Wardrobe Malfunction(13)

“Because you groped my cock!”

“I didn’t grope your cock!” I splutter indignantly. “I accidentally brushed it with my knuckles as I was taking in the fabric! And, anyway, if you hadn’t had a boner, then I probably wouldn’t have even touched it—by accident!”

“I didn’t have a boner!” he scoffs. “You’re not my type, seamstress.”

What. A. Dick.

“I’m not a seamstress!” I yell. “I’m a wardrobe assistant.” Who’s currently yelling at the man who can have her fired with a snap of his fingers.

God, this is so not how I expected my first meeting with Vaughn West to go.

For starters, I have to stop yelling. I need to be the bigger person here. After all, I did just hurt him in the worst place possible for a man.

“Look, Mr. West”—I take a step toward him, softening my tone—“I really am sorry. For stabbing you…there. It honestly was an accident. I would never do that intentionally. And I’m sorry for yelling just now. I was out of line.”

“Yeah, you were,” he grunts.

Then, nothing. He doesn’t apologize for yelling at me.

Jerkface.

“Are you just gonna stand there, staring at me all day?” he rasps out.

“I’m sorry.” I step back, surprised.

“Look, do me a favor, wardrobe assistant, and leave me in fucking peace while I wait for the doctor to arrive.”

Wow. Okay then.

Asshole.

Without another word, I grab my bag and walk out of there.

It’s not until I’m halfway across the studio lot that I realize he never said anything about not having me fired.

Shit.





Vaughn


I’m resting up on the sofa in the hotel, watching sports on TV, when there’s a knock at the door.

On a sigh, I get up, and cupping my balls with my hand, I amble over to the door.

I’m still taking it steady. This is precious cargo we’re talking about here.

Not long after Ball-Sack-Stabbing Chick left, Alex turned up with the doctor.

The doctor checked me over and told me there was no serious damage, just a small puncture wound. It didn’t penetrate the sack, meaning my boys are still intact. Thank fuck. I had feared at one point that I was going to be leaking cum out of the wrong hole.

The doctor just said to take it easy for the rest of the day, so Alex drove me back to the hotel. Then, he left to run some errands.

God, that seamstress—wardrobe assistant, whatever the hell she is, I can’t believe she stabbed me in the balls.

When I first walked in on her twerking her ass off, I thought she was funny. Cute.

Okay, she’s hot.

And, when she was on her knees at my feet…yeah, there was a lot going through my mind at that moment—right before she stabbed me in the balls, that is.

She might be hot, but she’s a danger to cocks everywhere.

Reaching the door, I check the peephole. Never can be too careful. I might go under a pseudo name in hotels, but the fans always seem to have a way of finding me.

Nope, not a stalker fan. Her. Ball-Sack-Stabbing Chick.

I swing the door open. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Oh. Hi. I spoke to your PA, Alex. He told me where to find you.”

Alex is so fired.

“What do you want?” I frown.

“To…um…” She shifts nervously, biting her lip. Her lips are glossy and painted red. She’s dressed in a different outfit from earlier as well.

It’s surprising that I remember what she was wearing earlier. But I do. I remember because I liked the way her tits looked in the top she was wearing.

Now, she’s got on one of those jumpsuits that women seem to like wearing nowadays. It’s short, showing off a gorgeous pair of long legs. She has heeled sandals on her feet. I notice her toenails are painted red, like her lips. Lifting my eyes, I see the necklace she’s wearing has fallen into her cleavage.

I instantly have dirty thoughts about putting something else between her cleavage.

My dick pokes his head up.

Whoa. Down, boy. Crazy lady who tried to take one of your boys out, remember?

“Well? I haven’t got all day.” I’m being an ass, which isn’t like me. But then again, I’ve never been stabbed in the junk by a chick before.

Anger flashes in her eyes, but it’s quickly gone, and I’m oddly disappointed.

I kind of liked arguing with her earlier even if I was in pain. Arguing with her felt like foreplay.

“Can I come in?” she asks, her voice a little more pronounced than before.

I sigh and then stand aside, letting her in.

As she passes me, I get a whiff of raspberries and vanilla. It makes my head spin.

I shut the door and follow her into the living area.

“Nice place,” she says, her eyes taking in the space.

“It’s okay, I guess. So, what can I do for you?” I ask, folding my arms, leaning my ass against the back of the sofa.

She presses her hands together in front of her. “I came to apologize again, Mr. West. And, also, to thank you for not having me fired. I want you to know I appreciate it. Really, I do. And I shouldn’t have yelled at you; I was totally out of line. And what happened earlier”—she nods south, at my junk—“has never happened before. I swear, I’m a total professional, and I really am good at my job.”