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 read
y 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.