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Alright, I’ll flip a ‘special’ lady around, then I’ll work the entire stage. Done and done.
* * *
Hours later,I shower and dress in a custom suit The Pipeline had tailored to my body because of this very act; the one that renamed me from The Italian Stallion to Romeo. I should have known Carlos or one of his affiliates would request this very sequence for my comeback.
I’m seated at a table for two in the center of the stage, beneath blinding lights. The entire mock-up includes battery-lit candles like I’m prepared for a dinner for two, but Juliet has stood me up. The music starts low, mellow. Women in the background are sympathizing. The vicious ones threaten to cut each other’s throats to become my new Juliet. They’re a bunch of bobcats, no mittens.
The track switches. I scrunch up the empty ‘Dear John’ letter in my hands while telling the crowd I need a new Juliet. Sounds cheesy? Fuck yeah. But these sequences have women throwing themselves and their entire roll of cash onto the stage.
Like a panther on the prowl, I move along the platform. With each step, I peel out of the suit jacket. I’m naked underneath. Women squirm in their seats as I pin them with a heated gaze. I stop in front of one lady.
Her shout competes with the speakers as I place her hands across my chest. Winking, I unbuckle my belt and hide another woman’s hands in my pants.
From across the way, I spot my new Juliet with a “Getting Hitched” sash over her shoulder.
“Me, me, meeee!” More women fight for my attention.
The chick who’ll soon be off the market screeches, “Come to Momma!” She’s shaking tiny fists like a toddler who has sighted a shiny new toy.
I dance over to her, ending on my knees. Matching the jungle tempo, I grind the ground. Feels like hundreds of hands are on my back and shoulders. I’m up just as the melody switches to make her my number one for a few moments.
Women crowd around us. I take New Juliet’s hand and bring her to the stage. A silly smile plays on her face. I can feel the nervous, hungry pulse rushing through her fingers. I sit her in my chair and hand her the rose. She isn’t even thinking about that flower as I turn to the crowd and peel my pants off. The excitement pulsating across the room explodes to a new level. I stroke my cock, palms running over the sheath covering my trunk. New Juliet is getting up behind me for a salacious look. I wink at the crowd and return to her.
She bites her bottom lip as I escort her to the chair for a second time. I back up on her, wrapping her hands around me. Her fingers smooth over my abs, and her breathing hitches at my back. She is ten times wetter now. I get up, turn around, drop to my knees, and crawl toward her outstretched legs.
The chair tips back, and then I roll over to be on the bottom with her on top. The lady’s slutty raccoon eyes widen as the crowd goes wild. I’m spinning her until my crotch is in her face. My hips move, my sheathed cock slap her all over. Again, the beat drops, and we’re in a 69 position. With her mouth wide open, she can only wish my dick would slip inside.
I flip her again and slap my erection against her ass. To the beat, I whack my covered cock against her narrow buttocks. She’s in fucking Heaven. Though I only have eyes for the new Juliet right now, I feel all the ladies’ eyes from across the room. Juliet is in a daze as I stand her up. My hands run along her ribs.
“You okay, baby?” I whisper in her ear, her pounding heart hammering against my palms. Gulping, she bobbles her head in a swift nod. She’s staring at me like I’m her god. I’m facing her, and she’s rubbing her hands over my waxed torso. No finesse like Gina, just getting all the feels she can.
The crowd goes wild.
“Get him, girl!”
“Work him!”
The smile widens on Juliet’s face as I dance behind her, grip her hips. I’m pumping the fuck out of her ass to the rhythm. One, two, three. At this point in the song. The music changes; the dazed woman is no longer my Juliet. A man in a suit helps her back to the seat, holding her hand like he’s escorting a lost child. All the while, she’s glancing back at me like I’m a fucking rock star.
A roar of “meee next” can be heard across the stage. Every woman in the place wants me to flip her, fuck her, and send her along.
31
Santino
Today marks three more weeks until Christmas.
I’ve done a couple of gigs. While Gina worked overtime to fix one of Steven’s mistakes, I went to three on-site parties on Saturday. My Santa suit has been dusted off. Ladies are extra frisky around Christmas. Their generosity has catapulted me closer to Gina’s engagement ring.
The intimate parties are different than at the club. You gotta make every single woman your number one. Ladies are a jealous bunch. Too long with one of ‘em and the others catch an attitude.
Like a king on a conquering rampage, I step out into the hallway of a luxurious loft. We’re in a living room. White folding chairs are in the shape of a circle with a little entrance for me to pass. You better believe I’m getting my ass slapped, dick groped, and muscles pawed over as I get through there.
Someone’s turning fifty-five years old. The crowd is seasoned a little more affluent than at The Pipeline. Women clutch $20 bills in hand, waving them. Touching a hand to my chest, I move to the beat and slide in front of the first woman. I then spin to a stop in front of another.
I lick my lips at the birthday girl. A diamond tiara is cushioning the top of her silver curls. She squeaks like she isn’t a day over 21, and I know just what she craves. I flip until my feet are on the headrest, dick swinging in Birthday Girl’s face. My hands are gripping the seat, and I slide down in a 69 position while hands are all over my ass. A few ladies are giggling about how much fun their “mother” is having.
The next thing I know, it’s all banshee and hyena screeching. On the ground, I do a sequence of push-ups. Grinding into the waxed floors, I head toward the boldest woman in the bunch.
