Beg Me-Sold to My Dad's Boss

CHAPTER FOUR

Chris

I couldn’t get the thought of Lindy out of my mind. When had she become so delicious, so irresistible? I’d gone to the party for her, although it was supposedly to help my employee celebrate his twentieth anniversary. But I didn’t give a fuck about Jim, it’ll all been for his daughter.

And as usual, my sixth sense paid off. The brunette was all grown up now, curvy and delectable wearing a swimsuit way too small for her. What the fuck was she thinking? I saw the teen sneak out the side door, skulking by the edge of the lawn before lying on the lounger, sunglasses on. But Lindy caught my eye immediately because her curves were leaking from the black nylon in every direction, her boobs almost busting out and nothing more than a tiny string on the bottom.

And fuck, I had to have it, had to get my hands on that. But I’m a predator who waits for the right time, waiting for the precisely right moment to strike. So I waited until late afternoon, biding my time, when everyone was relaxed with a warm, balmy breeze blowing through the trees. And most folks were gone by now, just a bunch of losers still hanging out by the food table. Perfect, no one was gonna notice. So I strode over to Lindy to reacquaint ourselves, and fuck, but was it an incredible getting-to-know-you-again.

Because every thought of being appropriate flew out of my mind the moment I laid eyes on her up close. WTF? That swimsuit was even worse up close. Her tits were so huge that I could see the top of one of one pale pink areola, the rosy circle sweet and sensitive, it was that low-cut. And oh fuck, but the crotch was no crotch at all. It was more like a string running between her pussy lips, how the fuck could Jim and Brenda let their daughter wear this? A burqa would have been more appropriate, or maybe a full-body scuba suit, yeah that sounded more like it.

So my eyes blazing, I said a rough hello. And fuck, the conversation went off the rails from that very moment, there were no niceties, no “getting to know you” small talk. Because within minutes, the brunette was fucking herself with a coke bottle for me, pushing that green glass up her cunt, the bottle smeared with white as it moved in and out, and I was an animal in response. I grabbed my dick and went at it sixty miles an hour, spraying Lindy with blast after blast of slick semen, painting her torso, her boobs, her stomach with my cream, watching as arc after arc landed on the girl, glistening on those generous curves.

But the brunette was no newbie. Sure, she gasped when the first lash of sperm hit her tits, but soon she was massaging it into her skin, treating it like lotion, even pushing some of it into her cunt as she came all over the coke bottle, her labia gripping the glass tight, hugging and convulsing as she practically shot off the lounger. And oh fuck, oh fuck, we’d done it all within twenty feet of the remaining guests, fuck, within twenty feet of her mom and dad, muffling our moans, letting out silent screams, forcing our bodies not to betray us to the world.

So yeah, that happened. And shit, but the encounter has been on repeat in my mind since it happened, for sixteen fucking hours straight driving me crazy, and now I’m ready to ravage the girl again, abduct her from her parents’ house and bring her back to mine, tie her to a bed and make her cum until she absolutely shatters.

So what could I do? Seething with frustration, I ground my teeth until an idea popped into my mind. I didn’t get to be CEO without some ingenuity, and I realized the solution was right in front of my eyes. Because I didn’t need a reason. I’m Jim’s boss, I own that man, and fuck, if I wanted to go over there now and help myself to his daughter? It was fucking wrong, I was an asshole, a caveman, but so what? The blood was pounding in my groin and I jumped into my SUV, ready to take what was mine.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lindy

I was lying in bed re-living my encounter with Mr. Jones for the millionth time when tires squealed into the driveway. What the hell? Even though I’d been in the middle of lightly tracing my clit, absentmindedly stroking my wet cunt, I jolted up in bed to glance out my second floor window. And oh my god, but it was Chris Jones himself, the man of my dreams, his masculine form huge and assertive, stepping out of luxury SUV, the expression on his face grim.