Her Breeding Bull Billionaire

By: Francis Ashe


“Oh, shit,” I said, “he’s going to be here soon. Maybe. Gotta finish getting the place ready. Does he seem like a ‘candles’ kind of guy to you?”

Jeff shook his head.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Ah, man. I don’t know what to do. I guess we should just have a glass of wine and relax a little. Calm my own nerves, if nothing else.” I had become acutely aware in the few minutes between our discovering Jed and seeing the sun set that I was the nervous one. Feels like a whole lot of dreams coming true at once – Clark Richards, hopefully a baby. Ash, Ash, Ash. You gotta calm down, girl. Thinking it and doing it though were very different, though. Jeff plodded ahead of me to the kitchen, poured a couple of very stout glasses of red.

“Here’s to... whatever happens,” he said, and clinked my glass.

“Whatever happens,” I took a swallow. The liquid tasted good and as it slid down my throat, the tension I carried at the top of my shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Everything’s going to be fine. Don’t worry, baby,” Jeff said after a few moments of silence. “Or is it just excited nerves?”

I nodded, eyebrows arched and eyes closed.

“Me too. I’m not going to pretend I’m not a little scared, but holy Hell I am looking forward to this.”

For some reason, that’s just what I wanted to hear. I also had the feeling that part of what Jeff was so riled up about was one of the last things Clark said before we left: “he’s going to get me ready.” Jeff had never done prep work with any of our bulls, and I think it was something he always wanted to try. He knew this one was going to be special. Leaning over, I gave him a kiss on the top of the head.

As much as my husband was excited about watching me be bred by this incredible man, I was looking forward to being fucked and filled. My thoughts turned dirty. They turned to the rope that Mr. Richards had requested. I hope he’s going to do something... rough. Something just a little dangerous, I thought, finishing my wine.

Darkness set in, and we waited.

But, not for long.





***





Seven o’clock rolled around and one glass of wine turned to two. Halfway through, I realized that a car had been sitting out front of our house for who-knows-how-long. We both peered through the blinds in a kind of hushed wonderment at the long, black, chrome-lined limousine. It seemed like something out of time – tall tail fins, side rails like on an old Studebaker, and white-walled tires.

This guy is the real deal. Even though that was apparent from his private elevator only office, the car drove it home. So to speak.

Clark Richards’ back was turned to the house, illuminated by the overhead light, and it was obvious from his movements that he had a phone to one ear. The driver sat perfectly still, his white gloves on the wheel the only part of him visible through the dark glass.

“Well,” Jeff kissed me on the back of the head, “this is it. I guess. He doesn’t seem to be making any moves. How long has he been there, d’ya think?”

I just shook my head, still in shock at the thing parked in front of my house.

Finally, the driver emerged and opened the door for the man who was about to father my – our – child.

When he finally stepped out into the night, he was gorgeous. Perfectly combed hair, just the right amount of stubble across his jaw, those big shoulders and arms covered in a perfectly tailored charcoal grey suit. His trousers were obviously well-tailored, but the muscles in his thighs made them fit tightly around him nonetheless. Oh this is going to be good, oh this is going to be good.

I watched him walk up our little stone path and straighten his lapels in the reflection of the door glass. That gesture made him seem a bit more human than he had in the office when he was just perfection.

As soon as I opened the door, the spicy, delicious cologne that I smelled between his legs the day before struck me. For the first time in my life, the whiff of a scent made me a little wet. Mr. Richards’ immediacy finished the job.

“Not much time,” he said, “I have an engagement soon. Well, now, actually, but I put them off for an hour. Do you have the rope?”

Jeff nodded.

“Good.”

I started to reach for his hand and take him around the house, like I would any guest, but he shrugged me off.

“No, apologies and all that, but I’m not interested. I came here for one thing. You. I’ve seen houses before. I hope that wasn’t too forward?”

Oh my God, I’ve never met anyone so abrupt and straight forward. A little rude, sure, but... It’s just so...

My thoughts were interrupted by our guest speaking again.

“Alright,” he cast his gaze at Jeff, “I told you that you would be getting me ready to f**k your wife. That you were going to get my di**ck hard so that I could do what you can’t, or even worse, that she doesn’t want you to. How does that feel, exactly? I’m going to f**k your wife, cum inside her, and you’re going to raise my child.”

My husband’s co**ck was already stiff. This is exactly what he wanted.

“I... er...” he stammered and trailed off. “Th-thank you, Mr. Richards.”

“Good. At least he knows his place.” He turned his eyes to me. “How about you? Are you ready to be fucked harder and better than you have ever been? Are you ready for this? Where’s the rope?” Jeff slid the coiled up and now dummy-free cord into Mr. Richards’ hand. Our bull billionaire arched an eyebrow and stretched out the length of rope, nodding.

“Undress me. Be careful not to wrinkle the suit.” Mr. Richards said in Jeff’s direction. “And you,” he turned to me, “entertain me. Now.”

Luckily, my outfit was planned for being easy to remove.

First, I loosened the lace-up neck of my blouse and moved closer to where Jeff and Mr. Richards were positioned. Vague hints of my clea**vage flashed when the shirt fell open, and although he was staring at me, most of Mr. Richards’ attention was focused on the work that my husband was doing.

With a care that belied his eagerness, Jeff began to remove the layers of fabric from Mr. Richards. By the time he was down to an undershirt and trousers, my husband was almost beside himself with excitement. His hands trembled as he fumbled with the front of Mr. Richards’ pants and belt.

“If there’s anything special, I...” Jeff began.

“Stay quiet. And you,” he gestured to me, “come closer.”

Jeff pulled the tight-fighting trousers down and felt Mr. Richards’ half-hard co**ck as it swelled.

“So... so big...” he breathed, a little heavier than before. Slowly, he drew the elastic down until the thick beginning of a co**ck was visible. Even soft, this man was at least twice as big as Jeff. That thing is going to be in me. I shook my hips playfully back and forth, shimmying out of my skirt.

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 f**k your wife as soon as I possibly can.”

Doing just as he was told, my little husband watched in awe as the di**ck 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 co**ck 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 di**ck 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 co**ck 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 pus**sy to pinch my nipples, I realized though that a man like this, one who did whatever he wanted, was exactly what I needed.

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