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.
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.
My kind of woman.
Our kind of woman.
The kind of woman who can help us keep our family fortune intact.
This little girl is going to be our personal cream-puff, full of juices and creamy goodness, ready to be devoured whenever we’re hungry.
I wander forwards a few steps, right up into her space. Those pink lips purse as she appraises me.
“You all look alike,” comes a soft whisper. Damn, I can smell her from this close. Clean, pure, with an underlying tangy scent. And oh yeah, there’s that wet cunt smell, a hallmark of the best.
But I’m not gonna let on, not so early.
“It’s a good thing,” comes my drawl. “A lot of women like that we look alike.”
It’s true. They got hot and needy, anticipating a couple Morgan boys in the sack at once.
The brunette flushes then.
“It is good,” she confirms, not able to meet my direct gaze. “Overwhelming, but good.”
“You know it,” Matt growls. He’s come into the kitchen too, and a big hand snakes to her bare ass, squeezing that delectable rump.
But does the little girl back away?
Oh no.
She likes it.
Instead, the brunette closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, holding still so that Matt can massage her sweet butt.
“Yes,” comes her breathy whisper. “Yes.”
Aw shit, she is perfect. And at this moment, watching her quiver, I want nothing more than to dip two fingers into what I suspect is a highly responsive and equally wet pussy. I’d give anything for it right now, after the crap day I’ve had.
But the time’s not right. We said if we did it, we’d do it together. So I shoot Matt a warning look, telling him to back down.
And with a disappointed grunt, he does. That big hand drops away, leaving her wide, white expanse bare, the t-shirt pulled up.
Hot damn, it’s so perfect. But still, introductions need to be made.
“So you said your name is Macy?” I ask, looking over at my brothers for confirmation.
She nods. “Macy Jones.”
And my worst fears are confirmed. Because she is that baby, the one whom I don’t remember. Which means this kid is probably barely out of high school. She’s less than half my age but, fuck, did the little filly grow up. Insanely ripe in all the right places. Nothing childlike about her now.
Time for a proper interview then. I’ll bet these five jackasses haven’t said more than seven words to her, so caught up in the sweet, magical goodness.
Grabbing my suit jacket, I wrap it around her shoulders, guiding the female to the couch, where she sits, trying in vain to keep her swollen, bare puss covered with the little bit of t-shirt fabric. No worries honey. We’ll see it all soon enough.
But modesty prevails. Macy tries adjusting the coat but it doesn’t help much. She’s got six pairs of blue eyes trained right on that darkened vee, and the fabric just won’t cooperate. Thank god for small blessings.
But it’s not just about her pulsing wet channel though. No, it’s also about the curly hair, those big, brown eyes, and that full mouth. We love her innocence and her shyness. She’s a perfect package, pronouncing “Ripe! Fertile! Young!” with every sway of her hips.
The interview starts then.
“So Macy,” I begin slowly. My brothers have followed us into the living room as well, taking strategic spots around the girl. It should be scary, all these huge, intimidating men, but the brunette doesn’t look frightened. Instead, she just looks rosy and flushed, still shy but loving the attention too.
“Macy,” I begin again. “You’re in high school?”
She looks at me sharply, eyes clearing. But then my hand rests on her thigh, and the brunette turns to look at that instead. Taking a deep breath, the girl answers.
“No, not high school,” she laughs easily. “College. I just finished freshman year, over at State.”
Good. Ten points. We don’t want a high school teen, although truth be told, that’s not a deal breaker. Age is just one consideration, and being young? It’s a problem that will fix itself.
“So how do you like it?” I drawl, sliding my hand inward, closer to her inner thigh. Her lips open in a surprised “O.” But that sweet body tells another story, because her legs part oh so slightly. My pinky could stretch out and touch her swollen lips.
I continue, acting like nothing’s wrong, that this is totally normal.
“You like it?” I ask again.
She bites her lip hesitantly.
“No,” is her soft murmur.
Hmm, that’s interesting. Why not? Kids usually love college. I definitely did, away from the evil eye glare of my high school teachers. It was the first time I was an adult, treated like an adult, and expected to behave like an adult. Freedom was a breath of fresh air.
But back to Macy.
“What do you study?” I ask casually. And at the same time, I let my pinky explore, ever so lightly. Aw shit, she’s so swollen, those lips soft and puffy. My finger comes away wet, gleaming under the light.
“Unh!” she cries out softly, eyes going wide. But then the girl shakes her head again, determined to finish the conversation.
“Restaurant management,” she breathes, wiggling a little, wetness pooling between her legs. Damn, the filly’s responsive. “My parents want me to go into business or law or banking but ….”
“But what?” I ask, pushing my smallest finger into her folds. I don’t penetrate, although the way she fidgets her hips makes me think she’s dying for it.
“Oh!” the girl gasps, throwing her head back against the sofa. But struggling to retain control, Macy takes a few desperate breaths and says, “I want to be a chef. I’m not good at school, but I love to cook. My parents think that’s a waste of time though.”
Good answer. I rub along those wet lips, my brothers craning their heads to watch the show. And sure enough, her hips move along with my hand, gyrating ever so slightly. We’re quiet for a while as she builds, breath coming faster and faster.
“Do you always do what your parents tell you?” is my gentle question.
Now she’s writhing against my hand as my brothers look on. Shaking her head furiously, her eyes open wide, pretty pink pout begging.
“Tell us what we can do for you,” is my command.
Silence for a moment as she writhes and moans again, a slave to my touch on her sensitive spot. But closing her eyes, with an almost pained expression, the girl opens them again and looks straight at me.
“You’re doing it,” she gasps gently, almost unable to speak. “You’re doing it!” And at that moment, a scream of pleasure bursts from her throat.
Goddamn, I’d literally cut off my right arm to have my fingers inside her cunt right now, to feel the squeeze of her muscles as she comes. As it is, her clit is pulsing like crazy, a torrent of warm fluids gushing into my palm.
But Macy’s going wild on the couch. She parts her legs, pulling open those sweet swollen labia as my brothers look on, and spills again, the honey running in rivers from her puss.
“Oh oh oh!” the female cries, hole spasming wildly, my fingers brushing her clit again and again. “Oh!”
And shit, but a beautiful stream spurts out then from her private place, arcing into the air before dropping onto the carpet. A couple of my bros lurch forward, too late to catch it with their mouths, their hands, anything. Damn, but we have a squirter before us? How did we get so lucky?
And as the girl subsides, I turn to the audience.
Trent meets my gaze head on.
“She hasn’t taken any of us yet. We’ve kept our cocks in our pants, just like we agreed.”
That’s right. When we made the decision, all of us pledged that there’d be no dick in pussy until we were all present. So yeah, Macy’s just gotten an appetizer of what’s to come.
But the sweet little girl is no dunce. Because slowly, she sits up once more, pulling her t-shirt down, the jacket wrapping around those narrow shoulders.
“I can’t believe this has happened,” she says in a stricken voice, looking at the wet spot on the carpet. Oh yeah, that’s her juice. All her.
“No worries honey,” comes my nonchalant reply. “A little cleaning fluid will do the trick.”
But that’s not what she’s worried about. Turning my way, the girl fixes me with a look.
“It’s that,” she stammers. “But also more. I mean, who does this? Who does what I’m doing?” she says with anguish, gesturing to us all.
The wall of man is silent instead, looking back at her. Oh shit, girlie is angry.
“We can give you what you want,” I say soothingly. “It’s not wrong.”
She looks at me then, eyes wide, almost pleading. She wants me to say it again, and I do.
“So you don’t like college?” I ask.
She looks embarrassed when she nods now. But shit, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about. College isn’t for everyone. We all went, but I know plenty of people who are just fine and dandy without that overpriced piece of paper.
And we could care less if our female goes to school. We have plenty of money, there’s no reason for a woman of ours to work, unless she wants. So yeah, if anything the whole no-college deal is a good thing. It’s more about understanding what works best for you and your situation, not what society or your parents expect.
So I’m patient.
“Well, what do you want then?” come my words.
Macy stands up then, slowly folding my jacket around her gorgeous body. Her look is somber this time.
“I want to be a chef,” she says slowly. “I’m serious. I want to write a cookbook and have it published, and show my parents that you don’t need a degree. The next four years of my life don’t have to be spent in the library. They can be spent doing what I love, and I need to figure out how to get that message across.”
I hold my hands up.
“Absolutely honey,” is my smooth drawl. “It’s all about pursuing your dreams.”
“And you guys can help me do that. You said you’d help me,” she finishes in a rush.
I have no idea what this means so I turn to my brothers for guidance, eyebrows raised.
Trent is the first to speak this time.
“We promised to taste test. Wasn’t that the bargain?” he growls.
But that doesn’t sound right. Macy’s dead serious, and getting some guys to taste test food is the least of her problems. Hell, it’s not even a commitment. We eat just to survive, she’d be doing us a favor, not the other way around.
The brunette shakes her head again, refusing to meet our eyes. Getting up slowly, those curvy limbs carry her to the door gracefully, like she’s floating on air. I figure we’ve seen the last of Macy, for now at least.
But instead, the brunette quirks her head back and meets our gaze fully then.
“I need more,” are the simple words.
And with that, she’s gone, out the door and across the lawn, leaving the six of us mystified. Goddamn. Women always get your goat. They say one thing and mean another, and none of it ever makes sense.
But one thing’s for certain, though. We’ll give her whatever she needs whatever she wants. Because she belongs to us now. After that beautiful show, there’s no way this gorgeous girl is getting away. Macy belongs to us now … completely and irrevocably.