Hunted by Billionaires Box Set

by Ryan Ramsay

  Mike groans hard into me at the same time Simon does, and I feel both their cocks splashing inside me, grinding upon each other.

  That does it.

  I hold onto Jerry and moan hard onto his throbbing cock, writhing as I throw my head back, arch my back, tense my breasts and take it all in, then gush it all out. I ride the wave as long as I can, with their hands supporting my failing body, and at the end of an everlasting moment, I fall hard onto the bed, with each successive body following me.

  We cuddle against each other in silence, the walls thinning and fading, our orgasmic pleasures dripping down sweaty skin and cherished entwined hands. Never before have I felt like this; this love, this constant want for me, and only me. I am safe. I am loved. I am whole.

  I drift off to sleep with Jerry’s lips on my own, swapping together the most of his cum till we swallow all of it. Mike and Simon are along each of my breasts, sucking and petting me; all of us wallowing in a slumber so deep I never want to wake up.

  Chapter 18

  Jesse

  I sit in Dad’s chair right next to the fireplace in the living room. They are all in bed; asleep or not, I really don’t care.

  It is way past midnight. The glass of pure condensed milk in my hand feels heavy in the cooling humid and clamped air.

  I am alone now, contemplating on why I had chosen to come back home. Newport; where nothing ever happens. There was a solid reason I never stayed after high school. First chance I got at a job I went for it. I left. I never regretted it.

  The milk makes me think hard for a few minutes. The invite was solid, from a girl I barely knew. Mia had promised me an adventure of a lifetime. And she delivered. She fucking delivered.

  The door swings silently open and he stumbles in, waving around his sweater at the source of the blinking lights streaming outside the Becket house.

  He leans on the heavy oak door, and it gingerly falls into place with a quiet click. He walks in, tiptoeing through the silent walls, hoping no one hears his chuckling and chortling; self-induced from a night of serious debauchery.

  “Hey, bro.”

  He stops mid-stride, a heart attack imminent.

  “Jesse?”

  “What are you doing out so late?”

  “Out with friends, trying some new things.”

  “Does Dad know?”

  He pauses.

  “What would they do if they found out? I mean, you didn’t just put a pillow with your snoring soundtrack on, did you?”

  He actually did, but I wanna see what he will say.

  Alex walks towards the living room, his face brightening upon the fire’s light. Funny how his name is quite similar to the villain of my previous night’s events.

  “Where were you on Halloween night?” he asks.

  “Out.”

  “With friends?”

  “Sort of.”

  I stifle a giggle.

  “Did you have fun?”

  “The most I’ve had in years, bro.”

  He leans down and kisses me on my cheek, then ruffles my hair to his liking.

  “Stop that.”

  “You’re awesome, you know that?”

  “You really think so?” I beam.

  “I know so. And despite Dad hovering over you all those years because of that one night you just had to get out, then fuck that. You’re the best sister in the world and I wouldn’t want you any other way. You’re a lawyer in the making, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Damn. That brings tears to my eyes. And thank you Alex, for always trying to make me live a little. Now go to bed. We’ll talk.”

  “Will I find you in the morning?” he asks, letting himself up the stairs.

  “Maybe,” I add with a wink.

  He laughs.

  “Goodnight, Jesse. And never let anyone call you Messy again. You’re not.”

  I sit in silence mincing his words. Yeah, he’s right. Being an overweight teenager doesn’t mean Dad gets to hang my former habits over my present. That’s in the past. I am in the future.

  ***

  The clock strikes four and I start at the sudden tap on the kitchen screen door. I rise, stretch my ass and glutes, and walk quietly to the end of the small hall. Three figures loom in the porch light. I open it, half-expectant, and half-crawling with excitement.

  “Simon? Jerry? Mike? What are you guys doing here?” I whisper hard.

  They stand in sleek long coats grasping at their knees, each with a bodacious smile on his chiseled face.

  “We never left,” says Simon loudly. I rush to shush him.

  “Yeah, thing is, we really felt something here, a connection,” whispers Jerry.

  “And to be honest, we don’t want to let you go over the semantics. That night was amazing Jesse, and you made us into one,” says Mike.

  “Into one?” I ask jokingly.

  “We thought about it too. It’s only fair to ask you out to one more tryst.” Jerry is all smiles, leaning in on the door.

  “Are you asking?”

  “We’re asking you to come with us. There’s something we would like to show you,” Simon says.

  “And what is this ‘something’?”

  “It’s in the car,” points Mike.

  “Just in the car?”

  “And three flights away,” mouths Simon. “May we have this occasion with you, Jesse Becket?”

  “How did you—?”

  “It was on the mailbox, hard to miss. Also your house was the only one without leftover Halloween decorations. Um, what’s up with that?” Mike is besides himself.

  I laugh and shut the door behind me.

  “Okay. Just this once. And about the decorations, I’ll explain along the way. Just promise me one thing.”

  They turn to me, giddy and smiling like schoolboys.

  “I get to choose your costumes this time.”

  Epilogue

  Jerry

  There is a long list of things I never thought of in my life to be things I would ever do. Dad raised me right, focusing more on earning things than buying them. I find his philosophies wanting on most ends, but with this I cannot argue with the man.

  Jesse snores quietly along my arm, her thick hair blowing in the gentle wind swathing around us. She cuddles deeper, like a kitten.

  I swing my leg over her, adding a layer of protection to Mike’s strong arms and Simon’s wide chest. I smile, watching the sun go to wherever it goes in the evening, wishing upon the open sky that this lasts forever. The private beach house is enough to warrant undisturbed slumber.

  Dad always said that the way to a woman’s heart was with words. I was never much for words, however much I tried. The practice helps, time to time, and I for one love using the same words to make my bread. But when Jesse came into our lives three months ago, it changed me.

  I write to her now, every day, love letters and poems I think of while at my day. She reads them and comes to my rec room, naked or under a silky white nightdress, and takes her time with her husband. She sucks me to the sound of dead silence or a select mix of her choice, and I fuck her till her other husbands can’t fake not hearing us any longer.

  On most nights we slither around each other and make her cum twice the amount of carrots she fed us for dinner. Sometimes she makes us watch as she fingers herself to sleep, and then wake her to laughter and conversations of how our day has been.

  Jesse told us from the start not to worry about children. Mia had gotten her on a special set of contraceptives that was safe for us all. Mia, I wonder what happened to her.

  After her ex dumped his past on her, I haven’t heard from her, not since the wedding. I hope it worked out. I hope it worked out for her as it did for us.

  I plant a kiss on Jesse’s cum-coated forehead. She moves a little, cuddling her upper arm to her face. I smile and fall to sleep, the image of her triple diamond wedding ring still flashing at the back of my eyes.

  I love her. We all do. And she loves us back. Money can never bu
y this, and it never will.

  She is home, and life has just started for us.

  The End

  Hunted on Thanksgiving

  A Virgin and Billionaires Reverse Harem Romance

  Copyright © 2019 by Ryan Ramsay; All Rights Reserved.

  Chapter 1

  Mia

  It’s the Sunday before Thanksgiving, and I’m at church.

  I can’t help but think about where I’d like to be though. At my secret job no one knows about, unless I think they’re worth trying to recruit.

  It’s my job to ring the church bell to bring all the parishioners in for Sunday service. I’m the events coordinator at my church, even though I’m hardly a saint.

  Everything thinks I’m such a good little church girl. If they only knew what I did in secret. I help other people hook up. Usually one virgin with multiple billionaires.

  And I fantasize about getting to hook up with multiple billionaires myself.

  Three times the tiny bell rings behind my face, the rough rope mildly blistering my soft palm. It feels heavy with each strike. It’s a physical reminder to snap out of my daydreams and do the job my parents had trained me to do so well: take care of everyone else.

  My arm aches but I marvel at all the sounds and sights I take it all in:

  The shade of the newly painted signboard sinking rapidly to a rising sun.

  The clackity clackity clack of bright red shoes on the caked sidewalks.

  Bulbous bellies in thickly tucked shirts and flowery white, yellow and purple sundresses hugging the bodies of petite parishioners as they walk.

  And the startling smiles upon each face as they cross the threshold into the church building.

  I let the string hooked to the bell go and straighten my back. The dress feels silky across the length of my thigh, and I walk away from the summoning chimes to where the yellow and gray cemented pathway cuts through the grass.

  Parents, children, and all sorts of crazy deranged monsters hiding within them turn and walk towards me; some hurriedly, some with the patience of folk born and bred in Newport.

  Huh.

  Monsters.

  I should know a little about that.

  Familiar faces move past me. Amy and Christy’s grandma, who winks at me from the side of a moisturized cheek; Jesse’s Mother, saddened; her father, angry almost all the time, and Stephanie’s parents – well, let’s just say some things never change. Her father still flirts with all the female parishioners. Her mother still watches with disapproval and disappointment in her eyes, but never lets a word escape from her mouth.

  I’ve helped all these young women get paid to give their virginity to billionaires. They have found love along the way – they’ve found their true destinies – and that’s why they’re not here today; they’re off living their real lives.

  I remain here, to do my job for the church and my secret job that makes me rich. But does it make me happy?

  Happier than only playing the role my parents cast for me at a very young age – that’s for sure. I like that I’m rebelling and doing something in secret that they would be so upset for if it came out in the light of day.

  I greet each and every one of the parishioners walking past me, smiling my way through their eyes, patting the shoulders of waiting children, giving a word of ‘hello’ or ‘nice to see ya’ to Mr. Goggins and Mrs. Munn.

  The church service is about to begin.

  The field-parking lot stands still, benevolent and silent. Blades of grass whisper in the never-harsh wisps of wind. The trees, pine or cedar; I never get the time or the patience to know which is which, sway to the direction of the sun. The cemetery also sleeps that way.

  I breathe in once and hold it. The slow desperation of blood and oxygen fuels a simmering heat, a rush, up my veins.

  My eyes bulge beneath the pressure, and the swathing pleasure gels my insides together. I watch my arms tingle and the hairs upon them stand uptight.

  A presence holds onto my shoulder, the right shoulder, and my throat reigns in blood and need.

  I exhale.

  The usher’s hand rests on me, his face seeming concerned at my deliberate sense of absence. I give him a convincing smile. He walks behind me. I grab either side of the doors and shut them behind me.

  I join the congregation in the vast and newly refurbished hall, neatly sitting straight at the back pew. It is, after all, my special seat; I see everyone here.

  I can see Pastor Jones, veiled in purple and black, coughing mildly into his hand. His thick fist grabs hold of the plain handkerchief squarely folded on the glass pulpit.

  He wipes his face. His squelchy neck turns acutely to his left — where the members of the choir stand resolute and ready to his command — and he smiles.

  Alana Summers, the youngest of the Summers family and the newest family on the block, rises in front of the choir and begins the hymn.

  That’s the cue.

  The church rises. Quiet falls into place. I stand too, and mash my hands and sway my hips to the sound of sudden music. The hymns take me back, back to a time when it was all too simple to fathom.

  I remember how I met Stephanie, who is now a close friend of mine, but didn’t start out that way. She was too timid for her own good. Hers was one of the first jobs I took seriously. Then she found her happiness.

  Next came Christy. Then Christy’s sister Amy. And now Jesse. Four young women who had all the right cards played out for them, all the right tools set in place, and all the right squares on the chess board.

  The silly, shy, reserved spirits in them remind me of my younger self, that was just as naïve. To think that they thought me just as innocent as they were when they met me!

  They were quite wrong about that. I may look innocent in church, but everywhere else, I’m a sinner.

  Their lives would never be the same once they met me. And they have my secret life to thank for that.

  I routinely act as a parishioner, guiding the youth in solitary church programs and nurturing spiritual growth for their betterment. But habitually, religiously, I founded and work for a secret organization that solicits the world’s finest and upcoming billionaires from all lines and walks of life, and invites them to an experience of a lifetime, which I host.

  A game. The game.

  The Billionaire Hunt.

  It’s the only game that matters. The only thing that those with all the money in the world cannot buy. A treasure hunt fit for royalty, with the prize being an all exclusive prime event:

  The chance to take a virgin for her very first time.

  Cities have been burned. Mounds of flesh have been left in mountains upon mountains. Wars have started and never ended. Families have split up. Profits have been reaped. All for the glorious sanctification of pussy.

  The p-word has for so many reasons entranced men, and women, since the first ones existed. I think it comes from its design, its grand design.

  The way its flowery layers feel infinite.

  How it pulsates with each waking breath.

  How, even when tampered with by biology or nature, it still finds its way to be tighter than motel room sheets.

  Pussy has been my business for quite a while now, and God do I love my job.

  Chapter 2

  Mia

  In the sweet, by and by…

  As the congregation sings, my mind drifts off to remembering how I got here.

  It feels like eons ago when it all started at the Parkland Highrise.

  I was younger, full of drunken obliviousness to the world around me.

  And I was in love.

  Alex Hickory had been the man who swept me off my feet and down a fiery pit of molten lava and dancing flames.

  He had it all: the height, the smile, the hair – God, the hair —the teeth, the money and the words. At nineteen I surely thought I would have made it. Sadly, the universe’s sense of humor dwarfs my own.

  We were in his loft sipping wine and watching the sun set
on a few construction yards fifty stories below. I was in a satin dress, golden with mild kisses of supple lace at the bottom and arm hems.

  He was in a black shirt, three buttons undone, his curly chest hair beckoning. We lay on his bed, a circular design filled with the best, and very rare, wool and foam that made his every inch towards my lips an adventure worth pausing time for.

  We kissed.

  His hands flirted fast across my skin, too fast.

  I yelped when I felt his ringed thumb cold-pressed against my clitoris, which I called back then my ‘private area. He leaped back and laughed when I curled into a ball by the three pillows.

  It was not the sudden pleasure.

  It was the pain.

  What happened next catalyzed the person I would become in the coming years.

  His belt came off. His zipper went down. It sprung forth like a demented slab of meat.

  The girth was impressive; the length not so much. The smirk on his chiseled face was not the most disgusting thing. Far from it. It was composed of the words no woman ever wants to hear after a year of waiting patiently for one man.

  “Come here and get yours, Mia. We both know how much you’ve wanted it inside you. Or do you think you’re some special kind of pussy that I cannot get? Just because you’re a virgin still, or claim you are, doesn’t mean the world owes you shit. I can get any number of girls right here, in here, right now to suck my cock while you watch. You mean nothing. You are nothing. You should be grateful just to see me naked. Come on, baby girl. Come and get it.”

  Those were his words, verbatim to be precise.

  I have an eidetic memory when a man forgets his place.

  I ran away with a slur of insults following me in quick haste. I cried so hard I couldn’t see where I was going.

  I pressed the last button on the elevator. I walked past the kitchens instead of the reception area. I slammed the back door to the delivery platform, still water-eyed and wet-faced.