Dick (4 page)

FIVE

Jess

HE
was an absolute asshole. I liked assholes, but I doubted that was the only thing about him I liked. After struggling with it for some time, I decided it was his confidence. It seemed he couldn’t contain it. And, I liked that about him. His walk. His attitude. His demands.

He had a big dick and he knew it.

His home was unlike anything I’d ever seen, and his garage was bigger than my entire house. Filled with exotic cars, motorcycles, and jet-skis, it was further proof that he was involved in something other than a common job for common wages.

I found that to be strangely attractive as well.

It
was crazy thinking I agreed to a one-night stand with him, but I did. It was something I never would have guessed I’d do willingly, and in fact, I prided myself in never having a one-night stand by agreement or otherwise.

After I agreed, I immediately regretted it, but the regret didn’t last long.

As soon as he took off his pants, it vanished.

He unbuckled his belt. “So you understand what this is, right?”

“Yep.”

I was half-drunk, horny, and ready to be his fuck puppet. My eyes fell to his waist. I desperately wanted to see it. I was ready. He pushed his jeans past the base of his cock, taking his boxers with them at the same time. When the waistband cleared the tip, I gasped.

Holy shit.

His cock looked like the rest of him. Oversized. Thick. Muscular. Prepared for action. I stared. Seconds later, I realized I was still gawking at it with my mouth wide open. I probably looked like an overanxious sex-starved idiot.

All of which were true, but I didn’t want him to know.

“Bend over the bed,” he said.

I looked up. He was shirtless.

Dear. Fucking. God.

I would have done a fucking cartwheel and a backflip if he’d told me to. Thankfully, he hadn’t. At least not yet.

His muscles were covered in more muscles. His ripped abdomen and broad chest defined sexy. I eagerly pushed my panties to the floor and bent over the bed. I felt my dress clear my ass and bunch up around my waist. I bit into my lower lip and prepared for him to fill me with his ten inches of thickness.

I felt his warm breath against my wet mound.

I’d never had a guy go down on me without begging him to, and even then it rarely happened. There always seemed to be an excuse supporting why it either didn’t need to happen, or couldn’t happen.

Dick needed no invitation.

Without warning, his tongue licked along my slit perfectly and with precision. I twisted my hips, buried my face into the comforter, and released a sigh of pleasure. Not since Bobby Buckley finger banged me for the first time underneath the bleachers in middle school had anything felt so good.

His tongue circled my clit. He sucked, nibbled, and fingered his way into my pussy and into my heart. Fully prepared for a one-night stand, but in no way ready for him to eat my pussy, my heart went aflutter.

His fingers worked in and out while his mouth sucked on my clit. His tongue flicked against my little swollen nub with each stroke of his finger, and together, they quickly brought me into a drunken state of ecstasy.

While he continued to suck and lick, I floated away, into a place I hadn’t yet known. The excitement of it all – his bad boy attitude, his dick-ish behavior, and his wealth – proved to be just too much.

I wailed out in pleasure as my body convulsed, reaching climax so hard it shook me to my core. 

Several orgasms later, and I was ready to pass out.

Dick had other plans.

With my face buried in the mattress and my ass high in the air, I attempted to recover from my sexual release. It had been so long since I’d felt anything like what he’d just done to me.

I felt pressure against my soaking wet mound. It damned sure wasn’t a finger.

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

I arched my back. My mouth shot open, and I stretched my jaw so wide it hurt.

Inch by inch, he continued to fill me with dick. I groaned, and as much as I wanted to beg him to stop, I felt some pleasure in his massive girth. One inch at a time, he filled me until I had it all.

His hand pressed against my back.

I glanced over my shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked.

I felt like a man riding a bull in the rodeo, being asked by the gate attendant if he was ready to ride his way into certain death.

I nodded nonetheless.

His cock worked slowly at first, ten thick inches in, and ten out. In time, he had my pussy stretched to a new limit, and he knew it.

His hips began to pound against my ass. His balls slapped against my swollen clit. I dug my fingers into the comforter, holding on for dear life. This was what being fucked was all about, and I would have been damned to hell before I gave up or gave in.

I felt as if his cock was in my chest, but as much as it felt uncomfortable, it felt so fucking right. So god damned good. So…

Big.

I liked it so much it scared me.

I’d never had so much dick in me.

And, now that I did, I never wanted to be fucked by any less.

I had every intention of fucking Dick so good, so hard, and with such crazed passion that he’d have no choice but to make me his significant other. His favorite piece of ass, his main bitch, his…

His pace increased. My breathing became labored. I was on the verge of either dying or being sent to another place altogether, and I knew not which.

His balls pounded against my clit. His cock hit spots so deep inside of me I couldn’t help but wonder how I would ever be the same. And, with a few more magical strokes, I began to burst.

Oh. My. God.

“Your pussy is tight as fuck,” he grunted.

“I. Think. It’s. Your. Big. Fucking. Dick.” The words escaped my lungs, one with each stroke of his massive cock. 

Big dicks bring big orgasms, and they bring ‘em quick. I arched my back and prepared for the mother of all orgasms. Being fucked by him felt so good. Each time his balls collided with my clit, I felt like it was coming, but it never surfaced. Stuck in sexual limbo, and fearing that I was being cheated out of what I was entitled to, I did what it seemed I always did in a pinch.

I lifted my head from the comforter. “Can you play with my ass?” I whispered.

He continued to pound away. “What?”

“My ass,” I said. “Do something.”

He slapped it.

And again.

I liked having my ass slapped, but it wasn’t what I had in mind. I was so close, I just needed…

“Stick your finger in it?”

There, I said it.

I felt my ass cheeks spread apart. I chewed against my bottom lip. He did just as I asked and rubbed his finger along my wet pussy, and then slid it in my ass. It was exactly what I needed.

A tingling shot through me from my nipples to my clit. 

His thick cock filled my pussy while he finger-fucked my ass. In a matter of seconds, I reached sensory overload and drifted away to my sacred sexual place.

My toes curled. His balls banged a tune on my clit. My legs shook. I pinched my nipples. His massive cock bottomed out inside of me. I gulped a breath of air. The stars aligned.

And. I. Came.

Hard.

I collapsed onto the bed.

Satisfied, exhausted, and still half-drunk, I quickly realized he was far from done fucking me.

But I was done being fucked. I was in no way prepared to be punished any more by his massive cock.

I rolled onto my back. “Cum on me.”

It seemed to be a request all men enjoyed fulfilling.

I focused my drunken eyes. He looked like a dream. His six pack rippled as he stroked his glistening cock. My eyes rose to his chest. Wide, bulging, and massive, it looked like two thick slabs of tanned meat.

My mouth watered. My eyes fell to his waist.

He stroked his massive cock. “In your mouth.”

I mentally agreed, but said nothing.

I spun around, fell to my knees, and looked up at his ten-inch dick. The thought of watching him stroke it to completion was a huge turn-on, and he didn’t disappoint.

His clenched fist stroked from the base to the tip while I eagerly knelt at his feet. Seeing his perfectly sculpted body and his handsome face was more than enough to cause me to feel faint, but adding his jacking off to the equation made me a weakened mess.

He pressed his hand against my forehead and began to moan. With wide eyes I watched him arch his back and continue to work his full length in his hand.

I didn’t want his cum on my face or in my mouth.

But I did.

Kind of.

I licked my lips in anticipation.

“You sexy little bitch,” he growled.

The cum shot from the tip of his swollen dick like a rocket, every drop somehow making it into my mouth. Seeing him reach climax was insanely satisfying. Having him come in my mouth was even more so.

I wrapped my lips around the head and sucked, sending him into a frenzy. Afterward, we both relaxed on the bed, side-by-side.

“I knew you’d be a crazy little bitch,” he said.

There you go with the bitch thing again.

I was too drunk to argue, and far too satisfied with his fat cock to start an argument. At least not this early in the game.

“You have no idea how crazy I am,” I said.

It was my way of trying to convince him to keep fucking me.

And, it worked.

The next morning, he fucked me before breakfast.

And after.

When we finished the second time, I took another shower and changed into the shorts I wore to work the night before. Weakened from the sex, I knew very little, but I knew one thing for sure.

I. Was. Ruined.

SIX

Dick

KNOWING
our first night together would be our only night together was difficult to accept, but it was the way things had to be. It was fun while it lasted, but forgetting her was going to be more difficult than I originally expected.

I liked her. A lot.

But. In my profession, trusting the wrong person would get me a one-way ticket to prison.

We walked through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the garage. I needed to take her back to her car so she could go home, change, and get to work. I motioned toward the cars. A Mercedes, GT-40 Ford, BMW M5, Ferrari F12, Jeep Wrangler, and a Maserati were positioned side by side. On the far side of the cars, six motorcycles were parked. Three of the cars were mine, and the other three were in my possession, but technically weren’t
mine
. I had taken them from people who owed me money.

“Which one of these do you want to take to get your car?” I asked.

She ran her fingers through her damp hair and shook it for a minute while she surveyed the inventory. “I get to pick? Out of any of them?”

It was the least I could do. “Yeah. Pick.”

She lowered her hands to her hips and shifted her eyes from car to car. After a moment, she pointed to the Ferrari. “The red one.”

Of all the cars, she had to pick one of the three that wasn’t mine. Not only was it technically
stolen
, it was expensive as fuck. I motioned toward the car, a 700 horsepower red Ferrari F12 Berlinetta well worth the $300,000 debt it was covering.

There was one car I had no business driving, and it was the Ferrari. My pride prevented me from telling her no. I tossed my head toward it. “Get in.”

I started the car and allowed it to warm up. The rumble from the V-12 engine shook the walls of the garage and provided me a reminder of its raw power. The power was only part of the reason I shouldn’t be driving it. The fact it would get me tossed right back in prison was the rest.

She delicately opened the door, got inside and buckled her seatbelt. “What is it?”

“Ferrari,” I said, knowing the other details were unimportant to her.

Her eyes bounced around the interior. “I like it.”

Who wouldn’t. I’d driven the car a few times right after I’d
repossessed
it, but hadn’t so much as started it in the last six weeks. I feared the owner turned it in as stolen in an effort to get an insurance check for the theft, all in hopes of paying his debt with me. His failure to pay didn’t mean he hadn’t reported it stolen, it simply assured me he had no intention of paying me anytime soon.

I pulled the car out of the garage, shut the overhead door, and got back inside. “Ready?”

She grinned and nodded. “Yep.”

As irritating as her attitude was at first, I found Jess to be a very satisfying person overall. She was entertaining, a great lay, and absolutely gorgeous. But. I couldn’t trust anyone enough to expose them to my personal life on a regular basis. Adhering to my
single forever
mantra kept me away from prison and out of the watchful eye of the cops.

It also left me wishing from time to time that I had another profession altogether.

This was one of those times.

“I bet this thing is fast.”

I checked for cross traffic and pulled out of the neighborhood. “It’s stupid fast. After we get on the highway, I’ll show you.”

I slowly sped up to the speed limit, pulling against the Formula One style paddle shifters on the steering wheel twice. Through the open windows, the roar from the twelve-cylinder engine acted as a reminder of the car’s potential.

The car was a seven speed manual shift, but as with many of the Ferrari line, it had no clutch pedal, only a + paddle to shift gears up, and a – paddle to down shift – located on each side of the steering wheel. The driver simply stepped on the gas and touched the respective paddle. It was designed to do one thing and do it well – go fast.

I stopped at the traffic light, flipped on the signal to turn right, and eased through the light. Once on the on-ramp to the highway, I glanced toward Jess. Her hair was flipping in the wind, half of it inside the car, and the other half was being sucked out through the open window. She returned my gaze, wearing an ear-to-ear grin.

She looked like a twenty-five-year-old child.

I tossed my head toward the road. “Ready?”

She looked confused. “For what?”

I stomped down on the gas pedal. The brute acceleration pinned both of us back in our seats, and remained until we reached 140 miles per hour. She screamed a joyous yelp as the exhaust note belched out the back and the road ahead rushed upon us at horrifically rapid pace. Before we merged into traffic, I released the gas pedal, applied the brakes, and began to slow the car to a moderate speed.

The car was capable of more than 200 miles per hour, but I wasn’t interested in being chased by the cops or arrested for driving a stolen car. I slowed to 90 miles per hour and merged into traffic.

“Holy shit,” Jess said. “This thing is fun.”

“It’s impossible to drive the fucker without speeding,” I said.

“Do it again,” she begged.

It was the least I could do for her, considering she was the first person who ever took the entire length of my cock without a moment’s complaint.

I checked all three mirrors, made note of no cops, and scanned the road ahead to determine my path. “Ready?”

She grinned. “Yep.”

I tapped the back of the downshift paddle four times, mashed the accelerator, and sped up from 70 to 160 almost instantly, weaving in and out of cars like a trained professional. I released the accelerator pedal and glanced at Jess. The ear-to-ear smile had either returned or never left.

“It sucks this is over,” she said.

“What’s that?” I asked. I more than responded, and realized what she meant.

It did suck. My life as a professional criminal was rewarding in many respects, but disappointing in so many others. Not allowing people close to me was the most difficult part to accept, but was the one thing that kept me beyond the walls of prison.

And going back to prison wasn’t an option.

She turned her head to face me. “Never seeing you again.”

I nodded and opted to remain silent. I didn’t like it, either, but I didn’t want to talk about it.

She turned, peered out the window, and immediately screamed. “Cop!”

I checked the rearview. Sans lights, but traveling in excess of what I would guess to be 100 miles per hour, a cop was flying up behind us. I signaled and changed lanes to the right.

He changed lanes.

I signaled again and changed lanes into the exit lane.

He changed lanes.

Fuck.

The lights in his grille, the top of the car, and the headlights all started flashing at the same time. My asshole puckered in response.

Son-of-a-fucking bitch.

“Get your arm inside the window and hold on,” I said.

“What?”

I pulled against the downshift paddle four times, pressed down on the gas, and flipped the window buttons to
up
. “I’m gonna outrun that prick behind us.”

“The cop?” she gasped.

The car quickly sped up from 70 miles per hour to 120. “Yeah, the cop.”

At 120 miles per hour, he was still close behind.

I swerved to keep from hitting a truck directly in front of us only to almost rear end a Suburban in the fast lane. Frantically, I flicked the flash-to-pass with the tips of my left fingers and swerved into the center lane with a few feet to spare. Jess screamed like she was being murdered.

“Quit fucking screaming, I can’t think,” I yelled.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she shouted.

I swerved to the left, barely missing a Volkswagen in the center lane. With the road ahead open, I hammered the gas and tried my best to plan well ahead, changing lanes long before I thought I needed to.

“Get the phone out of my right pocket and call Drake,” I demanded.

“Okay.”

Remaining remarkably calm, Jess reached into my pocket, removed my cell phone and scrolled through my contacts while I weaved in and out of four lanes at 140 miles an hour. The mid-morning Thursday traffic wasn’t dense, but it sure wasn’t sparse, either. The cop was a quarter of a mile behind me – still well within sight.

With my eyes fixed on the road ahead, I explained my plan. “We’re coming up on Highway 1 in a minute, and we’ve got to hit a ninety-degree turn. We should lose him there. I’ll take it at 140, he’ll have to slow to about seventy.”

“I found Drake,” she announced.

My heart was racing, I was sweating profusely, and the thought of going back to prison was becoming more of a reality with each car we almost collided with. “Call him and tell him to open his garage door and have an empty stall for me. Tell him we’re in the Ferrari and we’re running from the cops,” I barked.

Slumped in her seat with the phone in her lap, she shifted her eyes to me. “Only if you go out on another date.”

We were flying down a highway with a marked speed limit of 65, and traveling at more than twice the speed of traffic. Objects a quarter of a mile ahead of us were reached in roughly five seconds. To describe the event as intense would be the understatement of the century.

Yet Jess seemed to care less.

“Excuse me?”

“Another date. Yes or no?”

“God damn it. Call Drake. We’re coming up on highway 1!” I demanded.

“Yes or no?”

You crazy bitch.

“Yes!”

She pressed her finger against the keypad and lifted the phone to her ear “Is this Drake?”

“No. He’s busy. Yeah. I’m Jess. No. He’s right beside me but he can’t talk. No. Just listen for a sec. We’re in the red Ferrari, and we’re runnin’ from the cops. We need to hide in your garage.”

“About…”

She leaned toward the center of the car and looked at the speedometer. “Looks like about 146 right now. Dick says you need to open the garage door and make a spot for him.”

“When will we be there?” she asked.

“About two minutes. Maybe less, I don’t know,” I responded.

“How far away is it?” she asked.

I swerved into the right lane, checked the rearview mirror, and prepared to take the exit-ramp at 140 miles per hour. “A mile from this exit. Hold on!”

“Go open the door. We’ll be there in thirty seconds,” she said. “And be ready to close it for us. Don’t hang up.”

With white knuckles and an overactive heart, I steered into the curve. The car hugged the road as we took the corner, drifting slightly, but it wasn’t unmanageable. I downshifted two gears, held the throttle to the floor, and merged onto the next highway. A quick check of the mirror showed the police car taking the corner much faster than he probably should have.

“Cop just wrecked!” Jess shouted.

Thank God.

“We’re taking the next exit,” I exclaimed. “Hold on again.”

“Two cops behind us,” Jess said. She wagged her finger toward the windshield. “And there’s one on the right at the side of the road.”

Fuck.

“We’re going to act like we’re going past this exit, and then I’m gonna take it at the last second. Grab my pistol. It’s under my shirt.”

She didn’t hesitate. As if it were an everyday occurrence, she lifted my shirt, pulled the pistol from the waist of my pants, and held it in her hand.

Our exit was fast approaching.

Fifteen seconds.

Two cars were behind us, and I was stretching the distance slightly. The cop car ahead was speeding into traffic in anticipation of us catching up with him.

“Hold onto it. If we wreck, hand me that fucker, get out, and throw your hands up in the air. You can claim I kidnapped you, I don’t give a fuck. But just so you know, they’re not arresting me.”

I expected her to gasp. Scream. Tell me no. Go ballistic and start babbling incoherently. She did none of those things.

“Okay,” she said calmly. “But I’m not telling ‘em that. We’re in this together. I’m the one that told you to go fast.”

Interesting…

“We’re taking this exit, and it’s gonna be a bitch,” I assured her. “Grab ahold of something.”

I gripped the wheel tight, bracing myself for what I was sure to be a crash.

With two cops behind us half a mile, and one slightly ahead and on the right, I got as close to the exit as I could, holding the middle lane as if we were heading for the open road. At the last instant, I touched the brakes, fell behind him, and swerved through three lanes toward the exit on the far right.

The car slowed considerably from the force of the ninety-degree turn.

I downshifted three times, pushed the throttle to the floor, and screamed as we took the exit at a speed well in excess of what was safe.

“Fuuuuuucccckkkkkkk!” I cried out as the rear of the car hopped up and down, skipping across the pavement like the rocks I used to skip across the pond as a kid.