Ladies Prefer Champagne Alpha Male Romance Mega Bundle (46 page)

Going Harder

I heard him undo his pants, his zipper sliding down. He spread my cheeks open and then I felt it, against my sensitive pussy: his manhood, thick and long, girth larger than the bottle, larger than perhaps anything I had ever had before. How could a man like that have such a big cock? I wondered this as I felt it start to slide into me, start to invade my tightness. I prided myself on still having a pretty tight pussy, because after all, I wasn’t your usual street corner hooker. I worked for a very discerning agency and I only worked a few times a month as it was. Besides, I was still young and men loved the way my pussy gripped their cocks when they sank it into me.

“Mmm, not bad at all,” Birch whispered as he pressed himself into my sopping hole. I loved every inch of that vicious cock throbbing inside of me but I was loathe to admit it. “Did the other boys like it?”

“They did,” I whimpered defiantly as he held me hard by the waist. “They loved my pussy.”

“But it’s all mine now. I might just buy you permanently.”

I had no idea what that could mean but I didn’t dare ask. He had slid himself into me all the way and for the first time in my life, I really felt full… Somehow, sex had never filled me like this, never made me feel complete. Now, I had this man, this wealthy, powerful man who knew way too much about me, about my life, my past, and maybe even my future… I had him buried inside my most intimate place and as much as I hated it, as much as it angered me, it felt incredible. I felt complete in a way that I never had before.

He began to slide his long shaft out of me, leaving only his fatty, meaty tip buried in my tight snatch. Then, he forced it all back in, pounding my tight tunnel like a nail into a wall. I screamed, my eyes shut tight. I dug my fingers into the couch and I thought for a second I might open up massive tears in the fabric. The lacerations never materialized, though.

“Harder!” I moaned. “Harder, damn it!”

Mr. Birch slapped my ass, striking the welted swelling flesh hard and I screamed, my throat growing hoarse from the punishment.

“Harder!” I groaned. I wanted, more than anything at that moment, for him to know that I could take whatever he dished out. Secret intelligence be damned. I would take whatever he wanted to fuck into me.

“Harder!” I groaned again, receiving another slap on my ass in return. His cock pistoned in and out, in and out of my tightness like a jackhammer and screaming seemed redundant at this point. With each moment, it hit a new spot, opening up whole new worlds of pleasure.

“Oh, god… Oh my fucking god…” I groaned, my body convulsing as he fucked me. This was unlike anything else I had ever experienced in my life and it was made all the more scintillating by the knowledge that every moment was being recorded on the cameras in the room. However I moaned now, my classmates would potentially be watching in mere hours if I took one wrong step. That knowledge infuriated me but it also pushed me to the edge.

“Oh, gawd…” I moaned again, feeling my hips buck as an orgasm hit me. Birch gave no indication that he noticed my spasming pussy and continued to pound me. He was an athletic man, I could tell, and his cock never once faltered in its pace, even going faster the longer he had been at it, wearing its way through my muscles, into my hole, stretching me open and making me feel like I was more his than I was anything else in the world.

“Fuck me, please,” I moaned. “Never stop fucking me. I’m all yours.”

“That’s exactly right,” he groaned. “You’re mine, Latoya Wright, and you’ll never be anything else.”

Those words pissed me off but at the same time, they drove me crazy with pleasure and desire. I felt his cock start to twitch and I clamped my muscles down as best I could. I shrieked around his cock as I felt it begin to spasm, spilling his hot seed into my pussy, filling me up with spurt after spurt of cum.

Finally, he pulled out with a pop, giving my well-used cunt some respite. I collapsed into his arms on the couch, looking dreamily up at his face as his cum pooled dribbled down my legs.

“There were no cameras, were there?” I whispered. He smiled and shook his head.

“I had you going, didn’t I?”

“How did you know all those things about me?”

“A good magician never tells his secrets,” he said with a mischievous smile. I returned his smile but I didn’t quite feel okay with that explanation.

Middle of the Night

We snuggled together into his bed and spent the night like that, my naked body draped over his. I figured he’d want to wake up in the middle of the night to fuck me and I was right. I awoke to find his fingers slipping, covered in lube, into my asshole.

“Just relax,” he ordered as he mounted me. I said nothing, trying to force my tight, puckered hole to widen for him as I felt his massive prick press again me. I squeezed my eyes shut and gasp as the tip slipped in part way.

“It’s not going to fit,” I moaned.

“Oh, it will, Latoya,” he whispered in my ear, giving it a playful bite. That alone made me feel better and I pressed my hips back against him, taking deep, relaxing breaths to allow him in.

“Ooooooh my god…” I whispered, the combined pleasure and pain more than I had ever experienced in my life. I felt like I was high, like I had had too much to drink, like I was spinning on top of a ferris wheel as he slid himself deeper into me, his manhood invading my tight, ever so tight channel.

“You’re a virgin back here, aren’t you?” Birch whispered in my ear, clutching my generous tits in his hands as he forced himself deeper and deeper into my tight ass.

“I was,” I grunted as his cock slid in further. He paused to add more lube before forcing another inch into me. I let out a shriek and closed my eyes tight, his girth forcing me open. I felt like he was going to break me but I didn’t care. If I was going to be broken by anyone, I wanted it to be this man, this wonderful, horrible man on top of me, mounting me, dominating me, forcing his manhood itself into me, overcoming any resistance my muscles might trying to put up…

I gasped as it slid in deeper, touching something deep inside of me, something I had never known to exist. He slid himself back out of me and then slammed his length back into me, pressing me deep into the pillow as he fucked my ass.

“Oh, god, Mr. Birch!” I screamed. “Fuck my ass! Fuck my virgin ass! Fuck it harder!”

“That’s the spirit!” he moaned, slapping my ass, my poor, swollen ass as he pounded my asshole harder and harder. Finally, I felt his cock start to twitch and it unleashed a torrent of cum, filling my asshole up. It was warm and sticky and it felt so strange to receive his seed into my ass. Nonetheless, it drove me wild and I felt so full, so fulfilled and full as his cock spurted, filling my ass with cum each time it sprayed me.

“Well, that was incredible,” he groaned as his cock slid out of my ass, cum dribbling out of it and onto the bed. I lay there, panting, amazed that I had even survived the fucking. The room was dark and I heard him going to the bathroom, washing his cock, and then saw the light turn off. He returned to bed and I felt his strong body mount me, his cock pressing against my lips. I opened wide and obediently, feeling his massive cock slide into my little mouth, past my plump pink lips. I ran my fingers over his athletic form as he began to fuck my face without any ceremony, driving his cock down my throat. He knew I could handle it and no words were needed. For my part, I traced the outline of his abs, his chest, feeling the tightly coiled muscles contained beneath his skin as his cock slid in and out of my mouth. He came with a loud groan, emptying his load into me yet again and I swallowed it, obediently still, as his manhood throbbed in my mouth. He gripped me hard by my nappy, curly hair as he came, seed dribbling out of my lips. My god, the boy came like a race horse each time.

After that, he took me back in his arms, in his strong, lean arms and we fell asleep, his cum still dribbling out of my ass and my mouth still sticky with his seed.

~

“I’ve a network of… informants, you might say. Everywhere.”

Mr. Birch was telling me this over breakfast the next morning in the hotel restaurant. Somehow, my dress had been dry cleaned and laid out for me by the time I awoke. We went down to breakfast promptly at nine am.

“It’s a necessity in private equity and it’s fun for more personal matters as well.”

“So you play games with people?” I asked darkly, swirling my mimosa with suspicion.

“Life is a game. There are winners and losers. No one wins forever. We all lose eventually. There comes a day, for all of us, when the hand we draw dooms us.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I want to see you again,” he said suddenly, not meeting my gaze. “I worry about work. Constantly. I’ve been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. I’m on the most intensive medication regimen you can imagine. Last night was the first night in five years that I haven’t had to sedate myself to be able to sleep.”

My eyes widened.

He pressed a business card to me. It simply had his name on it, with a phone number.

“That’s my personal number. Call me tomorrow and I’ll arrange to have you picked up after classes.”

“And if I refuse?”

He wiped his mouth and rose from the table. A trio of men in dark blue suits approached us.

“Mr. Birch?” one of them called out. Birch raised a hand to acknowledge them. He gave them a curt smile and then turned back to me. His face was ashen but perhaps… Hopeful?

“You won’t.”

“You Won’t.”

Those words rang in my head as Mr. Birch led me away from the fancy, elegantly attired café where we had eaten. My breakfast turned in my stomach as anxiety and anticipation gripped me. I wouldn’t refuse him, huh?

To be honest, after everything I had just seen, everything I had just experienced… It would be damned hard to refuse him. Damned hard to not return to him for another night of passion.

Only this time, the Saudis wouldn’t be paying—I assumed. It would be David Birch himself. A transaction just between us. Maybe cut out the agency entirely.

Of course, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he wanted… Wanted something more? But no.

There was no way that could work.

I simply had no time for a relationship. I might have been a call girl—let’s face it, a whore—but I spent the rest of my time busy with school. I had been with some pretty skeezy, nasty guys to pay my way through college—and I wasn’t about to let all that wasted time, all the nasty, filthy things they had made me do—I wasn’t about to let it all go to waste by getting myself a boyfriend and letting my school work suffer. That’s not the way I operate.

But still… I couldn’t help but admire the way his shark-skin suit clung to his ass, the way it moved with him, as if the suit were a seamless part of him, a skin which he had melded into rather than putting on. I was staring as he led me by the hand outside but I didn’t care.

“Do give me a call, Latoya,” he said softly. Softly but firmly. “I’ll be very disappointed in you if you don’t.”

I bit my lip.

“You will be?”

He nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. He was clean shaven—when had he had time to get a shave in? I wondered how much earlier he had gotten up than I did… I supposed that was probably the secret to his success. The early bird gets the worm and all that bull crap.

“Oh, yes.”

I plucked my hand away from his but he grabbed it hard, by the wrist. I gasped and looked around, looking to see if anyone else had seen it. One of the bus boys had and he started over towards us but then he saw Mr. Birch’s face. The boy swallowed visibly, obviously recognizing the man he was just about to reprimand. David shot him a cool, cold look, a look that was more ice than human, and the boy immediately turned around, as if nothing had happened.

“David… Mr. Birch…” I whimpered, trying to wrest my hand away from him. “You’re hurting me…”

“Listen to me, Latoya. I don’t want you working for the agency anymore. I want you to be mine.”

“You’re not the first of my clients to say that,” I retorted, my voice dripping with equal parts poison and acid. It came out far more cruel than I wanted it to, but I didn’t care. No one told me what to do.

“I’m sure,” Birch said with a cold glower. “But I’ll be the last.”

With that, he pulled me close, forcing a hot kiss onto my lips, one of his hands reaching around to me ass. I whimpered, trying to force him off of me, trying to escape, but instead, I just found myself melting into that hot kiss, melting into his embrace, kissing him back…

I felt humiliated. Felt ashamed. We broke apart. This wasn’t professional at all. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Until later, then, Latoya,” Mr. Birch said, opening the door to an all-black Mercedes that seemed to have materialized out of no where.

“Until later, Mr. Birch…” I replied coolly, lowering myself into the car. I watched him watch me watch him as the car pulled away from the curb, joining the torrents of midday New York traffic.

~

When I got him, I immediately showered. Of course, I had showered at the hotel. I always did at the hotel. I always showered there, at the hotel, with my client.

But I also always showered when I got him.

It made things seem like… Like there was a barrier between my life and my work. When I was showering at home, by myself, I was no longer a prostitute, no longer a poor kid trying to work her way through school. Once again, I was just a regular nineteen-year-old girl. Once again, I could think about problem sets and whether or not I would be able to find a good internship for the summer and where I could get cheap but decent nail polish that wasn’t tested on animals. The usual stuff that any girl thinks about.

The shower at home—that was necessary. Totally necessary.

So were the thoughts of shame and regret that seemed to flit through my brain as I washed myself clean. I knew I shouldn’t be ashamed, knew I shouldn’t be feeling what I was feeling—I had already rationalized it all to myself. But that didn’t stop me from feeling ever so vaguely disgusted with myself as I dried off my sore, aching body, felt my swollen holes, remembered how I had been used—used like a glorified sex toy, little more than a blow up doll for some man’s pleasure…

But it was different this time. This time, I saw his face. Smelled his scent. Felt his arms around me, all over again. I found my own arms wrapping themselves around my chest and I leaned my head forward, closing my eyes and imagining that he was here… All over again. I wanted him back. I wanted him to take me away from all of this, to serve him, to be his and only his…

No. No. I could never want that. Stop thinking those things, damn it, Latoya. Stop. Stop.

Stop.

I finished drying myself off and, wrapped in my fluffy light-blue bath robe, padded out of the shower. I usually called Ursala the morning after to let her know that everything was okay but I realized that I hadn’t—Mr. Birch had been occupying to large a place in my thoughts, I suppose. I knew I needed to call her and I wasn’t surprised when I saw I had a voice mail on my phone.

There was an agreed upon protocol, whereby I was supposed to call by eleven AM the next morning after a meeting with a client. If I didn’t, then Ursala would wait until noon to call me. If I didn’t call back by one o’clock, then she would call the police. I glanced at the time. Twelve-thirty. I still had time.

Still, I listened to Ursala’s message, expecting to hear her worried voice. And that’s what I got—but the message wasn’t what I was expecting.

“Latoya, it’s Ursala. I… I don’t know how to tell you this, but we’ve got to terminate your employment with the agency. I’m sorry. There’s nothing more I can tell you—this is an order from higher up. It’s been good working with you and I hope everything’s all right—I understand Mr. Birch was very satisfied last night.”

There was an uncomfortable cough at the end of the line, followed by a long, pregnant pause.

“Very satisfied indeed.”

Another long, deeply uncomfortable pause.

“Well, Latoya… You take care of yourself out there. Goodbye.”

And then the message ended.

It only took a moment for me to piece together what had happened… Mr. Birch had forced them to fire me. He didn’t want me escorting anymore—that had to be it. He was going to take away my livelihood, just so he could have me all to himself!

I was seething with rage and more upset than I could ever remember being. What the hell was I going to do? Finding work with escort agencies wasn’t exactly easy and besides, how could I ensure that Mr. Birch wouldn’t find me again and force the agency to fire me?

If only there was a way I could go to the police or something like that—but that was totally out of the question. How did I know that the police weren’t in Birch’s pocket too? And besides, if they pressed charges against me… I didn’t have the money to fight them. I couldn’t afford a lawyer—hell, if I had the money to afford a lawyer, I probably wouldn’t have been escorting in the first place…

There was only one thing to do, I realized. I had to call Birch. I had to call David Birch—one of the richest men in the city, not to mention the world—and demand that he get my job back.

How the hell had this happened?

~

As much as I wanted to call him right away and start screaming at him, I knew discretion was the better part of valor. I knew I should hold off, let my emotions cool down—if only because he had told me to call him tomorrow.

Instead, I went to the gym. I belong to a kickboxing and MMA gym—it’s a pricey, fancy place for investment bankers and lawyers to work out and live their dreams of being ring fighters. It’s also for yuppie wives who wanted to get super toned.

And, finally, it’s for people like me—people who, for whatever reason, want to learn to fight. There was a small group of us—cops, professional fighters, former military—and then me.

My trainer, Bo, an ancient coach from the Bronx who supposedly had trained a few world contenders back in the ‘70s, was one of the only people who knew what I did for a living. I had told him when I was trying to convince to train me—a chubby, out of shape girl who didn’t know her right from her left.

Over the months, he hadn’t exactly transformed me into a lean, mean fighting machine but he had taught me to hold my own. I had been able to fight my way out of a few sticky situations with clients once or twice—they had been scary, but nothing that a quick jab to the nose couldn’t solve.

I found Bo and after a warm up, he held a pair of focus mitts for me to hit. As we maneuvered around the ring, I noticed that he was quieter, more pensive than usual.

Finally, he revealed what was on his mind.

“You know… A white feller’ came ‘round looking for you this morning…”

I raised an eye brow, panting in between blows. Left, right, hook…

“What’d he look like?” I grunted.

“Tall, good looking feller,” Bo said sagely, slowly. Years of watching fighters, of analyzing their strengths and weaknesses and diagnosing their flaws all from the way they moved had given him an almost supernatural ability to deduce facts about people. When he first met me, he guessed correctly that I had been abused by my biological father growing up—all from the way I looked over my shoulder when a man who had the same foot-fall as my father came out of the locker room.

“Seemed solid. Seemed like he could take a punch.”

Left, right, hook, uppercut. Bo tapped me on either shoulder. I put my arms up, covering my face, as if deflecting imaginary blows. This was an important part of boxing training—you weren’t always the one doing the hitting. More often the not, you took the punches—at least until you learned out to protect yourself and how to be smart. I knew from Bo that fairly few fighters ever got that far.

“Anything else?” I asked in between long, gasping breaths. Bo jerked his head to the floor of the ring, which I knew meant do twenty push-ups—an exercise which I had always hated in grade school and middle school PE class and which was made all the harder by the bulky boxing gloves on my hand. I dropped to the floor and began to crank out the repetitions as Bo continued his analysis.

“Seemed like he’s maybe ex-military. Not happy about it though. Watches doors a lot. Watches people’s hands. Folks like that—usually ex-military, guys who’ve been in war zones.”

I hopped back up to my feet and immediately began to pepper the gloves with blows. After a few moments, Bo against jerked his head to the ground. More push-ups. Damn it. It was going to be one of those days. As if my pussy and ass weren’t sore enough as it was, now my chest was going to be aching too…

“Yeah, I would say a feller’ who’s seen combat, but who’s still torn up about it. Post-traumatic stress disorder is what they call it. I read a couple articles about it in the Times.”

I was on my feet again and had my hands up over my head, warding off the rapid fire blows from the mitts that Bo began to rain down on my head. Sometimes, his hands dropped down to my gut and I had to dance out of the way or drop my hands—which then left my face open. It was a delicate game of chess and not one that I was good at. Nonetheless, it was one I had gotten better at—even if my ass hadn’t shrunk at all.

“I don’t know…” I said when we were done with the workout. “If it’s the guy I’m thinking of… I don’t think he has PTSD.”