Her name was Dannii.
I didn’t know that yet, but it already explained a heck of a lot of things. Like every girl called Dannii, or at least every girl I ever imagined being called Dannii, she was slightly taller than usual, had long, straight, blond hair, a fit, sporty body and a face that begged for a bucket full of the stickiest cum to be thrown all over it.
Dannii was looking at me. That was a strange realization, ’cause I wasn’t necessarily the best dancer, nor did I run around topless showing off my crazy muscular body, like some of the other guys were doing. She ignored them and looked at me once more, then turned away and shook her hips. Continue reading “Dannii, the drunkest Russian slut ever”
One of the best things about being in charge at work, is you get to hire employees. One of our staff members moved to another part of the country, so we needed someone new. Several people applied, but it was quite obvious from the start that Samantha had the upper hand. Not because she was more qualified than the others. Just because she was unimaginably hot.
Perhaps that’s a bit shallow. Perhaps even wrong. But there are two reasons why I hired her and not the other, slightly less dashing creatures. Research has shown over and over again, people drink more when there’s a hot girl serving their drinks. That, combined with the prospect of getting to watch her body swirl and twirl about night after night, made the decision, be it a tad hollow, one of the easiest ones I’ve had to make since I took over the bar. Continue reading “Screw morals. I fucked the new girl”
It’s hard to choose, almost impossible. Why do I have to pick myself? Why do I keep finding myself in places like this? I’m trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea. Between a rock and a hard place. Between Vicky and Lola.
Lola’s on the right. Her tight blue cocktail dress covers most of her hips, though exposes a thin layer of pale skin in the shape of a piece of underwear. Her back is arched, like a stretching cat, her arms flat on the floor before her. I can’t see her face, but I’m fairly sure her eyes are closed, and I imagine her biting her lower lips as I slide my hand up her leg. Continue reading “Vicky vs. Lola: The toughest choice, ever”