My name is Ashley Rockford. Standing at 5’8” and weighing 210 pounds, I’m a woman with a presence. I carry my weight mostly in my thighs and ass and my oversized chest. A lot of women look at me and I can see the jealousy in the way they look at my stomach and the way it stays flat while most of my weight goes to my thighs in my ass.   At the young age of twenty-eight, my skin is smooth with just a very light dusting of cellulite on the back of my thighs and ass, but it’s barely noticeable. I love showing off my overside tits, sometimes showing some cleavage and other times not, but loving just how oversized my boobs are. My bra size right now is triple-D, and because I’m so young, they sit on my chest like rocks.

The size of my boobs and my long brown hair are considered second to my best feature, which is my gorgeous blue eyes.  In school, my nickname was Lethal Blue, because the boys said my eyes could kill, and my favourite thing to do was accent my gorgeous eyes with some lash extensions, maybe dusted with a little bit of glitter to draw even more attention to them. I’m very photogenic, and my three tanning sessions a week give my skin a beautiful bronze glow. Upon meeting me for the first time, most men feel an instant attraction. The fact that I’m a bigger woman does little to mute the sexy energy that radiates from me at all times. I ooze intelligence and confidence, and I have a voice that is soft and sexy; the type of voice that would make me a good candidate to work as a phone sex operator.

At twenty-eight years old my sex drive is pretty much insatiable. I’m effortlessly multi-orgasmic, often masturbating for hours at a time with the orgasm count easily climbing into the double digits. Coming home from a stressful day and lying down with my Hitachi wand vibrator and letting it work its magic on my engorged clit is always the highlight of my day. My orgasms are long and wonderful and usually last anywhere from five minutes to half an hour.  Honestly, I sometimes feel like I could just cum all fucking day.

Next to my fabulous orgasms, I love my clothes and my wardrobe. I love wearing tight mini-skirts, often leather, and sometimes Lyra or spandex. These days, spandex is my go-to because I love the cool stretchy feel of that material on my skin, and the way it can stretch so tight without ripping at the seams. In high school, my favourite outfit was a black jean skirt that was so tight I could barely climb the stairs, and as a result of that I could only wear it on days when all of my classes were on the ground floor; it was that tight! For me, wearing such outfits wasn’t about the attention as much as it was the power! I was deliciously thick, almost perfectly so, and I had no problem attracting men whatsoever. My dad hated the way I dressed, but I was a young alpha female in full bloom and you can’t put the brakes on that.  I was easily one of the hottest girls at school.

When it comes to choosing the perfect skirt, I always go for something that hugs my curves just right, making me feel confident and a little daring. I love a high-waisted mini that shows off my legs, especially when it has a slit that adds a teasing touch as I walk. Leather skirts are my go-to for that edgy, sexy vibe, paired with a crop top or something lacey to keep things interesting. I like it when the fabric moves with me, soft and smooth against my thick thighs making me feel empowered and ready to turn heads wherever I go, which I do.

My leather skirts are always worn with bare legs, and whenever I wear Lycra mini skirts I sometimes pair them with black nylons. I also love wearing knee-high boots a lot.  I have over twenty pairs of boots in my closet, and right now my favourite pair of boots are over-the-knee black suede. I wear them all the time lately, boots are pretty much all I wear these days.

I was sixteen when I donned my first short, tight-fitting skirt, it was as if a new world had opened before me.  I often reminisce about the way it made me feel, a heady mix of excitement and self-consciousness. The skirt accentuated my curves, and as I walked down my high school hallways, I noticed the effect it had on the boys and the jealousy of girls, as their glances turned into lingering stares, and hushed whispers followed me wherever I went. It was a powerful experience, an unexpected rush of confidence, and an introduction to the complex world of attraction. My memories of that day were a testament to the transformative impact of clothing choices and the newfound attention they brought from the opposite sex, leaving an indelible mark on my teenage years.

As my skirts got tighter I couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in the behavior of the men around me.  Their attention, once scattered, now seemed to converge on me, and their demeanour exhibited a noticeable transformation. They would hold eye contact longer, and engage in more animated conversations, and their compliments were peppered with newfound warmth. It was as if my newfound attire had unlocked a certain charm, a magic key that accentuated my presence. I couldn't deny the thrill of being appreciated and liked more, but beneath the surface, I couldn't help but ponder the complexities of it all.  Were boys that simple?

My striking appearance had been a source of both pride and frustration throughout my life. While my captivating looks had opened doors and garnered attention, I had come to realize that beauty was merely the surface of my multifaceted identity. As the years passed, I delved deeper into my soul, discovering an inner strength and intelligence that were equally as stunning as my physical features. My wit and sharp intellect proved that I was not just a pretty face, and my ability to navigate complex challenges with grace and poise revealed a depth of character that went beyond my outward allure. I embraced the idea that beauty could be a gift, but it was my intelligence, cunning, and strength that defined my true essence.

As for sex, it’s an experience that fills me with a deep sense of connection and pleasure. I love how it allows me to fully express myself, both physically and emotionally with another person. There's something incredibly powerful about the way it breaks down barriers, allowing me to be completely open and vulnerable. The intimacy, the closeness, and the way two bodies communicate without words—it's an incredible feeling that I truly cherish. I love exploring different sensations, finding new ways to give and receive pleasure, and the way it brings me into the present moment like nothing else.

For me, sex is more than just a physical act; it's a way to connect on a soul-deep level. I find so much joy in the chemistry and the energy that flows between me and my partners. It's this exchange that keeps me captivated and always wanting more. I love how each encounter is different, a unique experience that deepens the bond we share. Whether it's slow and sensual or intense and passionate, I thrive on the electricity that courses through us. It's an essential part of who I am, a source of empowerment and fulfillment that I embrace wholeheartedly.

In the bedroom I’m very much a giver, I love getting my mouth on a nice hard throbbing dick and feeling it twitch in my mouth. I love hearing a man’s moans of pleasure as my lips glide up and down the shaft of his solid cock. I can bring a man to orgasm just with my mouth, and there’s nothing in the world like a hard dick surrendering to my talents and shooting hot loads of cum everywhere as it pulsates in my hand.  I’ll never understand women that don’t like sucking dick.  Ever.

I’m also an orgasm machine, and I love cumming.  A selfish lover will never do it for me, because my orgasm count often goes into double digits so a man is going to have to have incredible stamina to pleasure me.  Whenever I go on a date and the conversation turns to sex, I always make it clear how multi-orgasmic I am; any man that wants to be involved with me sexually needs to know this.  He’ll need to bring his A-game every time.

My sex drive is almost insatiable, and because of this, I’m currently sleeping with two men at the same time, Brad and Jay.  The truth is, neither of them knows about the other, and I intend to keep it that way. Some might call it selfish or dishonest, but something is intoxicating about the secrecy, about having these two incredible men to myself, each fulfilling different parts of my desires. It’s like I’m living two parallel love stories, and the thrill of balancing them both gives me a rush that’s hard to describe. I know it’s risky, but the excitement of it all, the way I can step into one world with Jay and then into another with Brad is something I’ve come to crave.

Jay and Brad couldn't be more different, yet they both hold such a significant place in my life. Jay, at thirty-one years old is this stunning embodiment of vitality. His energy is infectious, and just being around him makes me feel alive in an almost electric way. He's a personal trainer, so naturally, he's got this physique that's impossible not to appreciate. But it's more than just his looks. When we're together, there's this playful dynamic—his stamina and enthusiasm seem endless, whether we're at the gym or spending time together. He brings out the adventurous side of me, always ready to dive into something spontaneous and physical.

On the other hand, there's Brad, who at forty-eight, carries himself with a sense of calm and wisdom that I deeply admire. He owns his own construction company, and there's something incredibly attractive about his confidence and the way he handles himself in life. Brad's maturity is a comforting contrast to Jay's youthful energy. When I'm with Brad, our conversations go deeper, touching on life experiences, dreams, and the kind of topics that make me feel truly understood. He has this way of making me feel grounded like I’m safe and protected in a world that can be so chaotic. His perspective on life is something I cherish, and it's what draws me to him again and again.  The fact that he’s also quite wealthy and lives in a large mansion that he built himself is also hugely attractive, I can’t lie.  Is there anything hotter than a smart man with lots of money?  I can feel my clit tingling just thinking about it.

Loving them both equally might sound complicated, but it feels natural to me. Jay and Brad bring out different sides of who I am, and each relationship fulfills something unique in my heart. With Jay, it's the thrill of the moment, the rush of being with someone so full of life. With Brad, it's the depth and the steady hand that I can hold onto when I need it most. I can't imagine my life without either of them, and I don't think I'd want to. It’s like having the best of both worlds, and I’m grateful for every moment I get to spend with them.  What captivates me though, is the power I feel in this situation, I’m the center of their worlds, the object of their affection, and the one who holds all the cards. It’s not just about the love I have for them—though that’s very real—it’s also about the control, the way they both adore me without knowing they’re both sharing my heart. I know this can’t go on forever, but for now, I’m not ready to choose, and I’m not ready to let go of the rush that comes from having them both.

There are days when I fuck them both. What I love more than ever is a morning fuck session with Jay, and then finishing my day with an evening lovemaking session with Brad, and falling asleep in his big, strong arms.  I love waking up in Brad‘s big mansion and making breakfast for him in his massive sprawling kitchen fit for a five-star chef. There’s nothing like fucking two men in one day, and I love it.  As wonderful as my sex life is, my life has taken a turn for the worse over the last few months as the dark rain clouds of danger form above me.  My struggles with gambling addiction have finally come back to haunt me as a big, unpaid gambling debt is finally coming home to roost. I borrowed more money than I could ever repay, and now the gangster that I borrowed the money from is coming for payback.  Bronson Riddick wants me dead.

I can't help but smile when I think about the nights Emma, Maya and I spent at the Cascades Casino blowing our tips on slot machines and blackjack. We’d clock out after a long shift at the restaurant and head straight over, our energy somehow renewed by the thrill of the night ahead. The three of us would joke and laugh as we blew our tips on slot machines, cheering each other on when one of us hit even the smallest win. It wasn’t just about the money; it was about the rush, the lights, the sounds—everything that made us feel alive with nothing but time and a little cash to burn while men threw themselves at us offering to buy us drinks.   But soon, I found myself deeper in the game, chasing the high of that first big win that never came again.  My losses piled up faster than I could keep up, and before I knew it, I was borrowing money from no other than Bronson Riddick, a man with a reputation as dangerous as they come.

At fifty-eight years old,  he still maintained an impressive physique. He takes light doses of steroids to maintain solid eighteen-inch biceps, and all his other muscles are larger than average as well. He keeps his head shaved and most of his upper body is heavily tattooed, especially his arms. He had fallen into the criminal lifestyle at a young age and spent five years in prison in his twenties for assault, uttering threats, and drug trafficking. He had never expected to live as long as he has, and it was during his time in prison that he made the right connections with the wrong people, and upon his release, began building one of the strongest and most feared cartels in the cocaine trade.

He sits at the very top of his drug dealing empire living a life reserved for a movie star. He owns countless sports cars, and his most prized possession is a massive, sprawling yacht fit for a James Bond villain called The Elysium.  It is the epitome of opulence and sophistication. Every inch of it is a floating paradise that has been meticulously crafted to cater to the most discerning of tastes. With its sleek lines and towering presence, the Elysium exudes an air of timeless elegance. Aboard his floating masterpiece indulgence knows no bounds.  That was Bronson Riddick, leader of the Red Scorpions, and currently, he is trying to kill me for the $100,000 I owe him in unpaid gambling debts.

I thought I was just having fun you know, letting Bronson buy me drinks all night while I flirted and enjoyed the attention. I never imagined he’d expect anything in return, let alone the money he spent on me. I mean, isn’t that just part of the game? I guess in my youthful naivety I assumed it was all harmless fun, but now I was finding myself on the receiving end of the coldness and brutality of the criminal underworld.  Everyone in this city knows exactly who Bronson Riddick is, and I was no exception. I was seduced by his power and his tough guy alpha male radiance.  Sitting at that bar in the middle of that casino with Bronson at my side gave me a feeling I can’t describe. I’ll be the first to admit I liked it, there’s something about a sexy older man that I can be attracted to, and Bronson Riddick fits that description to a T.

I remember the first threatening message that his hired hitman left on my phone. It sent a chill through me like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and it was the first time in my life I’d experienced a fear of death like that.  Now I live every day of my life well aware that men are lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to shoot me dead. I’ve been living life with this evil cloud hanging over me for the last few months and knowing that at any point in time, somebody could jump out from the shadows and execute me is not a pleasant way to live and I wake up every day wondering if today is my last day on earth.

Lately, there’s an edge to every moment, a sense that something is hunting me down and closing in. I wasn’t always like this—hunted, that is. I used to be carefree, wild even, living life on my terms. I used to love feeling my phone vibrate knowing it would be a wonderful message from my best friend Sarah, but now every vibration makes my heart skip a beat upon the realization that it might be another threatening phone call from one of Riddick‘s hitman warning me that my time will soon be up.  Now, there are shadows on my path, men who have twisted their gaze in my direction with murder in their eyes. They’re bad men, the kind who don’t flinch at the thought of snuffing out a life like mine, even if I am a woman. These men were out to kill me and I knew that.

**********

As I made my way down the stairs from my bedroom, the morning light flooded through my large living room windows, casting soft shadows on the walls. The staircase was a wide, wooden structure with sleek, white railings that contrasted beautifully with the rich, dark oak steps. Each step creaked slightly underfoot, a familiar sound that I’ve grown to love. At the bottom of the stairs, my open-concept living room greeted me with its airy, welcoming atmosphere. The walls are painted a soft cream, and the furniture is a mix of modern and vintage— a plush, deep-green velvet sofa takes center stage, flanked by a couple of mid-century armchairs with wooden legs and mustard-coloured cushions. A large, abstract painting in shades of blue and gold hangs above the fireplace, adding a splash of colour to the room.

As I entered my kitchen, the brightness of the space instantly lifted my spirits. White cabinets line the walls, their sleek surfaces reflecting the morning sun. The countertops are smooth, polished quartz, and the large island in the center of the room serves as both a workspace and a gathering spot. Above the island, three pendant lights hang, their warm glow contrasting with the natural light pouring in from the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the small, lush garden outside. The kitchen table is a rustic wooden piece, surrounded by mismatched chairs, each with its unique design. The air smelled faintly of fresh coffee, but the peace of my morning routine was about to be shattered.

My iPhone was sitting on the kitchen counter and when it started ringing, there was a number on the display that I didn’t recognize.  I immediately felt my heart dropping into my stomach as I reached for it, and answered; I knew I had no choice. I had to confront this dangerous reality that now lay before me, I could no longer hide from it.  This would now be the third threatening phone call I’d received from one of Riddick’s hitmen, each one making me realize more and more just how serious the situation was getting and how threatened my life was.

"Hello?" The silence on the other end made my heart pound harder. I could almost hear his breath, slow and measured, waiting for the perfect moment to talk.

"Bitch,” his voice finally oozed through the receiver, cold as hell, "get your affairs in order."

His voice was cold, it was obvious that he had killed before, as if this was just routine for him. I tried to shake it off, but it’s starting to sink in—these calls weren’t going away. I can hear the threat beneath every word, and no matter how much I tried to rationalize it, that sinking feeling of dread was becoming a constant companion. I always tried my best not to sound scared, somehow hoping that maybe I could give them second thoughts about coming after me.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I have but-

He cut me off, "Time’s up, you dumb bitch. Your debt to Mr. Riddick is overdue, and he doesn’t take kindly to delays.  It’s not his fault you’re a degenerate gambler."

My heart sank and I knew I had to sound as tough as I possibly could, but at this moment, my throat was dry and I couldn’t find the words.

He spoke again, his voice growing harder. "You've had plenty of time to figure something out, now it's not about the money anymore. It's about sending a message. Mr. Riddick doesn't like being disrespected.  Now, he just wants you dead and he’s paying me well to take care of that."

I was gently trembling, my mind racing for any way out of this. "I’ll get The hundred grand I swear."

There was a pause, then a dangerous laugh on the other end. "A hundred grand? Oh yeah? And how do you plan on getting that, serving tables in a restaurant?”

The line went dead, leaving me in a suffocating silence.  I stood there, paralyzed by the cold truth that my time had finally run out.  Even though I always knew this phone call would eventually come, I shouldn’t have been surprised.  The moment I borrowed more money than I could ever repay, I had set myself up for this dark and dangerous situation that I was now in.

Long after the phone call ended, I sat there, the phone still in my hand, my fingers numb. The conversation replayed in my mind, each word sharper and more biting than the last. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving me in a vacuum of disbelief and shock. My breath caught in my throat, the realization of what had just been said sinking in slowly, my thoughts a tangled mess as I tried to process the harsh, unexpected reality that now faced me.

The hitman’s voice echoed in my ears for some time.  I couldn’t feel anything—numbness had taken over—but underneath, I knew my entire world had shifted. My townhouse, once my sanctuary, now felt like a cage with invisible cracks in the walls, letting in the danger that seemed to breathe down my neck. I’ve always felt safe here, in my little corner of the world, but now even my own home feels foreign, and hostile, like nowhere is safe anymore.  There was no longer any question that this threat was real, I was no longer able to enjoy my simple little life; it had now changed forever.  What bothered me more, is that to survive I would have to become a different woman, one that is colder and stronger. I might even have to become a killer if that’s what this comes down to, and that’s the reality that I was struggling with more than anything.