A Controlling Interest

Patrick set the phone down on the table, and placed a second hand on her head. They locked eyes as he stuffed her mouth with his burning-hot cock. More than lust swam in his resilient, blue irises, as a playful war brewed between them. He gritted his teeth and pinched his eyelids almost closed. She matched his stare and dropped her jaw, as if his size was trivial. The pressure he applied on her head was once again in the direction of his cock and his hips lurched forwards, popping it tightly into her cramped ventricle.

Again and again he took her throat, the rigid, veiny meat impacting against the slippery lining, as a tear streamed down her cheek. She was determined to beat him, however. She might've been on her knees as he guided her head onto his cock, but she felt anything but submissive. She intended to blow her boyfriend's business associate so fucking good and dirty he wouldn't be able to stand when he came. She'd bring the pussy hound to his knees.

Patrick, however, held himself together quite nicely. Yes, he gritted his teeth, tension creased the comer of his eyes, and his slick façade deteriorated as he literally face-fucked her----but a steady growl hissed from his throat and revealed the animal behind his desires to be every bit as smooth as its skin. He clutched her hair, and focused his inherent compulsion to spew seed into the opposite sex by lodging that cock down her throat like it was a narrow, cashmere-lined glove. His cocky smile eased into place, but he'd lost his soft friendly dimples and his eyes tightened like a hawk's beaming down on a mouse. That stare triggered something more in her, too, and her pussy tingled like mad.

She thought of her boyfriend running around the party trying to meet the demands of these assholes, completely oblivious that she had a mouth full of cock. It was so wrong. She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't have undressed for those assholes even when she didn't know who they were. What was her problem? She didn't even like Patrick anymore. So why did blowing him make her pussy feel so good? Why did the thought of drinking the arrogant fuck's come make her so ravenously hot? And now his balls weren't just touching her chin as his hips came forwards, they were smashing against it.

"Ah fuck yeah. Oh that's good. Aw Reggie that is go-good. Like that. Ah fuck, like that, just like that. Ah that's good." He sped up, shirt flaps brushed against her nose, and his balls slugged her chin.

"You hot, naughty, little girl. I'm gonna lose it. Keep that up, I'm so fucking going to come. Goddamn you are beautiful. Get it. Get me down. Suck me all the way down. Just like that, you naughty little girl. Get it all. Is your beautiful ass ready for me to lose it? You want some in your pretty mouth? Yeah you do. You want my fucking come in your mouth. Your boyfriend's just outside and you want my come in your mouth."

He maneuvered into her throat steadily, and she did as she was told----she took it straight down her throat. And he was right, she wanted him to come in her mouth so bad she'd forgotten they were in earshot of a party, and issued a garbled moan that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than gagging on a cock. She braced her hands on his hips and tried to swallow him as fast and deep as she possibly could.

"Suck it Reggie. Suck my cock. God-damn I can see it in your long sweet neck. And goddamn you've got the pre-prettiest face. When I saw you in your office, pl-playing with your tits on the phone, I knew I was going to have your pretty ass. And goddamn do I love always being right."

Oh god, he was such a jack-ass. Why, why, why was she doing this? He then thrust hard and jammed her face onto his dick, his balls completely flattening over her small chin and her nose crushing into his mustard button down.

Her heart then stopped. With her head being crammed on his dick, she heard a footstep behind him. She could not see past his body, and tried to express her panic by tensing up her forehead and shaking her head up at him, but Patrick was out of his mind, and his dick remained buried in her mouth. She heard the footstep again, closer now, maybe just behind Patrick. It had the distinct thwack of a man's dress-shoe on a tiled floor. She knew it was Brandon. She knew Brandon was standing there watching some guy shove his dick down her throat. She beat her palms on Patrick's hips for him to move away, but at the same time her pussy tingled so bad she almost had an orgasm.

Patrick finally pulled his cock out, still hard as rock. She took a deep breath, and had to extend her lower lip out to prevent the saliva in her mouth from spilling down her front side. As she did, she saw a figure step out from behind Patrick. It was Steve's thick muscular frame, and she looked up into his dark, approaching eyes right as she tipped her head back..

"Mother-fucker! You had to do it. You had to get your cock sucked, didn't you?"

Patrick turned to face him so fast his hard dick sprung left and right. Steve looked down at the exposed organ, glistening with Reagan's spit.

"What the fuck, man? You have to do every girl you meet----every fucking one of them? You couldn't keep it in your pants just until we closed this deal?"

"It's not what you think, bro!"

"You mean you didn't just have your cock stuffed in her mouth?"

Reagan stayed on her knees. Steve was a little scary before, but now he was terrifying.

"OK, I admit to that part, but it didn't happen like you think."

"It doesn't matter how it happened, man. That's not what concerns me. What concerns me is that I'm out there dealing with some guy and you're in here doing his girlfriend's throat. And you did it right in the middle of the fucking party! I could fucking hear that shit at the entrance to the room, man."

Patrick pulled up his slacks and shoved his deflating hardon into his boxer shorts. "OK, OK, but she's not who you think. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

The fact Patrick was stammering caused Reagan to wrap her arms over her chest and flash Steve a pleading doe-eyed stare. She also licked at the interior of her mouth, as if cleaning it would undo the fact she'd just had a dick in there.

"Unless she's not Brandon's girlfriend, I don't care who the fuck she is."

"You honestly don't recognize her?"

Reagan somehow found her voice. "Patrick, don't."

He looked down at her. "For fuck's sake, Reggie, this is for real. And he's going to figure it out eventually."

"Hey, you don't get to talk to her like that!"

"Fuck, she's the one, bro."

"What do you mean? Which one?"

"Think about----lucky fortune?"

Steve raised one eyebrow and studied her. "Bullshit!"

"It's her, I'm telling you." Patrick then looked down at her. "Show him. Show him what you showed me. Show him what you showed us every night we played hoops."

She knew what he meant, but she had no intentions of showing Steve anything, and no idea what derogatory meaning lie behind "lucky fortune". She got that Steve was a man's man, but it disgusted her how Patrick was suddenly all bros-before-hos and kissing up to his boss instead of standing up for himself----or for her.

"He's already seen, Reggie. Just a quick flash." His once suave, seductive voice now sounded shrill.

"Don't bother!" Steve grabbed Patrick's shoulder. "I don't give a fuck who she is." Reagan could see in his eyes it wasn't entirely true. The brown irises had already moistened into wet chocolate. His carnivorous nature was showing, and she felt like little more than food.

Steve then pinched his temples between his thumb and index finger. "OK, here's how this is going to go. You, Patrick, are going back out there and find Brandon. You and her are not to be seen together again tonight. Clear?" He then looked down at Reagan. "You----you are going to stay here with me."

Shock cracked a whip against her heart. At this point she wanted to get back to Brandon so bad she didn't care how things looked.

"We'll head back out in ten minutes or so, and I'll say I saw you stumbling out front and helped you back inside."

"Alright, that's cool." Patrick tucked his mustard shirt back into his trousers. "And sorry, bro, but... Fuck, tell me you wouldn't've?"

"Wouldn't've what, nearly blown our entire company capital? No, dip-shit, I wouldn't've."

She refused to look at Patrick as he walked across the dark empty restaurant towards the bar entrance, but flinched when he called back, "You would've. The lucky fortune, brotha. Just look at her."

Steve was looking at her, and she didn't like it. Maybe Patrick's change of behavior should've told her something about Steve, like maybe he was even scarier than she thought. He remained silent, paced in front of Reagan and intermittently ran his hands through his dark hair and shook them violently in front of his face, like he was yelling in his head. Reagan stayed on her knees, his pacing and gesturing only worsening her feelings of shame.

She ran a hand up her thigh and onto her tummy, and softly laughed. She was a horrible person----she didn't even feel guilty or remorseful in the slightest, just burning shame. And the kind of shame she did feel has the same effect on her as she'd experienced undressing in front of the open blinds. She softly laughed again, this time putting her knuckle to her mouth to hide it.

She finally lifted herself up off the tiled floor and walked towards the windowed wall. Samuel and Kai were gone, and the miles and miles of twinkling lights seemed to emulate the confusing mess in her mind. She watched the red lights whiz along the 405. There were so many cars going so fast, and yet the red and white stream was the one thing that appeared perfectly orchestrated. She then followed a single pair of headlights off the circular 405 exit and down a four-lane street, and she knew if she even blinked she'd never be able to pick it out again. Her belly twitched the way it does when something comes in close proximity of her vagina, and she caught herself trailing a finger down the front of her blood red dress, mimicking the route of the car. And the car headed lower and lower down her dress. She prepared to touch herself, but stopped at the tip of her pubic bone. Steve was in the room and it pissed her off his presence prevented her from exploring any further..

His voice came out of the silence behind her, causing her hand to retract up to her shoulder and cross over her tits. "Sorry if I came off insensitive. It's just that, well you and Brandon, that's none of my business, but Patrick is my business."

The way he said "you and Brandon" felt judgmental, and it pissed her off even more. He made their relationship sound fake, and even as fucked up as she was, her love for Brandon was real, and no bully was allowed to make light of it.

He must've sensed her growing disdain, because he pinched his temples and started over. "Let me try again. It's just... Well, I didn't get where I am by coddling people, and I know I can sound-"

"No, let me guess," she interrupted, and spun around to face him. "You got where you are by bullying people." He started to object, but she cut him off again. "You just love talking down to everyone, don't you? You're a Doer and a Taker, right? I bet you even printed that on the back of your business card. Or I bet it's some totally stupid cliché, like some Winston Churchill quote. Am I close?" When he started to answer, she again cut him off. "Guys like you always come with their moronic version of carpe diem, so come on, what is it?"

He looked stunned, his broad jaw locking into place. Reagan had even shocked herself with the outburst, as it came without any forethought whatsoever. She just couldn't contain the repulsion she felt in the moment. She was being as scary as him.

"Is it my turn yet?" He studied her face, his shadowy chocolate eyes thinning as he rocked back his head. He then stepped in close to her, and she felt more than a little threatened by it.

A nervous lump formed in her throat when she asked again. "So no, I take it, no personal motto?" She intentionally softened the question, but even as the last word left her mouth, she understood he'd make her regret it. And her fear overtook her shame in the quiet seconds that followed.

Finally Steve smiled, but the way he did only made her more uncomfortable. "OK, you're right. I do. But really it's more of an aphorism than a motto----the biggest knife carves the biggest slice."

Her eyes dropped to his crotch and shot back up to his. Shit, she really hoped he hadn't noticed that. It wasn't even what he meant by "the biggest knife".

"So what's yours then? What Sweetie-pie doesn't know won't hurt him?"

"Fuck you!"

"I'll let Patrick handle that!" He looked to the ceiling and winced, angry about something. "Fuck, I can't believe you..." The sentence finished out in her head. He couldn't believe she'd fallen for Patrick's sweet talk, and neither could she.

"He's a complete douche. How could you be that naïve?"

Once again she reacted without thinking, and this time her hands smacked against his chest. As her palms contacted the solid barrel under the crisp oxford weave of his maroon button-down, a burst of aggressive, satisfying energy surged through her and she brought her hands up to slap him again. It wasn't just him she was reacting to, but she knew hurting the dense man would be impossible, and strangely the impossibility of it made it terribly important she succeed. No one was allowed to be that big and strong, no one was allowed to make her feel like a slice for the taking, and who was he to fucking judge her.

He grabbed her wrists before they reached his chest a second time, her fingertips snapping forwards and tapping his body with little "thwacks".

"You're too easy."

"Let go!" She pulled back, but he tightened his grip and dragged her in closer. "Let go of my hands."

"Take a breath and I will."

She struggled to free her wrists once again, only to have him raise her arms up and pull her body flat against his. Her tits rubbed his bottom ribs, and she glared upwards and twisted her hands until the skin burned in pain.

"Enough! You and your boyfriend have caused me enough trouble tonight. I'm done with you both!"

"Then let me go."

"Chill out and take a deep breath and I will."

She stopped struggling but she wouldn't take a deep breath. Instead she glared directly at his eyes, attempting to stare him down. After several seconds came a strong impulse to blink, which she refused to do. To keep her mind off blinking she narrowed her attention to just his irises. She studied them for several more seconds until she literally forgot what she was staring at, and they became landscapes of brown and green flecked strands leading towards a central black pond. And as much as she wanted to hold onto her anger, the rich color of the shoreline and blackness of the pond proved too soothing. Her heart rate slowed against her will, and when she finally had to blink, a head-rush followed. She lowered her head and cleared her watery eyes by staring into his broad chest. The realization his ribcage was wider than her shoulders finalized her decision not fuck with him further. She then took that deep breath, and a wrist was released.

A hand gently stroked the side of her head, and her head fell against his wall of a chest. Lips then crashed against her forehead, kissing down her cheek towards her mouth, as an influx of heat took her by surprise. Her desperate fear rolled over into desperate arousal, and with her freed hand she beat against his chest again, but softly. It didn't feel at all satisfying anymore, and instead she slid the hand around his back and leaned her body into his.

Before her mind could grasp what she was doing, or who she was doing it with, his tongue was in her mouth and hers was inside his. He let go of her other wrist so he could grab her ass and draw her in even closer. The next few moments were a blur of frenzied kissing and groping, culminating in her stretchy chiffon dress being drawn overhead.

He lifted it as far as her shoulders, and then she took over, losing sight as the material passed her eyes. With her bottom half left completely exposed, he quietly announced, "The lucky fortune. Are you fucking kidding me?" She still had no idea of his meaning, but she recalled the bulge in Patrick's pocket where her panties sat in a ball, and realized Steve was getting an eyeful of her bare pussy. She gathered up the fabric and cleared it over her head, as layers of black hair fell back into place. Other than a few strands floating over her face her bob cut had returned to its perfect shape.

The muscles along his jaw tensed, working up the strength to speak. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, why do you have to be so fucking hot?" The ridges of his brow sloped, revealing how conflicted he felt, but he touched a finger upon her landing strip of pubic hair and ran it slowly up and down the half-inch wide patch.

"Goddammit, that is nice."

His finger skimmed over the soft fuzzy patch, petting it, as she stood before him in nothing but a black, lacy bra. She set her dress on a table, clutched onto his beefy forearm with both hands and followed its movement. For a moment she felt responsible, recognizing how much Steve had to lose. This big tough guy was risking the biggest deal of his life for a fleeting moment with her, and that was its own turn on.

"Does Brandon know what you do----showing off to strangers?"

His finger dipped lower, and then slid between her moistened labia. "Ahhh," she moaned, and then griped his forearm tighter and repositioned his fingers back to the little strip of pubic hair.

He shook his head in disappointment. "I guess not. I wonder how he'll take the news?"

Was that a threat? She called his bluff, "Yeah, I wonder..."

"Don't worry, nobody's going to know. But you like that, Reagan, don't you?" His forearm flexed and his fingers dug down and up into her snatch. She collapsed forwards, removing her grip on his arm to brace her weight against his chest. She breathed a shuddering moan into his neck, and her nostrils flared with an intake of air. His cologne tore through her sinuses with a sharp, heavy mix of vetiver and spice soaked bark. It would have sickened her in an elevator, but now it flooded her nostrils with a manly, musky presence that tapped her instinctual desire to fuck.

Her hands moved to his shoulders. His stayed under her crotch, as a meaty finger fucked gently into her. Dirty heat circulated up her spine, pooling in the pleasure centers of her brain. The muscles along her thighs relaxed and her legs parted ever so slightly. She leaned further into his broad, barreled chest, her tits squeezing out the sides of her lacy bra. She rolled her hips, granting his finger deeper access, letting it find exactly what it searched for.

She bit into her lip, and breathed in more of his scent. He palmed her ass cheek, and forced it down, helping to grind harder on the, now two fingers lodged inside her. It released a maddening wave of euphoria and she squeezed his shoulders to keep from screaming. Her toes stiffened in her shoes and her eyelids crushed together. Her breathing hastened, expanding her ribs outwards and squeezing her tits harder against his massive chest. She bit into his maroon shirt, just below the collar bone. Orgasmic turmoil gathered under her skin, and she finally called out, "Oh no stop, please."

He grunted and gave two last thrusts before pushing her away. It was a gentle shove, but she'd been unprepared for it, both physically and mentally, and it sent her stumbling backwards. She managed to regain her footing before falling to the floor, but it left her standing awkwardly hunched over and staring at the ground, with an arm over her tits, and a hand covering her pussy.