Mr. President 1(171)

Oh, don’t judge them; I’m worth every stolen glimpse... and they’re paying more than enough for it.

I push the straps of my bra down my arms, moving slowly, and I can feel the tension rise in the air. When I finally pull it off of my body, my sixth sense tells me that the few cocks in the room that weren’t fucking hard are now as solid as concrete.

Smiling at Lux, I lean in to her and brush my lips against hers while, at the same time, I open the clasp on her own bra. Except, instead of taking it slow, I simply rip it off of her body and throw it to the men under us. I can hear the commotion as two of them jump from their seats to catch the bra, but I don’t bother looking.

My hands run down the side of Lux’s body, and I go down to my knees as I hook my fingers on her thong. I look at the men, that mischievous smile once more on my face, and bite on my lower lip, teasing them as I try to look like I’m wondering about what I should do next

“Take it off,” one of them urges me, and I slide the tip of my index finger over Lux’s thong, gently pressing against her pussy.

She grabs her own tits as I do it, squeezing them and moaning, and I finally start pushing the thong down. Her pussy is starting to show, and no one’s talking any more; if it weren’t for the music, you could hear a pin drop in the room.

“No, you take it off,” one of the men shouts, and I can’t help but smile at that. Even though most men would kill and die for a chance to be with a woman like Lux, I guess some things can’t really be helped.

I’m in high demand, after all, especially since a lot of these men know me from my days as a porn star.

It isn’t easy being famous, you know?#p#分页标题#e#

Sigh. Alright then. Here we go.

I go up to my feet, my fingers still on Lux’s thong, and she takes her hands to my waist. We start to pull down on each other’s thongs at the same time and, when I feel the string being pulled down from between my ass cheeks…

What the fuck?

Did you hear that?

What the fuck was that noise?

I jerk, hearing that loud bang.

You heard that too, right?

It’s from the end of the room.

I turn my head there just in time to see someone barging in.

What the fuck is going on?

I narrow my eyes into slits, trying to see the person walking toward the stage in a straight hurried line, and then I feel my heart sink inside my chest.

Fucking Christ.

It’s Lester Vicks, and he looks fucking pissed.

“Show’s over, gentlemen,” he shouts, pulling his badge from a pocket in his overcoat and flashing it to the men sitting at the tables. It’s almost as if he said there’s a bomb inside the building; they scurry out like mice, heading out of the room as if they were running for their lives.

Oh. My. God.

This time he’s gone too fucking far. Skinny dick loser corrupt fucking cop.

“What the fuck, Lester?” I hiss at him, grabbing my bra from the floor and putting it on.

I pull my thong up, walk down the stage, and head toward him, feeling as pissed as he looks. I don’t know what bug crawled up his ass today, but he can’t barge in here like this and ruin my business.

“You can’t do this!” I protest, but he shoots me down with one hard look.

“I can do whatever I want, Destiny,” he says, and this time he doesn’t call me babe. Even though I hate when he calls me that, I would've preferred it to the way he’s talking to me right now. He means business, and when Lester means business… It’s usually bad business. At least for me.

“I’m running out of time here,” he tells me sharply. “That girl I told you about, you need to find her, and you need to do it quickly.”

“Jesus, and you had to storm in here just to tell me that?” I ask him, folding my arms and tapping my foot against the floor. He might be the commissioner, but that doesn’t give him the right to come in here and do whatever the hell he wants. I mean, it does, but you know what I’m trying to say.

“I’m not playing around anymore, Destiny,” he says to me. “There’s something very bad going on, and I need you to go to Python and find that girl. Not fucking play porn star for a bunch of fucking perverts.”

Seriously. That statement coming from him has like eighteen different kinds of irony.

“There’s some shady shit going on at Python, and that girl is right in the middle of it. That girl and your friend, Austin,” he says, pronouncing the word friend as if he knows more than he’s telling. I wonder how much he really knows.

“I told you, if she’s there, I’m going to --” I start, but he waves me down and cuts me short. He smacks his lips in that irritating expression of his, and then points one long finger at me.