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Copyright 2017 Daisy Rose
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older. No part in this book may be reproduced, transmitted, stored, or distributed without permission of the author or publisher.
This is a standalone short story that stars two dominating black men who take control of a young virgin who yields to them utterly and completely.
It also contains scenes including exhibitionism (store), double penetration, threesome, spanking, domination, and submission. If hardcore sex scenes in public places aren't to your cup of tea, then this many not be the book for you.
Chapters with 18+ scenes are indicated with an asterisk (*).
A lot of people back home thought she would amount to nothing in life. She was low class. Her entire family was poor white trash and she was just going to continue the legacy.
Her peers stayed away from her the same way they knew to stay away from trash. But as she grew older, she started resembling her family less and less and they started approaching her more and more, regardless of her hand-me-down clothes. Her dirty brown hair turned into golden locks and her dull blue eyes transformed into mesmerizing opals. She had high cheekbones that was not inherited from anyone in her family and a complexion that made grown men weak in the knees.
There was no happily-ever-after for her. No casting agents went out of their way to get her into a modeling career and she continued blossoming into a devastatingly beautiful young woman without being noticed. And she was noticed least of all by Damien Hunt.
She'd had a crush on Damien since she was twelve years old. She also hate his guts. She hated the way he looked at her with pity and she hated how he was probably right about that. She hated him even more when puberty hit her hard and she couldn't stop herself from studying his sculptured bare back every time he took off his shirt to change out of his uniform into his gym clothes.
She hated how he made her breath catch at the sight of the furry line that ran way too low down the middle of his sculptured stomach. She knew where that line ended up and that made her feels things she didn't want to admit.
And when he gave her a crooked smile and a look that implied he knew exactly what she was thinking, she swore she would stop looking, only to volunteer to clean the men's changing room again the very next day.
"Like what you see?" he asked when he caught her staring in the midst of pretending to clean the mirror that was already shining.
She was only fourteen then, and already knew that he was going to be the hottest guy she would ever set her eyes on. She blushed a bright pink and shook her head. She was squatting on the counter of the sink in rather uncouth manner and quickly climbed down so she was standing properly in front of the half-clothed man.
The fact that that he wasn't wearing a shirt made it harder for her to focus on anything. His muscular chest and impressive abs seemed to bulge with every move that she made.
She didn't think he would notice her staring through the mirror. "I was looking at your new tattoo," she lied smoothly. He had a tattoo on his back that looked nothing like what she had seen the kids at the streets had on their arms. His tattoo was more intricately done, with curves and lines that made it look delicate. The colors were more beautiful as well, looking obvious despite his dark skin.
"It's not finished," he admitted with a smile that was almost shy.
"What is it?" she asked, her curiosity peaked despite her embarrassment.
"Once it's done, it's going to be a Phoenix," he said.
Her eyebrows went all the way up her hairline in surprise. "Why a Phoenix?" she asked.
"The idea of a mythical creature that never dies, flying far ahead in it's great beauty to seek and understand what lies ahead, then die only to be reborn anew... it's captivating, don't you think?" he asked.
Her eyes were positively glistening from awe and she had to stop herself from nodding too enthusiastically. Reigning herself in, she said, "It looks really pretty already."
"Maybe you'll get a tattoo of your own too, one day," he said.
She shook her head, certain that she wouldn't. "I don't like pain."
"You might, one day," he said in the sort of mysterious tone adults used to say things she wouldn't understand. She knew it was a clue of something lewd without quite knowing how. Why would anyone like pain? She was usually quick witted, but when he was there, she lost all semblance of intelligence.
When he left, her cheeks were still stinging in embarrassment. That happened a lot with her encounters with Damien.
A year later, he moved somewhere else and the only places she was him was in magazines and newspaper articles when he handled a new project or was lauded for a new innovation.
Her childhood crush was pushed to the back of her mind until she started working straight out of college and found herself employed under the one and only Damien Hunt.
Only, her position was so low down the corporate chain that she never even got to see his face. She was merely a cashier in one of his many clothes and perfume chains, definitely not a position where she would find herself in his presence. She wished it was. Even with the twelve-year gap between them, he was still undoubtedly handsome.
She wished she had gotten through the trouble of trying to get to him personally though. He would be able to do something to help her so she wouldn't be in the position she was now...
"-I'm sure," she heard he colleague say as she walked into the store.
All the hair on her arms stood on end. She'd heard that tone before. People used it on her mother's boss when they find something missing in their room. It's almost always just misplaced, but it was easier to blame the help.
"What's wrong?" she asked as she walked into the room. The temperature felt like it was ten degrees lower there. She gulped. Both men's eyes were on her in an instant.
Carl, the manager, was a guy she never dared talk alone to for too long. He always stared too hard and put his hand on her shoulder for too long. He was released from prison a few years ago and always made her feel nervous. He had a foreign accent that was all thick and heavy even after years in America. For Katrina, a good shift at work was one where Carl spend most of the time in the office.
He was sitting behind the counter, writing something in a big black ledger book. He was an intimidating man and the tattoos just made him even more terrifying. Customers would come in demanding to see the manager but after one look at him, accept that they were in the wrong.
Next to him was Dexter, who was equally unpleasant. She dreaded all her shifts with him because he kept coming onto her too hard. She appreciated the attention he lavished her and all the help he was ready to give her, but there was something about the tattooed black man that just rubbed her the wrong way.