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Anonymous Encounters

By:Cassandra Dee

Book 5 of the Billionaires Club~



I watched as the female came closer. She was cute, maybe about five five  with a medium ass and tentative eyes. The girl was a B, B+ on a good  day, maybe a C on a bad, depending on if that blonde hair frizzed out.  Not that the hair mattered, it's not like I was going to be stroking her  head or touching anywhere except for one particular place.

Because I'm a mofo of the worst kind. Worse than your worst nightmare.  Worse that what your greatest enemy would wish on you. But yeah, here I  am, at the Great American Concert Hall, stalking prey again, although  you wouldn't know it. It's not like I'm wearing a trenchcoat and shades  like some pervy Inspector Gadget. Instead, looking into the shadows,  you'd see a tall, dark handsome SOB, someone to make your pussy run wet  and insides quiver with lust.

And it's just the truth. That's how women see me, that's how they've  seen me since I was fourteen and Mrs. Lenz made me into a man. Can you  believe it? Little Terry Lenz was so small, but we were buddies since  nursery school, playing with blocks and Play-Doh. But opportunity is  everywhere, and one day when I was physically a man, Mrs. Lenz went for  it. The forty-year old was all over me, opening that housedress and  pushing massive boobies against my teen chest, giggling and cooing my  name.

Did I take it? Or did I do the wrong thing? You got it. Wrong is my  middle name, asshat is how I play the game. Because fuck yeah, I was on  those MILF tits immediately, like a dog on a bone, getting my dick wet  for the first time in my friend's mom's twat. So yeah, it's been a long  ride since, and I know what the ladies like. It's been decades of female  tits and ass by now, and frankly, it comes fucking easy.

So yeah, if you peered into the shadows you'd think, "Holy shit, what a  good looking dude. Must be waiting for some glamazon model, wish that  girl was me."

But most times, people don't look. They're busy smoking out, getting  ready for the concert, milling about chatting with friends while  swigging drinks. Maybe it's the alcohol, but most folks are already in a  daze by the time the music starts. And it doesn't matter who's on  stage. Could be some 80's nostalgia band or some emo group from Europe.  These folks are in their own worlds, stoned beyond belief.

So when the girl took a position in the corner by the railing, my dick  rose immediately. There was an alertness about the blonde that set her  apart, eyes looking around breathlessly, big and round. There was no  drink in her hand, and she was alone. Yup, definitely her. Everyone else  was here with their friends, jostling each other, chatting, smiling and  laughing a little too loud. But the blonde was just one person.

So as the lights dimmed, I made my way to stand behind her. It was  pretty easy, it's not that crowded on the upper balcony, these aren't  exactly the best seats. Actually, they're the worst ones because there  are no seats, it's just a box for people to stand in and sway as the  live music starts. And once the guitars start thrumming, the crowd  starts moving, the perfect time for a strike.

So as the lights dimmed, I made my way up behind the rounded blonde.

"Hey," I murmured into her ear from behind.

The girl was immediately still, startled like a rabbit.

"Discreet Encounters?" I asked. "Number 345?"

She hesitated for a moment, blue eyes looking straight ahead, almost  unable to reply. But slowly, that chin nodded, eyes fixed forwards. Good  girl. That's what I like to see. In our brief discussion, I'd made  clear that under absolutely no circumstances could she turn around. This  was an anonymous fuck, a no-name, no-face, no-nothing type of  encounter, and if she turned I'd be gone in an instant. So the girl held  still, barely breathing, the crowd swaying around us.

And pulling my jacket forwards, I stepped behind her so that my big body  loomed over the tiny female. She was so small that this was gonna be a  little difficult actually. But as the music sounded out from down below,  the female leaned over the balcony a little, like she was enjoying the  performance, trying to get closer to the musicians. Fuck yeah, that'd do  the trick. The blonde was bending at the right angle, tilting her ass  up so that I could get in.         



Pulling my jacket forwards once more, I ran one big hand up the back of a  tiny thigh. It was okay. Not great. I like ‘em thick and juicy, and  this girl was just too small. Her leg was a little gristly, like an  underfed chicken, but it was fine. I'd survive.

And as the blonde gasped, the button on her jeans popped. Oh yeah, I  have magic fingers and even though that denim was skin tight, I peeled  it off to reveal a small, flat ass. Again, about C quality. This was no  beautiful bubble butt, this was about five sizes too small, more like a  Waffle House pancake rather than a rounded, luscious peach. But what the  hell, the target was so near and there was no sense in beating around  the bush.

So in one fell swoop, I pushed two fingers into the girl's twat, making  her gasp. Oh yeah, the female's head fell back and she let out a tiny  whimper, eyes falling shut as my digits made their entrance. When I said  finger fuck, I didn't say that we were going to a shit-ton of teasing  or anything like that. I said "finger fuck" and that's what I meant. So  going for gold, I went to town on that little vag as the band played  below, sawing my fingers in and out of that sweet hole as the girl  gasped and panted, head nodding back and forth, bobbing to the music.

And as the song crescendoed, it happened. The blonde fell apart on my  hand, that tiny pussy squeezing me tight, juices everywhere, squirting  like a fountain into my palm. Fuck, fuck, fuck it felt good. I love it  when a girl loses it, vaginal muscles clenching, personal nectar running  like honey all over my fist, it's the ultimate validation. And as she  descended from earth, it was all good. Slowly, deftly, my digits exited,  leaving that hot hole trembling and empty.

Immediately the girl's head swung around, mouth already open to ask a  question, to get my name, all that bullshit. But too late. I was already  gone in the crowd, just the back of a tall, dark head and some broad  shoulders disappearing with every passing second. I could have been the  guy to the right, the one already looking at her with interest, smiling a  slick grin with no idea what had just happened. Or I could have been  the older geezer on the left, the one double-fisting PBR, eyes already  blood-shot.

But it didn't matter. She was too late, and besides, the deed was done.  Our anonymous encounter was over, and we'd both gotten what we came for.  The blonde had had a screaming orgasm at the skilled hands of a  faceless dude, excitement and lust pouring through her veins. And I'd  had a wet pussy clenching all over me, cunt juice spilling into my palm  as one more woman gave it all up with a series of helpless quivers. But  did I want more? Hell no. Did I want to see her again? Hell no. Did I  care? Hell no. These things are one-off type events and that's the  beauty of it. We'd had our exchange  …  and I was fucking done.



"Yo," rumbled the voice. "Whaddup?"

I glanced up from my laptop.

"Nuthin', why?" I asked, shutting the screen discreetly as Jared ambled  near. It wasn't that I didn't want him to see, although it was better if  he didn't. I just didn't want to talk about it. Because I was here,  deep in the lair of the Billionaires Club, and yet I was surfing on-line  for an anonymous encounter. Yeah, the Club is where anything goes,  where the hottest, most delectable girls serve men, and I was on-line  looking for an anonymous fuck.

It's twisted for sure. At the Club, we source the hottest chicks, the  most nubile, ravishing females and bring them here to be auctioned. So  yeah, you can buy what you want, you can literally put money down and  get a virgin for a week, enjoying that beautiful body until she's  nothing but a panting, trembling mess of hot pussy and clenching  asshole.

And even better, after you're done, it's sayonara, see ya later.  Actually that's not right. See ya never is more accurate. There are no  obligations, no nothing, no parting gifts, no sad goodbyes, no long,  ten-paragraph desperate emails. There's just a load of cash direct  deposited to the virgin's bank account once your week is done, and then  poof, she's vapor. You never have to see her again, it's a clean break  with a clear conscience, wham, bam, thank you ma'am.         



So why the fuck was I doing on-line? Why the fuck was I surfing sites,  looking for hot chicks to finger anonymously? If I wanted to fondle hot  twat and walk away, I could do it right here. I could buy a girl. Or  shit, I could summon one of the ladies who serves drinks to do my  bidding, to bend over right now and pull her panties down, giving me  access to a steaming pussy. And no one would blink an eye. Even if I did  it in the middle of the bar area, even if I did it in the pool, in our  sauna, in the middle of our ballroom, no one would give a shit. Pussy at  the Billionaires Club is here to be fucked and used, it's an anything  goes atmosphere.