One Night With My New CEO

Jake's POV

I was already buried deep when she started losing control of herself, it was easy to tell she was down bad for my cock.

Her thick thighs clamped tight around my hips, her nails digging into my shoulders as though she needed to hold on to prove this was happening. 

I didn’t give her anything to hold onto emotionally, I didn't have to, no kisses, no whispered nonsense, no fake tenderness. 

Just the steady, practiced rhythm I’d perfected over months long, controlled strokes that landed exactly where the extra cash said they should. 

I stayed professional. She lay on her back now, legs hooked over my forearms so I could fold her open anyway she requested. 

Every time I drove in, her ass lifted off the mattress, soft and heavy, the cheeks spreading and bouncing back against my pelvis with a fleshy slap that echoed over the drone of the hotel AC. She was a proper PAWG. 

She could never get wet enough on her own, so the lube bottle stood open on the nightstand, cap lost somewhere, clear gel already smeared thick along my shaft and between her folds before I’d even pushed inside.

The extra slickness turned every thrust obscene, smooth, wet glides that let me bottom out without resistance. 

She moaned louder each time I filled her completely, low and greedy, the sound of someone who’d already paid and expected every cent’s worth.

“Harder,” she gasped.I gave it to her as requested, harder and faster. The headboard of the bed hit the wall in short, irritated bursts.

Her breasts swayed heavily with the motion, full, dark nipples already peaked from the cold room and from the way I’d pinched and twisted them earlier until she’d hissed through her teeth. 

I kept the angle just right, grinding the base of my cock against her clit on every upstroke. She liked that part best.

Her breathing fractured into short, desperate pants. 

Her stomach tightened, inner walls started fluttering around me. Then she broke.

She arched hard, mouth dropping open in a soundless cry before the noise tore free. Her pussy clamped down like a fist, pulsing wildly, and then the flood hit. 

Not just the usual creamy rush of her orgasm. Actual squirt. It was hot, forceful jets that splashed across my abs, ran in warm rivulets down my balls, soaked the sheets under us. 

I felt it dripping off my thighs, sticky and excessive, and fresh irritation burned through my gut.

Every damn time. She shuddered through the aftershocks, her eyes rolled back, fingers clawing my arms. 

I didn’t slow down. I fucked her straight through the spasms until the last tremor left her limp and she was gasping beneath me.

Only then did I pull out. My cock stood rigid, slick with lube and her release, veins thick and dark, throbbing angrily.

I was right on the edge, but I never finished inside her. She didn’t pay for that. She blinked up at me, chest rising and falling fast, buttcheeks blotchy red. 

“Put it back,” she said, voice rough. “Don’t you dare stop.” I didn’t argue. I raised up my cock again and sank back inside in one long slide. 

She was even sloppier now, drenched from her own mess, and the sound was pure filth, loud, wet sucking every time I bottomed out. 

Her ass jiggled with the force, cheeks rippling against my hips. I gripped her waist, thumbs sinking into the soft part above her hipbones, and pounded harder.

She reached between us, fingers frantic on her clit. 

“Come on,” she panted. “Give it to me.”The pressure coiled fast. My balls drew up tight. I pulled out at the last second, wrapped my fist around the base, and stroked twice. 

The first hot rope shot across her breasts, thick white streaks landing heavy on her cleavage, dripping down the curves, pooling in the hollow between them. 

She moaned like it was the payoff she’d been waiting for. I wasn’t finished. She kept rubbing herself, body still vibrating. 

“Again,” she whispered. “I want another one.” I was still rock-hard, the sight of my cum painted across her skin only making it worse.

I shoved back inside her, rougher this time. She gasped, legs locking around my waist again. 

I fucked her like I was trying to outrun something, every thrust punishing, every wet slap louder than the last.

She came a second time, smaller, quieter, but her walls still pulped, still squeezed me tight. That was enough.

I buried myself to the hilt and let go. The second orgasm rolled through me in heavy, draining pulses. 

I spilled deep inside her, hot and thick, feeling every twitch as I emptied out completely. She sighed, long and satisfied, like she’d finally received exactly what she’d ordered.

I pulled out right away. No gentle touches. I rolled off the bed, snatched the towel from the chair, wiped myself down quickly. 

She stayed sprawled where I left her, her legs parted, my cum leaking slowly out of her, streaked across her tits, sheets dark and soaked beneath. 

She didn’t reach to clean up, she was still trying to catch her breath for what might have been one of the best sexual encounters of her 41 year life. 

I dressed without looking at her again, throwing on my shirt, my jeans, belt, socks and shoes.

The envelope with the payment waited on the nightstand, crisp hundreds in plain white, same as always. 

I folded it once, slid it into my back pocket.She watched me the whole time, lazy smile curving her lips. 

“Same time next month?” I didn’t give an answer. I walked out. 

The elevator dinged loudly. Outside, the night air hit me, humid, thick with exhaust. I lit a cigarette even though I’d sworn I was done with them. Inhaled deep. 

The burn felt honest as I walked. Three blocks to the bus stop. Twenty more minutes before getting home. 

My legs felt like concrete, cock still half-hard in my jeans from the lingering aftershocks, skin tacky with her squirt and sweat. 

I could still smell her, floral body oil, sex, lube. It turned my stomach. “This was the last time I was going to do this.” 

I told myself that every single time. Every fucking time. Mom’s latest hospital bill sat on the kitchen table when I got in, $4,800 past due, red ink glaring. 

The new chemo meds ran $1,200 a month, uncovered. My sister’s tuition notice had arrived last week, one more missed payment and they’d drop her. 

My own rent was thirty days late. Textbooks for my final semester cost more than food for a month. 

And the internship, the one at the publishing house that could finally pull me out of this, was still dead silent.

I kept repeating the same tired script in my head, this money covered it all. I was doing what I had to. 

I wasn’t some pathetic wreck selling himself because he couldn’t find another way.

I hated how smoothly the excuse slid into place now. I hated myself even more for believing it.

The apartment was dark and quiet when I stepped inside. I dropped my keys on the counter, kicked off my shoes, and went straight to my room.

I opened my laptop before going in to freshen up, and opened the g***l application. I got 3 unread inboxes and two spam messages.

One university reminder about graduation paperwork.

Nothing from whom I expected. I refreshed anyway, still nothing. The familiar panic was suffocating. 

That internship was the way out of this life I was currently living. The proof I could be more than hotel rooms at midnight, envelopes of cash, and the sour aftertaste of someone else’s satisfaction.

I stared at the screen, probably hoping for a miracle that wasn't going to come that night.