She Likes It Rough Read online

  "Just a little taste?" I fake a childish pout and smack firmly against my ass. Mr. Parker jumps at the crisp cracking sound of my skin being spanked. I press an indent into the skin with my finger tips, rubbing in small circles at the raw spot.

  My pussy quivers and I whimper with the eagerness to be fucked senseless.

  "But, what... what if my wife comes home? She'll kill me!" I spank my ass again, harder this time.

  "If we don't have much time," I say, my wet juices dribbling down between the gap of my thighs, "Then you'd better start fucking me, Mr. Parker." His hands are trembling, his legs shake with a certain anxiousness.

  "Please?" I grin and bring an index finger down my entrance. He body language is that of a man utterly conflicted.

  "I"m so wet for you, Mr. Parker..." But at long last, he has made the decision internally. Mr. Parker rises from the couch with a sudden determination.

  He gets up behind me and wraps his strong hands around my waist. I feel his nose graze the bottom of my spine, then it traces the line of my crack. I gasp when I feel the flat of his tongue tasting my pussy.

  "Ungh!" The sensation of Mr. Parker eating me out was surreal. His tongue lapped at my wetness, slurping and sucking, savoring the sweetness of my juices.

  I felt his tongue dart between my folds and make figure eights around my clit. I moan, long and hard. "Yes, Mr. Parker... Yes!"

  He pulls me in by the waist harder against his face. His eyes are squinted between my cheeks as he sucks and slobbers with relish.

  His long tongue curls around my mound to lick at my pubic hair and his moans are muffled between my ass cheeks.

  My legs shudder when I feel his warm breath on my puckered asshole. Mr. Parker's saliva drips from my hood while he's sucking my clit.

  His groans of delight trigger subtle vibrations of pleasure through my core. I hear his lips smacking when he finally pulls away for air to say,

  "God damn, Laura..." And I can't help but snicker gleefully. The moment I had fantasized about for so long was becoming reality. Mr. Parker is going to ravage me and give me the child I yearn for.

  I will take his giant, throbbing cock from behind and milk the cum out of him with my tight virgin walls. With his seed, I will have my own baby just like Brandon. And Mr. Parker will be there for me.

  He will support me and let me live in his beautiful home, where we can raise our child happily together.

  Just so long as his wife doesn't come home in time to catch us fucking.

  The taste of my pussy had sent him into a frenzy of lust. Mr. Parker is standing, fumbling at the black leather buckle of his pants with feverish determination. I'm still bent over in my platform pumps while he's unhooking the thing, shaking my ass playfully at his crotch to entice him further.

  He grabs my ass cheeks with both hands and I hear his pants fall the floor.

  His grip is fierce and tight as he pulls them apart. I wink my tiny asshole at him, giggling some more.

  "Are you ready to fuck me now, Mr. Parker?" My back arches when I feel the tip of him circling around the soft, sensitive flesh.

  His cock felt massive between my ass as he slid it up and down, gliding along the crack thoroughly lubricated by my juices. Then he squeezes my cheeks to sandwich his cock snug between them.

  His eyes roll back at the sensation of my soft warm flesh enveloping his member entirely. The length of him glides smoothly while he moans. The throbs of his shaft on my asshole send electric tingles that course through the very depths of my core.

  The friction of him along my crack has me gushing wet. My pussy quivers intensely with the anticipation of accepting the whole of him inside me.

  Then Mr. Parker releases his vulture grip on my ass to glide his palms up my sides, tickling his finger tips gently on my ribcage along the way.

  I gasp when his hands reach underneath to cup my supple breasts. I arch my back again and connect with the slippery sheen of sweat on his firm, protruding abdominal muscles. I feel his chest expand and contract against me as my own breaths become more rapid.

  "Please, Mr. Parker! I need your cock inside me!" I press against the hands holding my tits. "Fuck my tight virgin pussy until you cum!"

  And then I feel the tip of him spreading my lips apart. The girth of him fills the entrance of my wet hole and my walls clench out of reflex. I have to bite down hard on my lower lip to stop myself from screaming while he slides in deeper.

  He pulls me by the breasts to impale me on his enormous cock until he's balls deep. My wet juices ooze down his large sac when it slaps hard against my clit. I can't hold it any more.

  I scream out, writhing my hips against him as he bottoms out at my cervix. He's pumping every inch into me, swirling his cock around in the very depths of me and hitting my G-spot just perfect.

  The grip on my tits tightens like a vice. He squeezes my nipples hard between the thin cracks of his fingers and I scream again. The front of my long dark hair falls and clings to the sweat of my forehead.

  My tongue darts to the corner of my upper lip and my eyelids flutter as I moan with the increasing intensity of his thrusts.

  But then my eyes go wide at the sound of something outside.

  "Did you hear that?" I swear I'd heard the distinct sound of tires crunching atop gravel in the driveway. But Mr. Parker continues to pound me wildly from behind, grunting as beads of sweat fall from his chest and roll across the floral tattoo of my lower back.

  I don't think we have much time. I need him to finish inside me before his wife comes through that door.

  I reach around, clutching his bare cheeks and tugging him even closer against me. I buck my ass against his cock, slamming his balls harder against my clit. He groans, and my grip intensifies as I pull him into me as far as he will go.

  His head beats against my cervix, I stifle a whimper and my hips jolt.

  There is the sound of footsteps against concrete coming up to the door. My hips gyrate and my walls contract and release, trying to coax his load into me.

  His cock throbs hard against my walls as I hold him in place. The tingling warmth at my core continues to build. The subtle pulsations of his cock are enough to send me over the edge.

  The orgasmic electricity spreads to every extremity and I scream, throwing restraint to the wind as my mind goes blank with ecstasy. My body shudders and my walls continue to squeeze the girth of him.

  There is a fumbling and clanging of keys at the doorstep.

  "Please, Mr. Parker! I need your cum!" And in a final moan of resignation, Mr. Parker can no longer hold on. His legs shake violently as he shoots his load into the very depths of me. Light returns to my eyes when I feel his warm, thick spunk filling me whole.

  His torso spasms and his grip on my tits tightens, then releases slowly. Again and again his cock throbs and squirts more of his seed, enough so that a bit of it is dribbling out from my wet hole.

  The door handle jiggles and turns. I hear Mr. Parker's wife coming down the hallway.

  Mr. Parker's torso collapses onto my back and he can barely stand. The weight of him on top of me causes my knees to buckle and we fall to the floor. I strain my neck up to catch Mrs. Parker's eyes standing at the edge of the hallway.

  She blinks slowly and her chin drops, staring in utter shock and disbelief. We stare at one another a moment, then her expression changes quickly. She looks positively mortified at the sight of us on her living room carpet, and I can't help but feel a bit sorry for her.

  But I got what I came for.

  I feel the warmth and thickness of his spunk dripping between my legs and I know that he has given me a child. Their marriage cannot possibly not survive this. But Mr. Parker and I can be together at last.

  I will finally move out of my mother's house and live happily with him while we build a family of our own.

  His body is slumped on top of me, and I can still feel him cumming. I don't think he even noticed his wife come home. Mrs. Parker is still standing in the doorwa
y, stunned and speechless.

  But all I can think about is how I can't wait to tell Mom that Mr. Parker had taken my virginity and impregnated me.

  Filled by the Billionaire

  When he hands me the keys to his car and tells me his name, I know I’ve heard it before.

  “It’s Mr. Stone,” he says with a perfect smile, placing the silver keys into my open palm, “take good care of her for me.” His touch is warm and electrifying—the touch of a man with absolute power. The touch of a billionaire.

  And now his yellow Lamborghini is mine.

  Okay, not really—but at least for the next five minutes. See, I’m just the girl who drives expensive cars for the rich people who are too busy or can’t be bothered to drive it themselves. But in these brief moments, it’s always fun to imagine.

  It’s funny how they’d rather trust me, a nineteen-year-old, to drive their car into the hotel parking lot. I might look the part of a responsible, trustworthy valet, but I’m truly reckless at heart.

  It’s amazing how well just a little professional attire can deceive people.

  “Absolutely, Mr. Stone. It’s my pleasure,” I say to him, the same way I say it to anyone else in an expensive suit. I see them all the time—rich pricks with too much money and too much time—but this one is more handsome than most. Still, the last thing I’d want to do is give any indication that I think so.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with today?” I ask in the sort of monotone voice people use when they’ve repeated the same line more times than they can count.

  The truth is, no one in their right mind should be handing me the keys to anything worth more than I make in a decade. Especially to a valet like me who really doesn’t give a shit. I don’t care if your McClarren just got a new paint job, or that you just bought it last week.

  In fact, with most of these assholes, I’d love be the one to flick a lit match onto their pride and joy after I doused it in gasoline. Most of these douchebags never earned it anyway. Not like the way I have to earn mine.

  The tips aren’t bad though. In this business, it pays to have cleavage like I do. A low cut blouse will earn you a couple hundred a day.

  Hell, one guy tipped me with a hundred bucks stuffed between my tits and a hard slap on the ass. He paid me for the service and for his disrespect at the same time. But I’ll take it.

  It isn’t even fair really, since the guy valets are forced to wear those stupid black penguin vests. But thanks to a little assertiveness on my part, my boss let me be an exception. I may or may not have given him a slobbery wet blowjob in his office just for being so understanding.

  It’s not like my tits would’ve fit in those silly things anyway.

  To be perfectly honest, I have one of the most exciting jobs in the world. There’s enormous thrill in it all, knowing I could total this man’s car instead of park it. Or drive it off into the sunset.

  Every turn of the wheel fills me with adrenaline, every stomp on the gas pedal is exhilarating. Knowing I could cause so much headache for these rich fucks gives me such a rush. Sure, they can try to sue me all they want—but I ain’t got no assets, motha’ fuckas!

  “Well, I suppose there is one more thing I need help with…” says Mr. Stone.

  The keys dangle from my curled fingers as my eyes hold their contact with his. If only he knew the thoughts racing through my mind, he’d be grasping to get them back. But his words have triggered a sudden curiosity in me.

  “Claire, is it?” He looks down at the tacky name tag clipped to my white blouse, enveloped by the long, dark curls flowing over my shoulders. I’m glad I’d spent so much time on them this morning. It isn’t every day that a billionaire like Mr. Stone gives more than a glance and a nod.

  “I’m wondering if you might help me…” his expression turns bold and suggestive. What the hell is he getting at, anyway? “You see—I have a very particular job I need taken care of promptly.”

  His eyes study me up and down, resting on my chest a moment before saying, “and Claire—well, I believe you’d be most fitting.”

  It is an unusual request, to be sure. Mr. Stone had better be a damn good tipper.

  “It would be my pleasure to oblige you, Mr. Stone,” I say, beaming. It almost made me sound like a hooker, the way I said it.

  I almost meant it, too. Pleasing the customer is my primary job, after all. But I don’t have the slightest clue what he wants from me.

  “I’m staying in the Rockefeller suite on the top floor,” he says, glancing down at his watch. “Why don’t you meet me there around, say, eight o’clock?”

  Why is this beginning to sound more like an invitation than a request? If I had to guess, it’s almost like Mr. Stone is asking me out on a date. Suddenly I felt really shitty about wanting to wreck his Lamborghini.

  It doesn’t matter that my shift ends at six. Whatever the hell Mr. Stone needs me for, I’m sure it’s going to come with one hell of a tip. And the truth is, I’m desperate for money.

  I manage to squeak out a “Yes, that will be fine,” before he turns to hand his luggage to the bellhop. Mr. Stone nods politely and heads toward the group of hotel staff looking eager to greet him at the door.

  I have to walk past my asshole co-worker Jeremy to get to the driver’s side of the car. He must have heard the whole conversation, because he’s glaring at me more intensely than usual. Jeremy acts like he doesn’t, but I know he wants a piece of this chocolate ass.

  When I turn the ignition of Mr. Stone’s Lamborghini, he turns back toward me before entering the hotel. Even from here, the man is absolutely gorgeous. He’s got a muscular frame, broad shoulders, and a smile that can kill.

  I’m fumbling, awkwardly trying to shift the stupid thing into gear and feeling self-conscious. It takes a lot for a man to make me feel that way.

  I’m used to being able to handle men with power. Hell, I drive their cars for a living. But something about Mr. Stone has stirred something inside me—a burning between my legs that has my panties all soggy by the time I throw his Lambo into first gear.

  The engine roars. My legs tremble as they apply pressure to the gas pedal.

  And then I see it again—that same perfect smile. His brown hair swoops elegantly to the side as his head tilts toward me, the afternoon sun lighting the chiseled features of his face. The man is beyond handsome.

  “Mr. Stone.” The words keep repeating in my mind as the car rolls across the smooth blacktop. The tone of his voice carried such confidence, such authority.

  I don’t know what he wants with me up on the top floor in the hotel’s most expensive suite, but it’s clear that I don’t have a choice. No woman in the world could deny this man.

  I watch as he disappears in the rearview mirror, ascending the marble stairs beneath the archway to the Grand Morel Hotel.

  What could a billionaire playboy like Mr. Stone possibly want with a young broke girl woman like me?

  As I pulled the million dollar car into an empty space in the lot behind the hotel, for the first time in a long while, I took extra care parking it.

  ******

  As I approach the double doors of the Rockefeller suite, a man in black greets me with an expressionless nod and an outstretched arm to stop me from going in.

  He brings one hand up to his ear, tilting his head down and whispering, “The… woman has arrived.” He looks me up and down as he says it, judging me through those pitch-black sunglasses.

  I didn’t want to change out of my work attire, even though I had two hours to kill after my shift. But I couldn’t give Mr. Stone the impression that I had changed just for this—whatever this is, anyway. Yeah, I probably could have dressed up a little, but this guy doesn’t need to be a douche.

  He nods again, this time at the voice coming from the other end of his earpiece.

  “Right this way, Ms…” he pauses to look at my nametag, “Ms. Claire.”

  But as soon as I enter, there is another man standing jus
t inside, blocking my path down the hallway, sporting the same silly crew cut as the guy outside. The two of them could be twins.

  I catch a glimpse of the massive chandelier dangling in the main room just above, before douchebag number two directs me down a separate corridor. A prudish-looking woman with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail wearing thin-framed glasses is there to meet me at the end of it.

  “There isn’t much time,” she says, “your dinner attire is inside.” She turns the polished brass handle of the door next to her, opening into the restroom.

  Inside, everything seems to gleam, and it smells of too much cleaning product. There is a round bathtub with room enough for five, and black clothes resting on the seat of the toilet. I can only assume they’re for me.