Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
But people ask why I’ve chosen this lifestyle, and the answer is that I adore beauty. I surround myself with it. I own a beautiful mansion, with beautiful interior design, and inside there are beautiful women with beautiful smiles. Their presence fills the mansion with giggles and the click-clack of high heels on marble tile. Without female charm, this manor wouldn’t be half as fun to occupy. It’s a good life, and besides, the extra expense means nothing to me. What man wouldn’t want this existence?
But lately something has changed inside me, and I can’t put my finger on what, or why.
“Thanks, hon,” I growl, patting Morgan on the arm and getting up. “I appreciate the offer. You guys have been great, but I need to get up.”
“Would you like us to run a bath for you?” Kitty asks in an innocent tone. “Morgan and I could get in with you and give you a special lavender massage.”
I shake my head.
“No, thanks,” I demur, suddenly feeling tired as fuck. “Today’s a shower day. You girls run along.” Then, I send the women to their quarters and step inside the marble en suite. Fuck. Maybe I just need to clear my head. Or maybe I need some narcotics. Who knows.
As the steam starts swirling, I catch a glimpse in the full-length mirror. An Adonis-like figure stares back at me, with a broad chest, chiseled abs, and thick, powerful thighs. Even though I turned forty-five this year, I work hard to keep in shape and the effort shows. Guys half my age don’t look this good.
Meanwhile, my eye wanders down to my crotch, where my cock hangs heavily between my thighs, reaching almost to the knee. A sharp bark erupts from my throat because I’m aware that I’m unusually well-endowed. Hell, the women who live here often have to be “trained” when they arrive because they’ve never taken a man so huge. They’re taught preliminary stretching exercises to prepare for my girth and length.
But that’s the job of the seasoned women in my harem. For now, I just need to get ready. I finish my shower and head to the breakfast room, where several beautiful women are already seated.
“Hi Logan,” titters a particularly beautiful blonde with huge tits encased in a blue bikini. She shakes them at me, and I nod with appreciation.
“Hey Callie,” I greet. “Hey Violetta. Genevieve.”
Then, I smile politely and make my way over to the sideboard where a lavish breakfast buffet awaits. I could have my meal served to me in my bedroom, which I sometimes opt for if I need to prepare myself for a particularly important business meeting, but mostly I like to be in the presence of the gorgeous women who live with me. Why not? There’s no need to live like a hermit when so much beauty surrounds me at every turn.
But then, I see her.
She’s standing by the freshly squeezed orange juice, holding a plate with a chocolate muffin and some fruit, trying to figure out how to work the juicer. I’ve never seen her before.
Whereas most women who live here look like models with long legs and slender figures, this girl is incredibly curvy. Her huge, soft breasts are barely being contained by a minuscule hot pink bikini top. Her wide, round ass and thick thighs jiggle slightly beneath a pair of matching bikini bottoms as she takes a couple of steps to put her plate down. Then she returns her attention to the juicer with both hands.
“What the hell?” she mutters under her breath. “What is wrong with this thing?”
Her delicate face is a mask of concentration as she tries unscrewing the top of the funnel where the oranges go, to deal with some kind of blockage. I realize I’m staring and want to look away, but I can’t because she’s utterly breathtaking. The new girl’s skin is milky, freckled lightly just across the bridge of her pert nose. Her eyes are downcast, focused on her task, so all I can see are thick, long lashes, but I bet they’re the same milk chocolate color as the curly hair that falls over her shoulders. Who is this angel? Frankly, she doesn’t even look old enough to be here.
“Can I help?” I ask in a dry tone. “I’m good with gadgets.”
She startles as she looks up at me, her eyes meeting mine. Yep, not only are they the rich color of molten chocolate, but they’re huge and innocent. She doesn’t belong here. Goddamn, she looks young enough to be my daughter.
“Yes,” she sighs, her plump pink lips bending down with exasperation. “I think I may have broken the juicer.”
“Don’t worry,” I growl, stepping forward to reach behind the juicing machine and unplugging it. “You didn’t break it. This thing is always getting blocked.” I reach my hand deftly into the funnel to pull out a cluster of orange peels, discarding them in a nearby bowl. “So much for designer brands. I swear they charge you an arm and a leg and then sell you pure shit.” This comment makes her giggle, and I’m surprised by the flicker of warmth it causes in my chest. Then, I throw a few oranges into the juicer and press the button so it starts to whir. Juice safely on its way, I turn to the young woman.