Her Breeding Bull Billionaire (billionaire cuckoldry, impregnation and domination erotica) (2 page)

My hand trembled a little at his insistence,
but as soon as I pulled the waistband of his pants and underwear
down far enough so that I saw the beginning of his thick, ready
cock, I just
had
to have more. I fished down deep and
dragged him fully out into the open air – he was magnificent. Tan
like the rest of Mr. Richards’s skin, his prick was long, rock hard
and so thick that one hand did not reach all the way around. His
balls hung clean shaven and heavy between muscled thighs that I ran
my hands over to feel the lines of his quadriceps and the smooth
warmth of his skin.

Mr. Richards’ round, proud tip pulsed lightly
every time I tickled my fingers around his cock, and when I dared
look up again, saw that his eyes were closed, his head relaxed. I
gripped him, as much as I could in one hand, and cupped the other
around his balls. Hot and smooth, the first thought I had as soon
as they touched my palm was to drag my tongue up between them, suck
one of them into my mouth.

“Five minutes,” Mr. Richards announced.

Breath hitched in my chest as I leaned
forward and reached out with my tongue. A vague hint of the spicy,
leathery cologne Clark Richards wore greeted my nostrils as I gave
him a slow lick from deep between his legs to where his cock began.
I moved both hands to his shaft, and began to slowly pump. He
spread his legs a bit more, shifting his weight to his heels.

A little groan slipped out of Mr. Richards’
mouth as I pulled one of balls between my lips. I felt a hand come
to rest on my shoulder with a light, but urgent, squeeze. My tugs
sped up to match the revolutions my tongue was making around Mr.
Richards’ sack, back and forth between the two globes, back and
forth sucking one and licking the other.

“Three minutes,” he said. This time, I
noticed that his voice was a little higher pitched. He had to catch
his breath between the words.
Right track, Ash
, I thought,
and took a deep breath.

Tracing a line up his shaft with just the tip
of my tongue and turning increasingly tight circles with my hands,
I noticed that when I hit the little place right underneath the
head of his dick, Mr. Richards squirmed a little. Lollipop licks,
slow and fat, slicked the underside of his cock and I tugged
harder, dragging my hands up the wet streak my tongue left
behind.

My eyes drank in the cock before me, and when
I noticed the vaguest hint of cum dribble out and over my knuckles,
I
had
to taste him. Shooting a glance over at Jeff, I saw
that he was rubbing himself through his trousers. I’d never seen
him this excited over a blowjob, but then I was really doing a hell
of a job here.

“Two... ahhh...” Mr. Richards’ time
announcement was cut short by my lips closing over the ridge of his
cock. I squeezed hard, pulling my hands from his balls to my mouth
with wrenching quarter-turns that he seemed to enjoy.

Clamping my lips around him, I slid my mouth
down his shaft until I felt his tip butt up against the opening of
my throat. Hands pumped harder, tugging, yanking, I wanted to taste
his cum. I
needed
to taste him. All thoughts of our little
deal, or anything else, were gone from my mind. The only thing that
existed for me, right then, was the feral urge to suck every drop
of cum out of Clark Richards while my husband watched and
impotently rubbed his dick through his pants.

My pussy tingled. That
never
happens
when I’m giving someone head. I knew this was serious.

The harder I jerked him off, the harder Mr.
Richards breathed. Finally, squatted in front of him, dragging my
lips and teeth gently up and down his prick, I heard a little
“aha!” behind me.
Jeff cumming
, I thought,
this must be
quite a show.
And then, the moment I stopped sucking to catch
my breath, the billionaire exploded over my tongue.

He opened his mouth, but this time, only to
let out a rumbling sound that seemed to come from deep in his
belly. The hand on my shoulder went to the back of my head and
grabbed my hair; shoving my face forward and plunging the gushing
cock in further.

All I could do – all I
wanted
to do –
was mumble an “mmm!” and coax every last drop out of Mr. Richards.
As soon as I gulped down his first spurt, he filled my mouth again,
and again. I tried to suck it all out, to not waste a single drop,
but there was just so much that a little trickle of his hot, thick
juice dripped down my chin.

I left his cock in my mouth until he stopped
pulsing and his breathing began to calm.

Behind me and to the left, I heard Jeff’s
chair make a sound as he shifted. Looking up, Mr. Richards had an
eyes-half-open look of relief on his face, and the barest hint of a
smile.

“Good,” he said, as I pulled the trousers up
his body and buckled them for him. “Very good. Forty-two seconds to
spare. I will see you tomorrow evening. I can’t be more specific
than that, but it will be late. Be ready for me.” He stopped
speaking for long enough to nod at Jeff. “He’ll get me ready to
fuck you. Understand?”

Jeff acknowledged him with a soft “yes,
sir.”

“Right. That’ll be all for now.” His voice
took on a slightly menacing tone, and for the first time, I noticed
his strange accent. He rounded his ‘a’ sounds.

“Oh, one more thing,” he intoned just as my
hand touched the doorknob. “Have ropes.”

***

The next day was absolutely frantic. Cleaning
and fretting took up most of my time. Jeff just sort of wandered
around in a haze, still a little dumbfounded at everything. Usually
before these encounters, he gets chipper but this time he seemed a
little over-mellowed.

“You doing okay?” I asked, rubbing the back
of Jeff’s leg as he rooted around for something in the attic.

He poked his head out of the hatch. “Hey
honey, what’s up?”

“Seem kinda out of it. You doing okay? We can
call this guy and tell him not to show if you’re nervous about it.
Big step and all.”

“Oh, no, no – not at all. I’m really excited.
Just have a lot to do. Mr. Richards, you know, he asked for rope,
so I’ve been looking. I think I have one up here somewhere.” He
stuck his head back up in the attic. A moment later, a strange
thwip
sound came from somewhere above my head. “Grab my
leg!” Jeff called, muffled by insulation. “I gotta really pull this
thing!”

Jeff braced himself against me and
tugged.

“Got it! Whew!”

Very carefully, he descended the ladder and
proudly showed me his dust-covered trophy: about a six-foot length
of nylon rope with a dummy tied to the end. “Halloween, what, three
years ago? Remember, we tied this little guy to the chimney.” Jeff
wobbled the zombie’s head at me, making its googly-eyes go stupidly
from side to side.

“Huh-hey, Athlee!” He jibbered.

In spite of myself, I snorted, sucked in a
honking laugh and slapped Jeff on the back. After all the tension,
stress and cleaning, it was good to know we could still laugh. We
sat there and played with the zombie, who we named “Jed” for a few
minutes until I happened to look outside to see the sun setting
behind the tree-line.

“Oh, shit,” I said, “he’s going to be here
soon. Maybe. Gotta finish getting the place ready. Does he seem
like a ‘candles’ kind of guy to you?”

Jeff shook his head.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Ah, man. I don’t
know what to do. I guess we should just have a glass of wine and
relax a little. Calm my own nerves, if nothing else.” I had become
acutely aware in the few minutes between our discovering Jed and
seeing the sun set that
I
was the nervous one.
Feels like
a whole lot of dreams coming true at once – Clark Richards,
hopefully a baby. Ash, Ash, Ash. You gotta calm down, girl.
Thinking it and doing it though were very different, though. Jeff
plodded ahead of me to the kitchen, poured a couple of very stout
glasses of red.

“Here’s to... whatever happens,” he said, and
clinked my glass.

“Whatever happens,” I took a swallow. The
liquid tasted good and as it slid down my throat, the tension I
carried at the top of my shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Everything’s going to be fine. Don’t worry,
baby,” Jeff said after a few moments of silence. “Or is it just
excited nerves?”

I nodded, eyebrows arched and eyes
closed.

“Me too. I’m not going to pretend I’m not a
little scared, but holy
Hell
I am looking forward to
this.”

For some reason, that’s just what I wanted to
hear. I also had the feeling that part of what Jeff was so riled up
about was one of the last things Clark said before we left: “he’s
going to get me ready.” Jeff had never done prep work with any of
our bulls, and I think it was something he always wanted to try. He
knew this one was going to be special. Leaning over, I gave him a
kiss on the top of the head.

As much as my husband was excited about
watching me be bred by this incredible man, I was looking forward
to being fucked and filled. My thoughts turned dirty. They turned
to the rope that Mr. Richards had requested.
I hope he’s going
to do something... rough. Something just a little dangerous
, I
thought, finishing my wine.

Darkness set in, and we waited.

But, not for long.

***

Seven o’clock rolled around and one glass of
wine turned to two. Halfway through, I realized that a car had been
sitting out front of our house for who-knows-how-long. We both
peered through the blinds in a kind of hushed wonderment at the
long, black, chrome-lined limousine. It seemed like something out
of time – tall tail fins, side rails like on an old Studebaker, and
white-walled tires.

This guy is the real deal
. Even though
that was apparent from his private elevator only office, the car
drove it home. So to speak.

Clark Richards’ back was turned to the house,
illuminated by the overhead light, and it was obvious from his
movements that he had a phone to one ear. The driver sat perfectly
still, his white gloves on the wheel the only part of him visible
through the dark glass.

“Well,” Jeff kissed me on the back of the
head, “this is it. I guess. He doesn’t seem to be making any moves.
How long has he been there, d’ya think?”

I just shook my head, still in shock at the
thing parked in front of my house.

Finally, the driver emerged and opened the
door for the man who was about to father my – our – child.

When he finally stepped out into the night,
he was
gorgeous
. Perfectly combed hair, just the right
amount of stubble across his jaw, those big shoulders and arms
covered in a perfectly tailored charcoal grey suit. His trousers
were obviously well-tailored, but the muscles in his thighs made
them fit tightly around him nonetheless.
Oh this is going to be
good
,
oh this is going to be good
.

I watched him walk up our little stone path
and straighten his lapels in the reflection of the door glass. That
gesture made him seem a bit more human than he had in the office
when he was just perfection.

As soon as I opened the door, the spicy,
delicious cologne that I smelled between his legs the day before
struck me. For the first time in my life, the whiff of a scent made
me a little wet. Mr. Richards’ immediacy finished the job.

“Not much time,” he said, “I have an
engagement soon. Well, now, actually, but I put them off for an
hour. Do you have the rope?”

Jeff nodded.

“Good.”

I started to reach for his hand and take him
around the house, like I would any guest, but he shrugged me
off.

“No, apologies and all that, but I’m not
interested. I came here for one thing. You. I’ve seen houses
before. I hope that wasn’t too forward?”

Oh my God, I’ve never met anyone so abrupt
and straight forward. A little rude, sure, but... It’s just
so...

My thoughts were interrupted by our guest
speaking again.

“Alright,” he cast his gaze at Jeff, “I told
you that you would be getting me ready to fuck your wife. That you
were going to get my dick hard so that I could do what you can’t,
or even worse, that she doesn’t want you to. How does that feel,
exactly? I’m going to fuck your wife, cum inside her, and you’re
going to raise my child.”

My husband’s cock was already stiff. This is
exactly
what he wanted.

“I... er...” he stammered and trailed off.
“Th-thank you, Mr. Richards.”

“Good. At least he knows his place.” He
turned his eyes to me. “How about you? Are you ready to be fucked
harder and better than you have ever been? Are you ready for this?
Where’s the rope?” Jeff slid the coiled up and now dummy-free cord
into Mr. Richards’ hand. Our bull billionaire arched an eyebrow and
stretched out the length of rope, nodding.

“Undress me. Be careful not to wrinkle the
suit.” Mr. Richards said in Jeff’s direction. “And you,” he turned
to me, “entertain me. Now.”

Luckily, my outfit was planned for being easy
to remove.

First, I loosened the lace-up neck of my
blouse and moved closer to where Jeff and Mr. Richards were
positioned. Vague hints of my cleavage flashed when the shirt fell
open, and although he was staring at me, most of Mr. Richards’
attention was focused on the work that my husband was doing.

With a care that belied his eagerness, Jeff
began to remove the layers of fabric from Mr. Richards. By the time
he was down to an undershirt and trousers, my husband was almost
beside himself with excitement. His hands trembled as he fumbled
with the front of Mr. Richards’ pants and belt.

“If there’s anything special, I...” Jeff
began.

“Stay quiet. And you,” he gestured to me,
“come closer.”