By: Alexis Angel

A Dark Comedy Fairytale Romance



“Ah, Derek, fuck me harder!”

I grab the slut’s hair and wrap it around my fist, yanking her head back. She screams out, more words falling from her swollen lips as she tells me just how fucking good my dick feels.

Like I don’t know.

I shove her further down into the seat of the limo and grab her ass, pulling it roughly against me as I pound into her from behind.

“You like that? You want more of this cock?” The sound of slick skin slapping almost drowns out her muffled praise.

Doesn’t matter. I know exactly what she’s saying. She’s fucking grateful to have my cock buried so deep inside her she won’t be able to sit for a fucking week.

I mean, who wouldn’t be?

I’m Derek Fucking Van Windsor, Crown Prince of St. Albans. And right now I’m cruising down 5th Avenue like the royalty I am, using this girl to get my dick wet as the lights of the city flash through the blacked out windows of the limo.

“Yes,” she moans. “Gonna cum.”

Damn right she is. I don’t have a reputation as the prince with a magic cock for nothing. Chicks beg for a piece of this. And not a single one leaves unsatisfied.

I reach around and grab her tits, squeezing them as her pussy grips me. Her moans fill the limo, and I fuck her harder, letting her convulsing pussy soak me in wet heat until I’m pouring hot, streaming jets of cum inside her.

I groan out my release, then smack her ass and push her off my cock.

“You’re a good fuck, uh, baby,” I say as I pull out and remove the condom. So I forgot her name. So what? Fuck, I may not have gotten her name in the first place. It’s not like I have to work hard to get the hottest chicks in the world begging for a piece of me.

They’re all more than happy to hop on for a ride. And I’m happy to oblige.

I turn and settle back into the seat of the limo, not bothering to put my cock away. What’s the point? I’ll just be using it again in a few minutes.

Whatever-her-name-is crawls up on the seat beside me, pulling her skirt down over her ass, and snuggles in close to my chest.

I arch an eyebrow but don’t say anything as I push a button and the window slides down. With the flick of my wrist, I toss the condom out, laughing when it hits the front windshield of the car behind us.

“Oh my God, Derek,” the chick giggles. “That’s a cop car.”

I shrug, but my lips curve up in a mischievous smirk when I glance back. My cum is streaming and dripping all down the cop’s windshield. And he can’t do shit about it thanks to the diplomatic plates on my limo.

Fucker probably wishes he were me right now, getting pussy rolling down the road. Just a day in the life.

I lean forward to fill a glass with a finger of Scotch, jostling the chick off me, and then settle back to bask in the perfection of my life.

Who wouldn’t want to be me? I’m sexy as hell, have a fucking twelve-inch cock that gives mind-blowing orgasms, and as the prince of my own kingdom, I’m richer than God.

A different pussy on my cock every night, often more than one. Free to do whatever the fuck I want. Yeah, couldn’t ask for more.

Except maybe some time. My father, the king, has been bugging me even more than usual lately. Some bullshit about it being time for me to come home, take my rightful place, blah blah blah. What the fuck ever. I’m not ready. So much pussy, so little time.

I have the rest of my life to deal with the responsibility I’m not sure I want. Well, the marriage part, at least.

Yeah, you heard me right. Derek Van Windsor, Prince of St. Albans, has to settle down and get married. At least if I want to claim my kingdom one day. One day being the key word.

I toss back my Scotch as thoughts of my father’s increasingly frequent calls try to kill the post-fuck buzz I have going. Like I said. Bullshit.

Time for round two. I grab the chick by the ass and settle her over my cock, her bare pussy rubbing against me, so hot and so fucking wet, getting me hard all over again.

I’m ready to spear her with my pole, but my face twists in annoyance when she starts pawing at me like a fucking animal, her greedy hands bordering on desperate.

Fuck. Why can’t I find a chick who doesn’t make me want to toss her out on her ass as soon as I’m finished with her? They’re all so fucking needy. Acting like it’s more than just a quick bone.

“Oh, Princey-Poo, you make me so happy. I can’t wait to spend the rest of the night making you feel so, so good.”

I roll my eyes at her gooey voice. It’s fucking ridiculous.

“I’m going to treat your little peeper so good,” she giggles. “We’re going to be so happy together.”

Little peeper? Fucking hell. Is she for real? There's not a damn thing little about me.

She nuzzles up against my neck, and I try to ignore how much she’s trying my patience. Because my cock is really enjoying the way her cunt feels rubbing on it.

“Mmm,” she continues, making me wish she’d shut the fuck up, “then in the morning, after we’ve fucked all night, we can have brunch, and then we can—”

I don’t even hear what she says next. Brunch? Oh, hell no. This has suddenly veered into dangerous territory. I’m down with fucking her all night, but when I’m done? She has to go.

I push her off my lap, and her pout that made me want her lips wrapped around my cock earlier now just makes me sneer.

“What’s the matter, Princey-Poo?”

“Okay, we’re done here.” Nicknames and cuddling and morning after shit? Hell fucking no.

I push the button to roll down the divider between us, and the driver. “Stop the limo,” I demand.

“What’s wrong?” Confusion is all over her face, but I don’t give a flying fuck. I’m so done.

“Out,” I say as soon as the limo jerks to a stop. I don’t even offer an explanation. I just push her toward the door. “Thanks for the fuck.” I’m not even sure I mean it.

I slam the door shut after she stumbles out, then gesture for the driver to roll, not even caring she’s standing on the curb with her mouth gaping.

He hits the gas. “Where to?”

Somewhere I know the girls aren’t looking to sink their claws into me. Where I can have a good time and leave it at the door.

“Take me to the best strip club in town.”



“Ms. Ketchum, you’ve got a client asking for a lap dance.”

I don’t even glance at the manager as he pops his head through the door. I’m too busy reattaching my eyelashes. Can’t have them falling off on a dude while he’s trying to get off, or worse, hanging from my eye like I’m some kind of hot mess. Hell no. I’m a pro.

“Give me five,” I call, and he disappears.

“Oh my God, Ella, what is this? Like, your third lap dance tonight?” one of the new girls asks, her eyes wide like I’m her fucking hero or something.

I shrug. “Something like that.”

Looking at the costumes, I reach for a brown wig and tuck my long blonde waves inside. I like to change it up, especially when I’m doing lap dances.

With one last glance at myself in the mirror, I head out toward the semi-private booths where we do the lap dances, a sultry smile on my red lips.

I know I look fucking hot. There’s a reason I’m one of the most in-demand strippers at the club. I’m good at what I do. I can make a guy cum without even touching him. Though it’s a lot more fun for both of us if I do touch.

What can I say? I like sex. A lot. Everything about it.

So when I graduated from Harvard with a degree in economics right in the middle of the financial crisis, working on Wall Street was the last thing I wanted to do. Stripping was the obvious alternative.

Why, you ask?

Because if I learned one thing about economics, sex is a booming business that isn’t going anywhere, no matter what the economy is doing.

Stripping is fucking smart. The fact that I love to cum on the regular is icing on the cake. A cake made of fat stacks of cash.

Plus, I’m the one in charge of my body. If I want to feel good, and I get off on making other people feel good, too, I don’t see the problem. Best choice I’ve ever made.

When I push through the doors separating the back from the main floor, the music that was just a bunch of muffled beats starts pounding through my body. My steps automatically fall in time with the pulsing bass, my hips swaying. Every eye falls on me, even the ones that should be occupied by the tits and asses flashing on stage and in their laps.

I’m used to it. I fucking thrive on it.

When I get to the booth where my client is waiting, I can tell he’s already hard. Just by looking at me.

I fall into character, letting the sensual beat of the music and the lush colors and fabrics of the club settle in, putting me in the right mood.

I smile down at the man, trying to ignore the fact that his comb-over does nothing to hide that he’s balding. His eyes widen when I bite my lip and reach out for him, resting my hand on his shoulder, dipping my finger under his collar teasingly.

“What can I do for you tonight, sugar?”

I lean forward, giving him a great view of my tits that are spilling out of my bra. He’s practically drooling.

Ugh. I have to admit, this guy might be a challenge for me to really get into. But I get straight to work, pulling on his tie and yanking his face right into my tits. He moans, his whole body quivering, and I fight the eye roll.

Best thing to do here? Lose myself in my own fantasies.

So I straddle this dude’s lap and start writhing on him, tipping my head back and letting my thoughts drift.

I can almost pretend he has strong, wide shoulders, ripped abs, and a cock that will make me scream as he rams me with it.

Dipping down, I grind my pussy against his cock, and hello, he actually does have some decent equipment. I focus on that, rubbing myself on him over and over. Then I run my hands up his chest and neck, imagining my favorite fantasy—dark, dangerous eyes, almost as black as the hair I grip in my fists.

Fuck. There goes that. His thin strands of hair slip through my fingers.

Okay, new plan.

I stand and turn, bending over so he can get an eyeful of my ass. I run my finger inside my thong, working him up even more. I can see his legs shaking as he watches.

Then I back up, straddling him again, this time in reverse, and I squeeze my tits, rolling my nipples between my thumbs and index fingers as I lower my hips, rubbing my ass all over his slightly above-average cock.

I touch myself, determined that I’ll get something out of this too. My pussy throbs when I rub my clit, and I feel myself get wet.

I figure this guy knows it, too, because he starts mumbling and groaning, gripping the booth on either side of his thighs. I’m driving him crazy, I know it. I rub my ass harder on his cock, then some desperate, strangled cry rips from his throat. I stop, looking down, not sure if I should be shocked or not.

Dude has just cum in his pants, and all I did was grind on him. I mean, I know I’m all kinds of fuckable, but seriously?

I get up, all respect for this guy gone. He holds out a wad of Benjamins, looking at me like I just rocked his world, and I take them, stuffing them into my panties and turning my back without another word.

I walk to the bar, needing a drink after that bullshit. Some of the girls come up to me, eyes wide in awe as they see the fat wad of cash. Five hundred dollars. That brings me to a cool three grand today, and the night is still young.

“Shit, Ella,” one of them says, “you have to be a fucking millionaire by now.”

I smirk. Try multi-millionaire. I have this gig wrapped up.

Holding up the shots the bartender sets out, we toast to our fortunes and knock them back.

I slam it back on the bar and scan the room, looking for my next job.

Just then, the front doors fly open, and all eyes zero in on the man entering as if he’s the fucking king of the world.

But holy shit. Tall, dark, and handsome, he’s my favorite fantasy come to life.

He dominates the entire room with his presence, just standing there in the door with an arrogant smirk on his mouth. A mouth that makes my pussy throb just imagining what it would feel like between my legs.

He scans the room, and I can’t take my eyes off him.

I see the other strippers I’m hanging with looking at him the same way, and I pull rank.

“Sorry, girls. I call dibs.”



I stand in the entry of the strip club and take it all in. Hell to the yeah. This is exactly what I’m talking about. Women all over the place with hardly any clothes on? Fuck yes.

And these ladies know what’s up. No games here. Straight up sex and nothing less. No expectations.

I stroll in, the driving beat sinking into my bones, putting even more swagger than usual into my step. These women are mine for the taking.

A cocktail waitress in the tiniest excuse of a uniform approaches me, lust in her eyes as she looks me up and down. “What can I do for you?”

I chuckle. There are so many ways I could answer that. For now, I settle on the obvious.

“Hook me up with a bottle of Cristal.” I take a minute to let my eyes rake over her body, big tits and round ass on full display. “Then we’ll see what else you can do for me.”

Even though she’s not one of the strippers, I could have her on my cock if I want. She bites her lip and winks at me, turning to go get my champagne.

My eyes are immediately drawn back to the crowd, focusing on a huge table right in the center.

“Hey, hey, what’s up, assholes?” I call out across the room, grabbing the waitress by the elbow and pulling her back, nodding my head toward the three guys I just caught sight of. “Make that four bottles.”

“Sure thing.”

I stretch my arms wide as I make my way to the table. “What the fuck is up, bitches?”

A round of greetings hits me as I step up to them. Must be my lucky night showing up here and finding these guys.

Three of my boys are sprawled out on the huge velvet booth taking up the center of the room, arms draped over two strippers each, with more between their legs or hovering over their shoulders, rubbing, stroking, and grinding all over them.