CHAPTER ELEVEN
Macy
Six months later …
I’ve missed my period again. That’s two in a row.
Not that pregnancy should be surprising. After I left my parents’ home, the Morgan brothers took me to a fancy hotel. I was too out of it then to appreciate the luxurious surroundings, but we weren’t gonna stay there forever. With my new lovers, it’s all about stability and permanence, and hotel living is the opposite of that.
So within a week, the eight of us moved into a giant house on the outskirts of the city. It has nine bedrooms. Count ‘em, nine! What does anyone do with nine bedrooms? You’d think that each brother would have their own, and then one for me, plus an extra for guests.
But that’s not how it is at all. Instead, all eight of us are in the master suite most of the time, going at it hot and heavy. They’re either enjoying my body, taking turns enjoying my body, or watching others enjoy my body.
Depraved right? But it works great, and I’ve never been so fulfilled and satisfied. Caring, in the Morgan world, means making love constantly. And we’ve done a lot of it, it’s just how they communicate.
Of course, the brothers show their adoration in other ways as well. Like this giant chef’s kitchen that’s custom-designed and perfect in every way. It has a sub-zero fridge, a gorgeous temperature-controlled wine cooler, two convection ovens, and even a full set of Le Creuset fancy cast-iron pots, in case I want to go crazy. It’s pretty much straight out of a decorator’s magazine.
But the Morgans have taken it one step further because they installed special lights and mounts, and there are cameras everywhere, controlled via iPad. You can guess where this is going. That’s right, it’s a perfect set for a cooking show, every tool at my disposal, every single utensil you can think of to create perfect-looking food that’s camera-friendly and delicious.
Of course, I use it for other things as well. Just this afternoon, I filmed myself making a cherry pie. It started out innocently enough, me in a frilly blue apron, hair down, happily mixing flour and water.
But pretty soon it turned into a full-on show. Oh yeah, I’m a cam girl for the ages, humping utensils on the marble counter, sticking them deep up my snatch and screaming wildly as my pussy explodes in front of the live stream.
Because what could be better? I’m performing for the audience of my dreams, a direct feed going to my seven lovers at work, and I’m sure they get off too. Oh yeah, these guys are probably stroking their dicks, milking the cum out as they grunt, hungrily devouring my wetly creaming body while staring at their computers.
But I have to admit that it’s not all fun and games. Because what am I doing, really? Am I getting ahead in life? Making something of myself? Call it the remnants of childhood, but Jim and Marsha instilled a value system long ago, and it’s hard to completely forget it all. So how can I leave that all behind?
Because it’s not like I’m some super-successful Food Network host. No, it’s just me in a fancy kitchen, doing amateur porn for my boys. Is that an accomplishment? Can I add that to my resume? Sure, I cook them dinner each night, but there’s been no progress made on my book, and school is long since gone. So what am I doing, really? Hanging around, waiting to get pregnant? Is that my goal in life?
I want it, but at the same time, I don’t. It’s like two competing value systems pulling against one another. On the one hand, yes, the idea of a baby makes me bloom with happiness, contentment bubbling inside when I imagine a cooing infant, blue eyes just like his fathers’.
On the other, my mind screams, What the hell are you doing? This is no normal situation! This is never what you planned! Because there are SEVEN MEN, not one! Are you nutso?
And then the world darkens. Clouds cross the sky, blacking out the sun and my mood inevitably swirls down the drain. Because I have nothing to show for the last couple months of life. No accomplishments. No achievements. No awards. Nothing, not even a ripe, swollen belly.
And if I do get pregnant, what are people going to say?
Who’s the father?
Shit, do Ted and Maddy Morgan know?
How about the girl’s parents. Do they know?
What a fucking slutty slut, she’s boinking seven dudes at once.
Any way you turn, the result’s pretty grim. So what do I do now? Where does that leave me? Do I just get pregnant and have a baby, cowering under the world’s glare, trembling at its disapproval? Will anyone be friends with me now, if they know my situation? Or do I go into hiding? Even in the lap of luxury, a prison is still a prison, and a flatscreen in every room doesn’t make it better.
Plus, what about my career? Sure, I’m hardly the most ambitious person, but that doesn’t mean I want to do nothing at all. So should I plow ahead with my cookbook dreams? Will anyone buy my volume, if they realize I’m with seven men? Will any publisher take me as a client, given my non-traditional lifestyle?
So many unknowns. My head drops, heavy and filled with a dark mass of confusion. Because this is beyond my wildest imagination. Somehow, my fantasies have come true but there’s a troubling side too. There’s an angle that blows my mind, overwhelming for a girl of eighteen, and I sniffle then, heart a solid rock in my chest. A single tear drops down my cheek as I stir cake batter listlessly, all joy evaporated. Because what does this mean? What have I gotten myself into? I want it, but I don’t, and misery consumes me then.
Suddenly, the phone rings. Oh god, it’s Marsha. Things haven’t improved since that fateful night, but at least we convinced my parents not to press charges. That would be the kicker. Tim and Will in jail, for what, exactly? I’m of legal age. They’re of legal age. It’s not a crime to love two men, or to give your body to multiple men.
But Marsha had been so angry that anything could have happened. So we dodged a bullet for sure. Taking a deep breath, I pick up the receiver with a trembling hand.
“Hi,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. “How’s it going?”
“How’s it going?” she screeches immediately, making my eardrums wither. “Did you ever think of us? Did you every think of your father and me for one moment, Macy? You know we can’t get a refund for all the tuition we paid on your behalf! Did you think of that, hmmm? Did you think of how much Jim and I invested in you? And to throw it all away,” she snaps with an angry harrumph.
“I’m sorry,” comes my trembling voice. “But I told you all along, college isn’t my thing. The Morgans agree,” I say staunchly, back straightening even if she can’t see. It helps just to conjure the image of my lovers, standing in solidarity in the kitchen.
But Marsha’s relentless.
“Of course they tell you that,” she sneers. “Those men have you pussy-whipped. You know what that is, right?”
I’m unable to answer, the receiver trembling in my numb fingers.
“You’ve never had a man before,” says Marsha, her voice going low and venomous. “They’re your first, so you believe everthing they tell you. You think they want what’s best for you? You think the Morgans care about your welfare?”
“I know they do,” I interrupt, voice bold even if my heart’s shaking. “Because they tell me all the time.”
“Bullshit,” sneers Marsha. “That’s a load of crap if I ever heard one. Those assholes are gonna get a pretty eighteen year old knocked up and then walk away. The men get off scot free, and you know what happens to you? You’re marked with a scarlet letter, shamed in front of the world.”
That can’t be true.
“No, you’re wrong,” I say in a low voice, trying to keep the tremors out. “The Morgans love me, and they want our baby. I know that. They’d never do what you’re saying.”
“Please,” snarls Marsha. “Tell that to their other baby mamas. Or wannabe baby mamas.”
The air evaporates from my lungs, making it impossible to breathe then. What other baby mamas? Are there other women out there that the Morgans are trying to impregnate? How can that be? They’re with me all the time, it can’t be true.
But Marsha’s unstoppable.
“Oh yeah,” she caws. “There’s a woman out there, Heather something or other, who’s also their whore. Get that, sweet daughter of mine. You think you’ve got a harem going, but the game’s on you. They’ve got a den of women that they keep for nefarious purposes. You’re nothing special.”
And at that, the receiver drops out of my lifeless fingers. It can’t be. I am special, I’m the one who’s going to have the Morgan heir, my lovers have made it clear again and again. They caress me all day, stroking my curves, praying that their seed takes hold. So how can my mom even say this? How does she know?
But somewhere, a kernel of doubt blooms. Marsha’s succeeded in poisoning the well and my mind goes blank before jumping to life, spinning furiously. Somewhere, there’s this Heather woman and I’ve got to find her. I’ve got to figure out the truth … otherwise my whole life is just one great, big lie.