Chapter 12

Nadia’s Note: this is an old story of mine that I have in its entirety and in easy-to-read, clean .epub format for 2.99 on my website.

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* * * * *

They were in a honeymoon suite in the most expensive hotel on the planet. Five body-perfect girls knelt before him, whispering pleas and begging to be his.

Each one had spectacularly huge tits, tiny waists, wide fertile hips, and gorgeous faces. All had long hair and sparkling young skin and fresh tight cunts that would stay tight and hot and permanently wet. Their gorgeous, hefty breasts spilled over with milk that lubricated their caresses and kisses. Each loved their Master completely. Each needed him more than anyone else.

They all loved each other, these girls; they were a sisterhood of service and devotion to their living God and his Holy Cock. Each one wore nothing but lingerie, diamonds, and heels. Each one had enough hot jewelry on them to fund small third-world countries for months.

Each of them could break the hearts of billionaires around the globe and fuck up the global economy just with a few winks and some carefully positioned smiles. The only thing more important to any of them than each other was His Cock.

But only one of them really Deserved His Cock. The one in the middle. Helena. In the bright white bridal lingerie.

And so the Master chose Helena, because he always chose Helena, and she spread her legs wide and urged him in.

“Oh Master, *thank* you,” she moaned. She could bring down nations in seconds with a plea like that, and she used all her wiles and all her beauty and all her ability just to make her Master Hard.

“You're so fucking *big*,” and he was. “You're so fucking *strong*,” and he *really* was.

He was so strong that when the rest of the girls climbed onto him, pushed against his body and Helena's and pressed them together like one living symbiotic groupfuck-hug, he barely noticed their weight. All he did was look into Helena's perfect face and groan and kiss her hard and make her fertile, tight body shiver with delight from the enormous width and length of his gigantic GodCock filling her up to get her pregnant.

Just to Helena's right, wearing bright red silk lingerie, was Delilah, who had worked tirelessly to make this all happen—whether she knew it or not.

You see, not so long ago, Delilah thought she would be his bride—the lucky, lucky, *luckiest* girl who received all his cum first.

But he hadn't married Delilah; he'd married someone even better. Someone even *hotter*. And Delilah was quickly forgetting that she had ever wanted it any other way.

* * * * *

Some weeks prior, Delilah marinated in the certainty that nothing would ever change the fact that Miles would marry Delilah. It was the *only* way she wanted things to be, and her Master in his generosity had given that certainty to her.

Another model, the seventh one that day, strutted down the stone runway in the middle of Miles’s newly refurbished office.

The model—her name was Alexandra, per her sheet—was tall and beautiful and thin. She wore black lingerie and a pair of gorgeous heels with gold buckles. Her dark hair was made up perfectly. The heels snapped sharply as she strutted, stroke a pose, and smiled right at Miles.

He smiled right back. There was a lot to smile about. Delilah had taken care of that; she wanted Miles to always have a reason to smile. He didn’t always have to, but she always wanted him to be able to smile. To have something pretty to look at to remind him of how great and powerful he was, all the fantastic delicious power he held.

At his feet, between his legs, was his ex-girlfriend Lily. Her heels clacked too, but against the inside of his desk as she softly sucked his Cock while he watched the models walk.

Delilah sat next to him wearing a stunning Gucci blazer. Very professional. Her lack of a top inside of the blazer was probably less professional, but no one was complaining—Delilah looked absolutely stunning in whatever she wore and most of the time very quickly hypnotized others into doing her bidding with about thirty seconds of eye contact and toying with her gorgeous long hair and heavy tits, which pressed heavily against the smooth silk fabric of the blazer.

She leaned over and touched the clipboard in Miles’s hands with one long perfectly manicured finger. Whispering in his ear. An observer, like the model Alexandra, might think that she was conferring privately with him about the performance they had just seen.

In fact, Delilah had leaned over to surreptitiously hold Lily’s head down on Miles’s Cock, slowly making her gag and ****.

“I love that sound,” she said to her fiance, in reference to the **** sounds that Lily made. “Do I have to let her off Your Cock this time?”

Lily began to lose consciousness. Her automatic nervous system kicked in, making her body thrash. Delilah’s grip was like iron; Miles had made her strong. He had to, otherwise the sheer bulk of his immensely muscular, powerful body would crush her during one of their marathon fuck sessions.

“Maybe I can just keep her there while You drink up this hot teen thing on the runway, Master,” Delilah suggested. Her tongue lashed softly, quickly, against his ear. Her voice was a dark whisper containing all the dark cosmic urgency of stars collapsing into black holes. She was his dark partner, his Accomplice, and she loved it that way. “Maybe she can just **** until we replace her.”

Miles shifted, groaning inaudibly, and came into Lily’s throat, but then he was always cumming. His refractory period didn’t exist anymore. He came whenever he wanted—and Delilah made sure he wanted to cum a lot.

“That’s enough,” he said, gently. Delilah relaxed her grip on Lily, who swallowed as much as cum as possible while still continuing to suck Miles down.

And then Miles said louder: “That’s enough. Thank you.”

The model Alexandra’s smile turned slowly into a look of confusion. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes. We’re not interested.”

“But…” she looked truly puzzled. “But I’m…but…I can…I *smell* it. The c-c-Cock. I would…”

She took a tentative step forward. Delilah stood up immediately, towering over her from several feet away and in heels both more expensive and taller.

“Stop. Right. There.”

If she came any closer, Delilah would fuck her up. And not just physically, either—psychologically. She’d make her wish she wasn’t born. She had already targeted every area of imperfection that Alexandra possessed—every hint of flab, every wrinkle, every split end in her hair.

It was all well and good to want Miles’s Cock. *Every* girl wanted that. But he had given this bitch an *order*. And if she didn't obey, Delilah was all too happy to use her own Cock-Gifted Beauty to *destroy* her mind.

“I..um...” Alexandra curtsied wildly, tears brimming in her eyes. “I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm sorry.”

Alexandra looked like she was going to become sick. Delilah felt warm inside, watching Alexandra's entire psyche march to the precipice of sanity. She wanted to watch it jump, wanted to watch Alexandra go insane from the need for what Delilah had daily, nightly. What she was guaranteed thanks to the heavy, gaudy, massively expensive ring on her finger.

“Next!” Delilah called.

It took the carpenters, masons, and handymen about three days to do all the work of completely refurbishing the office. Originally, they had estimated a couple of months, but then Delilah had smiled and flirted with them, and then Bonnie had given them “secret” blowjobs for every day ahead of schedule they finished, and so with lots of overtime and lots of extra contractors (money was never an issue for the Abram office), the work was completed in record time.

Their office now had a completely revamped look. The only office with walls was Miles’s—everything else was one long open-floor plan. He could see everyone—which meant he could see his girls. The ceilings had been extended upward, pipes and vents now visibly jutting through the high beams. New, sparkling marble flooring clicked happily when met with the hard-striking ends of expensive designer heels.

And outside the newly revamped office was a long line of beautiful young women—the most gorgeous in the tri-state area. This was who had answered the modeling casting call with extravagant promises of payment that Delilah had no intention of following through on.

The only payment they needed—that anyone needed—was the chance for Cock. It was impossible for her to consider that someone might not think that was good enough.

Alexandra shuffled off, demoralized and with tears beginning to stream. Seeing her like that made Delilah wet. The girls waiting outside saw Alexandra leave, sobbing, and every single one of them squared their jaws and straightened their shoulders. **** to hold their resolve; **** to make the best of this opportunity. From the moment they entered the office, it was no longer about money—it was about Cock.

They could smell it. They could taste it in the air. And they needed it.

The problem with Alexandra was that, while she was perfectly pretty, Master already had a pair of perfectly pretty slaves in Mona and Lily. They were both pretty with a little something extra, a je n'ais ce quoi that put them above and beyond.

Alexandra had been dime-store pretty, and certainly, Master would eventually own her cunt completely (and probably already did. Miles was only becoming more powerful, and Delilah was willing to bet that Alexandra was rushing right that second to the bathroom to fingerfuck her disappointed brains out and would have scintillating hot fuckdreams for the next week and a half that would ruin her for any other so-called “man” for the rest of her life)…but right now he deserved *Top Shelf*.

And Alexandra wasn’t Top Shelf, so she had to go.

The lie was that this whole audition was for a commercial. Using Lily’s connections at the newspaper, they had been able to perpetuate this lie via social media, promising a ridiculous salary for very little work. It had been reported as if Abram was crazy for offering this much for so little; like he was stupid. People were always willing to believe politicians were stupid. This made it easy to cover up the fact that this particular politician was in fact a sex-obsessed virile fuckstud probably imbued with the ancient powers of some kind of mystical breeding ****.

Sometimes Delilah was struck by how strange it all was—that she was so brilliantly healthy, in shape, with such amazing tits and such a perfect face just because she happened to have met Miles in a mid-sized city political campaign for office. Now it seemed like he would be mayor before long, and governor after that, gathering women all the while. Growing his harem, growing his power, growing his *Cock*.

*Ungh.*

**[TO BE CONTINUED…]**