Darian
I’ve never believed in the existence of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. I never believed in the Tooth Fairy either. Then again, I never believed that the perfect woman existed.
Until now.
Crimson lips that were made for kissing, legs that go on forever, and hair that’s even silkier than silk. And her eyes...fuck me. Just one look at her and my cock’s standing at attention, ready to muscle its way out of my pants. Granted, all strippers are supposed to be as hot as a furnace, but this one is something else entirely.
Someone tugs on my jacket and I can’t help but frown. Someone’s trying to distract me, but I’m not having it—this might be the best moment of my entire fucking life, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it be ruined.
“Darian,” I hear a woman’s voice say, and I finally sneak a glance at whoever’s annoying me. It’s Chloe or Kloe, or however the fuck you’re supposed to spell it. “Let’s get out of here. You said we were going to have fun.”
“We’re having fun, babe,” I mutter, dismissing her with a wave. As if I’m going to leave this seat after getting the best lap-dance ever.
“You said we were going to Graybar,” the blonde one insists, and now I’m starting to get really annoyed. Can’t these chicks see that I’m having a transcendental experience right here? I mean, shit, this stripper is hot enough to make Buddha reach enlightenment all over again.
When I ignore them, they decide to throw a fit.
“You think astripperis more interesting than us?”
“She’s a stripper, Darian!”
Alright, now I’m pissed.
Without even looking at my two lovely companions, I reach for my wallet and pluck a fat stack of bills from inside it. Holding them between two fingers, I shove Mr. Benjamin Franklin and all his clones down the blonde’s cleavage. I don’t even have to look. My hands have an auto-pilot system when it comes to tits.
“Scram,” I tell them with another wave of my hand. “There’s enough there for a few rounds at Graybar. Or for a mortgage down payment. I’m sure you’ll know what to do with that money.”
They mutter something but I don’t even listen. Hell, these two might have been screaming and clawing at my back, and I wouldn’t notice it. Right now, my undivided attention is reserved for the fucking goddess that has descended from the skies and crash-landed on this joint.
“How have I never heard about you before?” I ask her, my jaw slackening as I watch her dance right in front of me. She runs her hands down the side of her body, her hips moving to the beat, and then her fingers brush over her nipples. My fingers twitch as I imagine how’d it feel to hold her breasts in my hands, to feel the warmth of her naked skin, and—
“You haven’t heard of me before?” She laughs, and her lips curl into a seductive smile. Before I know it, I’m imagining these full lips wrapped around my cock. “I gotta say...I’m disappointed.”
Remember when I said this woman was a goddess? I might’ve been mistaken, because it’s highly probable she’s a fucking demon. Here I am, trying to dial up the charm, and she swings her hips and crash lands on Peter’s lap.
Any other woman and I would’ve just gotten up to my feet and dragged my sorry ass out of this joint.
Instead of doing that, I remain in my seat, watching as this she-demon throws her arms over Peter and grinds against him. Of course, Peter isn’t content with just that—no, the greedy bastard actually reaches for her breasts and runs his thumb over her hard nipples.
“You’re something else,” Peter whispers, his glazed eyes torn between the woman’s face and her tits. I might hate the bastard, but I understand his dilemma. Don’t get me wrong—breasts are God’s gifts to men, but this chick isbeautiful. Put her in a nun’s garb, and my cock will still stand at attention for her.
“You’re not so shabby either,” she purrs, pushing her hips against Peter. He lets out a small groan and his eyes roll in their orbits. It’s a pathetic display...but understandable.
She keeps on grinding against him for what seems like a fucking eternity—it might only have been a few seconds—but I still can’t tear my eyes away from her. I’ll be the first to admit that it’s weird to be this hard when Peter’s in my line-of-sight, but what the hell. This woman is worth it.
“Don’t worry,” she purrs, looking at me over one bare shoulder. Her eyes are cat-like, dangerous and brimming with amusement. “I haven’t forgotten about you.” Moving fast, she lays one hand on my knee, and her fingers drift toward my inner thigh. Without a moment’s hesitation, she flattens her palm against my cock, and now I’m the one struggling to hold it together.
Like the seductive demon that she is, she slides out from Peter’s lap and lands on the couch between us. Now her hands are on both our cocks, and she’s massaging them with the expertise of someone with a PhD on dick-handling.
“What about giving me your two hands?” I say, already reaching for my wallet. That’s when I remember I’ve handed Mr. Franklin to my disgruntled dates.
Shit.
“You can’t even afford one hand,” this she-devil laughs, but her hand remains on my cock all the same. “Don’t worry, I’m doing this pro-bono.”
“You don’t need to do pro-bono when you have me,” Peter tells her, a gigantic wad of cash in his hands. “Ditch that loser.” With a massive grin, he starts tucking folded 100 dollar bills on her thong. Just the sight of his knuckles brushing against her thigh is enough to drive me up the wall.
Yeah, so much for his paragon-of-virtue act.