Mr. President: A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiancé Romance

by Alexis Angel

  Sure, I worked with Kane. But honestly, I got out of the business before the whole virtual reality stuff. I was already worth about $760 million dollars.

  That's right.

  I'm not some New York City billionaire who lives in One57.

  No, I fucking live downtown, right next to the subway. Specifically, the E train, which takes me to my club in Long Island City, Queens.

  See, I used about $50 million to start this place last year, and I named it Python.

  I'm going to give you one guess why.

  "Oh, fucking cum for us Austin," Melissa moans as she jerks my shaft and plays with my balls.

  Yeah, that's why. I named it for cocks.

  Not just mine, though.

  "Come on, big boy," Josie says, smiling lewdly at me and running her tongue along my head. She's naked and her tits are glistening from where Melissa was sucking them.

  I'm looking at three beautiful faces looking up at my cock as they lick it. As they stroke it and jerk it. Touch it and fucking taste it.

  "Come over all of our faces, Austin," Lisa says, opening her mouth.

  Fucking Christ.

  I can't fucking take anymore.

  One last jerk from Melissa and I groan, closing my eyes as my nuts tighten.

  I start to spew.

  It's a good thing Melissa is aiming my giant rod because I would've just cum up in the air and it would've landed on me.

  But she points my cock at her mouth and opens wide as arcs of my cum race out and onto her waiting tongue.

  "Mmmm," Melissa says with a smile.

  Lisa's next, and two ropes of thick, gooey, juicy cum hit her on the forehead and the right cheek.

  Josie doesn't waste any time. She just wraps her lips around my tip and starts to suck as I start to shoot.

  My eyes travel back into my head as my cum shoots out and goes down her throat. She milks it, her mouth using air pressure to suck me fucking dry.

  The ladies are slurping and sucking, and when Josie lets me out of her mouth, they take turns licking my sensitive head, paralyzing me in overstimulated pleasure.

  See, Python is a place where this shit is possible.

  We're in a private fucking booth, but if you want, you can go get a private room, with as many people as you want. You can also go near the main stage, sit and enjoy the show. You can hang out at the bar, or you can sit separate from everything in the dining room.

  It's a place where women come to look at fucking men.

  And not just men walking around.

  I went out and I got the most ripped, most cut, and most statuesque men you could fucking find all over the country.

  Men with large muscles.

  And even larger cocks.

  I put them on the floor or on stage or behind the bar. Shirtless. With tight boxer briefs.

  They exist for your fucking pleasure.

  You ever been to Hooter’s?

  Well, welcome to fucking Python. Please do feed the fucking animals.

  But this is really the last part that's going to tell you to take your fucking panties off and come inside, beautiful.

  And that is, Python has a strict entrance policy.

  No men.

  Just women.

  Not even gay men.

  A place where women come and let their fantasies run wild. Do whatever they want. Whether it's just for an evening out like Melissa and her friends, or a bachelorette party, or even a corporate retreat. Fuck, I've seen it all.

  Just one year, and it's already packed. Already making a profit. Already fucking famous as New York City's Woman Pleaser.

  Fuck, I'll take that name. And I guarantee you that you will fucking like it too. In fact, by the time I say we're done at the end, you're going to be so fucking wet that I'm seriously telling you right now to take your fucking panties off.

  Send the kids off to school or tell them to go watch some TV. Fuck, put 'em to bed if you need to because you're not going to care about life in a few more pages. You're just going to want to fucking cum.

  Don't say I didn't warn you, babe.

  Welcome to Python.

  62

  Out and About - New York City

  Bringing you the skinny on the hottest attractions in and around Gotham…

  Today Out and About New York City takes you to the club that's become the hottest sensation in the five boroughs.

  Sitting in a nondescript section of Long Island City in Queens, among warehouses and industrial areas that are just in the process of being gentrified, is New York City's hottest club.

  Welcome to Python.

  But, while some of the clubs across the East River might be exclusive, Python takes it to a whole new level.

  If you're a man, only one word. Fuhgeddaboudit.

  That's right.

  Python's owner, Austin Price doesn't allow in any men through the front door as guests. The club caters strictly to a female clientele. But where they don't take men as guests, they employ mostly men as entertainers.

  And it's no wonder why it's women only.

  Because if these women let their boyfriends and husbands see what goes on in this club, there's no way they'd ever be allowed to go back in again.

  First off, Out and About wasn't even allowed to send a male photographer.

  We had to send a woman.

  And after the first night, she had to go back again.

  In fact, she's been back to Python every night since.

  "There's something there for everyone," a club-goer commented. "If you want to sit back and watch the men lick each other's muscles, you're absolutely welcome to do that."

  But that's not all. Not by a long shot.

  "If you want to have them lick you, it's totally possible. Want to run your tongue across their abs? They let you do that too," another female partier admitted.

  But that's not the real shocker.

  "Got enough money? Get a private show. Or a private room, complete with it's own bed. You want to know what goes on there? Maybe you should pay the fucking dolla bills to find out, eh?" Austin Price, the owner suggested to us when we pressed him.

  And pressing is just the beginning.

  From the very entrance, the club is filled with stimulation that delights the senses, whether your senses favor looking, listening, smelling, touching, or even tasting.

  "It's like a bar where the men go gather and look at women wearing Daisy Dukes with big knockers," one 68-year-old woman describes it. "Only in this place, it's the women staring at the beefcakes with the big dicks."

  Critics have raved over the party atmosphere that Python has brought to Court Square, as bars and eateries have opened up around it to serve the diverse female clientele that frequent the place.

  "The neighborhood has been transformed entirely," City Councilman Rod Serling said when asked about the establishment. "It's economically revitalized the area for sure."

  All this is nothing new to Austin Price, the one time porn star turned entrepreneur.

  "All we're here to do at the end of the day," he says to us with a winning smile, "is to please women. Is there anything so wrong with that?"

  We don't think so. And we're pretty sure neither will you.

  Python Nightclub

  Located at 21-30 Varick Street

  Court Square, New York 11104

  Hours: 12:00 pm to 5:00 am

  Days: 7 Days A Week

  Cover: Yes

  Cost: $$$

  Stars: Five

  63

  Destiny

  Some books are so fucking hot that you should wear gloves while handling them. No, I’m not talking about Alexis Angel. I mean, everyone reads her, but she can only do so much. But there’s also smut that’s published by guys—the ones that leave you boiling from the inside out—your pussy becoming a literal faucet. Sure, they’re a mess when it comes to the laundry bill, but what's a girl gonna do? I mean, can you say drippy, babe? Because that’s what I am right fucking now.

/>   Growing up, my teachers always told me that I should read more, and I actually took their advice to heart. I guess they’d prefer me to read the classics, but hey, in my heart Eddie Cleveland is a modern classic, okay?

  What? I mean, who else could make me this wet for a woodsman? A freakin’ woodsman. Sometimes I wish I could be saved by one as well.

  Sadly, there are no woodsmen around New York City, especially not Manhattan. Especially if we take into account that we’re inside a strip club. My strip club—in case you didn’t realize it with the flashing red letters outside, the ones that read Dirty Destiny.

  And yeah, I’m Destiny. Actually, my name is Destiny Renee, but everyone just calms me Destiny around here. And what’s with the ‘Dirty’ part? Well… I mean, this is a strip club, so the name seemed fitting, I guess. I swear babe, I’m not rolling my eyes. I’m actually really glad you’re here and I absolutely love it that you wanted to spend some time with me. I can be a bit abrasive and aloof at times, let me just let you know. So please don’t mind me. And honestly, I’ll try to be a bit more patient. Anyways, where were we? Oh right. Dirty, why the dirty, right? Well, the club name seemed to fit. And I like to think I’m a dirty, dirty girl.

  Hey, don’t judge; this is the 21st century, okay? Women can finally live outside of a kitchen and be their own selves.

  That’s right. I said it. I’m not your normal woman who excels in the three Cs. You know, cooking, cleaning, and cock sucking.

  I’m good at cock sucking. Very fucking good.

  But cooking and cleaning? I have a private chef and a maid to do that.

  I place the kindle down on my desk and stand up, stretching. I flip back so that I can’t see the cover—it’s getting me wet just by looking at it—and I turn on my heels so that I’m facing the curved wall-to-ceiling windows behind me. They’re a one-way mirror actually, and since my office is right above the main stage, I can take a good look at what’s happening in my club whenever I want without ever leaving my little cave here.

  Not that I don’t leave my office; I like to mingle with the customers (specially the hot ones), and sometimes I even show up on stage. I don’t do it often now, but sometimes the customers get so loud, chanting my name, that I have no other choice but go up there and shake my ass for them.

  I kinda like it. Right, if you’re going to judge and call me a slut, then you know what? I have two words for you.

  Fuck off.

  Yeah, I’m a slut. And a damn good one too.

  I look down at the stage where two dancers are dancing over what seems like a carpet of one dollar bills, and the place is packed as usual. Which fits me just right, since I’m in the mood for some fun tonight. I mean, it’s Eddie Cleveland and his fucking woodsman’s fault; that guy has gotten me so wet right now that I need to fuck something. Narrowing my eyes into slits, I try to find someone who looks like fun. But it doesn’t seem that I’m in luck tonight. The main floor is packed, sure, but these are all guys in their forties and fifties, most of them probably drunk out of their minds. Right, keep spending, fellas. All those women are laughing at you ugly assholes.

  Someone sitting close to the stage grabs my interest. He’s… an acquaintance, if I can call him that.

  What?

  Okay fine.

  Fuck it. Let me just be straight with you from now on. That guy down there I’m looking at is a grade A asshole. A bastard.

  His name is Lester Vicks, and he’s the Commissioner of Police for the NYPD.

  Yeah. The top man in law enforcement. He's quite a powerful guy, and he’s a regular. And by regular I mean that he comes here almost every night, drops hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars.

  Now, don’t take this the wrong way and start thinking that I’m full of myself, but I know the real reason he comes here all the time: it’s because of me.

  The first time he came was on opening day, and I was up on the stage twirling on a pole when he waltzed in the floor, that look of self-importance on his face. But I remember the way his eyes lit up when he saw me dancing, sliding down the pole as the crowd threw dollar bills at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man become that stunned ever since.

  “Destiny, it’s an honor to meet you in person,” he told me that night when I stepped down off the stage. I was polite enough to have a one-on-one conversation with him since he stuffed more than a dozen one hundred dollar bills in my thong and between my tits. I’m nice like that, ya know?

  By the look he had on his face, I knew immediately that he recognized me from…

  Right. We’re being honest.

  Well, he recognized me from his laptop screen, most likely.

  You see, when I chose the name Dirty Destiny for my club, it wasn’t just because it was a fitting name for a strip club. Dirty Destiny was my, uhm, nom de plume when I did porn. Yeah, that’s right, I was a porn star, and a good one at that.

  Don’t you remember the “Daddy Don’t Tease Me” series? That was me.

  What about “Shaving Private Ryan?” Yep.

  You ever watch those taboo movies? “Banging My Hottie Stepmom?”

  Yeah, I did a lot of porn.

  I mean, where do you think I got the money to open up a club of my own? In Manhattan? Right in the heart of Midtown on Broadway and 52 Street.

  I loved doing porn. No need to feel bad.

  I mean, being a porn star wasn’t exactly a childhood dream of mine. But once I graduated UCLA and took my chances as a model, I was hooked. I went from regular modelling to topless photoshoots (they paid so much better), and I loved living the high life. I travelled all around the world making lots of money, and once Arsen Hawke entered my life I knew what I had to do. That’s right, that Arsen Hawke, the king of porn himself.

  He offered me the chance to go and work for him, and I couldn’t say no. It wasn’t just about the money (even though he almost drowned me in it), but more about finding out who I was.

  And I like sex.

  I like it a lot. So it was only logical for me to become a porn star.

  That didn’t last long, although I worked in the industry long enough to earn a legion of rabid fans. I always had a good laugh when I saw men doing online polls, trying to figure out if I was the best porn star of this generation, or perhaps even the greatest of all time. But in the end, it just wasn’t for me. It’s a high-stress job, and most girls burnout pretty easily. Not to mention that some just take the money and funnel it into drugs. I didn’t want to end up like that, so I took my money and left, and all this with Arsen’s blessing. I was actually surprised that he didn’t mind me leaving, since I was probably one of his biggest earners, but that’s Arsen, a shrewd businessman, but more than that, an amazing human being.

  Anyways, so that’s how I ended up here on Broadway, running my own club. I’m living the dream, you better believe it. Sure, not everything is perfect, and the one thing between me and that elusive perfection is none other than Lester. He spends a lot of money here, sure, but I don’t care for it, and that’s probably because most of the money he spends here is money I’ve given him myself. Yeah, that’s right, Lester is one of those guys, the ones that wield their power and position to step on the people they should be protecting. I don’t take it personally, though. Part of working in this business is dealing with shady characters like him; it comes with the territory.

  There’s one thing in his favor, though: he’s actually quite easy on the eyes. He’s in his early forties, but he has been blessed with good genes. I mean, if you have a crooked cop who’s extorting you, it helps if he’s hot, right? Tall and broad shouldered, he keeps fit enough to be mistaken for a thirty year old. Which is pretty amazing, if you consider that he’s the police commissioner. Still, it doesn’t really surprise me that he managed to climb the ranks that fast; he’s as shrewd and calculating as anyone can be, and proof of that is the fact that he doesn’t mind lining up his pockets with my protection money. But I pay him nonetheless… He made it pretty clear the day w
e had our first one-on-one conversation. “You’ll pay, or I’ll close you down,” he told me, making it pretty clear that he was just one phone call away of shutting me down. So, yeah, that was that.

  But I tolerate him. And today, I think I can do a bit more than tolerate him. I have an itch to scratch and, since I’m paying so much money, I might as well make him work for it.

  I step out from my office and walk to the edge of the balcony overlooking the stage. The spotlights are on the dancers, so no one sees me there, looking down at the crowd, no one but Lester, of course. It almost seems that he wasn’t looking at the dancers but at the door to my office. He’s obsessed with me, and he has told me as much. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said to me once, and another time he actually told me that I didn’t understand how much he "cared about me."

  But he’s never overstepped and, since I keep paying him his cut out of my profits, he behaves like a dog on a leash. Tonight I’ll reward him for that.

  He’s looking straight at me, so I give him an easy smile and point with my head to a side room I have at the bottom of the stairs. He gets up from his seat and ambles there, nursing a glass of vodka in his hand, and I meet him halfway.

  “What do you think about a private dance, Lester? Sounds good to you?” I purr at him, placing one hand on his chest.

  “I’ve been waiting all night for that, Destiny,” he says, and I can’t help but notice that he’s already hard, the shape of his cock straining against pants. Grabbing him by the hand, I lead him inside the room, pushing the door open with my hips. Once inside I push him back onto the sofas that line the walls, and I press a few buttons on the wall. The lights in the room become dimmer, and sensual music starts, the sounds from outside muffled by the thick soundproof walls.

  “I’m going to put on a show for you,” I tell him as I grab the pole in the middle of the room and balance myself on it. Lester’s eyes are crawling all over my body, and I can almost feel him peeling my short skirt and blouse off with his mind.