The Boy Next Door (73 page)
Authors: Staci Parker
“Take it deeper.”
“Ohhhh shit!” she cried out, holding the edge of the desk and sending her ass higher, giving him even more space to penetrate. “Ohh fuck my ass master!”
“Good slave. Good.”
“Ohhhh! Oh God you’re so deep. Fuck my hole!”
He increased the pace of his insertions and withdraws, fucking her faster and putting her lube to good use, by slipping inside her wet asshole and anal fucking her to nirvana.
“Yes! Yes! Ohhh Gawd I’m gonna cum!”
He shoved his cock in even deeper and reached the inner limits, sending her into a screaming fit and a full body shake. He literally felt her ass cum, judging by the deep inner quiver that bounced so powerfully both her pussy and ass felt the tremor. She drooled out of her mouth onto the desk and kept her mouth wide open in surrender, shaking in place as his manhood invaded her sacred orifice. He was buried so deep in her butthole she knew even if she pushed him out, he would take a long fucking journey just to pull himself out.
She came hard at the idea, jiggling her fleshy black ass for his amusement—that is until he spanked her cheeks hard, treating them like drums, as he continued fucking and pounding her every sensitive spot.
“Ohhh…Ohhhh that felt so good…” she said in a state of dizziness.
Othlo slowly pulled out of her ass, always mindful not to hurt her or be too harsh. His sexual quirk was dominance and his manner was stern to say the least. But he believed in safety and pleasure. Sex was the one discipline where regimen wasn’t the most important thing. Pleasure was the point, not just transcendence.
“Am I your little Black slut?” she asked with a tired and giddy smile.
But somehow the question upset him.
Othlo was just that way. Strong as an ox, ruthless as a warrior but when it came time for character evaluation he had the shins of a little girl. Sensitive. Easily upset. Deep down that was the master’s darkest secret of all…he wanted to be admired, not feared. He hated the idea of insulting people or making them feel low. It was contrary to everything he taught.
And that’s when he realized he had to call it quits.
V
Othlo called Viola into his office, serious as can be.
“Uh oh,” she teased. Is this another spank-butt fucking session? I better get my stretchy pants out, dude. Er, Master.”
“No. At ease, my friend.”
“Friend?”
“The truth is, I have something important to say. Something hurtful.”
“What?” she said with folded arms.
“I’m ashamed at the way things have been happening between us.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not becoming of a gentleman like myself. Or the level of master I have achieved. I should be above that. I cannot be with you.”
“What?!”
“You know it is true.”
“How dare you!” Viola finally said, losing all role playing desire and melting away into her icy true nature. “What’s that supposed to mean, anyway? Superior to me?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Yeah, but I know what you meant. You think disciplining a Black girl is beneath you? That you deserve something special and better than what you’re getting? Screw all that. You know what? I’m done with all this here. This is the creepiest and most unprofessional cracker ass dojo I’ve ever fucking seen.”
“Wait…”
Othlo watched in heartache as Viola stormed out of the office, still fuming and muttering to herself. He thought it over and seemed confused. Then finally, a revelation occurred to him.
He ran outside to catch Viola before she left the parking lot. She entered her car from a distance and caught Othlo’s attention who quickly ran over to meet her.
“Hey!” he said, putting his hands on the car window and demanding she speak to him.
He was alarmed to see tears rolling down her face.
“Why…why Viola?”
“You know why.”
Othlo made a regretful face. “You know why this must end. I am the one who should be apologizing to you. I succumbed to my darkest temptations. I felt lust towards you. And I treated you like a slave. It was wrong. It was my failure.”
“What are you babbling on about?”
“When you used that word ‘slut’ I found it very offensive. But sometimes the reason we hate something so intently is because we fear something deep within our own dark desires. I was guilty of degrading you. Treating you like a slave and not a student. For this I apologize, Viola.”
“What?” She laughed in disbelief. “That’s what you think this is about? Role playing?” She shook her head and laughed. “No. Othlo, I’ve role played master and slave for most of my adult life. That shit doesn’t bother me at all. I just don’t see why you have to have a thing against Black women, that’s all.”
“Black women?” He shook his head in objection. “What are you talking about?”
“You said…above that level. I figured you meant because you weren’t attracted to Black girls.”
“Of course I love Black women. I always have. I’ve only ever seriously dated Black women.”
She raised her brow and laughed. “Really? So you do…find me…attractive?”
“Yes. Too much of a good thing. I can’t concentrate when I am in your presence. The way you stretch…you talk…the way your body presses next to mine. I cannot separate my fleshly desires from my strong discipline as a teacher. This is why I must back away. A master is not supposed to train a slave, but another master.”
“Whoa…me? I make you feel that helpless? Wow…” Viola blushed. “It feels good to be desired. To be seen as a woman, not just a sexy, desirable being. That’s why I liked the role play, Othlo. I wanted to feel submissive and ladylike. Not just another ball busting sista from the hood packing heat. Know what I mean?”
“And that is the problem, Viola-san. When I date a woman I want her to be strong. All the women I’ve loved have been women of great power and ambition. This is what I admire. What turns me on emotionally and intellectually. When I train my student, I train her to be strong, courageous and immovable. I don’t want to train you to ask permission to speak. I want you to conquer the world. To take what I know and improve upon it. That is what I owe you as a mentor, a trainer.”
“I see,” she said blankly. “So here I thought you just dissed Black girls and there you thought I was being an anti-feminist.” She laughed. “Well not to sound too Black or something but ain’t that some shit.”
“I really do like you, Viola. As a student, you have great potential. As a woman you are strong and determined. And as a lover, you feed my darkest obsessions. You satiate the demons inside me. You give me the entire world. But three heads cannot direct one body. It is a conflict of interest.”
“Hmmm,” Viola said. “Well how about a compromise, my master—strictly speaking of your mastership as a black belt fighter.” She laughed. “You fire me as a student. Maybe you send me a referral to Kerrigan or whatever his name is. But then…you take me on as a woman. A submissive Black geisha ready to do your bidding. And then…maybe when we go out in public you can treat me like a princess and spoil me just a little bit.”
“Hmm,” Othlo said with a calm smile. “I like your idea, my friend. Why would any woman choose one man when she can have three?”
Othlo and Viola kissed—a happy little make up kiss that put everything into perspective. Othlo was a stubborn and old fashioned thinker for sure. But maybe Viola would be the best thing that happened to him. She could teach him a thing or two about expanding his desires as teacher, lover and boyfriend and becoming a “master” level in each one.
THE END
Knocked Up by the Billionaire Bad Boy Street Racer
The roaring of the engines around him was only muffled slightly by the hum of his own idling engine. The black tinted windows of his vintage Dodge Charger hid Greyson’s face from the crowds, but everyone knew his reputation at the races.
He would win and he would take her home. It did not matter who “her” was, he would find someone with a tight little skirt and a giggly young voice, and they would rumble off down the street together.
He had dumped every penny possible into the car, just to ensure the win. Custom paint job, tinting on everything but the front windshield, emblems removed for that smooth exterior. And of course the engine modifications list was extensive and expensive. He had a particular mechanic that he liked, and he paid well for the services and for the discretion.
And these groupie girls just purred when he sidled up to them. It did not hurt that he was a few inches over six feet, with wavy dark hair, broad shoulders, tawny eyes, and a chiseled jawline that nearly always sported a few days of stubble. He had an easy grin and a charismatic way about himself that drew the girls in like moths to a naked lightbulb. More than one had been scorched by the heat.
As his race time approached, he relaxed back into the black leather seats and ran his fingers over the shifter that brushed his right knee. The worn knob felt smooth under his thumb and he grinned when he felt the engine vibrating through it. He was not overly concerned about the race itself. Because of the money he had dumped under the hood, he won nearly all of them. And everyone at the race site knew that it was lost money when you went up against the Black Behemoth.
He pulled up to the starting line and looked to his left. He was up against some Honda Civic that seemed to have more neon than all of Vegas. He started to roll his eyes but stopped when the flag girl caught his attention. She looked perhaps a day past her twenty-first birthday, and shook her blonde hair in the gentle summer breeze. Her young tanned figure was flawless and barely covered with a tiny white bikini. His cock twitched as she grinned at both drivers and tugged a red scarf from around her hips. She waved it in the air to get everyone’s attention and then dropped it dramatically.
Greyson was only slightly distracted by her firm and perky breasts, but his engine roared off the line as he stomped on the accelerator and jetted past her. His cock spurred him faster because he knew the sooner he won this last race of the night, the sooner he could have that little blonde bouncing around on top of his lap.
He whipped the car around the pylon at the end of the designated strip of road, and headed back to the finish line. The Honda was surprisingly close to him, but he loved a close race. What excitement would there be if he whipped them all too easily?
He could see the outline of her as he closed in on the win and had to fight the urge to adjust his swelling cock. He whipped past her and screeched to a halt only moments before the Honda but it was yet another win for the Charger.
He threw open the door and popped out for his victory hug from the scarf girl. She pressed herself firmly up against his muscled chest and he could tell this was already a done deal. His fingers wandered around her hip and gripped her nearly exposed ass tightly. She gasped softly but made no motions of pulling away.
With her clinging to his side, he made his way through the crowd to collect his cash from the Honda driver. The young man was dismayed to have lost to someone around thirty, but Greyson took his money with a smile that seemed to mollify his anger. Greyson gallantly escorted the young woman back to his car, and flashed a victory sign to the onlookers as he closed his own car door.
A few minutes after pulling away from the event, he was parking in a small apartment complex lot and letting her back out. They tumbled into the apartment with clothes flying in every direction. It was a fun but unremarkable affair, and he dozed off with a limp cock against one thigh and a sleepy blonde against one shoulder.
The next morning, he made some sort of excuse to her about having to get to work. She looked disappointed when he handed her a fifty dollar bill and called the cab company, but the no-nonsense set to his jawline made her reconsider putting up an argument. He waited until the taxi took off, then he took off in the Charger. He did not feel the need to head straight to the office. Instead, he pointed the Charger to his real home and settled in his seat for the drive.
The little apartment was convenient for so many things. It was handy for one-night encounters and also served as a meeting place for any of the friends that did not know about his day job. He did his best to keep it up as though it were really a place to live, but truthfully he could not imagine actually living in a studio apartment where the kitchen overlooked the main area, where the living room and the bedroom were one giant shared space, and where the only door in the place led to the tiny bathroom.
He pulled up to the gate of his estate and punched in the codes to let it slide open. He pulled the Charger into its designated spot of the multi-car garage and headed inside.
The apartment he just left could have fit four times over into the garage alone, and that did not count the other structures on the property. The main house sat back from the street, with the guest house and the small pool house behind it to flank the tennis court and the swimming pool.
His butler met him at the garage door, and handed him a cup a coffee. Greyson grinned and took a cautious sip from the steaming mug.
“Long night,” he admitted with a grin to Mister Anders.
“I can see that, Sir,” he replied noncommittally.
Mister Anders was not a fan of Greyson’s newest hobby but did not feel it was his place to say anything about it. Mister Anders had worked for the family for several decades and had known Greyson’s father more like a brother than an employer. Now that Greyson was head of the family, of the business, and of the estate, things were changing faster than Mister Anders was accustomed to.
Greyson headed up to his master suite to get ready for work. As the heir of the global corporation, he had massive responsibilities but he also had a certain amount of freedom. His recent street racing was just a way to blow off steam and to have a little fun with girls who did not know who he was. Most of the time, he was completely bored with the society girls that his father’s associates and friends pressed upon him. These girls from the races were not really that much brighter, they will just fun without all of the strings.
There were magazine articles listing him as one of the country’s most eligible and desirable bachelors, but he hated those articles. His private life was no one else’s business, especially since he did not purport himself to be any kind of celebrity. He did realize that with his financial status, he was a default celebrity of sorts especially given his piercing eyes and washboard stomach, but he was not the type to seek it out.
After a long hot shower, he slipped into one of his custom tailored grey suits and headed back downstairs. This time, his driver would be in charge of the accelerator and would drop him off at the high rise office building downtown. Part of him wished he could just hand the reins to someone else, but he knew his father built this company so that his son could run it someday.
He stopped by the granite and steel kitchen for more coffee and something more substantial. The kind older lady who worked as his chef ushered him to the table and laid out a nice breakfast for him. He really should not have taken the time, but the lox platter looked irresistible. The bagel was perfectly toasted, the vegetable cream cheese was soft and spreadable, and the translucent slips of smoked salmon glistened. He topped off the entire creation with shaved red onion and capers and wolfed the entire meal down along with another cup of coffee.
Greyson gathered his briefcase and sighed deeply as he slid into the town car. Despite everything that his father had left him and being a man of nearly unlimited resources, he was bored with his life and ready for something to change.
Chapter Three
The next racing night could not arrive soon enough, and Greyson went through the motions of his business dealings with anticipation of feeling that rumble underneath him. There was no rumble in the board room that could come close to matching the excitement of his beloved Charger roaring off the starting line.
It really had less to do with the girls and more to do with the racing itself. The girls he took back to the apartment were just the chocolate cake after the filet mignon. He got more of a thrill out of the fifty-second street race than he did when he closed a fifty million dollar deal at the office.
By Friday afternoon, he was tapping his toes impatiently in the board room and watching the clock tick off one second per hour. When the meeting concluded, he nearly ran out of the room much to the irritation of the other board members. They, like Mister Anders, were still getting used to the changes.
Greyson reached the building’s parking garage in record time, and waved his driver over insistently.
“I gotta get outta here,” he told the man as he slid into the back seat.
The driver nodded. “Where to, Sir?”
“Home. I need to just get home.”
The town car pulled smoothly out of the garage, and Greyson sunk back into his seat and yanked his tie off with a strangled groan. He was ready to slip into those torn jeans and beat up tee shirt, and take the Charger out for a spin. He had been a reckless teenager and sometimes longed for those days when he could slip out and do whatever he wanted while someone else was left to clean up the mess he left in his wake.
He finally arrived home to don his street uniform, and he headed out in the Charger to the other side of town. Mister Anders tried in vain to stop him, and just stood in the open door shaking his head as the Charger pealed out of the driveway.
On his way to the racing site, he pulled into a fast food drive-through window and ordered himself a meal that would have made his chef quit her job. She tried to provide him with healthy balanced meals for his overall health, and he just grinned at the thought of her reaction to his double bacon cheeseburger and extra-large order of French fries. The bucket-sized soda washed everything down nicely.
He was not overly concerned about the impact of one meal on his health. He worked out like a fiend and ninety-five percent of the food he ate was of the healthy variety. He just liked to indulge in the burgers once a week before the race.
After he finished his meal in the car in an empty law firm parking lot, he decided to swing by the apartment and make sure everything was looking good. He never wanted it to look like it was abandoned; those apartments always got robbed.
After checking, he headed over to the normal gathering spot. The onlookers and drivers had already started to assemble, and the group parted as he pulled up. A couple of new visitors ooh-ed and ahh-ed over his car and he basked in the attention she earned for him.
He stepped out of the car and nearly lost his balance when his eyes fell on her. These racecars were usually driven by young guys with something to prove, and the girls were giggly airheads who barely knew how to put gas in their own cars. But she was different.
She stood slightly apart from the crowd, but not so far away that she looked like a loner. She hung around the fringes and looked a little bored. It was not that affected boredom look; it was a look of profound otherness, as though she belonged to a different time or a different place. Her face was devoid of any actual emotion as the young man beside her bounced and jabbered away about something. She smiled politely, but her eyes never crinkled with humor or enjoyment. Greyson estimated that her jeans were oversized by at least one dress size, and her tee shirt was the same. Her chestnut hair was drawn back into a simple bun at the nape of her neck and her creamy skin shown softly in the rising moonlight. From a distance he could not give an educated guess as to her age or her eye color. But from the instant that he saw her, he had to know more. He had to learn everything.
Chapter Four
Greyson approached the woman and the young man with the same casual swagger that he approached life.
The young man, who had been bouncing around, started jumping more.
“Dude! You’re the Charger! Love that car dude! Did you do the work yourself?” The poor kid was nearly hyperventilating.
Greyson clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. I have a great mechanic. I’d be happy to recommend him if you like.”
He knew that no one else in the entire racing group could afford his mechanic, so he felt safe making the offer.
The woman regarded him coolly with her emerald eyes.
“Folks around here just call me Charger,” he offered as he flashed his winningest smile.
“They don’t call me anything,” she retorted and turned away.
Greyson was not used to any sort of rebuff, professional or personal.
“Oh? They just say, ‘hey you there’?” he tried to joke around with her.
“They don’t speak to me at all. I’ve never been here before.”