Watching you all drop dead right now would turn me really fucking religious. I’m talking hardcore orthodox. I’d fast, pray, join a Bible group, and eventually give my life away to a nunnery. But life never adheres to my wishes and people with your kind of money don’t just drop dead. No, it needs to be orchestrated. God, and this potent fragrance that’s lingering in the air… it keeps fingering my nostrils. I can feel the onset of a migraine because of it. The kind that’s going to start humping the insides of my brain without my consent. Again and again and again.

11:25 p.m. Great. Five minutes left. While these rich girls, only a few feet away from me, get to dance around in skintight Hervé Léger like the night belongs to them. Slow, lazy, and detached from the rest of us, because it does belong to them. There’s no clock chasing them down, no minimum-wage job that they’ll have to wake up for in the morning, no financial worries. And to make it even worse, they have great asses. Very firm, like they do Pilates six times a week. Toned legs. Gorgeous hair too. I look like a plain jane in comparison, and I don’t fucking like it. Not one bit. 

I mean, come on, look at the way this girl’s rubbing her ass against his cock. That’s not dirty dancing, it’s just dirty. She’s begging to have her hairless cunt stuffed tonight by any man at this party. The kind of man to rack cocaine with his J.P. Morgan Reserve Card, eager to cream into anything, cheap or couture, just to feel powerful. 

The Opening Of Chapter One.

© 2025 Deliberate Intentions. All rights reserved.

Unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this content is strictly prohibited and may result in legal action.