by Danika Dare
I’d no sooner stepped into the bubble gum pink platform stilettos the woman set in front of me, then he was barking out, “Turn around.”
I did it, eyes on him, nipples tight with need.
“Yes, that one,” he said curtly, and went back to his phone.
The next dress was backless, made of cream silk organza with a short, flowing skirt, and a high neck.
“Bra off for that one,” he remarked.
I reached my arms back, unsnapped the bra, and slid it off. I glanced down at the thin material covering my chest. It left nothing to the imagination, not even the fact that my nipples were erect.
“We’ll need to cover those,” the woman stated, going to a dresser in the corner.
“No, Edith,” Mr. Bossy told her brusquely. “It’s fine like that. I don’t want her to hide.” His tone changed at the next words, and I could tell without looking at him that he was addressing me again. “Turn around for me.”
I did, watching him. “Yes, that one,” he said, eyes on my chest. “Get her shoes for it,” he told Edith.
She set some Tiffany blue heels in front of me, and I stepped into them.
Edith looked at him, and he nodded.
The next dress he shot down before she’d even taken it fully off the rack.
“Too conservative,” he told her, and went back to his business conversation on the phone.
I took the dress off, then bent to grab the strapless bra from where I’d discarded it on the floor, snapping it back on.
He made short work of choosing several other gowns and shoes, and then dismissed Edith.
He stood after she left, moving to the door to close and lock it.
CHAPTER FOUR
I was suddenly fixated on the fact that I was alone in a room with a very large man whom I was wildly attracted to.
I shifted restlessly, back in just a bra and panties. I wasn’t sure what to do. I knew I should resist him. For God’s sake, he was paying me to be there.
But I wanted him. Wanted his gravelly voice to wash over me as he fucked me stupid.
Still, I tried to be good. “This isn’t what I agreed to,” I told him as he loosened his tie.
He sent me a look that was all irony and heat. “I’ve got to go,” he said into his phone. “Handle it and call me back this afternoon.” He hung up, and shoved the cell in his pocket, his hands going back up to work off his tie. “That’s true,” he addressed me. “You’re not obligated to so much as touch me. It’s certainly not what I’m paying you for. Now take off your bra and panties.”
I raised a sassy brow at him.
He smiled, and it was all teeth. “I’m not planning to fuck you right now, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I want to see your body. I’ve eaten that delectable pussy. The least you can do is let me look at it. Take off your clothes and go sit in that chair.”
I couldn’t help it. My self-control felt frayed thin by my desire.
I’m going to do it, realized, shocked at myself. I’m going to sleep with this gorgeous man. And the reason was simple. I wanted him more than I could ever remember wanting anyone or anything.
I rarely did anything just for the sake of my own pleasure. But him, him I was going to have.
I obeyed him. I shimmied out of my panties, and unhooked my bra as I moved to the chair. I was naked by the time I got to it. I sat down, looking up at him with hungry eyes.
I wanted, needed, to see what he’d do.
His tie and jacket were off, his shirt nearly unbuttoned, by the time I’d perched myself naked on the chair.
“Open your legs,” he ordered, moving in front of me. “Open that cunt for me. I want to see it. I remember how it tastes coming on my tongue, now show it to me.”
I was too turned on to tell him no by then. His voice, his filthy talk, his accent, got me hotter than anything I could remember.
I bit my lip when he bared his chest. He was massive and rippled with muscles that jerked and flexed with his every movement. I wanted to lick him, navel to neck.
He unbuttoned his shirt, but left it on, his fingers going to the buttons of his slacks.
When he pulled out his thick, pulsing erection, mere inches from my face, I moaned out loud.
His cock matched the rest of him. Massive and gorgeous.
He ran his hand over my hair, his breath growing rougher as he pulled it loose and gripped a handful of it. “Spit on it,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
It was right in my face, so I didn’t have to ask him what he meant, and I did it without thinking, spitting on his blunt tip.
His cock jerked at me, pre-cum beading on the end of it.
I moaned again.
“Lean back,” he ordered. “Open your legs wider. Show me that pussy.”
I leaned back, spreading my legs apart, arching my back to show off my big, perky breasts.
He fisted his cock, eyes on my body. “I’m not going to fuck you, but I am going to jerk my cum all over you when I finish. Your fleshy tits, your pink little pussy, your flat tummy, your luscious lips. I’m going to cover you with it. Now perch a leg up on the chair. Play with your clit, and open yourself up so I can see it.”
I lifted a heel up onto the edge of the chair, tilting my sex for his view, my hands going to my sex, fingers spreading my lips, showing him my clit as I rubbed at it restlessly.
I glanced down at myself, and even that turned me on. The folds of my sex were puffy with desire.
He started jerking hard at his big, blunt cock, and my eyes moved back to watch. “I won’t fuck you today—you’re going to earn my dick, you’re going to ask me for it—but if you’re a very good girl, and I decide to be nice, I might eat your pussy again. Do you want that?”
I couldn’t help it. My eyes were on his delicious hands as he roughly jerked at his gorgeous cock and I answered with a breathless, “Yes.”
He pumped hard at his rampant dick as he prompted, “Yes, please.”
“Yes, please,” I repeated back, nearly moaning out the words. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, why I just did whatever perverted thing he said, why I was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life, and he hadn’t even touched me since I’d entered the room.
He was jerking roughly at himself, abusively so, and it was too much for me. I licked my lips again, as I said, the words coming out of me of their own volition, “Can I help you with that?”
He groaned, jacking himself so fast now that his hands were a blur in front of me. “Tell me where you want my cum.”
He was so close to my face that I could see his scrotum drawing up tight, beads of pre-cum leaking out of his tip. “My tits,” I said, both hands moving up to cup them, holding them up for his use.
He moaned out my name and started coming, crowding close, holding his cock at my collarbone, cum spurting onto my chest. He jerked and came languidly across each tit.
I’d never let anyone do anything like that to me before. I’d never wanted anyone to.
And I found that I loved it. I wanted him to rub himself all over me.
He crouched down to coat my belly, rubbing his tip all along me until he’d reached my clit.
My head fell back in pleasure as he rubbed his cock against my clit, still coming, coating my pussy.
“Rub it into your tits,” his gravelly voice ordered me.
I obeyed, looking up at him, past wondering how he made me do these things, how me made me feel this way, and on to fixating on what he’d do next.
His cock was still jerking as he rose, bringing it to my face. “Lick it,” he told me. “Suck the tip. Suck out every last drop.”
I did it, relishing the taste and feel of him. He was still so hard, his dick continuing to jerk with his release. It was the most virile thing I’d ever seen.
I reached my hands up, I wanted to touch him, but he stopped me with a firm, “No. Rub my cum into your pussy. Get it nice and ready for my tongue. I want to see what you taste like mixed with me
.”
I protested out loud when he pulled his blunt tip out of my lips with a delicious little pop, but the protest quickly changed in tone, when he knelt in front of me, carelessly threw my legs over his muscular shoulders, and bent his face down to nuzzle at my sex.
Gazing through half lowered lids down at his massive form kneeling between my thighs, his tongue lapping hungrily along my slit, I’d never been so turned on in my life.
He was still mostly clothed, and I was stark naked, but that only added to my titillation. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
I was getting close to losing it, my hands pulling at his hair, when he raised his head slightly, looking up into my eyes. As I watched, he licked my clit with just the barest tip of his tongue. “I want to ram my cock into your pussy right now, but I won’t,” he told me, his luscious lips wet with me. “I’m going to explore you first. I’m going to memorize every inch of this tight little cunt,” he plunged two fingers roughly into me as he said it, and started to jackhammer them in and out, “before my dick owns it.”
With a scream, I came.
I was still recovering from the most memorable orgasm of my life, still mindless with it, when he rose. His clothes were disheveled, his cock hanging out, his mouth still wet, but his face was utterly composed.
I was still sprawled out in the chair, naked and covered in his cum.
“Your hair looks good, but I’m not sure how I feel about it,” he said blandly as he began to straighten his clothes. “I think I’m going to miss the blue.” .
I couldn’t get my mind clear, couldn’t believe he was done. I watched him put his cock away. It was hard again, or still hard. “You’re finished?” I asked, voice still hoarse with desire, “We’re not going to . . . ?”
He smiled and it was smug. “See? I told you you’d be asking me for it. You didn’t believe me at first, did you?”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I knew I should be irritated at his smug words, and I tried to summon up some righteous indignation, but my mind was still foggy with lust.
He didn’t seem to need a response. He was already heading for the door.
His phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket to glance at the screen.
“I have to take this,” he said without giving me another look. “There’s a shower three doors down. Feel free to clean yourself up before you leave.”
It was a dismissal.
CHAPTER FIVE
I was already fifteen grand richer when I showed up at his house at exactly the designated time on Friday. The man had kept his word and paid me half up front.
I still couldn’t quite believe it.
I’d been instructed by one of his lackeys to bring my I.D., the case full of new cosmetics I’d received, and nothing else. He would provide the rest.
The stylist that’d had me try on gowns greeted me at the door, took the case of cosmetics out of my hands, and led me back to the infamous dressing room from the day before.
There was no sign of Kashnikov but there was a small team of women that dressed, accessorized me, applied my makeup, and made up my hair.
No one said much, and I was nervous and withdrawn, so I let them work on me in silence.
I felt like a different woman when they were finished with me.
My hair was curled into soft, silky waves, my makeup artfully natural. I was wearing a little white dress with a high neck and no back. It was fitted, but the sheer material was stretchy over a more opaque shell. It was sexy, outlining every outrageous curve, but still somehow managed to be classy.
Shiny red platform stilettos brought the ensemble from hot to scorching, and added a nice contrast with the white dress and my tan skin.
I looked like a rich man’s expensive plaything, and I imagined that’s exactly how I was supposed to look.
After what had happened the day before, it wasn’t far off from the truth.
When the stylists were finished with me, I was left waiting in the entryway of the mansion, holding a small black and white Fendi bag, and my new, baby blue makeup case. When I heard a loud car pull up, I glanced outside. An F-Type Jaguar was idling out front, and as I swung the door open, Kashnikov unfolded his massive form from the low sports car.
He looked good enough to eat in a well-tailored, light gray suit, dark gray dress shirt, and crimson tie.
He didn’t smile. His eyes roamed over me with spectacular detachment. “You look perfect. Expensive things suit you, though I can’t say I like it more than the G-string and platforms you were wearing the first time I met you.”
He came around the car, opening the passenger door for me like I was a lady, and he was a gentleman.
I sent him a searching look as I got in the car. I never knew what to expect from him, but just then he seemed particularly distant.
“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” I said, fidgeting with my new bags as he started pulling out of the drive.
“Do you have your phone?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Your new makeup?” he asked.
I held up the cosmetic case.
He just nodded, not looking at me. “Then there’s nothing else you need. I took care of everything else.
He was being gravely courteous, but I could tell that he was in the mood for silence, so I pulled out my phone and started playing with it, texting my sister to check in, texting my work friend Paula back. She wanted to know when I was working again, and I responded that I was taking a few days off.
I’d resorted to playing Candy Crush when he startled me by gripping a hand over my thigh.
I looked at him. His eyes were on the road. Only his hand let me know he even noticed I was there.
I went back to my phone.
“Pull up your skirt,” he said quietly, startling me.
I glanced out the window, my breath coming short. We were on the outskirts of town, buildings already turning to desert.
“Just a little,” he cajoled. “I want to feel your silky thigh under my hand.”
I looked down at my lap. His hand was big, the fingers long. I had a visceral memory of how it felt for two of those large fingers to get me off.
I bit my lip and inched my skirt up just a bit. It was already short enough.
His hand quickly took the territory I exposed, gripping and rubbing at my thigh.
“How did you end up working at a place like that?” he asked me suddenly. “You don’t seem the type.”
I didn’t take offense to the question. Just the opposite. I’d never considered myself the type to work at a strip club. To be a stripper.
“It’s a long story. A boring one.”
“We’ve got nothing but time. And I’d need convincing to believe a boring story is how you wound up swinging that gorgeous body from a pole.”
With a sigh, I told him the truth, “My sister’s baby’s daddy is an abusive loser. I hate him. Hell, even she hates him, but the only way I can get her to stop being his punching bag is to help her out financially. I support her and my nieces and nephews, and in exchange, she stays away from him. She has four kids, two boys, two girls, and kids aren’t cheap.”
I watched him while I spoke, and something happened to his face as I told him the story, something arresting that disappeared so fast I told myself I’d imagined it.
“What brought you to Exhibitionist?”
“A girlfriend of mine was working there to pay for school, and I knew the kind of fast cash she made, and I needed cash fast, my sister and her kids needed to be moved as soon as I could swing it, so I figured why not?”
“Why not indeed? Were you always a dancer?”
“I’ve been a fan of clubbing since I got my first fake I.D. at seventeen, and I once took a pole dancing cardio class, but other than that, no. I learned on the job, found I enjoyed it, practiced a lot, and got better at it. I was pretty scandalized by it at first, actually, but I’ve learned to navigate it without too much drama. The things I don’t li
ke, the champagne room, the lap dances, I just avoid. Bennie, the manager, lets us do what we want. We work on tips, so if we don’t want to do something at any given moment, there’s a dozen girls around who do.”
“So you enjoy it.”
“I do. I won’t work there forever, but it suits my situation for now. I’ve learned a lot about myself there. I like putting on a show. It does something for me. Something I’m learning not to be so ashamed of.”
“You do have a talent for it.”
“So what about this weekend? What should I say I do for a living? I assume you don’t want me telling them I take off my clothes for money.”
His jaw clenched like he was irritated, but his voice was blank as he answered, “Your assumption is correct. Tell them you’re a full-time college student, and that’s it.”
“How did we meet?” I asked him. May as well get our stories straight.
“In a coffee shop. You were studying. You caught my eye, and I talked you into letting me buy you a cup of coffee. We introduced ourselves and traded stories for hours. You neglected your studies that day, and you let me talk you into dinner, and then dessert.”
The way he said dessert made me shiver. “How long have we been dating?” I asked him.
“Eight months.”
“Where’s that accent from?” I asked, this one more for my own curiosity, since he seemed to be in the mood to answer questions.
“I’m from Russia,” he answered, affirming my own assumption. “But I’ve lived in the states for a long time. Over a decade.”
“Are you a citizen here?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you do for a living?”
“A lot of things, but the bulk of my fortune has been made in real estate. I think that’s enough info on me to get you through the weekend.”
“What’s your first name?” I asked him. “I looked you up online, but no one seems to call you anything but Kashnikov or Kash.”
He shot me a look, and even with shades on, it was unfriendly. “Alexei, but no one calls me that.”
