Her Breeding Bull Billionaire

By: Francis Ashe


“I said kneel.”

The fingers came out and went to my mouth.

“Taste yourself. Lick these sweet juices off, and then put me all the way down your throat.”

Stunned, I flicked my tongue out, savoring my pussy, and went to my knees in front of him.

“Suck.”

My lips barely touched his tip before Mr. Richards pushed forward, thrusting himself inside. He put one hand underneath my chin, stroking me, almost as though he was rubbing my neck to relax my throat. Pulling back until my tongue rested under his glans and then ramming forward again, his cock butted against the entrance to my throat, just like he had done in the office the previous day. I felt, already, my pussy getting so wet that little trickles of my sex juice ran down my thighs.

“Relax,” he said, “relax.”

Still stroking my neck, Mr. Richards thrust again, so far into my mouth that he gagged me.

I coughed twice and tried to catch my breath. He held me fast. Soon, my gagging calmed down and I had a moment to wonder what he was going to do with the rest of his prick before he pulled back again.

“Good,” he said, looking down at me with eyes that were oddly kind, “are you enjoying this?”

My first instinct was to say “no!” and push him away. Of course, my second instinct was the one I went with. I reached up, grabbed the base of his big, thick rod, and urged him back to my mouth. Turning my tongue around him made Mr. Richards breathe heavier for a moment. That was when I noticed he still had a hand tangled in my hair at the back of my head.

He pulled me nearer his body, making the tip of his dick slide slightly down my throat.

Again, my instinct was shove him back. But, as a drop of pre-cum slid down the back of my tongue, my mind changed.

That one savory droplet turned me savage.

I grabbed him hard, relaxed my throat and tugged him forward; something I had done before, but not for a long time, and certainly never with a tool this huge. I gagged again as he slid in, but the instant those heavy, hot balls touched my chin, I didn’t care anymore.

One hand turning hard, tight circles around his base, I let Mr. Richards move at his own pace. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t shy about what he wanted.

An “mmm...” escaped the man’s lips as he pulled back and then rammed himself home again, balls slapping against my face. The third thrust surprised me, and I gagged again. Something about my writhing and the tightness of my throat around his dick excited him and caused him to groan again, and push deep.

“Your mouth, Ashleigh, your mouth is incredible. It makes me wonder how that pussy feels.”

Off to the side, I heard Jeff grunt. He had undone his pants and let his stiff little prick stand up free, but he chose not to touch himself. Not yet, anyway.

Looking up at the beautiful, aggressive man whose cock was jammed down my throat, I saw him staring, transfixed by his rod sliding between my lips and over my tongue. He pumped again, and again, letting his mouth drop open slightly.

He pulled back, leaving a void in me that ached to be filled. At first, his throat-fucking hurt, but when he stopped, that seemed worse – like he made me need something, and then took it away, just to tease me. The look on his face told a different story though; it told me that if he didn’t stop, the load meant for my cunt was going to go down my throat. Fair enough. Mr. Richards grabbed my hair again and dragged me back to my feet.

As soon as I was up, he reached for his trousers and whipped out the belt. He popped it against his palm a couple of times, like he was thinking about his next move.

Thwap.

Thwap!

“Get my jacket,” he said, releasing my hair. “You’ll find something in the front pockets.”

I felt his eyes on me as I crossed the room. At first, my hand closed around what seemed to be a handkerchief, but when I withdrew it, I realized he had brought two swatches, rather long ones, made of some kind of satiny material.

“Give those here. Now put your wrists together,” a smile crept over his lips.

Expertly, he wove the material around and between my wrists and finished with a snug slipknot that, once tightened, did not budge when I struggled. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said when I tried to wiggle my wrists, “that will just make it tighter. Now, what to do, what to do with you.”

Mr. Richards circled me, striking the belt against his palm and clicking his teeth together.

What I want you to do is whip me with that thing, throw me over this couch, and take me from behind. God what I wouldn’t do for that to happen.

He paused behind me for a moment, and then I felt, for the first time, the sweet sting of leather against my ass.

“Oh!” I squealed, as the belt sent another surge up my body.

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