Her Breeding Bull Billionaire

By: Francis Ashe

“Ash,” my husband Jeff called to me over a stack of papers, “I think I found a good one over here. Check it out.”

My glasses slipped down my nose as I got up from behind my pile, stretched my back and crossed the room. “Oh yeah? What’s this one got that the other hundred thousand don’t?”

“Says he’s a ‘successful businessman’ and that he has an alpha type personality, adventurous, experienced bull, entrepreneurial, blah blah blah – the works. And, he included a picture. Not a bad looking dude.” Jeff offered the paper, and as soon as I saw his face and read his words, I knew this guy was the one.

He was just as Jeff described him. Able looking, sharply dressed, hair impeccably styled to look not-styled. Piercing gray-blue eyes and a playful smile that I could tell was something the man in the picture did not normally wear. He looked stern but had an air of kindness to him.

“Let’s meet him. I think this is our guy. Are you sure you want to go through with this?” I asked, still a little unsure that Jeff, who loved to watch me get fucked, was actually serious about wanting to raise someone else’s baby.

“Yeah, I think you’re right Ashleigh.” Jeff stood up and kissed me behind the ear. “And yes. You’re the most important thing in my life, and I like seeing you satisfied, seeing you happy. And, I like... well,” he trailed off for a moment, “I like to watch. I love the faces you make, the sounds that come out of you. There’s nothing in the world I love more than to watch some big-dicked honcho stuff you up and cum all over you. I think it’s time we go to the next step.”


He is a good, kind man, Jeff. Works hard, does his best to please me, all that sort of thing. But, not too long after we got married, our life together became very bland in a face-to-face-missionary way. We tried other things; toys, handcuffs, even a threesome, but nothing could have prepared either of us for the utter thrill of a huge co**ck slamming inside me over and over, ringing me out, and pounding my tight, twenty-something pus**sy while my husband watched from a chair halfway across the bedroom.

It suited him well. He may be nice and responsible, but he is certainly not enough to sate me. His little cock, his belly that sticks out – I love him, but he’s not what I need. In fact, the first time I ever actually had an orgasm with his di**ck in me, I was also stuffed with a big, thick vibrating dildo. Our first time with a bull was a revelation. The first guy was a musician that we met at a bar. Anyway, after he was finished ringing me out and gushed his load in my mouth, Jeff begged me to kiss him, and then he wanted to suck the rest of the cum off the guy’s cock, to taste the di**ck that made his wife cum harder than he had ever managed.

We went on like that, Ashleigh and Jeff Hanson, for a couple of years. Most all our men came from personal ads – the old way to do it, in the backs of dirty magazines. Eventually, that well dried up and we had to start hunting through cuckold message boards. The guys were always friendly, always satisfying, but something was missing. Not just from the sex, but from our lives.

One day while Jeff was off toiling away at his dead-end job and I was at my studio teaching a class of young up-and-coming painters about the finer points of capturing the ecstasy of coitus on canvas, I realized what was missing. I’m almost thirty and these eggs aren’t gonna last forever. Baby?

A baby.

After a long day at work, rolling in to my driveway felt good. The whole baby thing had drifted a little past the fringes of my thoughts into that space where most everything goes when I need a glass of wine and a foot rub. But, as soon as I walked in the door, Jeff was at the door to greet me. “Check your email, honey,” he said, “I made up another ad. Tell me what you think – and... I totally understand if it is just too much for you. Totally understand.”

At first I shrugged it off, thinking the ad was just a little kinkier than usual, and no big deal. He always got more excited than I did. Outwardly, anyway. I got my wine, snatched my laptop and collapsed into my favorite cushioned heaven. His email was the most recent one.

Subject line ‘what do you think?’ Well, let’s see what I think. I clicked it open, started to scan. The message was succinct. “J&A seek bull. Must be successful, must be good looking, and must be fertile.”

Fertile. I read the message again.

It all came flooding back to me.

A baby. A baby!

“Are – are you serious Jeff? I thought about this exact same thing only a few hours ago.”

He nodded and smiled.

“Okay,” I said, “but you know the rules. You make the post and I make the choice.”


A day after my husband called the number listed on the application, we got a call back. The man in question, a guy named Clark Richards, informed us that he would like to meet before going forward. He informed us that we were to meet him at his office the following day at half past eight.

“He’s interviewing us,” I said to Jeff as we parked and made the hike past security and down a long wood-paneled hallway to a private elevator. The only buttons on the elevator’s panel were labeled ‘executive’ and ‘lobby’. “I like him already.”

Jeff nodded. I could tell he was nervous. He always got like this when we met a bull. Something about this guy though, was different. I thought maybe it was just the gravity of the situation, the baby and all, but he insisted that was not the case.

“This is such a different world than we’re used to, Ash,” he said, “I mean, what does this guy do anyway?”

Good question, I thought. “Well this architectural monstrosity is labeled ‘Clark Richards Financial Group’ so maybe he’s some kind of investment consultant?”

He shook his head. I could tell what he was thinking.

“Honey,” I said, “we can turn around if this is making you uncomfortable.”

“Oh no, no,” Jeff stammered, “I’m really, really excited. All this power, all this wealth. Just imagine...” His thought hung in the air as the elevator acknowledged the end of the ride with a friendly chime.

“Are you... Mistah and Missus... uh... Hanson?” The secretary said as we exited the elevator into a futuristic-looking space surrounded entirely by windows. The office behind her was marked ‘Clark Richards, CEO’ and, except for the clear door, was all frosted glass. She looked like a sit-com stereotype - popping gum, nasally voice, oval glasses and too much lipstick.

“Yes ma’am,” I said, “I’m Ashleigh and this is Jeff.”

“Okay. Mistah Richards has been expecting you. Go on back. It’s the... uh... big glass door behind me with the stencil of his name.” She returned, immediately, to her magazine and popping gum.

I pushed open the door, Jeff behind me. As soon as we were both inside, it swung closed with a magnetic click! Behind the very clean mahogany desk across the room sat the man from the pictures.

“Good morning,” I said, crossing the room. I stuck my hand out, but he just gestured to the two chairs.

“Please, sit.” He said, and as we did, he stood.

“Now, before we begin, I realize that my demands are a little abnormal. But understand that my time is valuable. I have to know that what I’m doing will benefit my desires before I waste it on frivolity.” His voice was calculated.

I’ve seen alpha type guys before, but holy shit. I looked over at Jeff, who seemed cowed by this man’s wealth, confidence and obvious power. As for me, I just wanted him to throw me across this desk and f**k my brains out.

“You – ah, Ashleigh? Are you ovulating presently?”

That took me out of my little fantasy. “Well, yes... sir, I am. But what does that...?”

“Good. I like the way you look. I can tell you’re serious about this arrangement. I only take women when they’re ready for me. My time, as I said, is valuable. Who are you?”

“I’m... uh, I’m Ashleigh and this is Jeff.” Jeff nodded.

“No, I mean who are you? Why should I want to give you a child? You see who I am, what I offer you. Why are you worth my effort?”

That took me aback.

“Well, I’m an artist. I teach classes at the university in town, and I also have a studio. Lots of... ah... painting. Is... what I do. Painting.” The last time anyone had dumbfounded me like Mr. Richards just did was, well, probably in High School.

He shifted his gaze. “And you?”

“I’m... uh... sales manager. I’m the sales manager at the software company down the street. Intellitrac.”

“Hum. Well, alright.” Mr. Richards leaned back against his desk and wrung his hands. “You say you’re a teacher, Ashleigh, at the university? Are you a professor? Graduate student?”

“Yes sir, I’m a professor. And run the studio, which does well for itself.”

Clark Richards answered with another cryptic nod and more hand wringing. His face did soften a bit. He looked pleased.

“So that’s the business of it. I’m satisfied. I can’t have any possible offspring of mine being placed in helpless situations. You understand.”

Unbelievably, I nodded.

“One last thing, though,” he said as he pushed off the desk and moved across the room. “I need to know that you’ll be able to satisfy me sexually. Men like me can afford to be choosy. Ashleigh. Prove to me that you’re worth my time and my energy. I have a meeting in eight minutes. Make it quick.”

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