“Wake up, boy,” a deep voice whispers in the distance.
I squirm, curling my arms even tighter around my pillow, content to ignore the person and slip back into my peaceful dreams.
“You have three seconds,” the voice says, deeper this time, rougher around the edges.
I hum something incoherent under my breath. A set of hands find my hips, making me shiver lightly, but I manage to shrug it off as a handsy maid, trusting in my father’s power to get them away from me sooner rather than later.
A nice, warm blanket falls across my backside, melding seamlessly to my ass like a second skin. I hold the pillow loosely, fingers spreading wide and grabbing at the silky sheet beneath as the blanket slips, parts my cheeks, and slides down against my tender-feeling hole. I grunt under my breath, hips bucking up into the pillow in a quick, reflexive move to escape the sudden pressure building there.
“You’ve run out of time, boy,” the voice coos behind me somewhere. And then the blanket is really pushing and I’m gasping awake, straining against the set of hands holding me down, arching away from their owner’s cock forcing me open. “You finally get it, huh?”
I shiver at the feeling of the man’s chest sliding up against mine, his hips bucking, shoving in another inch. My body throbs, heats like a well-trained machine, and lets him sink right into me. It’s only when I look to my right and see the hulking profile of Mr. Oakley looming over me in our reflection that I remember letting myself be led into his basement and used like the average whore.
His striking eyes grab at mine from the mirror, holding me in place, forcing me to watch as he lifts up, reveals my much smaller frame pathetically curled up around his long, thick pillow. He licks his lips and makes a show of entering me again, his eyelids drooping, lips parting as if the sweetest parcel is upon his tongue. I groan, face flushing, as he murmurs what a good boy I am, offering myself up so early in the morning.
I can do little more than watch as he shows me exactly what he’s doing, let’s me see my body react, shivering, jerking, tensing in pleasure. It’s only when he rubs himself right up against that sweet spot inside me that I break eye contact, my vision swaying as a moan is torn from my throat. He chuckles, yanks me off his cock and flips me onto my back. He spreads my legs and holds me open by my thighs as he rocks back in, head tipped back in pleasure. I make a soft sound in the back of my throat at how easily my body lets him in, my hands grabbing at his arms without thinking as he pulls out and rams me full of his cock, obviously over the whole “slow fuck” thing.
He takes no pity on me and instead tightens his grip, moves my legs farther apart, and goes at me like a dog might its favorite toy. He throbs inside me, long and thick and so, so ready to burst. I can feel the tension building in him, feel it make him thicken inside me. He takes one long, slow dive, groaning under his breath as he repeats the action over and over until I’m panting and leaking all over myself, squirming to climb up his cock. It’s something about the slow torture of his actions that makes me desperately want to come, to have my morning release as soon as possible.
And he gives it to me, shoves me full of his slick dick and pounds me raw on it. I can hardly remember to breathe with how fast and hard and rough he goes at it, my body incapable of doing anything other than clinging to him and coming all over him. My balls empty in seconds and then I’m on my knees, sitting on his lap with my arms around his neck and his tongue in my mouth.
“A little bit more, boy, just . . . uh, a little,” he grunts, palming my ass and tugging me up and down, swirling up a great big mess inside me.
Without thinking, I push him down, give into the heat pooling in my stomach and push my hair out of my face as I balance on my knees. “Shut up, old man, I got this,” I say through gritted teeth, jaw set as I take over, setting the pace faster, clenching up on him as best I can in an effort to mimic some of my favorite girls. He jerks once and then he’s erupting, shooting like a hose into me.
I start pulling off, more than ready to head home and put this bizarre night/morning behind me when he catches me by my hips, yanking me down hard. I moan, back arching into the sharp collision. His cum gushes out of me, making a liquidy mess of my ass, as he holds me there, lets me feel it dripping out of me.
“I-I–!” I cut off on a sharp cry, back bowing as he lifts me up and fucks me in short, fast thrusts, frothing up his juices inside me and making me twitch to life. He groans and sits up, catches me by the chin, and rubs his tongue along my bottom lip. “I-I thought you s-said–”
Mr. Oakley slides his thumb into my mouth, shushing me as he pulls out completely. He looks behind me, no doubt watching as his thick, foamy cream drips free. “So erotic,” he murmurs, his cock throbbing noticeably in agreement when he plugs me up with it. His thumb presses down on my tongue as his other hand finds my wet hole, petting the soaked ring as it clenches on his shaft. He bucks into me, gives me two quick thrusts before he remembers what fun he’s having and goes back to playing.
He curls a finger into me pulling my hole out of shape and I can’t help but shiver when I start dripping his cum down his dick. “St-stop,” I gasp escaping his thumb with a single twist of my head, “you said only a little more!”
“Yeah,” he says evenly, “just a little more, boy, so keep giving it to me ‘till I say enough. I’m nowhere near satisfied with this tiny tasting. Or do you want your Daddy to get my money or not?”
I groan under my breath, not because he threatened me, but because I can feel him thickening to his full size inside me. He’s excited. In a last ditch effort, I push him back down and quickly, clumsily clamber off of him. Practically stumbling from the bed, I take two, three steps and then a sharp bolt of pain rolls up my backside and I’m on my knees.
“What . . . the fuck,” I take in a long, shaky breath, “did you do to me?!”
He chuckles, drawing my attention, and I immediately regret it. There, above me, he sits on the edge of his bed, looking like a hulking giant with one of the longest, thickest erections I have ever seen. An electrified jolt goes through my dick, stiffening it up fully for him. A soft whimper catches in my throat. All humor falls from his face, a purely predatory glint taking over his gaze. Without thinking, I shift forward on my knees.
Entranced, I watch as thick fingers wrap around his base, squeeze it up halfway and then go back down. And then, he’s pointing it my way and rubbing his tense balls in the other hand. His glistening head beckons me like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, my fate sealed by the appearance of a white pearl dripping out. It curves down the underside, leaving a trail of slick, mouth-watering skin. And then I’m catching it, following its path with his hands in my hair and my hands replacing his. I keep my eyes closed in shame, my entire body sensitized to his gaze being on my face, my ass, my dick.
I take him onto my tongue, into my mouth, and only let my eyes rise when I swallow him down, my body remembering the way he told me to breath last night, to swallow every inch and hum around him. I do as he asked yesterday and he groans like a man on the verge of coming.
“Be a good boy now, Luka, and get that ass on my cock. I have no intentions of coming anywhere else,” he practically growls the words his voice a low rumble across my senses. It vibrates my nerve-endings, tingles through my dick, and draws me up into his lap once more.
But Mr. Oakley is not to be fooled twice, he rolls us around, gets me bent over the edge, cheek pressed to the sheets as he steps up to the edge of the mattress and sheathes himself in my sensitized hole in one swift, hard motion. I arc off the bed, hands grabbing at the mattress as he rams himself into my stomach over and over and over, fucking me relentlessly, punishingly hard. I squirm on his cock, body pulsing like mad as he takes what he wants, chasing his climax rough and fast, heedless of my needs.
I leak like a faucet on his blankets, my mind going numb, my body’s entire focus being on my ass and mouth. My cries are higher now, more feminine as I get closer and closer, eyes closing, giving into being treated as an easy whore in favor of the sweet, sweet orgasm coming my way.
It hits me out of the blue, ripping through me in heavy tidal waves as Mr. Oakley thickens, swells on the cusp of–
We both moan in pleasure when he gives me his second load, my eyes sliding closed in relief, slumping over the edge when he finally pulls out of me. He’s done. We’re finally done. My legs tremble, threatening to give out from under me. And then his hands are scooping me up against his chest and depositing me onto the bed. For a moment, when he’s standing beside me, the horrifying thought goes through my head that he wants to go again, but then he’s folding his arms over his chest and stepping away and the fear dissipates.
“When you’re able to stand, join me in the shower. I’ll clean you,” he says, his voice as firm as steel, and then he’s gone disappearing through the bathroom door.
And the fear has returned!
Utterly unwilling to do anything else even remotely dangerous with him again, I sit up and look around for my clothes, wanting nothing more than to bathe in my own shower. When I don’t spot anything of mine, I take to his dresser, making my wobbly, hunched-over way there and digging through his clothes. In the end, I find one black sock, one red one, a blue cardigan, and a pair of gray sweatpants. Oh, how my stylist would weep.
To avoid the catastrophe of having to explain the mess I’d make of his clothes to the maids, I use his discarded shirt on the floor to wipe myself as clean as possible and wear the mismatched socks as shoes on my way out. Getting outside is easy enough, realizing I have no keys, wallet, or phone is noticeably harder. With a quick glance back at the Oakley’s God forsaken house, I decide a seven mile walk home is more than worth it.
About halfway through the first mile I realize how hard poor people must have it. A half mile later, I decide I need to get a car that has buttons instead of key slots. A half mile after that, I come to understand what “starvation” truly is as my stomach eats my kidneys. By the time I reach halfway, I have to sit down under some trees by the side of the road and pray for it to rain perfectly purified bottled water. And I’m thoroughly convinced by the time I reach the main gate that the “walk of shame” should henceforth be known as the “walk of Hellish suffering” so that all who hear of it can properly sympathize.
After terrifying the gatesmen and sending the kitchen into a tizzy about providing the “haggard Young Master” with a nutritional meal, seeing my calm, judgment free bedroom brings a great sense of relief. One that is quickly out done by a refreshingly hot shower, a thorough scrubbing, and a clean, neatly pressed outfit. My oasis only gets better when a maid comes in with a fruity Gorgonzola salad with a strawberry vinaigrette dressing. Oh, how sweet it is to be victorious!
Sure, I slept with a guy, but my dad’ll keep his deal, never know, and I get to continue along the path of being his only successor. Almost a complete victory! I’m on the verge of making myself forget all about the incident when a knock comes on my bedroom door.
“Young Master, your father requests your presence in his office. Mister James Oakley is here,” says Miss Rita, our aged housekeeper.
“Of course, he is,” I mutter to myself, but call out to her that I’ll be down in a minute.
Exiting the bathroom, I avoid looking towards my messy bed and instead head for my closet, pulling back one door and grabbing the first pre-made outfit I see. Thankfully, it’s not terribly “I’m trying way too hard” like most of the others my father has stashed away there, so I don’t mind getting dressed. Once I’m decked out in a pair of light gray slacks and a white button up, I suck in a deep breath and make my way down the hall and around the wide center of the house, to the study in the Western Wing.
I only find myself hesitating when the dark brown doors are before me, one hand stretched out towards the gold handle but unable to grasp it. On my wrist there are two faint, purple outlines. Last night’s memory flashes through my mind. I shudder and shake it off, forcing myself into the room. That wasn’t me last night. I would never allow someone to top me. I keep that in mind as the doors close behind me.
My father’s study is just as it used to be: bragging with rows upon rows of trophies and books that he’s never read. But one thing has changed: in my favorite seat sits a man with wide shoulders and thick brown hair, dressed in a professional black suit. Gone are the faded jeans and dirty hands, and in their place is a man who is visibly worth more than my entire town.
“So glad you could join us, Luka! We were just talking about you,” my father says with a prideful grin, his eyes flickering towards Mr. Oakley for approval. From my perspective the man doesn’t move a muscle, but from the way my father practically scrambles to find the words to say, he must’ve. “You just started your break, right? Well, I don’t have a position open at the company right now, so instead of wasting away all summer, Mr. Oakley’s agreed to let you work with him on his farm. He’s been shorthanded since he moved, so he could use the help.”
“No!” The answer is instantaneous. I don’t even need to think about it. There’s no way I’m–.
“Bad boy.” I shiver at the sound of his voice, looking towards my dad to see if he heard the barely audible whisper, but he’s just staring at me aghast, deaf to the man before him. My hands clench in my pockets, mouth opening to tell my dad again, but his guest overrides me. “Would you mind, Richard? Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll be able to convince him.”
My father glares pointedly my way, reminding me wordlessly that the deal is immensely more important than my summer, and murmurs his agreement. He slips out the side door, grumbling under his breath about his ungrateful son as he abandons me to the monster. As soon as he’s out of sight, my skin is crawling with goosebumps, and my limbs have gone completely stiff. Paralyzed, I watch on helplessly as Mr. Oakley stands, and comes around in front of me. He doesn’t touch me just stares down at me in that silently prying way of his. And then his hand is reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.
He taps the screen twice and then turns it towards me.
I stumble back a step, jaw dropping in horror. There on his screen, I’m bent slightly over, holding myself open for him, and dripping all over myself. “No . . . “ I breathe out in disbelief, watching it change to another shot and another and another. The only similarity between each one is the pink-faced, desperate star: me. I blink in disbelief, and the phone disappears into his pocket.
“Invite me up to your room.”
I groan in defeat, slumping back against the doors I entered through. He steps closer and closer, stalking me unabashedly. My voice cracks as I call out, “Dad, we’re going up to my wing to talk some more.”
He hums. “Good boy. Lead the way.”
The walk is short. So short. But the entire way, I can’t help being incredibly aware of his intentions. He practically wraps them around my neck and chokes me with them with how close he walks to me, his hand placed dangerously low on my back, almost all the way in my pants already. And when my door comes up before us, I can’t help but contemplate going past it down the hall and leading him in a perpetual loop. A part of me knows better and pushes the door open.
As soon as it closes behind us, I’m pinned against its flat surface. Mr. Oakley presses his cock against my back and cages me in with his arms. His hips sway forward and I arch into the wood, hands scratching at it when he chases me, pushes in hard between my cheeks. My spine is wracked with shivers, and then his hands are on my hips and I’m groaning my defeat already. He grinds us together, moves me up and down his cock and teases me with hard mock-thrusts that make my head spin. I may not want to admit it, but I remember how good he made me feel. My dick twitches with excitement at what’s to come. I dig my fingers into the wood as much as I can and try not to squirm with every firm thrust he gives me, his hard erection sliding up and down my ass, mocking me.
He doesn’t say a word about how much I want it, just reaches around my hips with both hands and grabs onto my zipper. I almost whimper it feels so good to be taken into his fist, my balls cupped in his rough, hot palm. And then he’s stroking me in tandem with his dry humping, and I can’t possibly stay still. All the blood in my body is draining to his fingers, stiffening me fully in his hands and working my hips to grind myself harder on him.
“Fuck. Me.” I pant with every word, head tipping back to glare at him over my shoulder. His eyes twinkle with a smirk, and then his tongue is licking at my lips. And I’m opening, meeting his tongue halfway and closing the gap. My fingers find his hair, pull his mouth close as my other hand finds his raging hard-on. He throbs under my hand, bucking into me and pinning me tighter to the door.
“You don’t deserve it, boy,” he growls into my mouth, but lets me open his pants anyways. His erection is feverishly hot, pulsing madly when I wrap my fingers around it.
I suck in a harsh breath when he presses his thumb into my tip, wordlessly reminding me that he can stop me from coming. I rub him nice and smooth, flicking the tip on the pad of my thumb and thoroughly loving the way his grip tightens in all around me. Tilting my head back even further, I nuzzle his neck and whisper more fuel into the fire, “If you want something, take it.”
He practically shoves me into the door, my pants hitting my knees as his fingers dive into my heat. “You’re coming home with me and you’ll stay there until I’m done with you,” he orders me in a whisper, punctuating exactly what his message implies by shoving his fingers against my sweet spot. I moan freely, revelling in the way he immediately jams his fingers in my mouth, and holds my head back on his shoulder, taking command of my every movement. “And then you’ll come again the next day and the next,” he pulls his fingers out of my ass and replaces them with every inch of his throbbing cock, “and the next.” The last words are like liquid lava on a sigh of pleasure, he so obviously enjoys sheathing himself in me.
I gasp around his digits in my mouth, my nails scraping at the wood as he pounds me into it. He avoids my spot and fucks me hard and fast, doing exactly as I’d said: taking what he wants. This is for his pleasure. I moan loudly at the knowledge, arching my hips into his thrusts and letting him use me. James shifts his grip from my jaw to my neck, asserting himself even as he rubs my prostate raw on his shaft. The need to come builds in my stomach, trickling down my dick and coming out as heavy, white drops.
All at once, he’s out of me.
I slump against my bedroom door chest heaving and painfully aroused. Before I can get so much as a question out, he’s already telling me what to do. “Turn around.” I do as told.
He reaches out, cups the back of my neck and pulls. I frown against his lips, more than a bit confused when he licks gently at the dip between mine. I open and he pulls back.
“Get on the bed.” I blink unsurely up at him, one eyebrow lifting before I remember the faint ache to my hips. Then, I get on like he said to. “Good boy,” he whispers as he places one knee onto the edge and lazily strokes at his dripping length, “now, on your back, legs open.”
He watches me for a moment, just slowly takes in every exposed inch of me, and then sets the other knee on the bed. I almost squirm it’s so frustrating to watch him slowly get closer and closer. And then he’s right between my legs and I’m sitting up, wrapping my arms around his neck and–
He pushes me back down. “Bad boy.” I flinch and groan in acute agony, chest tightening as I toss my head back against my mattress.
“Touch me,” I demand through gritted teeth, glaring at him for all I’m worth, “fuck me. Do. Something!”
His lips curl upwards, his hands landing just inches from my sides. I have to fist my blanket to keep from grabbing at him. He’s just watching me. Staring right into my eyes as he drives me fucking insane. I scratch at the comforter, drag more of it into my clutches. Mr. Oakley full out smiles now and leans off of me, slowly, meticulously unbuttoning his shirt. Every muscle in my body stiffens. Not because he’s so wonderfully tanned or muscled — which he is — but because I want to touch him, to lick every inch of his caramel toned chest and run my fingers through the faint brown curls peeking out the top of his pants. I want to bite into his shoulder and wrap my legs around his trim hips and scratch him until he bleeds.
I moan in defeat and grab onto him, pulling him down and taking his bottom lip into my mouth. “I can’t. I want it,” my voice is thick and soft and desperate. God, but I’m desperate. His hips slide up between my wide open legs and I shiver, closing them in around him as I nip at his bottom lip. “Take me.”
I whimper at the slow grind of his hips. My nails finally sink into his golden, delicious back. It ripples beneath my touch. And then my fingers are moving down and he’s thrusting his cock against me.
His hands push my thighs back, spread me open for his shaft. He rubs his head on my hole. I shudder, every part of me open and waiting for him to give it to me. He ducks his head to my ear and presses a little harder. My eyes almost roll back in my skull. It’s torture. He wants to torture me to death. His tongue rings a small patch of skin as he pushes just a little bit more. I wet my lips slowly, hungrily. Almost there. It’s almost in. Just a little bit more pressure.
“Bad boys get nothing.”
The words are so soft I almost don’t hear them, but I certainly take note when he gets off the bed entirely. No, nonono! I lift onto my hands and stare aghast as he pulls back on his shirt and zips his pants. Without thought, I’m on my knees at the edge, reaching for him. “No, I was good. I was totally good!” He eyes my outstretched hands incredulously. I drop them, reflexively hiding them behind my back. “I mean, I can be good. I’ll be good, I promise!”
He sighs and rolls up his sleeves, taking one agonizingly slow step back towards me. Anticipation gnaws at my insides, makes my hole tighten up and loosen like a starved, waiting mouth. But then his lips are descending on mine and my ass is the last thing on my mind. My eyes drop to his lips, head tipping back and hands fisting behind me, the nearer he gets.
He’s barely a hair’s breadth away, just about to make contact, when he stops. His tongue snakes across the thin gap between his lips, skirting along that same bottom one that I had just had in my mouth, nibbling on it, on the verge of finally having sex. “The next time I fuck you, you’ll be in my house, begging me for it. So go be a good boy and tell your daddy you’re working for me this summer. I’ll supply your transportation. Don’t wear any underwear.”
I shiver, goosebumps flooding across my skin as he calmly steps away from me and leaves the room. Working for Mr. Oakley, I roll the idea around in my sex-clogged brain, but all that I can really focus on are those two words: next time. He wants to fuck me again.
I shudder, sparks of excitement rolling down my spine. I hunch over my knees, groaning at how quickly my body’s already reacting. He was just inside me not even ten minutes ago and I’m already like this, wet and hard and so, so ready to feel him looming over me again.
“Crap, this is madness,” I mutter into my mattress.
Still, I get to my feet, gingerly getting back into my clothes and straightening them out. I glance forlornly at my boxers, but leave them at the foot of my bed, abandoning them there as I make my way back to my father’s business study.
I don’t hesitate this time when I reach the double doors leading to my dad’s study. I push my way inside and keep my eyes off the person sitting in my chair. My father watches me expectantly, his eyes slightly narrowed.
My mouth opens. The words I want to say are lodged in the back of my throat. I can feel them, the thick knot they form, and try to cough them free. Nothing. I swallow them down and try to distract myself. “How’s the deal coming along?” James shifts in his chair. Wrong. That wasn’t what I was supposed to say, I know.
My father’s expression immediately lightens up, his fingers stroking the curled edge of his mustache. “We just signed it yesterday morning. Your mother’s already preparing the party arrangements.”