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"You must be Prince Derrick," she says to me, a blush creeping across her face as she gets up. I can tell she's flustered.
Her tits are nice. Could be nicer. Body okay. Definitely fuckable.
I don't know what I'm doing but in times like this I usually just go with it. I reach over and pull off my wife-beater.
"What are you doing, man?" the cameraman exclaims.
Fuck. I had forgotten he was there. Mindy's looking at me with a look of shock as well.
"Get the fuck out," I say strongly to the camera man, pointing towards him.
"Excuse me?" the incredulous cameraman asks. He can't believe this shit. Neither can I. Which makes it hilarious.
"You heard me," I say. "Get the fuck out of here. Now."
I flex my upper body. My muscles glisten under the light and ripple. Mindy is entranced.
I smile to myself as the cameraman scurries away, more used to listening to orders than standing up to orders that are bollocks.
I mean, I know what you're thinking. Who the fuck am I? Why am I such a fucking asshole.
Well, I'll tell you who I am. I'm Prince fucking Derrick Blaine from St. Livy. I'm heir to the 10th largest economy in the world after my father. And I truly am a fucking asshole.
I'm also still rather drunk.
But let's go back to Mindy, shall we? Her mouth is hanging open and she's looking at me like I've gone fucking mental.
"We got some time, love," I say. "Follow me into bliss, or stand back and watch me get naked."
"Are you crazy?" she asks - her mouth agape. She's trying to be indignant. But I can see where her eyes are looking.
"Not at all, love," I say. "But we can argue, or we can fuck. Which one do you want?"
She hesitates. I undo the belt buckle of my pants and let them fall. My cock is twitching being around the presence of a female and my boxer briefs are showcasing my 11-inch bulge quite nicely.
Mindy begins unbuttoning her blouse.
So much for high minded morals or professionalism, eh?
"Faster," I say with a glint in my eyes.
Her face is blank, as if she's hypnotized. The blouse comes off and falls to the floor. I walk over and unzip the skirt, letting it fall too. I move her so she steps out of it.
She's wearing black lace boy shorts and a black lace bra. Nice. I reach over and squeeze her tits, kneading them like dough. My cock is alive. Her hands are on my boxer briefs and they go underneath the waistband. I feel her hand brush against my cock and then wrap around it. She grasps my shaft and her eyes go fucking wide.
"Jesus, Prin-" I cut her off before she can continue.
"Call me Derrick, love," I say softly. "Derrick Blaine."
My boxer briefs are on the floor now and my 11-inch anaconda is pointing at her. Thick and fucking hard. I unclasp her bra and she unceremoniously casts her panties aside. I let my eyes wander over her hourglass figure, and I just know there’s no escaping this - I have to fuck her, come hell or high water. And this is going to have to be fast. I turn her over and she gets on her hands and knees on the chair that she was sitting in not five minutes ago.
See? All I needed to do was smile, use my accent, my reputation, and my body to get her to fucking take off her clothes.
But even if that didn't work - there was always the secret weapon.
My monster fucking cock.
I reach into my jeans on the floor and grab a condom. Never fucking leave home without them. I waste no time in slipping the rubber on my shaft. This is no time to being coy and sexy. We probably have at most fifteen minutes.
