That's My Money, Bitch! | Alice Miller & Donna Bell

Brazzers

Alice Miller, Donna Bell Pic(s)

The triumphant click of Alice Miller’s briefcase latch echoed in the sterile office air, a sound more satisfying than any spoken word. Across the polished mahogany desk, Donna Bell allowed a slow, predatory smile to spread across her lips, her eyes locked on the ashen-faced executive now squirming in his leather chair. For months, they had watched their ideas be shamelessly pilfered and their contributions systematically erased from the official record. Alice meticulously laid out a series of damning financial documents, her movements precise and utterly calm, each paper a silent accusation. Donna then leaned forward, her voice a low, venomous purr as she detailed every overlooked email, every stolen concept, and every broken promise. The digital trail was impeccable, a spiderweb of evidence they had woven together in secret after-hours sessions. They weren’t just asking for what was theirs; they were demonstrating the absolute, irrefutable proof of its theft. The man began to sputter a weak denial, but Alice cut him off with a single, razor-sharp glance that promised legal annihilation. There would be no negotiation, no settlement shrouded in confidentiality; this was a full, public reclaiming of their value and their dignity. That’s my money, bitch, Donna didn’t even need to say, the phrase hanging, unspoken and potent, in the space their victory had already claimed.