(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 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 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.
