Billionaire's Pleasure-Chapter 57: Apple’s Taste
Apple’s POV
It’s amazing what a good cry can do for one’s spirit. It’s something that most men will never understand. You may feel like you’re being crushed by the weight of the universe like a big truck, but if you sit on the floor and sob like a baby for an hour, everything will be okay.
At the very least, it was as accurate as it could have been at the time. It is a magical place when you combine a microwave pizza, a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, and half a glass of chardonnay in a microwaveable dish.
At the very least, the world that exists within the hotel. I was more than a little tipsy as I prepared to soak in a hot bath for an hour or two before going to bed. I filled the tub with boiling hot water while lighting a slew of candles and turning off the lights. The room was filled with the fragrances of cinnamon and wildflowers.
The bathroom door was closed and secured with a lock. Take it easy on me, but I can’t take a bath or shower with the door open. I think I’ve seen a few too many movies featuring foolish females washing while murderers stand by waiting for them. I’m the worst nightmare of a psychiatrist’s life. But, hey, whatever. In order to set the mood, I placed my phone on the counter and asked Siri to play some pleasanr music for me. After my crying session in the foyer, I stripped down to my underwear and stood naked in front of the mirror to put my hair back into place.
As I tucked my long hair into a bun and secured it to the top of my head, I took a moment to assess the woman in the mirror. It was something I did at the end of every workday, and I did it every day. Are there any lines or wrinkles on your face that have appeared since the previous day?
Is it possible that my boobs are beginning to sag?
Do I have any stretch marks on my stomach?
A psychiatrist would have a field day with me if I were to show up again.
Despite my little stature (I was five-eight), I was both towering and luscious for my size.
Having large breasts and a full hip circumference was a genetic trait passed down to me from my mother. My boobs dangled from my chest like two enormous melons that had never been squeezed out. My areolas were a dark contrast to the milky white of my breasts, which made me feel uncomfortable. My blond pubes were maintained to a minimum.
I took a deep breath as I lowered my hands from my hair to cup my breasts with my hands. The moment I brushed my finger over my nipples, they immediately hardened as a result of my contact.
I squinted and closed my eyes. With his hands lightly resting on my hips, Bruce Lawrence appeared behind me and smiled. For a brief minute, his unexpected entrance made me feel uncomfortable, but my thoughts pushed me to relax and allow my imagination run wild.
Tiny fingers of Bruce’s pressed against my hips, gently pressing. I could feel his thumbs gently caressing the dimples above my ass, and I couldn’t stop myself from feeling it.
During the time he placed his lips to my shoulder; I turned my head to the side and sobbed. It took him a few minutes to work his way up the back of my neck and into my ear. It stung the most when he grabbed my earlobe between his teeth and bit it just enough to make it ache in the greatest way possible.
I could feel the heat of his breath against my ear.
With his tongue, he traced the path of his breath.
He inserted his tongue inside my ear and licked the rim of my ear canal. As the hot juices pooled between my legs, I felt a tremor run through my body. Bruce’s hands around my thighs and cradled the insides of them. He squeezed the nipples between his index and middle fingers. He mumbled something into my ear.
His manhood was long and strong, and it was wet from his juices as it pressed into the back of my thoracic spine. His manhood rubbed up and down the back of my neck. His balls were bumping up on the inside of my crotch area.
Using my hands to brace my hands on the sink, I wiggled my ass into him. He moved his manhood up and down my ass through the crack and into my genital area. My clitoral area was reached by his hands as they proceeded down from my breasts. He rolled my clit between his thumbs and forefeet. I could feel a climax forming deep within my body, like a match about to light a raging fire, and I knew it was coming.
During the procedure, Bruce pushed his manhood against my pussy while his hands worked on it. Then, using his fingertips, he oiled my folds before tease-teasing my aperture.
My inner monologue went something like this: "Fuck me, Bruce. Please take my cherry and make it yours."
With my ass pulled toward him, I bowed forward with the top half of my body, offering him my pussy as a thank you. During the process of positioning himself behind me, I felt his hands on my hips for the second time. I could feel his manhood’s head rubbing against the inside of my entrance. I took a deep breath, anticipating what was to come. After sliding in only the top of his head, he came to a complete stop. My pussy felt like it was expanding to make room for him. There was no virgin sorrow as he dug his fingers into my hips and slipped himself completely inside of me. I was on my tiptoes in order to provide him with the greatest angle possible. He began to move his cock in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out. I could feel my huge boobs shaking beneath me with each stroke.
"Oh... my... gosh..." Bruce says.
The hot breath gusts that accompanied my statements carried him away.
"Faster... tougher... more..." I said while moaning.
Bruce was crashing into me at this point. My tits were waving in the breeze. I gasped and yelled his name as the orgasm began to take hold.
"Yes. I’m cumming....", I said. "Oh... my... gosh..." I moan loudly.
As I got closer, I tightened my eyes shut and took a long, deep breath to relax. It took everything I had to keep Bruce’s manhood from sliding into my body and out again until I begged him to stop. As though a gentle breeze had passed over me, I felt his presence leave my body.
I opened my eyes and looked in the fogged-up mirror, which had been fogged up by the hot water that was on the verge of overflowing the bathtub.
I blinked my eyes open and stared at myself in the mirror. My left hand was clutching my breast in its grip. My breasts had gone crimson as a result of the crushing and squeezing. My nipple stood on end in the middle of a sea of white, a dark crimson thimble.
When I stood, my knees were bowed slightly.
My right hand’s fingers were buried deep inside my cunt, and I couldn’t feel them. The climax I’d inflicted on myself had wet my hand all the way up to my wrist. As I released my fingers from the counter, I braced my hands against the surface. I took a long breath in and gently breathed it out. I was feeling calm and collected. It all felt so genuine that I turned to look around the restroom, hoping to see Bruce somewhere in the midst of it.
Unfortunately, I was on my own at the time.
As soon as I turned off the water, I slipped into the hot, steamy tub with ease. Close my eyes and smile as the hot water enveloped me from all sides. Just as the scene began to loop in my mind’s eye, I reached for the bar of soap that had fallen to the side of the tub and stroked it between my legs. This time around, I was more of a bystander than a participant. You know how they say that losing one of your senses causes the other senses to become more acute? Well, that’s exactly what happened.
Is it true that your senses of smell, hearing, taste, and touch become stronger if you lose your sight? Similarly, when you were a virgin, the situation was similar. Your imagination became as vivid as reality when you’d never experienced the presence of a genuine man inside of you prior to.
That was so great.
Sigh...
