Her Breeding Bull Billionaire (billionaire cuckoldry, impregnation and domination erotica)

Her Breeding Bull Billionaire (Billionaire cuckoldry
and breeding erotica)

By Francis Ashe

Copyright 2012

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given
away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person.
If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com
and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work
of this author.

***

“Ash,” my husband Jeff called to me over a
stack of papers, “I think I found a good one over here. Check it
out.”

My glasses slipped down my nose as I got up
from behind my pile, stretched my back and crossed the room. “Oh
yeah? What’s this one got that the other hundred thousand
don’t?”

“Says he’s a ‘successful businessman’ and
that he has an alpha type personality, adventurous, experienced
bull, entrepreneurial, blah blah blah – the works. And, he included
a picture. Not a bad looking dude.” Jeff offered the paper, and as
soon as I saw his face and read his words, I knew this guy was the
one.

He was just as Jeff described him. Able
looking, sharply dressed, hair impeccably styled to look
not-styled. Piercing gray-blue eyes and a playful smile that I
could tell was something the man in the picture did not normally
wear. He looked stern but had an air of kindness to him.

“Let’s meet him. I think this is our guy. Are
you sure you want to go through with this?” I asked, still a little
unsure that Jeff, who loved to watch me get fucked, was actually
serious about wanting to raise someone else’s baby.

“Yeah, I think you’re right Ashleigh.” Jeff
stood up and kissed me behind the ear. “And yes. You’re the most
important thing in my life, and I like seeing you satisfied, seeing
you happy. And, I like... well,” he trailed off for a moment, “I
like to watch. I love the faces you make, the sounds that come out
of you. There’s nothing in the world I love more than to watch some
big-dicked honcho stuff you up and cum all over you. I think it’s
time we go to the next step.”

***

He is a good, kind man, Jeff. Works hard,
does his best to please me, all that sort of thing. But, not too
long after we got married, our life together became very bland in a
face-to-face-missionary way. We tried other things; toys,
handcuffs, even a threesome, but nothing could have prepared either
of us for the utter thrill of a huge cock slamming inside me over
and over, ringing me out, and pounding my tight, twenty-something
pussy while my husband watched from a chair halfway across the
bedroom.

It suited him well. He may be nice and
responsible, but he is certainly not enough to sate me. His little
cock, his belly that sticks out – I love him, but he’s not what I
need. In fact, the first time I ever actually had an orgasm with
his dick in me, I was also stuffed with a big, thick vibrating
dildo. Our first time with a bull was a revelation. The first guy
was a musician that we met at a bar. Anyway, after he was finished
ringing me out and gushed his load in my mouth, Jeff begged me to
kiss him, and then he wanted to suck the rest of the cum off the
guy’s cock, to taste the dick that made his wife cum harder than he
had ever managed.

We went on like that, Ashleigh and Jeff
Hanson, for a couple of years. Most all our men came from personal
ads – the old way to do it, in the backs of dirty magazines.
Eventually, that well dried up and we had to start hunting through
cuckold message boards. The guys were always friendly, always
satisfying, but something was missing. Not just from the sex, but
from our lives.

One day while Jeff was off toiling away at
his dead-end job and I was at my studio teaching a class of young
up-and-coming painters about the finer points of capturing the
ecstasy of coitus on canvas, I realized what was missing.
I’m
almost thirty
and these eggs aren’t gonna last forever.
Baby?

A baby.

After a long day at work, rolling in to my
driveway felt good. The whole baby thing had drifted a little past
the fringes of my thoughts into that space where most everything
goes when I need a glass of wine and a foot rub. But, as soon as I
walked in the door, Jeff was at the door to greet me. “Check your
email, honey,” he said, “I made up another ad. Tell me what you
think – and... I totally understand if it is just too much for you.
Totally understand.”

At first I shrugged it off, thinking the ad
was just a little kinkier than usual, and no big deal. He always
got more excited than I did. Outwardly, anyway. I got my wine,
snatched my laptop and collapsed into my favorite cushioned heaven.
His email was the most recent one.

Subject line ‘what do you think?’ Well,
let’s see what I think
. I clicked it open, started to scan. The
message was succinct. “J&A seek bull. Must be successful, must
be good looking, and must be fertile.”

Fertile
. I read the message again.

It all came flooding back to me.

A baby. A baby!

“Are – are you serious Jeff? I thought about
this exact same thing only a few hours ago.”

He nodded and smiled.

“Okay,” I said, “but you know the rules. You
make the post and I make the choice.”

***

A day after my husband called the number
listed on the application, we got a call back. The man in question,
a guy named Clark Richards, informed us that he would like to meet
before going forward. He informed us that we were to meet him at
his office the following day at half past eight.

“He’s interviewing us,” I said to Jeff as we
parked and made the hike past security and down a long wood-paneled
hallway to a private elevator. The only buttons on the elevator’s
panel were labeled ‘executive’ and ‘lobby’. “I like him
already.”

Jeff nodded. I could tell he was nervous. He
always got like this when we met a bull. Something about this guy
though, was different. I thought maybe it was just the gravity of
the situation, the baby and all, but he insisted that was not the
case.

“This is such a different world than we’re
used to, Ash,” he said, “I mean, what does this guy
do
anyway?”

Good question
, I thought. “Well this
architectural monstrosity is labeled ‘Clark Richards Financial
Group’ so maybe he’s some kind of investment consultant?”

He shook his head. I could tell what he was
thinking.

“Honey,” I said, “we can turn around if this
is making you uncomfortable.”

“Oh no, no,” Jeff stammered, “I’m really,
really excited. All this power, all this wealth. Just imagine...”
His thought hung in the air as the elevator acknowledged the end of
the ride with a friendly chime.

“Are you... Mistah and Missus... uh...
Hanson?” The secretary said as we exited the elevator into a
futuristic-looking space surrounded entirely by windows. The office
behind her was marked ‘Clark Richards, CEO’ and, except for the
clear door, was all frosted glass. She looked like a sit-com
stereotype - popping gum, nasally voice, oval glasses and too much
lipstick.

“Yes ma’am,” I said, “I’m Ashleigh and this
is Jeff.”

“Okay. Mistah Richards has been expecting
you. Go on back. It’s the... uh... big glass door behind me with
the stencil of his name.” She returned, immediately, to her
magazine and popping gum.

I pushed open the door, Jeff behind me. As
soon as we were both inside, it swung closed with a magnetic
click!
Behind the very clean mahogany desk across the room
sat the man from the pictures.

“Good morning,” I said, crossing the room. I
stuck my hand out, but he just gestured to the two chairs.

“Please, sit.” He said, and as we did, he
stood.

“Now, before we begin, I realize that my
demands are a little abnormal. But understand that my time is
valuable. I have to know that what I’m doing will benefit my
desires before I waste it on frivolity.” His voice was
calculated.

I’ve seen alpha type guys before, but holy
shit.
I looked over at Jeff, who seemed cowed by this man’s
wealth, confidence and obvious power. As for me, I just wanted him
to throw me across this desk and fuck my brains out.

“You – ah, Ashleigh? Are you ovulating
presently?”

That took me out of my little fantasy. “Well,
yes... sir, I am. But what does that...?”

“Good. I like the way you look. I can tell
you’re serious about this arrangement. I only take women when
they’re ready for me. My time, as I said, is valuable. Who are
you?”

“I’m... uh, I’m Ashleigh and this is Jeff.”
Jeff nodded.

“No, I mean
who
are you? Why should I
want to give you a child? You see who I am, what I offer you. Why
are you worth my effort?”

That took me aback.

“Well, I’m an artist. I teach classes at the
university in town, and I also have a studio. Lots of... ah...
painting. Is... what I do. Painting.” The last time anyone had
dumbfounded me like Mr. Richards just did was, well, probably in
High School.

He shifted his gaze. “And you?”

“I’m... uh... sales manager. I’m the sales
manager at the software company down the street. Intellitrac.”

“Hum. Well, alright.” Mr. Richards leaned
back against his desk and wrung his hands. “You say you’re a
teacher, Ashleigh, at the university? Are you a professor? Graduate
student?”

“Yes sir, I’m a professor. And run the
studio, which does well for itself.”

Clark Richards answered with another cryptic
nod and more hand wringing. His face did soften a bit. He looked
pleased.

“So that’s the business of it. I’m satisfied.
I can’t have any possible offspring of mine being placed in
helpless situations. You understand.”

Unbelievably, I nodded.

“One last thing, though,” he said as he
pushed off the desk and moved across the room. “I need to know that
you’ll be able to satisfy me sexually. Men like me can afford to be
choosy. Ashleigh. Prove to me that you’re worth my time and my
energy. I have a meeting in eight minutes. Make it quick.”

Clark Richards brushed a tendril of hair back
behind my ear. Jeff, beside me, squirmed.

“What do you...?” I asked, as I rose from the
chair. That was the first time I noticed how tall, how
dominant-looking this man was. About six inches taller than me, and
quite well-built from the tightness of his suit, he towered over
the two of us.

“Take initiative,” he said, “do
something
.”

Hopped up on a mixture of lust and fear along
with a dash of that feeling I get in my gut when someone dares me
to do something, I reached for the man’s belt, unlatched it, and
undid the two buttons of his slacks. As I knelt, I looked up and
chewed my lip, pensively. “What should I call you?”

“Sir.”

That got my juices flowing. “Yes sir.” I drew
his zipper down and ran my hand up one leg, then the other. When I
got almost to his groin, I felt a long, hard lump running down his
left thigh.
Oh my God, it’s huge!
I gave him a brisk rub
with my palm before sticking my hand into his open fly to fish out
his cock. Through the slick fabric of his underpants, his warmth
tickled my fingertips. I looked up at him again, locking eyes for a
moment and as I stroked his generous length, asked him “is there
anything in particular you would like?”

Mr. Richards crunched his eyes to slits. “For
you to stop talking. Impress me. Now.”

If anyone else on planet Earth had said that
to me, there’s a solid chance they would have gotten a slap across
the mouth. But for some reason, when he commanded me and made
demands, I
liked
the way he spoke. He was so totally unlike
my husband; so strong and self-confident.

“Yes, sir.” I nodded, meekly.

A thin smile parted Mr. Richards face for a
moment. “Good. Go on.”

I shot a glance over to Jeff, and when I did,
noticed that somehow the office’s frosted glass had darkened, like
the tint on eyeglasses. Nervously, Jeff shifted his weight in the
chair and adjusted the tent-pole in his trousers.

Just by feeling his rod, I could tell that
Mr. Richards was much, much bigger than Jeff. His dick felt like
iron against my palm as I rubbed his entire length with the hand I
had stuck down his pants.
Even if it weren’t for all this
money
,
this guy would have the reason for this overdeveloped
sense of confidence right here.

He relaxed his neck and loosened the first
button of his collar, slipping his tie knot a couple of inches from
his throat. “You have six minutes.” Mr. Richards stated flatly. “If
I don’t cum, the deal’s off.”