by Ryan Ramsay
“What’s not healthy?”
He guffaws in his bravest smirk.
“You really want me to spit it out? Like the way she did on a mid-winter’s eve?”
Fuck. Here comes the Shakespeare impression: Logan raises his arm to the soft-lighting golden chandelier and flings his right arm to his side in desperate gusto.
“Doth ye know how much suffering ye mother’s heart spins the longer ye stray from the flesh?” he turns to me with a knowing smile, almost idiotic and yet mildly genius.
“Did you just allegorize my want for sex with my mother in the same sentence? You dick.”
“Brother, you need to come back to the world. You’re always moping around as if your life is over. But we both know that Anastasia dumped your ass for no solid reason. Think about it, man.”
His hand worms its way to the brunt of my shoulder. That’s as close as he comes to giving anyone a hug.
“You have all the money in the world and were good to her, yet she cheated. Not once. Not twice. Not thrice,” he says. “Okay, we have no idea exactly how many times she cheated on you, but we do know for sure her heart was never in it for real. She loved games, bro, and what better games to play than with the hearts of powerful men?”
“That’s not true.”
“What is?” he asks, a hint defiantly.
His fist is off my shoulder now.
“I’m not hung up on Ace. I mean, I was. But now I’m not.”
“Sure.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“It’s not me you need convincing, it’s this guy,” he adds while holding the clear glass bottle in my face.
I tell myself he’s a liar. Truth be told, I did get over Anastasia, though it took time to happen. I suffered mental and physical depression for a number of months, which took a slight toll on the business as my two best friends and business partners picked up the slack.
But it all left me the day I realized she was simply never worth my heart. I lost someone I loved, but she lost someone who loved her. The pain should know from whence it flows.
Ever since my worst heartbreak, it has been my sworn duty to never feel anything that is not an orgasm deep in the sweet mouth, ass or pussy of a hot little virgin. I never like commitment and I don’t want a serious relationship, as I see now that that only leads to me getting screwed over.
Casual sex is the way to go, and right about now my cock longs for some good, tight pussy to meet n’ greet.
“It’s been a while since I got good tail. And I mean really good tail,” I say.
Logan lights up at my suggestion.
“Well, we should really consider Ron’s invite. That whole challenge thing feels like there’s going to be immense amount of free and fresh pussy walking about. I think it’s some kind of treasure hunt, but the treasure is a virgin.”
“I don’t know, Logan.”
“What? You don’t like pussy no more?”
He almost seems hurt by my remark. I laugh it off lightly.
“That’s not the case at all. You know how Ron gets when it comes to competition.”
“Yeah, and what’s that got to do with anything?”
“If there’s pussy there then we both know he would want to be the alpha male. Remember that time we he wanted Amelia from that advertising assignment?”
“Ah,” Logan sighs in a dream state. “She was lovely.”
“Yeah, yeah, snap back to reality. Remember how Ron got with her?”
He jolts his memories, and I hopefully wait for that particular moment to click. His smile fades into the light.
“Good. So, you know how bad things could go if we decide to go to this treasure hunt or whatever it is, and he gets that way with a girl either of us like. We have the Henderson Case to close on Monday, and there is no way I’m going to be a part of that deal going the wrong way for us.”
Just then, the tightly suited bartender walks right towards us from the bar. Her flats click quietly on the marble floor, and I notice her deep hazel eyes and pensively applied lipstick gunning for my attention as she sways her petite thighs side to side.
She stops by our table quite politely and tilts her sweet chin to the side before asking, “Would you like another drink?”
Beauty comes in many forms, so my whisky-embalmed tobacco-chilled stepfather said once when I stumbled upon him fucking the maid and the cook at the same time. One is the kind that you want to just fuck but never want to see again after the deed.
One look at the pretty bartender and I knew this was it. She was too skinny for my type; I like some meat on the bones. Taking her home would never be fair to her, since she clearly has more to her tone than a one night stand: you live too long in the game, you get to see the signs.
“No, thank you. I’m good,” I smile at her and say.
She lingers only for a bit before Logan clears his throat and slides a leather card to her side. She notices this, picks it up and smirks naughtily.
“Thank you. Have a good evening.”
As she saunters away, Logan just licks his lips and breathes smoothly.
“Tip and hotel room?” I question.
“A heavy tip and an even heavier one once I find her there, as per my instructions.”
“Instructions, huh?” I sigh in nostalgia. “I guess you think she’s a prostitute as well as a bartender?”
But I knew it would work. The ladies love Logan. Days like this, all I need is a chunk of juicy ass, just like the one I left at the reception desk waiting, to tie up and leave under my bed’s sex bunker for a night before surprising her with an early morning fuck.
Actually, no. I don’t want that. What I want is to be in bed. I want that bed to be white in linen and soaked in juice. Her cunt juice. I want my thighs at the back of the poster bed, my legs firmly rooted to the shaggy fur carpet.
I want to smell her skin of scented and dripped candle wax, red in preference. I need to see both her legs tied apart, her knees fallen and bruised on the soft and plushy mattress from all the hours of waiting. I want to watch her curly hair stick to the side of her neck, wet in beady sweaty anticipation.
I want to see her face scrunched up and her throat hoarse from all the moaning and screaming to my momentary and sadistic torture. I need her breasts swinging side to side in agony. All I want to see is her swollen clit, and her dripping pussy; her never-ending pussy juice that drips and drips down her thighs and onto my protruding fingers, her asshole puckered and sore from the constant thrust of the golden vibrator in my hand, and my cock; thick, long, and dry save for the dripping tip, waiting to finally protrude her aching pussy.
I want to watch her eyes brightly burn the moment my dick stretches her out. I want to tilt her head ever so gently to me so that she can watch as I deflower her.
I want her to feel everything I feel; the tightness, the warmth, the fucking pleasure in treading untouched boundaries. As I fuck and she screams my name out into the pillow, I want to taste the flow coming from her red lips. I want to go down on her and eat the throbbing cunt and suck the life out of her; skin to marrow, till she is no more herself, but mine.
“You alive?”
Logan’s rough and heavy voice contrasts heavily with the sweet chaotic turmoil running through my mind. I smile and chink the tip of the table with my ruby ring.
“I’m still here. You know what? I think we should give this treasure hunt thing with Ron a chance; see what he’s raving about.”
“You’re sure? Because his car just notified me that it’s arrived. Fucking paranoia will take you there, I tell you,” he adds under his breath.
I chuckle and stand up eagerly, glad that Ron’s here to take us to this mysterious event. I suppose one could say that Ron is not the only one interested in challenges.
As we both knock on the wooden table, rise to catch our ride and pass by the empty reception station, I smirk to myself and nod my head ever so slightly.
I have only one question left, and I k
now it probably won’t be answered until we get to wherever it is that we’re headed.
What are the chances that a curvy virgin will be involved?
Chapter Five
Christy
There are mansions. There are castles. There are spaceships. And then there’s this.
I don’t even know what to call it. The shear size of it dwarfs anything I could ever imagine calling a house, let alone a home. So, I think I’ll just call it The Alfred for now, since it seems to deserve an estate-like name.
The Alfred sits on a space of land I cannot try to comprehend, seeing as Mia made sure I Googled the property on our way here in her crispy fresh Escalade.
Alfred is red, almost red ochre, hinging on shades of age and grey along the edges of brick and mortar. He stands alone amongst vast fields of green and opulence that I can honestly say has never appeared even in the slightest in my fairy tale wet dreams.
Mia smoothly revolves around the spewing marble fountain and parks quietly beside an entrance to what appears to be thick manicured hedges. She, more so her neck, turns to me and gently offers a smile.
“Ready?”
“What for?” I ask honestly.
She licks the tip of her lip with the tip of her tongue mildly and makes a negligible popping sound.
“Come on. Let me introduce you.”
To fucking whom?
The place is practically a fortress and so far, from the majestic golden gates over five miles behind me, the quiet sprinklers in motion juicing the ground, the behemoth of a house that harbors God-knows-what in there; there seem to be only two souls around: my innocently curious one, and Mia’s devilishly clued and duplicitous one.
She knocks on my window from the outside.
Two taps.
Huh?
I didn’t see her there.
I lift the pinching fabric between my thighs for some wiggle room as I step out into the cool dry air that buzzes at the frays of my hair. It feels good to actually smell the water spurting onto us, even though it’s man-made.
We walk arm in arm, Mia’s smile never fading. Part of me knows I’m about to be skewered and served up to some rich, powerful men or something. The other part kinda knows that whatever lies behind the looming black wooden – heavy – door will change my life forever.
Well, both instances have that ultimate goal, but the point remains the same. Mia stops short an inch away from the door, where right at the same height as her eyes is a handle with a golden lion on it.
Curious, I look closer and see that it is a metallic cub upon closer inspection; its eyes are rugged at the edges, then smooth at the tip of the nose and mouth. If I wince just right, I can swear the eyes move. Mia places her gloveless hand on the lion’s eyes and the door buzzes, and then, quite heavily and vault-like, it opens.
“Sensors,” Mia explains. “They check my DNA the second time. The first time was ten miles before we breached the gate, via mosquito drones. Rich people have fun toys, huh?”
There goes my hidden magical school acceptance letter, and the stark intro to a world of bizarre security and, quite frankly, hellish walls of privacy. Then again, what greets me inside these hidden ancient walls mutes my beating heart more than the crystalline symmetrical staircases that lead angelically to the wooden, polished, Persian-carpeted floor; more than the elegant lighting that seems to bounce off the walls draped in ivy on the inside, but better than the outside; more than the sound of chirping birds somewhere in the roof and louder than that inside my head; and more than the spelled posture Mia gives me when she stands in the middle of my person, and Stephanie.
The Stephanie.
She has three men following her around, literally serving her grapes and fanning her like she’s their queen. And they are hot.
“I suppose it has been long overdue that you two actually and finally meet, considering that you’ve been attending the same church for ages but have been too shy to say hello to each other,” Mia says, as if knowing both of us all too well. “Christy, this is Stephanie. Stephanie, this is Christy. Shake hands if you must. I believe you two have so much more in common than meets the eye.”
“Hey.”
No one mentions the men or tells me their names, so I don’t ask. I figure this part is coming later.
“Hi, Christy. I’ve seen you…”
“At church. Yes. Although we haven’t met, I guess you could say you’ve seen me around. I know I’ve seen you around.”
“Cool!” she answers. “So, you noticed I wasn’t at the service today. Anyone looking for me?”
“To be honest, not really. I saw your folks though. They were…”
I trail off, not knowing how to word it, but Stephanie seems to catch my drift.
“Their usual. I know. Sad on such another level.”
I look at her without saying anything, realizing that her mom is definitely not in an open relationship with her dad. At least not voluntarily, anyway.
“But hey, it’s life,” she says, laughing it off. “You choose your pleasures or torture. Speaking of pleasures, I love your hair. And your dress.”
“Um, thank you.”
I consider telling her my grandma made the dress but I think that sounds like a dumb, immature thing to say. This is why I never make friends. Everything I can think of to say sounds like that.
“Are we gonna—?” I start to ask.
“You know, I was actually hoping for more company around here other than Mia’s,” Stephanie says, cutting me off. “She gets quite competitive with a few things here and there.”
“Oh, stop it,” says Mia with a light blush.
“You know it’s true,” laughs Stephanie. “I haven’t known you too long and I can already tell. Besides, it’s a turn on for most men. And women, if you know what I mean.”
“But I do,” smiles Mia. “A story for another time perhaps.”
“Um, excuse me,” I interject politely.
“Yes?” both women simultaneously respond.
“Are we not going to talk about the three men waiting on you?” I ask Stephanie, with what I’m sure is my baffled and incredulous face.
“Oh! That’s super rude of me. I apologize, Christy; I suppose it’s been so commonplace here to see the men and me, with Mia being my only company and all, that I forget that not everyone knows my situation,” Stephanie says. “The men you see before you are my fiancés; Frank, Nathan and William. Say hello, boys.”
One after the other the men in plain white polo shirts and different tacks of pants stop what they’re doing and greet me with a stylish nod. Not more than two seconds later, after my acknowledgement, they go back to what I perceive to be a) serving Christy wine, b) plucking grapes off a vine and feeding them to Christy, and c) massaging Christy’s feet and shoulders.
Nathan, I believe his name is, looks up to me and in a ghostly seductive timbre echoing from the depths of a forbidden chest he says, “Would you like some grapes, Christy?”
I stutter inward.
“No. No, thank you.”
Turning sharply to Mia, then Stephanie, I ask the ominous question.
“I just walked into a cult, didn’t I?”
They all laugh, including the hunks tending to every inch of Stephanie’s skin and need. As it subsides, I feel quite stupid and morbidly confused. It takes a few more seconds for them to consider my question seriously.
“Christy,” starts Mia, with a strong hand on my shoulder, “all this and more pleasure than you can fathom can be yours.”
“What’s the catch?” I ask.
At this question, all pairs of eyes look up and smile warmly at me. Mia tightens her grip on my shoulder once and then lets it go.
“A game. All you have to do is play a game.”
As if pre-planned, pre-meditated and pre-made-to-creep-the-fuck-out-of-me, Mia’s phone beeps. So does a sweet melody from the edges of the mahogany wall skirting, accompanied by the flash of a red light on all of the window panes.
/> Mia sighs as she breathes in; long enough to flare her cute nostrils and curt enough to sigh and quip at non-existent entities above her lashes.
“Right on time!” she announces with a quick strut towards the door and beyond.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
Stephanie offers a consoling smile and says, “You’re going to love this, I promise. My loves, please assure her that all will be better than she imagines.”