Authors: Gracia Ford
Badass
Badass
Gracia Ford
That Night With My Best Friend´s Brother
Copyright © 2015 Gracia Ford
Badass
By Gracia Ford
All rights reserved.
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materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the properties of the author and your support and respect is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Both author and editor have taken great effort in presenting a manuscript free of errors. However, editing errors are ultimately the responsibility of the author. This book is written in US English.
Due to strong language and sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18.
This is a standalone read with a HEA.
If you love men with filthy mouths and dirty sex, then this book is perfect for you.
This book was previously called, Until Alex by J. S. Wilder.
This isn’t an ordinary gym.
Men workout with their eyes fixated on the ladies. Chicks from all over come here to get a taste of me.
I'm a fucking stallion in every way imaginable.
I'm not blind; the way they move their hips, appear with faces full of make-up and eyelashes flapping like wings when I walk around the gym - all for me
Interested? Well, you’re in luck.
The Brand New You program is taking on recruits.
Pass orientation.
Graduate with flying colors.
I'm the one with the tools the ladies pay big bucks for.
No second chances. No refunds.
See you in class...
T
he air slowly changes from Chicago’s congested air to the fresh air of the countryside. The noise, pollution and everything else seem to be a thing of the past when you leave the city.
“Ladies, off the bus. We’re here,” I shout as it comes to a halt. We’ve arrived at White Pines. I love the fresh air; makes such a difference. They step off the bus carrying their purses, yelling at the driver to get the rest of their luggage from inside the bus. I laugh. They don’t know the suitcases they left and thought were coming are safely in storage at the gym.
Ladies come here to learn, because I’m the most highly recommended teacher. Most of them are rich bitches, and they need to be to make a donation to the gym in order to be part of the program. I had to do it that way; otherwise, I could get a conviction for running a sex joint as part of the gym activities. Sure, I charge them; unofficially. Knowledge comes at a price. I’m the one with the tools the ladies pay to use.
I take their money and increase their stamina, then I show them how to perform for an audience. Having sex isn’t about ordinary, missionary style, male-on-female in a bed. It can be done in so many places and in so many ways. Women think that sex and making love are one and the same. They are not even close. I even get thank-you cards from women who have passed my program.
At times, it’s a ploy to come back. Shit, I’m not dumb. They can’t come back. If they didn’t learn what they needed to within four weeks, they’re hopeless. They weren’t going to grasp anything if they came here for four years. It’s one of those things, you either get it or you don’t.
As they get off the bus they all start looking round, like they’re fucking Alice in Wonderland. There’s nothing but cabins and a dirt road to nowhere. There’s nothing interesting to see, but the table in front of the cabins.
“Stand in line,” I shout. I need to be tough, otherwise they’ll be running rings around me. It’s my program and they need to know who’s in charge.
This is why they need to pass the first step: Orientation. That one specific day is like an audition; it says a lot about a woman. A woman has to be willing to learn in order to improve, and that means change. Some of them are as stubborn as fuck and think they’re perfect, but deep down they know they aren’t or they wouldn’t be here, in my domain.
No one is perfect, even I can admit this on a regular basis. It’s the beauty of these camps: self-awareness. If you are open to your good and bad points, then you can move forward. Accepting your true colors is the only way to advance in life. I learnt this the hard way and with my assistant, Tina, by my side, I’m still learning.
Orientation is a process of elimination. Women seem to think the way to a man’s heart is by flaunting their bodies. Apparently, give us a taste and we kneel down and beg like dogs. They’re so damn wrong. I have a big surprise in store for them. They won’t know what hit them.
“Ladies, take it off.” They make me laugh each and every time I say that to them. It’s always the same reaction.
“What?” One of the African-American ladies asked, “Take what off?”
“Your clothes,” I bark. “Get them off and stick them in the bags on the table, numbered one to six. That means everything: purses, clothes, and jewelry.” Some screech, staring me dead in the eyes, expecting me to say something else. I nod so they know I am dead serious; the redhead starts stripping her clothes off in a sultry motion, like she was in some strip joint.
While they start stripping, I start taking a sneak preview of each of their bodies. It’s natural, shit, I’m a man. Some are staring at the lady with the big boobs, looking down at their own limp breasts and feeling inferior as they sigh, then use their hands to hide them, darting their eyes back and forth as if they’re in a tennis match.
Others are gazing at the general shape of their competition. Something always makes them envious, either their stomach, butt, hips, or something they don’t have. They’re either sighing or smiling at whatever they’re staring at.
They stand naked with no cell phones and no way home. They’re anxious and worried about what’s going to happen next. During the last session one lady cried, but in the end she became my best student. She learned to fucking listen.
My eyes focus on Mia. She has the body of an angel, tits that could fit in my hand, plump, not too big and certainly not small. Her hips could grind against my cock perfectly. I find myself daydreaming about her pussy, wondering how tightly it would squeeze my dick, and I start to get excited.
I shake off my thoughts. “Right, ladies, welcome to Brand New You.” I smirk as they finally finish removing their clothes. They all stand in nothing but heels and they look sexy as hell.
Seeing them naked, I’m given a sneak peek of what I’m going to be fucking next month. I’m never disappointed. Different shapes turn me on. Fucking the carbon copy of a sexy body with a different face is a drag, so I broaden my options.
The more I visually explore their total nudity, the more my cock goes wild with excitement. I’m tempted to start graduation now.
I need to keep my shit together. I take a deep breath and force myself to keep my composure. I didn’t become the best in this field by thinking only with my dick.
Polish them, Alex. That’s what you created boot camp for. Work, then play.
Their future in the BNY means they only need three uniforms in total, one for each event, and each girl is labeled with a number from one to six. That’s all they’ll be known as until graduation. After their time here they'll get a different name, once they’ve earned it. For now, they’re nameless to me.
When they sign up, it’s as if they’re signing up for a standard Omega gym membership, but they’re explicitly told about the camp and the activities they need to meet in order to graduate. It’s only after they complete the orientation that they know if they qualify to be on the BNY Program (Brand New You). Why that name? Shit, because that’s what happens after they have a taste of Alex on the BNY Program. They leave feeling brand new.
Signing up is free, but the program isn’t advertised. I don’t need to advertise. The first day the program ran two years ago, it was by verbal invite only through a few of my experimental girls.
I’m the fucking flower with the nectar and once I’m done, ladies come buzzing back for more. This isn’t a fucking fitness camp. If you’re smart, you learn the first time around because I don’t do second chances. I can’t stand dumb broads. They take up too much time. Everything has to be explained to them over and over again; that’s fucking boring.
My fucking advice to all women:
Stop.
Listen.
Learn.
The women who follow all three steps are the ones who qualify. If the doc says they passed the medical examination, and then we’re good to rock n’ roll. I love when a lady wants to be taught. They get nurtured and molded into the most desirable and fuckable women ever.
During the medical exam, they get a hormonal injection to extinguish any chance of ovulation. I don’t need any babies. Tina, my business partner and right-hand woman, screens the each applicant’s questionnaire; she’s the only person I trust. She does a psychological test on each of them to see if they can handle it. It hasn’t failed me yet. I’ve only had to reject a few women’s applications after their orientation.
Some lied and said they had no STD, but I found out. I wouldn’t be successful if I was stupid. Others lied and said they didn’t want a relationship. I found out about that too.
Some of them couldn’t even survive the orientation. Not having the strength to endure the learning course means they sure as hell can’t handle the final round. I blow minds. I’ve done research upon research when it comes to a woman’s body and how it ticks. I’m a fucking pro.
Tina screens them, gets all the information, then sends out the welcome letters along with the full schedule, which contains where they’ll be and what they’ll need for the duration. Then I expect payment in full. The orientation I stick in for free, a part of the tuition. I know these ladies are good for the money because financials are screened as well. My price is ten thousand a week, no discounts, no exceptions.
After orientation comes the required four weeks of boot camp, which is where we are today; their first day. They’re given the ultimate fitness training and taught obedience. They learn about being submissive under control, and most of these women want to make it to the goal, the grand prize. I’ve only had one lady quit, and she’d regretted it from the moment she’d heard from the other ladies that it had been the best time of their lives.
My disclosure clause keeps them from elaborating. If any of these bitches discuss what happens in camp, I’ll sue their ass. They all know I’ll do it. I’m the founder of this program. This is my livelihood. I’ll not have any other man pretending he knows what it takes to do this because some bitches can’t keep their mouth shut.
That’s right, you heard it correctly. First page of the contract consists of their name and the camp’s. They sign a disclosure agreement before they go any further. I will protect myself to make sure they don’t come out and say I raped them or something. They’ve made their donation and as a result of their contribution they were taken to a remote location for some special treatments.