Falling for my Dirty Uncle: A Virgin and Billionaire Romance

by Alexis Angel

  You ever watch those taboo movies? “Banging My Hottie Stepmom?”

  Yeah, I did a lot of porn.

  I mean, where do you think I got the money to open up a club of my own? In Manhattan? Right in the heart of Midtown on Broadway and 52 Street.

  I loved doing porn. No need to feel bad.

  I mean, being a porn star wasn’t exactly a childhood dream of mine. But once I graduated UCLA and took my chances as a model, I was hooked. I went from regular modelling to topless photoshoots (they paid so much better), and I loved living the high life. I travelled all around the world making lots of money, and once Arsen Hawke entered my life I knew what I had to do. That’s right, that Arsen Hawke, the king of porn himself.

  He offered me the chance to go and work for him, and I couldn’t say no. It wasn’t just about the money (even though he almost drowned me in it), but more about finding out who I was.

  And I like sex.

  I like it a lot. So it was only logical for me to become a porn star.

  That didn’t last long, although I worked in the industry long enough to earn a legion of rabid fans. I always had a good laugh when I saw men doing online polls, trying to figure out if I was the best porn star of this generation, or perhaps even the greatest of all time. But in the end, it just wasn’t for me. It’s a high-stress job, and most girls burnout pretty easily. Not to mention that some just take the money and funnel it into drugs. I didn’t want to end up like that, so I took my money and left, and all this with Arsen’s blessing. I was actually surprised that he didn’t mind me leaving, since I was probably one of his biggest earners, but that’s Arsen, a shrewd businessman, but more than that, an amazing human being.

  Anyways, so that’s how I ended up here on Broadway, running my own club. I’m living the dream, you better believe it. Sure, not everything is perfect, and the one thing between me and that elusive perfection is none other than Lester. He spends a lot of money here, sure, but I don’t care for it, and that’s probably because most of the money he spends here is money I’ve given him myself. Yeah, that’s right, Lester is one of those guys, the ones that wield their power and position to step on the people they should be protecting. I don’t take it personally, though. Part of working in this business is dealing with shady characters like him; it comes with the territory.

  There’s one thing in his favor, though: he’s actually quite easy on the eyes. He’s in his early forties, but he has been blessed with good genes. I mean, if you have a crooked cop who’s extorting you, it helps if he’s hot, right? Tall and broad shouldered, he keeps fit enough to be mistaken for a thirty-year-old. Which is pretty amazing, if you consider that he’s the police commissioner. Still, it doesn’t really surprise me that he managed to climb the ranks that fast; he’s as shrewd and calculating as anyone can be, and proof of that is the fact that he doesn’t mind lining up his pockets with my protection money. But I pay him nonetheless… He made it pretty clear the day we had our first one-on-one conversation. “You’ll pay, or I’ll close you down,” he told me, making it pretty clear that he was just one phone call away of shutting me down. So, yeah, that was that.

  But I tolerate him. And today, I think I can do a bit more than tolerate him. I have an itch to scratch and, since I’m paying so much money, I might as well make him work for it.

  I step out from my office and walk to the edge of the balcony overlooking the stage. The spotlights are on the dancers, so no one sees me there, looking down at the crowd, no one but Lester, of course. It almost seems that he wasn’t looking at the dancers but at the door to my office. He’s obsessed with me, and he has told me as much. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said to me once, and another time he actually told me that I didn’t understand how much he "cared about me."

  But he’s never overstepped and, since I keep paying him his cut out of my profits, he behaves like a dog on a leash. Tonight I’ll reward him for that.

  He’s looking straight at me, so I give him an easy smile and point with my head to a side room I have at the bottom of the stairs. He gets up from his seat and ambles there, nursing a glass of vodka in his hand, and I meet him halfway.

  “What do you think about a private dance, Lester? Sounds good to you?” I purr at him, placing one hand on his chest.

  “I’ve been waiting all night for that, Destiny,” he says, and I can’t help but notice that he’s already hard, the shape of his cock straining against pants. Grabbing him by the hand, I lead him inside the room, pushing the door open with my hips. Once inside I push him back onto the sofas that line the walls, and I press a few buttons on the wall. The lights in the room become dimmer, and sensual music starts, the sounds from outside muffled by the thick soundproof walls.

  “I’m going to put on a show for you,” I tell him as I grab the pole in the middle of the room and balance myself on it. Lester’s eyes are crawling all over my body, and I can almost feel him peeling my short skirt and blouse off with his mind.

  “Maybe I’ll put on a show for you as well,” he grins at me, his voice hoarse and filled with anticipation. It’s your lucky day, Lester, I think to myself, you’re no woodsman, but you’ll do. I start dancing around the pole, moving at the beat of the music, and then I pull my blouse off and throw it on top of him. My eyes never leaving his, I push down the zipper on my skirt and then sway my hips from side to side, allowing the fabric to fall down to my feet.

  “Like what you see, Commissioner?” I ask him in a seductive tone. I know he goes crazy whenever I call him Commissioner.

  “I love it, Destiny,” he says, his eyes leaving mine and devouring the way my lace bra and small thong cover my tits and pussy. I could tease him so much more, drive him to the edge, but I don’t really care to. He’s already hard, and I have an itch to scratch, so why bother? It’s not like he really deserves all this attention. “I love seeing you at any time; you’re so fucking sexy.”

  “Then,” I purr, walking up to him in my heels and climbing on top of his body, straddling him, “why don’t you show me just how much you love it?” He gets so hard that I even feel his cock poking at me through his pants, so I reach for it, grabbing it over the fabric.

  I unbuckle his belt then, and he does the rest, unzipping his pants and pushing them down with his boxers to his ankles. I grab his cock right away, but then stop before I can do anything else.

  “Condom,” I simply tell him, and he bends over and fishes one out from his pants. Yeah, he already knows how I roll, and if he wants a piece of me, he has to play by my rules. Unwrapping the condom, I push it down his cock, and use my free hand to push my thong to the side. Finally, I ease myself down. I close my eyes as I feel his tip against my wetness, but it slides inside me easily; although he has a respectable eighth inches, believe me when I say I’ve had bigger.

  I rock my hips against him as fast as I can and, using one hand, I slide it under my thong and start rubbing my clit. I have a feeling that Lester isn’t going to last that long, so I need to make good use of my time here. My eyes are still shut as I concentrate myself, and thank God it doesn’t take me long. All I do is think about Eddie Cleveland.

  Okay, don’t laugh. Eddie is hot. His woodsman is even hotter.

  Anyways, that’s who’s making me cum soon. That’s right. I feel my heart beating faster and, with a slight moan, I come. And just in time too because Lester is groaning as if I’m stabbing him, his face straining with pleasure.

  I feel his cock spasm. And then the condom gets very warm inside of me.

  “Fuck, that was intense,” he breathes out and I roll to the side, sitting next to him.

  “Yeah, absolutely,” I lie, feeling no remorse about it. Intense? C’mon, the only real reason I needed him was because I wanted something more alive than a vibrator, otherwise I wouldn’t be here with him.

  He takes the condom out, places it inside the wrapper, and then pushes his pants up. He takes one cigarette out of the pocket in his shirt, but I just pluck it out from h
is hands and crush it under my heel.

  “No smoking in here darlin', you know the rules,” I say with a pout.

  “Do you have to be so uptight all the time?” he protests, but gives up on looking for the lighter in his pockets.

  “That’s why you love me so much,” I tell him, picking up my clothes from the floor.

  “Don’t push your luck, Destiny,” he says, and then falls silent. He smacks his lips together, an annoying tick of his whenever he’s deep in thought, and the looks me in the eyes. This can’t be good.

  “Out with it, Lester,” I say. “What’s on your mind? I’ve already paid you your cut for the month, so don’t come asking for money because there’s none for you.”

  I’m really hoping he isn’t looking to raise his tax. I’m actually making a lot of money with the club, but on the other hand I make sure to share the profits with my dancers. I know how tough it is to thrive in this world, and I want my girls to be taken care of.

  “No, it’s not that,” Lester says, looking at me with interest. “Have you ever heard about the Python Nightclub?”

  “Python? Isn’t that the club for women only in Queens?” I ask, thinking to myself. I’ve heard of it before. “The one making all the headlines?” I ask to clarify.

  I don’t know much about that club, but the hype about it is incredible. You’d think that they’re handing out cocks made of gold in there.

  “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.

  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 beauti
fully.

  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 drink," 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.