Ladies Prefer Champagne Alpha Male Romance Mega Bundle (44 page)
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Authors: Champagne Jackson
He had gotten me drunk on his poison. And now, there was nothing I wanted more than my own destruction, than for him to devour me whole.
I nodded. He twisted the little egg and it came to life.
The vibrations were indescribably powerful. To suddenly go from nothing, to the level of pleasure and power that this tiny vibrator provided—it was sheer, unadulterated pain and agony.
I began to cum immediately, thrashing and shuddering, my entire body shaking with the most powerful orgasm of my life. My pussy contracted painfully around the dildo inside of me while my chest heaved and my mouth gagged on the whiffle ball strapped to my head. Even my hands strained at the shackles. I knew full well there was no way I could move, that I was perfectly bonded and captured, but that didn’t stop me from trying against hope to escape, to move, to spasm freely as I came.
But there was no freedom to be had. Sobbing pathetically, I came down from my orgasm, the Termite still torturing my throbbing, swollen clit. Chad began to fuck the cock in and out of me again. It was sliding in ever so easily now—my cunt had expanded to accept everything he was giving me and besides, I was wetter than I had ever been in my life, than I had ever thought was possible.
“I want you to cum for me again. Can you do that for me?” he asked.
I shook my head. No, I was afraid. I was afraid of what would happen if I came again. I felt like I would die, as silly as it sounds. Obviously, no one would die from an orgasm, but the pleasure and pain was so powerful, so intoxicating…
“Wrong answer, Kenya…” Chad growled, and I knew he would make me cum whether I wanted to or not. I was totally in his power. And I loved it.
My hips bucked in a steady rhythm, rising to accept the thick cock being forced over and over again into my belly. I groaned and screamed as I seemed to rise out of my body. I felt myself being pulled inextricably towards another orgasm, every single cell in my body starting to burn, starting to beg for release. I was terrified of what it would feel like but I also couldn’t resist… I needed it, needed to feel what would happen when I finally came once again…
And then, it snuck up on me. For a moment, my climax had hidden just outside of my realm of perceptible reality, like a bandit or a vandal hiding in a bush after a crime, and then it leapt out of the bush, falling on me, attacking me. I screamed and arched my back, forcing my sore, bruised breasts forward as I came.
Chad leaned forward and caught one of my nipples in his mouth, suckling hard as my body thrashed beneath him. The warmth of his wet mouth on my nipple drove me wild and the room seemed to be spinning. My nipple was still so sore from the abuse it had already endured that even the feeling of air against it made me scream, made me moan.
“Oh god… Oh god…” I moaned into my gag, sounding again like nothing more than an animal in heat, an animal raising his haunches to be taken and bred like nothing more than a bitch.
“Once more,” Chad growled, biting my nipple hard, all but drawing blood. I screamed again into my gag but I was nothing more than a sopping wet, tearful pile of submission at this point, so who was I to say no?
He pounded me impossibly harder and I could have sworn that he had switched the vibrator to a higher level. Who thought it was a good idea to make these things this powerful? There had to be a law against this… Vibrators this powerful had to be covered by the fucking Geneva Convention or something like that.
“You’re going to cum for me once more,” Chad said coldly, his steely eyes boring into my own. “You’re going to cum for your master. Do you understand?”
Tearfully, I nodded.
“Good girl. I’ll tell you when you can cum.”
Oh god. No, I couldn’t control my body. As soon as he said that, I could feel myself getting close. But I knew I couldn’t cum. I just knew I couldn’t. I knew I would be punished… Knew I would be made to suffer for my disobedience…
I held out as long as I could. I whimpered silently to myself, shaking, doing everything I could to keep from cumming. I tried to distract myself. I closed my eyes and thought through the problems on my statistics homework. I tried to remember when the big sale at Macy’s was going up. Maybe Chad would take me and buy me something nice? Of course, he probably didn’t wait for sales. He probably didn’t wait for last year’s hottest pieces to go up for sale at 40% off. I’m sure he bought them before they even went on sale. Before even the likes of me knew about them. This was a man who dressed in Hermes at all times…
“You may cum,” Chad whispered finally. I shrieked and my body went wild. That was the last thing I remembered.
When I awoke, I was back in Chad’s bed. My entire body ached. I felt vaguely drunk, vaguely hung over, even though I had only had one glass of champagne with breakfast.
I sat up in bed and immediately regretted it. My entire body was sore. Chad had worked me hard. My arms and shoulders and wrists all screamed, the result of how he had bonded me. My nipples throbbed in the purest agony.
But that was nothing compared to my nether regions. My ass throbbed with each beat of my heart, a steady rhythm providing testament to the power of my master’s open palm.
My pussy was one whole source of pain, reminding me of every single thing he had done to me.
It was a living, throbbing, swollen record of my submission to Chad.
I stood unsteadily and stumbled into the bathroom. God, but he had a nice bathroom—marble everything and, wouldn’t you know it, a gorgeous view of Manhattan. Of course. He couldn’t have a single room in his house without a view of the city. Jerk. I didn’t have any windows in my dorm room.
I showered, the hot water agony against my tortured slave’s dark skin. When I finished, I wrapped myself in an Hermes bathrobe—I didn’t even know Hermes MADE bathrobes—and wandered out into the palatial apartment.
Judging from the slow, sensual sun setting languorously over Central Park, lighting the park up in all its infinitude of colors, I had been out for a while. That’s what Chad had done to me. I could have been out for six hours or thirty hours, for all I knew.
I heard a door, suddenly, and I spun around to see Chad, dressed in a tight tank top that showed off his muscles nicely, plus tight bike shorts, coming into the kitchen, gym bag in tow.
I suppose I wasn’t enough for him. He had to go to the gym too.
He slid his ear buds out of his ears and grinned at me.
“Sorry that I wasn’t here when you woke up. I had a personal trainer appointment that I didn’t want to miss. My guy is an Olympian, and he thinks he’s some sort of big shot just because he has a silver medal. The gold medal winners are so hard to book…”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
“I see you found the shower, though. Good.”
“Listen, Chad, I…”
Before I could finish, however, the doorbell rang. Chad’s ears perked up like a dog and his face broke out into a boyish grin.
“Just a moment. I’ll be right back.”
I rolled my eyes. Here we go. The morning after and I’m chopped liver. I knew I should get out of there as soon as possible, so things weren’t too awkward.
Where the hell were my clothes? What had I even come here wearing? A bathing suit… God, the party seemed so long ago. I glanced out the floor to ceiling windows onto his terrace, the pool immaculate and gleaming in the late afternoon sun. It looked like there hadn’t even been a huge, bacchanalian party the night before….
“Right in here,” came Chad’s voice from down the hall. He entered followed by a mousy but perfectly attired gentleman carrying a large case.
“Kenya, this is Klaus, from the Hermes store. Klaus, if you would—“
The man set his case down on Chad’s couch, the very one where I had been lewdly splayed out only hours before, my body fucked deeply and my flesh disciplined and sanctified. He clicked it open and began unloading little bundles of shimmering, glowing fabric.
“What… What is this?” I asked Chad, utterly and completely bewildered.
“They’re scarves, Kenya. Hermes is famous for their scarves—“
“Yes, I know that—and what, do you own a stake in Hermes?” I asked, nothing having been explained in the end. Chad looked at me with his own bewilderment.
“Er, yes, I do. Anyway, take your pick. Whichever ones you like.”
My eyes widened. Klaus seemed to have an unending supply of scarves. A minute later, they were all neatly arrayed, like toy soldiers, on the couch, in order of color, going from the darkest blues and purples all the way to the oranges and reds.
“I… I don’t know what to say… I can’t…” I stuttered, blushing and glancing at Klaus, whose face displayed no emotion. He stood silently, like a neat little statue, his hands folded behind his back.
“Oh, yes, you can,” Chad whispered, coming over to me and taking me by the collar. I had forgotten it was on. I had showered with it! I guess it had simply become something I was used to.
“Every woman needs an Hermes scarf,” he whispered in my ear. “And my slave needs more than one.”
Well, when he put it that way… How could I say no?
I found it surprisingly hard to decide. Finally, I picked three, glowing red, blue, and yellow pieces of silk. I felt like that covered my bases pretty well.
“Excellent choices, madam,” Klaus said approvingly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his face. “I can tell you are, as Mr. Stone has said, a woman of the highest and most cultivated taste.”
I blushed and thanked him. He packed his wares up and disappeared.
I turned to Chad, who was enjoying a post-workout smoothie.
“I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll be back here next Thursday. I’ve got to go to Beijing for the week, but I get in Thursday afternoon.”
“Of course I’ll be here,” I blurted out before I could even think. Chad smiled and my knees all but melted when I saw that smile.
“Good girl,” he whispered. “I’m always a little pent up after I fly, so you probably need the week to rest up…”
He pulled me close by the bathrobe.
“Because I can’t wait to destroy you all over again on Thursday,” he whispered, his voice husky and dripping with desire.
I couldn’t wait either.
Table of Contents
Tonight’s Man
“Your man for tonight is David,” the voice in the phone told me, little more than a conspiratorial whisper. I was standing outside the NYU Library, nestled comfortably into my school sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants.
“That name sounds familiar,” I replied. I felt like I had definitely heard it, somewhere, sometime before.
“He’s an exec at Birch Private Equity,” the voice responded. “A managing partner. Twenty-nine, worth approximately $1.1 billion.”
I all but gagged.
“He’s a billionaire?”
“He sure is. So don’t mess this one up.”
“Why is a billionaire hiring call girls? Doesn’t he have super models at his beck and call?”
“He does. You’re a present from a Saudi emir, if you must know. They’re aware of Mr. Birch’s… preferences… and the emir has been a patron of ours before.”
Let me back up and explain a few things about this situation.
My name is Latoya Wright. I’m nineteen-years-old and a freshman at NYU. It’s expensive as hell and so a bunch of girls dabble in the call girl business, which is alive and thriving in Manhattan. I’m what you might call a “BBW”—a big, beautiful woman. I’ve got curves. I’ve got boobs. I’ve got an ass. And I don’t really give a damn who knows it or what anyone thinks about it.
I started working for my agency after first semester and I easily made an extra two hundred dollars a week, working one night, usually only a few hours—all I had to do was meet a man at a hotel for a couple hours, let him kiss me and call me baby, and then he forked over three-hundred dollars. A hundred went to my boss—the mysterious voice on the phone who referred to herself only as Ursala—and the other two hundred went to pay for textbooks.
I definitely never thought I’d end up being a call girl. And I definitely never thought anyone would pay to be with a bigger girl like me… And a black girl at that. But there are definitely guys who like it. Love it, even, if you want to know the truth.
The voice on the phone—a woman I knew only as Ursala, which reminded me of the villain from the little mermaid—gave me the address, a fancy hotel on Park Avenue. I was to meet Mr. Birch there at ten that very night.
“And be prepared for anything, as always,” the voice warned me.