Dot-Com Desire

Chapter 2: Clinton’s got nothing on us

The morning after the Chelsea party, Sierra West woke with a dry mouth and a grin that refused to fade. Her cramped Queens apartment was still the same dump—peeling wallpaper, creaking floorboards, the faint smell of yesterday’s takeout—but everything felt different. Penn Gold’s text from the night before glowed on her Nokia screen: “BRB, ditching the loser wife. Let’s make our own scandal. Your place tonight?” The words sent a jolt straight between her legs. Penn wasn’t just handsome—he was dangerous. Tall, athletic, sharp cheekbones, dark hair perfectly tousled, eyes that had locked on her across the crowded loft with raw, unfiltered hunger. Married to boring coder Martina Big, but that marriage was already dead in his gaze. Sierra saw her reflection in him: ambition, greed, and a black heart that wanted everything. Together, they could be unstoppable.

She rolled out of bed, naked, her lean body toned from running and cheap gym sessions. The mirror showed a woman who knew her power—sharp features, gray eyes that could charm or cut, dark hair falling in deliberate chaos. She stepped into the shower, hot water (when the building allowed it) cascading over her skin. Closing her eyes, her hand drifted down, fingers circling her c**t as she replayed the party. Penn’s hand brushing her lower back, his breath on her neck as they danced, the hard press of his c**k against her ass when the crowd pushed them together. "WTF, he’s perfect," she moaned, fingers plunging inside herself, curling to hit that spot while her thumb worked her c**t. The fantasy escalated—Penn pinning her against a wall, skirt hiked, thrusting deep as she wrapped legs around him. She came hard, gasping, squirting against the shower wall, the release only sharpening her appetite for the real thing.

Dressed in fitted jeans and a top that hugged her breasts, Sierra headed to the office. WestNet Insurance was picking up steam—the “scandal-proof” add-ons inspired by the Lewinsky frenzy were selling to paranoid execs afraid their own affairs would leak. Traffic was growing, data flowing, money trickling in. But with Penn’s web design skills, it could explode.

Her Nokia buzzed mid-morning: Penn. “Wife’s at work. Your place? Need to ‘discuss’ that partnership. Wearing something easy to remove.” Sierra’s pulse raced. “Address incoming. Door unlocked. BRB racing home.”

She sped back to Queens, tidying frantically—pizza boxes hidden, cheap cologne sprayed. When the knock came, she opened the door to Penn in daylight glory: fitted shirt open at the collar showing toned chest, jeans hugging his bulge, dark hair tousled, eyes devouring her. "OMG, this is your empire?" he teased, stepping in, hands immediately on her waist.

They didn’t speak. Penn pushed her against the wall, kissing fiercely, hands yanking her top up to squeeze her breasts. Sierra moaned, nails raking his back as she ground against his hardness. "I've been hard since last night thinking about you," he growled, biting her neck. She dropped to her knees, freeing his thick c**k, stroking before taking him deep—tongue swirling, throat relaxing, eyes locked on his as she deepthroated. Penn groaned, fingers in her hair, thrusting into her mouth. "f**k, you're incredible." She hummed vibrations, hand twisting, until he came down her throat, her swallowing greedily.

Not done, Penn lifted her, carrying to the bedroom. Clothes shed—her top, bra, jeans, his shirt, pants. Naked, he pushed her onto the bed, spreading her legs to devour her p***y—tongue lapping c**t, fingers plunging deep. Sierra arched, moaning "Harder," coming hard on his face. He flipped her doggy, thrusting deep, slapping her ass as she pushed back. "Own me," she demanded, and he did—rough, deep, pulling hair until she squirted. Missionary next, legs over shoulders for maximum penetration, her nails drawing blood as she came again, triggering his release inside her.

Post-s*x, over takeout, Penn vented about Martina—"total noob, can't code, can't satisfy." Sierra saw gold. "Ditch her. Move in. Your skills + mine = empire." Penn's eyes gleamed. "OMG, yes. But she won't let go easy."

They plotted—forging digital trails of Martina's "infidelity." s*x fueled planning—quickies on the desk, blowjobs during calls.

Jealousy flared early. Penn snapping at male coders Sierra hired. Make-up s*x explosive—him taking her ass, her squirting as he filled her.

By month's end, Martina "accidentally" poisoned during Y2K drill. Payout cleared. "LOL, jackpot," celebrated with marathon s*x—every hole, toys, squirting floods.

Penn moved in, empire growing—but his possessiveness hinting storms.