Billie Jean

by

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Reluctant, Cheating, .

Desc: Sex Story: Billie Jean is not my lover. She's just a girl who claims that I...

Author's note: This is a long and crazy one so be warned. I wanted to kick off the summer with something fun and hopefully this is it. There are a few people I wanted to thank because without them you wouldn't be reading this story. First the real life Helena Martinez, who claims to have read every one of my stories and dared me to write a story about this song. I'd also like to thank the two best writers I know DQS1 and Rehnquist for letting me borrow their toys, and I hope they aren't upset with what I've done to them because just using them was a dream come true for me. Lastly I'd like to welcome my new editor MikotheBaby to the party. She did a great job of prying my fingers loose from the comma key. Anything you don't like about it was my fault, she just made my gibberish legible. Okay Harry in Va here it is rip me a new one.

My name is Alexander Blake. As I wind my Cobalt blue Shelby GT 500 KR Mustang through the crowded streets of L.A. I can't help but feel a sense of Déjà Vu. You know that eerie feeling that you've been here before.

I guess it only makes sense seeing as how almost exactly one year ago I was doing the exact same thing. I was on my way to a charity dinner honoring me as the top man in the advertising industry. It was one of those stupid honors that were designed to let the other ad men know who had brought in the most money over the past 12 months.

Advertising is a truly weird business. We don't make anything or own anything, but without us the general public has no idea of who does do those things. Take my hopped up Mustang here. Do you think it would matter how great this car is if no one knew they made them or had heard of it? I think not.

No matter how many pencil protector wearing engineering geeks it took to design and build this beast, it would all be for nothing if some smart marketing wiz hadn't come up with a way to sell it. It also takes a genius to decide which market to sell the product to and how to approach it.

Any way, this year just like last year, I brought in more advertising dollars for my company than any other ad man in the world or at least in the industrialized nations. I guess that's where my sense of Déjà Vu came from.

The funny thing about it though is that even though I feel like I've done this before and I have, nothing is the same this year as it was a year ago. The Shelby I was driving last year is at home in the garage. Last year I worked for a different company or at least a company with a different name and I was married to ... Shit, I may as well tell you the whole story and let you see why I feel so weird. Sherman, crank up the way back machine. Set it for one year ago today...

Okay, last year my name was still Alexander Blake and as mentioned I was on my way to a charity event to honor me as the top man in advertising and make an absolute shit load of money for some charity that I had no interest in.

I'm sure the charity did great work for the homeless whales environmental disease cure or whatever it was. In my mind the big thing was that I was on top of my game. I had the world on a string and didn't give a shit who knew it. In fact I wanted everyone to know it.

I was again guiding a ridiculously powerful Shelby Mustang through the crowded streets near the convention center, with my lovely wife at my side.

Mary Beth, my wife of 6 years was 28, like me. Where I was California born and bred, she was New England royalty. It wouldn't have surprised me if she turned out to be related by marriage to the Kennedys. She had that Bostonian accent with its odd sounding vowels and clipped delivery. If someone had modernized Kathryn Hepburn, they'd have Mary Beth, at least on the surface.

I can't say that Mary Beth was ravishingly beautiful, but she was pretty and healthy and she had that All-American girl glow. Kind of like the Governator's wife Maria Shriver. She was the perfect wife for a top ad exec, attractive, but not overly so. Classy, sophisticated, well read, she was all of those things. But none of those are the reason I married her. I married her because I loved her like there was no tomorrow and I thought she felt the same about me.

Of course the fact that she could suck a golf ball through a garden hose and loved doing it didn't hurt. In public or around people, Mary Beth gave the impression that she was some kind of perfectly poised Ice Queen. Alone or out of the public's eye she was probably the biggest sex fiend I knew.

It was normal for me to come home to find her naked and bent over the back of my sofa as the first sight that greeted me when I walked in the door. There was nothing off the table for Mary Beth when it came to sex. I remember times when she'd come into my office in the middle of a meeting and tell the clients and my colleagues that she needed to borrow me for a few minutes. I'd be worried thinking that some dire emergency had arisen, only to have her pull me into my secretary's office for a quickie. "I just wanted you to understand what's really important," she'd said to me as she scooped up a finger's worth of my sperm that had leaked from her vagina and licked it off of her fingers. Then she kissed me goodbye and told me to come home straight after work.

Needless to say, I loved her back and our life together was never boring.

Besides being way under forty, my personal style also separated me from a lot of the top guys in the industry. I didn't wear suits unless I was going to an occasion that required it. I had never owned a black foreign sedan and never intended to do so. And I simply hated fucking golf with a passion. I preferred casual more modern clothing, Muscle cars and extreme sports.

I was the bad boy of the ad world. Of course having the might of one of the world's biggest ad agencies behind me hadn't hurt me, but I had worked my way up through the trenches on my own.

When I started at McMillan Worth, it was as an unpaid (yep I worked for fucking free) intern during my college days. I started out running down to the corner store as a gopher to some of the ad execs. And now I dictated policy to the ad execs from a corner office.

Mary Beth was particularly stunning that night in a long tight black Vera Wang dress with a diamond choker as her only adornment. It was a simple, but classic look that she managed to make effortless. Of course I knew that she'd been in make up for three hours to look like she was barely wearing any make-up. And having her hair styled to appear she'd just thrown it up and pinned it, cost us more than some people made in a month. But it was all worth it, this was my night.

Hundreds of flashbulbs went off as we surrendered my Stang to the valet. Mary Beth and I exchanged a chaste kiss for the reporters. I smiled as I remembered why the front of my raw silk pants was ever so slightly stained. She'd just had me pull over less than two blocks from here to give me a sloppy blow job, only moments before we got here.

As we stepped into the cavernous room, another round of flashbulbs exploded in our eyes. This time we were greeted by cheers and applause as we were introduced to the waiting crowd. The ceremony hadn't started yet but the party was in full swing. There were throngs of rich and or famous people there. Politicians, athletes, actors, musicians, the entire human zoo was represented and they were all here to honor me.

A bit later the ceremony began and they started out by acknowledging the works of some lesser honorees. There were awards for commercials, ad campaigns, product placement and other things. When my award was announced and the truly staggering amount of dinero I had procured for McMillan Worth, there was near stunned silence in the room. Even one of my ex college buddies and greatest competitors, Caesar Anthony's jaw dropped as he heard the amount of money I'd raised for the firm.

After that, the night moved onwards. They announced how much money the dinner had raised for the charity and then people returned to eating, drinking, dancing, socializing and networking. I'm sure that my earning power was a topic of discussion. I was also sure that taking me down was being discussed with equal fervor.

I was, to quote a line from a movie about a sinking ship, "The king of the world." But little did I realize, my ship was about to sink as well.

As I looked over the crowd of well heeled men and women, they all seemed to blend into startling similarity. The men all wore tuxes, and except for cufflinks or some other minor personalizing trim all looked the same. The majority of the women all wore some version of the famous little black dress. Only the name of the designer differentiated them. Maybe their hairstyles were different too, but I couldn't tell. I was dutifully dancing with several of the assembled ladies in an effort to be polite, when I saw her.

She had long unbound blonde hair that cascaded down around her shoulders as opposed to an up-do. Her hair covered one side of her face completely, so that only one eye was visible. The style was reminiscent of Veronica Lake and was extremely arousing. Among all of those rich and beautiful women there, she stood out. She was more like a beauty queen from a movie scene. As she slowly made her way across the floor towards me, I noticed the way her red dress cut through the crowd that was dressed mostly in black.

Watching her as she approached me was like seeing a fireball cut through the darkness of space.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / Reluctant / Cheating /