Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(38)

"Let's go upstairs," Yasmine says as she turns around. I look at her ass  flex and instantly I'm reminded of the blonde. Yasmine turns her head  back to look at me. "To your office."

I follow dutifully. Fuck it, if I don't try to get my dick hard thinking  about boning Yasmine. But it's like every time I think about ass, or  tits, or pussy, there's just one image that keeps coming into my head.

Yeah, you fucking guessed it. The blonde goddess that I saw last week.

We get upstairs and the music is a bit more subdued.

Yasmine slides over to me, rapidly erasing any personal space that I may  have had. But I don't mind. I wrap my arms around her back and squeeze  her ass.

"I've been waiting for this for a long time, Arsen," she coos. "I knew  you were coming tonight. You've been here every night. But ever since  you had Sophie and Heather, you haven't taken any other girl. I think I  know why."

Maybe this is going to be my lucky night. Does Yasmine know?

That explains it! She didn't want to fuck me, but that's what she had to make it look like to the other girls.

Jesus, I'll never figure women out, you know?

"You're done with those girls, aren't you, baby?" Yasmine asks. I don't know why, but I nod.

"You need someone who's finally caught your eye, don't you?" she asks. Fuck, she's on the money.

"You need someone who will treat you just right," Yasmine says.

She couldn't be more clued in if she tried.

"You know where I can find her?" I ask and Yasmine smiles. Her hand comes to rest on my crotch.

Wait a fucking second!

"What do you mean, babe?" Yasmine asks, a glint in her eyes. But I'm too caught up and I don't pay attention.

"I think she was what? 5' 7". Blonde hair. Body like a goddess. Last  time I saw her was ten days ago, the night I had Sophie and Heather up  here," I tell Yasmine.

Stifling a look of disappointment, Yasmine backs off.

"That's where I saw her for the first time, and then I actually shared a  cab with her, but I didn't get a chance to talk to her much," I say.

Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole because Yasmine looks completely fucking  disappointed. I guess she really did want to fuck me tonight, huh?

But you know what? I'm going to be the first one to admit that in  reality I am a fucking asshole. I got nothing to fucking hide. So there.  I'll be completely honest about it with you as to who I am.

I mean, I'm sorry if it hurts your feelings, but would you rather I lie?

"You're talking about Ashley," Yasmine says quietly.

So this Stripper Goddess has a name! Finally.

"Is she working tonight?" I ask her.

"She doesn't work here anymore," Yasmine says and I think I see a glint  of pleasure at the total look of devastation that wracks my face. "Her  stage name is Misty, but her real name is Ashley Lane. Don't tell anyone  that I told you."

Just my fucking luck. The one woman I obsess about ends up being the one who doesn't work here anymore.

But Yasmine has a heart of gold, because her next words are, "She started working at Simulated Pleasures last week."

Fucking bingo!

Good thing I didn't sell that place yet.

First thing tomorrow, I'm stopping by there and finding out how to get ahold of this girl.

I rush over and kiss Yasmine on the lips.

Hell, I break it off before she wants more. I know what I do to women.  And I don't want to go down that road now with anyone but Stripper  Goddess. Wait. I mean Ashley.

"Thank you so fucking much, Yasmine," I say and she just looks at me in a daze as I rush down the stairs.

I got to get ready for tomorrow.

It's going to be a great fucking day. I can feel it.





37





Ashley





It's been exactly one week of taking calls and I've learned a few  things: never ask permission questions, never asked if they're married,  and hot girls aren't bored. So when the phone rings, I immediately snap  into character. I lower my voice almost to a whisper. I finger the lace  of my bra-Agent Provocateur-and then run my hands up my stockings. I  know some people can do this job while they're washing the dishes, or  mopping the floor or something, but for me, I have to be all in. I can't  multi-task. I think it should feel authentic, and wearing the heels and  lingerie instantly gets me into character. I even turn down the lights.  I find that the darker the room is, the more I can focus on the voice  on the other end of the line.

I answer the call and sit back on my bed. I whisper in a soft, sultry  voice. The secret is to keep your voice smooth as a stick of butter.  "Hi, this is Misty. Who am I speaking with?"

I hear a man clear his throat. "Mike."

I wait for more but it doesn't come. "That's my favorite name for a  man," I purr, urging him on. "You sound strong and handsome."

"You can say I'm strong. I work construction-concrete pump operator."

"Oh that's good because I could use a few pumps of your hot concrete.  I'm so glad you called. My neighbors have been fucking all day and  listening to them has made me so horny … "

"That makes two of us," he says.

"And I've got a secret to tell you. I'm not wearing any underwear."

"Is that right?" he replies, and I can almost hear a smile in the way he asks.

"I've been so horny. I can hardly stand it. I haven't had sex all day  and it feels like forever. I have myself so worked up and hot that I'm  lying in front of a fan, and the cold air is making my nipples hard. Do  you like hard nipples, Mike?"

"Mm hmm," he mumbles, and I continue.

"What kind of girls do you like?"

"Young, blonde, and busty," he says without hesitation.

"Well, you're in luck. I'm 18, and I have long, blonde hair that goes  down to my tiny waist. I wish you were here with me right now," I say,  just above a whisper, and Mike lowers his voice as well.

"What would you do to me?" he asks, as if it were a shared conspiracy.

"Oh Mike, I'd make sure my lips touched every manly inch of you. I'd  start by nibbling on your ear-playfully, but then I'd get more serious  and move my lips down to your neck and I'd touch your strong chest-I can  tell you have a strong chest just by your voice. And I'd run my tongue  over your nipples, circling them a few times."

"And what else?" he asks.

"I'd let my mouth move down your body even further, my tongue resting in  the deep V above the waistband of your pants. I can even taste the salt  on your skin and it leaves me wanting more-so much more."

"Is your pussy wet?" he asks.

"Oh yes, you make me so wet. I'm soaking wet-it's your voice, your  body-you have me so turned on, Mike. My pussy is throbbing for you. I'm  in the mood to fuck."

"Cut or uncut cocks?" he asks.

"I love all cocks."

"What would you do to my cock?"

"I'd unbutton your jeans after you've had a hard day at work, and I'd  slip my hand over your cock. Both of my hands would work their way up  and down your shaft until you're nice and hard and then I'd place my  lips on it. First kissing the tip, and then slowly basting it with my  warm, wet tongue, moving up and down your manhood."

"Mm hmm, I like that," he says.

"But I wouldn't stop there. I'd wrap my lips around your cock so tightly  and take you deep into my throat. I'd take it so deep that I might gag.  Would you like it if I gagged on your cock?"         

     



 

He doesn't answer, but I can hear him breathing heavier, so I continue.

"Do you like it when I suck on your cock like this?"

"Yes-mm hmm-more," he answers at a whisper … or is it a whimper?

"Good, because your cock tastes so good. I can hardly stand it," I say,  and I can hear him jerking himself off-skin slapping skin.

"Mike, my pussy is so wet-I want to ride your cock. I want you to give  it to me. I'm going to straddle your lap and lower my pussy onto your  thick, hard shaft with my breasts in your face. I want you to take my  nipples into your mouth."

Then I hear Mike coming, his breathing overtaking the conversation, so I decide to enact my own climax as a spectacular finale.

When his breathing slows, he asks, "Can I get your phone number?"

"Oh Mike, I'm so flattered, but my dad would kill me if I gave out my  number. I'm still in high school. I'm 18, remember? Let me give you my  four-digit calling code so you can call me again in private."

He agrees, somewhat reluctant, and we end the call. I lie back and stare  at the ceiling. Yasmine is right, I think to myself. This is much  better than stripping. At least I can use my imagination during these  calls. At Scorcher's, what you saw is what you got. There's no masking  the fact that you're on a stage being judged. But during these calls,  the people on the other end of the line have to use their imaginations  too-which is also great because it eliminates my old routine -waxing,  makeup, manicures, pedicures, and you name it.

I think about putting on a pair of yoga pants and heading to the gym,  but then my eye travels to the stack of bills piling up next to my bed.  Shit. Unlike Scorcher's, this job also doesn't leave me with cash in  hand every night. I better go pick up my paycheck from the phone sex  company headquarters, Simulated Pleasures LLC.