Page 91 of Smut Lovers
Chapter Two
The Owl
E very man in the room has requested my people get in touch with their people.
That will never happen. But four also requested a business card, and if their people contact mine, I’ll consider taking new clients on.
It won’t be them, though. It’ll be a cousin or a trusted assistant’s brother.
A black sheep, although they won’t think I’m stupid enough to believe that.
No one amasses the wealth these men have without having a fixer, and I’m the man who keeps fixers out of jail so they don’t get the urge to flip on their bosses.
I am unimpeachable. I’ve never had a parking ticket.
I reviewed every BBHH contract meticulously, let them sit for a week, and then reviewed them again before signing them.
I reviewed the contracts the women received, as well.
I made a chart to compare the pros and cons for this because no matter what the contracts say, what the women signed is not consent.
Sexual contracts are not legally binding.
But I’m here. I’ve wanted a child for a long time now, and when I learned of BBHH from a client, I decided that this was going to be my one wild hare. I’m almost 40; this is my midlife crisis.
As the new guy here, I was given my pick of the women.
I declined. This is a rare opportunity for me to indulge in a proclivity of mine.
I observed the women as they were led into the room and the night’s main event sorted itself out.
The math is two men per woman, but that devolved immediately — the sex swing is a new, exciting feature, it seems.
I’m intrigued. It’s where I want to be. Not yet, but afterward. I’m not a voyeur, not at my core, but my tastes dictate that I watch.
I question how others will take it if I stand here, waiting, until all four men fuck her before I move in. I wonder if they’ll leave her bound up in that swing for me, her pussy swollen and stretched, cum dribbling out of her gaped hole and splattered on her thighs.
We’re here to breed them, so there’s only one place cum should be going, but I wonder if any of the men will forget themselves and cum in her ass instead.
Or if they’ll pull out of her cunt too soon and spill onto her stomach.
The swing puts a gully there for it to pool in.
She looks barely 20, everything about her pert and tight, but the bands of the top of her dress are pushing her tits down just right that it would be easy to accidentally splash over her nipples, too.
The Peacock, tech mogul Dennis Pointer, gestures with a wave of a glowing wand for me to join him. That could be his thing. We only have two nights here, but the girl in the sex swing feels overly ambitious for me tonight, at least without a warm up, so I join him.
The woman he chose is young too. Most are young enough that they remind me far more of my friends’ kids than my occasional dinner partners.
I knew that when I agreed to this, there was a clause about the women being legally adults but with an average age of 25, 22 for those participating for the first time, with a lengthy explanation for socio-economic and biological justifications.
Like older men have ever needed a reason to fuck younger women. It’s not my preference, even in casual encounters, but I’m not blind.
I did expect them to be less confident because of their age. Instead, the gagged young woman is obviously loving it.
I take the wand from the Peacock and tap it once against my fingertip. The electric shock isn’t painful, but it’s enough to make me flinch, my fingers and toes curling for a split second and then releasing. Not an enjoyable sensation, not for me, not in my state, but not a painful one either.
I tap it against the woman’s nipple.
She goes rigid. The way the Peacock groans tells me her entire body goes rigid. There’s enough lighting that I can see her fair complexion, already flush with exertion, mottling. Splotches of deeper rose bloom across her chest and neck.
I tap her clit, and she thrashes on the Peacock, batting the wand away but only to rub her clit as she makes a strangled sound behind her gag, spittle leaking out with it, drooling down her chest. She’s climaxing, gushing from where her pussy stretches, red and taut around a thick cock.
She’s lost to primal pleasure, barely more than animal. A messy animal.
My cock goes hard in my pants. If the Peacock comes soon, I bet it’ll be an explosion of cum when he pulls out.
I jam the wand into her cunt alongside his cock, just to see.
They both get loud, and I’m thinking I need to get out of my pants immediately, when another sound gets my attention. Not a sex sound, though. Not a groan or a scream, not a spank or a wet splash or the squeak of furniture.
It’s a laugh.
I’m usually an expert at observation. Over the years as an attorney, I’ve trained myself to absorb everything around me without diverting focus.
But the heightened mood, the surreal scene before me, the lingering discomfort because I wanted this event in a way every bit as palpable as I want the child that hopefully comes from it?
It all comes together for my entire body to snap to that sound.
The Cobra, Julius Landers, that absolute prick of a nepo-baby, is clearly not doing a very good job.
I have the unflattering view of his ass, his pants pooled down at his knees as he comes inside the woman.
It’s not until he climbs off her that I see it was the older one — well, older than the others, but not over 30 —who, like me, seemed to lurk in the shadows when she entered the room.
For different reasons than mine, I’m sure.
She’s pretty. Not stunning, but pretty. Keen, inquisitive amber eyes and wavy hair that’s an oddly peachy brown color, like she dyed it pink once upon a time and kept forgetting to refresh it.
It was pulled back when she came in, but it’s now a fluffy halo around her.
Her makeup is simple, a solid color on the eyes and some mascara, lipstick that’s mostly smeared but wasn’t far from her lips’ natural shade anyway.
I don’t think it’s intentional, but she does nothing to conceal herself when our eyes meet. One leg is still draped off the sofa, the other bent at the knee, spreading herself for me.
Showing me her used pussy, the trail of cum leaking down.
I’m not sure if she catches my eye movement, but as soon as my focus shifts to her glossy slit, spread just enough the slick folds have parted to reveal her entrance, her muscles contract, pushing more of the semen out to trickle down her ass and onto the sofa.
If the Peacock or the woman between us hear my rumble, they don’t respond to it. Then again, they were just fucked by a lightning rod.
I’m not an impulsive person. Everything I do is calculated. I trust that I still am and there’s simply a disconnect in my brain preventing me from seeing those calculations when I stride toward the amber-eyed woman, already unbuttoning my pants as I take the Cobra’s spot between her legs.
I don’t pull my cock out, though. Not yet. For now, I just slide three of my fingers into her leaky hole.
I’m surprised when those amber eyes widen and she squeaks as though this is some shock to her system. But then my fingers are crushed together in her vice.
“Fuck you’re tight,” I hiss. “How are you this tight?”
She doesn’t respond, not with words, not when I’ve gone still but my fingers are still filling her and her pussy is fluttering over them, attempting to make more space. But her pretty eyes narrow as they search the room, landing on the Cobra.
Most of the men have their dicks out if not their pants off entirely.
I don’t, but I simply haven’t gotten there yet.
Some of the men have finished, but whether they’re warming themselves up for another round or watching the room without a thought behind their eyes, their pants are down.
The Cobra is the odd one for having zipped up even though he’s obviously waiting for his turn with the triad on the throne.
The man standing in front of her steps back, offering his spot.
I catch sight of the woman, who’s sat on a cock which has a thick rope of cum running down it although it’s still hard and she’s still grinding on it.
The Cobra indicates he’ll wait. For a second, I wonder if he had the same perversion I do, which would be irritating, but then my disconnected brain snaps back on.
He’s hiding a tiny dick.
I twist my wrist, grinding against the woman’s tight rim, and curl my fingers. She writhes beneath me, making a low, warbly, hollowed out moan. Whatever she was laughing about before, whether it was something the Cobra said or if it something she saw, that’s done now.
She closes her eyes so tightly as I pull my fingers out, still crooked, scooping out a palmful of semen. I bite my lip to hide how much I enjoy smearing it across the soft expanse of flesh below her navel.
I’m going to come fast when I finally get my cock inside her.
She winces at the wet sensations and then attempts to relax, only to squeal when I’m barely able to get four fingers in her the second time, and I know there’s no hope for me.
I preemptively pull my cock out and suck air through my teeth over how sensitive I’ve gotten in the few seconds I’ve spent stretching her cunt.
I lean down close to her ear, careful not to let my shirt drag in the lumpy white streak on her belly. That’s her mess, not mine. In a voice low enough no one else can hear, not that this is technically against the rules, I murmur, “What’s your name?”
I see the flinch of hesitation in her brow, the tightening as though she’s forcing herself to focus. It’s not a secret, but she’s not required to tell me.
I breathe in the scent of her natural musk, her sweat, and something sweet and ripe like apricots, and I have to know. This time when I crook my fingers, it’s a slow, deep massage of her inner wall, driving away any chance of her thinking clearly.
“It’s Raine,” she groans.
I’m about to ask what kind of bullshit hippie name that is, but she’s like one of those witnesses who refuse to talk until a sweet spot is hit, and then you can’t shut them up.
“Lorraine, but Raine. Everyone I like calls me Raine. The dean called me Lorraine when he blacklisted me, but I’m Raine!”
She blurts that whole thing out in a voice that straddles breathless and screaming and strangled, one hand going flat against the side of the sofa and the other against my chest, pushing in both directions.
She needs to come, I feel it inside myself, and I’m wishing I’d taken my shirt off too so I could feel her nails dig in even as she pushes away.
And being the sort to reward good witnesses, I swipe my thumb over her clit to give her everything she wants, everything she deserves.
But damn, what was that? Did she get academically blacklisted? It’s a never thing in most fields; plenty of universities will say it’s an urban legend. But I’ve seen it, and it’s…
Dammit. It’s not what I imagined for the women here.
I work her pussy and her clit with renewed focus, not for myself but for her. I hold myself over her with an elbow on the arm rest so I’m more stable as I croon, “That’s it, Raine. Forget everything except this. This is all that matters. You’re mine now, right? You’ll let me take care of you.”
She opens her eyes and stares up at me. Her lashes are fluttering, struggling with control, but her emotions swirl. Embarrassment, no doubt over her outcry, but also frustration. Not a sexual one, though; that’s resolving itself.
I think she’s irritated with my words.
Or with herself for liking them.
I’m not an asshole, but sometimes I am. I respect her if she’s independent and empowered out in the real world, but there’s no room for it here. So I smirk and say, “Be a good girl and come for me now.”
She doesn’t have a choice but to obey. I twist my wrist once more, and she lets out a groan, ruining my shirt as she practically levitates off the sofa with the force of her orgasm.
She’s still coming, still writhing, still bucking, when I plunge my cock into her.
Her cunt fists around me, tightening way more than I want, but it’s imperative that I be inside her now or I’m not getting anyone but this sofa pregnant this weekend.
It’s fast; I’d probably be more self-conscious surrounded by my peers like this if she wasn’t announcing to the entire house how good I am at this.
I meet eyes with the Cobra as I flood Raine’s pussy, vanquishing every drop of him. Raine’s arms go around me, urging me to stay, and I draw her leg up over my thigh for good measure. I want my cum to spill out of her, make a mess of her, but I need it soak into her.
It’s a conundrum I’m not used to, as is the urge to kiss her and make stupid promises and hold her all night when I know I have a job to do.
I need to fuck all these women if I’m going to have a shot at being among the victors this weekend.
I satisfy myself by spending just another moment with Raine, rocking myself against her pussy to push my cum in as deep as possible, burying my face against her neck.
Whispering, “I can’t wait to see how beautiful your pussy is when it’s destroyed.”