Chapter 4
Cross
“ A re you ready, my man?” I ask my friend Barrett as I switch on the laptop in my cabin. My buddy shrugs as he takes a seat behind me, just out of view.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. This is Zoom. Who the fuck cares?”
Who the fuck cares, indeed? Then again, Barrett and I care a lot because we’re asshole motherfuckers who are doing something wrong, rancid, and dirty, and which should get us arrested as deviants.
After all, we’re holed up at my cabin in the woods, fucking young girls left and right, and having the time of our lives while we’re at it.
Yes, you heard right. I own a cabin in the woods, among a number of other properties, and it’s a decent-sized outfit.
There are two bedrooms, two baths, with a full kitchen, common area, and of course, access to the mountains.
The cabin’s literally made of logs and has a rustic feel with its heavy furniture and camp-style lighting, although neither my friend nor I give a shit about the decor.
What we do care about is the fact that the location is remote, discreet, and private.
It’s almost impossible to get here, save for a narrow mountain pass, and drivers are likely to go right by us on a small road that leads over the summit and down the backside.
Thus, the cabin is the perfect location for our fucked-up shenanigans.
After all, we’re powerful men in real life.
Barrett heads a VC firm that’s been minting money for years, and I’m the CEO of Cross Holdings, a credit card company that’s been in my family for generations.
AmEx and MasterCard are our closest competitors, and I spend a lot of my time waging war against those assholes.
Nonetheless, we’re rich motherfuckers, and although we try to stay under the radar, it’s almost impossible when you’re this wealthy.
Yet Barrett and I are single guys, too, and we enjoy women.
Too much, in fact, and our habits would be the talk of the town if they got out.
As a result, we take precautions and put up safeguards.
We’re members of elite gentlemen’s clubs, where all individuals, male and female, are screened thoroughly.
We attend parties at private residences, often hosted by closely-known associates.
We use escorts on occasion, and we source them only from the most trustworthy outfits.
There’s no use in jeopardizing what we have because there’s so much to lose.
But shit gets old. There are only so many parties you can attend before the faces start blurring together.
There are only so many nipples you can suck, and twats that you can fuck, before the girls start becoming interchangeable.
I don’t know. Maybe Barrett and I are too fucked up for the scene in Minneapolis.
Maybe Minneapolis itself is too tame, but moving isn’t an option at the moment, so we need to find another outlet for our deviant desires.
As a result, we’re at my cabin. Again, it’s remote so we’re shielded from prying eyes, and I had the place stocked with supplies before we arrived.
No one in the little town down the mountain knows us, and we don’t visit the downtown very often either.
Why bother? We’re here to fuck girls, and nobody needs to know that the two mountain men living up the slope are actually two debauched billionaires transporting sweet young things to the cabin to get their brains fucked out.
Thus, our “date” tonight. We source our girls from a bunch of different sites, but Sweet Lies has worked out well so far.
We’ve met a couple girls in person now, and they’ve been curvy, beautiful, and slutty.
We Uber them up the mountain, and then indulge in multi-day fuckfests with said nymphs.
The girls walk away sated, dripping with spunk, and very wealthy women.
Then, we contact the next female on the list, and she’s Ubered here to continue the fuckfest.
It’s wrong, rancid, and disturbing. We’d be written up in every gossip magazine if the public found out, but that’s the thing: Barrett and I are careful.
We’re not even using our real names. Instead, I’m Chris, and Barrett is Brett.
We never share identifying details about our personal lives, and to be honest, none of the women care.
This is a business transaction for them, and as long as they’re getting paid, they’re willing to ask no questions as they’re fucked within an inch of their lives.
But online dating is still a crapshoot, and who the fuck knows what’s out there?
So my buddy and I always do Zoom calls before meeting in person because ladies these days are sly.
They’re so good with filters and Photoshop that profile photos can be misleading.
They’ll often have a straight nose, clear skin, and a slim figure, when actually, the women are so-so at best with oily skin, acne, and fifty extra pounds.
Don’t get me wrong because my buddy and I appreciate girls with heft on their curves.
We prefer a woman with big breasts, wide hips, and thick, meaty thighs, but the ladies who Photoshop often assume the opposite and whittle themselves down to string-bean proportions.
No harm, no foul, but skinny chicks just aren’t our thing.
But I’m looking forward to tonight’s Zoom chat because Misty_18’s photo was breathtaking. As soon as I showed it to Barrett, my buddy nodded.
“Ping her,” he grunted. “Let’s set it up.”
After all, Misty_18 is gorgeous. She’s allegedly eighteen, with the innocent look of an untouched nymph.
Her blonde hair was long and flowing in the photo, paired with big blue eyes, a pert nose, and a sweet smile.
Plus, her body was bangin’. Don’t get me wrong because Misty_18 wasn’t wearing a skimpy bikini, the way most ladies online are.
Instead, she was dressed in a blue sundress with short sleeves, a nipped in waist, and a modest hem.
Still, it’s obvious that Misty’s curvaceous and sweet.
Her big breasts pushed against the flowery fabric, and her thick thighs were lush and large beneath the material.
The overall look is one of an untouched, innocent girl with the body of a vixen. The best combination, if you ask me.
But yes, we’re about to see if Misty_18 is who she really is, and as I seat myself in front of the laptop, I angle the camera to make sure Barrett’s not in the frame. There’s no sense in letting on that there’s two of us – at least, not at this moment.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he grunts, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. “Let’s check this chick out.”
I nod, and click onto Sweet Lies, before entering a private chatroom on the site.
The screen’s still dark, so I do what’s expected of all clients.
I pay the five hundred dollar fee, and the screen immediately lights up with a view of a small room with a yellow bedspread and a white wall decorated with a photo of a framed flower.
All very sweet and innocent. But no one’s visible, so I call out.
“Hey Misty 18,” is my low growl. “Chris here. Or rather Mountain Man, if you want to call me that.”
There’s movement on the other side, and suddenly, a beautiful young woman materializes on screen.
Yes, her photos are definitely accurate, and I hear Barrett inhale sharply from behind me.
She’s gorgeous with long blonde hair tied in a ponytail, make-up free features, and a welcoming smile.
At the moment, those luscious curves are hidden behind a pink satin robe, but her décolletage hints of big breasts and a generous figure.
“Hi,” the girl says in a melodious voice. “I’m Misty. And you said you’re Chris, right? I’m happy to call you Mountain Man if you want. Or “Daddy,” if that fits,” she adds with a mischievous giggle.
I hold both hands out in surrender even as my cock twitches.
“Sweetheart, you can call me anything you like. Mountain Man, Daddy, or Chris all work for me.”
Misty giggles again, peering at me from the screen.
“Are you actually a mountain man though? Are you in a cabin right now? I feel like I’m seeing a wall made of logs behind your bookshelf.”
I turn quickly to glance behind me and smile.
“Yeah, I actually do live in a cabin up in the woods,” I say in an amused voice. “I bought this place ages ago, and it’s worked out. The cabin is perfect for rest, relaxation, and communing with nature. All the good stuff.”
“Of course,” Misty replies with a sweet smile. “And I also see The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy behind you on the shelf. You must be quite the reader!”
I turn again and silently curse myself. Why didn’t I check the bookshelf behind me before turning on my camera?
After all, there are shitloads of books on there that I’ve never read before, including the aforementioned Hitchhiker’s Guide , some trashy romance novels, as well as the latest airport murder mysteries.
To be honest, I have no idea where this shit came from, and shrug into the screen.
“Sometimes I let friends use the cabin, so I can’t say that I’ve read any of these books,” I reply with a lopsided smile. “They belong to the people who’ve stayed here over the years.”
“That’s so generous to offer your cabin to others!
” Misty murmurs with a smile. “I’m sure they appreciate it.
” To my surprise, my heart warms at her praise, and my chest even puffs out a bit with pride.
Holy fucking shit, is this for real? Am I actually moved by the words of an eighteen-year-old nymph whom I’m hiring for sex work?
But it’s true and I grin like a fool into the screen.