Arrogant Brit

Prologue

Of course I’d be running late for the most important banquet of the fucking month.

I scrambled to check myself in the mirror. The makeup was a thinly veiled hack-job, and my hair was barely kept in line. Image was the name of the game, image and proper representation… but I knew that I didn’t have the time to prepare myself any better.

At least my makeup covers the bases.

It wasn’t going to win me any awards.

But I’d leave a good enough impression.

With a slice of toast between my teeth, I quickly darted down the stairs and hopped in my ancient piece of junk Honda. No time to be cute and civil now, and I was starving. I could touch up my makeup at a red light…of which I anticipated there would be several because, you know, I was running late, and why the fuck wouldn’t there be red lights all the way there.

Twisting the keys in the ignition, I listened as the engine sputtered to life and ignored the obnoxious chime of the check engine light – the constant death knoll was ritual by now.

Moments later, I was on the road, a cavalcade of excuses and apologies whirling through my head. I didn’t know what I was going to say to the others when I arrived.

Forty-five minutes and a minimum of eight red lights later, I finally pulled to a halt in the parking garage, six floors above where I needed to be. I raced to the elevator, frantically punched the button, and rode it down the chasm towards the lobby. It was only halfway down that I realized I probably could have slipped down the stairs faster.

The Marines’ banquet was already starting by now, probably. All eyes were going to be on me as soon as I walked in.

Fantastic.

As I stepped out into the lobby, evading eye contact with absolutely anybody, I marched straight through the doors and to my people. There they were, standing in procession around our portly, impatient leader as his furious gaze fell down upon me.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…I need to speak with one tardy Clara Campbell.”

Everyone’s gaze fell on me, and I felt small.

“You’re late,” Arnold told me after pulling me aside. Even with his whispered tone, I could see the others judging me as they paraded around the room. “I thought I could count on you to never be late. Where’s my Clara? I don’t see her here, just this tired, tardy young lady.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied truthfully. “It won’t happen again. Traffic was–”

“Don’t let it happen again,” he cut me off.

I nodded quietly, knowing that there would be no further discussion. All those half-hearted explanations in my head fell to the wayside, and I knew that he didn’t care to hear a single syllable.

Arnold cast me one final, judgmental glance before turning to the others, who collectively pretended to be occupied with their own devices.

“Very well then. Places, everybody!”

I grabbed a drink tray.

Oh. Wait. You thought I was going to be in the banquet, didn’t you?

Nope.

I‘m not the plucky romantic lead in a book, fawning over my billowing attired and preparing to take the arm of a sexy, rugged Marine. I wasn’t wearing a nice dress, although I did have a fetching black bow tie beneath my collar.

I bitterly adjusted my bow tie and waistcoat.

That’s right.

I’m on the fucking serving staff.

This was my place in life. My role was to work in the trenches while other people got the nice, glamorous lives. Being a banquet server meant working behind the scenes and making sure nobody saw what was really going on beneath our careful, manufactured smiles and in hidden corridors around the event rooms.

Spreading crisp, flawless tablecloths over ancient, folding wooden tables…

Stepping through concealed staff entrances into dank, filthy hallways, refilling ice pitchers and returning mountains of discarded plates…

Lining up in an assembly line of servers around a massive kitchen – marked with years of use and old appliances – to whisk out huge black trays of carefully plated entrees…

I saw the muck behind the charm.

It was my job to make sure they never did.

I’d never be the beautiful princess, or the intrepid reporter, or the esteemed socialite. I was just Clara – a working-class server, part of a freelance banquet and bartending crew that rounded out local hotels, sports games, and catered events. Being anything more than that just wasn’t the world that was in front of me.

Or so I thought.

Chapter 1

“That’s right, love. Just like that. Make my throbbing knob swell with pride.”

My strong fingers threaded deeper through her curly hair. Her full, rounded lips hungrily bobbed up and down on my rigid scepter. Of course, she couldn’t take it all in, even with her professed lack of a gag reflex – which we both knew by now had been a complete lie.

They never could.

It occurred to me, as I forced her to suck me down deeper, that I didn’t quite remember her name. She was just some quick draw from the club, a pretty face that went red with pleasure the moment she caught my rich accent. I knew she couldn’t remember my name, either, but she was going to ask for it again by the end.

They always did.

Even if the English thing didn’t drop their knickers, the ex-military angle usually pried even the most resilient ankles apart.

The combination?

Killer.

It just so happened that I was also going to be the predominant heir to the esteemed

Carlyle Fortune. Fortunately, I hadn’t needed to lean on that one to drop a pair of slickened panties just yet, but it always helped speed along the process.

“Oh baby, come for me,” she moaned, withdrawing my cock to lap away at the underside. She ran her tongue along it, cradling my huge balls with one hand and stroking me valiantly with the other. “Come in my mouth, babe. I know you want to.”

“Wrong.”

She looked up at me, confused.

“When I cum… it’ll be in that trembling pussy of yours.”

I flipped her backwards on the bed, climbing atop her body. She shifted around on her back to get comfortable, and I slid her ankles apart with my own. Within seconds, a condom was torn free from its wrapper in my teeth, and I slid the snug sheath smugly over my pulsing cock.

“Oh God…” she whispered.

I pressed my lips to her neck. “Quiet now.”

Firmly grasping my latex-wrapped weapon, I guided it where it needed to go. I knew that her pussy had been ready since the moment she’d whipped out my huge, throbbing cock.

It was just as I thought. Drenched.

In one heavy, powerful push, I was already halfway into her slick chasm. God, she was tight. I mean, they were always tight with the caliber that I was always packing, but it still drove me wild every time.

Well… usually.

The last few months, every last lay had left me an embittered, hallow husk of a man.

Sure, the sex had always been good.

Decent, at any rate.

But it was just a chemical fix now.

No substance. No empowerment.

She was gliding her hips against mine, rolling her pelvis along my thick, unyielding tool.

I thought about asking how flexible she was… but then I just decided to figure that out for myself. With a deft move of my arms, I’d slipped her ankles up over either shoulder; my strong hands rigidly clamped around her hamstrings, and I held her in place against me.

“Oof,” she murmured with satisfaction as I dove deeper inside her. With each fast, massive thrust, my throbbing cock pushed further into her quivering body.

I had grown to hate how mechanical sex had become for me. At this point, it was essentially just empty stress relief; the fluid exchange kept me off edge. It was doing real wonders for the rigors of post-military life, that’s for certain.

Her legs were starting to hurt, so I flipped her onto all fours and mounted my prize from behind. Grasping a thick handful of her lush hair as if it were a rein, I controlled my partner from behind as I passionately rode her ass.

“Oh god, that feels so fucking good,” she half whispered, half groaned. “Fuuuuck. I love your hot cock inside me…”

“It loves being inside you, too,” I murmured into her ear as I dragged her up by her hair, her hips still locked against mine. With her lips trembling from the painful pleasure, her back brushed lightly against my chest. “Do you want to be a good girl and cum for me?”

The stranger nodded, and I tightened my grip on her hair, digging the fingertips of my free hand deeper into the soft flesh of her hip. “That’s right. You’re such a good girl, making my cock feel so great… such a tight little pussy on you, too. You want to cum? Is that what you want to do?”

She nodded again.

“I don’t think I’m convinced…”

Quickly, I gave her a controlled thrust. Her sweat-slicked body trembled with pleasure that oozed like the sweetest honey off of her small, involuntary gasp.

“I wanna to cum,” she murmured.

“Do you now…?”

“Yes please,” she nodded again. “Please make me cum on your huge cock. I need it.”

“You need it, do you? Well…” I smiled wickedly, guiding her back down onto her hands and knees. “What kind of man would I be to turn down such a sexy request like that…?”

She looked over her shoulder with a flirtatious little smile, and I began to absolutely pummel her pussy from behind, digging the fingers of one hand into her hip and the other into her shoulder.

“Oh god, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“Don’t worry,” I chuckled. “Ride this fucking cock, babygirl. Ride it until you can’t fucking take it anymore…”

She braced herself against her headboard as I ramped up the pressure, hilting myself over and over against her thick hips until she began to shiver against me.

“Oh god, I’m coming, I’m coming…”

I started fucking her harder now, feeling her entire body whiplash against me with pleasure until she was an incoherent, babbling mess… but one still wrapped around my fierce cock.

This was one of the few things I derived pleasure from anymore. I’d grown to accept that I was pretty much just going through the motions of my life at this point, at least for the next few years. But when the Carlyle Fortune was mine and I was free to do whatever I wanted…

I’d sucked it up for eight years and learned some valuable life skills along the way – along with a nice fat stack of change that sat in my bank account, just as a soft back-up plan.

But it was nice to know that, despite how stale and robotic the sweet art of hardcore fucking had grown, I could still derive some pleasure from watching and feeling a woman reduced to convulsions against my body.

She held herself taut as I felt her body undergo a nice long string of shuddering orgasms. Groaning with eyes tightly shut and her lips wide open, I watched the young woman ride out every last drop of pleasure until her strength left her wobbly limbs.

Satisfied that she was done, I kicked things up to the highest notch, intent of taking my own one-way ticket to Climax Junction. It was time that I got my own quick fix of brain chemicals.

After all, I’m a gentleman; ladies always come first.

With a few last bucks against her hips, digging into her so deeply that I knew the marks would be there days later, I let loose a great, throbbing burst of milky-white release. Neatly caught within the condom, I roared with passion and emptied my great, big balls deep inside her exhausted body.

Just once, I’d love it raw, I thought to myself.

But I played it safe every time, and I trusted nobody else… especially not during sex.

A string of heavy pants of air later, I tugged my cock free of her slickened, satisfied chasm.

“Oh, that was so good,” she murmured, slumping down to the mess of sheets and covers beneath us. “You’re so fucking hot in bed…”

I almost chuckled when I noticed her roll onto her back to make room for me. Of course, I wasn’t sticking around.

Instead, I stepped up, wandering to her adjacent bathroom to drop the condom down the drain. After flushing the toilet, I briefly showered, drying myself quickly and leaving the damp towel on the counter.

To her apparent confusion when I stepped back into the room, I didn’t dive into bed to discuss our feelings. Instead, I merely began to tug on my boxer briefs… followed by my folded slacks and my button-up, which I was now deftly clasping back together up my chest.

“Wait, where are you going?” My latest lay asked, glancing up at me sadly. The woman had a distinct layer of But what about the cuddling? plastered all over her face.

Sliding my watch around my wrist, I took a quick glance at the time. I could still make it.

“Banquet.”

She leaned up from the bed, confused. “You’ve got a banquet to go to? How awesome is that? Can I come?”

Before I had a chance to answer, she was leaping up out of the bed, diving into her overflowing closet to rummage up something. It was almost endearing, maybe, how this latest conquest clumsily tried to include herself.

“No,” I answered, cutting her off as I slipped on my shoes and tied the laces. “I’m afraid it’s an exclusive thing… and besides. This was fun and all, but you’re definitely not accompanying me to a banquet. You’re not the right material for that.”

The girl’s jaw dropped. “You’re a real asshole.”

>

“You knew what you were getting into,” I smiled sardonically as I slipped on my blazer. “But that’s okay. This was fun. I’d say I’d call you sometime, but… you know.”

With eyes full of venom, she quickly tugged around in her closet for a shirt and a pair of panties. I wound up being the quicker dresser, and I was already diving into my shoes and closing the door behind myself as she prepared to slap the shit out of me.

I heard the door rip open, but I was already descending the stairs and around the corner.