Chapter 4 PLEASURE DATE

Brat

The only reason I accepted her invitation was simply because I truly felt the urge to be with someone, and I didn't have the time to look for anyone else. Carla, well... to be honest, she wasn't bad that night. So, without overthinking it, I sent her my location, and within seconds she replied.

-"Alright, I'm on my way," she said.

I took a deep breath, because something inside me told me this wouldn't end well.

-"Ok, I'll be waiting for you," I replied.

Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door. I opened it, and there she was, wearing a red lace dress, almost transparent. She looked incredibly sexy, walking toward me with her hips swaying. Without hesitation, she pulled off my tie, then my shirt, and that drove me crazy. She smiled mischievously, touched me daringly between my legs, and whispered in my ear with a voice dripping with sensuality:

-"Hello, darling... did you miss me?"



What a ridiculous thing... what does she even think? Why would I miss her if it was only one time? It wasn't bad, but definitely not enough to miss her. I honestly believe this woman has serious mental issues, and I haven't even been kind to her. I don't know why she says such nonsense.

-"Don't play with me, Carla. I don't miss anyone," I told her.

She laughed, moving closer in a playful attempt to ease my anger.

-"Wow, you're such a bitter man," she said.

And yes, I am, at least in that sense. Because I like being direct-I don't deceive anyone, and I don't beat around the bush. I'd rather people say that about me than think I'm a liar. Seconds later, she unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor, standing completely naked except for a tiny thong. Her small breasts were now exposed.

Immediately, I went for them and sucked them. They weren't as big as I usually like, but not bad either. I squeezed them roughly, pulled her by the hair, turned her around and bent her over the chair. In a rush, I unbuttoned my pants, pulled them down along with my boxers, grabbed a condom from the side table in the living room, put it on quickly, and entered her without the slightest bit of delicacy or warning. She squirmed slightly, uncomfortable with the size of my manhood, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to satisfy my urges-I wasn't interested in what she felt.

I went in once, twice, three times, and many more, in a rough, aggressive rhythm. Her walls tightened around me, giving me immense pleasure as I thrust into her hard. She moaned desperately, but I was only chasing my own satisfaction, pounding into her over and over again, sweating profusely as I fucked her with all the force my nature demanded. Finally, after countless thrusts, I climaxed-and I think she did too. After a moment to catch my breath, I grabbed her hand again, led her back to the chair, stripped off the rest of my clothes until I was completely naked, sat down, grabbed another condom, slid it on, and pulled her onto my lap.

She started riding me fast, bouncing up and down on my cock, which drove me insane. She rolled her hips forward and backward in quick motions, and it felt incredible. My pulse raced at her movements-she rode me like a true professional, and I grabbed her hips, moving them the way I wanted, in search of my own pleasure.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I stopped her, turned her around, and laid her on her back. I asked if she wanted lube, but she shook her head, refusing. Fine- not my problem, I asked. I knew exactly what I wanted: to take her ass. She knew what she came here for.

I positioned myself at her back entrance and shoved myself inside without the slightest trace of delicacy. She complained a little, but I didn't care. I admit it-I'm a selfish bastard. I only care about my own pleasure, but that's who I am. I went in and out roughly, grabbed her neck, squeezed, and pounded her harder and harder, savagely.

I fucked her over and over, her moans getting louder with each thrust. After several brutal strokes, I finally climaxed again. Not bad at all. This is the life I love-I take what I want, when I want, no questions asked.

We finished, our breathing a complete mess. After a few seconds, she caught her breath and leaned in, trying to kiss me. I didn't let her. A moment later, I said:

-"Carla, I'm sorry, but you need to go. I have an appointment with someone... want me to call you a cab?"

She stood up, started gathering her clothes from around the apartment.

"No, don't worry, I brought my car," she said.

She kept dressing while I told her:

"Alright then, I'll let you be. I'm going to take a shower," I said, and headed to the bathroom.

When I was done, I put on black jeans, a white shirt, and a leather jacket. I sprayed some cologne, looked at myself in the full-length mirror, making sure I was presentable. The doorbell rang.

I looked around-Carla was gone. Perfect. I was glad she understood how things worked with me. I opened the door, expecting Miguel. But it wasn't him. The man standing at my door was none other than my father. What a drag. My mood instantly soured.

"What are you doing here?" I said, annoyed that he showed up unannounced.

"What do you mean, what am I doing here? I'm your father-I can come whenever I want," he said.

As if being my father gave him the right to do that.

"Well, too bad, because I'm going out. I don't have the time or the patience to listen to your lectures," I snapped.

It pissed me off-why does he still think I'm a little boy he can scold?

"Brat, I don't lecture you for fun. I just want you to reason, to realize you need to leave behind this life of alcohol and women. I want you to take control of your life, grow up, and settle down," he said.

There he goes again with the same old speech. I'm sick of it. Why can't they just accept that this is who I am, that I'm happy this way, and I don't care about anything else? Why waste cheap words I'll never take into account? I answered harshly:

"I'm already established in the company you forced me to take over. What else do you want from me?" I shouted.

Anger boiling inside me because I hate being manipulated.

"Don't speak to me like that," he said. "You forget who you're talking to."

He was mad at my tone. And I wondered-how could I ever forget who he is? The man who made my entire life, and my mother's, a bitter existence. How could I ever forget that?

"Just tell me why you came and leave," I demanded, already fed up, wanting him out of my sight.

"What do you mean why? I came to see you. Or did you forget you have a father?" he said.

Now he remembers he has a son? When I was a child, he never even cared.

"Oh please... what's the point of this now? I see you every day at the company," I said.

His accusations made no sense.

"But lately I haven't gone, because I've been sick. And you haven't come to see me," he said.

As if I should care.

"When you're on your deathbed, I'll come," I said.

I knew it sounded cruel, but he couldn't expect things he hadn't earned.

"Son, don't I matter to you? I'm your father," he said.

I already know he's my father. Unfortunately, I can't forget it.

Dear readers, don't forget to vote and leave your comments to motivate me to keep writing for you. With much love, Francia...."Just like I didn't matter to you when I was a child, waiting for you all alone... and just like my mother doesn't matter to you now that she's sick," I barked. "If you don't remember, let me remind you."

It infuriated me that he pretended to be a good father when he never was.