted it. He was using her, Dana, the vanilla sex girl who owned a sex shop, who was always on the bottom, who always spit and never swallowed. He fucked her mouth, and she loved it.
She thought he would finish that way, thrusting in and out of her mouth, feeling her pillowy lips around his massive penis. But then he pulled away from her, a long string of saliva connecting them for a minute, the spit stretching from her bottom lip to the head of his cock, which bobbed once more in the air. He was still gripping her by the hair, and he lifted her up so she was standing. He kissed her, her wet mouth, slick with her spit and his own pre-cum, their tongues playing in the mess together.
And then he was pushing her backward, toward the staircase, and she thought he would take her up it, to his bedroom, but he didn’t do that. He turned her around just as her heels came into contact with the bottom stair, and then he pushed her over. She went to her knees on the third step, and he knelt on the second.
Her pussy was wet, slick, yearning for his cock. He pushed her dress up roughly and pulled her panties away with such force that the small thong ripped. He tossed it to the side and grabbed her ass. She felt his hard cock against her slit, and she reached down between her legs so she could guide him into her. As soon as her fingers brushed the skin of his cock, however, he reached forward and grabbed her hair, tugging her head back so violently and painfully that she screamed out.
“I said don’t touch my cock with your hands, you slut,” he whispered, and she nodded as best as she could since he was still holding her hair. She moaned and whimpered, and he let go of her hair. He reached down, taking his dick, wet with her spit, and pushed it into her.
He filled her up, his massive cock pushing into her tight, wet pussy. She groaned, moaned, buried her face into the carpeted stair. He pounded her, having no desire to be nice or sweet or to take it slow. His hands were everywhere, his strong fingers gripping her ass as it slapped against his pelvis. Then he had her hair again and was pushing forward to grope her tits.
She came quickly, screaming out as an orgasm rocked her, wet warmth spreading from her loins to the rest of her body as her pussy walls tightened and contracted against his cock. And still he fucked her.
When he was about to come, he pulled out of her and took her by the hair once more, pulling her roughly down and around, his other hand pumping at himself. And as soon as she was on her ass a stair below him, he came, hot, thick globs of semen spraying from the head of his cock and splashing across her face. One strand fell over her painted lips, another across her left eye. He came on her, his cum thick and warm. And then he walked past her, up the stairs without a word. She leaned back, panting, trying to catch her breath. When he came back down, he was dressed and showered, and she wondered how long she had sat like that.
“You still intrigue me,” he said, sitting next to her. His cum was drying on her face, and the cold air from the open door kept her nipples hard. He reached over and pinched one. “Go take a shower, and then let’s get drunk and do that again.”
She smiled and nodded. Upstairs she found the bathroom and took a shower. After, she was surprised to find he had left a robe for her, folded over the edge of the sink, and she put it on and went back downstairs. She found him in a small room with a bar built into the wall, and he poured them both a drink. They sat together on a small couch, and after they drank and laughed, he fucked her again, him on top, holding her roughly down. He finished first that time, but he instructed her to pleasure herself while he got something, and she did, sliding her fingers in and out of her. When he returned, he had a purple dildo.
“I’m going to fuck you with this,” he said. It was large, bigger than his own enormous dick, and Dana was frightened, but she just nodded. He knelt down between her legs and licked her clit while he pushed the toy in and out of her. It was the second most intense orgasm she’d ever had, the first being the one he had given her on the stairs. If the rich man was intrigued by her, she was doubly intrigued by him.
Later that night they lay in his bed, she accepting his unspoken invitation to stay. She asked him if he ever made love, and he smiled, kissed her, and they did that too. When she woke the next morning, they showered together, going down on one another, and then finally it was time for her to leave. He drove her home, kissing her before she got out of the car, and she watched him drive away.
3
Days passed after the first date, and Dana didn’t hear from Greg. She accepted the fact that it had been a one-night stand, and her life got back to normal. On the next Thursday, however, while Dana was ringing up a customer at her shop, her cell rang. She finished with her customer and then fished it out of her pocket.
“Hey, Dana,” Greg said when she answered.
“Hi,” she said. Simply talking to the man made her heart beat fast, and she felt her palms grow sweaty.
“Are you busy this weekend?” he asked her.
“I work on Saturday, but the shop is closed on Sunday.”
“Can you close it Saturday too?”
“Why?” she asked.
“I want you to come to the city with me. I’ll be there all weekend, but I only have a meeting Saturday morning. I thought we could have some fun,” Greg said.
“What kind of fun?”
Greg laughed. “All kinds of fun.”
“Let me think about it,” Dana said, and they hung up. He called her again later that night after she had closed up her sex shop and returned to her small apartment. By the time he had called, she had already packed a bag.
“I’m in,” she said when she answered
.
“Great. I’ll pick you up tomorrow around six.”
Dana hung up and couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her lips.
She closed the Treasure Chest early the next day and hurried home so she could shower and dress. She once again wasn’t sure how to dress, but she figured for a drive to New York City she should be comfortable, so she settled on shorts and a loose shirt that was cut low enough to show off some cleavage.
Greg picked Dana up in the same cherry red sports car, but once he was on the highway, he headed away from New York.
“Where are we going?” Dana asked.
“I hate driving into the city,” Greg answered cryptically, though it didn’t take long for Dana to discover his meaning. He pulled off the highway, and ten minutes later he was parking in the small lot of a tiny airport. On a nearby blacktop tarmac there was a helicopter, the pilot inside already and the rotor blades beginning to turn.
Dana had never been in a helicopter before, but her nerves were overpowered by a sense of excitement and adventure, and soon she was hundreds of feet in the air, the ground a blur as it slipped away below them.
As interesting as the ride was, nothing could have prepared the young woman for landing on the roof of a massive skyscraper. She was led inside and to a penthouse apartment, where they dined and then made love.
The weekend was a blast, Greg only disappearing for his meeting on Saturday morning. They saw the sights for the rest of the day and then retired to the penthouse for more food, wine, and sex. Sunday they planned to go to a local museum, but they never managed to leave the bed. They returned to Apple Tree early Monday morning, and after being dropped off at her apartment, Dana hurried to open the shop.
Bad news was waiting for her. She’d been behind on her bills for the shop, and it was finally catching up to her. The bliss she had felt that weekend quickly washed away. She called up a realtor. She would have to sell the place.
Greg called her that evening. As the weeks wore on, she met him more and more, and they fell into what could only be called a relationship. She never bothered him with her shop problem; she didn’t want to borrow money from him. She would never want such a powerful man to have that much power over her. She was enjoying their relationship, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for anything more than dates and screwing.
He was rich, and it opened Dana to a world she never could have imagined she would be a part of. The extravagance, the seemingly wasted money. Dana often teased the older man about what she would do with so much money. “I would give most of it to charity,” she said from bed one evening.
“Which charity?” Greg asked, a smirk upon his face.
“A lot of charities,” she said, and he laughed and nodded.
The problem with the sex shop was resolved a month after she put it up for sale, and Dana couldn’t have hoped for anything better. Someone had purchased it, apparently a businessman from across the country. He wanted to keep the business open, and he wanted her to run it. The only real difference, other than the fact that she didn’t own the Treasure Chest anymore, was that she was now drawing an actual salary.
“Did you buy my shop?” Dana asked Greg over dinner one night. They were back in New York City, having flown in on Saturday and planning to stay until Sunday night.
“What?” Greg asked, looking at her. He had found out about her problems a week before the shop had been bought. She had been stressed out on one of their dates, and after a couple of glasses of wine, he had gotten the whole story out of her. He had promised her he would not get involved, however.
“A man named Mr. White bought the shop, some mysterious business man from California. He wants me to run the place. Was it you?”
“My name isn’t Mr. White,” Greg said, smiling and cracking a joke.
“I know it isn’t, but I haven’t met him or anything. He’s just some mysterious rich man who wants my business?”
“Sex sells.”
“Not that sex. The internet is killing me. He won’t make money.”
“He must think he will, eventually.”
“Did you buy it? I don’t want your help.”
“I know,” Greg said. “It wasn’t me.”
“You promise?””
“Yes.”
“All right,” Dana said, and she smiled across the table at her lover. “What are we doing tonight?”
Greg smiled. “I have a surprise for you, actually.”
After dinner, they returned to his penthouse, the massive open space in the skyscraper they had landed on once more after flying into the city. Greg led the way out of the elevator, heading down a long hall to the only door there. He unlocked it with a key card, as he did each time they visited the room. Flickering light met Dana as she stepped inside. There were at least a hundred lit candles in the open living room and even more leading back toward the far corner of the massive apartment, where a king-sized bed sat under a long window with an impressive view of the city.
“Romantic.” Dana smiled, looking over at Greg as he shut the door and locked it behind them.
“Wait,” he said, and then he motioned toward the bed, and she went that way. She was wearing a red dress and matching heels, and she stopped for a moment to bend and take them off, but Greg stopped her. “Do what I tell you. Don’t undress yourself. Go sit on the bed.”
Dana nodded, her heart rate already elevated. It was going to be one of those nights. He was in charge. He would dominate her, and she would do what he said. Dana had no idea just what that would entail.
She perched on the end of the bed and looked up at him. He stood before her, reaching into his pocket and pulling his cell phone out. He dialed a number and held the phone to his ear.
“Come up,” he said.
A single thought flashed through Dana’s head: a woman with the strap on, coming to fuck her while Greg watched from the high-back easy chair in the corner.
“I don’t think I’m ready for a woman,” Dana said, but Greg just glared at her and raised a finger to quiet her as he hung up and slid his phone back into his pocket.
“I’m in charge,” he said, and then as he turned and left, he added, “Stay here.”
Dana did so, her pulse pounding, the idea of being with another woman freezing her in place. It was frightening. She didn’t remotely swing that way; she had never been curious about women. She was so reserved, something she had been working through with the help of Greg, but this, it was just too much.
And then Greg returned, and she found that her fears were unwarranted. Greg did return with someone, but it wasn’t some busty bimbo with a big black strap on jutting from delicate hips.
It was a young man.
4
He looked to be about twenty, and he had blond hair that fell to his shoulders and skin so tanned it could be called olive. Dana thought he might be foreign, and he confirmed it when he spoke, his accent something from the Mediterranean.
“Lovely woman,” he said, and Dana couldn't be sure if he was talking to her or about her.
“This is Homer,” Greg said, motioning to his friend. Dana thought the name didn’t suit the man, but she smiled in the soft candlelight and nodded.
“Hello,” she said.
“Stand up,” Homer said in return, and Dana looked to Greg.
“You’ll do as I say, and I say you do as Homer says,” the older man said, and Dana stood, suddenly self-conscious in her thin dress. Homer stepped forward, and she smelled his aftershave and expensive cologne and felt the heat from his body. He was wearing a pale blue button-up shirt, the first three buttons undone so she could admire his toned and hairless chest. His pants were tight, his shoes expensive Italian leather—all things Dana had come to admire and appreciate since dating a billionaire.
Homer didn’t ask before he touched her. He seemed to be taking his role as another dominant man seriously. His hands went to her hips, and then his body pressed against her. Dana was proud of herself for a shining momen
t when she felt his hard on pressing against the bottom of her flat stomach.
Before she could register anything else, he was kissing her, forcefully, his tongue pressing against her lips until she parted them for him. She felt her arms go around his body without being conscious of doing it. Her hands pressed against his back, taut with tight, young muscle. The kiss broke, and he lowered his lips to her neck, his white teeth nibbling there as Dana tilt her head back. She opened her smoky eyes just enough to see Greg, still standing near the entrance of the room. He watched as the younger man bit and sucked on his girlfriend's neck.
“You like to watch?” Dana teased, taking to what was happening quicker than she had imagined she would.
“I’ll do more than watch,” her boyfriend promised her, and then Homer was taking her face in his hands and tilting her head down so he could kiss her again.
“Stop,” Greg said after a minute of kissing between Dana and Homer. The younger man stepped away immediately. Dana was breathless, her nipples hard and pressing noticeably against her dress, her pussy slick and moist under her panties. Both men stared at her large breasts, and Greg smiled.
“Take off your dress,” he said, and slowly, teasingly, Dana did so, pulling it up and over her head. She tossed it to the floor and then bent to take her heels off.
“Leave them on,” Homer commanded, and Dana did so. She stood there in front of both men, naked save for the shoes and her panties—tight red boy shorts.
“Turn around,” Greg said, and once again Dana did as she was told.
“Wow,” Homer breathed, and she smiled. She knew she looked good. Men always stared at her breasts if she was facing them, and if she turned, she caught them staring at her round ass. The boy shorts only served to make her ass sexier.
“Bend over,” Homer said, coming forward as she did so, pressing his pelvis against her ass. She found herself wanting him to disrobe so he could slide inside her pussy, but he didn't. He just rubbed against her while his hands explored her backside, sliding up over her back and then coming back down to take off her panties.
