"Companion Erotica" from the world of Holmes & Watson, a series from Richard Saw. Amazon.com: Richard Saw: books, biography, latest update
Chapter Four – The New Life
The apartment was beautiful, the furniture was amazing, but now that I could spend as much money as I wanted, my inner interior designer came out. Maybe I was crazy, but I was the partner of a very rich man with a big dick who fucked me twice a day. Why should I not enjoy it to the fullest?
I kept going to work every day, while Taylor continued to develop his app in conjunction with his new business partners. The new owners insisted on paying him huge consultation fees for additional ideas, which seemed to flow out of him in a never-ending stream. However Taylor’s business demanded more of his time, and it was clear that he needed support on the home front. When I came home one evening and found him frustrated, I tried to comfort Taylor. “How can I help you Daddy?”
Taylor looked up at me from our embrace. “I don’t think both of us can work. I think one of us needs to support the other.”
“I agree,” I nodded before I realised what was being said. “Hang on, what are you saying?”
“You know I earn a lot more than you do. And you’ve done such a great job decorating this place, and you’re so good dealing with all my clients when we go out. I could give you a salary for helping me. Whatta say?”
I didn’t have to think much about it. I was actually not that happy with work. I’d gone as far as I could with the job, and I knew it was probably time to look for a new one anyway. “You know what?” I said, surprising myself. “That sounds like a great plan.” I smiled. “A girl should give up her job to support her man, shouldn’t she?”
“You’re gunna be my trophy wife baby,” he smiled. “Everyone is gunna be jealous of how fit you are, how handsome you are. They’re all gunna think you’re my daddy but we’ll know.” And he winked.
When I came home from my last day of work, Taylor was waiting for me with champagne, presents... and garbage bags. “What are they for?” As I took my tie off.
“They are for your suits. You’re never going to wear them again. So strip now. Take it all off and put it in the bag with the others.”
I did as I was ordered and finished standing naked in the middle of the room, seeing my past life disappear into black plastic garbage bags.
“Now for your first present,” Taylor said, handing me an envelope. I opened it up and my Daddy explained what it was. “This pays for a personal trainer for every day. But I expect a certain standard,” he waggled his finger at me. “I expect to see big biceps and pecs, a six pack and of course a huge arse. Anything less,” he warned me, “And my girls cunt is going to be dry.”
“Yes daddy,” I nodded earnestly.
“Now let’s review your new wardrobe,” Taylor continued. “Tight muscle tops, tank tops and tight jeans for going out during the day. At night you can wear shirts and pants, but they better not disguise how hot you are. I want everyone to know all the time what a rocking stud you are. When we’re home alone it’ll be lacy knickers and bras,” he winked salaciously. “Gotta show off those big titties. But don’t worry, when company comes around, I’ll want you in itty bitty speedos.”
I swallowed. Was that all? There would be no hiding from anyone. Sure, I could look manly in that clothing, but I would not be able to slip up, no cakes for me. However, the egotistical pleasure of spending my whole day looking hot aroused me. How could it not? So, I would be a kept man, but I loved going to the gym and training, and now I had the money to do it properly. As I tried on the clothes for Taylor I was checking myself out in the mirror. Damn I looked hot. And Taylor thought so too. He was licking his lips as I flexed while wearing the tight muscle tops and speedos. But the moment I slipped into a tiny pair of lacy knickers and a bra that barely held in my huge pecs... he was rock hard.
“Oh fuck me,” he said getting up behind me and rubbing that big cock against my arse. “My girl is the sexiest little thing on the playground.” He slipped his fingers through the leg of my panties and began rubbing my cunt.
“Ohhhh,” I moaned. “Daddy, wreck my cunt,” I panted. “Please! Fuck me deep and hard. I wanna carry your babies.”
“Oh, I’m gunna do that,” Taylor whispered and then he did something unusual for him. He reached around and fiddled with my cock. It hadn’t been played with for a while. Even I didn’t feel the need to touch it these days. I’d always been sensitive, and Taylor’s cock seemed to rub my prostate raw. Before I knew it my cock was usually drilling cum, and I was experiencing anal orgasms.
My cock got a little hard as Taylor flicked it, but it didn’t really grow in size. Still, it resulted in a tut-tutting from Taylor. “I really don’t like this,” he shook his head. “We’re going to have to do something about it.” I had no idea what he was saying, but now that I was truly the girl in the relationship, Taylor was soon to feel confident enough to take charge.
It was hard to explain how great life became. Because mostly we see wealth as a cautionary tale. You don’t hear the stories of lottery winners who say that actually yes, money did make things better. I guess it doesn’t make for good television. Neither of us had ever expected this sort of life, but we were strangely both at the right place. Taylor wanted to succeed and work hard. I wanted to do something different from going into the office. And helping him do this, plus look incredibly hot at the same time, was one way to do it.
And the model seemed to be working, better than we’d expected. Revenue from Taylor’s app continued to flood in, and several new ideas he came up with were attracting attention. Suddenly we realised we were moving in circles that we’d not even considered possible. We bought a huge villa in France, an apartment in New York and other investment properties. Keeping track of them all, and the cars, was starting to be a full-time job. First class became the only way to travel, the only way we could travel.
But Taylor had been true to his word. I was his trophy husband and I needed to live up to it. My whole life started to revolve around the gym and maintaining the standard. Luckily size, bulk and definition came naturally to me. I’d never been that interested in food apart from as fuel, so sticking to strict diets didn’t faze me. Supplements were not a problem either. I didn’t care if my balls shrank, as long as my skin stayed clean, and Taylor fucked any roid-rage out of me. He wanted to make sure that every woman and gay man salivated after me, and every straight guy was intimidated. All without knowing that when we were home alone, I wore exquisite little lacy knickers and squealed like a girl when he fucked me.
Taylor’s libido hadn’t dropped off at all, despite the work. If anything he seemed hornier than ever. His morning blow job was essential, just like his evening pounding. But anywhere new, or any situation where the secret pleasure of making his muscle-bound alpha husband take it like a girl, turned him on and Taylor was into me. No one had ever fucked me with the consistency and depth that Taylor did. I never failed to cum, so after a couple of ruined trousers at formal events, we’d quickly learnt to ensure I stripped entirely naked before he fucked me. And Taylor loved that too... the delight of his big muscle husband completely naked in a toilet stall getting fucked by him while he still wore his designer suit... oh he came deep in me those days.
The dynamic in our relationship did change, it couldn’t but. The more money Taylor made, the more we moved in higher circles, the more I realised that he controlled the strings. When he looked at me one day as I lay by the pool and said, “Why aren’t your abs as defined as that guy?” I knew my diet had to change. And until they popped, Taylor kept his cock away from me. The lesson was learnt, and I upped my crunches until I could show off an eight-pack. When I pulled off muscle shirt by the pool at our Cape Town House to reveal it, Taylor almost came on the spot. He fucked me three times that morning, ending the drought with pleasure but also demonstrating the power he had over me.
We were starting to travel more, between our homes in London, New York and Cape Town, and other cities where work took place. As CEO of his own firm, Taylor expected me to look perfect, whether it be hosting events or just laying by the pool. He added a chef to the household along with a personal trainer, a hulked-up, super-friendly South African called Ritchie, who’d left running a Crossfit Box with his mates, to travel with us permanently. Ritchie had talked about a girlfriend when we interviewed him, but when we hired Marcus, a former chef for the US paratroopers whose biceps were almost as big as Ritchie’s, the loveable Afrikaner went very quiet. I had a brief moment of concern but later that afternoon I spied them fucking by the pool, Ritchie very submissively taking Marcus’ dick. A little later I found that the girlfriend Ritchie had spoken about, had introduced another man – a very big, black ex-NFL football player – into their relationship. Ritchie was submissive by nature, and the girlfriend and new lover had taken advantage of it. Ritchie had taken this job as a way of exiting a toxic situation, but he could not deny his nature. Luckily in Marcus he found not only someone happy to be on top, but also someone genuinely nice. And they started fucking each other, which helped the harmony of the household no end. Taylor wanted to give me a job in the firm to explain my involvement, but I discouraged him from this, explaining that people would view it uncomfortable. So we created a finance consultation business that I could pretend I worked at home for. Except that as the circle of friends we had grew wealthier, people started to ask me to manage their money. Taylor agreed, as long as it didn’t interfere with what he wanted. Plus, I was managing both our finances as well.
Little by little though, Taylor started to enjoy the power he had over me. And I started to let him. I think. For example, he found a few hairs around my arse one day. He was fine with my chest and legs being hairy, claiming it helped maintain the butch daddy image when I was in public. But my arse and hole needed to be hairless. We found a personal hairstylist and waxer who joined the staff soon after, ensuring that my pussy was as pink and as smooth as a virgin.
It was appropriate too, that Taylor found hobbies that reflected his new status in life. From the first day I’d met him he’d been a little more sophisticated in his taste of alcohol than one usually found in a boy his age. Now as a wealthy business tycoon he developed a taste of the best Scotch, and demanded I introduce him to other manly pursuits. He took an immediate like to cigars, and soon we’d installed a world-class humidor for his growing collection. He really smoked in the presence of others, which people assumed was because he didn’t want to share. In reality, it was because for Taylor, cigars represented another way to assert his masculinity over me.
Taylor usually declared it was time for a cigar after a long, hard day at work. On one of those rare nights that we weren’t entertaining, or at an event. When it was just the two of us, and the staff were off. Or in Ritchie and Marcus’ case, fucking each other’s brains out. But with the house to ourselves, I would slip into a tiny, sequined thong, often attaching tassels to my nipples, as if I was some Vegas hostess for high-rollers. I would pour him his Scotch, and clip his cigar while he sat back on the sofa, his cock getting thicker in his trousers as I became eager to please. Taylor would talk to me as if I was a hostess supplied for his benefit. He would start complimenting on how sexy I was, and as I reacted to the flattery, telling him how powerful and successful he was, he would then start to talk about how his clients, the other powerful men he did business with, would want to enjoy me too.
Like the best hostess, I would dance, and moan, and finger myself as I would tell him how much I would do for him, and how willing I would be to help him seal the business deal. Of course, both of us knew this would never happen. One moment of crazy eroticism would ruin everything. But it was so fun to talk about. We would both get so turned on, and I would break all the rules of the job, by begging for his cock.
At some stage it would flip back to us, with Taylor delighting in the thought that his big muscle man would do anything for him. We kept all of this play between ourselves, as far as I knew, no one knew – about from Geoff – what the dynamics of our relationship was. For some reason this became our naughtiest play. It was like we wanted to be caught, Taylor his shirt open, his cock pummelling me, and the delicious smell of cigar. I practically wet myself each time I smelt cigar smoke, and whenever we did, Taylor knew I would be even sluttier than usual.
As much as that was fun, Taylor had always had disdain for my tiny cock, and it had been something he’d teased me from day one. Not that I was concerned, his cock more than made up for both of us, and his teasing only made my pussy want his dick even more. But wealth had made Taylor believe that money could fix anything he developed a disdain for. He caught me when I was bare arse naked on day. “I just don’t like seeing it,” he moaned.
“It’s very small,” I protested. “And you can’t see it when I wear panties.”
“But I know it’s there,” he argued. “You’ll never be my girl while you still have it.”
“I cum every time you fuck me,” I replied. “You are so much a man you push my cum out and fill me up with yours. I thought you liked that.”
Yeah, I used to. But” he suddenly got really excited, “Wouldn’t it be really great if you had two holes?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice suddenly nervous like I knew exactly what he meant but didn’t want to admit it.
“I mean what if...” he came over and whispered in my ear, “what if we got you the snip. We cut off that little, tiny pointless dick and gave you a real pussy?”
“But, but, but ...” I protested. I’d not thought of this, though we’d made lewd references plenty of time during sex.
“Why baby? Don’t you wanna be my girl?” Taylor was slowly wanking himself, getting hard at the thought.
“Of course, I do,” I argued. “I thought I was already.”
“And when was the last time you wanked? When was the last time you came when it wasn’t due to me fucking your cunt hard?”
“ I... I... I haven’t wanked since I met you,” I confessed.
“See? You’re such a good girl and imagine what it would be like with a sweet pussy... I could open your big muscular legs right here and fuck it... and when I was done there I could fuck your arse. Imagine... twice the fucking every day.”
The thought blew my mind. I would never have dreamed that this was something I wanted or would even consider. Your cock is such an essential part of being a man. But... what had it ever given me? Frustration as a youth, although it had inspired me to go to the gym and made me the huge, muscled stud that I now was. But then I had discovered the pleasure of being fucked... and now I had someone who truly loved me... but yet...
Now it was out there I could see Taylor thinking about it. Even though he wasn’t serious, he started telling me that he would call my arse my cunt and it would be my pussy at the front.
“I’ll slide deep in your pussy, spread those huge legs apart and fuck you properly like you’re my girl,” he whispered to me. “Can you imagine it? Holding my sperm in your pussy. Waiting for it to impregnate you.”
The fucking thereafter was epic. It clearly inspired Taylor, the thought of me having a proper pussy. He’d always fucked me well but now it became a whole other level. It seemed as if his dick hit my prostate with every stroke... my whole body, my huge muscles, sung each time. I would end up bathed in sweat, as if it squeezed every last drop of water out of me.
When Taylor had fucked me in the morning, my trainer would stare at my cut and defined body when we trained. “Bro. You are ripped!” He would say in admiration.
“Get me bigger... make me work harder!” I would demand. I felt like I needed more... my arse needed to be bigger, rounder... I needed to look like a God. And I was. I got plenty of attention, but it was easy to shrug it off. Everyone else saw what they wanted to see. The big muscle top. The ultimate macho man. And I enjoyed playing up to it. I had the time, and Taylor encouraged it. I went kayaking, skiing, mountain climbing. Every day was an adventure and I had plenty of straight bros who loved doing it with me. They were all married to powerful, successful women and they loved having the time to achieve their athletic goals. They presumed I was the same. Little did they know that when I got home, I was putting on a little skirt, lifting it up and welcoming my young, genius, stud of a husband to unload his stress and his cum in me.
Taylor came home one evening with a huge grin on his face. He wouldn’t tell me why immediately, but as he fucked me he told me how he’d sold just one of his products to Facebook for an unimaginable amount of money. He was... No. He told me. We were rich. Not just wealthy. Rich.
“But we’re not married,” I gasped in-between the fucks. “And you can’t just give me money. There are huge tax implications.” Look at me. Still trying to be the sensible financial advisor even with my legs in the air.
“So, we should do it!” Taylor declared. “It’s time we got married. No one else will be as honest with me as you are. And we love each other. You know I do.”
I know you’re struggling to imagine why I’m not saying yes straight away. If for nothing else, surely for the money? Well, I had plenty of my own and I knew that it needed to be equals. At least on some level. ” I don’t know,” I blustered. “It’s all one-sided. You’re giving everything and I’m just taking.”
Taylor paused for a moment before he withdrew completely and then slid all the way back in me, sending stars into my brain, and waves of pleasure up my back and through my chest. “Then give me your pussy. Have the operation... give me pleasure for the rest of our days.”
“Yes, yes, oh fuck yes,” I screamed as I felt one never ending orgasm erupt inside me.
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