Falling for My Beautiful Ward Read online

  “Ooohh,” moaned Daisy again. “Higher higher,” she pleaded.

  And pointing my dickhead up, I let a couple streams of jizz splash against her pussy, seeping into her hole, pulsing against her clit. It was so fucking wrong to watch my ward’s cunt get bathed in my seed, but I came even harder, my rocks practically exploding and semen flying out like a geyser gone crazy. Oh shit, oh shit, was I really doing this? Was I splashing my little ward’s pussy with hot jism? Oh shit, I was a disgusting motherfucker, and this had to stop.

  But of course I didn’t stop. The orgasm rolled through me, hips jerking, chest heaving as I grunted with pleasure, juices erupting from my dicktip with a vengeance. Fuck, there was just so much, gallons and gallons of white, creamy batter sprayed all over Daisy’s pussy.

  But nothing this good lasts forever, and with a few more pulses and some hot splashes, finally the crescendo ended. I grunted again, dicktip merely dripping now instead of flying with hot fuck. But I hadn’t counted on the girl, because Daisy herself was my undoing.

  “Mr. Marks,” she murmured, small voice coming from between her knees still. “More?” she cooed coyly, pulling her ass cheeks apart, showing me that gleaming pussy, how it trembled and shook, gooey under a coat of my cum.

  I was done for. The vixen had me wrapped around her finger, my achy balls resting in her palms. I was absolutely done for, except that Daisy is my ward … and it shouldn’t have happened.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Daisy

  My mind drifted back to the dinner last night. Usually Tristan and I never see each other because he’s traveling or working. So at seven, I sat down in the main dining room, expecting another meal alone and some quiet time to myself. But suddenly the big man appeared in the doorway, massive, looming, ominously handsome in a dark suit.

  “Mr. Marks!” I cried out, surprised, biting my lip awkwardly. “What are you doing here?”

  I flushed because expecting no one, I’d put on a ridiculous clothes, figuring it didn’t make a difference. My t-shirt stretched across my boobs invitingly, hugging every curve while the skirt was so short that it stopped just a few inches below my puss.

  The big man stopped in the doorway, that straight nose flaring slightly. Oh my god, could he smell my pussy? I didn’t have on any underwear because none of my panties fit anymore. Oh shit, had the unmistakable scent of female nectar drifted to him?

  But the dark man shook his head, visibly forcing himself back to reality.

  “I just got back from some business, and thought I’d eat at home,” he rumbled casually before seating himself at the head of the table, elegantly unfolding a napkin.

  I’d nodded, embarrassed, slowly smoothing my skirt over my thighs. But like an awkward child I began babbling about school, talking about anything just to fill the silence. It was bits and bobs of nothing really, except that Tristan was listening.

  “Who is this Mr. Ranger?” he interrupted casually. Oh no, I’d done it again. The flicker in his eye and the tight set of his jaw indicated that my guardian sensed another dominant masculine force in my life.

  “He’s no one,” I assured him quickly, but couldn’t resist the opening. “Mr. Marks, would you mind talking with Mr. Ranger about a potential donation to the school?”

  That’s when Tristan threw his head back, laughing like he’d heard the funniest joke in the world.

  “What?” I asked, looking around. What was so hilarious?

  But the big man merely shook his head, like I’d provided him with the perfect opening.

  “So long as you get an A in his class, I’d be happy to help,” he growled, looking at me meaningfully. I flushed. I’d never thought that there were backdoors to good grades. I thought you worked hard, studied, did all the reading, and that meant you’d do well on the tests. But evidently, there’s more than one path through life and opportunities were unfolding before me. Somehow my little world had just expanded in an eye-popping manner, becoming ten times bigger than before. Because when Tristan ordered me to stand up and bend over, baring my puss to him, I couldn’t help but obey.

  “Mr. Marks, it’s wrong,” I whispered as I slowly slid my chair back, our eye contact electric.

  But the dark slash across his cheeks and the hungry look in his eyes couldn’t be denied.

  “You’re not my ward anymore,” he ground out, and that was true. I was eighteen now, an independent adult in the eyes of the State, so technically there was no legally binding relationship. Besides, I wanted to. I couldn’t say no to a man so alpha, so demanding, so delicious. So I bent over immediately, the smell of my female cream already thick in the air, making his nostrils twitch, my pussy already moist, plush and engorged.

  “Here Mr. Marks,” I said softly, my head between my legs as I spread my knees a bit. “It’s yours.”

  And I could feel his gaze on me, scorching my kitty as I wiggled it a bit, baiting him.

  “More?” I giggled, and then gasped as the first stream of hot jizz hit the backs of my thighs. Had he really? Oh my god, he had. His dick was out, pulsing and heavy, and Tristan stroked it madly, groaning as he milked his pole, the jism erupting in spurt after spurt. Holy fuck, there was just so much. It positively drenched my skin, and I was stock still in shock before coming to my senses.

  “Higher, higher,” I pleaded and Tristan obliged. He aimed his dick upwards until the tip was almost brushing my clit and spurted again, heaving the last few ejaculations straight onto my pussy. Holy shit, it was so wrong. So absolutely, devastatingly wrong. This man was my guardian, or former guardian to be exact. Even still, he was at least twenty years older than me, double my age, and I lived in his house. There have to be rules against this, right?

  But even if there are rules, there are no rules for emotions, because I wanted it with a knowing thrill through my frame, and a delicate shiver in my cunt. I’d been expecting a quiet meal at home, alone with the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the corner. But instead I’d been bathed in my guardian’s seed, the hot jism spurting against my thighs before running down my legs.

  And oh god, oh god, it was so wrong. So absolutely wrong in every way, and yet the temptation was so strong, pulling me hard, making my body quiver. How could one man do this to me? How had I been transformed into a willing, nubile siren, desperate for Mr. Marks? I had to stop. This had to stop, but I wasn’t sure how.

  Later, I trembled under the spray of the shower later, eyes closed, letting the steaming water pound against my body while re-living the dinner in my mind. It shouldn’t have felt good. Mr. Marks’s jism on my skin should have repulsed me and made me jump back in horror. I should have called 9-1-1 immediately. But instead, I’d loved it. I’d eaten it up, showing him my pussy, begging him to pulse against my hole. What the hell was wrong with me? Did I want to get pregnant?

  Holy shit, I couldn’t. We couldn’t, this was playing with fire. My mom would roll over in her grave if she knew this was happening, that I’d let Tristan touch me, that I wanted him to touch me. I was letting down my mother’s sacred memory, desecrating her grave with my actions. But the thing is, I was dying for more. I wanted to taste, to touch, to experience the physical with a real man, and Tristan was all that … in spades.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Daisy

  I haven’t seen Mr. Marks for about a week now but I hope he remembers our meeting with Mr. Ranger tonight. It’s weird, after that dinner he disappeared again and I ate several meals alone in the big dining room, the silence deafening, chewing silently, miserable in my own company.

  And because I haven’t seen him, I haven’t gotten the chance to remind him in person about our meeting. So earlier that morning, I’d called his office hesitantly.

  “Is Mr. Marks available?” I’d asked.

  “Who is this?” asked a clipped voice.

  “Oh um, it’s Daisy,” I mumbled. Why, oh why, was I shy all of a sudden? It wasn’t even him on the phone.

  But his secretary’s voice warmed ever so s
lightly.

  “Let me check,” she said, her fingers clacking away at the keys. And she was back in a sec, efficient and business-like. “Yes, you and your guest are expected at Marks Holdings at 5:30 p.m. today. Please be on time,” she said in a clipped voice.

  This didn’t bode well. I thought we’d have a meeting at home, something short and informal in the drawing room by the front door. That way Mr. Ranger could get a glimpse of the amazing Marks mansion but leave as soon as it was over.

  But it seems that Tristan had pulled the rug out from under me and turned this into a full-on business meeting at the company offices. Calm down, I scolded myself, the meeting will be over in five minutes, it’s no big deal. Tristan’s a busy man, it’s nothing.

  So I got ready slowly before taking a cab to the imposing corporate headquarters of Marks Holdings. And once on the forty-fifth floor, my nerves jangled. In my skirt and button-down shirt, I looked hopelessly like a student, awkward and geeky, my heels clacking uncomfortably loud on the waxed floors. Why hadn’t someone told me that stilettos would be so loud in these imposing corridors? This was so over my head. I was an imposter. I didn’t belong among these busy professionals.

  And minute by minute, the tension only grew, a serious case of nerves. Bland muzak buzzed in my ears, the air conditioning droning, a freezing blast of air blowing down the back of my blouse. I could feel a cold trickle of sweat trailing down my back, chilly and uncomfortable. Where was Mr. Ranger? Where was that goddamn English teacher when you needed him, to get this over with? But that was unfair, and I knew it. Get with it, I scolded myself. It’s just a meeting between two men, you’ll be out of here in five, I reminded myself. But it was more than that. It was seeing Tristan again, and my body was already going into over-drive with anticipation.

  Nervously, I tiptoed to reception.

  “Hi, can I use the bathroom please?” I asked, voice wavering, teetering a bit in my heels.

  “Oh sure honey,” said the older lady. “It’s just around the corner.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, and tottering off, I made my way to privacy. Another trail of cold sweat slid down my back, and my temples were slightly moist, hands clammy. Was I having an allergic reaction of some sort?

  But when I got into the restroom, my worst fears were confirmed. Instead of coming across as cool, confident and poised, I looked exactly the opposite – a high school student completely out of her element, sweaty and overheated with wet blotches under my armpits.

  Shit! I couldn’t go in looking like this. Checking to make sure there was no one else in the restroom, I whipped off my blouse. Maybe if I held it under the hand dryer, I could get the wet stains out or at least dry it so that they weren’t so visible. Stretching the material out as best I could, I held the fabric under the machine as it roared to life, powerful gushes of air blasting.

  Stay with it, I calmed myself. Stay with it. Maybe it was the white noise of the dryer, but as I waited, my nerves began to ease. What was I so worried about? It was a meeting between two alpha males, but they could handle themselves. I just had to sit and be there, nod at the right times, and everything would be fine. What was wrong with me? Why was I questioning myself?

  As my confidence began returning, I checked myself in the mirror sideways, eyeing my cleavage. Although I’ve stopped wearing underwear, I haven’t had the luxury of going bra-free. It’s impossible given that my girls are so huge now, it’d be positively obscene to go without some support. So I turned to the side, admiring how my girls were like the prow of a boat and winked at myself in the mirror, mentally reminding myself to buck up, things would be fine.

  Suddenly, an idea came over me. The best thing to do before the meeting, to get myself into a self-possessed, assertive state of mind, would be to orgasm. I needed to let myself go for a bit, let the heebee-jeebies out, and then I’d be fine. It was only 5:20 p.m. now. I had ten minutes still, no one had shown up and maybe Tristan would be late. Could I do it? Biting my lip, I spread my blouse out on the counter, noting with satisfaction that the wet spots were almost gone and tip-toed over to the restroom door, locking it with a quiet snick. Could I?

  Slowly, oh so slowly, I gazed at myself in the mirror, licking my lips, still a little nervous. But the image of Tristan filled my mind, his dark hair, those massive shoulders, the knowing gleam in his eyes. And before I could stop myself, I’d slipped my bra straps over my shoulders, setting my girls free, and hitched up my skirt so it was bunched up around my waist. Oh god, that was already better. My pink pussy lips gleamed in the mirror, a drop of arousal visible at my slit and I slipped a finger to caress it, to smooth the wetness into my skin.

  Balancing in my high heels, I spread my legs as best I could and began running my fingers over my pussy, running up and down my soft labia before pushing deep into the wetness, stimulating myself while my other hand tugged at a dusky nipple.

  “Ohhh, ohh,” I moaned, my eyes closed, mouth half-open with pleasure. “Ohhh Tristan,” my breathy cries came.

  And the image of my handsome, imposing guardian was enough to make me come. With a sudden jerk, my pussy snapped and clenched around my fingers, a gush of cream running out onto my wrist, dripping off hotly. My snatch pulsed, spasmed and shivered, tingles running through my body until I was limp, my legs wet noodles, backbone like mush. With a strangled sigh, I propped myself up against the counter, pulling my fingers out with a wet squelch. Oh god, oh god, it’d been so good and all I’d done was think about Mr. Marks, imagining him in my mind’s eye.

  But time was a-ticking. I glanced at myself in the mirror, hurriedly rinsing off my hands, pulling down my skirt and fixing my hair again. Was there a difference? Was it obvious that I’d just touched myself, had a blast dreaming of the billionaire? There was a flush on my cheeks now, a sudden dreamy aura, and I hoped to god everyone would attribute it to my love of school, and my natural enthusiasm for books. It was go time … and I hoped my guardian was ready too.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tristan

  The minute Daisy walked in, I knew something was different. She was beautiful of course, completely appropriate with her brown curls swept up, smooth and sleek in a blouse and skirt. But the air around her was humming somehow, crackling even, and her eyes sparkled, teasing me as soon as she entered the room.

  “Daisy, welcome,” I said smoothly, drawing out a chair for her. My desk is enormous, nothing more than a giant pane of glass, big enough to serve as a conference table if needed. And the brunette smiled warmly at me.

  “Tristan, thanks for making time for us,” she replied, “This is John Ranger, my English teacher.”

  I smiled courteously, indicating the chair next to Daisy. Daisy was so magnetic that I’d barely noticed the man at her side, my senses on high around the teenage girl. But now I turned to the opposition. The motherfucker was good-looking, I had to give him that. This Lone Ranger dude was athletic in a muscled-up in a bodybuilder kind of way. Kind of like a pitbull on steroids. Of course, his voice boomed immediately, seeking control.

  “Thank you for having us Mr. Marks, I’ve heard so much about you,” he boomed sonorously, practically squeezing off my hand during the shake.

  But I wasn’t having any of that.

  “Always happy to help,” I said smoothly. If this guy thought he could rattle me, he was dead wrong. I was the czar of billion dollar deals, what was one suburban English teacher here to ask for money?

  And as if on cue, the man began babbling, revealing his nervousness.

  “Yeah, we’ve talked about you in teacher conferences, you know the District is always sussing out potential donors and your name has come up multiple times,” he confessed. “I wanted to meet you personally because there’s a bonus for the person who finally lands you. We get a thousand dollar prize for bringing you into the fold so to say.”

  I was stunned but didn’t show it. This mofo was beyond ballsy, he was plain-out rude and out-of-touch. What happened to tact, subtlety, and nuance in fu
ndraising? Instead, this dude was blabbering about money first thing, without the niceties of small talk. The first rule of development is to go slow, get to know the client first. No one wants to feel like they’re being hit up, even if the motive’s clear, so I shook my head and glanced at Daisy.

  And the girl was just as embarrassed for her English teacher. Her face flamed and she crossed her legs nervously.

  “What Mr. Ranger is saying,” she interjected, “is that Central Prep needs a little more this year because of that big library they’re building out back and thought you might like to contribute to the effort.”

  I nodded slowly. Even my eighteen year-old ward was better at client development than this lug. What was the school district thinking?

  But I gave nothing away.

  “I see,” I said slowly, steepling my hands under my chin. I’ve been approached for donations many times and often open my wallet, but not without some kind of long-term plan. “Tell me more about the library,” I rumbled.

  And despite Daisy’s efforts to keep Mr. Ranger in line, he was a bumbling fool, babbling on and on and on.

  “You could put your name on top for a cool hundred million,” he said, “you know ‘The Tristan Marks Museum,’” he giggled.

  “You mean ‘The Tristan Marks Library,’” I corrected. Personally, I hate having my name on stuff, preferring to make donations anonymously but this guy was so off his rocker that it was becoming comical. I wanted to bait him just to see how far I could get.

  “Oh right!” he giggled, “it’s a library, sorry forgot that detail,” he said, winking. But I was fast losing patience.

  “Do you have blueprints, a proposal, a white paper?” I asked. These were the basics of fundraising. Surely he’d come armed with a package.