Page 5 of Double Mountain Men

First,I look around the science center surreptitiously. Fortunately, I’m alone at a small circulation desk, and no one seems to be approaching. Perfect.

Then, I click on the link and enter my password for Sweet Lies before clicking the icon for messages. Mountain_Daddy’s shirtless photo is displayed, along with a short text.

I like your profile,and am more than happy to connect with a sugar baby to teach her about cosmetics. Would Friday night at 8 p.m. work?

My mind whirls.Am I really ready to do this? Where would I host the Zoom meeting anyways? Could I really do it in my dorm room? On the one hand, I have a bedroom within a suite, so there’s privacy. But on the other, the walls are thin and maybe one of my suitemates could overhear. OMG, I’d die! But then I remember that Kiara and Andie are headed to a sorority rush party Friday night, so they’ll have vacated by 8 p.m. Perfect. This is my chance. With trembling fingers, I type out a reply.

Sure,8 p.m. works! Send me the video chat link. I look forward to meeting you soon, Daddy.

Then I hit send,and a confirmation appears on my screen. Oh my god, is this really happening? My heart races, and I realize that a sweat has broken out on my brow. Even crazier, my nipples feel a bit hard and my pelvis is achy when I squeeze my thighs together. Am I actuallyarousedby the prospect of meeting a dirty daddy online?

Get it together, Misty, the voice in my head scolds.His profile photo was headless, so he could be a troll. This is probably a butterface situation. Hell, he could be using a fake photo for his torso too! You’re probably meeting a scrawny incel in Albuquerque looking for virtual dates because he can’t get a date in real life.

I bite my lip because my conscience is right. Still, my physical reaction is real, and I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing pulse. Then, a thought strikes and I pull out my cosmetics pouch from my book bag, and rummage through it. Blush? Check. Lipstick? Check. Eyeshadow? Check. But should I buy more things? Mountain_Daddy didn’t say how long the meetingwould last, but I know I can’t log off after five minutes to earn five hundred dollars.

Zipping my cosmetics case closed again, I resolve to stop at Walgreens on my way back from work. Maybe I can’t afford name-brand Estee Lauder cosmetics, but if we’re on-line, maybe he won’t be able to tell that I’m using drugstore brands through the screen. Which begs the question: should I do my hair too? Is that part of our meeting? What should I wear, anyways, for a Friday night make-up date?

Suddenly, despite my efforts to play down the experience, I’m excited again. My cheeks flush and I bite my lip while casting another surreptitious glance around the science center. My breasts feel heavy, and it’s hot here at the circulation counter as I pull up Mountain_Daddy’s profile photo again. His chest glistens, muscular and hard, and with one finger, I follow the trail of dark hair arrowing down from his navel to the waistband of his jeans. Somehow, I know this is a real photo of my client ... and I can’t wait to meet him on Friday.

4

Cross

“Are 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 andcamp-style lighting, although neither my friend nor I give a shit about the decor. What wedocare 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.Toomuch, 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 becausemy 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.

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