Beg Me-Sold to My Dad's Boss

“Oh please,” I said, begging Mr. Jones, and suddenly my hands were the ones grabbing at him and not the other way around. I took his big forearms in my small palms, holding tight onto the muscled strength as if for dear life. “Please,” I pleaded, “give my dad his job back. We’re so dependent on him,” I choked. “I work but it’s just at the coffee shop on campus and you know my brother starts school soon, too, please, Mr. Jones, please.”

And the big man sighed wearily, sitting back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, ruffling the black strands attractively. I was ashamed, like I was betraying my family even noticing his looks at a time like this, but he was just so gorgeous that my body’s reaction was instinctive, growing soft and desperate in his presence.

“Please,” I begged again, my hands grabbing one his big ones again, squeezing the square, strong fingers. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just ask.”

And there was silence in the car, my sniffles the only sound until slowly, Chris turned his head towards me.

And the fiery burn in his look took me aback, made me catch my breath. Because he wanted something, wanted something that only I could give and I could feel it deep in my bones, deep in my hotly throbbing pussy.

“Anything?” he growled, his fingers tightening reflexively around mine, boxing in my little palm with his big one. “Anything?”

And I nodded again, confirming my offer.

“Anything.”

And the burn skyrocketed from warm embers to a flaming blaze because suddenly Mr. Jones was ON, his eyes seizing mine, devouring me, his big body tense, hard, in the driver’s seat.

“Well there is something you could do,” he drawled.

“What?” I breathed, holding my breath expectantly. “Just tell me, I’ll find a way.”

And I’m not sure what I was expecting really. The hot session between us had set off a storm in my body, lit me on fire in a way I’d never expected, making me run moist and creamy, but at the same time I was a virgin and ridiculously naïve. So when he said “anything,” I was still thinking along the lines of some casual kisses, maybe a little petting, even some fun with the coke bottle again.

But Mr. Jones was an experienced man, an alpha male who dominated and gave with no quarter. So his demand took my breath away, never in a million, zillion years would I have expected this.

“Move in with me,” he ground out. “For ten days, you’ll belong to me, and after that?” he said, his eyes dark, possessive. “Your dad can keep his job.”

I paused for a moment, my heart fluttering.

“Mo-move in?” I stuttered, “You mean, cook for you and do some light housekeeping, that kind of thing?”

As embarrassing as it was to admit it, I kinda wanted more kisses and fondling, exploring this new side of myself, so I was devastated that all he wanted was a glorified maid. Oh god, it was so shameful that I was even thinking this, that I’d been envisioning the big man with his clothes off, learning his body, tracing that massive, thick dick with my hands, my tongue. My imagination had gone completely off the tracks, and I shook myself sternly. All Mr. Jones wanted me for was my cleaning skills, not anything like a girlfriend.

But that was all put to rest in a second, squashed like a fly. Because in a low rasp, Mr. Jones made his intentions clear.

“No baby,” he drawled, “Not as my maid. As my fuckdoll.”

And my face flushed, my body growing hot as my heart pumped a million miles a minute, my cunt growing wet and steamy, the liquid running moistly from my untouched hole. His fuckdoll? As in fuck + doll? Oh my god, oh my god … yes, I wanted it.

CHAPTER SIX

Chris

Lindy was so exciting, practically naked again in the close confines of the SUV with me. Because yeah, this car was huge but somehow we’d wound up right next to each other in the front seat, the brunette’s curvy, nearly-nude form pressed up right next to me, making my dick jut out with nothing more than her presence, her nearness.

Because oh yeah, the teen looked that good even first thing in the morning. She was positively delectable, her brown curls in disarray, a glorious mass down her back, her curvy body covered by nothing but the thinnest of cotton, a nightshirt that was indecent, bra-less, those big boobs jutting out, huge and pendulous. And fuck, but I could almost see her pussy through the cotton, the pink, threadbare material doing nothing to hide those luscious lips, the outline of her puffy flesh practically visible through the filmy material.

So yeah, my fuckrod was on full attention the minute I saw her, the minute I touched her hand on the porch. And I couldn’t control the animal within, she made me that crazy, that alpha, that I couldn’t even act the gentleman. Because yeah, I propositioned Lindy like she was a whore, and not an innocent teen.