"Yes, King, I'm at someone else's place. On their bed," I answer. My heart is beating at what he'll say.
"What are you wearing?" he asks.
"I have on a pink cheeky and a lace pink bra, King," I reply back. "I'm on his bed talking to you."
"Does he know you're talking to me?" my King asks.
"No, King," I tell him. "He went out for a while."
"Does he make you cum when you fuck him?" my King asks.
I gulp. But I'm this far in anyways. And I'm so wet. "Yes, King, he makes me cum," I reply. And I can't help but add, "Hard."
"Good," the King says. "I want you to touch yourself and tell me what you're doing."
"I have my fingers under my panties," I tell him. "I'm stroking my clit."
"Are you wet, kitten?" he asks.
I gasp. A momentary shudder goes through me. "Yes, King," I say. "I'm very wet."
"I want you to imagine me next to you, kitten," he says. "I want you to imagine me pressing my fingers over your wetness, sliding one finger into your pussy."
My heart races as I begin to stroke my clit to his words.
"I want you to think of my hands stroking your clit, faster, and harder, and faster still," he says and my fingers time themselves to stroke with every cadence of his speech. I let out a moan.
"Are you enjoying this, kitten?" he asks.
"Yes, King," I reply. "Please don't stop."
"Beg me to not stop," he orders. "Beg me to keep going. To tell you how my tongue traces the contours of your pussy and flicks itself against your nub."
Oh my God. I'm panting as my fingers continue.
"Tell me," he commands.
"Please don't stop, King," I moan as he breaths deeply. "Please don't stop licking my pussy."
"I want to slide another finger inside of you kitten, do that for me now," he commands and I do as he says.
"I want to hook it inside of you and massage your walls while my tongue flicks your clit," he continues.
The way he says the word clit sends shivers up my spine and it times perfectly with my fingers as they do their work.
"Are your nipples hard?" he asks me. I can feel that they are and it takes me a moment to clear my throat. "Yes, King, my nipples are hard for you."
"I want to twist them. Do that for me," he orders and I pull my bra down, place the phone on the bed putting it on speakerphone and begin to flick and twist my nipple.
It feels so wrong, doing this on Arsen's bed. I know what I'm doing. But I just don't care at this point. Lust has overtaken my brain as King Henry comes through the speakers of the phone.
"Now imagine my cock, thick and hard, kitten," he says. "Blood pumping through its veins as it hovers over you, ready to penetrate your pussy. Imagine it as it slides in and fills you. Expands you."
I can't take much more of this. I'm going to cum soon. I feel the threshold lowering and myself passing the point of no return.
"Imagine my hands over you, squeezing your ass as I pound your pussy," he says over the phone. "Imagine as I suck your tits and spank your ass. Hard."
I wouldn't care at this point who walked in the door. At that very moment I've lost myself to the pleasure I'm about to experience.
"Imagine my hands as they spank your ass cheeks. My cock pistoning in and out of you … "
I don't hear any more. I've lost the capacity. I close my eyes. The body of Arsen Hawke is over me in my head with the voice of King Henry. Fucking me. Dominating me completely.
I let go and cum.
Waves of pleasure go through my body and I let out a moan that is earthy and lewd at the same time. A fire spreads from my loins and rips through my body, leaving me sweating and trembling as my muscles seize up and contract. Pleasure knocks me out and my eyes roll back inside my head. I arch my body and feel myself give way to numbness and nothingness. I'm awake, but incapacitated by fire. And ice. I'm weightless but can't move. My body twitches and I lose my sight. Stars fill my vision and I lose myself in a void.
When I come to, I'm breathing heavily. So is King Henry on the other side of the phone. My heart is pounding and I take the phone.
"Are you there?" he asks me.
"Yes, King," I say weakly, still recovering from the orgasm that ripped through my body.
"Good, be kind to your friend when he returns," King Henry says, and with that he hangs up.
Leaving me lying there on Arsen's bed.
My panties are wet so I take them off, and I throw my bra across the room as well. I'm lying naked in a haze on Arsen's bed and all I want is more sex. I don't care if Arsen asks me what I'm doing when he comes back in and I lay there.
After a few minutes, I hear the door open and footsteps come into his room.
I'm staring at the ceiling, lost in a sea of post-orgasmic bliss when I notice him taking his clothes off. He joins me on the bed, kissing my stomach, and then my tits. I shudder. Not in fear, but in pleasure as his hands roam my body before settling on my mound, pressing down on it.
I'm ready for more and I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer to me.
"You look like you need a good fucking," Arsen says with a smirk.
"Less talk," I say to him, wrapping my legs around his torso and bucking my hips like a wild woman. "More cock."
I'm going to have a price to pay at one point. I know that. But for now, all I can think of is the moment. I just pray that this pleasure never stops.
52
Arsen
I'm standing in Gerard's lushly appointed downtown law office. For as much as my office has the power and glamor of Midtown, Gerard's has that old world style found only in Lower Manhattan. With it's winding non-numbered streets and history that predates America, Gerard seems to fit right in. I mean, the building his offices are in have fucking gargoyles outside of them to get rid of the excess rainwater. Talk about something you don't see in Modernist, cubist, Midtown.
We're having our weekly wrap-up on disposal of the properties that Dad left me.
"I think if we move in this direction, we should be approaching full divestiture within three to four months for certain," Gerard says with the characteristic seriousness. But despite his normal seriousness, there's something about him that seems a bit off.
"Gerard," I ask, eyeing him. "There's something different about you."
He looks at me from his desk, and then gestures to his tie.
That's it!
It's a maroon tie with white hearts.
"A lady friend of mine suggested that I lighten up the wardrobe a bit, sir," he tells me a bit stiffly.
For everything that's going on with Luca Gianoni and the divestiture, I can't help but laugh out loud like a fucking kid.
"I didn't know you were dating someone, Gerard!" I say out loud.
"I'd prefer not to talk about that now," he says to me, a bit flustered. "Already too many changes in my life, if you know what I mean."
He looks at me and I nod. I know exactly what he's talking about.
But still, I can't get the thought out of my head. How different my lawyer is now than say six months ago. Back then, if you said you saw him in a tie with hearts on it, he'd tell you to go fuck yourself.
I mean, I totally get it. Don't get me wrong. I'm not fucking complaining.
Ashley does the same thing to me.
I'm thinking about this as I sit in my limo as I leave Gerard's office and head uptown.
In the short amount of time I've known her, I'm doing things that the old me would have had a fucking heart attack if he ever saw.
Forget the one and done policy of one night sex, or at most the ‘use ‘em and lose ‘em' philosophy of two weeks of raw lust and then a diamond necklace and a Dear John, I'm starting to go to the ‘Till Death Do Us Part' side with this woman.
It doesn't help probably that we're always so close by. Ashley loves cavorting around my apartment; it's so much bigger at One57 than the tiny rat-hole that she lives in near Penn Station. And sure, I want to do different things for her. To protect her and keep her happy. So it's no surprise I'll join her in making dinner-even though I have a perfectly decent personal chef.
It's just that I've never felt the way I do with Ashley with anyone. Not a single fucking person I've ever met. And the things that she does, when other girls tried it on me, I'd fucking snort and it would slide right off me. When Ashley does it, it looks so cute it seriously melts my fucking heart.
Don't believe me?
Well first off, I don't fucking care if you believe me or not, but just to show you, let's take what happened yesterday.
I was in my office in Midtown, wrapping up some meetings.
Now, I see the gears in your brain trying to figure this out so let me just explain real quick. I may be trying to get rid of Dad's fucking smut empire, but I'm also having to manage the vast amount of money. That's a fucking job in and of itself.
But all of a sudden, who do we have but Ashley walking into my office around 3 pm.
"Arsen, can we go to dinner tonight?" she asked me, batting her beautiful fucking eyes. Normally girls bat their eyes at me and I immediately get all fucking defensive. I was exhausted as fuck-having to wake up at 6:30 in the fucking morning after having hours of sex the night before will fucking do that to you. But I looked at her, and all I could say was, "Sure, Ashley. I'll have one of the girls outside make some reservations to Per Se."