I'm enjoying an evening at Happy Endings exotic nightclub. The place isn't half bad—one of the better Midtown strip clubs.
The brunette with the smoldering eyes—Vicki I think her stage name is?—is sliding my belt from its buckle with one hand and dragging her other hand up my thigh, slowly raking her red nails against the fabric.
The other two women are jostling for a piece of the action too, and who the fuck wouldn't?
Look at me—8-pack abs, a cock bigger than your imagination can handle, the chiseled physique of a Greek god, eyes bluer than a hot bolt of lightning. What else could you possibly want? If you were in this room right now, I guarantee you'd be staring at my cock, touching yourself, and …
Oh, come on; don't give me that look. Don't be shy. You can stare; I don't fucking mind.
It's not everyday that you're gonna see a cock like this one. Don't shake your head. You know it's true, Gorgeous.
And don't you see how these three women are practically begging for a fucking taste of me?
I hear the metallic trill of my zipper as both of the blondes pull it down. My cock is fucking harder than a tree trunk, and they both give a shriek as its full 12 inches pop out of my boxer briefs and slap them in the face.
Vicki pushes her way in, opens her mouth, and eagerly wraps her lips around my cock. She pushes all 12 inches down her throat.
Impressive, I think to myself.
"Someone's hungry," I smile.
She then pulls back, and I hear my cock pop out of her mouth with a single, wet sound. The other two women seize the opportunity and lean in, and they twirl their tongues around my tip. Then one woman grabs my cock, and the way her hand looks so small wrapped around it makes me even fucking harder, if you can believe that. She opens her mouth as wide as she can, and wraps her lips around my now throbbing cock. She presses it down against her tongue, moving slowly, allowing her lips to roll over my entire length, inch by fucking inch until it presses against the back of her throat. I throw my head back with the fucking perfection of it all.
"Fuck, that's it," I groan, resting both of my hands on top of her head. I grab her hair in one fist and move my hips, guiding the motions of my cock in and out of her mouth. Vicki reaches in and tugs on my balls, rolling them between her capable, expert fingers.
"Oh yeah, fuck that's good," I whisper. All three of them look up at me, and smile.
If you can think of anything better than having these three women worshiping my manhood, let me know. Because right now? Nothing fucking beats it.
Sure, I was married once, but all that woman just wanted was to weasel her way into the Governor's office.
That was seven years ago.
Big mistake.
But I've moved on and I'm better for it.
I learned a valuable lesson: always diversify. Translation: Multiple women are better than one.
"I want a taste," the other blonde purrs, leaning in and eyeing me hungrily.
"There's plenty to go around, ladies," I say, a grin growing on my lips.
Sure, as mayor of New York City, I do my fair share of fucking ribbon-cutting ceremonies, I shake hands, and I smile at babies, and I've even made appearances at weddings, but let me just say that I'm known as Parker "Pleasure" Trask for a fucking reason.
You know what I mean?
All three women are moving fast now, each one taking turns on my cock and I decide to change things up. I stand up and bend Vicki over the huge, shiny black table. We're on the top floor of the club, overlooking the stages and poles, and I fucking smile. I love New York City.
This is my city. The city of my fucking wealth.
I look down at Vicki and lift her skirt up, slapping her ass. It's firm and I grab a handful of one ass
cheek in my hand. I have enough money to bounce $100 bills off her ass all day long. I can make it fucking rain for hours.
Don't believe me?
I've made an excess of a billion dollars on Wall Street, first working for Carter Jeffries, and then doing some currency trades. I still have a currency trading operation, Trask Phillips—a fucking power broker on Wall Street.