Club princesses were forbidden fruit.
I didn’t want to think about what would happen to me if I put my hands on one of them.
Did club members sometimes end up with them? Yeah. But it was rare. And out of the, what, three times it had happened, two of them had been other club ‘insiders.’ Not an outsider like me. No an ex-con like me.
If I touched her, I was sure someone would cut my hands off at the wrist.
And I wasn’t sure I was exaggerating about that.
Not only were the OG members fiercely protective of them, but so were the current members, who were all like family to the princesses. And who knew what we were like with women.
Namely… casual.
Sometimes with groups at a time.
It was no wonder they wanted us nowhere near their loved ones.
Still, knowing who she was didn’t stop the interest that had already started to build in me.
Especially as she moved forward, and I could tell by the bounce of her tits under the thin material of her romper that I was right about the lack of a bra.
My cock twitched at the mental image of sliding that material downward and sucking one of her nipples into my mouth. Of hearing her shocked intake of breath followed by the whimper of pleasure, then the sensation of the shiver of need as it racked her system.
That thought was immediately followed by her clothes on the floor, me on my knees, and her panties yanked to the side.
A girl like her, I bet she tasted like fucking sunshine.
Even as that thought formed (and my cock pressed against the fly of my jeans), I saw someone ram into her.
Her arms flew up to try to stop herself from flying forward.
Then her hand grabbed a massive ice sculpture cock. Then broke the damn thing clear off.
A silent laugh shook my chest as I watched the absolute horror on her face as she looked down at the giant dick in her hand.
The smart thing after having a fucking sex fantasy about a princess would be to turn and walk the fuck away without engaging.
Did I do that?
No.
What can I say? My life had been a series of bad decisions.
The problem was, now that I let one fantasy about her through my defenses, it felt impossible to talk to her without my mind going places it never had before.
Like noticing how shiny her hair was and imagining how silky it would feel wrapped around my fist as I fucked her from behind, that plump ass of hers rocking back against me as I thrust.
Like realizing she smelled like coconut. And how I wanted that scent spread across my bedsheets.
Like noticing that when you mentioned cocks, she blushed. Despite being surrounded by them at the divorce party.
I couldn’t help but wonder if that flush spread across her chest. If it would tint her skin if I whispered filthy things in her ear.
Thankfully, the server with the cock cupcakes interrupted before I could notice anything else about the woman who I could not ever, under any goddamn circumstances, put my hands on.
I couldn’t even claim it was the worry about physical punishment that I was fixated on. It was more than that. Deeper. It was the loss of something that had started to mean a lot to me.
I have to admit that when I first prospected to the club, it had kind of just been a logical step for me. With my history, there was no getting a decent straight job. Also, with my past, continuing with a life outside of the law made the most sense.
