And after a few more hard plunges, their cocks rubbing against each other through my thin vaginal wall, it happened. I burst, screaming my ecstasy to the heavens.
“Mr. North!” came my wail, head thrown back as both my pussy and ass contracted. “Mr. Childs, yes!”
And the billionaires careened over the edge with me, my sweet form impaled on those heavy cocks.
“FUCK!” grunted Charlie. “Aw fuck, it’s gonna blow!”
But it was too late. Mr. North had gotten there first, unloading hot, virile jism into my ass.
“Unnh!” he cried out, gripping my hips tight. “Unnh, fuck!”
And both men went wild then, hot lashes of sperm drenching both my holes as I milked them desperately for more.
“Oh oh oh!” was my wild scream. “Oh!”
Because how could life be any better? I was with two charismatic billionaires who affirmed who I was and what I wanted to be. I was a beautiful, full-figured woman whom they appreciated, and this was their way of appreciating me. This was their way of demonstrating over and over just how valuable I was, a jewel to be treasured, cherished, and used over and over again.
And I loved every moment of it. Giving into the ecstasy, my body pulsed, big boobies jiggling as my cunt and ass milked those heavy fuckpoles.
“Give it to me,” I gasped. “Yes, yes!”
And that’s how our flight into JFK ended. When most passengers are unbuckling their seatbelts, standing up to gather their luggage, I was in a different situation. I was slowly getting up, pulling my sated body off two giant rods, sticky and sweaty with cum. I was pulling my uniform on once more, the fabric crumped and stained, a sensuous flush heating my cheeks.
But it was worth it. Because as we descended the narrow metal staircase towards the tarmac, both billionaires took my hands.
“You’re perfect Joanie,” Nick growled, looking me full in the eye.
“Better than we could have imagined,” asserted Charlie from my other side, blue eyes hot.
And I giggled then. Because I had the two men’s sperm dripping from my pussy and asshole, the scent of their cum all over my body. And how many passengers can say the same? How many women can say that they’re a slave to six billionaires … and love every moment of the experience to boot?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nick
Oh shit.
I’m so fucked.
Because Joanie’s supposed to be on a flight to Atlanta right now. She’s supposed to meet the twins for a dirty rendezvous, doing the two men any and every way they want.
But I’m keeping her here in New York.
Even now, Joanie’s in my guest en suite, taking a shower.
She should be working. She should be on the G6, but instead it’s empty.
Aaron and Andrew are gonna be pissed.
Hell, I would be.
Because we made a pact long ago. Elite Air was here for pleasure. There were no attachments. The girls we hired were used, and then paid out with rivers of cash. How much honestly didn’t matter. There was more than enough to go around.
But it’s joint possession.
None of the girls “belong” to any of us individually.
They “belong” to the group, like a common good.