12 Inches (A Secret Baby Dark Romance)(3)

“Oh fuck, she’s talking about you!” Susan screams and turns her head back to me and begins thrusting her ass into my crotch harder. It’s as if fucking me while her sister is begging me to take her back is turning her on.

Sometimes I just don't understand fucking women.

“Oh fuck baby, you're fucking me so good, just like you used to fuck Alyssa,” Susan moans out. It sounds so dirty that my cock can’t help but twitch inside of her. I have no idea if anyone can hear us, but I sure as fuck hope not.

“Keep it down, babe,” I whisper at her. But it’s no use. Susan has succumbed to the curse of my cock – and she’s begun to cum. Hard. And loud.

“Holy fuck Aidan, I’m cumming!” Susan literally yells and now I know that people can hear us because I hear Alyssa yell out, “Who’s back there?”

But I can’t do anything about it. Nothing.

Because I’m trapped on the verge of my own giant orgasm.

Susan is whimpering now, her body convulsing and shaking. I see her knuckles go white. Her entire body is in the throes of a mind numbing orgasm. Her pussy clenches around my cock several times before she relaxes. I can feel aftershocks of orgasm go through her.

“Open the curtain! Now!” I can hear Alyssa command.

Fuck. Do I even have time to cum?

Susan seems to make up my mind for me because she pulls away from my cock and swivels around to sink to her knees. She pulls off the condom on my cock and throws it to the ground without a second thought and takes my tip into her mouth.

She bobs her head twice and begins stroking my 12-inch flagpole before removing her head and looking at me. “Cum for me, Aidan. Cum for Alyssa’s little sister.”
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And that’s when the curtain lifts on the stage. It happens much faster than I was expecting and within three seconds I’m getting my knob polished in front of a roomful of international glitterati. Romance authors. People who write fucking for a living. But the most shocked person in the room isn’t them. It’s a very horrified looking ex-fling.

But Susan doesn’t care. She expertly pops her mouth off my giant tip and roughly gives me two swift strokes and before I know it, I’m paralyzed.

Because I’m cumming.

Despite the nearly five hundred shocked people in the hall and the very, very shocked Alyssa who is walking over to me, I can’t help but shudder at the pleasure that courses through my body as my cock starts to erupt.

Cum shoots out of me. Thick ropes of white, gooey semen. Susan milks me expertly. And with each spurt, I’m helpless to do anything as it lands on her face. It splatters her tits. She opens her mouth and lets a shot sail in. I get some on her forehead and it dribbles down her face. Oh fuck. Despite myself, this looks fucking hot.

Eventually, I stop cumming and tiny dribbles come out. Susan gives me one final stroke and brings her mouth onto my cock again for one last suck, taking everything with her.

Then she turns to Alyssa, who stands looking at the both us in horror.

“He’s mine now, sis,” she says.

Whatever. I’ll probably never see her again.

One and done is my philosophy, if you didn’t get it by now.

And with cum dripping down her body, she smiles for the cameras.

Fuck. The fucking cameras. I can feel them flashing as they capture my handiwork for all eternity.

It’s not just the photographers. The television networks were filming this. They were gonna put this on the fucking local news. Maybe 15 seconds. Talk about how romance as a genre was becoming its own force within the book world. How it wasn’t just about erotica anymore. How it was a real high brow literary genre. Well, no way they can put this on the local news. Maybe they can sell it to Vivid Video or another porn distributor?

There's only one thing to do in this situation. I bend down and pick up Susan’s thong. She looks at me and I take it and wipe my cock. It’s slimy with our juices.

Now both sisters look at me with undisguised shock. I pull up my pants, and aware that I have an audience in the millions, zip up.

I toss the thong over to Susan.

It falls to the floor with a THWACK. It’s so filled with juices it’s seeping.

Then I turn toward the authors.

Nearly everyone has their cell phones up. They’re filming. To post on Twitter. Facebook. Google. Show their kids. Show their friends. Prove that they were here.

I do the only thing I fucking can think of in this situation.

I take a bow. An elegant, graceful bow.

And then I straighten up.

“I’m Aidan Stone, male cover model. You can find me on Instagram, folks,” I say. And wait.

It takes a full five seconds and then I hear it.