I shrieked and squealed, the sensation incredible as my pussy continued to be pounded by the tool box.
“Give it to me, give it to me,” I cried, my cheek mashed to the ground, brown curls tumbled over my shoulders. “Fuck it harder into me.”
And the big man heaved again, more sperm jetting out relentlessly, spraying my insides with hot jism, his dick jerking like mad in my back chamber, twitching and dancing as he unloaded that precious cargo.
“You want it, don’t you?” he rasped and heaved, pushing his dick in tight. “Fuck, I’ve never met a girl so nasty.”
And I didn’t bother to reply. I couldn’t, I was so overtaken by the hot session, my body limp, sweat sheening my flanks, my pussy still worked hard by the machine.
But I knew one thing – my ass was overflowing, the cream spilling out between our bodies, coating Nick’s balls, dripping onto the dildo still pounding away. Slowly, stealthily, my little hand worked backwards to one my cheeks and I grabbed the soft orb, pulling it up from his cock, letting the sperm spill out of my hole, the gape giving way to copious white that oozed down my butt, trailing wetly.
“Fuck,” the big man heaved, staring at my prone form, the white coating everything now. “Fuck,” was all he could say.
And I giggled slightly before lifting my head and craning my neck to look meaningfully into his eyes.
“Mr. Boss Man, do I get a raise?” I purred.
And the billionaire just fucked his dick in deeper, eyes gleaming, hands digging hard into my hips. Nick wasn’t done yet … and if I wasn’t mistaken, we were playing for something more now.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nick
God, the little girl was so dirty. How the fuck had I gotten mixed up with the mink? Martin, a voice in my head warned, you’re in over your head.
Because what began as a game has become so much more. So fucking much more. Tammy’s coming to my office everyday now, showing up in the secret passage, sometimes arriving in nothing more than high heels and a big lipsticked smile, ready to do the dirty.
And do I stop her? Do I act like a responsible professional? Fuck no. I take what’s offered, devouring those big boobies, stroking that wet snatch, making her tremble and cream on the desk, the office couch, fuck even the floor of the bathroom.
And I admit, this isn’t the first time I’ve fucked one of my subordinates. I had a bad experience once before, a helluva shitpile that should have taught me a lesson but instead I’m still banging Tammy, making love to her again and again, the moaning, the creaming, like an addiction that I can’t shake.
So I berated myself in the privacy of my office, disgusted. What the fuck is wrong with you? I growled internally. Don’t you remember Jeanette? How can you not remember Jeanette? She sits outside your door everyday like a predator, fangs dripping, ready to draw blood, scratch your eyes out on a moment’s notice.
Because yeah, the bad experience was with my harpy of a secretary, which is so fucking ironic. The blonde’s not even my type, all stringy arms and legs, hips that jut out like glaciers, and flat as a pancake too. But it happened late one night, after a long conference call to Dubai.
“Mr. Martin, are you done in here?” came a sugary voice through my door, a discreet tap on the wood. Jeanette had just started then, it was her first week on the job.
“Yes, come in,” I called out. The remains of my dinner lay on a glass table in my office, crumbs everywhere, a discarded napkin on the floor. My new secretary probably wanted to go home and get some rest, it was late after all. So I expected her to waltz in, bus the plates, and then take off.
Except the blonde had a game plan. She edged open the door and threw herself into my office, quickly slamming the door even though no one was around this late.
I looked up, stupefied. What the fuck?
But the answer was obvious. Because Jeanette wore nothing but a body stocking, a transparent layer of hose that sheathed her from neck to ankle, except for three cut-outs. Oh yeah, both her boobs and her cunny were on display, the pink nipples jutting out like rocks, that shaved pussy oiled with something sugary and sickly sweet, like coconut or pineapple or some shit like that.
“Mr. Martin, I can help you relax,” she cooed as she minced forward, hips swaying. “You’ve had such a long day.”
Again, the blonde’s not my type at all. I’m not into Skeletor-looking chicks and this girlie was probably a hundred pounds max despite being six two in heels. So I growled, shaking my head vigorously.
But the girl couldn’t be dissuaded. She pranced over to me and plopped down in my lap, wiggling and jiggling, the sharp angles of her butt digging into my thighs.