But it seems to be true. Because five sets of male eyes are looking at me now, running over my curves hotly, eating it all up. And in return, my nips poke out even further, begging to be sucked. My pussy gushes again, the trail down my thigh a tell-tale signal of want.
But they don’t touch me. Instead, the men form a circle, towering over my small frame, almost blocking out the light.
“There’s a shower,” Matt urges, voice low. “Go ahead and get clean.”
I gulp.
Oh god, can I do it?
Can I shower in front of the hottest men I’ve ever met, letting them see my everything?
And the real Macy takes over then because with a soft nod, I reach down. Slowly hooking my fingers into the sides of the thin elastic, I pull my panties down, the cotton easing to my knees.
And oh god, it’s embarrassing. Because a thin strand of pussy cum connects my hole to the soft fabric, clear and juicy, evidence of my need.
“Yessss,” comes the hiss of the men. “Yes sweetheart. Just like that.”
And like in a slow-motion scene, Will reaches past me and turns on the shower, steam filling the space quickly. We’re in a sauna now, a dreamland with mist wafting about, their forms like huge sentinels, focused on me alone.
I give in then, opening the clear glass door to the shower and stepping in. Oh god, the hot water feels good, beating down on my oversensitive skin. As I lean back to wet my hair, my tits jut proudly and a collective moan rises from the men.
“Perfect,” rasps one.
“Absolutely perfect,” agrees another.
Emboldened by their noises, I take the soap and rub it over one nipple, then the other, encouraging those peaks to rise, even playing with them a little. The soap is slick against my skin, a clean aroma rising to fill my nostrils. I can almost pretend I’m in a dream, some sequence where my wildest fantasies come true, dirty yet satisfying.
Because here I am, performing for a crowd of gorgeous alphas. And I love it, I adore the attention, soaking it up like a sponge. So with a sweet smile, my fingers trail downwards, lightly tickling my belly until slipping into my slit. Oh yeah, that’s it. The soap greases my folds, and going with the flow, I pull my pussy open, showing the men my insides. It’s so amazing, being here with them, and sure enough, another collective groan rises in the bathroom as my pink petals come into view, glistening and full, my insides dripping already, hole winking with need.
But the men are in charge, and they don’t let me forget it.Ford’s deep voice cuts through the quiet. “Turn around, baby girl. Let us see that juicy ass.”
Like a slave, I turn, my back to them and bend over, my bottom round and heavy. Dropping my head, I wash up and down my legs, then reach back and pull my ass cheeks apart, giving them a peek of my swollen pussy lips, emphasized by that brown pucker on top. As if on cue, my butthole winks then, telegraphing a message.
I want you, it whispers. All of you.
Come get me, it repeats. Put it in.
Oh my god, oh my god. There’s a moment when I feel like I’m in a dream. A dirty, dirty, wet dream. I’ll wake up and it will all have been a figment of my teen imagination. I can’t be this girl, this little whore, showing a group of men her most secret of places.
But it’s real alright. Because five sets of blue eyes are glued to my asshole, watching ravenously as it contracts and opens, as my pussy lips swell even further, clit standing straight up. They want this. The Morgans absolutely want this, one hundred percent.
So I decide to go for it. Standing up once more, I grab the shower head. It’s the kind that’s flexible with a long metal cord, and I blast the water at my chest, letting it pummel my boobies.
But that’s not enough. Turning back to the men, I lean over, showing my holes again, letting them look right up my pussy and ass. Wiggling a bit, I taunt them, giggling over the hissing sound of spray.
Want this big boys? I mime. Want this?
Their collective groans rise in the air again, the men stroking their shafts furiously now, eyes glued to the show.
And slowly, I bring the shower head up so that it’s pointed right at my hole. Oh yeah. The pulsing water is just the thing, and moaning musically, my head lifts, eyes closed. Oh shit, it feels good on my clit, my heavenly bead hard like a rock, begging to be stroked.
And I go for it then. Bringing the shower head up until it’s only an inch away, I blast it full force at my clit before turning to my anus, and blasting that too. One-two-one-two. Oh yeah, the water makes me scream, rushing towards the peak at a hundred miles an hour.
“Unnnnh!” comes my inarticulate cry. “Oh oh oh!”
And like a slut, I double down. As my pussy and ass spasm, I pull the showerhead away so that the men can see everything, a full-on show. Oh yeah, the juice falling in torrents from my cunt. The hot clamping and clenching as both my holes go crazy, begging for dick, needing them so badly. With another scream, I throw my head back and this time, my pussy literally ejects juice, squirting like crazy, hitting the shower walls with clear streams of fluid.
“Unnnh!” is my shriek, body trembling wildly. “Ohhhh!”
And like a miracle, the men come as well. A chorus of groans fills the small space, rising hotly in the air.
“Fuck!” roars one.
“Godddamn,” grunts another.
And the sound of beating flesh, squishy slaps and hot mewling rings out heavily, all of us finding our ends.
Because oh god, the men have come hard, creaming their jeans, wet spots sticking to those heavy thighs. I pant, still trembling, gazing at my audience through my legs. Oh my god. I did that. I made these men lose it, releasing in their pants like pre-pubescent boys with no self-control.
And slowly, my body turns. With trembling fingers, I shut the water and open the glass door, still so wet and swollen, knees shaking, almost ready to collapse. And thank goodness for Ford. Because the big man recovers enough to hold out a heavy hand, bracing my arm so I can stumble out. And as he does, my skin goes hot once more, pussy still pulsing wildly.
Oh my god. Just from that much?
His hand on my arm, and I’m ready to juice once more?
Who would’ve known I’d be so easily stimulated?
But the Morgans aren’t done yet. They grab a towel or two and begin patting me down, using the soft terry to stroke my curves.
“Atta girl,” one low rumble comes. “You did good.”
“Like a boss,” comes another deep chuckle. “Our lady boss.”
I mewl sensuously, loving the attention.
“Thank you,” comes my whisper. “I’m glad I made you happy.”
The towels halt for a moment, five pairs of blue eyes blazing at me once more.
“That was more than happy, honey,” growls Ford. “That was fucking fantastic, over the moon and into space.”
A blush covers my cheeks, spreading down my breasts and tummy so that even my pussy is tinted slightly pink.
“Thank you,” come my soft words again. “I’m glad you liked it.”
And giving in, I indulge. That’s right, I give myself up to the alphas’ ministrations. They comb my wet hair. They pat me dry and then rub lotion over my sensitive spots, making me squeal with pleasure again. Oh god, one of them even fingers my nub a little before stroking my asshole and making the pleats pucker.
“Matt!” I gasp, whirling to look around. “Stop that!”
But the youngest brother is mischievous, popping his finger between his lips and sucking.
“No part of you is off-limits, baby girl,” comes his growl. “All of you tastes good.”
And I blush furiously again, entire body lighting with sensation. Because oh my god, he’d just touched my anus and then sucked his finger, tasting my dirty rim. Granted, I’d just showered, but still. Wasn’t that gross? Wasn’t that disgusting, like out of the dirtiest porn?
But the thing is, I just wanted more. No matter how nasty and depraved, I wanted to give myself to these m
en, to dive in and never look back. I wanted to experiment, to get on the roller coaster and see how far we could rise before falling in a whoosh. My heart beat furiously as I met the alphas’ eyes, chest rising and falling slowly, our connection deeply intimate in the small space. Because I’m the Morgans’ girl … and there’s no going back now.
CHAPTER FIVE
Smith
Road rage is a real thing, folks. It happens when some high-and-tight motherfucker thinks he can shove his big-ass diesel truck in front of my Maserati with only a foot of free space. And then hit his brakes like he’s surprised to find some other car in front of him.
I swear to the heavenly angels that if I see that meathead again I will personally shove my foot up his ass and my pocketknife into his gas line. Yeah motherfuckers, that’s how Smith Morgan rolls.
And now that I’m home? Well shit. First, let me take off this fucking tie and this fucking monkey suit. My brothers wear shorts and t-shirts while they play with computers, racking up their millions. But me? I get to worry about the stock market and our investment structure. I get to worry if we lose money or make money. Usually it’s the latter, the cash rolls in waves. But right now, as I’m seeing my dad’s medical bills come in, it feels like there’s a tide in the other direction, a dangerous undercurrent.
But no sweat. We’ve got a moneymaking machine, and medical bills aren’t gonna do us in. In fact, if anything, we’re doubling down. My brothers and I are contemplating a sizeable donation to the hospital, maybe to build a wing or something. That way, our dad will get the best treatment.
It’s not how we usually roll. We’re generally undercover and low pro, there’s no need for peeps to know that we roll in dough, money spouting from our ears. But this time, it’s for dear old Dad. So maybe we’ll throw off the cloak of anonymity and go for it. Maybe we’ll let the world know just how loaded the Morgan brothers are.
Shaking off my suit jacket, I take a deep breath, powerful chest expanding. Shit, they cut suits so tight these days, making us look like British dandies. But there’s an image to keep up, and I can’t roll into work wearing some baggy shit down to my knees.
So taking another deep breath, I breathe deep. At least the tie is gone, no longer a noose around my neck. But when I look up, a vision appears. A mirage, shimmery and magical. Is it the extra oxygen? Now that I can breathe, is the rush of extra air making me see things?
No, can’t be. Because what day nurse wears a t-shirt only? With no pants? That can’t be right. Plus, this curvy little angel has long, wet hair trailing down her back, with a freshly scrubbed look.
I do a double-take. Because yeah, the brunette’s literally wearing nothing but a man’s undershirt, baggy and oversize. But the thin material does nothing to hide those wide hips, the big, bouncy boobs, like juicy fruit to be savored.
Unbidden, my dick hardens. Shit, I’ve got needs. You don’t sit in front of computer banks all day without the sperm boiling in your balls. And damn, but this little girl is right up my alley. Those pink lips are full and luscious, her tongue unconsciously licking along the bottom one. Tantalizing. Like a kitten.
But it’s the girl’s eyes that give her away. They’re velvety and caramel, heavy-lidded in that I just got fucked kind of way.
Oh yeah, I know that look well. Girls fall onto my dick, it’s like they rain from the sky, seating their pussies on my cock. I don’t even need to lift a finger, it just happens. So that freshly fucked look was totally familiar.
Except … aw shit. Five of my brothers materialize behind the girl, giant forms looming. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Really, losers? You guys pounded this sweet thing until she couldn’t take it anymore? And then dressed her in a men’s t-shirt? What, you got pudding for brains? Worse than that, all five of you?
But they don’t care. As we pause in the hallway, eyeing one another, satisfied grins break out on their faces.
“Really?” I grunt. “Really?”
They nod like a bunch of fucking puppies. Damn them. Oh yeah, some level-two gangbang just went on, hot and heavy wherever they were. But this time it’s different. Because the five asshats actually look serious, even if their heads are about to pop off with happiness.
“Really?” I grunt again. “This one?”
And this time, they nod in unison, expressions pleased. Because oh yeah. If we’ve found “The One,” then hallelujah, praise be. The Lord giveth, and he taketh away. But this time, he giveth generously.
Because we’ve been looking for one woman. The holy grail of females. Sharing isn’t new to us, in fact. We shared toys. We shared books and sporting equipment. We shared all sorts of shit, there were seven of us, for crying out loud. And yes, as soon as our dicks started working properly, we shared girls.
So it comes natural, what can I say? Seven dudes have the combined libido of a tsunami, and believe it or not, the women love it. Sure, they act scared at first, protesting, “No, no, no, I’m too precious!” But sure enough, when they see our dongs, the heavy dripping rods, all resistance goes out the window. Then they chant, “Yes, please. Serve it up, I’m hungry, mister.”
For example, there was this one cheerleader, Amanda. Holy hell, that female was hot. She had perky little tits with perfect little red nipples. Her waist was tiny and her ass a round bulb of pleasure. She loved it, one of us right up her little brown hole, one of us up her sweet vag, and one in her mouth. She sucked and fucked and came all over, that sweet, teenage cum rolling down her thighs.
And yeah, Amanda was close to what we needed. She managed three of us at once. And there’ve been some girls who’ve done three or four, or even five. Who was it that did five? Oh yeah, Evelyn. That blonde was a good little doll, her holes stretched and filled, moaning with pleasure. But never has there been a female capable of taking seven.
But evidently, my bros think this is the one. They think this sweet brunette could be “The One,” mystical and magical.
I squint at the teen. She can’t be more than eighteen, which is good. Because we need someone fertile for sure, ready to be bred. And sure, the female fits the bill with those wide hips and succulent tits. I can picture it already, that curvy form pregnant with our baby, her long hair loose, boobs ready to explode with milk. I’d have her sit that cunt right on my cock and let her ride me, ripe belly rocking back and forth. I’d pull her hair and suckle those tits, showing her just how much I appreciate her gift to us. A child. A Morgan heir. The Morgan heir.
Because yeah, we want a kid.
Just one kid.
Not a million.
We’re selfish bastards, did I mention that?
With a fortune worth billions, we don’t want it split thirty ways. Because if the seven of us had families, we’d have children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, the progeny endless. And a billion dollars split a billion ways means very little in the end.
So yeah, we’ve decided on only one child.
With one woman.
To keep the fortune intact.
Weird? Maybe.
Fucked up? Probably.
But it’s our choice. And we’ve decided that we’re gonna have one female, shared, to bear our child.
So if this is the little lady … well, then, hot damn.
I’m ready to go.
Grunting, I introduce myself.
“Hey,” I say, casually enough. “I’m Smith.”
But she hasn’t woken from dream world yet. Balancing on wobbly legs, the brunette looks my way, caramel eyes dazed.
“Macy,” she says slowly in a whisper.
Shit, is this Macy from next door? I don’t remember anything but a baby in her mom’s arms, swaddled like an Eskimo. I don’t remember any faces, anything except seeing our Mom coo at a nondescript bundle.
But Ford grinds into motion then. Stalking past the other guys, he opens the refrigerator, before closing it with a whoof. Of all of us, he’s the biggest, and his sheer size alone might be enough to scare off a little bunny like this.
&nbs
p; But no, this little bunny is here and not hopping away. She’s ready to play again and again and again. Which is just exactly what we need.
Ford opens a bottle of water for Macy, and hands it to her gently.
“You’re dehydrated honey,” he growls. “Take a sip.”
Still moving in slow motion, Macy takes the bottle and opens it, raising it to her lips. And then, oh shit, but she drinks, pink lips pouting, a tiny trickle of clear liquid running down her throat. We stare, rapt, imagining her sipping us like that.
Shit.
This is so wrong.
No woman should be subjected to this.
Seven guys? It’s a nightmare … or a fantasy come true.
Because yeah, our thoughts are dirty. I’m imagining the sweet brunette spread out, taking us every which way. And by the looks on my brothers’ faces, they’re thinking the same thing. Exactly the same thing, to be precise.
But right now, the little filly is unperturbed. She’s drinking away, face still flushed, boobies pressing out against that men’s t-shirt.
And shit, but that’s perfect. Because what kind of woman can stay calm when there are six erections pointing in your direction? What kind of woman is relaxed enough to handle all of us simultaneously?
I’ll tell you.
Claiming His Virgin In the Pool Page 46
