Who the Fu*k is Zoe?

Feel me as you read this…ever so delicately. Open your mouth wide and enunciate with me, deliberately, rolling each and every syllable over your tongue as you carefully piece them together with me…with what I’m about to offer. I’m inviting you into to my most private inner sanctum…so, I advise you to hold on to each and every intimate declaration. Slip inside me for a moment and peek deep into my depths. You have a very special lens — one that is tactically placed in-between my legs giving you a spectacular view of my most intimate secrets. It’s a peep show, where on occasion I’ll spread my thighs wide-open and tease you with thoughts and events that will make your pulse race, steal your breath, and cause you to blush as you chew on your lips wanting more. It’s working right at this very moment…isn’t it?

I’m fucked-up. Like, really fucked-up. A lot of people are fucked-up. But most people who are fucked-up have a defense…or, if you will, an alibi…their alibi typically being drugs, alcohol, or a fucked-up childhood. But for me? I don’t have that plea deal. I’m an anomaly. I’m just fucked-up.

At this very moment, I have your attention and you are intrigued. We’re engaging in a narrative written by a fucked-up alpha femme fatale, with an assertive and sinful pussy, who employs her sexual prowess to gain advantage and reach her goals. It’s a skill as old as the oldest profession, and when it comes to wielding it, I’m a consummate master. I’ve fucked my way to the top, and I’m willing to share each and every sordid secret. Consider this my confession. Care to watch? Of course, you do. Who wouldn’t want to be titillated at the thought of seeing such an “innocent” course of events played out from inside the eyes of a calculating lioness…

I hope to inspire the world, one pussy at a time.

In my life, there are no accidents. My acts are premeditated, and I have learned to call on dark reservoirs deep inside of me to do the things that my softer self would never have allowed.

I will begin by addressing my vulnerabilities. Yes, people who are cold and calculating can be weak. But don’t get ahead of yourself and underestimate me, but rather consider this a gift…and this gift might just be a one-off. So, put it in your back pocket for a rainy day (wink, wink).

They say the coldest hearts pain the most. They can be delicate like an orchid. They need nourishment to blossom and hide their needs to protect themselves from ache and torment. When the conditions are right and they feel safe to reveal themselves, they can radiate and bloom. But this is ever so rare.

I am an orchid. Internally, I have a heart that ticks, however, my life experiences have taught me to detach myself from the intangible things… like those elusive things called emotions.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the superficial me, I would describe myself as a sultry exhibitionist, craving the attention of men… and more specifically, powerful men, preferably with a sizable (clearing my throat) network.

I give the participant the illusion of weakness…perceived as the bimbo who plays unwise, but know this: I hang onto every word and every detail you utter. I want to be a part of the boy’s club. A girls gotta eat. Might as well eat in class and style, while at the same time strategically being five steps ahead of the company I keep.

But I wasn’t born this way mind you. I became this way.

I was born and grew up in the Bronx. Not the Bronx of today where you can find a Michelin rated restaurant next to the methadone clinic, but the Bronx where being in the wrong place at the wrong time got you killed. You had to know what streets to stay away from and which corners were trouble. I wanted out and there was only one path I could follow to get me there…working hard and working smart.

I didn’t have the opportunity to be a ‘normal’ kid. My parents were both uneducated…both books and streets-smarts uneducated. My parents were gullible. It pained me to see my parents being taken advantage of. I grew up realizing that someone had to protect them…and ultimately that someone was going to be me.

I was granted a unique gift that was far more valuable than mere possessions or growing up on the ‘right side of the tracks’ — I am possessed of a unique mind that sees clarity in chaos, while others remain dull and lost in a world well beyond their feeble grasp. While my parents allowed people to take advantage of them, I never allowed anyone to walk all over me.

I wasn’t going to be anyone’s fool. Instead, I decided I was going to fool everyone else instead.

At a very young age, I figured out that nothing matters. No one lies in bed thinking of you. We, humans, are all selfish creature who are greedy. Most things will be forgotten, so why not say what we really think, right? Well, that was me as a kid. Now, I know to say what people want to hear. Feed their ego, and elicit the response I’m looking for…that’s what I do best.

I began to listen ever so carefully. I observed…body language, tone, intonation, eye contact, the rhythm of words and confidence. It was that simple. I became fascinated with how we interacted with one another. I noticed things…things that most people take for granted. I noticed predictability. I created the algorithm to sway and manipulate people…people like you.

The algorithm was simple…mimic behavior. But whose behavior are you mimicking? The best characters in the world…the ones found on the big screens. Watching beautiful characters manipulate and maneuver their way through situations, observing their strategies, their interaction with one another. I knew I could mimic their behavior…but better.

Marylin Monroe

One of those stunning characters was Marylin Monroe. Her soft caressing voice paired with her elegant curves and mannerisms made men melt. I wanted to be her. So, I began to prepare for my role. Standing in front of my bedroom mirror, at the age of eleven, I stared directly into my eyes in my own reflection and began to talk to the invisible men in the room with a soft voice, moving my hands and hips in a seductive way. I thoroughly enjoyed role-playing. Throwing my then blonde hair around, blowing kisses to myself as I sway my hips. It felt natural…like I was born to be on stage.

What started as a wish, became an all-encompassing drive and obsession. I had found my calling — I was going to learn how to sink into the minds of those around me. Wanting to understand human behavior, I studied hard and beat all of the odds to win a coveted full scholarship into Stanford University for Psychology. I had won the lottery, literally, just to get in. Once inside, my world opened up. I finely tuned my craft as both an illusionist and an orchestrator. I guess all of my role-playing in front of that mirror paid off.

When I returned from Stanford University with a PhD in Behavioural Psychology, I began working with individual clients and lecturing, but I wasn’t fulfilled. I wasn’t being challenged in a way that my intellectual mind and imagination needed to be stimulated. I wanted to do something different. A far greater challenge. I had plans and ambitions…BIG ones.

My plan? If you want to be an eagle, you have to fly with the eagles. And where was I going to find these ‘eagles’? While my schooling could have easily opened doors, I always preferred to fly under the radar, so to speak. I wanted to engage with a certain segment of society, namely the power brokers who held the levers that ran New York City. A small number of very connected individuals who have the capacity to make fortunes and crush lives on a whim.

I decided to meet my targets on common ground that they would feel comfortable with. I considered starting at one of two places; either an elite gym with a hefty membership fee or a golf membership at a private club. I knew the golf membership could be more lucrative, however, I’m not a fan of the sun, so an elite gym membership it was. Tor Gym was the place to be, right next to Central Park on the upper east end. Without a second thought, I walked in and paid for a year on the spot.

I immediately set to task sizing up my marks as they came and went each day, while at the same time toning my body to ensure I would have the attention I wanted when it was needed.

And that’s where one day I met an unattractive, loud-mouthed mother-fucker named Stefano. He walks in with a scoop of ice cream in a cup with his trainer — like he needed the extra calories — yelling and screaming with his loud and obnoxious voice about how he doesn’t give a flying-fuck about anything. And this was my opportunity to interject and ask, “Where is my ice cream?”

He looks at me. This could go one of two ways. He is either going to tell me to fuck off or ask me to lick his. But to my surprise, his response was, “Let’s go.”

Of course, the obnoxious fat mother-fucker was driving a 458-Spider. But I knew he was weak. His faux-façade wasn’t going to fool me. He had secrets. Despite his best efforts to hide it, I knew from his body language and the way he kept glancing away and then back at me… he was very, very attracted to me.

Knowing a secret is powerful. Keeping a secret is even more powerful. The hand dealt to me that day gave me a pair of pockets Aces — I had a man in my grasp who I could prey upon his weakness for my keenly desirable flesh, and all the while he was none the wiser as to who was the wolf and who was the lamb.

I was willing to sacrifice my pussy to get my start, and I had a plan. My pussy was going to be for temporary use. Once firmly embedded within my grasp, I would have my first asset in Stefano to start moving my pawns across the board. It wasn’t until later that I would realize in Stefano I had found my muse as well.

Stefano was my big break. We were meant for one another. He could take me places…I just needed him to trust me. And trust he did.

Stefano was not big, but rather a medium size developer. He wanted to be bigger — in more ways than one as I would soon find out — and I was going to give him the illusion he was going to become superior with my assistance, his Mata Hari. But first, I had to show him what I had to offer.

We went out with his so-called friends on our second encounter. When he stepped out for a moment to use the men’s room, I became the fly on the wall amongst his peers. I heard valuable information that would benefit Stefano, and assuming I was simply another bimbo they all hoped to impress, they eagerly spilled far more than anyone in their position ever should have. I swear, when men think with their dicks instead of their heads, it must suck all of the oxygen and good sense out of them at the same time. Once we were alone, I shared what I’d learned with Stefano as an olive branch. Then I took him back to my place wanting to give him his second gift for the night.

It was a vivid moment for me. He parked his Ferrari and opens the hood to grabs a blue nylon bag and carries it with him. For a moment, I thought he was going to gift me, and maybe he still was. He follows me into the lobby of my building and up the elevator to the penthouse. I have no desire to prolong the event. I have my keys ready in hand to open the door and escort him into my bedroom. He drops the nylon bag onto the kitchen counter and without a word he makes his way into my chambers.

He doesn’t waste a moment and brings his body close to mine until his round belly pushes up against me. He wraps his arms around my shoulders. The fucker actually wants to kiss me. I allow his lips to touch mine. My body shivers. He takes my hand from my side and carries it across his cock. I grasp his cock over his trousers for a brief moment, until he takes a step back and begins to unbuckle his belt and remove his pants.

I get onto my knees and look up at him, and then begin to swirl my tongue around his soft cock, waiting for its response…but there isn’t one. I’m not one to give up so easily and begin to stroke his cock with my right hand and I caress his balls with my left, sucking and blowing with a hum vibration. Still, no response.

He finally steps away and says, “I will be right back.” He exits the room and I hear a faint pumping sound in the background. A few moments later he returns into the room, with a stiff cock supported by a cock-ring. What would aliens say if they saw his penis pump? I think to myself.

He lies on the bed and I once again get on my knees and resume my position. The work begins. Within moments, he is ready to leave and I am ready for lights out.

What came next is where the real excitement begins.


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