sex in the limo

Paris Is Offering Her Hymen To A High Man


sex in the limoWhen a rich heir generously gifts her hymen in a limo

[dropcap2]H[/dropcap2]ilton gazed out the over-slanted bay window enjoying the beautiful turquoise blue sky. She sipped her steamy latte imagining how her first day managing her sister’s holdings and modeling contract would be.

‘You have 1 message’ popped onto the header space of her palm pilot.

It was her ex-husband, Brad.

She didn’t bother to answer when she’d heard the phone ring – she knew what he wanted.

‘Meet me at the plaza,’ she typed a moment later then she pressed ‘send’ on her phone tablet.

“Today was going to be good,” Hilton mused.

Paris sat beneath the shaded terrace watching local city-lovers pass by; she sat upright prickly realizing the men she was staring at were ogling her back in spades. One guy had had the nerve snap a pic of her. She couldn’t even sit in a throng of bustle in the bright of day without being noticed. She knew a diversion was long overdue.

“So how’s my favorite supermodel?” Hilton asked her.

Already perturbed about having her picture taken, Paris’s pursed her pouty lips – this was supposed to be her day to enjoy.

“Cut the crap,” Paris said to Hilton, her twin sister. “Both of us know the only reason you’re ‘grins and giggles’ is because mommy made you temporary executor of my estate.”

Hilton feigned a mocked shock.

“What makes you think I have anything except your best interests at heart?” she asked her little sis Paris.

“You fucked my ex-boyfriend, for starters,” Paris quipped.

Hilton slid manicured finger into the sugary foam dripping down the side of Paris’s cup of steamy hot cocoa. “You have a 4:30 at the marina with Jon-Paul,” Hilton reminded her twin baby sister.

“First my boyfriend, now my hot chocolate,” Paris smiled sweetly. “What’s next, my hymen?”

“That’s too bold,” Hilton admonished her little sister.

“Nothing’s too bold for you, sis. I’m not doing that Little Mermaid hip-hop fiasco with that prima donna,” Paris said to no one in particular.

Hilton blinked.

“Jon-Paul is the one photographer who can make or break a model’s career. Your choice,” she told Paris.

Hilton waited for her sibling to call her bluff.

She didn’t.

“You know I have a date with my high man tonight,” Paris reminded Hilton.

“Yes,” Hilton agreed with baby sister. “How long has it been now since two of you consummated your wedding vows?”

“Mind your own ‘Louboutins,’” Paris snapped at her older sis.

“You mind you own,” Hilton replied, a little too loud in the outdoor plaza space.

Hilton leaned in to her sister, confidant to confidant.

“You know exactly why mother appointed me as your executor,” Hilton whispered to Paris.

“Your winning personality?” Paris retorted back to her sister.

Hilton became alarming quiet. Paris stirred uncomfortably in her chair.

Paris knew the choices Hilton had made to steer her through the pricks and holes of their nouveau riche family and heritage. She even knew why she’d married Brad – to give her an opportunity to live free from the oppression of their affluence and their sorted family past.

“If I do this, you know what will happen… you know what I’ll become,” Paris told her sister quietly.

“Nothing more than what every woman has, in way or another,” Hilton shared with her baby doll of a sis. “Use him to prove to yourself you have what it takes to live in this world. Then fuck him and leave him and show our family you’re the bitch they’ve raised you to be.”

“He doesn’t love me, Hilton,” Paris shared with her sister.

“We’re the rich and famous. Since when has love had anything to do with sex and power? We’re Winterthornes,” Hilton said aloud.

You didn’t know what your new wife and her sister Hilton were talking about, but whatever the story was, you didn’t think you were going to like hearing it. You crossed to the plaza and walked to the center of the square. There sat the heirs to an American publishing fortune.

“I’ll set everything up – this last time,” Hilton agreed responding to her sister’s terms.

“Who knows, I might even like it,” Paris said to her twin.

Hilton greeted you with a “hello,” then asked if the two of you could speak alone. You wanted to spend a little with your wife, however you knew business when you heard it mentioned. You gave Paris a peck on the cheek and nodded when Paris told you she had a little “gift” for you she wanted you to have for your three month wedding anniversary. Hell, you’d even settle for one taste of her hot, wet, and tight lil’ pussy…

“How long am I supposed to endure this” you asked Hilton while the limo driver sped the two of you away to an undisclosed destination.

“Not long,” Hilton told you.

Ebony-haired with skin radiant as a pearl, Hilton crossed one leg across one knee. Her breasts were full and her fitted vest and mini-skirt left little to a man’s imagination. Especially your own horned-up thoughts… It’d been so long since you’d fucked anybody your dick wanted to plunge into anything with a slit. Problem was, you’d agreed to the Winterthornes’s contract: you fuck whenever the family says. Produce them an heir, male of course. Receive one million dollars and 1 percent equity in their global stock shares – two hundred thousand smacks yearly, if your accountant’s calc was on the mark.

The limo stopped at the court of the philharmonic where you performed nightly. The door to Hilton’s side of the stretch limousine opened with a man standing nearby. “What the fuck was up?” you wondered.

“Wait here,” Hilton said to you, smiling a little too joyously.

“Fuckin’ rich bitch,” you thought to yourself.

Hilton allowed herself to be walked inside the 150 year old entertainment space. Although she didn’t want to let herself admit it, the man at her side was a feast for her hungry female eyes. He looked… incredibly good.

Several moments later, Hilton and her ex-husband were standing at the fountain inside the back courtyard of the philharmonic arena.

“I’ll be brief,” Hilton told her ex. “Tomorrow will be one month since our divorce was made legal. Per the terms of the Winterthornes’s contracts, you will receive your share of our Company’s oversees distribution ROI.”

Brad Barrington looked over his shoulder at his beautiful and beguiling negotiator of an ex-wife. He knew they made a great couple in the public eye, but in the bed it was all business. For the love of creation, he didn’t know why, but he’d do anything for her, even if it meant keeping his distance. What was it about the Winterthorne women that made the men in this town so crazy for pussy, he wondered?

“And you summoned me here, why?” Brad asked Hilton.

Hilton decided the truth was the best offense. “I’m pregnant,” she told Brad.

Brad hollered and jumped. He was going to be a daddy.  But his joy was short lived when he saw Hilton looked anything but pleased. “What?” he asked Hilton.

Hilton realized a lesser gentleman would tear through the philharmonic façade screaming “entrapment,” however Brad proved to be the exception.

“You know already,” Hilton acquiesced to Brad.

Brad nodded.

The contract specifically was worded the youngest of the Winterthorne siblings must marry and have a child first or all holdings for contract payment arranged partnerships reverted back to the Company. Brad couldn’t believe it, but he realized Hilton was actually trying to look out for him.

“You know you’re not who you pretend to be,” Brad said, gazing down at the love of his life, Hilton.

“Let me take you away from all this wild unpredictability,” he asked Hilton.

Hilton was quiet.

“You’re not the bitch you’d like everyone to think you are,” Brad said to Hilton.

Brad knelt before Hilton and pressed his lips to her skirt. Hilton lifted the hem of the skirt with her hands and Brad’s eyes widened. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“Fuck the money. What do you think? You want to give our baby another little brother or sister?” Brad wriggled his eyebrows up at Hilton. Then he dove his face into Hilton, dipping his tongue into the folds of Hilton’s horny, trembling pussy.

“Mmm,” Brad murmured between stifled licks of Hilton’s fur box. “Your cunny tastes like sugar and wine.”

Hilton squealed with delight from the pleasure.


You had told the limo driver to give you the keys. You explained you’d clear everything for him with Hilton for splitting; you just needed to do something about your cock. It was leaking so much precome; you finally realized you’d have to take matters into your own direction. The driver was anxious, but you explained it’s your hand or his mouth, and he took off like a flash from a camera.

That was when you’d heard the squeal from inside the performance arena.

You turned off the engine of the limo and were going to see if Hilton needed any help when you bumped into her – you were so stunned, you dropped the auto keys. There stood your wife, Paris, wearing nothing but a pair of thigh high boots, naked, in the middle of the day, in the abandoned philharmonic parking lot.

“Thank god, for holidays, hmm?” Paris said to you.

“Wait. What the motherfuck?” you thought silently.

Two months and Paris had shrugged you off of her when you wanted to fuck. What frustrated you so was that really you’d wanted to make love to her, satisfy her, bring her to orgasm under her every need; however all she’d given you was your hand to play with, and no lube to make jacking off any easier.

Here she stood; her big, round tits peaking in the sun.

Paris tapped a boot to the keys. She looked at you.

“You won’t be needing these,” Paris swiped the keys away from the limousine and kicked the door to the driver’s seat shut.

She pointed to the passenger’s side of the black car and tapped it with her boot.

“You told me once it was your fantasy to get it on with a model, right?” Paris asked you.

“Yeah, it was,” you told her, but were the two of you two going to ‘role play,’ you asked her?

“No,” Paris answered you. Then she pressed you to the floor of the limousine and planted teeny kisses all over your forehead and lips.

“Wait, wait, what’s happening,” you asked her. “You said our arrangement was purely biz, Paris,” you told her.

“It is,” Paris told you. “But I want more now. I’m tired of being good. I want to be bad!” Paris said and shoved your fingers up into her little pussy.

“Wait,” you protested.

“Shut the fuck up! Fuck me!” Paris ordered you.

You felt a rush of girl heat spurt across your fingers as you laid back and pushed your hand into Paris’ immature cunt. It was so little, your fingers felt like they were being squeezed in a vice. You dick was stretching against your slacks, trying to get free.

“Let me do it,” Paris said. Paris ripped a hole in your slacks and pulled out your beef stick. “Mmm, you’re even bigger than what I remembered from our shower together on the first night of our honeymoon.”

“Only that we cuddled,” you reminded her.

“I said for you to be quiet,” Paris ordered you. “I’m been signed with the top modeling agency now and I am making more money than you will see for decades – unless you fuck me.”

You started to say something then Paris covered your lips with her teeny raven pussy.

“Eat my pussy,” Paris commanded you. “Eat my pussy right! Yes!”

Your tongue lathed and licked her cunt walls. Paris clamped his thighs against your head and humped up and down on you like she was riding a mechanical bull.

“I’m going to rape your penis every night when you come home. You’re going to fill my pussy hole up with come and then I’m going to fuck your dick senseless,” Paris whispered into your ear.

She yanked your shirt over your head and pulled it away.

Paris rolled to her side and lifted a leg. You saw her cuntlips spread open on her untouched hymen.

“Fuck, I need to do her bad,” you thought.

“This what you want?” Paris asked you. “You want my hungry, sopping little pussy?”

You nodded, slack-jawed.

“Yeah?” Paris taunted you.

“Yeah!” you said loudly.

“Then shut up and fuck me!” Paris commanded. She grabbed you by the hips and pushed her tight horny pussy right down onto you.

“Shhhiiiiiiit,” you screamed.

You heard nothing except the moist, wet, slurps of Paris’s pussy over your dick shaft. Gushes of her clam juice ran down your thighs, her cunt so horny from fucking you. You lifted her onto to the limo seat and bore down into her. You hips pounded her little cunt so hard you heard Paris’s teeth chatter. She wrapped her thighs around your neck and pulled herself onto your dick.

Splatters of white hot come flooded her vagina, and still she ordered you to fuck.

“Do it, come in me!” Paris lifted herself into your arms and bounced on your cock while you knelt on the floor.

You thought you’d felt the limo pitch forward like the auto was in transit. Fuck, this mama had you crazy!

Paris hunched down on top of you when you felt it. Your cock burst through her vaginal wall, breaking apart her hymen.

“Oooh, that’s dirty!” Paris said. “Fuck me, you fuck me deep you dirty daddy… fuck me!”

You collapsed onto the floor with Paris riding your engorged baby maker. She told you she was going to lick your nuts and feel you up when you got home from the office and then rape you until you begged her stop. You reached up and fondled Paris’s breasts with a thumb and forefinger.

“Baby, I’m going to fuck you so often, you spit come when you talk,” you told Paris and your newlywed wife squirted pussy come all across you.

Spurts and spurts of girl honey shot out from Paris’s sweaty cunt hole and pooled into the hollow of your pecs and into your navel.

“And you know what else?” Paris teased you.

“What?” you asked her.

“I like fucking you. Come!” she told you.

Your head lolled and your hips lifted Paris off the floor. Arc after thick rich arc of scalding hot come shot into her and you continued shooting your sperm. The force of the orgasm threw your cock from Paris’s cunt, making it stick right into the air while splooging squirt after squirt of white creamy come.

You threw your hands over your face embarrassed.

“What’s the matter?” Paris said.

“I’ve never come like that before,” you admitted to her.

“Not my sister or her ex either,” Paris said teasingly.

“Amen,” Brad said aloud.

You sat up straight. You looked to the front of the limo. Hilton and Brad were in the limo. They were nude and the limo was running. Shit, Brad was driving all of you down the boulevard.

“Before you say anything, I should tell you the same thing happened to me,” Brad smiled.

“You’re a Winterthorne now,” Brad said. “A whore for pussy and for money,” he teased you.

Hilton looked at you. “And now that you’ve made a woman out of my sister, you’re next in line for the inheritance,” Hilton told you.

“I don’t give a shit about that noise, fuck the money,” you said.

“You did” — Hilton, Brad, and Paris all said in unison.

You looked at Paris.

“We keep it in the family,” Hilton said.

Paris was smiling.


To this day you never found out when Paris had discovered you’d fallen in love with her.


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