Until Alex

  UNTIL ALEX

  J. S. Wilder

  Copyright © 2014 J. S. Wilder

  UNTIL ALEX

  By J.S. Wilder

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by

  Louisa Maggio @ LM Creations

  Literary Services Provided by

  Charisse Spiers

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted 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.

  CONTENTS

  UNTIL ALEX

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon – Pulse The Trilogy

  J.S. Wilder, Author

  Chapter One

  “Ladies, one hour downstairs,” I demanded at the end of the Zumba class. I watched them sweating and panting like deranged animals on the hunt for weeks on end, unsuccessful in finding a feed. Two of these ladies will be fed tonight. This is their final class, their graduation at the Omega Club in Chicago.

  I have one night to train them before they get promoted to go downstairs. I need them fit for what I have in store for them. I watch them, monitor them, and mold them. Once I’m happy, they graduate. If not, they’re out. I have a reputation to keep clean. I can’t have them wasting my time if they’re not going to be putting in the effort.

  Shit, those ladies, the ones left behind, better just join a fitness club and look for some man whore searching for a quick fuck. I’m a stallion in and out of the bedroom, not some cheap man whore just for their entertainment. You don’t know where they’ve been or who else they’re doing. No standards equals, no graduation. I am the selection committee. Ladies love the idea of graduating. It makes them feel special.

  Imagine if they gave me a hundred bucks and said ‘Fuck me.’ Shit, that means they’re just a statistic!

  My way, the Alex method, means they’ve been approved to continue; they’ve passed with flying colors. Now, they get to taste what they’ve been dieting for, studying, and most of all, training their delicious bodies for, ME.

  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 pay my fees. Sure, I charge them. Knowledge comes at a price. I’m the one with the tools, the ladies pay to use.

  I take their money and get them fit, 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, but they’re WRONG. They’re not, not even close. I even get thank you cards from women that 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 in four weeks they’re hopeless. They aren’t ever going to study anything in four years. It’s one of those things that you get it or you don’t.

  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 that they’re perfect, but deep down they know they aren’t or they wouldn’t be here, in my domain.

  Hell no!

  If they’re unforgettable fucks, then why are they in the damn program. Orientation means the process of elimination. Women seem to think a way to a man’s heart is by flaunting their bodies, giving us a taste, and then we kneel down and beg like dogs.

  Shit, some men are dogs like the ones that are posers hiding behind a woman, then turn around and say, Hey honey, I’m gay, or the ones that pretend they’re in love, but then cheat. Shit, they’ve got their eye on some woman, but they picked the other to marry because she’s marriage material. That’s a fucking lie. If a woman doesn’t have a man’s attention, she doesn’t have his cock either. He jerks off inside of her thinking about someone else.

  Those ladies I feel sorry for. They walk down the aisle thinking they’re the one for the asshole at the other end. They want happily ever after, but that shit only last for two minutes. As soon as they say, I do, the real animal emerges, and shows his tricks.

  This is why I have orientation; to get rid of the ladies who have been misinformed, the ones that think I’m going to fix their shitty lives. I’m going to make them feel good when they’re here, but nothing more. I’m not looking for a relationship, especially with a woman that pays me to teach her how to fuck.

  Sure, I’ll do it for the program, and teach them what they need to continue once they leave, and to create their own pleasure filled lives. After, it’s finished, they need to go back home and demand a change, show their shit-for-partners it’s their pussy alone or not at all. If that doesn’t work, the only other option is to find a new one, but not me.

  Want to know why the ladies love me?

  I have a fat cock that fills their mouths and pussies from wall to fucking wall. I give it to them hard. They get it two at a time for their graduation day. Some of them get needy, wanting more, by trying to sign up to the gym, Omega Club, for another session. As I said before, I’m not stupid; I’ve got a database for a reason. I’ve got their DNA, name, passport, and social security number. They can’t get past my checks. It’s fucking security.

  I created this program to teach others and help them perform explicitly. I’m not here to enter into a relationship beyond the means of these walls. If I wanted that I would get it easily from a woman in the gym or even the staff. I´m not interested, why should I be? It just causes trouble. I don´t need distress and I certainly don´t want it.

  Pussy is what I desire and fucking is for pleasure.

  “Ready when you are, sugar,” the rich Texan purred as she started waving her ass. I make my way out of the class.

  She wants to experience it again. Shit, I had to tell her she was too late. She had a taste and keeps trying every trick in the book to come back. She was briefed before she started just like everyone else. I only have two rules that I enforce at all costs. They are as follows:

  No refund.

  No return.

  When they sign up, it’s as if they ‘re signing up for a standard Omega gym membership. It’s only after they complete the orientation that they know if they qualify to be on the BNU Program (Brand New You). Why that name? Shit, because that’s what happens after they have a taste of Alex on the BNU 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 I ran the program two years ago was by verbal invite only through a few of my experimental girls. Honies have been signing up like fucking bees since. They want to pollinate, and so they come to me.

  I’m the fucking
flower with the nectar and once I’m done, they come buzzing for more, searching to make more honey. 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 that hold all three ingredients, those are the ones that qualify. If the doc says they passed the medical inspection, then we’re good to rock n’ roll. I love when a lady desires to be taught then they get nurtured and molded into the most desirable and fuckable women ever.

  Men know about my program. Word of mouth gets around. If you don’t think a man wants my seconds, think again. They are lined up waiting for women that pass my course, because that’s a five star fuck for them.

  During the medical exam, they get the hormonal injection to distinguish any chance of ovulation. I don’t need any babies. The questionnaire of all applicants are screened by Tina, my assistant, and partner, 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.

  I need entertainment. I need a woman to move when I say GO. I don’t want one that needs to stop for a drink. Heck, this isn’t a luxury spa. It’s work, and I take my business seriously. Being pleased takes concentration. Getting fucked properly is work.

  Tina screens them, gets all the information, and sends out the welcome letters along with their full schedule that contains where they’ll be and what they’ll need during the next four weeks. 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. 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 regretted it the moment she heard from the other ladies that it was 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 bitch can’t keep their mouth shut.

  That’s right, you heard it correctly. First news headline consists of their name and my camp. They sign a disclosure agreement before they go any further. I will protect myself. Never discuss what happens in camp, with no one apart from who is at the camp, and even that is limited. A different woman in the final round and I don’t need any of them spoiling the fun for the other recruits.

  The quitter, she was crying for me to give her a second chance. She said she was too quick to judge and needed to come back. What she needed was to stick it out. Quitting is for cowards. Fuck, my rules are clear. No fucking refund, no coming back; end of discussion.

  The qualifying ladies meet here to get on the bus for boot camp. They dress like they’re going to a fucking resort camp, but that’s also one of the requirements. Shit, they’ve got make-up in one bag, toiletries in another, and clothes for every occasion in another. I laugh as I watch them get on the bus with all their shit.

  First key is to be attractive. I want you to fuck like a whore, not dress like one, so I need to see them ready to go without any help, because they won’t pick up men if they don’t get through the visual inspection.

  Their faces, though, when they get to boot camp with no bags is priceless. Bags stay on the bus. Clothes aren’t needed for what they’re learning. Some of them cry, running after the bus as it leaves.

  “My things, my make-up, my toiletries!”

  I tell them straight up. My camp, my fucking rules. The ones that don’t pass the physical test are dealt with later and by another member of staff. That’s not my department.

  I get all kind of women signing up. Fucking executives, probably leaders, all wanting a taste of The Big A. Yep, that’s what they call me, The Big A. What they really need and want is to lose control. Women think that they lack happiness because they’re not pleased. They don’t need direction. Hell, they don’t even need my dick. They need to let go.

  Some of them are mothers, used to controlling their children and being the head of their household. Some of them are married, used to controlling their husbands. I wouldn’t consider bitching and complaining the same as controlling. Some of them are owners or managers in businesses, used to controlling their employees. They lack in the bedroom the pleasure they desire, not because the men don’t know how to please them, but because they aren’t comfortable in their own skin. Shit, they aren’t demanding or anything. They just need to relax. That is what I instill in them from day one in camp and repeat it throughout.

  Taking away their control of what they wear, where they’re staying, or what they’ll be doing scares them. I control them when they’re under my fucking wing. They don’t get to say or do what they want to do. I don’t even let them go to the bathroom, unless I give them permission.

  One thing’s for sure, there’s never been a lady that I don’t want to fuck. Shit, they’re all beautiful in one form or another. Whether they’re short, fat, tall, curvaceous, African, Hispanic, or American, they all hold the capability of pleasing any man. It’s not about size, color, or race, it’s about two things and those two fucking things get them in line.

  Stamina and Control!

  Chapter Two

  “Ladies of the bus. We’re here,” I shout out as it halts. We’ve arrived at White Pines. I love the fresh air; makes such a difference from the congested air in Chicago. They step off the bus carrying their purses, yelling at the driver to get the rest of the luggage from inside the bus. I laugh. They don’t know the suitcases they left and thought were coming on the bus are safely in storage at the gym. I motion for them to stand in line.

  As they get off the bus they all start looking round, like they’re fucking Alice in Wonderland. “Stand in line, “ I shout. I need to be tough otherwise they’ll be running rings round me. It’s my program and they need to know who’s in charge.

  “Ladies, get it off.”

  “Wha?,” one of the African American ladies asked. “Get what off?”

  “Your clo-thes,” I barked out slowly. “Get them off and stick them in the bag on the table, numbered one to ten. That means everything: purses, clothes, and jewelry.”

  Some screech, gulping at me dead in the eyes, expecting me to say something else. I nod and then they knew I was dead serious; apart from the red head who started stripping off her clothes in a sultry motion, like she was in some strip joint.

  Whilst they’re baring themselves to me, 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 and 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 making them envious, either their stomach, butt, hips or something they don’t have. They’re either sighing or smiling at whatever they�
�re gulping at.

  Shit, I’ve never understood that. We’re all built differently, but no matter what, a woman always thinks she’s better or worse than another. Men don’t think about that. Hell no! We’re either content with our bodies or don’t give a shit.

  They stand naked with no cell, no signal, and no way home. They’re anxious and worried about what’s going to happen next. In the last session one lady cried, but in the end she became my best student. She learned to fucking listen.

  My eyes focus on Ms. Watson. I never got to find out her first name. Part of me wanted to, the curious part. Then, I remembered what happens when a person becomes curious; curiosity killed the cat. 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 tight it would squeeze against 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, all ten ladies gives me a sneak peek of what I’m going to be fucking next month. I’m never disappointed. Different shapes turn me on. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as the old saying goes, and it’s true. Fucking the carbon copy of a sexy body with a different face is a drag, so I broaden my options.

  The more I explore them in total nudity with my eyes, the more my cock goes wild in excitement. I’m tempted to start graduation now.

  I need to keep my shit on a down low. I take a deep breath and force myself to keep my composure cool. I didn’t become the best in this field by thinking with my dick alone.

  Polish them Alex. That’s what you created boot camp for. Work and then play.

  In the end, I’ll have their pussies clamping down on me like a fucking bird with a worm, swallowing me whole, and enjoying me.