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Arsen
“Oh baby, I love sucking this huge cock of yours,” Sophie says as she runs her tongue up and down my shaft in the way that only a stripper can. “It’s getting me so fucking horny.”
I can hear the steady beats of Lil’ John playing through the club as I look down through the glass at the main stage of the strip club. It’s a pretty crowded evening, and I idly wonder if some of the patrons—those poor, lonely schmos with no place else to be—realize that the mirrors they’re looking up at are really one-sided and that I can look down from them at any point. Including times like now, where I’m completely naked getting my cock sucked by a blonde stripper as a brunette one rubs her hands all over my body.
But just as soon as I wonder, the brunette—I think her name is Heather?—starts twisting my nipples and I decide it’s a stupid fucking thing to wonder about and I should just concentrate on the task at hand. That task being namely to fuck the living shit out of these two strippers—new girls to the club, but definitely old hands at this game. They know what’s fucking what, that’s for sure. The moment they started at the club, I could tell they were fucking eyeing me. Deciding if it was in their best interests to fuck me or not. Could they advance their careers by boning the owner?
Let me take a moment to fucking introduce myself, since it’s clear we haven’t met and you’re just now popping into the picture as I have my cock going in and out of one woman’s mouth and my hands roaming the fake tits of another.
My name is Arsen Hawke.
Yes, I know what you’re saying to yourself right now.
That Arsen Hawke. Yes. The 30-year old son of the billionaire smut lord of America. The son of the man the nation knows as the Corrupter. Collectively, my fucking dad is responsible for putting out 83 Internet live web cams, 23 Pay-Per-View channels, 3 magazines, and 5 different streaming porn services through the Internet. All beamed directly into your home for your little son or daughter to consume when you’re not looking – further destroying what little of the moral fiber is left of Western democratic values.
That Arsen Hawke that you read about in the tabloids. The same one that you see on E! Online. With the chiseled 8-pack abs, rugged face, icy blue eyes, and tattoos designed by some of the most gifted artists of our time. Fuck, I don’t even know why I’m describing myself. You know everything about me. You know that I’m good looking as fuck. That on the off-chance that I decided to stop by your town or city, you would probably tell your husband that you were going out so you could see me signing autographs at the mall. Just catch a glimpse. Maybe you’d hope to see me take off my shirt. Maybe you’d even get close enough to see my ripped physique. Fuck, maybe I would make eye contact with you and flex my pecs for you. Tell you to come closer so you could see my 1% body fat body. You’d be pretty close then, maybe I’d even touch you. That’s when you’d go fucking crazy, because that’s what I do to every girl around me.
/> You’d try not to at first, but you wouldn’t be able to help yourself from looking at the bulge in my pants. That 12-inches of pussy pleasing pistoning that you’ve read about. Fantasized about. You’d be so close to touching it. Tasting it.
If I told you to get in the limo with me, you wouldn’t even think about anything else. Fuck life. Forget every fucking obligation you ever had. All you’d want to do is get in for maybe the most illicit and exciting moment you’d ever have with someone who is fucking larger than life.
Once inside and in private, I’d take your hands in mine and tell you that this is temporary and it’s nothing permanent. You’d agree. Anything to have a taste of me. Anything for a feel. You’d nod your head, and I’d take my pants off, showing you my thick, pulsing, veiny cock.
And fuck if you wouldn't go fucking crazy. Sure, I’d let you suck it like these two strippers right now, who are both taking turns running their tongues around the tip of my cock. But then, I’d turn you over on all fours and I’d fuck the living shit out of you. I swear to fucking God you would cum enough times that by the time I was done with you, you would be nothing more than a quivering mess of flesh on the seat. Sex coma? Talk about fucking sex amnesia.
And you would do anything for another taste of that cock. Anything I fucking wanted you to do. That’s why I’d want to get the fuck away as soon as possible. But I would leave you with memories that would last a lifetime as I flew off to my next destination. Maybe Singapore. Or, maybe London. I hear it’s nice this time of year.
So, yeah, that Arsen Hawke.
But there's so much fucking more that you don’t know about me. What about the fact that I haven't talked to my dad in 6 years, ever since my mom died of cancer and got no help from him since he had already divorced her. That I’ve been living on my own, at the age of 30 at One57 on Billionaire’s Row in New York City. That despite my body and looks and my fucking cock, I have a fucking brain. Harvard fucking MBA, baby. But, no. You don't know that about me. And quite honestly, I’m not surprised.
“Arsen, I want your cock inside of me, baby,” Sophie moans in her most slutty voice. I look down at her. She sees the look in my eyes and smiles lusciously and takes Heather. The two trade a wet, sloppy kiss for my benefit, and then turn away from me, facing the window overlooking the club. They're both naked—fuck their strippers—what do you expect? But what really blows my brain is when they both bend over, jutting their asses out at me.
“Which one of us do you want to fuck first?” Heather asks, her eyes twinkling with this lust game that their playing for me.
I’m only fucking human, okay? I tear open the condom wrapper and sheath myself as I grab Sophie’s waist with both hands, and push my quivering cock into her pussy. She’s wet, I’ll give her that. But not really that tight. Fuck it, it’ll get the job done.
Within seconds, I have a good, steady clip going, pistoning in and out of Sophie’s canal as she moans lewdly. To further stimulate me, Heather starts licking and sucking Sophie’s tits. I’m building up my tempo, increasing my pace, and I can hear my balls slapping against the underside of Sophie’s ass in tune with the music.
“Fuck me, harder, Arsen!” Sophie screams and I oblige the slut, pounding into her with enough force to topple someone over. It’s a good thing she has the window as leverage, steadying herself as I go mercilessly at her cunt.
Another few seconds and I can tell I’ve gotten Sophie past the point of no return. Three more strokes, two, one, and bingo. Her pussy clamps up around my cock like a vice and I feel her entire body shudder.
“Oh fuck!” Sophie screams and I can tell that her body is being wracked by an orgasm as her muscles clench and unclench.
“My turn,” Heather says and uses her hands to play with my tennis-ball sized balls as I slow down. Heather guides me out of Sophie and leans her back on the window, lifting her leg and giving me easy access inside of her. I slide in, slick with Sophie’s juices and begin the process again as she wraps her arms around me.
