The Princess and the parrot.

Fuck. Where are all my towels? I step out of the wet room and walk down the hall in search of my towels.

Laundry room. I found them all. Shit. I keep forgetting to wash them. I still have beads of water covering my naked body. Don't have time to piss about. It's Drew's opening night.

Third club going. He ain't really doing bad for himself. Lucky cunt. He's decided on a Bastard Ps party.

I walk to my room and opening my cupboard, skim my clothes. Mmm, P, p, p.

I will be going as...

Me. Obviously. He knows I ain't going as a fucking prince. The club will be full of fake pimps and prostitutes. That's it and he fucking knows it.

I grab jeans and a white button shirt. That'll do. Going to my drawer I look for boxers.

Rummaging through I remember. Forgot to do laundry. Commando it is.

My skins still wet, but hey. Who gives a fuck? I drag the jeans up my legs, and shove my arms through the shirt. Actually looking forward to it. Last one was fun. Dean's wife was a scream.

I slip my boots on at the door.

Party time!

****

The place is rammed. Bodies writhing against one another, to the erotic beat of music. I'm still trying to get to the bar. Bodies pressing against me, the smell of sweat, sex and cheap perfume is in the air.

I just get a hand on the bar when I'm shoved sideways. Losing my balance, I steady myself quickly. Turning, I pull my fist back ready for the prick trying it.

"Kitty! Fuck you doing?" bitch bulldozed me. I look her up and down, she's wearing a latex number. Bright purple tonight.

"What you meant to be?" I ask. I'd say she's looking like the prostitute category. But she near enough always looks like this.

"I'm a princess!"

"No you're fucking not. You're not wearing anything even resembling princess attire."

She quickly frowns, and patting her head looks around her at the ground. She's either pissed, or high as a fucking kite.

She gives up looking, and squeezing between two people she snatches the sparkling headgear off of the brunette.

She returns to face me with a silver tiara on her head. Pointing at it, she proves her point, "See. Princess."

Right. So, pvc dress, thigh high boots, and fishnet stockings. But put a damn crown on and you're a princess.

Makes sense.

She climbs over the bar and hands me a full bottle of whiskey.

I nod and tilt the bottle towards her in acknowledgement. Thanks love, but I'm getting away from this area before Drew sees his darling handing out expensive bottles of liquor.

I make my way towards the stools lined at the edge of the place. Pimps, prostitutes and a handful of princesses dance. Some are already getting nasty. One woman has her leg wrapped around her partner's waist. Are they fucking stupid? We all know his trousers are undone. Dicks in her cunt already.

I'm close to the stools when I see the white feathers. I smile, curious to see what the outfit is. A parrot?

I get closer, to see it's a smallish woman with white hair, long down to her waist the ends are a vibrant blue.

The lights are flashing multi colours, and I struggle to catch sight of her as she weaves in and out of people. But the angel wings still stand out against the dull colours of people's cheap costumes.

Finally I get to her. Right at the other side of the club. She's heading for the exit. Grabbing her upper arm I spin her to face me.

"Hey! What the fuck, dude?"

"Christina?"

Her eyes widen in recognition. She steps towards me, her chest heaving. She wears the little red dress.

Calm Jake. Calm.

Too late. I take one stride and she's in my arms. I don't hesitate, crashing my mouth down onto hers in a brutal, furious kiss. I walk forward, forcing her back onto the wall behind her.

Our tongues tangle in the excitement. My dick hardens quickly, and her muffled moans reach my ears just as fast. I lift her, wrapping her legs around my waist. She grinds onto my ready to blow cock as I move my mouth down her neck.

I lick, nibble and suck. I'm hungry for her, and I can't hold back. I don't want to.

I shove a hand between our bodies. I go straight up the short dress to her underwear. Fuck, the Lace is soaking. I rub once, and she responds by arching her back.

I push my thumb into the Lace and pull the side of the fabric with my finger, easily tearing into the sorry excuse for underwear.

"Stop." She breathes the word into my ear. "Please. Just stop."