Princely Passions 1(11)

Fuck all this shit. Just fuck it.

“Pressly, get me my helmet. I’m going out.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea, sir?” He asks me in that understanding tone of his. If there’s someone that cares more about me than about some fucking trade deal, it’s Pressly.

“I need to unwind,” I simply say as I grab my leather jacket.

“Very well,” Pressly says, disappearing into one of the rooms and returning a few seconds after with my black helmet in his hands.

I look over at Larry who’s still sitting there. “Sir, if I may...” he starts.

Here we go. Larry’s about to lay some fucking wisdom on me. I hate it when people do that… But whenever it’s him, I can’t help but listen.

“Let it out, mate.”

“If you can show that you’ve changed, that you’ve become more stable – we could make it work out in the end. I know it might sound absurd to you, but I know you’re capable of it.”

I stare at him for a heartbeat. Change? How the fuck am I supposed to change? Should I become Derrick nice guy Blaine? That’s fucking impossible. Wrecking shit up is in my DNA. I’m a fruit of the genetics of chaos. You can’t change this shit. But instead of arguing, I simply nod at him respectfully - I know he means well. He could charge me a fortune, but he serves the kingdom pro bono.

“Any ideas how I can change?” I ask him. I turn from Larry towards Pressly. “Any?”

There’s a pause. At last, Larry ventures, “Is there anyone wholesome you could turn to? Someone you could be seen with?”

Wholesome. With me? Gimme a fucking break.

“And His Highness could work with her and maybe do some good publicity?” Pressly asks Larry.

“Exactly!” Larry says. “Someone you could do some public service with that would get the public thinking you’re an asset rather than a liability towards civilization.”

Fuck.

I say nothing to them as I walk out of the condo. I need to work out. Then I need to fuck something.

I grab the helmet and put it under my arm; I head to the elevator and get to the garages down below as fast as I can.



Two hours later, I leave the private gym that I belong to and hop on my bike. I thought working out would clear my head, but doing dead lifts and squatting hundreds of pounds only increases the testosterone level inside of me.

It makes me into a fucking maniac. All I need to do now is fuck.

I cruise through traffic like a fucking storm, tracing the route to my very own strip club like some fucking missile. I bought the place two years ago and I use it when I need to release some steam or be by myself. Don’t fucking judge - women are my drug and I’m not fucking ashamed of that.

As soon as I step inside the huge room, everyone turns their heads to me - yes, even strippers. I’m a fucking God among men, and they know it.

I turn on my heels and head upstairs to my private room. Yes, I have a private fucking room in here. Stocked bar, soundproof walls and the windows that are one way mirrors. Exactly what I need right now - a place where I can drink in peace while taking in the sight of beautiful half-naked women. I get in and sit down on the couch, removing the cap out of the bottle and taking a massive gulp.

“Well, hello there, Your Highness,” I turn my head back as a Russian looking stripper enters the room, wearing only a black lace thong and a pearly bra. She smiles at me, and asks, “I saw you coming upstairs and I thought you might…want a little company. May I…?”

“Be my guest,” I say, leaning back against the leather couch as she walks towards me. It’s not the first time. Every fucking girl here wants a piece of me. They all want my fucking cock. At least once they want the eleven inches of His Royal Highness inside of them. That’s why they come to work here. Today must be her turn. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“Marta,” she replies with a lascivious smile.

I take one hard look at her: I’ve seen her around a few times, but never had the time for a one-on-one with her.

She hits the switch on the wall and dims the lights; in an instant, she’s on the couch, sitting on top of me. I’m like fucking honey to strippers - they all want to try Prince Sin firsthand. Not that I’m complaining.

Before I can say a thing, she’s already grabbing at my crotch, massaging it with her open hand. Boiling blood flows down to it and in an instant my raging erection is already pushing against her hand. She starts swaying her hips back and forth, grinding against me as I grab at her ass.

“I want you to fuck me…” She whispers against my ear, already unbuttoning my jeans with quick experienced fingers. In half a second, she pulls my cock out and starts to stroke it with quick flicks of her wrist. Like a fucking magician, she makes a condom wrapper appear on her fingers. She opens the wrapper and slides the condom down my length with a grin on her face.