Falling for My Dirty Uncle

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

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Magnus

"Oh baby," Mandy moans lewdly as the sound of my thighs slapping against her ass fills the air.

It’s a fucking great sound. If you were here, you’d be touching yourself at the sight of us.

You’d want to join in once you saw my gorgeous fucking body fucking her. You wouldn’t mind sharing. You would

n’t care. You’d lick my cock with whoever else just to get at my cock.

Pretty arrogant and confident right off the bat, aren’t I?

Pleasure to meet you. I’m Magnus Davion.

But let’s get back to Mandy and the ungodly things I’m doing to her.

I can hear the lewd sucking sounds as my cock plunges in and out of her pussy. I can smell her fucking juices as her scent permeates the air.

Her wetness is smeared across her thighs. Her pussy is spasming around my thick cock and I grunt in pleasure at the feelings that are going through me. "Don't you dare stop fucking me, baby," she adds one last command as she turns her head back to me to look at my monster pole piercing her.

But wait, who the fuck does this bitch think she is, giving me fucking orders? I'm Magnus fucking Davion, the 15th richest man in the whole fucking world, if you read Forbes Magazine. I just bought a fucking NFL team—the New York Nailers—from the previous owner, Apollo Kane.

That’s right. If he sounds familiar to you it’s because he’s fucking famous now. Alexis Angel wrote his whole story and how he owns Blush Magazine, or whatever the fuck.

But he had to get out of the football franchise.

And I didn't mind paying $3 billion dollars for it. That kind of money is literally fucking nothing to me.

So I certainly don’t take fucking orders from anybody—but in this case, I can let it slide.

You're just getting acquainted with me, aren't you? You must think all I do all day is talk about how wealthy I am and shit. That's actually not true. I don't spend my day only bragging about how much money I have. I also spend it talking about how fucking good I look, and how much you're probably wanting to fuck me.

Oh, you think I already did that, don't you? But you have no idea, darlin’.

I’m literally a god amongst men.

That's right. You heard me fucking right. I stand taller than all the men you will ever fucking meet. No one of this world really compares to me.

I'm fucking wealthy. I'm the fucking founder and CEO of Davion Development, one of the most ruthless real estate firms in New York City.

We’re not like some private equity firm or investment bank either. Hell fucking no.

We build things. Buildings. Bridges. Dams. We get our hands dirty.

We take over abandoned places and we create gleaming skyscrapers that inspire the fucking imagination.

I'm 6' 4", built like a Greek God—with a massive chiseled chest and a rock hard 8-pack of abs. My skin is tanned to a perfect bronze and flawless. My face is chiseled and rugged. My hair is just right. My nose is royal in its cut. My chin is even fucking aristocratic looking. But aside from the handsome looks that you see on the outside, there is one very fucking large reason that you want me to fuck you.

"Oh my god, baby, I'm about to cum!" Mandy screams as I slam into her. She closes her eyes and contorts her face as it's wracked with lust. I feel her entire body shake and quiver. Her pussy clamps down around my cock. It's intense. I feel her go slightly limp as her muscles lose all voluntary control and pleasure seizes her body.

That's why. The cause of her orgasm. The rod that's pistoning into her box.

My 12-inch, thick, throbbing, pole of a cock. It swings between my legs and one taste of it and you'll be fucking begging me for more. You'll do whatever I fucking ask for another lick. Another taste. Another fuck.