 by S.E. Law.jpg)
Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Don’t believe the rumors, right?
WRONG.
Everything they say about me is true.
That I’m a prince.
With a sordid imagination.
And an even more sordid reality.
After all, I have two loyal henchmen who enjoy the same things that I do, and that includes enjoying women … together.
The girls are shocked, panting as their eyes go wide.
Delighted wails ring in the air, as their curvy forms are bent over and used.
Yet in the end, the ladies only want more …because who can resist being shared by Prince Charming and his men?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Ragnar
I watch from the shadows as my two bodyguards, Mizhir and Rizza, lash a young blonde to a St. Andrew’s cross. Her eyes are wide and she’s breathing hard, but I can see how her pussy glistens, and how she licks her lips in anticipation. What was her name? I forget, although I’m sure my lackeys told me. Then again, it doesn’t really matter what her name is because unless she passes the test, she’ll be nothing but “that girl” in my mind.
Mizhir fastens her wrists securely, as Rizza prowls around the nude woman, examining the chains. His eyes ravish her curves and with a low chuckle, he reaches one big hand forward to test her swollen wetness.
“Ohhh,” she cries, tilting her head back as her eyes close with pleasure.
“Scream as much as you like,” my body man purrs while stroking through her lush folds again. “But remember, you’re here for one reason only.”
Her eyes flicker open, the cornflower blue already a bit dazed.
“Of course. I’m here to please the prince.”
Mizhir nods, his black eyes flashing.
“That’s right,” he rasps. “Our boss is real-life royalty, and let’s just say he likes things a certain way. These are the try-outs, so I’d recommend being on your best behavior.”
The woman nods, her nipples as hard as diamonds now. She’s got a beautiful body with huge Double Ds, a narrow waist, and hips that are euphemistically called “child-bearing,” which means that they’re wide and sassy, just the way I like them. But again, none of that matters if she can’t deliver.
“But who was your prince again?” she asks in a dazed voice. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”
Mizhir’s black eyes gleam.
“That’s because we never told you,” he rumbles low in his chest. “Our boss appreciates his privacy, so we won’t be revealing his identity until you move to the next level. But for now, don’t think about any of that. Just let yourself relax, enjoy, and we’ll see what happens.”
I nod with approval from the shadows because Mizhir and Rizza know me well. They know I don’t want my name floating out there in public if I can help it, nor do I need gossips and brownnoses trying to lick my ass to curry favor. Instead, as a Prince of Lysenia, I prefer to stay low-profile. Especially here, in Chicago, where I’ve been sent to explore my family’s business interests.
Of course, my “official business” is completely above board and none too interesting. Lysenia is a small country in Europe, sandwiched between Greece and Albania. Our population is only ten million, but we’re known for the quality of our food stuffs. Our olives are the best in the world, as is the Lysenian pear, a round, yellow-green orb sweeter than honey. The Lysenian pear is highly prized and can be eaten on its own or mixed with various ingredients to enhance aroma and flavor. Even more, the Lysenian pear is prized as an aphrodisiac, and its extract is said to bewitch the opposite sex.
As a result, I’m my family’s (and my country’s) emissary to America. I’m here to explore potential business opportunities concerning the Lysenian pear, and things are going great. At least I thought they were, until fucking ConAgra tried to play me for a fool. I stormed out of their offices fuming with rage earlier this week, briefcase in hand.
“Don’t sweat it boss,” Mizhir growled. “They’re idiots. They have no idea what they’re missing out on.”
“Yeah,” Rizza chimed in, his shoulders set. “And they’re fucking douchebags too. Complete fuckwads doing a circle jerk.”
I snarled while getting into the black town car and then we raced away from the curb and into the traffic of downtown Chicago. But still, I’m angry and only a hard fucking tonight is going to assuage the rage in my soul.
Fortunately, Mizhir and Rizza are on the same wavelength, and as a result, we’re in Club Z now, using one of their private rooms. I don’t remember how I discovered this place exactly. I’m sure I had my body men do research, and after a thorough vetting process, we did a visit. It’s fine. It’s lush, luxurious, and provides the most beautiful women in the world. What’s even more important is the discretion. Everyone seems to understand what’s expected of them, and as a result, I’m able to relax somewhat. I don’t have to constantly be on edge, worried that someone’s filming me, or speaking with a reporter behind my back.
But at the moment, the four of us are alone in a room. Of course, the beautiful blonde doesn’t even realize that I’m here because I’m hidden in the shadows, watching as my body men tie her up. Not that she cares, seeing that Mizhir and Rizza are good looking guys with bronzed, muscular bodies and faces chiseled from granite. Even more, when they bare their cocks, the blonde inhales with pleasure as her eyes widen.