Ares
SQUELCH!
I shit you not, that is literally the sound that happens as I pull my giant 12 inch cock out of Celeste’s pussy.
The limo is stopped at a stoplight at the corner of 43rd and 10th Avenue and I’m betting its rocking back and forth. Pedestrians outside must be wondering what the fuck is going on.
Well, let them fucking wonder. That’s why they’re fucking out there and I’m in here, literally fucking the brains out of this slut.
That’s right. That’s all this bitch is to me. Don’t roll your eyes. I’m an asshole. I freely fucking admit it.
I’m Ares Strong. If that doesn’t give you enough background into why I’m an asshole, then you’ve been living under a fucking rock, darlin’.
Because anyone who wasn’t living under the fucking rock would have at least television or Internet. Or hell, goddamn radio. Even fucking newspapers. Anything to follow along the exploits of the Shark of Wall Street.
That’s right. The fucking shark. Worth billions of dollars and founder and CEO of Strong Capital – the preeminent private equity and leveraged buyout firm on the Street.
And it’s not just fucking bean counters on Wall Street that fear me. No, my ruthless business skill goes way past Manhattan. Ask any business owner in the fucking country what they think of Ares Strong and they’ll make the sign of the fucking cross and knock on wood. Because when a business gets in my sights, usually it’s time to fucking run.
Because I won’t stop till I buy that shit. No price is fucking too high. I’ll buy anything.
How do I afford it? How do I afford hundreds of billions in purchases when I only have $45 billion to my name. Yeah, I know, right? Only.
So where do I get the money?
Two words.
Junk bonds.
You wondering what that is?
"Oh baby, you were fucking me so good, why’d you stop?" Celeste asks lifting her head from the leather seat of the limo. "You stretched my pussy so fucking good."
Fuck. I’m just shaking my head. She’s a good fuck, but I’m getting bored of this. Not a fucking ounce of sense in her brain. The intelligence of a fucking walnut. The pussy isn’t even that good. It’s loose as a tent flap. But it’s not like I was in a picky fucking mood this afternoon.
Oh, right. You want to know where I met her?
Well, I was at a New York Nailers game. Got invited by my friend, Magnus Davion and ended up at the skybox watching good ol’ fashioned hard hitting American football.
Only there were other people in the skybox.
One of them, a banker from Kane Price was there with his girlfriend, Celeste.
"Ares Strong," the smug sonofabitch said to me when I nodded hello, giving me a smarmy smile. "Taking a day off from being a giant squid on the face of American capitalism?"
I couldn’t believe it. This piece of shit junior Managing Director was trying to call me out in public. I figured he was just dumb, but then he said, "Does Strong Capital do anything without borrowing money first? Do you have a dollar to your company’s name?"
Now I could see what he was doing. He was trying to talk to me like he was my fucking equal. That’s what happens when you give a broke ass fool a couple million dollars in bonus. All of a sudden he thinks he’s on the same level as a billionaire.
"What’s your name?" I asked him.
"Dean Logan," the douchebag said, extending his hand. But I didn’t shake it. Instead I got out my phone.
"Hey, William?" I said into the phone and I saw Dean look a bit puzzled. "William Kane? Of the Kane Price investment bank?" I asked into the phone, putting it on speaker.
Now Dean was looking a bit worried.
"Ares, what the fuck is going on?" William asked, sounding slightly annoyed. Probably got him on the golf course. No worries. This would only take a few minutes.
"Listen, William, I need you to do me a favor," I said into the phone and looked at Dean. "I need you to fire someone called Dean Logan."
"Now wait just a goddamn minute—" Dean tried to interject, but William just laughed.
"Consider it done, Ares," he said into the phone. "I never really liked that prick anyways. Don’t know how he became a Managing Director."
I thanked him and hung up as Dean stood there sputtering. His face was turning red and he was talking fucking gibberish.
How's that for trying to tangle with me when I was watching football on a Sunday afternoon?
But I wasn’t done yet.
"Your millionaire boyfriend has no job, baby," I said to his girlfriend. "And I’m gonna make sure he can’t ever get another job on the Street again."
She just looked at me, her eyes wide. I knew she wasn’t his girlfriend. Probably just some dumb bitch he picked up at the Hamptons last weekend. She probably had three of these kinds of guys on her finger, using them for clothes, cash, and cock.
"But if you come with me and ditch this gomer," I tell her, pointing to the asshole with my thumb. "I’ll take care of you."
Is there even any question which direction the girl went? I found out in five minutes her name was Celeste and she liked to suck cock. I figured I needed to be in the city for an interview happening soon, so why not fuck her on the way.
And if you’re wondering how it can be this fucking easy, if you’re rolling your eyes at the whole absurdity of it all, let me just tell you that you can’t judge till you’ve experienced the same fucking thing, okay?
I’m fucking serious. You can’t tell what a powerful fucking force of nature I am. My six feet and three inches of all muscle and sinew. I’m built like a fucking Greek god. In fact, I take it back. Greek gods are built like me. My piercing blue eyes. My golden hair. My fucking 8 pack abs. My defined chest.
Yeah, if you were standing right next to me like Celeste was, you’d be so fucking drippy at that moment that you’d be out of your mind. You’d be in heat, rubbing up against me, wanting me to fuck you.
And once I put you in my limo, you’d be like Celeste, attacking me hungrily. Wanting a taste of my power. Wanting to be next to an alpha male that destroyed all those that attempted to fuck with him.
Because I may be an asshole, baby, but I push all your fucking buttons so well that your clit will literally throb when I’m around you. You’ll be burning up inside and squirming and feeling your pussy lips puff up until my thick 12 inch cock goes inside you. That’s when you’ll sigh. As I put my giant mushroom head inside of you and push into your canal.
But wait till the rest of the 11 other inches goes in. You’ll fucking lose all grip on reality. Kinda like what happened to Celeste. You’ll moan and scream and talk in fucking numbers. You’ll be possessed by lust as I fucking grab your ass cheeks and smack them as I lick, suck and bite your nipples.
You won’t care who sees you as we fuck. And it won’t matter either, because we’ll be in my limo.
And you’ll cum so fucking hard. By the eighth or ninth time, you’ll be in this zoned out state of mind where you’re half blacked out and just drooling at the copious amounts of pleasure going through your body. Your nerve endings will be on fire as wave after wave of orgasm pounds you into a state of catatonic submission.
That’s when I’ll cum all over you. Like Celeste, you’ll coo and moan as my cum covers your face and tits. I’ll groan as I unload a quart of cum onto you, and you’ll fucking enjoy it, because you’re already in love with me, baby.
You won’t even mind as I use your thong to wipe off my cock before tossing it to you.
You won’t know what happens as the limo stops at a corner and I ask you to put your clothes on.
You’ll just follow directions as you put on your damp panties and wipe yourself off as best as you can. But I’ll only give you five minutes to get yourself together.
If you’re like Celeste, who’s taking forever, you’ll be out on the street while putting on your bra as the limo speeds off.
No offense intended to her, but I can’t wait around for some girl to get ready who I’ve already fucked and I’m never gonna see again.
What?
Don’t fucking look at me like that. I never told her I was going to be her boyfriend. I told her that her boyfriend or whatever she wanted to call him was a piece of shit loser and she could do better fucking me. And she did do better. I didn’t fucking lie.
I never said there was going to be any relationship. Or that I was gonna fucking grow old with her or anything like that. Whatever you imagined on your own is on you.
Besides, I don’t just go around fucking women all day. I need to be at the MarketWatch Journal studios.
They want my opinion on the fucking markets. I am a billionaire CEO of a major Wall Street firm, after all. With four years of Harvard undergrad and 2 years of Yale MBA behind me, I’m perfectly poised to educate the everyday investor why we should take large amounts of debt to fuel buyouts of companies and then use the companies own earnings to pay the debt off.
Yeah, they call me a shark for a reason.
I make it messy wherever I go. And listen, the limo has stopped and I’m walking into the MarketWatch studios, so you need to make a choice.
You wanna follow me into this story, you better be prepared for anything. You better be ready to put it all on the line because by the time you’re done, your heart is gonna be beating hard, your skin is gonna be flushed and you’re going to be panting from the orgasm.
Make sure you got your vibe or your partner or your B.O.B. or whatever you use to get yourself off because you’re going to fucking need it.
Don’t read this shit in public. You will absolutely not be able to hide it. I’m fucking serious, baby.
Instead, find a quiet corner, take your panties off, get yourself nice and lubricated, and, if you decide to come inside and flip the page, prepare yourself to go on a fucking wild ride into depravity and lust.
Don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you.