Mr. President 1(151)

"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?"#p#分页标题#e#

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.#p#分页标题#e#

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.