Chapter 19: The Departure Games
The driveway’s asphalt still held the day’s faint warmth as the Uber’s door swung open. Simon’s girl, a curvy brunette named Chloe in impossibly high boots, barely waited for the car to leave before sinking to her knees on the rough pavement. “Missed you, baby,” she purred, her fingers already working his zipper down. David’s redheaded date, Jessica, watched with wide, uncertain eyes as Chloe took Simon’s thick cock into her mouth with a wet, practiced groan. “Fuck, yeah, just like that,” Simon sighed, his hand tangling in her hair, his gaze already drifting past her toward the house’s lit windows.
Against his vintage Mustang, Carter stood impassively as his blonde, Lacey, pressed her full breasts against his chest, her tongue tracing the line of his jaw. “You’re so quiet,” she whispered, her hand sliding down to cup him through his jeans. He grabbed her wrist, stopping her, his dark eyes locked on Jessica’s shocked face. David smirked, pulling Jessica close. “Don’t be shy,” he murmured, guiding her hand to the front of his pants where he was already hard. She gasped, feeling his length, but her eyes kept darting to Chloe, whose head bobbed furiously, messy and loud.
Simon fucked her mouth in earnest now, shallow thrusts that made her gag rhythmically. “Take it all, you greedy bitch,” he grunted, his hips jerking. Spit dripped onto Chloe’s leather top. Carter finally moved, turning Lacey around to face the car, his body shielding hers from view as he hiked up her skirt. The sound of his zipper was sharp in the cool air. He entered her in one rough push, and she cried out, her palms splayed against the cold hood.
David unzipped his own jeans, freeing himself, and pushed Jessica’s head down. “Your turn,” he said, no longer asking. She knelt, her movements stiff, and took him in her mouth with a soft, overwhelmed whimper. The driveway became a symphony of wet sounds and low groans, the neon banners flickering above like approving voyeurs. Carter drove into Lacey with a punishing, silent intensity, his fingers digging into her hips, the car rocking slightly on its shocks.
Simon’s climax came with a choked curse, his release pumping into Chloe’s throat as she swallowed audibly. He pulled out, wiping himself on her hair. David followed soon after, spilling into Jessica’s mouth with a satisfied sigh. Carter finished last, a final deep thrust that drew a sharp gasp from Lacey before he stilled, his forehead against her back. For a moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing and the distant hum of campus. Then a light flicked on in an upstairs window—Briana’s window.t
Then a light flicked on in an upstairs window—Briana’s window. The front door opened with a heavy sigh, spilling golden light onto the driveway where Tristan and Grant emerged, their silhouettes sharp against the interior glow. Two twin blondes, impossibly tall and nearly identical in short silver dresses, detached themselves from the shadows near a limousine.
Their blank, smiling faces offered nothing but vacant readiness. “You’re late,” the one on the left pouted, her voice a hollow melody as she draped herself over Grant’s arm. “Traffic from the club was a nightmare,” the other murmured to Tristan, her fingers already seeking his belt, her eyes empty of any thought beyond immediate use. Grant slapped her ass with a sharp crack that echoed. “Save the talk,” he said, his voice flat, pulling the first twin close by her hair to kiss her with a brutal, biting force.
Tristan guided his blonde against the cold hood of the limousine, hiking her dress up to her waist with clinical efficiency. “No brains, just body,” Grant grunted into his twin’s mouth, his hand plunging into her dress to wrench a breast free. Tristan entered his blonde without preamble, a single hard thrust that made her gasp, her nails scraping against the limo’s polished paint. “Fuck me,” she moaned, a rehearsed sound, as he set a ruthless, steady rhythm.
Grant bent his twin over the trunk, yanking her thong aside and driving into her from behind. “You’re just a warm, wet hole,” he breathed against her neck, pistoning his hips. The twins gasped in unison, their bodies used in rhythm, a perfunctory transaction under the flickering neon. Simon watched, zipping himself up, his expression unreadable as Chloe wiped her mouth.
David chuckled low, steering Jessica away toward the house. Carter remained in the shadows, observing, as Tristan’s thrusts grew harder, his silence more unnerving than Grant’s vulgar commentary. “Come on, you stupid cunt,” Grant snarled, his fingers digging into blonde hips, the slapping sounds of flesh mixing with the twins’ high, fake cries. Their climaxes were quick, announced by sharp yelps, Grant spilling into his twin with a guttural shout.
Tristan finished inside his with a final, deep grind, his gaze lifting to the illuminated window above. The light clicked off, leaving the driveway in sudden, intimate darkness.
The light clicked off, leaving the driveway in sudden, intimate darkness. “Islands beat Connecticut any day,” Grant said, his voice rough as he zipped his pants, the twin already dismissed as he pulled out his phone. Engines roared to life, one after another, as luxury cars peeled away from the curb, their headlights cutting swaths through the night toward the airport.
Simon whooped, shoving Chloe into his McLaren’s passenger seat, while David and Carter ushered their quieter dates into their own vehicles with focused efficiency. “First class to paradise, ladies,” Simon yelled over the engine’s growl, his hand already high-fiving Grant through an open window. Tristan slid into the lead SUV, his movements precise, the blonde beside him already forgotten as he typed a quick message.
At the terminal, the groups split with practiced ease. Grant and Tristan watched their father, a stern man in a tailored coat, nod curt approval at their chosen companions before leading his own party of severe-looking partners and their polished dates toward the first-class gate. “Told you he’d like them,” Grant muttered, a smirk playing on his lips as he clapped Carter on the back, steering their boisterous, laughing cohort toward a different boarding area.
Briana and Lily stood apart on the tarmac, the wind whipping their hair as Olivia gestured them toward a sleek, private jet whose engines hummed a quieter, more powerful song. “This way, girls,” Olivia said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she ushered them up the stairs into a cabin of cream leather and polished wood. The door sealed shut with a soft, final hiss, isolating them from the raucous energy of the main terminal.
Below, through the small, oval window, Briana watched the first-class boarding bridge retract from the larger plane, knowing the brothers and their chosen girls were now inside. The jet began to move, smoothly taxying toward the runway, carrying them away from the university and toward an uncharted sea.
The jet began to move, smoothly taxying toward the runway, carrying them away from the university and toward an uncharted sea. Inside the hushed cabin, Olivia waited until the wheels left the tarmac before she spoke, her voice cutting through the soft engine drone. “Look at me, both of you,” she said, her gaze sharpening as she placed her champagne flute neatly into a holder.
She was a very smart and beautiful woman, her intelligence as precise as her diamond earrings. She cherished her daughter and loved her sons, but her expression now was one of pure, cold strategy. “The men at this estate,” she began, leaning forward slightly, “are not like the boys in the driveway with their... distractions.”
Olivia talked to Briana and Lily about the type of men that would be there, her words clinical. “They are predators who trade in influence and leverage, not frat-house dares.” She looked directly at Briana, her eyes softening for a fraction of a second. “You must understand, your beauty is a fact. It will be noted, catalogued, and instantly discounted.”
She told Briana to just show off her intelligence; her beauty will always outshine. “Let them see your mind work,” Olivia instructed, tapping her own temple. “That is the only thing they cannot immediately commodify.” Then she turned her stern look to Lily, a silent understanding passing between them.
She told her to stick with Lilly, emphasizing the point. “She has been in a room with powerful people all her life,” Olivia stated, her voice final. “Watch her. Do as she does.” The jet climbed through a bank of clouds, the cabin lights flickering briefly, casting long shadows across their faces. Briana absorbed this, feeling the raw, performative energy of the driveway being sealed away beneath them, replaced by a colder, more dangerous game. She nodded once, a slow, deliberate motion, and reached for Lily’s hand under the blanket. Their fingers intertwined, a secret pact forged at thirty thousand feet.
Their fingers intertwined, a secret pact forged at thirty thousand feet. Olivia observed their linked hands over the rim of her glass, a faint, approving smile touching her lips before she turned to gaze out the window at the dark ocean below. “Your luggage is already at the house,” she stated, her voice cutting through the drone. “And I took the liberty of a small purchase for you, Briana.”
She let the words hang, watching Briana’s face. “Once I had your size from Lily, I had a few things sent ahead.” Briana’s polite curiosity shifted to stunned disbelief as Olivia continued. “Gowns, swimwear, casual wear—all from designers you’ll see on the other girls there.”
Olivia was a black woman, a Senator’s wife, and her husband was a white man with a dangerous swagger; she understood the unspoken rules of this battlefield. “I wanted you on a level playing field with the bleach blondes and their trust funds,” Olivia said, her tone leaving no room for gratitude, only strategy. “You cannot fight a war in someone else’s armor.”
Down in the first-class cabin of the larger jet, Grant’s hand was already shoved down the front of his twin’s tiny dress, his fingers pinching her nipple hard as she writhed in his lap. “You like that, you dumb slut?” he breathed into her ear, his other hand guiding her hips to grind against the hard line of his cock straining his slacks. She nodded, gasping, “Yes, please,” her voice a hollow whisper against his neck.
He pushed her off onto the cabin floor, unbuckling his belt with a sharp tug. “On your knees and open that pretty, empty mouth,” he commanded, not caring about the attendants or the other brothers watching. She complied, her practiced lips parting as he fed his thick length into her throat, gripping the back of her head to control the pace. He fucked her face with slow, deep thrusts, his gaze locked on the dark window reflecting his own detached expression.
“Swallow every drop,” he grunted, his orgasm hitting him with a brutal force as he emptied himself down her throat. He withdrew, tucking himself away, and left her coughing on the carpet as he returned to his seat, the transaction complete. Meanwhile, in the private jet’s polished bathroom, Briana examined her own reflection, the senator’s wife’s words already reshaping the girl from the driveway into something new.