Fifty Days 2 Read online

  The yellow cab stops behind her.

  “Get in,” I say.

  She turns and looks at the cab, confused, then back up into my face. She knows she’s going to get in, but she also knows she has to put up this fake struggle.

  I respect that, makes me like her even more. It’s the ones who grab my cock and pull me into the cab that I’m bored with. They’re so predictable. This one is giving me just enough token resistance to prop up her “good girl” image.

  So sweet. So charming.

  Yet so futile.

  “I... uh... can’t,” she says. “I have to go home.”

  “Is someone waiting for you? Do you have kids’ mouths to feed?”

  She toys with her heart pendant dangling at her inviting throat. “Well, no.”

  “Then get in.”

  “But I–”

  “Get. In.”

  She gets in.

  So easy to be a real man, isn’t it? Why most guys don’t do what I do perplexes me. They’d get so much more pussy.

  I climb into the back of the cab with her and tell the cabbie my address. He pulls out into the barely moving Midtown traffic.

  “Where are we going?” she says.

  “To town,” I say, “on you.”

  She blushes. So damned gorgeous when she does that. I can’t wait to make her other set of cheeks the same color with the palms of my hands.

  “I can’t do this,” she continues.

  “Shhh” I say as I put one finger over her lips and stare at her.

  God, I could stare at her all night. Today she’s wearing a light gray number that’s just as sexy as the black one she wore yesterday. Prim and proper, but business-like.

  It’s no good, though. She radiates a sexiness that shines right through the clothing. If I hadn’t actually fondled that delectable round ass and licked her sweet pussy, I would still know there’s a rocking body under this Ms. Professional outfit.

  I put my finger in her mouth. Her eyes go wide. I can see her struggling to not want to do this, but she can’t help herself. The battle of wills in her mind is overwhelming.

  I keep staring at her as I swirl my finger around her tongue. She can’t help but respond. Her tip licks my finger as her lips close around it.

  Her eyes close and she sucks lightly.

  I notice the cab driver shoot a look back through his rearview mirror.

  Keep watching, buddy. This will give you jerk-off material for later.

  With my other hand, I reach under her skirt. She puts her hand on my arm, pushing me away lightly.

  As my hand creeps up her inner thigh, I lean into her, breathing in her heavenly scent. I dab my tongue under her earlobe and whisper in her ear.

  “You’re such a good girl. You dress so prim and proper. So professional. But I know all day in that law library, highlighting those boring briefs you were thinking about me. You were thinking about my tongue ravishing your pussy lips, how much you want to come hard for me again.”

  She mewls and sucks my finger harder. The cabbie turns left, bypassing a huge parking lot of rush hour cars.

  The tips of my fingers reach her panties. As I suspect, there is a hot wetness there.

  “You’re such a dirty girl,” I murmur as I draw my finger around her panties and slip it right into her tunnel. I curl my tip, making a “come hither” motion upward and toward me with it. Her hips rise and fall as she sinks into a rhythm with my teasing digit.

  At the same time, I lick her neck right under her ear and all the way down to her collarbone.

  Her fingernails dig into my leg while the other hand squeezes my forearm. I so have her where I want her.

  The cab stops and the driver announces my address. All at once I withdraw from her completely, take out my wallet, and pay the driver.

  I glance over at her. She’s flustered and confused, unable to even speak. I don’t blame her. I brought her to the edge in seconds and left her there, stopping suddenly.

  I leap out of the cab, open her door, and hold her hand as she gets out.

  I lead her by the hand to the entrance of my building, a glittery glossy affair with lots of glass, several doormen, and a concierge desk.

  “Good evening, Mr. Concord,” says the first doorman as he holds the door for us and tips his hat.

  “Good evening, Charles. How is Clarissa?”

  “She’s wonderful. Thank you for asking.”

  “And little David? What is he, two by now?”

  “Just two last week.”

  “What a handful at that age, huh?” I take out two C-note and hand it to him. “Here, buy him something nice this year for Christmas, and something for your wife too.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Concord.”

  As I lead her across the lobby toward the elevator, she pulls back on my arm, attempting to wrest herself free from me.

  “You live here, don’t you?” she says. “I’m at your apartment, right?”

  “The penthouse,” I say.

  She tenses up and pushes away from me. “No,” she says. “No, I can’t do this.”

  FOUR

  Sloane

  I can’t believe this.

  I can’t believe I allowed myself to be taken to his apartment building.

  What happened to my resolve? I had made decisions. Decisions, damn it!

  It’s just that once I see him, his taut muscular body in that dashing gray suit leaning on the subway entrance, I have to stop myself from throwing my arms around him, sinking my arms into his thick back muscles while burying my face in his rock hard chest.

  When his eyes meet mine, all doubt is washed away. Suddenly I belong anywhere this man is, following his orders without question.

  War breaks out in my head as the logical rational part of me reminds me he’s dangerous. Stay away from him, it tells me. He’s going to reach inside and tear you to shreds.

  But the part of me that wins the war is triggered by the way he orders me into the cab. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t check to see if it’s all right. He just demands.

  I feel a throb in my abdomen that becomes an electrical spark all throughout my body. When he orders me again into the cab in an even stronger voice, I’m happy to obey.

  That’s it. That’s apparently all it takes for this man to control me. That voice is so deep, so strong, so masculine.

  So irresistible.

  Not to mention that damned smirk, full of a cocky all-knowing awareness of his effect on me. I swear he knows me better than I do.

  So much for my promise to myself.

  In the cab, my heart beats out of my chest. The last time a man like Drake Concord grabbed me, ushered me into a cab, and took me into his luxury building was... well, never.

  Then he fires me up into a pleasure zone right there in the back seat. I don’t even care that the driver might be watching us, it’s so good.

  He’s right. I dreamed all day of his fingers lightly stroking my crotch over my panties, sliding them aside and slinking a stealthy finger into me.

  I even bent a highlighter thinking about it.

  Who am I? I don’t belong here. I don’t belong in this world. I’m just a paralegal from Queens with self-confidence issues.

  My tortured pussy is awash in heat, having been teased so harshly in the taxi.

  But something kicks in when we get to his apartment. He isn’t even going to bother taking me to dinner. He’s just going to take me up for sex.

  Noooooo... you can’t do this, Sloane! says my rational voice. Don’t do this!

  I break away from his grasp in the middle of the spectacular lobby and turn around. I hate that I’m doing it in front of people he knows, but I have no choice. I have to go. I have to claim what little of my self-respect I have left.

  Even though I so long for him, so want to smell his masculine scent, so want to strum my fingers over that rock-hard cock that has already been in my mouth.

  Oh Sloane, what are you doing? says another voice from inside me.
Go back and let go! Enjoy this!

  He reaches me before I get to the door, spinning me around. He looks directly into my eyes.

  As he stares into me, my knees go weak. My fingers find his hefty arms and dig into them.

  “You’re not leaving,” he says in the most assured tone I’ve ever heard from a man.

  I can’t speak, not that I can think of anything to say.

  “You know why you’re not leaving?” he says.

  All I can do is nod no. My breathing is fast and I’m shaking.

  He lowers his voice so nobody can hear and leans into me. “Because I haven’t fucked you yet. And not just any fuck, either. Not the kind you’re used to from the wuss boys you’ve known, their ridiculous little dicks flopping around inside you for a minute or two. No, I’m talking about a real fuck. A long hard fuck. Impaled on my cock as I fuck your sweet hot body into a heaven you’ve never known before. You’ve seen my cock. You’ve sucked my cock. You want my cock. You want it between your breasts. You want it in your mouth. You want it in your pussy, in your ass. And you know what else?”

  I shake my head again. My mouth is dry now, my eyes hooded as I try to control my breathing. I either need to run at full speed or jump him right here in the lobby.

  “It’s going to happen. But only if you’re a good obedient girl and you please me. I know you want to please me.”

  Oh God, I do. I so do. I want to do things I can’t even speak aloud. Things I can’t even admit to my closest friends. I want to be taken and trained, ravaged and worn down. I want to be his dirty filthy whore, his private and secret cum slut.

  “If you don’t please me, you will be punished. I may have to spank you very hard.”

  He grabs my ass and squeezes hard, his shiny white teeth catching the light of the lobby and reflecting it back through that gritty smile.

  “Okay,” I manage to get out. It’s all I can muster, the thought of him spanking me making me think I should displease him just once... so I can get punished.

  “Good girl,” he says as he becomes all gentlemanly again, taking my hand and gliding me toward the elevator.

  He makes some small talk with the elevator attendant just as he did with the doorman. I can barely hear them over the rushing sound of my own blood in my ears.

  Then he presses the button marked P, at the top of a row of numbers. The highest number is 29, so he must be on the thirtieth floor.

  As the elevator doors close, he turns to me like he’s going to kiss me. I’m so ready I lean right into him.

  But he holds my hands tight down by my sides, keeping my lips from touching his. The elevator ascends as a fire spreads outward from between my thighs. He makes a low growling noise and darts forward like he’s going to kiss me. I lean in again.

  But again, he doesn’t. Instead he laughs and smirks.

  Then, he bites my lower lip. I shudder and melt.

  Ding!

  The elevator reaches the penthouse floor.

  We step out into a small alcove with lamp on a marble settee. Directly in front of us is a modern oak door with carved squares. To the left of it is a security panel with a red light.

  He steps to the panel, covers it, and types in several digits. There is a beep and the red light turns green.

  He opens the door and motions me in.

  I’m not prepared for what I see.

  FIVE

  Drake

  I always love the look on their faces when they first see my place. The Upper West Side blends into Central Park and Midtown in a panorama of floor-to-ceiling windows.

  I had everything designed to fit so that wherever you are in the apartment you’re inundated with a glorious view of the city.

  The kicker is that from the entrance you can’t even tell there’s another, even more startling view of the Hudson River waiting for you around the corner.

  “Oh my God!” she says, aghast with her mouth open. Sweet words that she’ll be screaming soon as I fuck that tight little cunt into fervent rapture.

  “You don’t get the full tour until we set some ground rules. But first, I will make you a drink. What do you like?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Wine, I guess.”

  “Red? White?”

  “White.”

  “Chardonnay? Chablis? Pinot Grigio?”

  She shrugs, then says, “Pinot Grigio.”

  I open up a bottle of Russiz Superiore and pour a glass. For myself, I pour some DoubleWood 12-year old scotch from The Balvenie.

  I present her wine and raise my glass, not having bothered to turn on any lights. The room is lit only by the glow of Manhattan all around us.

  “To new experiences.”

  “To new experiences,” she says as we clink glasses.

  I plop down on my couch. She’s about to sit herself until I say in a flat even tone, “Strip to your underwear.”

  “I’m sorry?” she says, with wide eyes.

  I laugh. “See, this is what I was talking about when I said ground rules. You do as I say or you don’t get the cock.”

  Her eyes flare up. The socially programmed girl inside is having a fit about now. But I know that the socially programmed girl will soon be no more, a mask placed on her by others, a façade that I will soon shatter.

  “You know,” she says with a tremble, “I don’t know what kind of girls you usually take back to your apartment, but I’m not one of them.”

  My cock is alive in my pants. I could just throw her down and fuck her right now. I know she’d love it. But she needs to be trained. She needs to know that I’m in command, that she doesn’t get what she wants until she submits to me.

  “You’re so right about that,” I say with a chuckle. “But not in the way you think. Most of the women I usually bring here are already clawing at my pants, yanking at my cock after a long evening of showing off their tits to me. I don’t even need to tell them what to do. So boring. But you’re different. You’re a good girl. I like that. Now strip.”

  She’s a ragged bundle of confusion, so I turn it up a notch.

  “Strip!” I command.

  I watch the war play out in her head. She’s intoxicated by me, and yet doesn’t want to let go of all the voices of her friends, co-workers, family, pastors, priests, whatever. Memories of them are all screaming into her ears right now.

  “Nobody else is here,” I say. “Just you and me. It will be our little secret. You can be free with me. You can do what you want to do. Just let go. Let all of them go. None of them can see you here. They’ll never know.”

  Her eyes go wide and she breathes a sigh of relief. She slowly places the glass down on the coffee table.

  Then she removes her suit jacket and begins to take off her blouse.

  SIX

  Sloane

  I can’t believe I’m doing this. Not only that, I can’t believe how much I want to do this.

  I barely know this man, and he has me doing such unspeakable things. But God, I love that dirty filthy mouth... the vile way he speaks, his dark tone and vulgar words. I’m beginning to realize I’ll do anything to be talked to that way.

  I remove my skirt, standing in nothing but my bra and blue panties.

  “Stop right there,” he says. “Let me admire you.”

  What could feel awkward with anyone else feels so right with this man. Even though he’s some kind of sexual beast in a fine suit, he radiates a power and control that puts me completely at ease.

  I should feel ashamed. I should feel that stripping to my underwear at his command is degrading and disgusting.

  But standing in front of him, presenting my body for inspection, feels perfectly natural with him.

  Normal, even.

  He smirks again, then takes a sip of his scotch. He undoes his tie, carefully folds it, and puts it on the coffee table. He motions me to walk over to him.

  I obey.

  “Very good,” he says as I approach his spread knees. I see the outline of his thick erection inside his pan
ts. A stab of electricity sparks between my thighs.

  “Right there is fine,” he says. He just continues to look me all over, like I’m for sale or something. The stab I felt becomes a warm pulse that throbs all over me.

  He makes a turnaround motion with his fingers. I comply, facing away from him.

  “Mmmm,” he says. “I knew your ass was fine. It’s glorious like this. Bend over.”

  Really? Oh God, no, Sloane, don’t do it! says my prim and proper voice.

  But I ignore her and do it.

  “Grab the back of your calves and smile at me through your spread legs,” he commands.

  My best friend Natasha and I went to a strip club once to see what goes on there and I remember some of the girls were quite adept at that move. Being the furthest thing from a stripper, I feel muscles contorting in odd ways as I do my best to assume that position.

  I actually pull it off, and quite well I might add.

  His upside-down smirk is as arrogant as ever as I smile at him.

  “Mmm... perfect,” he says. “Now pull your ass cheeks apart.”

  I move my hands upward and do as I’m told.

  “Wider,” he says.

  I feel a cool rush of air on my spread asshole.

  “I can’t wait to be up that ass,” he says, leaning forward.

  I’m compelled to speak up. “I don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Anal.”

  “You will.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Bra and panties off,” he says with annoyance.

  I rise up, and cautiously remove my bra. I’m a little annoyed by that exchange. I don’t do anal, not once. Not ever. Not my thing. I’m going to have to draw the line with him somehow on that.

  I place my bra on the couch next to him. Then I remove my panties, gingerly placing them on top of the bra.

  He grabs them and places them up to his nose, making a huge inhaling sound. I must admit, there’s something tantalizingly erotic about that. When he did it yesterday in the limo, it excited me.

  “You smell even more delicious today than yesterday,” he says. “Of course, I did get you started in the cab.”