Five Men and a Nanny: A Reverse Harem Romance

by Jess Bentley

  “That’s Brock,” the other voice says. I look up at him in alarm, then back at the nearly comatose man I just sucked off.

  “He’s… wait. Who? What’s going on here?” I ask nervously, standing up and wiping my mouth.

  The other man smiles and saunters toward the table, picking up a glass of champagne and downing half of it.

  “I’m Trey. Remember me? From the airplane?” he reiterates slowly so I can figure it out.

  The room is kind of swimming, kind of slipping back and forth like water sloshing in a bucket.

  “Of course I remember you,” I mutter.

  “And that’s my brother, Brock,” he continues. “Don’t worry. Lots of people can’t tell us apart. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I’m not ashamed of anything!” I huff defensively.

  Trey—the real Trey—looks me up and down slowly, his nostrils flaring like he’s trying to smell me from where he stands.

  “That’s a good quality in a woman,” he says. “So, do you think I can get your name this time?”

  “It’s Bunny,” Brock sighs, half asleep in his club chair with his cock hanging out. “Her name is Bunny and I really like her. We should hire her.”

  I turn back toward Trey—the real one. He smirks amiably.

  “Well, looks like you’re winning us all over, Bunny. Now we have just got to convince Spencer to give you the papers, and we’re good to go.”

  “Really?” I choke out. The room is starting to swim and I think I’d like to take a nap on that pool table, more than just about anything.

  “Really,” he confirms. “So, you want a room? Maybe a nap? I’d love to show off the hotel a bit.”

  “You read my mind,” I confess.

  “Seems like I’m pretty good at that,” he answers.

  Chapter 7

  Trey

  As soon as I pass through the kitchen in my father’s penthouse apartment suite, I’m struck by a familiar sound. Slowing, I walk quietly into the parlor, gathering details in the dim light.

  It’s early afternoon, and the light from the tall, nearly two-story windows streaks across the room like a living presence. Compared to the walnut paneling, the contrast is striking, almost blinding.

  Oh, ho, ho! What have we here?

  Brock is sprawled out on a club chair with his fly open and his head tipped back. His mouth lolls open as he moans shamelessly. Between his legs is a kneeling woman, bent over and sucking his cock like a real champ.

  She uses both hands, twisting and pistoning them through the spit that drips down his dick. As she moves, I see her ass cheeks clenching and spreading, almost visible under that little skirt. As a matter of fact, I could probably walk right up there and take her from behind. Get the three of us going together, like the old days. Maybe she likes it in the ass, even. Maybe I could fuck her ass without ever even seeing her face.

  Suddenly she turns toward me, opening one eye with her cheeks caved in and my brother’s wet cock gleaming from between her berry-pink lips. Her eyes go wide.

  “Unnnnh….” he groans, “you’re gonna make me come!”

  I only have a few moments to process this. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? That’s the woman from the plane, I’m certain of it. I recognize her bob haircut and those gigantic brown eyes. More importantly, I recognize that round, lithe ass. I recognize the fuck out of it.

  But in a surprising show of personal mettle, she does not stop fellating Brock just because I’m here. That is some admirable dedication to a task. I am really impressed.

  Brock comes with an animal groan, arching his back. He’ll be done in a few seconds, and I organize my thoughts. This must be the woman we’re interviewing for the nanny position. Good thing I didn’t know that on the plane; Royce would not have been cool with my fingers inside her.

  What should I say to her? Play it cool? Definitely. Tease her about it? Well, I probably don’t know her that well yet. I would hate to scare her off at this point. She has piqued my interest, for sure.

  His dick slips from her mouth with a slurp.

  “Trey?” she says to him. “What is going on here?”

  Oh, how delightful! She thinks that’s my dick in her mouth! Well, I’m touched.

  “That’s not Trey,” I correct her with a smirk. “That’s my brother, Brock.”

  It always amuses me when people get us confused for one another. Or, actually, it amuses me how they try to back out of it. We know that we are identical. We are not embarrassed about it—but it sure seems a lot of other people are.

  Brock is still blissed out and half-stupid as we all try to negotiate this awkward situation. But she is stubborn, somehow making a stab at being dignified even while my brother’s cum is drying on that pointy little chin. She stands on her wobbly legs, looking around while babbling through some inane attempts at conversation.

  I really do admire that.

  Eventually we all get put back together and I finally ask for her name.

  “It’s Bunny,” Brock answers.

  She nods to confirm, one eyebrow quirked in challenge.

  I don’t take the bait: I’m not going to tease her about her name at all. Not yet.

  “Would you like to see your room? Maybe take a nap?” I ask her. I am vividly aware that Brock would probably like to take a nap right about now. I got her room info from Royce earlier and instructions to show her around. Little did I realize it was going to be the creature from the plane, who happens to be Bunny.

  I don’t know why I find that all so wonderful, but I do.

  “You read my mind,” she smiles.

  “I’m getting pretty good at that,” I observe.

  She slips her little hand around my bicep and I guide her from the room. She’s graceful, but a little wobbly. Then again, it sounds like she’s had a vigorous day so far.

  We are going to have to work to get her stamina up.

  “This is your kitchen?” she asks in a sleepy voice.

  I look around, seeing it through fresh eyes. It’s the size of a commercial kitchen, with top-of-the-line everything. When it was built in the early 1900s, it was just this size. Large kitchens were standard protocol back then, to accommodate a large number of staff. In the 1940s, it was downsized. In the 1970s, it was restored to its original size so that the caterers could use it. The space is wonderful for parties and has a breathtaking balcony view.

  “Well, it’s not my kitchen,” I murmur, just to pass the time. I don’t think she’s actually really listening. “Brock likes this apartment, but I prefer to just have a simple, smaller suite with a nice view.”

  “Is that where you are taking me?”

  “No,” I chuckle, wondering why she’s so amenable to the idea. “Your things have been sent up to one of the other penthouses, and Royce asked me to show you there. You’ll see. It’s very nice, and if you don’t care for it I will find you something else.”

  I take her through the service elevator, down one floor, then back up one floor to get to her suite. In our newer hotels everything is more connected, but in the antique buildings there are some charming navigation quirks like hallways that end nowhere, and elevators that only go to specific floors.

  She walks along beside me, saying nothing, holding my arm like we are old friends. I am sort of enjoying our cordial stroll through hundred-year-old hallways. Perhaps even a bit too much.

  “Here we are, Bunny,” I say after opening the door with a swipe of the key card. “Home, sweet, temporary home.”

  “Oh, wow,” she sighs, breaking away from me. She kicks off her shoes immediately under the hallway table and walks diagonally across the room to the windows.

  “I assumed you would enjoy a lake view.”

  “Yeah… this is amazing! I feel like I can see all the way to… what is that? Indiana? Michigan?”

  “Maybe a little of both, on a clear day,” I answer.

  The sunlight illuminates her, rendering her clothing almost sheer. She was beautifu
l on her knees, and she’s beautiful now, up on her toes. My balls clench painfully, and I suddenly remember that I still haven’t had a chance to release myself after she worked me up on the plane yesterday.

  “This is completely perfect. This is what your life is always like?” she asks breathlessly. “Or do you guys live together somewhere? Like in a big house?”

  I shrug. “We have properties in dozens of cities, in seventeen countries all over the world. It is sort of like we live everywhere, you could say.”

  She purses her lips and hugs her shoulders. “No, but I mean where do you live? Where is your home? And is it all together or in separate suites or something?”

  “Oh, I see what you’re asking…” I reply, trying to put together an answer that would make sense.

  I stroll over to the writing table and sit down. From this angle I can see the whole room, watching her as she walks barefoot across the rugs to her open suitcase on the bed, then pokes her head into the bathroom, hanging onto the doorjamb and kicking up one leg. The pink sole of her naked foot sends another shockwave of lust through my cock.

  “I guess we live wherever the business takes us. Sometimes we are all in the same place, and sometimes not. But there is a house in Nantucket where we used to all spend summers together with our family. That’s probably about the only place big enough to accommodate all of us at the same time. I mean, without sending us to separate suites like we are here.”

  She sighs distractedly and flops back on the bed, throwing her arms out like she’s floating in water. Her skirt flutters up toward her hips and I can see the pink triangle of her panties over that little pussy she let me touch yesterday.

  “That’s sad,” she says toward the ceiling.

  “Excuse me?”

  She pushes herself up on her elbows and looks at me, flexing her ankles distractedly, showing me the soles of her feet again. I’m fairly certain she doesn’t know what she’s doing to me, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  “Family should be together.”

  “Our family is together,” I counter, a little more defensively than I would like. “Didn’t anyone tell you about…”

  “Oh, I know all about that,” she interrupts me, rolling her head from side to side. “It’s a little weird that you decided to be together like that, but you don’t want to share a house together.”

  “It’s not that we don’t want to share house together,” I explain, almost irritably. “It’s that we work a lot. A whole lot. And we have to be in a lot of different places to make sure everything keeps working out.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” she shrugs, before dropping back on the bed again. She opens her knees wider and wiggles her hips. “So, are you going to interview me too?”

  The way her hips are moving, I can see that tantalizing gap between the fabric and her sweet, secret skin. My mouth starts to water.

  “Why don’t you just take a nap?” I suggest. “I could come back and pick you up for dinner. Perhaps a couple of hours?”

  And I could retreat to my suite and jack off, I tell myself. Take some of this edge off before I come in my pants like a teenager and humiliate myself.

  “Or you could come over here and fuck me to sleep?” she says sweetly, half sitting up again. She blinks her eyes innocently, but her tongue traces the ridges of her upper teeth with an unmistakable hunger.

  “Actually… I can’t,” I tell her, forcing myself to stand up, aware that my erection is just about to bulge out of the top of my trousers.

  “Sure you can,” she winks. “I just consented.”

  “You certainly are… determined, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, you mean slutty?” she laughs. “That’s what my friend Dahlia says. I’m just a girl who knows what she wants, okay? And I like sex. A lot.”

  “So you’re okay with… all of this? Everything has been explained to you?”

  I squint at her, searching for signs of ambivalence or deception. Even signs that she’s deceiving herself. But there’s nothing. She looks excited… absolutely ravenous.

  “It’s a dream come true, Trey,” she purrs. “Literally. I’ve had dreams.”

  I bet you have, I tell her silently.

  She opens her knees even wider, lowering her chin and leveling her gaze at me. She’s flexible. I want to crack her open like a snow crab.

  “So… you want to come over here and interview me? We could still have dinner later. That would be nice.”

  I fold my hands in front of my crotch, hoping that’ll provide some kind of barrier.

  “Believe me, I would like nothing more,” I tell her. “However, we have rules. I can’t.”

  “Sure you can. I already said you could,” she shrugs.

  Goddamn you, Royce.

  “No… I really can’t. We have rules, you see? I can’t have you unless all of us can have you. And that means everyone has to say yes.”

  Her brow furrows. “Seriously? So… wait. Seriously?”

  “Serious as a heart attack,” I reply.

  I think I’m about to have a heart attack, just to prove it.

  “But you can finger me?”

  I nod. It’s kind of a gray area, I hope.

  She smirks and tips her head, looking me over from top to bottom.

  “And it seems like I can suck you off? That’s allowed?”

  I swallow hard, then nod again.

  “Can you also… eat my pussy?”

  Before I know what I’m doing, I am across the room, her knees in my hands, dragging her toward the end of the bed. She laughs with delight and flops back, letting me bury my face against that sweet, musky slit.

  Her panties are made of something flimsy and tear in my hands. I rip them away, starving for her taste. As my tongue plunges between her sweet lips, I begin slurping down that nectar. I need it so much, I hear myself moaning against her like an animal.

  With her thighs clamped over my ears I bury my face in her hot, eager pussy, lavishing her with my tongue, flickering over that tiny pink pearl, drinking her until I’m full.

  But when she comes, there’s more. It’s a gush, a deluge. She screams with pleasure and claws at the silken duvet.

  As soon as she’s done, I want to start again. I’m not sure how I will ever get enough of her. I back away, watching her limp form relaxing on the bed as sleep overtakes her again. She’s so trusting, she’s already lightly snoring.

  And my cock is so hard, I’m never going to make it to my room. I slip into her bathroom and silently close the door, already reaching into my trousers to find my dick ready to explode. Pulling it out, I barely have to stroke myself before I am coming, spurting a fireworks display into the toilet. Breathless and panting, I lean against the wall, coming and coming, waiting for my heartbeat to go back to a regular level.

  It seems to take forever to exhaust my supply of spunk. But even when I know I’m done, I know I’m not satisfied. I need more of her already.

  I need Spencer and Sully to sign off. I’m going to make that happen.

  Chapter 8

  Sully

  Detroit was half a disaster until I threatened to pull out of the city entirely. Without a flagship luxury hotel of our caliber, Detroit would suffer. They’re already on the brink of lapsing back into utter poverty again. They can’t afford to lose any name brands.

  But it’s good to see Chicago again. Now that I’ve got a win under my belt from the casino guys, I can talk to Royce about expanding our gaming here and abroad. Hotels have been very good to us, and casinos are a natural extension.

  That’s my opinion, but Royce has always thought differently. He feels it’s vulgar entertainment. The hotel business itself, on the other hand, is elegant and refined. But once you put that hotel on top of a twenty-five-thousand-square-foot gaming floor filled with slot machines and carnival lights, it’s a little less dignified.

  I see his point, but I have my eye on that next billion dollars. I’m always looking for that.

&nb
sp; The driver navigates the Hummer through lunchtime traffic congestion, expertly maneuvering among the throngs of pedestrians and taxi drivers. Now that Uber and Lyft have also taken a hold of Chicago livery services, there are a bunch of novice drivers trying to get to the Magnificent Mile.

  It’s really pretty dangerous. Driving down here is not for newbies. The streets are congested to begin with, and then there are literally thousands of pedestrians milling around in the crosswalks at the same time. It’s a wonder anybody survives the day.

  But after some careful navigation, we’re back at home base. The center of our operations: the Worth Hotel on Michigan Avenue. Right in the heart of the city, right where everyone wants to be.

  I don’t usually walk through the foyer, but I know the driver intends to get the Hummer serviced so he drops me off in front of the doorman.

  “Good morning, Mr. Worth,” he says, tipping his old-fashioned hat.

  “Good morning, Fernando,” I smile.

  I know Royce has a point. That kind of thing—the doorman—there’s not a lot left of that sort of thing in the world, is there? It’s a really simple kind of business. We provide a hospitality for travelers. A place to stay, a comfortable bath to relax in, a restaurant, and outstanding customer service. That’s all. We do it better than almost anyone else, but it’s really just like staying at your grandmother’s house, all at four hundred dollars a night.

  Do we need to add more? No. By all accounts, being the most recognized name in luxury hotels in the world is a hell of an accomplishment. But what’s our endgame? Is this hotel going to go the same way as Uber and Lyft? Will our prices continue to be eroded by Priceline.com and others? Or perhaps taken over by Airbnb?

  Just like any business, we have to ask: will progress make us irrelevant?

  It goes without saying, we would not know how to live if we weren’t stupidly wealthy. This is a lifestyle we definitely need to maintain. Being flexible and innovative will keep us in the game.

  I should remember that Uber metaphor. I wonder if that argument would convince Royce to reconsider casino operations in any way.