by Ryan Ramsay
I see the tabletop land she so calls out. It rests on the edge of my ranch, close to the reservation now filled with friends and comrades of old. At the top awaits her prize. She has no idea.
“Are we going, or will you keep Indiana Jones—ing this whole morning?” she asks, judging my safari outfit from top to bottom.
I laugh.
“Come on then. Just like I showed you.”
Amy clicks her tongue and gently kicks at Annabelle’s sides. The mare snorts and jumps mildly high enough to let the wind blow her mane smoothly across Amy’s smooth wrists and get her tickled.
She laughs as we gallop our way through the green. I hold her tight against my body, breathing in the sprinkle of life that embodied itself inside of her years before, in a golden plan before the sages of the universe.
I delight at her touch, her sound, her sight. She is divine. Angelic. And I love her.
We glide in enormous but gracious strides up the evergreen lush, laughing desperately at the future. She says it’s all quite exciting and unexpected for her, being happy that the tides have turned in her favor.
I click my tongue and motion for my horse to stop. Amy turns and stares quizzically.
“Turned in your favor, you say?”
“Yes,” she says. “I think I have slowly found what I was looking for all along.”
The few brushes of wood sparsely netted into the ground sway under a sweet morning breeze. I inhale and smile.
“Wanna tell me about it?”
She pauses.
“Maybe when we’re all together. It involves all of us.”
“Okay.”
I clamber off the saddle and land solidly on the ground. She follows. Hand in hand, we walk towards the clearing. She gasps. Her hands clamp over her mouth in unnecessary surprise. I laugh. So do they.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
Amy feels exasperated.
I join her at her waist and hug her tight from behind and kiss the nape of her neck softly.
Chad: “We had to.”
Dick: “We wanted to.”
“And now you get to see the other side of us that you’ve been clearly begging for,” I say, joining my brothers in arms beside her, smiling, beaming, holding to our hats and loosely buttoned shirts under the strong gust of the pressured lift: the hot air balloon was a solid plan.
Chad holds his hand out to her. Richard does the same. I let her waist go and walk before them, ready to pilot the balloon.
“Are you ready?” I hear Chad ask her.
The rope is tight and thick. It unwinds loosely under my touch. From here, I can see the edge of my house, basking under an overcast sky. I turn and lick my bottom lip. Amy’s cheeks are wet. I open the basket door. Dick sets the trip in motion.
“Come on, love. We’ve got a long day ahead.”
Amy grabs both their hands and struts in childlike joy towards the opening. I have my grip on the pressure lever. She sighs and gasps as they hold her elbows to climb into it better. Her eyes linger on Annabelle’s streaking dust trail as she clings onto Richard’s almost bare chest.
“Hold on, people,” I order.
Hands grip onto leather straps and the outer ring of the basket as I pull the lever down. Gently, we take off. She screams. Chad rushes to her side.
“We’ve got you, baby,” he says, holding her down. Dick is next to me, an assistance not asked for but well received. Out of nowhere, she starts laughing maniacally.
“What is it, Amy?”
She pauses, rises from her knees and slings her silky arms across Chad’s neck. Her hair falls across either side of her cheeks.
“I just realize how godamn happy I am.” Her hand slides across Chad’s chest, unbuttoning his shirt as her fingers skirt along. I see him tense up.
“And I think I can be happier still.” She pauses after saying this. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Chad grabs her by the neck and pulls her into his hold. Their lips mesh and share in a long-lasting exchange, long enough for us to be a hundred feet off the ground. I pull on the lever a little harder. They let up.
“Aw,” Chad spites in laughter, “do you guys want a turn at Amy?”
Richard dives in.
“Thought it was just a peep show.” He turns to me. “You’re good, right?”
I nod. The captain always is.
It is more of a private show I am standing in the middle of. The three of them strip down to their bare minimums and the two guys start to fondle her skin. Amy is on her knees, her eyes shut, her brown nipples erect from the sharp breeze evading the warmth of the compartment within. Chad gets on his knees and lies down. His tongue finds passage to her covered slit and slithers through.
“Oh!” she sighs.
Matt takes his time sliming up his cock with her tongue. His hands do not relent, twiddling and rubbing her scalp in the same motions her tongue is using on his hard cock.
“Damn, love. That feels amazing,” says Dick, his eyes just glazing over the feeling of the roof of her mouth on him.
I look away and watch the clouds in the horizon, so easy to see, as if I could touch and swallow them, yet so far away. The sun glistens through the cold and sharpens at my nostrils. I breathe it in and take one hand down my pants.
The sound of Dick cumming hard and spewing overboard, while Amy moans and calls out his name, hardens my prick. I turn to them. Chad is pounding her from below. His hands tug at the handles of her ass. Her skin reddens. Her face sweats.
Dick watches and pulls on his cock, swiveling on her back, grinding his balls on her neck. He is hard once more, as am I.
“God, Amy!” Chad screams into the void.
She slows to a stop, vibrates and closes her eyes to a subtle orgasm. I watch her smile and pull on her matted hair. Her breasts sway side to side, slapping on Chad’s nose. She pulls him closer for a kiss, hot saliva dripping from the side of her mouth and connecting in a thin stream to Chad’s tongue.
Her red pussy lips glisten and let go of Chad’s spunk in the sun. And that’s what tightens my balls, as I shoot loads of cum onto her arm.
“Ah! Ah!” I groan, careful not to shut my eyes.
We are in the clear over some arid land, my head and heart throbbing to the sounds of music whistling away at my ears.
“Now that was an orgasm,” Amy sighs, as she stands.
Chad follows. She stops short of the edge, her body startled. Richard holds her shoulder. I hold onto her waist.
“You don’t have to be afraid, love. We are here,” says Dick.
He winks at me. It is time.
“It is so beautiful up here,” she remarks, glossing over the mountains and the green and blue looking back at her.
“Yes, it is,” says Chad, pulling on the lever.
A thick ladder comes into view. She sees it and turns to each one of us, a question in her eyes. I answer it, without her having to ask it out loud.
“You received a clue last night, prompting you to fly to my house. I believe it said something along the lines of come prepared for a lifetime of pleasure?”
“Is that what it said?” she asks. “I thought it was an invite to come and see the horses, not a hot air ballooning experience over the plains. And what’s with the ladder?”
“I’m glad you asked,” says Chad. He leans low and takes out a basket. “In here are some warm clothes, for all of us.”
“Why would we need warm clothes?” she asks.
Her nipples could cut glass.
Chad pulls out a black jumpsuit and hands it over to her. She takes it. He hands two more to Dick and me. Then he takes the last one and stashes the basket away. He wears his; I place the controls on auto, and wear mine. Richard follows. Amy is the last, watching us closely.
“Just wear it, love. You’ll see why.”
She follows, though thoughtful.
Chad takes the ladder by the fist and pulls it down. He looks at her, then at us.
“I will go up.
Then you’ll follow. Then Richard, okay? Don’t worry; the jumpsuits have thick harnesses attached to the balloon. If anything happens, a parachute will be deployed.” She flinches visibly. Chad leans in. “Nothing will happen. We’re here.”
He starts. She turns to me and I smile, egging her on. Chad goes up. She follows. Richard looks at me, one hand on the metal.
“Everything ready?” he asks.
I nod.
He goes.
A sigh, warm and high, lets up from my lungs.
This is the day.
The table at the top of the balloon, filled with a proper picnic basket handmade by the three of us, is set. The jet, lined with rose petals and an array of whips, chains and feather dusters, waits.
The restaurant at the top of the Eiffel Tower is ours. The black soft pouch in the back of my jumpsuit casing a 24K carat diamond ring is ready for her. I inhale a long drag of cool air and make sure the controls are green, at least for an hour or two.
I grab onto the ladder, careful not to panic, and rise to meet with the woman who will soon be mine.
Ours.
“Will you marry me?” I ask, as I get out the ring and hold it up to her.
“Will you marry us?” the other two correct, in perfect uniform.
Oops. I fucked it up. I’m so nervous.
“Sorry. Will you marry us?” I ask her.
“Yes! Yes!” she yells, and all of us kiss before plunging into the expansive sky that holds so many hopes and dreams for our future altogether.
Epilogue
Amy
There has always been a time for everything. A time to laugh and a time to cry. A time to denounce and a time to reclaim. A time to watch and a time to close your eyes. A time to listen and a time to speak. A time to forgive. A time to smile. A time to be happy.
As I stand here at the altar, I look back and recall everything. How it all started, so to speak. How I left to learn everything about myself and came up almost empty. The pursuit of opportunity, leading me into the arms of a man embodied in more than one physical body, is humbling. It gets harder for me not to cry.
My sister is not as strong as I pretend to be. Stephanie hands her a Kleenex during the proceedings and helps Christy get her act together by whispering some sweet nothings to her ear. Even under the watchful, youthful gaze of the priest, she can’t afford to hold her giggles.
Her husbands-to-be are lined up by her, gently smiling and nodding to every word uttered under the marble Sistinesque ceiling. I nod too, holding onto Mia’s strong hand and comfortable gaze from behind. She smiles weakly at me, revealing a dimple on her left cheek: I’ve never seen it before.
We are having a double wedding, and I couldn’t be happier. Once I told Christy that my boyfriends proposed to me, she insisted we join forces for the double wedding of the century. Sometimes she has the best ideas.
Christy takes the rings from the violet pillow and slings them onto her now husbands’ fingers’, with each vowing to protect, love and take care of my sister till death parts them. Then it’s her turn. I hear Grandma’s heavy breathing at the front pew. She’s the happiest of us all.
And then, all eyes turn to me.
The cameras start flashing from the highest balcony in the church. The light dazzles my eyes. A strong arm holds me steady. Turning, I find Matt’s eyes on mine, quiet and soft in the ensuing madness. Chad and Richard offer their nods, and chests, protecting me from the world waiting to devour the story.
The priest, short, mid-forties and smelling of strong cough medicine, blabs and starts and shares and confesses. I hear nothing but the beating thuds in my inner ear, up until:
“Do you, Amy Rose” –we settled with Rose, just like Christy settled with Flores— “take thee, Matthew Hornsby, Chad Manning and Richard Sizemore to be your lawfully wedded husbands, in sickness and in health, for richer or richer,” he winks, “till death do you part?”
My chest swells and throbs hard, owing to the Bluetooth vibrator Dick put inside me early in the morning in the church gardens. He tweaks the intensity. I swallow hard and clamp onto the bouquet in my hands. From my peripheral vision I can see his smug smirk.
He is always such a jokester, with the most wildest and craziest ideas.
I am so gonna get him for this.
He slows the buzzing down with a gentle tug of his fingers. I breathe easier as my high comes down. The world comes into view.
The hall, filled with accredited and invited reporters and few friends of the family, hums in adventurous anxiety. Grandma is there, smiling— no, beaming— with pride, now that she has become better friends with all of our husbands-to-be. She doesn’t care about outside approval or religious rules anymore. She just wants us to be happy.
I want us to be happy too, and I hope that society lets us be, although I know that that, just like everything in life, is not guaranteed. In fact, it could be a complete pipedream.
No one knows what comes next. This will be the first of many weddings like this, perhaps. We may be slandered. We may be rejected. We may be secluded from society.
But I see how my husbands-to-be look at me. I see how they laugh when we tell jokes. I see how easy it is for us to look at each other and remember why we are together.
And now, I see what must happen. Adventure comes for the bold. I could almost laugh at myself as the words flow seamlessly from my lips.
“I do.”
***
The boat sways a little to the left. A swift warm breeze picks up from the coast, twenty miles away, and knocks the umbrella out of my martini.
I watch it float easily on the warm waters below, its petals striking the sides of The Mariachi effortlessly in bumpy wave-like motions, before sinking into the blue, endless sea. I down the rest of my drink and spit it onto their glistening cocks. Matt flinches at the cold sensation.
“I got you, baby,” I assure him.
My ass puckers at the flow of Chad’s in-hold-swivel-out motion of his tongue and I moan over Richard’s moist lips. Matt groans as my ring finger slides up and down his red and purple helmut. God, it feels great to be married.
“Not yet baby,” I urge his stiff cock.
He laughs quietly, heaving. “When?”
“There.” My eyes point to the open queen size bed right next to the chopper pad.
“Good,” says Dick.
They all stop at once and hold out their left hands. I smile at the jewelry that proves once and for all that a girl can be happy, that I can be happy. I hold onto them as Chad’s fondles my breasts along the way.
He is the first to lie on the soft white linens. I straddle his waist and line up with his dripping cock. Matt comes behind me, between Chad’s legs, and slaps his thick meat along my pussy and ass, ready for my say-so.
Dick stands above Chad, before me, and places his tip upon my lower lip. I can smell myself on him, an orgasm already profound before early morning breakfast.
The moment is just right: a sailor boat sails by, close to five miles out. I can see men in uniform, fixing something on their stern. This should be a scene they’ll remember their whole lives, that’s for sure.
“Make me remember,” I softly moan, as my husbands plough into my flesh one more time, just at the right time too— the light reflects sharply off the lens of something on the sailors’ boat.
“Someone’s watching,” I tell them. “Let’s give them a good show.”
The boat rocks side to side and I close my eyes. Matt puts his cock in my mouth, while Chad and Dick slip theirs into my pussy and ass.
I’m completely full of them now; they’re stuffing every hole I have, and I love it.
I lean back and let Dick spank my ass as he fucks it. Chad reaches around and plays with my clit while he fucks my pussy.
“Does this feel good, wifey?” he asks.
“It feels so good,” I groan, happy to be married to them, to be fucked by them forever.
Dick plays with my nipples while I start to f
eel him throb and pulse inside my ass. I’m close to orgasm and I can tell they are, too. I love when they’re all sharing and pleasuring me, when all of us have fun together, because we love each other.
Dick is stretching my ass hole out so wide as Chad is doing the same to my pussy. Matt’s cock is so far down my throat I’m not sure I can handle it, but I manage to.
I start to come on Chad’s cock, and at the same time, both Chad and Dick shoot their loads into my respective holes. And then the taste of semen seeps down my throat as the raw feel of Matt’s hot cock in my mouth drowns the echoes of my past, deep into my throat and into the hilt of my pussy and asshole.
I feel everything and nothing all at once. I am nothing, but theirs. And they are mine, all mine.
I am whole now. I am complete.
THE END.
Hunting their Treat
A Halloween Billionaires and Virgin Reverse Harem Romance
Copyright © 2019 by Ryan Ramsay; All Rights Reserved.
Chapter 1
Jesse
All is quiet between 12th and Carbonday Street on the 23rd of October. It’s a dull and cloudy evening. I wish there were stars.
The air smells of coffee beans and licorice as it wafts by my thinning nostrils. My skin aches under the touch of a faint chill hovering about the barren oak trees and cracked molten pipes that substitute for hanging lines around this neighborhood.
Three, no, four, children, about the age of ten or twelve, run around the block a few feet from me with thick twigs in their mitts and scarves wrapped tight around their necks and heads, making it harder to see if they are boys or girls: they all look the same with the freckled cheeks they all seem to spot.
One of them, who I now think is a boy, throws a twig right past my head, nearly hitting its mark, and chuckles hoarsely right before running away with his collective friends down 11th Street, knocking on garbage cans and upturning plastic bags for their pleasure.