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(Sequel to Sins of the Father and A Ladies Companion)
“…And the rest of my estate, I leave to my wastrel son, Eric. The monies to be held in trust until he graduates from Harvard Business School or until one of his offspring beats him to it, on which day the entire trust shall devolve to that individual.”
I’m Eric and that was my father’s last will and testament being read out last fall. You can tell my father didn’t think much of my academic ability, can’t you?
“Wall Street banker, Werner Kruppa, son of Rabbi and Holocaust historian Ezra Kruppa, died of a cerebral haemorrhage in his Manhattan home on the morning of September 6th aged 50. He is survived by his son, Eric. The funeral service will be at 11AM tomorrow at the Upper East Side Synagogue.”
That was how the Wall Street Journal broke the news to anyone who cared. Naturally, I already knew, but I didn’t care. There was no love lost between my father and I.
What the paper didn’t say – nor the rabbi who said Kadesh for him — was that the autopsy found a significant quantity of his own semen and somebody else’s blood in his stomach contents. Tests showed it to be menstrual blood belonging to a female whom the NYPD promptly identified as a common prostitute who had the misfortune to be sitting on his face when his brain went pop.
This didn’t come as a shock to me because I have known for some time that my father had certain… predilections that his two ex-wives had not shared. The person I really felt sorry for in all this was my ex-step-mother who had received a pre-nuptually limited divorce settlement only a fortnight before my father’s untimely and undignified demise. If the gold digging bitch had only put up with the arrogant bastard a few weeks longer, she’d have inherited at least ten times as much.
But she didn’t and now it’s mine. All mine because an hour ago I graduated and the two girls sucking my cock have flown here especially to help me celebrate.
* * * * *
Helen and B have been my fuck-buddies since their first semester at Harvard although for most of their second year, we were all just friends because I foolishly allowed myself to get into a steady and monogamous relationship. They’re a couple with a mutual interest in sex games — the more extreme, the better. I’ve long suspected that I’m one of their games too.
I should explain: I have a very large penis. A lot of you will be thinking ‘yeah, yeah, heard that before.’ And some of you will be thinking ‘Ooh! I like them big.’ But the truth is that a really big penis can be a handicap.
In high school, I was the last guy in my class to get laid, even though I was good looking enough to have no problem getting dates. The locker room rumours got me a lot of interest from girls anxious to see if the stories were true, but whenever I whipped out my manhood, they’d get scared off by it’s size.
Girls started daring each other to date me, but none was brave enough to tussle with Moby — a nickname one of the cheerleading squad gave my dick. I didn’t enjoy being a freak show so I quickly started insisting the girls go first with the whole show-and-tell thing. At least I got to see — and touch and even taste — a lot of snatch.
It was only in my last semester before graduation that a cheerleader called Rosie Boyce got up the courage to let me fuck her.
Much as we liked each other, she was very sparing with her affection after that first time. The night of the senior prom was our last time together because she said it hurt too much.
I wasn’t expecting college to be much better until I met Helen and B: They like extreme sex and never complain about my size. Hell! They’re even up for anal, which I’d never even dared suggest to any girl.
And that’s why I’d begged them to fly back to Boston during their gap year, to help me celebrate my inheritance. It’s also why I wanted them in my life on a more permanent basis.
* * * * *
“When you two graduate, how about coming to live with me?” I had a head on each shoulder as we lay in bed together, the morning after graduation — my last morning as president of Phi Kappa Delta. Later today, my successor would be elected and I would stand down as head honcho of the fraternity.
“In New York?” B asked.
“Anywhere you want to, honey B. I can support us all in luxury pretty much anywhere. Where would you like to live?”
“New York sounds good.” Helen said. “I could carry on working.”
“Only if you really want to. I would suggest you put your price up though. Say two grand a night. Maybe even more.”
“And you wouldn’t mind me still being a whore?” Helen never sweetened the pill when she talked about her work.
“Like I told B: Whatever you want. I’m not trying to marry you two-“
“Which would be illegal.” B observed.
“I just think we could have a lot of fun together: travel, party, fuck.”
“Can we have a boat?” B liked the idea. She had no career plans after college anyway and she was used to being a rich person’s plaything — She’d spent her gap year working as a üsküdar escort very personal assistant to a bisexual woman who disdained the dazzling variety of fantastic plastic available in a sex shop near you, preferring to pay a girl to pleasure her.
“Of course you can have a boat. I’ll even name it after you — Honey B.” I was pretty sure I already had a boat. My father certainly used to own a yacht. I’d have to check the inventory of his estate to be sure though.
“You just want kinky sex on a regular basis.” Helen knows me so well.
“Naturally. I’ll even pay you, if you want.”
“Two grand a night?” Helen remembered my suggested tariff.
“I think I should get a discount — a season ticket, so to speak.” I was ready to negotiate.
“Ok. A dollar a night. I’ll be the cheapest whore in town.”
“So we have a deal? B?”
“You had me at ‘anywhere’.” B kissed me passionately. Not to be left out, Helen pressed her lips to the back of my neck. We were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Enter!” I yelled, disinclined to climb over a girl to find my shorts.
The door opened a little and one of this year’s pledges peered gingerly into my room. “There’s a lawyer downstairs asking for you Mr President.” I was impressed he managed to deliver his message clearly and at the first attempt. Most people are distracted when they see two naked girls in bed with one guy.
“Well bring him up, worm.”
“Yes Mr President.” The pledge vanished, the door clicked shut and I went back to what I’d been doing before we were interrupted — Kissing the girls.
* * * * *
Another knock interrupted us, but the girls had made good use of the five minutes to massage me to full rigidity. The bed now had a tent in the middle that a Bedouin family could live in.
“Enter! Ah, Smithers!” I greeted the ferrety man in the severe suit as the worm ushered him in. He didn’t know where to look, as both girls had disdained to cover up their tits, even though their nipples were clearly hard enough to hang the sheets on. “Ladies, say hello to Smithers, my late father’s P.A.”
“I’m a P.A.” Chirped Honey B, giggling at the mental picture of this man doing her work.
“The other sort of P.A.” I had the same mental picture of this rodent rimming my father and it was not pretty.
“Good morning Mr Smithers.” Helen said politely.
“Good Morning.” B beamed her innocent smile at him. That smile tells so many lies so convincingly.
“Err…Good Morning, Ladies. And it’s Smith, not Smithers.” He looked really unsure of the term ‘ladies’.
“Mr Smith, allow me to introduce Helen…” I buzzed her shoulder, “and B” Then her shoulder. “My consorts.”
“Courtesans.” B corrected me. “A consort is respectable. Queen Victoria’s husband was officially her consort, but courtesans were just pretty young girls that the king got to fuck. Concubine might do too, though historically, they’re generally just junior wives and have to be faithful to one man. Courtesans got to pick their lovers, like the hetaerae of antiquity.”
“My daddy told me about heterae.” Helen told B. Her Daddy had actually been suggesting hetera as a better job description for his little girl than ‘whore’. He failed because Helen actually likes being a whore.
“My courtesans.” I said to Smithers. “Why don’t you girls go take a shower while Mr Smith and I discuss why he’s here?” At my suggestion, the sheets got flung back either side of the bed and the girls got out, stretching in unison. Smithers’ eyes nearly popped out of his head. I couldn’t resist. “Pick one if you want, Smithers. I’m sure we have time and they’re really very good at what they do.” And I knew they would do it too, just to rock the poor little chap’s world.
“N-No. Thank you.” He watched hungrily as they shrugged at each other and walked past him, missing him by about an inch each as they left the room — still bare as they were born. The bathroom was right along the landing from my room and very visible from the main space downstairs so half the frat house population watched their progress. The cheers and whistles eventually stopped.
“And what can I do for you, Mr Smith?” I gave the man my complete attention.
“I have some papers that need signatures. Transfer documents for the trust’s funds, notarised inventories of each of your father’s properties.”
“Don’t you mean my properties?”
“Not until you sign these transfers of title and this receipt for the monies.” He laid out the papers on my desk.
“As you say. You know, Mr Smith…” I got out of bed and went over to the desk. “My father once paid Helen eight hundred dollars to let him sodomize her. Then he made her sit on his face and licked her ass hole clean.” Smithers looked horrified. “And his autopsy found a bellyful of semen and menstrual blood. Read it if you don’t believe me.” I pointed to a framed document on the wall. I’d put it there to remind me what sort of man my father was. Smithers didn’t even glance at the document. He was şerfali escort rigid. His loyalty to my father was bordering on unnatural, hence the nickname. “So, when the ladies come back, I’d appreciate it if you kept your disapproval of my lifestyle to yourself.”
“Yes sir.” He barely even whispered. Had he not known about my father’s perversions? Surely this wasn’t news to him? But he looked so shocked. I felt a twinge of pity for him.
“Thank you. Where do I sign?” I was right beside him now, with my penis bobbing in front of me. I noticed him noticing it — hard to miss really — and wondered if Smithers wasn’t too accurate a nickname for him.
“Here, here, here, here…” The list went on. You’re not supposed to get writers cramp just from signing your name are you? “And here.” He pointed to the last document, which I duly signed and he witnessed. “That’s it.” He drew the papers together, tapped them into line and put them back in his briefcase.
“How much am I now worth?”
“As of two minutes ago, at yesterday’s closing prices, a little over two hundred and thirty million dollars. If you have no further questions, I’ll take my leave of you, Mr Kruppa.” He offered me his hand, which I shook. The movement made Moby bob again.
“I’m going to need someone who knows their way around it all, to manage it. You’d be the best person for the job.” Whatever I felt about Smithers personally, he had been my father’s right hand man and, by all accounts, very capable.
“I don’t think so, Mr Kruppa.” He glanced down at my hard-on. “You seem hell bent on besmirching your family name and, consequently, your father’s memory. I do not care to be party to that!” He turned and stalked out.
A moment later, the girls tumbled in, giggling.
“What?” I asked.
“We just bumped into Smithers.”
“He was hard. I felt it.”
“She grabbed it.”
“But who for? You or us?”
“Did he touch you back?” I asked, stroking my cock as I looked at my lovely courtesans and appreciated that for all my new wealth, their affection was still my most precious asset.
“Then he really is an idiot because that little wiener was definitely up for you two.”
“So is that one.” Helen pointed at Moby. “Whose turn is it to go first?”
“Don’t I get to choose who I fuck anymore?”
“No. Silly boy. Leave these complicated matters up to us girls. Helen? Teeth, tongue lips?” B suggested.
“Ok. Best of three.” Helen clenched her fist in readiness. ‘Teeth, tongue, lips’ is their version of ‘rock, paper, scissors’: Teeth (all fingers curled – more like claws than teeth, but let’s not be pedantic.) bite tongue, tongue (one straight finger) licks lips and lips (two straight fingers pressed together) cover teeth.
“One, two, three! Tongue licks lips. One to you… One, two, three! Tongue licks lips again. One all… One, two, three! Teeth and teeth. Go again. One, two, three! Teeth bite tongue. You win.” B was gracious in defeat.
Helen got on all fours on the bed and I knelt behind her, easing Moby into a hole so damp they must have been warming up in the shower. “That’s what I like! A bitch that doesn’t need half an hour of foreplay.”
“She’s not a bitch.” B slapped my ass hard for being disrespectful.
“No, I’m not. I’m a whore… And my cunt’s ready greased because B tried to stick the whole shower head up it.” Helen has a filthy mouth on her when she’s working. I like that though.
“Can’t you put that mouth of yours to better use?” I stroked in and out of Helen’s tight pussy. “B, can you shut the whore up?”
“Sure, Big Boy.” B got on the bed in front of Helen and presented her ass for rimming. I’d kind of expected her to opt for cunnilingus, but it’ll be a cold day in Hell before I pass up a chance to see these girls’ asses getting in on the action.
Watching anything that kinky is one hell of an aphrodisiac and I could not help but up my pace, hanging onto Helen’s hips as I slammed into her. She had to pause in her ministrations to B’s pretty, pink bottom, as her pussy clenched around me, spasming as she screamed in ecstatic release, soaking my balls with her boiling juices. Pro that she is, she took every inch of me, every stroke, without a pause and, as soon as her climax subsided, she got back to work on B.
I pulled out of Helen, intent on getting my cock into B. Gently pushing Helen’s hips aside and moved up to B, rubbing my glans against her puffy, pussy lips and easing it in. She wiggled her tush as I sank in to her, then she put her head down low and moaned softly as Helen dipped her head and started tonguing B’s anus again, adding a finger to the mix, just for kicks.
I didn’t last long, hosing B’s cervix as soon as her pussy seized around me in the first moments of her orgasm. B is, if anything, noisier than Helen. When she stopped yelling, with me still rooted inside her, we heard a round of applause from the main room of the house. Well? My girls like an audience.
* * * * *
Later that day, my last act as president of Phi Kappa Delta was to confer honorary membership of the fraternity upon my courtesans. I’d got agreement from the committee the day before and Helen and B received their Phi Kappa Delta sweaters and lapel pins in a brief ceremony before the formal nominations and ballot for my successor. It may break with tradition, but those girls had been good friends to Phi Kappa Delta for three years and I wanted to do something for them to make up for Christabelle Deerborne’s malice in disbarring them from the sorority in their freshman year.
When Chrissy returned after the summer and saw those sweaters, she was going to be so pissed at me. I was sorry I’d not be around to see it. Chrissy has been obsessing about me since our first semester and, after three years, still hasn’t figured out that no means no. Well, I won’t be here to see the fireworks but I’m sure to hear about it.
The ballot didn’t take long and the winner was clear. David Barrio was duly sworn in as the new President of Phi Kappa Delta. It’s odd to think that just a year ago, B and Helen took him upstairs and plucked his cherry because no frat boy should finish his freshman year still a virgin. I sent B along to his room after the party to renew their acquaintance while I contented myself in Helen’s arms. Sometimes it’s nice to just snuggle up with someone you love: And I really do love my ladies.
* * * * *
“It’s just not going to be the same without you next year.” Helen murmured as we nuzzled each other in post-coital euphoria.
“We’ll still see lots of each other. I may even buy a private jet so I can fly you to New York for wild weekends.”
“But it won’t be like having you here.”
“If you’re worried about the sorority bitches, don’t. David will look out for you. He’s going to be a good president and he thinks a lot of you and B.”
“I wonder why?” Helen tried to look innocent but nobody in this house is likely to forget how she and B deflowered the virgins among last year’s pledges: David had been one of the lucky lads.
“Just fuck him occasionally and he’ll do anything you ask. Not too often though — I’m the jealous type.” That last bit was so blatantly untrue it didn’t even count as a lie.
“I was planning to, but not because of Chrissy and her pussy posse: I’ve got a secret weapon if she gets out of line.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“Let’s just say your father isn’t the only parent I’ve fucked.”
“Francis Deerborne? You’ve done Chrissy’s father?” I’ve known for a long time that Helen worked as an escort, but she’s generally quite discreet about who she sells herself to and I respect her professional space. That said, I really wanted the details now I knew that doting Daddy Deerborne was buying young flesh on the side.
“Three times now.”
“And what?” Helen played dumb.
“And what’s he into?”
“Stuffing Belgian chocolates up my ass and making me pretend to shit in his mouth.”
“Oh, now that is weird, even for you.” I must have cringed because Helen noticed.
“That ain’t so bad. B and I regularly lick stuff out of each other’s butts and you don’t object if it’s your semen, do you?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Anyway, you haven’t heard the best bit. He likes to call me Christabelle the whole time.”
“Yes! And I’ve got video of it all, so don’t you worry about Prissy Chrissy. Shh” Helen put a finger to my lips and cocked her head to one side. “That’s B.” We could both hear someone yelling ‘Yes!’ along the corridor.
“I said he’d be a good president.”
“Not as good as you were.” Helen hugged me close and kissed my ear, nipping my lobe.
We were quiet for a while. Some dialogues are better in Braille. Finally, Helen paused with her hand still cradling my balls. “Eric?”
“Hmm?” I was preoccupied with a particularly fine nipple.
“Remember last year I mentioned I was introducing B to my favourite cock in all the world?”
“Yes… I asked her who my competition was, but she wouldn’t tell me… Even when I tickled her.” It was a very fine nipple and there was another one just like it. I wondered if it’s twin was as much fun to suckle.
“I really want to tell you, because I trust you and I don’t want to fuck anyone I couldn’t tell you about.”
“So tell me.” I sat up. Helen’s nipples had gone flat and she looked as worried as I’ve ever seen her. She took a deep breath then…
“It’s my Daddy.” She breathed out again, visibly sagging as she fell silent.
“Your father?” I wasn’t sure I’d understood. Surely not?
“Yes… Daddy’s been my lover for two years.” She looked really scared. Was she frightened how I’d react?
“Ok. So you weren’t an abused child?” It was the first thing I thought of.
“No!” She was shrill. “Daddy would never… I just…” She started to cry.
“Shh.” I drew her close and stroked her hair. Whatever else, I knew how to react to her tears. I think I was more than a little shocked too… and I thought, after three years as Helen’s friend, I was unshockable. While she calmed down I had time to take stock of how I felt about her confession. It didn’t take much deliberation to decide that what I felt about that didn’t matter a damn: What I felt about her was what was important, and that was unchanged.”
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