Her Breeding Bull Billionaire

By: Francis Ashe

A thin smile stretched across Mr. Richard’s lips when I threw my shirt to the floor in a heap.

“I changed my mind,” he whispered barely loud enough for me to hear. “No more show. Jeff. Suck my cock. Quickly. I want to fuck your wife as soon as I possibly can.”

Doing just as he was told, my little husband watched in awe as the dick sprang up.

“Suck,” he said again. “And you, Ashleigh, show me what I’m going to fuck. Show me everything.”

Quickly, I finished stripping off my clothes and moved close enough that he could touch me. His hands physically did what his eyes had been doing for some time now – devoured me. As Jeff closed a fist around the base of his cock, Mr. Richards brushed the side of my face with the back of two fingers.

His cock slid between Jeff’s lips and I heard my husband sigh around the behemoth in his mouth. Chancing a glance downward, the sight of my husband sucking a dick started driving me a little wild. Almost unconsciously, I slid a hand up my body and led the fingers that were dancing around my nipple downward and urged them between the folds at the top of my cleft. For the first time tonight, Mr. Richards let out a little groan as his fingers slipped between my velvet and he felt my juice.

“That’s enough Jeff. Go get a chair, bring it back and sit down.” Mr. Richard said, stepping back from both of us and taking his own cock in hand for a few strokes. God he’s huge, I mused as I watched him, watching Jeff.

A moment later, my husband returned with a wooden chair and sat down.

“Good. Now, Ashleigh,” he said, bending to retrieve the length of rope, “tie him down. Bind his feet to the chair. He can watch, and he can touch that little prick of his, but no getting up.” He looked back at Jeff, “Understand?”

Jeff, his mouth a bit agape, sat back in the chair as I did what I was told. Our bulls were always strong types, alpha types; they had to be at least a little bit. Nothing like him, though, had ever come through our front door. Both of us, I think, were amazed at just how commanding and powerful he seemed. He’s going to make one hell of a baby, I thought, cinching down the rope.

A hand tangled in my hair and pulled me to my feet sending little tingles of thrilling pain all over my scalp. “Mister Richards!” I yelped, before he stopped me.

“Your ad said you wanted a real man. Now you have one.”

At that instant, I knew that whatever he wanted to do, he could. Physically, there was nothing either of us could do to stop him if he began crossing a line, or lots of lines. As he slid his fingers back down my body, stopping on the way to my pussy to pinch my nipples, I realized though that a man like this, one who did whatever he wanted, was exactly what I needed.

“Kneel.” He said, before dipping two fingers into my slit for a moment. I let out a little moan and hesitated, hoping he planned to play with me more.

“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.


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.

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