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, whatever 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
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