I push her thong down because I want a good look at both of her sexy holes. “I’m getting ready to come,” I growl at her, but I want to fuck her first.
You probably think what kind of asshole fucks a stripper in a sex club bathroom, but I really don’t give a fuck about what you or anyone else thinks about me. I’m a goddamn multi-billionaire and I can do whatever the fuck I want.
I pull out of Lola’s mouth and she wipes my pre-cum from her lips, gazing up at me with a mischievous smirk.
“Get on your hands and knees,” I order her.
She does as she’s told because she has no fucking choice—I’m in charge here. Lola gets on all fours, and I lean down and fuck her pussy doggy-style. I grip her hips as I plow in and out, thrusting harder and faster to conquer my addiction, which is in the form of an orgasm.
Am I a sex addict? Who fucking cares? What fucking business is it of yours?
Right when I feel the exploding sensation of my climax begin to hit me, I pull out again and finish off with my hand. I’m not allowed to come inside of any of the strippers. If they tell on me, I’m as good as kicked out of the best club in the city.
I grab Lola to whip her back around. I want to come on her busty chest. I aim and take fire, shooting my hot load all over her huge tits, mostly hitting my mark.
It turns out that my target is a little off balance, though, because some of my cum sloshes and shoots directly onto a guy’s shoe in the stall beside us.
It’s a total accident, but the dude groans with frustration and annoyance.
“What the fuck?” he yells, and I hear him open up his stall door.
The next sound I hear is his intrusive banging on the door to the stall where I’m currently defiling Lola.
“Someone’s in here,” I say casually, and smirk at Lola like this is some fucking game I love. The guy knows damn well I’m in here.
Lola responds by rolling her eyes and quickly dressing herself back in her work uniform, which just so happens to be a sexy as fuck romper-type black dress.
“Open up, asshole!” the guy yells as he continues to bang on the door.
I want to say the same fucking thing to him. Open wide, fucker, I’ve got more where that came from.
I jump into my pants and begin to button my shirt, taking my sweet-ass time. After a moment or two, I burst open the door, beaming proudly.
“I’m sorry, sir, can I help you with something? You seem very upset,” I respond with cheerful condescension.
“Yeah, you fucking got cum on my shoe. This is fucking disgusting!” The guy points to his foot.
I place a hand on my hip and point to the shoe. “You know, I hear that works fantastically well as shoe polish,” I offer as a suggestion.
“Fuck you!” he roars.
The man is tall and slender—gangly, actually—and reminds me of that fucking cartoon character Gumby, although he’s not quite as green. He has a full head of light brown hair and he’s wearing an ugly-ass beige suit with an even ghastlier yellow tie.
Meanwhile, I zip my pants back up, really fucking slowly, as though it’s an afterthought or some shit, but I want to make this fucker even more uncomfortable than he already is.
Lola scurries between us, embarrassed and escaping in a huff.
“Hey, buddy, I can’t help what happened to your shoe. I’ll aim better next time.” I wink at him and try to move past.
“How dare you speak to me like this!” the guy yells, but I can tell he’s all bark with no fucking bite.
“Excuse me?” I spin around, now I’m growing angry. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Don’t you know who I am?” the guy shouts, a vein in his forehead bulging.
I actually have no fucking clue who this douchebag is, and I frankly don’t care either.
“No, do you not know who I am?” I raise the stakes and yell back at him.