The Lord of Bonetown

The man who has everything doesn't have what truly matters - The Lord of Bonetown is a new story that is a part of a larger universe I'll be writing from now on. This one might fit into the urban fantasy genre, but because of my disrespect to genre boundaries it might very well cross into other genres as well, whenever I feel like it. It's going to have lots of sex of different kinds, so buckle up! All characters are 18+.

xoxo,

Cy~

==========================

Chapter 1

"I fucking had

enough

!"

Natalie Howard entered the office, slammed the door behind her, pulled off the scrunchie holding her long chestnut hair in a ponytail, making it drop and scatter on her shoulders, then unbuttoned the top of her blouse and plopped wearily on the faux leather and vinyl couch. She dropped her head back on the headrest, then rolled it to the side, giving him a pleading look.

"Bry, I can't fucking do this anymore!"

Bryce Decker, who has been eyeing the dramatic entrance with a half-smile, raised from his chair and circled the massive desk, never letting his eyes leave hers.

"Go on, Nat. Let it all out."

He sat on the floor right in front of her, taking her heels off and taking her small and slender stocking-covered feet into his huge palms.

"Right... so, I've been on the phone with that British prick for two hours, and I'm fucking

done

. He won't budge on his casting choices, and he doesn't like our scenarios, and he can't approve shooting locations, and he's hesitant about the exclusivity thing and ooooohhhhh Bry..."

His thumbs dug into her soles and all the other fingers wrapped around her feet, slowly massaging them heel to toe.

"Don't let me distract you, go on."

"I- I can't... I mean... Who the fuck he thinks he is?"

"Well, for starters, he's a guy who's been doing lesbian porn for about fifteen years, give or take a couple," Bryce shrugged, not letting her feet go and slowly moving to her ankles. "One of the most well known names out there."

"He thinks he's a God's gift to the porn industry! The gall of that wanker!"

She huffed, deflating and visibly relaxing as his hands moved higher.

"Project timeline can't be moved anymore, and we need to start shooting in two weeks. I need a working solution but... ohhh fuck Bry, between that phonecall and your hands I've completely lost the ability to think..."

"So don't," he nearly purred. "I need my head of production nice, calm and in a good mood first."

With half-lidded eyes, Natalie watched his hands slowly make their way from her calves to her knees. She bit her lip and scooted lower, hiking up her pencil skirt to bunch somewhere atop of her wide hips and parting her legs, revealing black garter belt holding her stockings and a complete absence of panties to cover her already glistening pussy.

"I love how much you care about mental health, boss," she whispered, hurriedly unbuttoning the rest of her blouse and pulling her bra up, making her generous bust spill out of it.

Bryce smirked, his hand covered her shaven mound, and Natalie quickly licked her suddenly dry lips, feeling her lower lips being pulled apart by his strong but gentle fingers. Her gasp, followed by moan, marked the moment his other hand brushed its fingers along her wet slit, and a tiny whimper welcomed his middle and ring fingers entering her, not meeting any resistance. She grabbed her nipples, mercilessly pulling and tweaking them, as his fingers started that 'come hither' motion right on her G-spot, his thumb strumming her clit and his hand pressed down on her stomach right below the navel.

"Oohhh Bry... yesyesyesyes... fuuuuck it's sooo goooood... harder please... don't you cuddle me you beast... use that hole... really use it... it's all yours... OOOOHHH FUUUUCK YEEEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSS!"

Natalie started thrashing under his ministrations as Bryce picked up his pace and intensity, and in mere moments he felt her voracious cunt hungrily clamp around his fingers, gushing and squirting. Her back arched, her mouth open in an attempt to wail, but she never was much of a screamer - every orgasm made her vocal cords seize up, so she only gasped for air. He let her come down a bit, then slowly pulled out of her and stood up, licking his fingers clean and looking down at the tiny curvaceous brunette.

"One of these days you'll finally tell me about your diet," he smiled.

"I'm going to take that secret to the grave," she smiled back weakly, still panting. "Remember me as the sweetest cunt in the West. But... wait, Bry, what about you? Can I blow you at least?"

"You know I like it slow and sloppy, and we don't have the luxury of time right now."

Bryce pulled the roll of paper towels from the cabinet and handed it to her, then brought her a glass of water before returning back to his desk.

"Here's what we're going to do, Nat," he started, looking at her thoughtfully.

"All ears, boss," she responded, not lifting her eyes and focused on cleaning herself and the couch.

"Fuck Thomas and his Eastern-European talent. His girls are pretty, but that's about it. They don't speak proper English and they can't play to save their lives. I'm confident in

our

talent and

our

writers, we can pull it off, but we still need a director."

"Where do you want me to look?" She stood up, adjusting her skirt and throwing used towels into the trash bin.

I keep forgetting how beautiful she is, easily the top 5 in the entire company. But why I'm not getting hard for her anymore?

"Contact our California talent team, make 'em scout for young directors having a hard time landing a gig, women preferably. Standard contract terms apply. They make a couple projects with us - they have enough money to fund their own, break into Hollywood on their own terms. Hell, if they're good enough, we can even invest and co-produce."

She pulled her bra back, hiding her beautiful tits, and buttoned her blouse back, then tied back her ponytail.

Still a bit flushed, but all business - like nothing happened. Exactly as expected.

"All new director talent will be screened here, I assume?" She brushed her hands on her clothes, smoothing folds and wrinkles.

"Yeah, we'll cover plane tickets, airport transfer, hotel and meals. Spare no expense, Nat, I want a young talented director on this

yesterday

. If you find more than one, we can run a second production in parallel."

"Got it, boss. Okay, I'll let Thomas know we're parting ways. Tomorrow," Natalie slid her feet into her heels and headed for the exit, but stopped in the doorframe, looking at him over the shoulder. "See ya at the party?"

"I'll be there," he nodded and turned to his laptop.

-//-

Five minutes later the door opened again without so much as a knock, letting in Bobby Marcetti and Kenneth McReary - his left and right hands.

"Why does it always smell like pussy in here?" Bobby's head was nearly spinning, looking for the signs of recent fucking. "You gotta share your secrets with the boys, boss, you know? How d'you make 'em put out that fast?"

Bobby was a stereotypical Italian-American, the one you'd see in The Sopranos or Scorsese movies, often breaking newcomers' balls with gangster movie quotes for fun. He was short, slightly overweight but incredibly agile despite that, and had this amazing talent of convincing anybody of anything. How exactly this typical New York guy landed in Colorado was a mystery, but Bryce hired him on the spot after the smooth-talking sumbitch sold him a car in under three minutes. Since then Bobby managed the events part of business, showing an immense capability of running the most complicated shows without a hitch.

"Cry me a river, fat arse," Kenneth grumbled. "I've seen ye wit three different burds this week, they juist throw themselves at ye."

Ken, by his looks, was Bobby's polar opposite. Standing at 6'5", this hulking mountain of a man's presence alone was enough to quell any disturbance in the vicinity. Blackwater scouts nearly had him when Bryce caught wind of a British specops veteran looking for a job. Since then Ken has been running the company's security tighter than any military, state or private. Although his face bore scars from his SAS days, a lot of women still found him attractive, which often was a topic of friendly jabs from Bobby.

"Bitches love when I speak Italian to them, what can I do?" Bobby shrugged. "And you know what? You nearly ruined the general rehearsal yesterday. Those girls you had a foursome with? They are my dancing troupe, man!"

Unbelievable, but Ken's stone face turned smug for a second.

"Boys," Bryce intervened - this back and forth could go on for hours. "Report."

"It's all good, Bry, everything's running like Swiss clockwork, you don't have to worry about the event part. Caterers, waiters, dancers, DJs - everybody knows their jobs, it's a good team with lots of experience," Bobby landed on the couch, sniffing.

"You don't have to convince me, Robert, I'm more worried about the guests," Bryce smirked.

"Don't you worry none, I'm on the front lines for this. Even got a costume this time," Bobby grinned.

"Me too," Bryce laughed and looked at The Scotsman, standing still near the door. "What about you, Ken?"

"Wha di ye want

me

t' be, Zeus? Dinnae think so," the mountain frowned. "But part of tha security detail will be costumed to blend wit tha crowd, tha's fer sure. Nae worries, boss, everything's under control."

"Don't fuck it up, boys. Counting on you," Bryce stood up and headed for the door. "A'ight, I'm going home to change into the costume and pick a different

chariot

, meet you both at the location. I'll be meeting some VIPs out front myself, so expect me before the opening."

Boys nodded solemnly and followed him, separating on the way - Bobby headed into his office, Ken - to the security headquarters where he spent most of his days, watching countless cameras of all company venues.

-//-

Bryce left the building to the beautiful choir of "Hi, Bry!" sang by blonde triplets, tall, curvy, and positive to the point everybody compared them to golden retrievers. They were the latest talent Natalie hired specifically for the new movie project she was so desperate to kick off. He waved to them, got into his Ranger Raptor and, burning some rubber to the delight of the trio, left the parking lot.

The drive home in the low afternoon sun, however hot, didn't require the AC, so he drove with windows down, left arm out carelessly, occasionally waving to familiar faces. Short business day on Friday sent most of the downtown crowd home already, a lot of them attending the party tonight.

Bryce passed Coffee & Cigarettes, one of the company's numerous venues, a small coffee joint his parents had their first date in decades ago, back when people smoked inside. He'd bought the venue as a memory, keeping the interior intact, only replacing the kitchen equipment. Sheriff's car was parked right outside, with Frank Marshall, the sheriff himself, leaning on the hood drinking his coffee. Noticing Bryce, he waved and reached for his radio.

"

Hey Decker, should I expect disturbance tonight?

" Radio installed in Bryce's car shared police frequency and was hooked to the hands-free comms system. Bryce pushed the PTT button.

"Unlikely, but you might see drunk people dressed as ancient greeks. They should behave though."

"

Gotcha. See ya 'round.

"

Bryce honked and sped up. Not ten minutes later, right after he passed the 'Welcome to Boonton' sign, the road slightly inclined upwards, and a couple miles after he took a left turn to the narrow asphalted lane. 'Dead end', 'Private property', 'Decker Estate' the signs said. Two hundred yards later automatic gates greeted him, opening after sensing his arrival, and closed right after him.

His grandfather bought a sizable piece of land right after moving to Colorado. He bought it cheap because local farmers didn't want a land that was all hills and part of the mountain, even though it had a river, a chunk of the forest and a small lake on it. But Deckers weren't farmers - they were mechanics. Logan Decker built a solid business selling and servicing nearly every piece of farming machinery in the county, his son Willam, Bryce's father, successfully expanded the business to encompass half of Colorado and even going as far as Nebraska. Old garages and car shops were still standing on their land, mostly used to house Bryce's collection of various vehicles now.

Boonton since then had lost its farming status, slowly turning into a town for people who came from money and power, and country clubs, golf courses, spas, gyms, theaters and other kinds of venues were popping all over, replacing farms. Bryce sold the business and reinvested everything he had into

private

entertainment. Fifteen years later, Decker Enterprises was the most successful business hundreds of miles around, and the size of the estate doubled - Bryce had bought the other half of the mountain up to the river on the other side, with a beautiful forest covering it all.

He crossed the courtyard and rolled the Raptor into the garage, jumped out and pushed the button to close the door - a fancier set of wheels was in order for tonight, and he already knew which one. But shower and costume first. Maybe a light dinner too.

The Decker Mansion was huge - concrete, steel and glass, a masterpiece of modern architecture. Cost a fortune too. It was the third of the family houses on this land, first two built by Logan and William. The construction has been finished for years now, but the house felt barely lived in. It was meant for a big family.

Family Bryce didn't have.

Chewing on a sandwich and sipping his coffee, listening to the chaotic, deafening choir of cicadas, he watched the sun dip behind the mountain. Automatic lights went on, lighting up the pool and the tennis court, as the shadow enveloped the entire estate and the town below. The town responded with a scatter of lights, and soon the land became a contrasted reflection of the skies - dimmer stars above, brighter stars below.

Time to move.

He dove into the closet full of his party stuff, pulling out a hanger with the costume, carefully packed into a plastic bag. Five minutes later he was meticulously studying his impression of King Leonidas in the full-height mirror. The Spartan armor left most of his muscular arms open, as well as his chiseled abs and ripped thighs. Nodding to the reflection, he pulled the crimson cape and King's helm with a bright red plume out of the closet, grabbed his phone and stomped his Spartan sandal boots down the stairs.

The King is in need of a noble steed.

-//-

Bryce's custom red Charger roared down the Main in the direction of Azure Dawn, the club with the biggest pool in the county, leased by the company for big events like tonight's Annual Greek Pool Party. Occasional passers-by took snaps of the noisy red bullet, flashing their cameras at him, making the party crowd aware of his imminent arrival - thanks, Internet.

He parked his

noble steed

in the VIP zone, fastened the cape with a bronze shoulder clasp, and moved to the entrance, holding the helm under his left arm, shaking hands with VIP guests as he went. In the crowd of familiar faces, most of which he invited personally, he noticed one strange - a face with striking Mediterranean features, belonging to a middle-aged man dressed in an expensive-looking white silk toga with a golden trim, whose graying hair was decorated with a laurel wreath. Bryce smiled - he liked when people took his costume parties seriously. He put on the helmet and approached the security detail standing near the entrance, Ken towering above his team like a middle school football coach above a bunch of kids.

"All hail the King!" The Scotsman shouted, and the guardsmen got on with the joke, saluting their approaching boss.

"At ease, gentlemen." Bryce grinned and raised his right hand in a royal-ish greeting, moving on into the venue past the 'No cameras' sign and the metal detector frame.

More faces, more handshakes. The music was getting louder. Bobby, dressed as Bacchus, with a huge wine cup in his hand, was lazily wandering around with a bored face, masquerading as a guest for a while - his attentive black eyes were solely focused on his crew's performance. He gave Bryce a nod and a wink, then strolled backstage - the show was about to start. Bryce occupied one of the VIP tables near the dance floor, taking off the helm, and was instantly approached by a waitress.

"Hey boss," a familiar shy voice said. He lifted his eyes - draped in a toga accentuating her bountiful round ass and near absence of any tits, bent at the waist, stood Katie, his C&C barista.

"Hey girl! Surprised to see you working tonight."

"Supermoon is more my jam, so I'm covering for Larissa in exchange," she shrugged. "What are you drinking?"

"White Russian, easy on vodka."

"I got you, boss," she disappeared.

The energetic beat stopped abruptly, then a soft melody creeped in. The lights on stage went off, except ones illuminating a lone silhouette from behind. Everybody turned to the stage, and the venue went silent.

"Dear esteemed guests!" The voice belonged to Bobby.

Of course, who else could deliver this opening.

"Praise our gods for the food, and the wine, and the pleasures of flesh! I declare the fourth Annual Greek Pool Party open! Rejoice!"

The crowd erupted in applause and 'woos' and whistles, covering the music for a moment, then the beat took over, interweaving the deep house with ethnic melodies, as Bobby's special troupe appeared on stage to deliver their warm-up dance. Katie brought his drink and sauntered off, 'accidentally' brushing her backside on his shoulder.

The party is a go.

He watched her hips sway away and grabbed the glass to take a sip and nearly spilled the drink as Natalie plopped into his lap.

"Hello, boss," she playfully wiggled her ass, grinding on him. "Did Spartans wear underwear, I wonder?"

"No, they did not, and... Gods, woman, the party has barely started!" He gave her ass a light slap, but didn't remove his hand after it landed, grabbing a handful of her buttcheek and squeezing. "Go dance. Come find me

after

it gets wild."

She pecked his cheek and stood up, briefly flashing her bare ass from under her Aphrodite priestess costume, stuck her tongue and winked to him, before joining some of her friends on the dance floor.

What do you call a business shark who shapeshifts into a nympho once she leaves the office?

He sat at the table for another ten minutes, slowly sipping his White Russian and feeling the party pick up steam, then donned his helmet again and stood up to check out the rest of the venue. He slowly moved around the huge bean-shaped pool, shaking hands with people he missed before and dancing with various groups of girls, most of them trying to surreptitiously rub their bits on his groin, until he reached the far end.

The unfamiliar guy in expensive toga Bryce had seen before at the entrance was dancing with a group of probably the hottest women at the party, his dance rather lively for a man of his age. The man saw Bryce approach and detached himself from the group, stepping in his direction.

"My lord Bryce Decker! Or should I say - King?" He laughed and extended his hand in greeting, and Bryce noticed a black onyx bracelet on his wrist, the same kind Bryce wore, marking him as Top VIP.

Damn, I thought we didn't sell any of those packages this time around.

"Call me Rowan!"

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Rowan," Bryce responded with a Spartan handshake.