Mr. President 1(99)

“Look south, towards downtown, Misty,” I tell her.

“I am, sir,” she replies. “My apartment faces downtown.”

“Do you see the spires of the city?” I ask. “Imagine the biggest one is my cock. Imagine my giant cock going inside of you. In and out. Fucking you.”

I hear her moan.

“Can I touch myself, sir?” she asks, a bit breathlessly.

Jesus fuck. My cock is rock hard as I say, “No, not yet. Are you staring downtown?”

“Yes, sir. Why am I staring out the window?” she asks.

“Because what you see outside your window represents the highlight of human achievement, Misty,” I say to her. I’m not fucking lying, but I’m not sure why I’m telling her this. “When I was a kid in the city, my Dad would take me every Sunday to the Empire State Building so we could look out on the skyline. He would tell me that as long as I was willing to work hard, those buildings represented the idea that I could do anything.”

“That’s sweet,” Misty says.

Fuck. Her name is Ashley. I can’t forget that. I’m starting to think of her as Misty… as my Kitten. This is fucking dangerous.

“Fuck sweet,” I tell her harshly, scared at how much I’ve given away. “I want you to picture my cock, Kitten.”

“Yes, master,” she says and now I’m just completely hooked. Where the fuck did she get that in her head to call me master? “Is it hard, sir?”

I grunt, my hand working my cock. “It’s veiny, thick, throbbing…” I start but Ashley interrupts me.

“Can I put my mouth on it, master?” she asks. “Can I run my tongue over the tip?”

Fucking Christ.

“Can I run my tongue up and down the shaft, sir?” she asks with a sweeter voice and my body shudders. “Can I spit on it and then smear it over your big, throbbing head?”#p#分页标题#e#

I can’t take any more, but she’s not done.

“Can I lick the precum that’s coming out with my tongue? And then can I jerk your cock while you watch me?”

I can’t answer. I’m too far into this fucked up world. I’m past the point of no return.

Can I put my finger on your slit and smear that precum across the head of your cock, master?” she asks me sweetly.

“I’m going to cum,” I manage to get out.

“I still have my bra on because you wanted me to keep it on, do you want to cum on my tits?” Ashley asks. “My big, soft, firm, tits,” she adds for emphasis.

“Urrgh,” I say out loud. Don’t ask me what I was trying to say because I have no fucking idea. My mind is in a state of paralysis as my orgasm rips through me and I shoot out spurt after spurt of thick, viscous cum out of my cock and onto the floor.

I’m panting as electric shocks of pleasure race through my body and by the time I’m done I don’t know how I’ve managed to keep holding onto the phone.

Ashley is waiting on the other end of the line. I can sense a smile on her voice as she speaks to me.

“Can I touch myself, now, King?” she asks.

Fuck me. I’m going fucking crazy for this girl.





45





Ashley





It’s a pleasant evening and I look out toward the Hudson River from where Arsen and I are sitting at dinner. We’re at an outdoor restaurant called Southwest New York that serves Tex-Mex near the South Street Seaport. With our table literally right next to the water, it's been a pleasant evening.

I look at Arsen. He’s staring back at me.

God, he’s so freakin hot. I swear, just staring into his smoldering eyes is enough to get my panties wet. The way those eyes seem to look into my soul. The way that face is shaped—it’s so lean and tight. And then there’s that body. You’ve heard me go on and on about his body before, I know, but it’s so good it’s worth saying again and again. If I could, I’d tell everyone I know. I mean, I wouldn't tell my Dad or anything, but aside from him, I’d shout from the rooftops how much I enjoyed Arsen’s bulging biceps, his 8-pack abs that are oh so defined, his powerful legs, his wonderful pecs, or his strong back.

But while his body is great to run my hands over and lick, I think what is completely unforgettable is basically that 12-inch cock that dangles from his legs. When that thing gets hard, I can barely wrap my hands around it. It’s as thick as my wrist. And it's so painfully delicious when it stretches my insides out.

“What are you thinking?” Arsen asks me, reaching across the table and taking my hand. I can see the tattoos go up and down his arm. “Tell me.”