Mark was not surprised when the beauty walked in. She wasn't the first to seek him out.

Men didn't always understand why women struggled to find partners. They would say that attractive women could find men more easily than men find women, but men envied that power without understanding the caveats. For Mark knew that women weren't guaranteed a safe man, who would respect boundaries and take no for an answer.

Or a man who was clean and reliable, who didn't risk knocking them up or giving them other things they might regret. There were men nagged and stalked and threatened and, of course, there were many who couldn't be trusted to know or care about their partner's pleasure.

Which was where he came in. The right sort of reputation was a good thing to have and in this town, word travelled fast amongst the swingers and the clubbers and the thriving erotic scene. Amongst the right sort of people, he was well known, and this strict, fresh-faced lady who walked like she owned the world had obviously heard his name spoken.

"How may I help you?" He asked easily.

“I want you to impregnate me.”

Straight and to the point, that was Annabelle Croft all over. Ms Croft to all and sundry, for this sharply dressed woman was not overly familiar. But Mark couldn’t help but think of her as an Anna.

“Could you be more specific, Ms Croft?” Whatever he might think, respectful politeness was what emerged from his mouth. He was the sort of man who kept his impulses in check until it was completely appropriate. And he wouldn’t dream of asking her to repeat herself: He’d heard her loud and clear.

The tall brunette had eyes like ice, both in their clear blue shade and their coldness. Her hair, dress and makeup were consummately professional, her heels high and her tube skirt tight. Her figure was a narrow hourglass; if there was a line between slim and voluptuous, her body straddled it like a lover. She spoke dispassionately:

“I’ve reached my thirties now, and it’s time to settle down. Of course, my career has left me with no time for a serious relationship. It has, however, reached the point where I can take some time out to deal with pregnancy, and I’m of good enough means to have nannies for when I go back to work full time.”

“Then surely it’s reached the point where you could start looking for a partner?”

“I don’t want a relationship, I want a baby.” She adjusted her glasses; over the course of their association, Mark would come to find it was a characteristic tic of hers.

“There are sperm banks-“

“I believe in doing things the old fashioned way. I hear you’re a reliable, virile man. Surely any red-blooded male wants to pass on his genes? You’re photogenic, successful... in your own way. And I’m sure my DNA will pick up any slack.”

Mark nodded. A surge of irritation rose in him at her superior attitude, her dismissive and disparaging back-hand compliments. But again, he held it in check. He could hear the biological clock ticking behind her austere persona, sense the primal need that blazed beneath the icy words.

“There’s nothing to fear from child support; I’m richer than you in any case. But I’ll have a contract drawn up to seal the deal. I’ll provide you with a clean bill of health regarding STIs and I expect you to do the same, along with any genetic predispositions you might be aware of. Then I will book a week off work. That ought to be enough.”

"Of course, I'll need to take time away from my own commitments," Mark spoke delicately. As delightful an opportunity as this might be, he had work of his own.

“Payment will come if you prove man enough for the job. I expect impregnation and enjoyment.”

~~~

In the days that followed, the printing of papers and the stroke of a pen provided a little legal foreplay to the events to come. Then Mark and Annabelle met in an uptown cafe, the gentleman in smart casual and the lady just downright smart. It was a carbon copy of the outfit she had worn at their first meeting, all crisp and smart and well-fitting, from the understated necklace to the three-inch, open-toed pumps.

They bought their own drinks, greeted one another politely. Ms Croft’s voice was cool as she stated: “All the forms appear to be in order. I take it from your last message that your bank confirmed the order of the payment?”

“On the third of the month,” Mark replied calmly. “Subject to the fulfilment of responsibilities. Is that correct, Ms Croft?”

She nodded her assent.

It wasn’t the behaviour most would expect from a pair about to couple, but Mark had no doubts about the chemistry between them. He could feel it behind her cool persona and clinical words, the burning desire and frustration. Like him, she was a master of keeping herself in check. But he recognized the signs in her tightly controlled body language, her overly cool and frosty voice. The ice that hides fire.

They drank their overly expensive coffee and left for Anabelle's uptown apartment. They did not touch as they walked through the richer neighbourhoods to her home.

But when they got through the door it all changed.

The key turned in the lock, then Anabelle turned herself and kissed Mark deeply. Her lips were soft and her touch was passionate, arms wrapping tightly around him as she pushed him against the door. Measuring his response. And that response was to press her body to his with an embrace of his own, to match the kiss in intensity then go beyond, forcing Annabelle's passion to redouble in order to keep up.

Their tongues slipped into play, and soon a pair of finely manicured hands were roving over strong, athletic muscles, unbuttoning the shirt, teasing the rocklike bulge in Mark's trousers. Another pair of hands did its own work, exploring soft curves and smooth skin, firm breasts and womanly, childbearing hips.

After a time they separated, like duellists seeking a moment's respite. Anabelle's eyes had turned from the chilly blue of ice to the incandescent hue of the hottest fires, and her pale cheeks were burning. Her big chest heaved wondrously.

"The bedroom," Mark spoke. It was not a question.

The brunette nodded, beckoned him brusquely, then turned with a flick of her luscious hips and strode away. She was still wearing her three-inch pumps, and as Mark followed, his eyes were fixed on the swaying, strutting ass he would soon be getting.

They walked towards her neatly made, single bed, Annabelle slowing as they reached the door. Whereas Mark kept walking at speed, and wrapped his arms around her. She gasped.

"Surprised?" He asked as he swept her up into a bridal carry. The widening of her beautiful eyes told him her answer. Surprised, yes. But not unhappy. With a slight grin on his lips, the man carried her easily to the bed and laid her down upon it as Annabelle marvelled at his strength.

He lay down himself and they rushed to one another, hands pulling double duty as they tried to undress one another whilst fondling whatever they could reach. Soon Mark was almost naked, whilst Annabelle flung her shirt and skirt aside. She forgot one shoe and her glasses in her lustful haste, but beyond that only underclothes hid her form.

They were all black, transparent stockings sheathing her legs which gave way to frilly panties, then a matching bra which held her bodacious breasts in check. Her skin was pale against dark silk and lace, and Mark's erection strained to escape from his boxers. He pulled them down, and Annabelle's superior demeanour cracked at the sight of it.

It was big. It was thick and long and rock hard, and it was going to go inside her. She couldn't measure it by eye, but at a guess, it was half again the size of her last lover. What did that make it, she thought wildly? Eight and a half inches, nine, more? She had no idea, but whatever the number, it looked gigantic as it rose proudly from a well-trimmed bed of pubic hair and stood to attention before Mark's well-trained, muscular body. Its length was matched by its width, thick and sturdy, and by the big, swinging balls that dangled beneath it. For several long moments, badass professional woman Ms Anabelle Croft felt like an intimidated, awestruck virgin.

Don't be ridiculous, Anna, she told herself. You could buy yourself a toy that size if you wanted, it's nothing to get frightened over. But even as she got over the shock, not all of her easy self-superiority remained. Because what really stood out was the impression of strength. The power of his erection, the rigidity of that male organ and the outrageous swelling of the tip, the way the veins stood out on Mark's throbbing cock and the heaviness of his load-filled balls, that more than anything else was what made her pulse quicken.

As with many things in life, Annabelle responded to the threat by taking action.

"Let's get on with it. I don't want to waste time with extensive foreplay; you'll give me enjoyment whilst you do your duty. I can come from penetration, and if you're not able enough to do that you're not the man I'm paying you to be. Come here and get inside me."

There was a little bluster to it, and Mark knew it. Hell, Anabelle knew it. But she wasn't going to say what was in her heart of hearts, which is that she was intimidated and impressed and turned on by the quietly confident, well-hung male before her. She sat on her heart-shaped ass and hooked two fingers into the hem of her knickers, slowly sliding them down... and Mark pushed her hands away, yanked them over one ankle and mounted her.

"Aaaaah!" Annabelle cried as his cock-head slid into her neat and pretty folds. It was a cry of pleasure, not pain, and Mark plunged deeper as he heard it. His long, thick cock speared deep inside her, stretching her pussy out, and in the tensing of her body and the intake of her breath, Annabelle's body proved more honest by far than her ball-busting persona. She shook as Mark slid back out of her, giving her a second to start collecting her thoughts before powering home and scattering them once again.

"Ooooh!" Annabelle cursed her traitor voice. She meant to make this man work for her approval, to spur him into working hard, and yet in two pumps he'd already made her-

"Aieeee!" His strong arms pushed her down, his well-built body settling atop her as he thrust a third time, deeper, pressing her against the bed, and then he finally went balls deep in a move which set the bed frame creaking and his balls slapping against her thighs as Annabelle made a noise which couldn't even be described to feel that enormous manhood, that strong and throbbing weapon, touch her deepest places.

Get your fucking act together, Anna! Her own voice screamed inside her head, and in a surge of competitive fury, she began to fuck back. Now Mark sucked in a breath, because Annabelle Croft could fuck like a champion.

Her hips bucked like she was trying to throw him off, and the pleasure of her tight little pussy was twice as good with her sexy body grinding away behind it. Her painted nails dug deep into his skin, pain mingling with pleasure as they nipped away, and her long, lustrous legs wrapped like a vice around his back. He was enveloped by her body, her clean and perfumed scent, her hot breath in his ear and her warm skin against his, her velvet petals giving everything they had against the steely strength of his invading cock.

There on the bed, they raised the roof with their lovemaking.

It was equal parts teamwork and battle. The thrusts of Mark's big dick soon synched to the bucking of his ladylove's hips, the pair altering their movements to work with the other, accepting their lover's actions and rising to the occasion as Annabelle braced herself to take his powerful manhood, as Mark worked not to be flung off-rhythm by the thrashing of her surprisingly strong body. But they were fighting, too.

Embarrassed by how easily she'd been taken off guard in the initial moments, Annabelle brought a wild fury to her fucking, relishing the gasps and curses as Mark reeled from the sheer eroticism of her body. She accepted that she could play the ice queen no longer and instead became a wildcat, embracing the pleasure as a ferocious, dominating lover. She pushed him hard, made him work for her, forced them into a pace a lesser man could never have kept up with.

Whereas Mark constantly sought new ways to please her, to push deeper, finding her weak points and punishing them mercilessly as he worked to break that fierce veneer and bring out her moaning, sensitive side. At times her control wavered and she seemed ready to fly away with the joy his lovemaking brought her, but each time she managed, with a struggle, to become the harsh and demanding alpha female once again.

Imagine them in that well-lit and well-decorated room, mating like animals. Picture Mark's strong body, muscles rippling on his back, veins standing out like whipcords. See him rising and falling inside her, plunging majestically into the sweet little honeypot he's been called here to fill. His grunts and growls and his panting for breath.

Now see Annabelle's trim, slim body that still shows off curves to die for, busty breasts with dark tips jiggling after Mark finally frees them from that silky bra, the garment flung aside to join the rest of their discarded clothes on the otherwise spotless floor. Picture her legs still sheathed in silk, their beautiful length squeezing tight around her lover's body, the frilly panties still warm with her body heat that hang from one ankle and the high-heeled shoe she still wears on the opposite foot, dangling from her dainty toes as they curl in ecstasy before finally the thrust rocking her body and her world knock it off to fall down off the bed to lie atop her smart little skirt. See the glasses, too, askew upon her flushed and sweaty face, behind which eyes widen with approaching orgasm as the raging cock inside her becomes just too much to bear.

"Yes!"

Back, now, back from that out-of-body experience. Now to how the beautiful woman felt as the glorious pleasure rose up within. A part of her had actually wanted to deny it, to force speed, to make the man come first. To make Mark beg forgiveness for the disappointment, that she might wait and make a show of begrudgingly giving him a second chance. Only then she would go easier, and let him bring her pleasure. Because then she'd be in control, and better than him, and could command and dominate him as her ego pleased.

But she'd chosen a man who could handle the best she had to offer.

For Mark held himself in check as much as she did. Like all his desires, his lust, the desire for the female form which gave his lovemaking such passion, was controlled and directed and held in check until the time was right. He had been annoyed with Annabelle, with her self-superiority and her mocking attitude, but he had not exploded the moment she had turned it on him. That would have been premature. No, he had held it in check and stayed polite, ensuring the deal would be done and he could get her into bed, where now that frustration gave him the strength to fuck it right out of her.

Annabelle was a fantastic lover for those who could keep up; in the bedroom her restrained passion exploded from its icy prison, unleashing a wild and free young filly happy to buck an unsuspecting man off and stomp him underfoot. She was used to being in charge of her few past relationships, both in bed and out of it. But she hadn't expected a man like this.

Which was no bad thing. She couldn't break him, but she could handle his rough and powerful thrusting without breaking herself. Together, the two wild lovers spurred one another on to be the best they could possibly be. And so it was that Annabelle had the most powerful orgasm of her life.

"I - uh - yeah! Yes! Harder, you bastard! More! Oh, god!"

And she wasn't exactly broken when the pleasure finally began to die down. Or even when Mark gave her clitoris a deft touch, stroking it the way an old bisexual friend had taught him to do with her, and that massive orgasm redoubled to leave her crying out louder still. There was still a cocky, self-superior spark in her eyes when she reached up and whispered hotly in her lover's ear: "Do your fucking job and knock me up!"

But she wasn't exactly in charge, either. Not when Mark slammed her sweet body back down until her legs were sticking up either side of him and her ass was in danger of being smashed through the bed slats, fucking her so hard that the glasses finally flew off her face as he growled two words in her ear:

"Get. Pregnant."

And loosed the seed that would do it. Pump after pump, blast after blast, primal roar unending, Annabelle clung on for dear life as Mark's cum surged into her. Deep inside the cum went surging, thick and hot and sticky, the orgasm going on longer than the hot brunette thought was possible as his mighty cock erupted like a hose and unloaded those big, swinging, seemingly endlessly full balls into her tight little honeypot. Until, at last, it was over. At last, he slid out of her, and the pair lay catching their breath on Annabelle's bed as their ears rang with one another's shouts of ecstasy.

In the rosy glow and satisfied tingle that follows outstanding sex, Annabelle allowed herself a moment of weakness towards her new lover. What a stud, she thought fondly. Then she rallied her harder self as she sucked in enough breath to speak. She sat up, peeling the black stocking off her long, pretty legs and finally rendering herself fully naked. And she spoke with her back to him:

"Even with the best possible timing, the odds of getting pregnant from one round are only thirty per cent." She gulped in another breath before continuing: "Which is less than one in three. Therefore, I expect an average of four rounds a day to meet the odds. If you can't do that we're going to have problems: I want to know that I have a real man, a reliably virile man, not just a one-hit wonder. I hope you're up to the task, Mark."

She hadn't even realized until she heard her own voice in her ears that she'd called him by his first, shortened name. The realization gave her a shock.

Then she got another shock as something solid pressed hard against the small of her back. Hard again already? She thought wildly. I'm not, I've hardly, we've only just-

Then, as his warm, strong hands began to massage her bouncy breasts, Mark's masculine voice spoke quiet and confident in her ear.

"The real question is whether you're up to it... Anna."