And with that, the billionaires descended, hands caressing my bump, kissing my forehead tenderly, while worshipping my form.
“Yes sweetheart,” they breathed. “Yes, this is what we want.”
“It’s a dream come true,” they marveled. “Finding our girl again, and with a baby on the way too.”
And finally, the last sentence before we fell into ecstasy:
“A miracle,” they rasped in unison. “A baby. Elita. Yes, it’s right.”
I cried then, but they were tears of joy and happiness. Because against all odds, I’d overcome our sordid beginnings. I started as an innocent stewardess, a girl out to serve drinks and warm nuts as she flew over the United States. But on the way, I met six men who swept me off my feet. Yes, there were trials and tribulations, mix-ups that seemed ridiculous now, fights and spats that were the product of ego.
But that was over now. Because we’d endured three months apart, and in those three months, several truths became evident. I loved them. They loved me. And with a baby on the way, nothing would stop us now. We’d form a family, somehow, someway, even if it was spread across six different cities with six different fathers.
So no, I don’t know how this is going to work, not exactly. I don’t have all the answers. Because there are logistical issues, geographic issues, as well as the sheer complexity of navigating a relationship with seven people. But our love will persevere because that’s what love does … and with six men, it’s six times stronger.
EPILOGUE
Joanie
Eighteen months later …
“Elita, be good,” I admonished gently. “Be good and eat your cake with a fork.”
But did my little girl listen? Of course not. The blonde cherub grasped greedily with one hand, stuffing cupcake into her mouth.
“Mama!” she chortled gleefully. “Mama!”
The billionaires and I shared a knowing glance. Elita calls everything and everyone Mama. It could be a footstool, the doorman or one of her dads. She would still call them Mama.
But Tom came up behind me then, pressing two hands on my waist.
“Sweetheart, this is Elita’s birthday party, but you wanna come to the back with us? Because we got you a present too. For being such a good mother,” he rumbled into my ear, discreetly so that only I could hear.
My cheeks blushed. Looking around, I surveyed the shindig. There were kids and guests everywhere, presents scattered on the floor with dozens of balloons floating.
“Are you sure?” I whispered. “It’s the middle of Elita’s birthday! People will notice.”
But the alphas won’t take no for an answer, and Andrew was already leading me by one hand.
“Sweetheart, it’ll just take a sec,” he soothed. “We have your gift in the back bedroom, come on.”
I gasped, tripping along behind him.
“Okay, but it’s gotta be quick,” I whispered. “Really fast, we have guests.”
“Of course,” tossed off Damien nonchalantly. “Just two minutes, sweetheart, two minutes.”
And in no time, we were ensconced in the back bedroom, the sound of the party dim and muffled. Because the billionaires bought me an apartment of my own in Manhattan, a luxury pad high in the sky. So Elita and I live together in this eight bedroom spread, even though there’s only two of us.
But it works. Because the alphas fly in whenever they can, staying in one of the spares when they’re in town. And honestly, it’s better this way. Usually, only two or three of them are in New York at any one time, so I service two or three at once. Sometimes, I rotate between their bedrooms, having hot one-on-one encounters. But sometimes, I do two or three simultaneously, and oh god, it feels so good to be plugged up tight.
But for Elita’s birthday, all six of them were here in Manhattan. And evidently, they had a gift for me in addition to the birthday girl.
“What is it?” I asked tremulously, looking from one big form to another. “What is it?”
Slowly, Charlie came in balancing something in his arms carefully. But it wasn’t a cake. It wasn’t jewelry or clothing or any of the usual suspects. Instead, it was a giant dildo mounted on a mirror. I gasped.
“Wha--?” flamed my cheeks. “What is that?”
The billionaires laughed.
“What does it look like sweetheart? What do you think it is?”
“It-it’s a dildo,” I stammered. “But why the mirror? What is this?”
Charlie placed it ceremoniously on the floor. And suddenly, it all became clear. I was to ride the dildo, and the men standing around would have a perfect view of my pussy via the reflection. They’d see everything, from the moisture slipping form my folds to my soft labia spreading as I fucked my cunt down.
“Oh god!” I whispered, eyes wide. “But we can’t! There’s a party going on outside!”
Unfortunately, alphas don’t take no for an answer.
“Exactly sweetheart,” rasped Aaron. “That’s what’s gonna make this even better. Knowing there are people outside as you get fucked.”
“Plus, don’t worry about the time,” growled Charlie, eyes intense. “You only have to take one dick honey, not six. So actually, there’s plenty of time.”
And everything in me went hot at once. My pussy quivered and dripped, nips going tight. Because this is how it is between us. Me, their slut, their lover, their everything. So with a low mewl, I did it. Hiking my skirt up with trembling fingers, I pulled my thong to the side, baring my freshly shaved pussy.
“Love it,” rumbled Aaron, massive dong already out, rubbing the shaft with his hand. “Fuck little girl. Sit down and let us see you get fucked.”
And with a sigh, I obeyed. Squatting, my pussy lowered itself over the massive dildo, juices already dripping to coat the shaft. And slowly, I pressed my lips against that fat black cock.
“Oh!” was my delighted exclamation. “Oooh!”
Because even after giving birth and non-stop sex with six men, I’m still tight down there. So it wasn’t easy. My hips wiggled and swayed, cunt warming up for the deep penetration. And with another shift and slide, it happened. That fat rubber shaft began to slip inside, the inches disappearing between my swollen lips.
“Aw fuck,” groaned Tom, fisting his dick furiously. “Aw shit.”
“Our girl looks amazing, doesn’t she?” rasped Nick, unable to tear his eyes away. “Fucking incredible every time.”
“Shit,” was all Charlie could get out. “Shit shit shit.”
Because the situation was so nasty. Here I was, lowering my pussy onto a fat black plastic pole, getting stretched and pummeled so hard. The billionaires crowded around me, dicks out and ready to spurt.
And I wanted it. Closing my eyes, baring my breasts to them, my voice began its siren call.
“Yes, Aaron. Yes, Andrew, Tom and Nick. Yes, Damien and Charlie.”
And upon the command, the men came. With grunts and muffled roars, six cocks erupted onto my sweet form, spraying my breasts with man jizz, coating me in the virile fluid of my lovers. It was hot, goopy and devastatingly arousing, the jets hitting my naked skin with audible splats.
“Yes,” I moaned again. “Yes, this is what I want.”
And with that my pussy dissolved into series of spasms, so hard and violent that my knees quivered, cunt clamping again and again on the dildo within. Because here I was doing the dirty with my six men again. And yes, they were paying me. They bought me an apartment, and a monthly stipend was deposited into my bank account.
But I don’t feel ashamed. Because my lovers encourage me to reach for the best. There’s still the promise of a job with Charlie’s company in the future, but it’s more than that. They support me in every way, physically, emotionally and mentally, urging me to pursue my dreams and become the best version of myself.
“Go back to school,” urged Tom. “When the baby’s older.”
“You want chemistry?” added Aaron. “You want creative writing? Anything, sweetheart, whateve
r floats your boat.”
“Even a Ph.D.,” was Nick’s vow. “As many degrees as you like, it’s up to you.”
So I’m happy. More than that. I’m ecstatic, flying in the wind while floating with the breeze. Because I’ve got my six men, my daughter, and a wonderful life. If you’d asked me two years ago where I was headed, I couldn’t have said. Something about flight school and being a stewardess, mumbled hopes of this and that.
But life never turns out like you expect, and in my case, it’s become ten times better. Beyond my wildest imagination. Because I was a stewardess on Elite … and yet the ride was only beginning.
THE END
LIKED WHAT YOU READ?
If you liked seeing Joanie in action on the plane, then join Katie’s newsletter at www.subscribepage.com/katieford to read In the Cockpit , a special bonus short just for you!
Then join Cassandra’s newsletter at www.subscribepage.com/cassandradeeromance and get a FREE book when you subscribe!
EXCLUSIVE BONUS CONTENT NEXT
Hey Readers – I’ve got some steamy bonus content for you next. Flip the page to watch Joanie enjoy her men in THREE STEAMY DELETED SCENES.
I know you want it! Enjoy!
Xoxo,
Cassie
Serving Nuts
~Deleted Scene to Six Ways to Sin~
© 2017
By Cassandra Dee
Want to hear about my newest illicit romance? Addicted to virgins and alpha males? Join my mailing list at www.subscribepage.com/cassandradeeromance and get a FREE BOOK unavailable elsewhere!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Joanie
“I thought that’s what I just did, sir?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“No, no,” he said, that gleam in his eyes once more. “I need you to kneel down, pull that sweet little dress down to your waist, and put those nuts right between those double-D tits. I’ll snack as I get hungry.”
I felt my blood pressure rise right then. I have never been one for swearing, but a few not-nice words nearly escaped my lips as I considered what Mr. Dawson was asking me to do. He was asking me to bare my breasts to him, to let him use them as a platter. He was going to pick nuts off of my breasts, one-by-one, while I kneeled like some servant.
No way!
Except, I didn’t want to lose my job. Not on my first flight. Who would hire me if I had to admit to getting fired on day one? No one, that’s who.
So, even though my hands trembled, I managed to unzip the back of my dress, pull it over my shoulders, and expose my navy, lace bra. I kicked off my heels and knelt, hoping against hope that the skirt of my dress wouldn’t rip as my hips spread out, my knees hitting on the soft carpet of the plane floor.
As it turned out, that skirt was far more stretchy than I realized, holding its shape even as I felt my rear spread wide, my cheeks going hot with embarrassment. Was this what all flight attendants experienced? Surely not, even on these flights for the very wealthy. Surely my other passengers would not be so demeaning.
“Put the nuts between those luscious tits,” Mr. Dawson said, eying me hungrily and giving me the impression that it was not the nuts he wanted to eat at all. “Push them together. Show me plump, firm delicious nuts on plump, full, delicious rack of breast.”
My face must have been bright red by that point. I had never heard a man speak like that, so boldly about my body. My body, which had always been such a love-hate issue for me. As instructed, I pushed my breasts together, placing the warm nuts in the crevice.
“Very nice,” Mr. Dawson said, his eyes crinkling at the corner as he reached out to take just one almond. He popped it in his mouth and chewed slowly before sitting back in that comfortable chair, crossing his legs, and spreading out his paper.
For the next half hour, Mr. Dawson snacked slowly as I kneeled in front of him. He read his paper, every so often reaching out for a nut. He never put his hands anywhere inappropriate, and he never looked at me again. I have to say I was shocked and confused about the whole thing. I just sat there, primly staring at the clouds out the window. When he finally popped the last of his nuts into his mouth, he told me I could stand and get him some coffee.
When I went to pull my dress back up over my shoulders, he said, “Not until final descent.”
So, I served him his coffee with my dress down to my waist. He didn’t even seem to be looking and he certainly wasn’t touching, so I had no idea what that was all about. Some sort of power play, I assumed. I was going to have to talk to my superiors about this.
Finally, as the plane made it’s way back toward civilization, he told me to straighten up. I took that to mean I could get dressed. I took his paper and his coffee cup, pulled up and zipped my dress, and found my seat once more for landing.
As Mr. Dawson departed the plan, he reached out to shake my hand.
“Well done,” he said as the Captain greeted him from the cockpit door. He shook my hand and I felt a thick wad of paper there. I clung to it as he pulled away with a wink, moving to clap the pilot on the back.
When the plane was empty, save for me as I finished prepping for the next flight, I finally looked. Mr. Dawson has handed me a two-thousand-dollar tip. I looked at the money with my mouth hanging open. This was so much money! I guess sitting on my knees with nuts between my breasts was a small price to pay for an extra bonus.
I just hoped my next flight was a little more normal.
Serving Champagne
~Deleted Scene to Six Ways to Sin~
© 2017
By Cassandra Dee
Want to hear about my newest illicit romance? Addicted to virgins and alpha males? Join my mailing list at www.subscribepage.com/cassandradeeromance and get a FREE BOOK unavailable elsewhere!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Joanie
“I think you can do better than that,” he said, his expression amused.
“Oh, I apologize,” I said. “What else can I get you, sir?”
“You can get naked,” he said, his tone commanding.
“Wh-what?” I stuttered.
“You heard me,” he responded calmly. “I want you to serve it naked.”
I literally trembled, standing before him, my little silver tray in my hands. Truly, it took every ounce of control I had to keep standing, to not run away and hide in the staff bathroom for the rest of the flight, faking a stomach ache.
My stomach didn’t ache, though. Instead, just the slightest bit of desire bloomed there. It was just enough to give me the shred of confidence I needed to unzip my dress, this time all the way down, so that it fell into a blue pool on the carpeted floor.
There I stood, with my little pillbox hat on my head, in only my black lace bra, thong, and my high-heeled, peep-toe shoes. I held my back straight – another lesson in projecting confidence, according to my aunt – even though all I wanted to do was use my arms to cover my curves.
After a long, lingering look from Mr. Childs, he nodded.
“Pour the champagne over that luscious body of yours,” he said. “I want to lick you clean.”
I bit my bottom lip. Could I do this?
As Mr. Childs raised an eyebrow as if to remind me that he was the client here, that I was here to serve him, I reached over and took the champagne flute from the table. With a trembling hand, I poured that sweet, bubbly liquid over my breasts. I felt it run down my chest and belly, down in to soak my lace panties, down my legs and into my shoes.
“Step closer,” Mr. Childs commanded.
As I obeyed, he reached out and put his hands on my bare backside, smiling just slightly. He pulled my lower half toward himself, his mouth opening as he leaned in to suck the champagne from between my legs.
Nudging my panties aside with his mouth, his tongue licked at my bare, wet pussy. I gasped, loudly, my nerves going haywire. This only made him more excited, and his lapping became more intense. I felt the buildup of orgasm as his tongue flicked at my champagne-soaked clit, and I found myself disappointed when h
e pulled away, licking the insides of my thighs, then moving back up to my belly.
When he pulled the lace of my bra away, exposing my heavy breasts, he gave me a snake’s smile. His tongue washed away the champagne, his teeth nipped at my taut nipples. I cried out again, partially surprised, confused, and aroused.
Mr. Childs laved every bit of champagne from my nearly naked body, his mouth talented and thirsty. So thirsty, in fact, that he asked for another glass of champagne that he had me pour over myself once more, but only after taking a sip. He kissed my lips for the first time, savoring the sweet liquid there before working down my body once more.
He buried his face in my cunt for the second time, his tongue licking at the folds, exploring the slick hole, sucking on the tiny budded clit. But he never let me come. He licked and sucked, bit and teased, and I cried out because I was so close that I no longer cared that this was way over the line of professionalism. I didn’t care that he was a stranger. I only cared about how his tongue felt all over my body.
“Your cunt tastes good,” he said as he finally pulls away, his face wet from champagne and saliva and my own juices. “Grab me a warm towel.”
Dazed and aching, my clit painfully enlarged and the need to come making it nearly impossible to walk, I somehow managed to waddle to the galley kitchen, where I prepared a hot towel to present to Mr. Childs.
He wiped his face and handed back the towel just as the Captain announced our final descent. I pulled on my dress, my body sticky from the champagne, and nearly fell into my seat.
My cheeks burned as Mr. Childs exited, thanking the pilot for a smooth landing. He reached out to shake my hand and there, again, was a wad of cash. I put it in my pocket and wished him a good day, watching his fit figure bound down the stairs to a waiting limousine.
Six Ways to Sin Page 17
