Oh, you're in for a treat.
Because I’m a bad girl.
I don’t mean like the bad boys you’re reading about on your Kindle. I’m not filled up with tribal tattoos. I don’t turn into a dragon. I’m not part of some underground MMA club. I don’t play football on the field, and fuck off the field. I’m not your Domme.
No, I’m much, much worse.
I’m a girl who knows exactly what men want. I can make them give it to me. And then keep giving it to me. I use ‘em and lose ‘em. I don’t get tied down.
I fuck. Yeah, so what? That’s about as far as their bodies go. Then I move on.
Women want to be me. Men want me. And I play it all to my benefit.
Don’t believe me?
Watch and see.
I open the door and walk in. Carl is on the phone but he looks up with a start. He sees me, and his eyes show a momentary flash of annoyance.
He’s the head of the Private Client group. Each day, his group on this floor does billions of dollars worth of business. He’s personally worth about $250 million dollars.
This is a man that is as alpha as you can find. He works out. Has a nice cock. Commands the respect of men under him. He got to his position by being dominant and taking charge.
Yeah, that means nothing to me. The fact that he’s upset means nothing to me.
Because the moment I close the door and undo the sash on my trench coat and stand in front of him with a smirk, his look of annoyance turns into desire.
“Guys, I’m going to have to jump off this call today,” he says into his headset. “Sorry. Carry on and I’ll look through the notes tonight.”
I stand there in front of him, letting him admire me. I wasn’t wearing anything under that trench coat but a skimpy little thong and an itty bitty bra. It’s pink and lace. From La Perla. Only the best for this princess.
“Lauren, hold all my calls and meetings,” Carl says into the intercom and doesn’t wait for a response, but brings his eyes back to looking at me. I’m running my fingers over my boobs, licking my lips and taking a few steps over toward him.
“I went shopping today,” I tell him.
“Uh huh,” he says, not paying attention.
“Thought you might like to see what I bought,” I tell him as I turn around and bend over slightly, bringing my hand to my ass and rubbing my left ass cheek. “Do you like it?”
Carl nods. “Oh yeah, baby, I like it a lot.”
“Good,” I say turning back and walking around his desk to stand in front of him. My back is to the window and he’s facing me. “Because today is your lucky day, Mister.”
Carl should have more questions. He should be asking me why, today of all days, I’m getting on my knees and unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers.
He should ask why it takes me only five seconds to fish out his cock and wrap my lips around it when all this time I’ve told him I’m a virgin.
That’s right. I’ve been telling him I’m a virgin. Saving myself for him.
Me. Can you believe it? Brittney White—the one time Princes of Porn. The toast of the San Fernando Valley. Courted by Wicked Pictures, Vivid Video, Naughty America, Brazzers, you name it. Who had to leave that business behind when…well, never mind.
Yeah, all I had to do was flash Carl some titties, let him feel my ass and he believes
now that all virgins are as expert as sucking cock as I am right now.
This is why men are just so stupid. They can’t think when their cocks get hard. This is why I’m single. Because no man can tame me.
“Oh God, baby, that feels so good,” Carl moans, running his hands through my hair.