Dirty Daddy

The movie started and pretty soon I felt Ashley clench and unclench her ass cheeks, squeezing my cock. Classic stripper move.

That was the fucking last straw! I was cool going to dinner and seeing her in that get up. I was okay not having sex. I was even okay watching a fucking chick flick that was three fucking hours long with her hot fucking body pressed up against me. But this was just too much.

I began to thrust up against her, but after the first one, I stopped myself. I had promised Ashley. And fuck me, I honestly would trade not having sex with her as opposed to not being around her. It wasn't easy, but I actually fucking liked being on the couch with that fucking romance movie as long as she was there.

And then she wriggled her ass against me again and my thoughts went crazy. Again and again. I'm thinking I'm going fucking crazy, not being able to move or do anything. I might as well just have passed out right then and there it felt so good. But even had I passed out, I’d be waking up right there just because her ass felt so fucking good.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she stopped.

She turned over and pressed her body to mine, bringing her face inches from mine.

"This is hard for you, isn't it?" she asked with a cute looking pout and blinking eyes.

"Very hard, babe," I grunted, not knowing what else to say. I was beaten down.

All of a sudden that cute pout turned into a wicked grin. She gyrated her crotch on my cock a little bit as she said one word. "Good."

I looked at her in surprise as she continued, "Consider it payback. For keeping me awake till 6:30 am this morning when 5 hours earlier you said just the tip. And then leaving me in a sex haze all day."

And that's when her smile turned sultry and I realized Ashley Lane had been playing me the whole day, getting me all hot and bothered and leaving me no recourse but to take it. I brought my hands and grabbed her ass. Hard. She squealed and we fucked hard again that night. I may have ripped off that camisole of hers trying to get at those tits and get my mouth on them. We used that sofa in ways that the Scandinavians who designed it would never have imagined in their wettest of fucking dreams. And I know for a fact that that romance movie was done a fucking long time before we finally fell on each other, exhausted and happy.

At least that’s what I’m thinking and I realize that I have a fucking smile on my face. But fuck it, I don’t care at this point.

I go up the elevator to my condo and find Ashley waiting for me standing in front of the door in a trench coat.

“Surprise!” she yells at me and I literally jump. “I had the concierge downstairs give me a ring when you started on your way up.”

“Your surprising me by waiting for me in front of the door?” I ask.

“No, silly!” she says with a pout. “This is how I’m surprising you!”

And she whips open her trench coat to reveal her oh-so-sexy body clad in nothing but black stockings, a black lace thong and matching black bra. The material was supple and left just enough to the imagination that I could feel my cock harden instantly. If I didn’t get it out of my pants soon it was going to tent and then fucking claw its way out.

“I got them for you today,” she says with a shy smile. “Do you like it?”

But I don’t answer. And she doesn’t press me further. Because I’ve already bounded over and taken her in my arms and thrown us onto the same sofa that saw so much action yesterday. Half my clothes are off and I pause to look into her eyes.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” I whisper to her, as if confessing.

She doesn’t say anything. Just pulls me closer to her for a kiss.

You know, I take it back. If the old Arsen tries to come over and call me a pussy for what Ashley’s done to me, I’ll kick his ass for being an idiot.

Because this is fucking Heaven with this girl.

57

Ashley

Seventy-five.

That’s how many days it’s been since Arsen first met me when I was still a stripper outside of Scorcher's. I don’t know if you remember, but that was the night that he got into my cab and got off at the Plaza. If he hadn’t taken the cab in that direction, I would have never gone through Times Square and gotten out to find Peter cheating on me. Peter would have never attacked me outside of the Simulated Pleasures offices, and I would have never had sex with Arsen, and King Henry would be all I would be thinking about.

Sixty-nine.

That’s the first time Henry called me. He was, and still is, referred to in the Simulated Pleasures databases as Client 5, but to me he’s King Henry. This job was never supposed to be a permanent operation. It was supposed to be like stripping. Something I do to tide me over for money until I start putting my Art History degree from Yale to use. Lately, I’ve come up with a newer plan that you may not like. That plan is to have as much phone sex with Henry and as much real sex with Arsen as possible, because I won’t be able to hang on to both forever. That much is clear. I have to come clean to one of them.

Sixty-two thousand three hundred and ninety one.