The Billionaire’s Ultimatum: His Absolute Need(25)
Author: Cerys du Lys

Unable to move much, still draped across his lap, I decided to try something else. I wiggled my h*ps up and down. Trying to look tempting, yes, but not just that. My crotch ground against Asher’s thigh, my cl*t a fiery beacon of pleasure. I used him to get myself off, to bring myself up.

He watched me writhing in his lap. I looked over my shoulder at him, grinning. "Asher, can you… please?"

In one smooth motion he lifted me up and off of him, then deposited me on my stomach on the floor. He unbuckled the belt around my upper body and arms and let me free. I flopped on the floor, unsure what exactly to do, but not liking it at all.

"What?" I asked. "I just, I…"

"Go to the guest bedroom upstairs," he said. "On the side table you’ll see a screen. It’s a bedside TV. Turn it on and switch to channel nine. Then wait."

"What?"

He left without saying a word. He walked up the stairs to the first floor, leaving me half nak*d in a disheveled babydoll on his guest home’s library floor. I stared after him, completely and utterly shocked.

"I guess I’m not sexy enough," I said. "Good enough to spank and make out with, but not to finger or fuck. Got it."

Pissed off and annoyed, I trounced up the stairs after him. He wasn’t there when I reached the top, so I stomped up the stairs to the second floor. The master bedroom door was closed, so I slammed my fist on it.

No reply.

I tried to turn the knob and open the door, but Asher must have locked it. I slammed on the door again, but nothing.

What a jerk. What an a**hole. I’d indulged him, let him spank me. It certainly hadn’t felt amazing when he twisted my nipple, either. Actually, thinking back to it, I could still feel the dull ache of his fingers digging into my sensitive flesh. And… I kind of wanted him to do it again. I wanted to feel it, streaks of pain bound with mounds of pleasure, coursing through my body.

If he wasn’t going to get me off, I’d do it myself. I ran to the guest room and pounced on the bed. Lifting my babydoll up and revealing my stomach, I shoved my hand between my legs and teased at my slick folds. Belated, and not even really knowing why, I noticed the small LCD TV screen on the bedside table and switched it on. While I masturbated, I flipped past the nightly news and turned to channel nine.

What I saw on the screen shocked me. My hand paused and I stared, open-mouthed, at the small TV. On the screen, laying on the bed in the master bedroom with his pants around his ankles and the bottom of his shirt gripped hard in his right hand, was Asher. He held his throbbing c*ck in his other hand, jerking it up and down slowly.

I could hear something coming from the speakers on the TV, but the volume was too low. Frantic, enthralled, I mashed the volume button until Asher’s words became clear.

"Jessika," he said, more of a grunt than regular speech. "I want to throw you on the bed and spread your legs. I want to squeeze your thighs in my hands and slam my c*ck into you. I want to…"

I lost it. What was a tease before became a full on frontal assault to my femininity. I rubbed my cl*t hard between two fingers while I watched Asher stroking himself. Head turned to the side, I imagined myself there with him, in the position he told me, in the way he wanted to take me. I spread my legs and put my free hand beneath my br**sts, jostling them up and down with my forearm and pretending Asher was slamming into me so hard that I was rocking back and forth on the bed.

"Fuck me, Asher," I said, a lusty moan. I fingered myself faster, pushing one, then two fingers inside me. Not enough, not the same, but if I kept watching Asher and imagining him with me, I could almost convince myself that he was here right now. Braver, my arousal thrashing past my inhibitions, I moaned louder. "Fuck me. Please, f**k me."

"I can hear you," he said, his voice strained. "I can see you, too. You’re so beautiful. I want to f**k you. I want to make love to you."

I squinted through my pleasure-blurred vision and saw him on the bed in the master bedroom, his head turned to the right just like mine. On his bedside table, somewhat inconspicuous, was a small LCD TV like the one I was looking at. He was watching me while I watched him? My mind blanked, panicked, went into overdrive.

"Love me," I said before desire overtook me.

The evening took its toll on me and I relented to it. Worked up and ready, my orgasm descended upon me like a charging elephant. Thick and heavy, stampeding, pleasure dug into my body. Starting at my core, focused around my clit, my cli**x dove hard and deep. "I’m…" I said. "Asher, I’m…"

I couldn’t put the words together, didn’t know what to say to tell him. Instead, I let my body do it for me, writhing and spasming on the bed. My babydoll flipped and fluttered around me, caught up in the frantic actions of my orgasm. I twisted on the bed, rubbing my fingers around my clit, coaxing my pleasure onwards and further.

"I’m going to," Asher said to me—just to me—through the TV. "Jessika," he said, "I’m going to cum."

So dirty and natural, but erotically explicit, too. Cum. I watched him on the TV, my mind working in slow motion, staring at him while I pleasured myself. Asher’s c*ck jerked in his hand and he let out a primal grunt as he began to cli**x. A hot, thick stream of cum shot up, straight up, then crashed back down, landing on his bare thigh. Then another, not as strong but just as good, hitting his hand while he stroked himself. And finally a bit more, a tiny amount, barely visible but oh so wonderful.

Asher slumped onto the bed, defeated and sated. My own orgasm dwindled down, a happy heat, and I gazed into the TV with absolute affection. He lay there on the bed, exhausted. His chest rose and fell with each breath he took and he lifted his shirt up to his chin then rested his hand on his revealed chest. His c*ck slipped downwards, softening, finding a home right between his thighs. He looked so quiet and defenseless and I wanted to go to him.

"Asher," I said to the TV, to him. "Let me in your room."

"Jessika," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I can’t. We can’t do…"

"Shh. Put on pajamas and let me in. If you need, there’s something that might fit you in the closet. Jeremy bought a lot and…"

"You want me to wear woman’s pajamas?" he asked, laughing.

"There’s not much of a difference," I said, giggling. The giggling! I don’t know why. I couldn’t help it. "Maybe in the look, but they should be baggy enough. And a baggy t-shirt. I think there might be one."

"I’m not going to…"

"Please?" I asked. "I want to come in. I don’t want to do anything. I just want to see you."

A moment passed, than another. I looked at him with pleading eyes, hoping somehow he saw them in the tiny TV screen.

"Fine," he said. "Just give me a second. I need to clean up first."

Asher reached over towards the TV on his bedside table and pushed some buttons. The screen on my end turned blank, nothing more than a consistent black.

…

Asher wasn’t sure why he was doing this, and he was fairly positive he shouldn’t, but some part of him wanted to do it anyways. It was wrong, horribly so, and he was skirting a fine line with what he did and what he’d done, but he did it anyways.

Jessika came to his room, the master bedroom in his guest home. He let her in. She looked at him and laughed.

"I’ll have you know," he said, grinning, "this is all the rage in the men’s fashion world."

"Is it?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes."

Jeremy hadn’t left him with many choices. Yes, Jessika had innumerable options amongst the clothes his driver had bought for her, but Asher had few. Granted, they were women’s clothes, so he couldn’t expect much out of it, but he thought he’d made a few good choices. A pair of pink pajama pants with smiley faces on them and a plain white t-shirt. The shirt was somewhat tight, but his only other options included even tighter shirts, or ones with emasculating colors. Or, more emasculating than his already pink pants, which weren’t helping his case.

"You look nice," Jessika said. She entered the bedroom without asking and closed the door behind her.

He watched her walk in, still wearing the barely concealing babydoll. She sashayed over to the bed, the lingerie’s skirt swishing after her, revealing a glimpse of the delicious lower curves of her rear. Asher stared after her, openly ogled her. Then she turned around and caught him looking and grinned.

"I’m sorry," he said. He averted his eyes, raised them upwards, but that didn’t help much, either. With her facing him, he had a direct view of her delightfully pert br**sts beneath the flimsy, see-thru material at the top of the babydoll. "Jessika, I really really don’t think this is a good idea."

"I know," she said, looking down. Shy, affected. "I’m sorry, too. I would have changed, but everything was in here."

"Oh," he said. "Do you want to change now? If…"

"I’ll get under the blankets," she said. "Can you come, too? Can we…"

Her hesitation, her demure demeanor, Asher longed for it. He wanted to reassure her, to console her, to give her everything she wanted and more. And he wanted to take it in, drink her emotions in one condensed shot like an extra smooth fine brandy. He wanted all of her, completely and absolutely.

And he knew this wasn’t possible. A lark, some lust, a fit of whim and caprice. But still, what did she want, what was she asking of him? He knew he should deny her, return to his main house with his wife, do anything but remain here.

"Can we sleep together?" she asked. "In the same bed. Just sleeping. I won’t… I mean, I know that…"

Asher sighed. He was smitten. "Yes," he said. "That’s alright. I understand."

…

I laid in bed next to Asher, thinking. Breath slow and steady, shallow, I didn’t want to ruin anything by overthinking everything. What was this and what had we done? All of a sudden, out of nowhere, it hit me like nothing else ever had. So strange and different, but enticing and exhilarating, too. I didn’t know why, but I wanted so much more. His belt, and his touch, his fingers tantalizing and agonizing all at once, twisting my nipple but demanding I remain in place. His palm slapping my butt while I lay draped over his lap. Our mutual masturb**ion, watching each other on a TV screen while we confessed our taboo longings and desires.

Why was Asher here? What happened? I didn’t know, so I asked.

"Is everything alright? Is… with…" I gulped, unsure if I could say her name now; if I should say her name. "Beatrice?"

Asher didn’t reply at first. Maybe he was sleeping, I thought. Maybe he needed to now. To dream away everything and forget it had ever happened. I understood why he would want to do that, even if it made me sad to think about it. This, us, we couldn’t continue.

"We had an argument," he said after awhile, after I didn’t think he was going to say anything. "We never sleep in the same room, either. She doesn’t feel comfortable with it. She says she gets anxious that she’ll upset me or move too much, and…"

"And?"

"I don’t know how truthful this is, but one time she said she worried that she’d toss around so much and I’d wake up with my face in her arm pit. Or, she likes to switch positions in bed a lot, so sometimes she puts her head by the foot of the bed, so I might wake up with her feet in my face. She hates the idea of that. She hates that I might smell some part of her that isn’t pristine and perfect. She says it’s awful and embarrassing."