Chapter 11
Gemma
It’s hard to believe this has happened. I went from being a prisoner, to becoming a waitress at the Billionaires Club. But I’m not even a server anymore. After our first encounter at the bar, Mr. Carmichael spirited me off to his suite, and I’ve been his kept woman ever since. It’s crazy, really. Food is delivered by room service, or we go down and eat at one of the restaurants at the Club. I have full access to the gym, library, spa, sauna, and every beauty treatment you can imagine. I live in a lap of luxury, and my only “job” so to say is to keep Mr. Carmichael happy and sated.
Frankly, I love that part of the job. Peter are I are so compatible that it’s eerie in some ways. After all, I’ve only known him a month. But it’s been a crazy month of togetherness 24/7, and I’d say I’ve gotten to know him really well.
Take for example, his pet peeve.
“I hate cats,” he said flatly one day. “All types of cats. Big, small, striped, and furry. I hate them all.”
“No way,” I smile. “How can that be possible? You’d love my cat Henry if you met him.”
Pete wasn’t having it, and he shook his head. I paused for a moment to admire how handsome he is. The billionaire’s got bright blue eyes that can make me melt on the spot, and right now, he was sitting upright in bed showing off that bronzed chest. Working out makes me put on weight because I get so hungry, but for him, it’s the opposite. Working out keeps him toned and muscular, and I gazed with admiration at the six pack peeking out from the bedsheets.
“I would absolutely hate Henry,” he says in a deadpan voice. “Just thinking about cats gives me the creeps.”
“Oh please,” I say with a laugh, waving one small hand at him. “You don’t know my cat. If you did, you’d fall in love.”
Pete harrumphs in his chest and then reaches over and pulls me into his lap. I laugh, settling myself into the warm curve of his arms.
“Maybe if it was your cat, I’d be okay with it,” he concedes. “But probably not.”
I nuzzle against his throat, teasingly running my tongue up and down that bronzed column.
“If I do this more, would you like my cat?” I ask playfully. “Or how about this?” Pressing my tits against his chest, I haul myself up so that we’re facing one another, my knees splayed on each side of his thighs. Slowly, I lower my pussy onto that hard shaft, gasping a bit as my cunt tries to adjust to his massive size. Oh god, he’s so huge and hard, but it feels so good. Mewling a bit, I press myself down, but it’s damn tight. Squealing, I gyrate my hips while reaching one hand down to rub my clit. That seems to do the trick. A burst of pussy juice coats his shaft, and I slide down slowly, moaning as my sensitive spot is rubbed so good.
“Oh god, Peter, I don’t think I can move,” I gasp once I’m fully seated on his shaft.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he grunts, gripping my hips with both big hands. “Just stay still, and I’ll fuck up into you. Shit, you’re so small and your pussy’s so wet. You feel So. Fucking. Good.”
With that, his hips begin to jackhammer upwards and I moan and squeal as my pussy gets pounded to the max. He’s huge, but somehow my body is able to manage it, and with a scream and a cry, I let go. My spine arches, and then my cunt clamps down like a vise on his fuckrod before shaking violently and dissolving into a series of tremors.
“Unnh!” is my helpless cry as I milk his dick hard. “Oh god!”
Peter grunts as well, and then his hips arch up as he fucks into me deep.
“Take my sperm,” he rasps. “Take it all into your pussy sweetheart. I’m going to fill that sweet twat up until you’re dripping cum night and day.”
I sigh and my eyes close, blissed out beyond belief because it’s like this every time we’re together. The sex is always unbelievable, and we get along on a personal level too. When he finally finishes spurting, I lean forwards to give him a kiss.
“Is that enough?” I ask throatily. “Or do you want more?”
He gazes at me lazily with a gleam in those blue eyes.
“I want more,” he says simply. Even though my lover doesn’t say the words aloud, I know what he’s asking for. Wordlessly, I dip a hand between my legs, catching his sperm as it seeps out of my pussy. Then I reach backwards and begin lubing up my back hole.
“Are you ready?” is my throaty purr. But Mr. Carmichael doesn’t need to answer because I can see the evidence myself. His shaft is already hard and full once more, ready to own my ass this time. And with a throaty moan, I do it. I grab onto his shoulders, positioning his tip at my sensitive pucker, and then begin to press down.
Oh fuck! He’s so big and my head falls back with the effort. My anus never gets used to his size and I mewl again, trying to work him into the compact tunnel.
“Unnnnh,” is my moan. “Oh god.”
He kisses my throat, running his tongue up the slender column.
“Go slow,” is his encouraging murmur. “You can do it, my little butt slut.”
And sure enough, after more insistent pressure, my sphincter gives way with a pop, and his entire ten incher sinks into my bottom. Oh shit. He’s so big and it feels like his hot rod goes all the way up to my lungs. But Mr. Carmichael knows what he wants.
“That’s right, my little pet,” he rasps into my ear. “I love how your anal ring grips me, so hungry for more. Now ride,” he commands. “Fuck my dick with your butt, sweetheart. I know you want it.”
The dirty words get to me and I begin pounding myself down on his shaft with a vengeance. After all, I may be a hungry slut, but the billionaire loves it. So I raise my bottom and drop it down again, my butt cheeks clapping with the exertion.
“Fuck!” is my breathless cry as I near the edge. “Oh shit!”
“You little butt slut,” he growls. “Fuck my dick with your ass, my little whore.”
The nastiness pushes me over the edge, and stars explode before my eyes. I let out a high-pitched, keening cry as my pussy and anus spasm hard, clamping down on his cock.
“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck my life!!!!”
With that, Mr. Carmichael bursts again, depositing load after load of sperm into my bottom. He pumps non-stop, gallons of the good stuff blasting my anal canal, until I’m overflowing. Finally, we stop and I press a kiss to the bronzed column of his throat. Semen is leaking from my sore anus, but I love it.
“So if I do this for you every morning, will you like my cat?” I ask teasingly, while rubbing my breasts against his chest. Mr. Carmichael can barely breathe because he’s still dribbling the last bits of cum into my sweet cavern, but he grunts low in his chest.
“If you do a double-header for me every morning, that fucking cat can sleep on the bed with us,” he manages, while swiping one big hand between my legs. “With that kind of performance, you can do anything you want, sweetheart.”
I like that answer so I kiss him again and wiggle my hips a little. “Oh good because my neighbor’s taking care of Henry right now, but one day, you know you’re going to have to let me out of here,” I say playfully. “You can’t keep me here forever and ever, as your little sex slave.”
Peter grunts, pulling my curvy form close. His dick finally exits my anal chamber, and I gasp. Sometimes he feels so hard coming out, that I think we’re about to start another round of hot loving. But evidently, not this time.
“We’ll see about that,” is all he says. My heart thrills. Does he want to keep me with him forever? Maybe not here at the Billionaires Club, but at his house in the real world? Could we even interact in real life, and maybe go out on dates like regular people? My heart rushes and I look at the dark, devastating man with love in my eyes. Because yes, I’ve fallen in love with Peter Carmichael, my captor … and I can’t imagine living without him.