Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Suddenly, despite my efforts to play down the experience, I’m excited again. My cheeks flush and I bite my lip while casting another surreptitious glance around the science center. My breasts feel heavy, and it’s hot here at the circulation counter as I pull up Mountain_Daddy’s profile photo again. His chest glistens, muscular and hard, and with one finger, I follow the trail of dark hair arrowing down from his navel to the waistband of his jeans. Somehow, I know this is a real photo of my client ... and I can’t wait to meet him on Friday.
4
Cross
“Are you ready, my man?” I ask my friend Barrett as I switch on the laptop in my cabin. My buddy shrugs as he takes a seat behind me, just out of view.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. This is Zoom. Who the fuck cares?”
Who the fuck cares, indeed? Then again, Barrett and I care a lot because we’re asshole motherfuckers who are doing something wrong, rancid, and dirty, and which should get us arrested as deviants. After all, we’re holed up at my cabin in the woods, fucking young girls left and right, and having the time of our lives while we’re at it.
Yes, you heard right. I own a cabin in the woods, among a number of other properties, and it’s a decent-sized outfit. There are two bedrooms, two baths, with a full kitchen, common area, and of course, access to the mountains. The cabin’s literally made of logs and has a rustic feel with its heavy furniture and camp-style lighting, although neither my friend nor I give a shit about the decor. What we do care about is the fact that the location is remote, discreet, and private. It’s almost impossible to get here, save for a narrow mountain pass, and drivers are likely to go right by us on a small road that leads over the summit and down the backside. Thus, the cabin is the perfect location for our fucked-up shenanigans.
After all, we’re powerful men in real life. Barrett heads a VC firm that’s been minting money for years, and I’m the CEO of Cross Holdings, a credit card company that’s been in my family for generations. AmEx and MasterCard are our closest competitors, and I spend a lot of my time waging war against those assholes.
Nonetheless, we’re rich motherfuckers, and although we try to stay under the radar, it’s almost impossible when you’re this wealthy. Yet Barrett and I are single guys, too, and we enjoy women. Too much, in fact, and our habits would be the talk of the town if they got out. As a result, we take precautions and put up safeguards. We’re members of elite gentlemen’s clubs, where all individuals, male and female, are screened thoroughly. We attend parties at private residences, often hosted by closely-known associates. We use escorts on occasion, and we source them only from the most trustworthy outfits. There’s no use in jeopardizing what we have because there’s so much to lose.
But shit gets old. There are only so many parties you can attend before the faces start blurring together. There are only so many nipples you can suck, and twats that you can fuck, before the girls start becoming interchangeable. I don’t know. Maybe Barrett and I are too fucked up for the scene in Minneapolis. Maybe Minneapolis itself is too tame, but moving isn’t an option at the moment, so we need to find another outlet for our deviant desires.
As a result, we’re at my cabin. Again, it’s remote so we’re shielded from prying eyes, and I had the place stocked with supplies before we arrived. No one in the little town down the mountain knows us, and we don’t visit the downtown very often either. Why bother? We’re here to fuck girls, and nobody needs to know that the two mountain men living up the slope are actually two debauched billionaires transporting sweet young things to the cabin to get their brains fucked out.
Thus, our “date” tonight. We source our girls from a bunch of different sites, but Sweet Lies has worked out well so far. We’ve met a couple girls in person now, and they’ve been curvy, beautiful, and slutty. We Uber them up the mountain, and then indulge in multi-day fuckfests with said nymphs. The girls walk away sated, dripping with spunk, and very wealthy women. Then, we contact the next female on the list, and she’s Ubered here to continue the fuckfest.
It’s wrong, rancid, and disturbing. We’d be written up in every gossip magazine if the public found out, but that’s the thing: Barrett and I are careful. We’re not even using our real names. Instead, I’m Chris, and Barrett is Brett. We never share identifying details about our personal lives, and to be honest, none of the women care. This is a business transaction for them, and as long as they’re getting paid, they’re willing to ask no questions as they’re fucked within an inch of their lives.