I'm 25 years old. Blonde haired. Piercingly blue eyed. Washboard fucking 8-pack abs. Perfectly fucking sculpted body. Rugged face. Broad shoulders. I look like a fucking God amongst men.
And, no, I'm not being arrogant. I'm being real. I mean, look around you. I'm Sloane Hardman. CEO of Hard Times, the most efficient and leanest venture capital firm on the East Coast.
I built this company with my bare fucking hands. Every fiber of my being is infused into the walls of this firm.
So yeah, I'm definitely proud. Of my accomplishments. My immense wealth. My body. My cock.
Everything.
Get you a little wet there, darlin'?
Because everything that I just described—everything above—I use to give women the greatest pleasure they've ever experienced in their lives.
One fuck with me, and you don't just give me your fucking number. You ask for my autograph. You end up proposing to me. Because you'll never be treated the way I'll treat you. And not just the sex. Everything.
There simply won't be anyone else in our universe. It'll be just the two of us. No one else. And every single action will be focused on giving you the most intense pleasure you've ever experienced in your life.
Every. Single. Time.
That's how you'll get addicted. You won't be able to stop. You'll forget everything else. If I told you to quit your job, drop out of school, move to another city—you'd do anything just for me.
I'm fucking serious.
But when I stop answering your texts, you'll start to call.
When I stop picking up your calls, you'll visit my work. Camp outside my condo. You'll spend the night in Central Park to catch me as I walk out of One57 in the morning.
What you won't understand is that I don't do relationships. I won't do just one woman and stay there.
The funny thing is that I'll have told you this at the beginning. That's right. I'm not a complete fucking douchebag. I'm not going to lie to you—promise you the world or anything like that.
In fact, I'll be the one to tell you that I don't do relationships. Hell, that I don't even do breakfast the next morning.
But you'll be so enamored with my fucking body that you won't care initially when I tell you. You'll give up anything and compromise anywhere just to get a chance to run your lips on my fine body.
It's only afterward that you'll realize that to have me, you never listened in the first place.
They call me a player for that. They say I'm a playboy.
Whatever. If that makes them feel better, I really have nothing to say to that. And I'm not going to wrack my brain trying to come up with excuses, darlin'. Mainly because I'm fucking Cindy right now.
That's right. You almost forgot about her, didn't you? I didn't. Not with my cock going in and out of her pussy as that ass is bent over on my desk. This is the last day of her internship, by the way. They always do this. Always come up to my office.
"Is there anything else you needed, Mr. Hardman?" they ask me as my eyes travel up and down their tight body. Cindy knew the drill. She knew what my eyes were lusting after her as she came over, and without me having to say a goddamn thing, she began to unbutton her tight silk blouse and get on her knees. I'm serious. I didn't say anything the whole fucking time. She just began to unzip my pants, gab my cock, and put it in her mouth as I leaned back.
That's seriously all it takes nowadays.
"Fuck, baby, you're fucki--ungh!" Cindy moans. She doesn't have the tightest pussy, to be absolutely honest. And I like my women a bit curvier. But whatever. Pussy is pussy, right?
I increase my strokes in and out of her. Her pussy is quivering and a string of unintelligible words are coming out of her mouth all of a sudden.
She's coming. I can feel the walls of her pussy gripping my cock. It's milking me.
She may not be tight, but she's fucking tight enough. Holy fucking shit.
I'm about to cum.
I have enough mental strength to pull out of her and pull my condom off. Cindy is still twitching and spasming from her orgasm, but I turn her over, and begin to rub my cock for the final strokes that'll unleash my fucking deluge.