by Alexis Angel
“That’s the one,” Lester says nodding. “I need you to go there.”
“Me?” I ask. “Why would I go there?”
Lester is silent as I look at him. “I have enough on my plate as it is, I really can’t waste my time fooling around, Lester,” I start, but I can tell that he isn’t even listening to me.
“There’s something shady going on in that place, Destiny, and I need you to be my ears and eyes in that place,” he tells me. He looks like he believes what he’s saying. “I can’t send a cop because it would attract too much attention right now.”
I’m still not convinced. Lester can see that.
So he continues with a sigh. “There’s a woman… A dangerous one. She’s a street hooker known for robbing her clients. She's even murdered a few. I think she’s running a sex trafficking ring, and I need to get to her, and I need to do it fast… But the owner of Python isn’t letting anyone in without a warrant, so I need you to do this for me.”
Me? Investigating a sex trafficking ring? You gotta be fucking kidding me. I’m not Sherlock Holmes, for God’s sake.
“No, you’re crazy if you expect me to--”
“This isn’t up for discussion. I want you there, or the Dirty Destiny might have a surprise inspection from the NYPD Vice.”
The bastard. If he wasn’t the commissioner I’d just punch him right now. “Go there, and try to either get a job or find some way to get inside and be a fixture at the bar,” Lester says with finality.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he finishes, and I stand there in silence, holding my blouse and skirt to my chest as he bolts out of the door and leaves me by myself in the room.
Fuck it, what can I do?
Time to pay Python a visit.
4
Austin
"Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!" A chant erupts from the fucking crowd.
You gotta love fucking 8 pm.
Seriously. That’s all that’s going on here. 8 fucking pm and these ladies are already like ravenous beasts looking for a meal.
I mean, sure, the ladies love a man with a long hose, and tonight, Maverick, one of our dudes, is on the stage with a Fireman costume on.
Yeah, hose? You catch that, doll?
I’m talking about his fucking cock.
He knows where his money comes from. He’s on stage stripping it all off and the women are screaming, and I fucking mean screaming with the energy of a goddamn jet engine. Might be like banshees, but banshees with dollar bills, doll. Fuck yeah.
Maverick is flexing his abs now, his muscular arms raised above his head. He flashes them a smile that's fucking whiter than a brand new pair of tighty whiteys.
You like that don’t you?
You wish you were here with these women now too, huh?
Don’t fucking lie to me. After you read that Out and About piece I know a part of you imagined what it would be like.
Take your closest friends and go check it out. Don’t tell the husband though.
No honestly, don’t. He’d be fucking insecure as fuck when a 6 foot 3 inch guy starts waving a long thick foot-long cock in your face.
Maverick points to a woman sitting in the front row. "Come up here," he says.
"Me?" the woman squeaks, questioning Maverick. She's looking around, wondering if he may be pointing to another woman.
I sit back.
I fucking love this part.
Maverick nods his head. "Yes, you. Come up here and join me, woman."
The crowd is screaming and clapping and urging her to get her ass on that stage.
Once there, Maverick sits her in a chair and thrusts his hips in her direction. He grabs a can of whip cream that he's been keeping on stage—it's one of his final moves—and he squirts some on her neck and collarbone. Then he leans in and slowly licks it off. Her face is growing flushed and it's clear that she's enjoying every minute of his performance.
That dude's an industry veteran—a fucking legend.
Don’t get me wrong. Even if these guys are built, it can be intimidating, stripping in front of a hundred frenzied women yelling, "Show us your Python!" But Mav’s a pro, and when he lowers his fucking g-string, they go fucking crazy.
That's what Python's does best. It's what we're fucking known for, pleasing the ladies. And tonight, I'd say we're doing our job well.
Almost too well.
A group of women are sitting around a table, and I notice that they've brought props. They're sipping their drinks from plastic straws in the shape and color of purple cocks, and they're wearing light-up tiaras with flashing cock LEDs.
Fuck, I love it.
I laugh out loud.
Don’t get me wrong, doll. I'm glad they're having fun. Everyone could use a little more fun and escape in their lives, right?
Especially nowadays.
In fact, once you're done reading about this place, fucking come on over. There'll be a complimentary guest pass waiting for you at the door. I guarantee you'll have the fucking time of your life.
There's always a good mix of broads here—some young, some old, some tall and some short. There’s some hotties. And then there are some plainer ones—according to society. I mean, I like all women. I think they’re all fucking sexy. Why do you think I made this club, anyways?
Anyways, fuck that. What I’m trying to say though, is that no matter what skin color or how much money these broads got, there’s one thing that makes them all the fucking same.
They're all looking for a good time.
I'm hanging in the back, leaning one shoulder against a wall, and surveying the crowds of women at each table and booth. I'm taking a mental head count. It's a full house, which means we're doing great business tonight.
Then one woman in particular catches my eye. As soon as I see her, that headcount I was just keeping gets erased as if my brain's a fucking Etch-a-Sketch and someone just gave it a quick and vigorous shake.
She's new. I haven’t seen her in here before.
And she's hot, that's for fucking sure.
Fuck. Quick and vigorous shake is what you need when you look at that fucking broad.
I’m serious. I’m not just being crass to be crass.
I mean, look at those fucking gorgeous tits. I just want to push them together and stick my cock in between them. Fuck.
That ass. Tight fucking ass. Makes any man want to slap it. Squeeze it. Spank it.
My cock is fucking twitching with its own fucking heartbeat just looking at her.
She’s got a slender body and a fucking tight waist. Golden fucking tresses coiffed beautifully.
If I don’t go over and talk to her now, my brain is going to explode.
But something else catches my eye—I can tell she's fucking confident. Like she’s casing the joint. Like she fucking owns this place already.
I’m going to fuck her.
I’ll try tonight. But I actually want to enjoy this.
Look at her. Fucking money. I fucking love that attitude she’s giving.
I mean, I’ll beat it down when I beat up that pussy, but I fucking love it.
She's talking to the bartender, Ben, a young college kid I recently hired. She's leaning over and they're deep in conversation. It's a fucking shame I can't hear what they're saying, but her mouth is open in a wide smile and her plump lips are the color of red wine.
She's wearing long, gold, hoop earrings that catch the lighting of the club and it bounces off her neck in quick sparkles. There's an intense look in her eye that says she's driven, and smart. I fucking love a woman with ambition.
I need to know who this woman is.
Right fucking now.
I need to put a name to a fucking face.
I leave my spot in the back of the club and walk toward the bar, and to the mystery woman. I pull up a barstool and sit up right next to her.
"Let me guess, Sex on the Beach?"
"Excuse me?" she asks, turning in my direction.
"Your dr
ink," I say, pointing to the rose-tinted cocktail in her glass. "It's fucking surprising, that's all."
"Oh yeah?” she asks, raising her eyebrow but playing along. “And why's that?"
Good. I definitely have her attention.
"Because it's so fucking typical," I say with a smirk as I look at her, "and you're anything but."
"You wanna know what's really typical?" she asks me, a smirk on her lips. "Is flirting with women at a bar."
"I'm just making an observation," I say, smiling and shrugging my shoulders. If I'm honest, I'm fucking enjoying this game. "Ordering a Sex on the Beach is a stereotypical girly thing to do, that's all."
She smiles and thinks for a moment before responding.
"And how would you know anything about women?” she asks me, turning to me. I can see her eyes fucking twinkle.
“Seems to me like you don't hire enough in this place," she says. "It's all men. Like someone likes the sausage."
"That's kind of the point," I laugh. “A fucking sausage fest is what the females want.”
“What goes well with sausage?” she asks me, a coy smile.
“Mayonnaise and buns,” I reply back and she gives me a nasty grin that seriously leaves my knees fucking weak.
Fuck, I’ve never been like this before with a girl.
But I’m still cool. I still got my swagger. Not done with this rodeo just yet. "So how did you know I run this place?" I ask.
"I have my ways," she says coyly. She notices the confused look on my face and continues, "I'm kidding. Your picture and title are hanging on the wall behind the bar. It doesn't take a genius to put the two together."
Not sure what her angle is, but I’ll go along for now.
"Well played," I smile. "What's your name?"
"I'm Destiny," she says, extending her hand to mine. It's warm and slender and I notice her fingernails match the color of her lipstick. Her petite hand makes mine look massive, which brings a smile to my lips … and makes my fucking cock twitch.
"So Destiny … you looking for a job?" I ask.
"What, here? In this place?"
"You just called me out for not hiring enough women … and if I'm honest, this place could use a woman like you. Come join our team as a manager."
That’s right.
You fucking heard me. Sure, it’s a snap decision. But I never get this far without not trusting my gut and making snap decisions.
Besides, I'm in rare form tonight. Fuck. Here I am offering a manager position to a woman I've never met in my life. I don't even know if she's qualified. But something tells me she's fucking worth it.
"I don't know … I'd be awfully outnumbered," she hedges playfully.
"Which is exactly why you should accept," I say, making my point further.
"I'll consider your offer," she says, grabbing her leather jacket from the back of her stool and slipping it on. "Maybe I'll see you around."
"Wait,” I say, not letting her leave without a commitment. I know better. Besides, I know she’s feeling this. She wants to ride. “Let's do brunch tomorrow. 10 am. I'm making this easy for you. All you have to do is say yes, doll face."
She's now standing and slings her purse over one shoulder.
She looks at me for a moment without saying anything, and for the first time in my life, I think a fucking woman might actually say no.
But instead she smiles and the first thing out of her lips is, "You've got yourself a date then, Python."
That’s all she says before she turns and without looking back walks out.
I can’t move.
I’m staring at that ass sway back and forth. Back and forth.
Fucking juicy ass. Makes me want to grab it. Squeeze it.
Python, eh?
She has no idea.
5
Destiny
There’s a slight breeze in the air but the way the morning sun falls on my skin makes it worth it. I lay back against my seat, taking in the New York atmosphere as people around me engage in idle conversation. To my left, a couple is talking quietly, sipping lattes and nibbling at bagels while exchanging quiet looks of shy complicity.
I always liked the 230 Fifth bar because of this. There’s an inviting atmosphere, and it almost seems like you’re sitting inside a magic bubble while the true grit of New York stays outside. Not to mention the view—the bar sits on the 29th floor, right on the rooftop, and it stands right in front of the Empire State Building. That's why I chose this bar as the place for my ‘date’ with Austin…no, sorry, I meant to say Mr. Python himself. I could've settled for neutral ground, but why do something like that when I can have the home advantage?
If I’m being honest with you, I never thought that my visit to Python would end up with me going out on a date with the owner. And, of course, I never thought that the owner would be someone like Austin…
I half-expected a man in his fifties with the look of an accountant, maybe some man boobs on his chest and some dollar signs flashing in his eyes, but that’s not what I found.
Oh, no, I found something else entirely.
Austin looks good, and that’s just the most simple way of putting it. Even with his clothes on, he outshined the male dancers that were putting on a show on the stage. And they were pretty hot. I mean, you saw them, right?
Why am I even asking. Of course you saw them. Or at least saw what they were doing. You’re probably more interested in those male dancers than lil’ ol’ me.
Why don’t you Google the word ‘python’ and ‘Queens Long Island City’ and see if a place like that really exists?
What was I even talking about?
Oh right. Austin fucking Price. The hottest man I’ve ever met in my life. I mean, the way his white shirt clung to his body, hugging his biceps and hinting at a hard built chest… my panties were getting wet last night and they sure as hell are getting wet just sitting here thinking about him.
I mean, I’m sure I was dripping last night.
It’s not a wonder that he didn’t just sniff and smell my juices.
After I got home, I took out the vibe and really went to town. And that orgasm that I had…that Austin inspired…fuck. I think I must've just passed out.
But, really, what fascinated me more than the way he looked, was the way he moved and spoke.
I mean, it’s hard to explain, but I’m good at reading people. After working for so long in the sex industry you learn to do it pretty easily; if you don’t, you might find yourself in pretty fucked up situations. Didn’t read that casting director right? Well then, all of a sudden you might find a fist up your pussy and you’re the one paying money.
So yeah, I had to learn how to read people.
And the moment my eyes found Austin’s, and when I heard his voice… I knew he was different than other men.
Okay. Fine. You want me to say it, don’t you?
You want me to quit beating around the bush, that’s fair.
Although…if anyone is going to beat around my bush, I want it to be Mr. Python himself.
But yeah, you win. I’ll say it.
Alright, here goes: the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew I had to fuck him. More than that, I knew he had to fuck me.
So here I am now, waiting around for someone I barely know and I'm already imagining him with no clothes on.
Oh, don’t worry, I’m not ashamed of that: I’ve learned long ago that, as a woman, I have to stand on my own two feet. I am what I am, and I want what I want. And I will never, ever, apologize for it. Sure, some people don’t like it when they come across a strong willed woman like me, but what am I going to do? Fuck them. I stopped caring what people thought about me a long time ago.
Remember those two words, ladies?
Fuck off.
Women don’t think it’s proper and don’t like that I’m thinking about sex more than a guy? Well guess what? They can fuck off.
Not some damsel in distress and that gets men angry? Well they can fuck off.
I love sex. And if you’ve got a problem with my mouth right now, hun, then you haven’t seen what I’m about to put in it because I guarantee you that python belonging to Austin Price is going to be slithering its way down my throat pretty soon.
Something snaps me out of my reverie, and I realize it’s my cellphone vibrating inside of my purse. I reach for it, expecting to see Austin’s name flashing on the screen, but instead it reads Commissioner Vicks. I unlock the phone and put it up against my ear.
“Isn’t it a bit early for you to be calling me?” I ask him, annoyed that it isn’t Austin on the other side of the line. Still, it’s a good sign; if he was the one calling me, it would probably be to call off brunch.
Jesus, why am I this worried about Austin bailing on me? It’s not like I know him, or care for him. Get a grip, girl; if Lester has an interest in Austin, it can only mean that Mr. Python himself must have some dirt on him as well.
“It’s never too early for me to hear your voice, babe,” Lester says with that gruff voice of his. It always gives me the creeps when he treats me like I’m his woman, but what am I going to do? He’s the Commissioner, and when you operate a strip club you need some important people as your friends. You don’t want to be making the wrong people your enemies.
Yeah, sure, I don’t mind having him around when I have an itch to scratch courtesy of Eddie Cleveland, but that doesn’t mean I feel anything for that goddamn loser.
Far from it.
Still, Commissioner Vicks is a lovebird, ladies, and he has fallen hard for me.
“I know you’re not calling me to read poetry, so out with it,” I tell him, growing impatient.
Austin is going to be here any time now, and I don’t want to be on the phone with Lester when that happens. After all, I wasn’t at Python as a customer, but as someone… on a mission?
Well, I wouldn’t be that serious about it, but the fact remains that Austin doesn’t really know the real reason behind me being at Python.
