Executive Engagement

I peel my skirt off, and I run my hands over the black thong that covers my pussy.

I barely register that the crowd is eating this up. I've probably received more money while keeping my clothes on than the last several girls did taking them off.

I sink down to my knees and begin caressing my body, reveling in the sensation.

I tell myself that the Prince is up there, watching me. And it makes me get wet.

I slip a finger underneath my thong and look up the mirror.

And then...the music stops.

My two minutes are over.

And there is no Prince.

Derrick

Fucking Christ!

Why can't I get the fucking girl on stage out of my head? It's like I'm fucking hypnotized by her swaying. She's got a fucking amazingly tight body and I'm staring at her as she takes off her tank top.

Fuck, where the fuck have I seen her before? She seems so fucking familiar.

She's turning around and my mind goes crazy looking at her ass. My private room's on the second floor, but I made sure it has a fucking good view of the stage. And right now I'm happy for every penny that it fucking cost because I'm looking at the stripper on stage as she's dancing and shaking her ass and my cock is twitching like it's gone fucking mental.

Marta is moaning beneath me but I'm not even aware of her existence.

All I can fucking think of is the girl on stage.

What did the DJ announce her as when she came on? Right as I started to fuck Marta?

I'm thrusting in and out, and grunting, trying to think of what her stage name was. It finally comes to me, "Misty," I groan loudly.

"Marta," the Russian blonde looks up at me and pouts. "My name is Marta."

But I'm not listening. I'm not even in the room if you’re talking mentally.

I'm watching her peel off her skirt slowly as she faces the audience. And I feel my cock begin to spasm as her skirt falls to the floor and she turns around, giving the room a view of her ass.

That fucking delicious fucking ass.

I lose it. I can't take anymore and I groan lewdly, feeling electric currents shoot up from my balls and the familiar seizure grip my body.

Only I can't stop looking at the woman. I'm cumming for her. Fucking hard.

My cock is shooting rope after rope of cum into the condom. I feel my eyes roll up in my head. I shudder as the last squirts of my cum fill up the condom.

Shivering slightly, I pull out of Marta who turns over to sit on the sofa. She watches me with wide eyes as I unsheathe the condom from my cock.

"Jesus, Prince," she says with wide eyes. "You really do cum in quarts, don't you?"

Hell fucking yeah I do. But that's not what I say. I'm too busy looking at Misty who seems to have stopped dancing. The music's stopped and the audience is booing.

"That's all for tonight with Misty, gentlemen!" he announces. "Give her a round of applause if you want her to come back!"

The crowd goes wild and so do I. I quickly pull my jeans back on.

"Hey!" Marta yells at me and I look over. She's still splayed out on my sofa, naked, with her cunt exposed to the wider world. I shake my head to myself. If the fucking slut's not even going to respect herself, how the fuck is it that I'm the fucking bad guy when I kick her to the curb? Besides, I always tell the girls I'm with, from the very beginning, that if we ever fuck, they shouldn't expect that all of a sudden I'm going to change and stay around for them. That's not the way I fucking roll.