The $542-Million Lottery - or Me

[Summary: She was waiting for him beside the pool at his Southampton estate. Even the security system of a hedge-fund billionaire, like Pascal Lapin, can be evaded by the powers of darkness. She wants to know if he would like to win the $542 million lottery, guaranteed? No, not especially; Lapin passes up the deal and asks if Venus (that's her name) can make his real dream come true: sex with the receptionist, Rebecca, at his office. That is a ridiculous thing to call a dream, she argues—and argues, and argues. Well, um...does she have to get back "there" this evening? Nope, and that isn't even how "it" works. There is no "down there." So, after her routine assistant-satanic powers have made him a martini, he slips off her bikini.]

Her lips slipped from his dick with a soft "plop." She had been looking up at him in state-of-the-art cock-sucker style. He was trying to decide if she were more than humanly lovely, when she said: "You know, I can make your dick bigger." Her fathomless dark gaze held his.

"You already did make it bigger."

"You know what I mean! Do you always play these little word games? It can be quite irritating, you know."

"I've always thought I had a great dick."

"But some guys you know...never big enough dick. Never rich enough."

"Would you be more excited if it were bigger? I mean, we could give it a try just for this time."

She held him closed in her fist. About five inches stuck out above her hand. She gave it a vigorous shake. "No, this will be fine." With ladylike finesse, Pascal thought, her face lowered toward him, her pink lips parted.

He frowned. "Anyway, that would require a 'deal,' right? I'd have to give something..."

He regretted asking. The soft lips stopped short of his dick. She said, "Yes, that would be granting a wish—I mean if that were your wish. Whereas this," as she gave his patiently waiting pecker a nod, "is just between us."

"I feel very honored," said Pascal, and heaved a sigh. Now, her mouth was busy, again, so she only nodded her head in acknowledgment. Pascal was gazing across the terrace and the dunes beyond, out to where the ocean was lost, now, in the dusk, the sound of the surf disembodied. He was used to concentrating on something when the pleasure threatened an explosion, prolonging it a few moments before whipping away with a cry—or coming in the woman's mouth, if that were the scenario.

But now the pleasure—oh, shit, the ecstasy—kept mounting like notes on a banjo string, plucked pitch to pitch toward some end-note never reached. Jesus! His hands seized her head on either side, his fingers curling convulsively in her short, soft hair. The explosion would not come! He heard his own voice in little gasping screams. He was crying "No! No! No!" but he could not pulling away!

Like building toward a violent sneeze that would not come, the tickling shot the length of his prick, into his balls, into his asshole—but he was not coming!

SHE was doing this! Tormenting him to madness. He felt all concentration, coherence, slipping away. Something between his brain and his hands had snapped; he could not even pull her mouth away!

His chest rose and fell in frantic panting. His heart...his heart was ricocheting off the walls of his chest like a soccer ball shot from a cannon into a handball court.

Convulsively, his body jackknifed doubled, his chin almost hitting her bare back. He screamed! And somehow that unfroze his muscles, so he shoved her head away from him, and, at the same moment, heaved himself backward with all his remaining strength.

He would die. Drown, right here. Water had flooded over his head; the world was being inundated and he with it. He thrashed like a crazed animal.

No, no... No, just the pool! He had propelled himself backward into the pool! The world was not flooding, he was not drowning. The pool!

His face broke the surface with an awful gasp. His arms still flailed. She was standing there, naked, slim and spectacularly curved. He even could see the neat pubic goatee, even her precise slit. And she had her hands on her hips, was grinning down at him.

"You killed me!" he gasped. "Almost killed me! How did you do that? How..."

"You didn't TELL me you wanted me to stop—or to get you off. You have to say 'when,' you know, when the glass is full."

Bullshit!

The bitch!

He had slapped a hand, now, onto the edge of the pool, pulling himself up. "You didn't LET me come! That was...a trick!"

"Now, you know how a woman feels with a forced orgasm. I'll bet you love it when she screams, goes out of her mind."

"I am very considerate of women," said Pascal, reproachfully. He had the strength, now, to heave himself up out of the pool. He rose and stood before her. He noticed that he still had a screamingly stiff hard-on. But bearable.

"Baloney," she said, with a laugh. "All men love to see a woman's tied wide open and a vibrator killing her clit!"

"That is not a SPELL!" snapped Pascal. He reached down and took his dick in his hand, nursing it. It was still incredibly tender, throbbing with his pulse. Right now, there was very little else in his mind.

She said: "So, I guess you're probably too scared, now, to do anything else with me."

He looked at her, his face expressionless. "Do they punish you down there?" He nodded, indicating the direction of the earth.

"First," she said, primly, "I told you there is no 'down there.' But, second, the answer is 'yes.'" She lifted her perfect chin in a gesture of defiance. "Anyone there can punish a woman like me at any time."

"Get down on your knees," said Pascal.

Wordlessly, she knelt, her soft butt resting on her heels. She looked up at him.

"Put your shoulders back, your hands behind you. And don't move them till I tell you."

She lifted one elegantly arched eyebrow, glancing up at him. She laced her fingers behind her back and heaved back her shoulders so her breasts thrust forward, at his disposal. She merely looked up, watching his face.

Then, he swung back his hand and slapped her breast, hard, a loud smack on the full, rounded side of her left breast. And almost immediately, he hit her again, on the other breast. He watched her blink rapidly, for a few moments; her lips pressed together. She made no move to pull away.

Gathering all his force, he slapped her breasts again, then again. Her sturdy nipples stuck out, as though inviting—or defying—the blows. Venus was expressionless. He paused a moment, examining her. Then, suddenly, he slapped her across the face. His other hand swept down from the other side. She blinked and her cheeks reddened, but she otherwise was motionless.

"Hands and knees, now" Pascal snapped. He was holding his prick, massaging it thoughtfully. Obediently, she turned, facing away from him, waiting as patiently as a horse. Pascal knelt behind her, his palms resting on her haunches, smooth and full and sensually curved.

"Head down on the terrace," Pascal ordered. "Way down, face on your arms," he said. "Get your back curved down so your ass parts. I want to see your pussy. As her ass rose slightly, the cheeks separating, he saw the wiry fringe of black hair framing her fleshy pink gash. Her asshole looked delicate, tight, a demure crinkled bud.

"Okay, now make my dick bigger," he said. "Not permanently, just for this." She was shaking her head. "No," she pleaded, "no, your dick is already huge."

She gave a brief scream of surprise as he delivered a resounding slap to the pale perfect globe on his right. "Do it!"

"Go to Hell," she moaned, "aren't you horny enough?"

The slap rang out like a shot. And then, another. "Do it."

He barely felt the change. Only looking down, he realized that she had obeyed him. His erection stood several inches above his belly button. In the semi-darkness, he reached down to feel it. He hand could not close over the thick, rigid rod.

Again, his hands rested on her heart-shaped globes, gently spreading her. How in hell was he going to do this? At least, his now fearsome swollen tool was slick with pre-cum.

He placed it against the tender dimple that was her asshole and gave a tentative shove. She made no sound. But when he gained a slight entrance for the huge red cap, she murmured, "No..." despairingly, but so low he almost failed to hear.

A violent heave of his loins and he drove himself three inches into her. Around the rod's circumference, the pink flesh was stretched in a band that squeezed Pascal's dick like a vise. Her cry was somewhere between a moan and a scream, ending in a long, ignominious grunt. Her loins wiggled frantically, trying to shake him off.

"Oh, noooaw!" she pleaded. He could see her head, pressed against her arms, rocking back and forth in panicked denial. "I can't...can't..."

Then, when he gave a final brutal heave, she screamed shrilly: "Stop!" and Pascal was coming. He was coming in deliriously delighting spasms, banging his belly against her butt, his inarticulate cries piercing the night air. "Stooppp!" screeched Venus. "Oh, my fucking ass! My belly!! Stoppp!"

But that was just the point, he realized with sudden panic! Again, she was doing it! The orgasm would not stop!

It felt as though the linings of his prick and balls were being ripped out through the slit of his penis, with a fierce, tearing titillation that was ecstasy and an insanely tormenting tickle. As though it never, ever would stop. As though he were being unraveled, flayed to the raw meat and the shrieking nerves. Now, it was he who screamed stop!

It was her revenge. In panic, he walloped her big ass, then, with both hands, he shoved her away. But he was stuck—like a dog in a bitch! Stuck! And still the orgasm hosed surge after surge of ecstasy from his burning penis.

He lunged forward, seizing her shoulders from behind, hauling her body up against him, so she now reared back, breasts and belly pushed forward, her cunt still impaled on the merciless stake of his erection.

"Let. Me. Go!" he hissed in her ear. His arm encircled her neck, choking her. Then, like a rocket that has streaked to the peak of its arc, his orgasm exploded in its finale-a flash of light and an agonizing last ejaculation. It tore a cry from him. He felt himself falling and blacked out.