Truth be told: If it were in a real competition, I would win with one hundred percent of the votes for the first place of a real bitch. But despite the very well accepted title, I did not fit the standards imposed by the sexist society whose air I was forced to share for years of my life.
The fact was that I had never been involved with married men, or that at least had the moral to indicate a serious relationship with women who differed from the rich and depressed bitches that irritated me. My lust differentiated at this point. I would never forgive myself for being the cause of the destruction of a family, even if it cost me a wonderful night with an experienced man.Even if the idea of getting stuck in a lasting relationship burned my skin and irritated my free ego, I put myself in the shoes of every woman who waited for her husband at home, not knowing that he frequented places similar to what I was used to finding my best fucks. Children who were waiting for their parents to tell about their school activities, not knowing the perversity that their heroes practiced twenty minutes earlier with older little girls.Being free and single was my choice, and I didn't think it was fair to disrupt the lives of those who chose a tedious life, watered with dull sex and relationship discussions.Although very aware of the limits to satisfy my sexual hunger, for married men my exaggeratedly sculpted body had the same effect as a flag for a rescue team. I drew more attention than I should, and took them directly to my feet. At that time I already knew that men could be extremely pathetic when they wanted to.We took a humiliating example of being admitted; there was a man leaning against the blue led counter who simply did not take his eyes off me since the doors of the nightclub were opened. I could see the golden ring that was pronounced on his left finger like the handcuff on the wrists of a criminal. His eyes shone against the strong lights of the sound effects, shouting obscenities against my protected body with nothing but little cloth and sweat.The word "traitor” stamped that man's forehead with the lines that indicated his early thirties. It disgusted me, and I could have vomited right there, if my job didn't require my good manners. I would find a way to get rid of the disgusted feeling later.I closed my arms and turned the two bottles in my hands, entertaining the small audience of customers in front of the bar with my juggling accompanied by a dance with little balance.Another undeniable fact about me: I've never been too good at dancing. This was a quality that only Kendall could completely master. Her movements were precise and fast, like those of the ballerina she was in during her childhood. His arms moved open, intensifying the coordination of his long legs as if a force field were his true point of balance. Kendall could have his moments of existential crises, but he knew how to take a man to heaven with few hip movements.Those who gathered around the bar and consumed the drinks were attracted by their dance, and I took advantage of their distraction to increase the profit of the house, offering drinks after drinks, moving the minimum necessary for my full breasts to come into evidence with a few jumps. It worked. Kendall and I were a complementary duo. The one who used her talent to attract insects to the spider web of the one who used her own body for her benefit.The entrance to the nightclub was what was most affordable for the partygoers. Maybe that was the reason for all that success. The house was affordable, but it didn't mean that consumption was too. The profit was mainly in distraction. The more excited the men were with the dance of the strippers in their metalized masts, the more they would drink and forget the value of the bill. That's why Kendall drew attention, and the boys and I worked to entertain the curious looks.Food consumption was done on the second floor, precisely where the VIP rooms were. Customers could only consume the food if they paid triple the entrance fee. Inevitably, with so much drink in their stomach, before the end of the night most of the customers ended up giving in to the snoring of their bellies and released the money. It was exciting to watch the dirty game against the most unsuspecting.“Four "sex on the beach"”, a girl with a British accent, positioned in front of a group of smiling and well-dressed people, screamed to be heard. I didn't have to say anything, she promptly stretched her wrist towards me.I never knew if the nightclub's payment system was always the same, but since I started working I was instructed to use the touch screen monitor to record customers' consumption. There were three of those small fifteen-inch screens arranged in supports attached to the counter, on the left side of each screen were small barcode readers. All we needed to do was register the bracelet code on the monitor home screen and then select the main ingredients used in each of the drinks. As soon as the machine generated the value, the customer raised his wrist to meet the code reader, and, after being registered on the bracelet, he did not have to worry about anything else until the end of his night.I mixed enough for four glasses in a cocktail shaker, taking advantage of my agility with the bottles to provide a show to my group of customers. Not everyone liked to see juggling their drinks, especially those who arrived in groups. But somehow, I had a special and unique way of making them appreciate my not always so certain movements.In less than two minutes I finished my work and decorated all four glass cups with a strip of Sicilian lemon. I gently pushed the glasses towards the smiling girl, observing the hands that stretched to capture the drinks and disappeared among the mass of bodies of the growing line.I used to love tourists for several reasons, among them was the fact that they always saved my work in having to explain how the payment with the bracelets was made. It always seemed like they were researching how to behave in a nightclub, they just forgot to find out what were the tricks we used to make them spend more.The nightclub did not have a defined repertoire, the songs were always the ones that most attracted people to the track, and that was all. However, that night we were with a different DJ and she seemed determined to remix all the best known songs regardless of the genre. I realized this when I heard Kurt Cobain's voice sounding faster than usual in an almost robotic version of Smells like a Teen Spirit. I didn't contain my fan instinct and started singing the song while dancing and spinning my vodka bottle over my fingers. While the music followed its low and engaging tone and then started again with the strongest beat, I turned the bottle in my hands with an agility that seemed impossible to have looking from a distance. I ended up remembering my first days of work, when I was still in training and literally cut all my fingers trying to find a position between them that would support the bottle and allow me to rotate it and throw it into the air as many times as necessary. Everythin
Only when the lights became darker and less constant, I noticed that the man's hair was slightly darkened with a layer of gel, the blond strands giving the impression of moisture on a smooth and thin amount. He gave me a biased smile, and slipped away from the bar stool, heading in the direction close to the dance floor, disappearing into the corridor that led to the bathrooms and the employees' locker room.When I went down the counter, avoiding as much as possible bumping into the customers who got together to enjoy the show, I had the impression that Kendall tried to call me, but I was swallowed by the human warmth and strong sweat odor that mixed inside the dance floor. I ignored the calls and followed the leather man, trying not to make it so obvious that my night of fun would depend on him.I didn't have to delve into the wide and well-lit corridor, free of the effect of lights and muffled by the little air passage. The man was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed giving ev
When the man moved to the door, I managed to regain my sense, and moved away from the shelves. My legs drooped slightly, and I forced myself to stand up, even though a slight blush has infiltrated my path. “What's your problem?” I screamed, unnecessarily, I admit. I was happy to have an excuse to get rid of the damn bet, at least I wouldn't leave as a loser.The man turned towards me, his eyes walked over me with incredible speed, but that made it clear that each and every piece had been recorded. He stared at me, and for a fleeting moment of fervor, I swore to have felt the ground under my feet shudder.“How?” he asked, slightly narrowing his dark eyes.“What's your fucking problem, asshole? You just made me lose five hundred dollars!”I knew what that would imply. I knew that saying having lost money while I was with a man would mean a different profession than I had. It was still true. I had sex for money and had fun with it. It seemed wrong, but what should you expect from someone
“You didn't have to worry” I said, when your hands left my shoulders. My fingers shook to take your hands and put them on me again, but I kept my hormones crossing my fingers behind my back. “ I know how to dress alone, you know.”He laughed again, without humor, but gently. He seemed like the perfect mix between roughness and kindness, a junction of distinctions. In the same way that his appearance would never catch my attention, although his gestures were exactly what he sought to feel in a man.“ Arrange “ he said. “ I'm sure my friend wouldn't let her if he wasn't here for a bigger reason than fun.”The feeling of being someone worthy of pity hit me. Looking at the man again, I realized that the darkness in his eyes had withdrawn, and in place was only convenience, as if talking to me was a duty for his interruption. He probably still believed that I was a prostitute. Even if I had not denied the thought, there were not so many reasons to continue clinging to a vague idea.I raised
My lips were still tingling by the raw contact of the flesh swollen by the excitement in my tongue, and I slid my nails in his groin, studying through my eyelashes the way the veins of his body throbbed below my fingers. I moved my hair away from my face and mounted it on his lap, using one hand to fit our bodies and the other to support my weight against his sweat-so wet chest. He gasped, snapping his lips in a suggestive way. My movements were slow at first, just what was necessary for your cock to slip slowly into my entrance.He dug the most protruding parts above my hip, regulating my back and forth movement. I gave myself to the feeling of warmth and satisfaction, moaning the false commands so that he reached my right point. In the position I was in, I had control of the situation, but his cold hands distracted me somehow, almost causing all my horniness to be reduced to a big nothingness.Impatient, I stretched out my hands and hit yours on the metal headboard on my bed, holdin
When I moved the pillow away from my face, shaking my hair with the movement, I noticed that the man had broken. I hadn't even asked for your name before bringing it to my house and having sex in my own room. If I still lived with my father, I was sure that he would skin me and the man who would shudder my walls with loud moans. However, this was not the case.I slipped out of the sheets, unintentionally turning in front of my closet with dark doors, where a mirror was located in the center of the sliding doors. My eyes descended to my tanned and reddish skin, and a shadow of disapproval had appeared above the greenish color in my irises, as dark as a moss.It can be said that for someone with such high self-esteem, it was easy to admire their image in the face of a reflection. However, my face was different from what I used to feel, so I tried to avoid the mirrors. I didn't look for long, and when it was strictly necessary, I didn't see in a true way. I just did what I needed and sai
I sat next to Kendall on one of the metal stools with black seats, crossing my arms on the table. I noticed the soslaio look that my father threw at me, but I ignored it, looking at the top lamp lit against the dining table.Stefan Turner, always known as daddy, was a man of principles. Even after his failed marriage, his not so well-known books and months supporting young people in his work as a teacher, he was still an old man, and with that I mean that he failed each of my decisions. He didn't rule me, he never tried to play such a role, and maybe that's what boosted my indomitable instinct. However, I could see in his enviable dark blue eyes the size of his inconformation.Like every self-respecting father, he wanted the best for me. And the best thing, definitely, was not to go out with several different guys and stick them in my legs. I knew how shameful it would be for him to teach men who have already had sex with his daughter, but it would be difficult not to receive a trial
My father was also dancing, but his type of dance was so strange that I preferred not to face it for a long time. He shook only his head and shoulders, his gray hair shaking madly and his shoulders in a shrug movement. Tristan wasn't dancing, he had been looking at Kendall all the time. I could have sworn seeing his eyes shining. I immediately recognized that the sentimental aura that involved them was taking shape again."Come here, my bear. " Kendall called Tristan with one hand, while a new song played on my cell phone.Tristan didn't wait for another invitation. He approached Kendall shaking his plump body and pulled her with one hand. Kendall approached dancing sensually, holding one of Tristan's hands and swinging the other to the rhythm of the song. He turned her and almost so fast, held her close to her body and she laughed. My father poked me with the spatula."I wish your friend wasn't so blind..." he whispered when I looked in her direction. I also wanted to...But who was