Hunted by Billionaires Box Set

by Ryan Ramsay

  Boy, does he look good in that red Armani.

  “I had… fun. Lots of it.”

  My throat is shaky and I think I’m naked under these sheets.

  “Don’t you worry, Christy. Mia, Stephanie and her three fiancés are long gone. We found this note in the ballroom. It’s addressed to you.”

  Ron walks over to me and hands me a note. It’s more Victorian and gothic than my taste would allow, but the blue crested stamp at the bottom of the old papyrus reed makes the words in it worth it.

  Congratulations to our town’s new millionaire! I told you the adventure would be worth it.

  On behalf of myself and the Trinity, I hereby bestow upon you all your winnings, paid directly to a secret account we put for you offshore for your convenience.

  Feel free to contact me at any time if you have questions. I know you are tired and feel spent. Rest, for your life from here on out is solid gold.

  Once more, congratulations, and I wish you the very best in the oncoming adventures. Stephanie and I both consider you friends of ours now, and you’re welcome back to the mansion at any time.

  .

  Love,

  Mia.

  I place the paper on the sheets covering me up and look up to the three men. They all have a knowing look that is neither dominating nor powerful. Their eyes show kindness, and if I am not mistaken, through the light of the cackling fire from their eyes, something… more.

  I am happy to see that I’ve made friends today, which was my goal. Not just one, but two. And I lost my virginity, to three men at once. This has certainly been quite the day.

  I guess it’s time to go now. But I really wish I didn’t have to. I can’t help thinking that there’s something more between these three guys and me, that is worth exploring and holding onto. And not just because they fucked my brains out. But because we have a special connection.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Christy

  “You can drop me off here.”

  The limo driver parks up against the curb that’s one block down my house. He, or she, slides the panel between my compartment and his, or hers, up. I never really got a good look at her, or him, as the three gentlemen who gifted me more than I gifted them, sent me home in it.

  I sit in silence at the thoughts that come at me one after the other.

  Was that just it?

  The best fucks of my life and we are done?

  Was there going to be nothing more, not a hug, not a kiss, not a handshake goodbye from the men who really made me a woman over the span of an afternoon?

  I mean, the sex was godly, if not obscenely apocalyptic.

  Shouldn’t I deserve more than a swift nod and a note from a host that disappeared before I even said thank you?

  I don’t want Amy or Grandma seeing me walk so stealthily from a limo that blends so well with the darkening sky it could practically be invisible. No. I don’t want questions.

  I never have been in the mood for them, anyway. I don’t want answers, either. No one has them. All I want right now is to get to my bed in one piece and figure a few things out.

  The door clicks open and I get up and out of the seat. The smell of leather is compounded by the lack of it out here. Freshly cut grass and the whiff of the neighbors prepping supper for their families after a good Sunday is coming to an end.

  I walk to the driver’s side of the car and tap on the glass. It slides down slightly, enough for me to bend down and whisper a quick ‘thank you’. The tinted window slides back up, and the limo, silently revving, slithers its way back to whence it came. I remain standing on the cracked road, alone.

  I trudge up the block, thinking hard over the best excuse I could give to Amy. It has been hours since she last heard from me in my all-so-civil manner of text messaging, and I doubt she’s made pancakes to thank me for my good behavior. Anyway, that will be a bone to chew when its time comes.

  The sweet smell of cornbread and barbeques invades my senses.

  It would be amazing to have such a thing with family.

  A family that cares enough to tell you what really happened with your parents.

  A family that listens enough to know you battle depression on a weekly, if not hourly basis.

  A family that sees you for who you are.

  A family that understands that you have needs.

  I love Grandma and even Amy, in my own way, to death, but now, I think my horizons are widening.

  The steps to the porch creak with each blending weight of my feet. The lights are out, both inside and here. I listen hard for any signs of Grandma’s knitting or Amy’s praise and worship recordings, or at least sounds of them arguing over nothing as they usually do daily, ritualistically.

  It’s quiet, though. I open the door to the house and peep in. It’s dark. Silent. It smells like mint and burnt yarn. Both of them are out.

  Ah, I remember now that they had that community church meeting at the pastor’s house. I had forgotten all about it. I’d obviously had bigger, more important things on my mind. And in all my holes.

  I go up the stairs to my room and shut my door. There’s no need for the lights; I can already tell where everything is. No one ever comes into my room, my space. I can still smell the play dough I borrowed from Grandma to make 3D models of a few fictional characters.

  The fuzzy carpet feels warm under my soles. The air is dank and stuffy; no window has been opened in a couple of heated hours. I let my feet heave my body off the ground and thump onto my bed.

  I would usually be reading by now, but I feel too excited to crack open a book. For once, my real life seems even better than fantasy.

  I can still feel them. Their cocks. Hands. Tongues. Skin. Breath. Fingers. Sweat. Hair.

  I miss having them inside me. Damien, Ron and Logan all know how to treat a woman. They know how to treat me.

  I called them ‘Master’. Boy, if that is what sadomasochism feels like, regular sex must be cruel and boring.

  One by one, they owned me. I was their bitch. Their cum-slut. And I loved it. And they let me go. Just like that.

  I don’t get it. For a minute, I felt something else, something that goes beyond lust and the want for dominance. I think I felt affection. Some type of need for stability and romance.

  Then again, dick is persuasive that way. I wanted a kiss. Maybe I needed a card or something to one of their homes where we could do that again.

  If there was a chance, maybe, just maybe, I think something more could have happened. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself and seeing shit that isn’t there, though. It’s probably typical of a woman who loses her virginity, but nothing about today was typical, so I try to tell myself not to be about this, either.

  What I do have for sure is millions of dollars.

  What the fuck am I going to do with that kind of cash?

  Start a business?

  Head off to college?

  Buy a bank?

  Ha. College would be fun, but that’s a waste of my time for now, since I have no immediate career plans. Owning a bank would be nice, and would give me an instant career.

  The first thing that makes sense to do is to start out on my own. Life here is done for me. Amy is about to move out. Grandma is thinking of selling the house even though she thinks I never saw the drawn up contracts with her bank hidden in the stocking drawer.

  I have no friends, other than Mia and Stephanie now, but who knows what kind of real friendship I can have with women I’ve bonded with due to our shared love of foursomes. I have no school, and no major life changing event that needs me to station myself.

  Time is up for me here in my hometown. And with such an amount of cash, I can set myself up anywhere in the world.

  A fresh slate.

  Maybe I can find my way to Singapore and do photography. Or learn to train monkeys in the Zambezi.

  I think I’ll consider flying. I’ve always wanted to fly.

  The sounds of silence ravage my ears as I come to a draw
n out solution. I’ll pack in the morning. I’ll leave thereafter. And there is no way I am coming back to this place.

  Huh. Funny. I don’t feel my dress itch any more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ron

  I have not jerked off in three days.

  In the medical profession, that may seem like progress for an obsessive dominant with a chronic binge towards self-torture and masturbation, but in my world, this is something to consider food for thought. Perhaps I should further my thinking: I have not cum in three days.

  My mind feels clearer. My body feels stronger. I have more energy than I ever have before, to focus on work and on my personal life. I even had enough time on my hands to finish the pet project BMW convertible I had lying around as scraps in my garage.

  Ever since three nights ago on that spectacular Sunday afternoon, all I have had on my mind is Christy.

  That young woman stunned my body in more ways than one. Through my years of fucking and whoring around, I forget women as fast as I wipe my dick off with their faces. It’s helped me become the man I am today, or so I thought.

  Ever since I met Christy, though, I can’t forget her. And I don’t even want to. I certainly can’t move on to any other woman – that’s for sure.

  The office is buzzing. Phone calls getting picked and papers being shuffled. My employees surge and move in awkward anticipation for the coming merger.

  It was an actual blessing to have the Henderson case postponed to today, three days later than it was supposed to be. Something about their lawyers drafting a last minute detail they needed to review.

  In my world that may mean a colossal amount of new paperwork on my end, and now, more than ever, I feel prepared. I lean back in my chair and enjoy the sun-baked view of the city below. Today is a good day.

  “You look relaxed. Can I get you anything? Some stress? Something to think about?” chimes in Damien through my door.

  Under his right arm is a folder. Something new to peruse, I suppose.

  “I feel ready, Damien. This case is ours.”

  “No need to get cocky, my friend,” says Logan, from the doorframe. “Too much of that ego and we might as well tell this case goodbye.”

  “Calm down, sparky,” urges Damien. “Can we talk about what went down ever since Sunday?”

  He leans back and walks towards the door to shut it. The buzzing cancels out.

  “Nah, man. Whatever memory you have of me in that head of yours is better off being unsaid,” I say cheekily.

  “It’s not that, Ron. I mean, it was mind numbing. But is anyone else feeling what I’m feeling?”

  He seems troubled. I look to Logan to affirm. He’s also nodding to the fact.

  “Did we just get sequestered?” asks an almost horrified Logan.

  “Perhaps. I haven’t had any sexual urges since,” I say.

  “Me neither,” adds Damien. “Whatever energy we shared that day really kicked the balls out of me. I haven’t had a single thought of Anastasia dumping me or mentally fucking me behind the bus that tramples me in my dreams, which by the way she is the driver of. Don’t worry, I still see Dr. Woodrow for that,” he adds, when he sees my and Logan’s horrified faces. “But the thing is, I don’t think I need to go anymore. I feel calm, collected and sure of myself. I feel like I am ready to move on to my next phase of life. You know what I mean?”

  “No buddy,” pipes in Logan. “You sound like a hallucinating piece of cock that just had the best lay of his life.”

  “That’s not false anyway, is it?” I say. “That was the best lay any of us has ever had.”

  “I know that’s true. But guys,” says Logan, “we have to make sure all these files and presentations are in order for when the meeting starts. It’s in one hour, remember?”

  “Relax, brother,” Damien and I say at the same time.

  Logan laughs.

  “You know what? I think I’m gonna do just that. Maybe it’s the new Christy wave that’s hit us.”

  Maybe. I wouldn’t know. Or maybe I would. When I think of Christy, I think of a kindness, a sharp kindness, to share and please her in all possible ways. I paint a picture of her in my mind and want to jerk off to it. But something holds me back.

  The necessity to please her, and not myself, rises higher with each thought of my hand on her neck, squeezing gently till her temples throb. And I don’t want to do it alone. I want my comrades there to share in the pleasure.

  I want to watch them fuck her. I want them to watch me fuck her. And I want us three to fuck the brains out of her system. Together. Again. And always.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Christy

  The house has not been this quiet since that night. The night they died.

  I was in the living room playing alone and reading through a few of my favorite comic books. Amy was in the attic. The babysitter was in the kitchen, cutting up some onions, I think.

  It was cold, a few days to the start of winter. The TV gave off a loud static hiss. The pipes in the walls cranked and yawned lightly. The air in the house, my room, came off slightly stale and dull.

  Our parents had gone off to a ceremony in the morning and left us in the care of Grace Hopkins. The knock came unexpectedly. I looked out my window and saw the familiar colors.

  I didn’t even bother to go down the stairs to watch, or hear the news. A part of me knew. It was a Saturday.

  Three days have gone by now without a word from Amy. On the night of my deflowering, she came back with Grandma quite late. It was close to midnight. Their steps were calculated. Their movements were sieved through. It was almost as if they wanted to keep me asleep.

  A few moments later, I heard them in the kitchen, mumbling and talking. I couldn’t grasp the gist of what they were saying, but the way Amy’s voice rose and Grandma’s placated meant that I was the subject of their conversation. Since then, Amy has had a sort of quiet glaze about her eyes.

  She has had errands to run all over town, making me see her less and less. I had to postpone my plans to leave, since Grandma has had me make sweaters and chili with her.

  My heart is content with this decision to leave, though. I scan the room for the last time and breathe in the flowery musk.

  As I grip my suitcase hard, I smile at the fond memories I have had in this place. Books. TV watching. Early morning masturbation to an open sky. Depression. Ah, I’m gonna miss those days.

  I think I’m going to try my hand at acting. How hard can it be, pretending to be someone else for a living?

  I’m not talking about porn, though. I suppose Hollywood has its fare share of cunts and cocks ready to be sucked and tinkled with. Not by me, though. I’m practically rich. I can do whatever the heck I want, with no need for consequence-thinking.

  Oh, how I wish I was that girl now, the girl with the fear and the anxiety. The girl who could not wait to see sleep and forget the real world. The girl with no friends. The girl who hated the rest of the world for what it showed itself to be — nothing but a cruel hand dealing crap.

  Acting needs this kinda heat. Imagine the scripts I would tear through!

  My insides feel… empty. Despite all the foolhardy full stop of an attitude I had tried to put on, I miss them. I miss Logan. Damien. Ron. They completed me.

  I have not heard a word from them ever since they got me into the limo. No text. No anonymous letters under my pillow. No suited man seated at the back of my door waiting upon my return from the bathroom at sunset.

  Then again, creepy much? Still… would be something to prove that it was real. That it was not a dream. That I really did gift them all my body, my sanctity, my whole being.

  I have to be anywhere but here. I have to forget that dream. I just have to overlook the feel of my stretched pussy and force myself to forget.

  I sigh, and walk past the ‘Do Not Disturb Or Face A World Of Books Thrown At You’ poster for the last time.

  “I know what you’ve been doing.”

 
She stands, arms crossed, in the middle of the hallway, in the usual gray jeans and turquoise top. Her creased lines of worry never cease to stop creasing. Amy stands resolute; a sister standing in the way of her sister’s glory.

  “And what might that be?” I meekly ask.

  “Skipping church. Lying about it. Staying in your room all day every day. Not eating. Being a whore. The usual stuff,” she smirks.