Tasting Candy: Over 60 Erotic Pregnancy Stories

Despite my seductress nature, I was a virgin at twenty-one. I laughed at the irony whenever I thought about it.

I pulled out the dress for tonight, it had to be doubly special. Something that didn't go too far past my ass, and showed off a lot of leg. Black, low cut, playing the brinksmanship game with my cleavage as well but still remaining classy. I had lots to choose from. I settled on something that had a bit of a boob window.

Shoes were next, settling on some heels to really drive the leg thing home.

Because tonight, I wasn't just playing games like I usually did. Tonight, I had to enrapture some rich bastard.

I shuddered. I was becoming what I feared most. Some moneygrubbing bitch. With eviction looming though, I didn't have much choice in the matter. I had to string someone along.

Again, I was disgusted thinking about who it would probably be. The older and more decrepit they were I supposed, the less amount of time I would have to put up with them before they finally had a heart attack and keeled over, leaving me their fortune.

The alternative was getting a real job, trying to go back to school. A prospect with no definite success.

Looking at myself in the mirror as I finished applying my makeup though, I realized that I looked good. I was confident despite my inexperience. This was going to work, no matter how much I hated the fact that, yes, it was going to work. I'd meet the man who I would marry tonight.

Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath, I grabbed my phone and dialed for a cab.

The Cleopatra was where it was going to happen.

The doorman didn't even stop me for an ID as I walked past. I was well established as a regular so all he did was nod. I usually threw a flirt at him, but tonight was more about business, and as nice as the doorman was, he wasn't what I was looking for.

The people I was looking for were up the stairs and into the bar room proper.

The Cleopatra was immaculate. Huge windows which gave a view of the city below. Waiters and waitresses desperately trying to stay on top of the requests of the clientele, carrying out huge platters of food and drinks – mostly drinks. Of the alcoholic variety.

The clientele? No one was in an item of clothing that wasn't worth at least three digits. I'd put good money that it'd also apply to minor items like a woman's stockings or hair decorations. Suits, jackets for the men, a few daring to only go with collared shirts. Even looking at the women, I took notes about fashion to steal and alter for my own use later on – if my mission was successful anyway. Besides, if confronted, I'd use the word inspired. Sounds nicer than steal.

Every single one of them was worth seven digits or would be by the time they'd be thirty-years-old. Stock brokers, lawyers, entrepreneurs, all jobs where you didn't get to being successful by playing nice. Honestly, I hated the lot of them. Caring for money more than humanity.

Money was so very nice though, so I had to work fast. I had to bite my tongue, find some loveless relationship at least long enough to secure my own future. If it got out that my own fortune was ruined, they'd all see me as a gold digger and want nothing to do with me.

I found the corner of the main bar, where all the singles lurked. I scooted up on the stool and did my damnedest to look seductive like I always did. I had my routine, get attention, get people to buy drinks for me. That was all the ego rush I needed, usually. With the stakes raised, I only had to hope that my desperation didn't shine through.

"Hey, Candy Cheeks," a voice said, breaking through the background.

Candy Cheeks? What kind of pick up line was that? I turned to face my newest 'suitor'. Sure, he had good hair. He was traditionally attractive, dressed well in a gray suit. He wasn't ugly. The way he smiled though? I instinctively wanted to punch him in the face. I resisted, for the combination of not wanting to be arrested and needing an asshole like him.

"Mind if I buy you a drink for your time?" He sat on the stool next to mine.

"Oh sure thing handsome," I said, putting on my own fake smile.

"Man, what a day," he began. "Cornered a market. Got a monopoly on it now. Gonna make me rocket up the Forbes list."

"Oh really," I said, passively. These assholes just want to endless talk about themselves over and over again, never shutting their mouths on the matter.

"People need what I'm selling if you catch my drift and this is going to turn me into a full fledged billionaire," he went on. "Bartender! Get me a beer and the lady some Balkan vodka!"

"Vodka?" I said.

"You'll love it," he replied, his punchable smile growing more punchable. "So anyway, it seems like I got it all, you know? All except that soft luscious lady in my life." He snidely glanced my way.

The bartender slid the drinks towards us.

Just looking down at the vodka, its subtle fumes were making my eyes burn. I wasn't some veteran in drinking, only legally being able to do so recently. Vodka was super strong, especially the authentic stuff that the Cleopatra would carry. Actual stuff from the Balkans, stuff that would put hair on my chest even though I was a woman, and would make me a dribbling incoherent mess in no time flat.

I glared at my 'suitor'. He had clear nefarious intent, getting me something so hard when he was drinking something so utterly not. I slid off the stool. "I don't think I'm up to vodka, I'm sorry. Enjoy your illegal monopoly."

"See? I show some charity to a butterface like yourself and this is how I get treated?" I cringed as I started to walk away from him, but he didn't shut up. "You don't even belong in this bar, bitch, I should have you thrown out!"