Billionaire Protector

By: Sam Crescent

Chapter One



Russell—Russ—Wyatt stared around the bar waiting for his friends to arrive. It was a classy upscale bar that was owned by their private MC. Their MC was a lot different from many out there as their motorcycle club members all had to have two things in common. They had to be billionaires, and they didn’t have any family. Self-made billionaires. They had their own clubhouse, their own club whores, and they all owned billion dollar businesses. They all had a need to live on the open road, and the adventure of being part of a club, which meant fighting much bigger things.

It was unusual for businessmen to take to the road, riding on badass bikes, and fucking most of the women who came to the club. By day they were in business suits; by night, their leather cuts decorated their backs, and no one fucked with them. Russ had wanted two things out of life, to be part of an MC, and to make so much fucking money no one could touch him. He’d made his billions, and he’d helped to bond the ten men who were part of the club. They didn’t have Prospects, and they didn’t open their club to just anyone. No one should mistake them for pussies. They may be businessmen, but they were all lethal.

In the early days of their club forming, several rival gangs had thought they were pussies, and so started a war, attacking them. Russ still found it funny that the rival gangs no longer messed with them. They may be billionaires, and they may be businessmen, but they knew how to handle themselves, and no one should fuck with them. They all had a past, a history, and it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. You messed with one, and you took on all of the pack. They banded together, and they were invincible. Their club, B. B. MC, had it all, The Billionaire Bikers Motorcycle Club.

He and Lewis Cox had come up with the idea of their own MC, and they had expanded from there. The club had ten billionaires in total. They didn’t have charters, and they weren’t all over the place, across lots of countries. They were a strictly limited group of men. He knew of other clubs that allowed prospects, and to vote men in and out. B. B. MC was strict, ten men, no exceptions. Once they were all dead, the club would either be handed to the next generation if they had kids, or it would cease to exist. Glancing around the club, he saw several of the club whores waiting for the rest of the guys. This was an exclusive club, so all of the club whores were in fact gold-diggers who loved the bad boy inside of them. They loved the leather, the rush, and of course the bank balance they got at the end of it.

Russ and his other nine brothers paid a large wage for the group of women so they could fuck them any time, anywhere. There were more women than brothers because some of the guys liked to fuck more than one woman at once. Lewis was known for fucking four women at the same time and really going for an orgy. His friend was running from some dark shit.

“Hey, baby,” Tina said, coming to lean against the bar. “How’s your day?”

Tina was a good time girl, and a whore to the core. She loved the club lifestyle, and she loved the money they paid her. Ever since she’d requested membership to the B. B. MC, he’d seen her in different clothes every single day. Providing she took dick, he didn’t care what she wore, or how she spent the money they gave her.

The club also had a process for accepting women. All of the men had to agree to the woman joining, and at least three men had to have fucked her brains out, taking her for a test drive. They always put the women through their paces, finding out how far the women would go.

A couple of women couldn’t handle being shared, giving head, anal, or even enjoy being fucked. Those women never made it. Also, the men preferred for their women to swallow their cum as well. There was nothing worse than needing release and being about to come, and the woman refused to take what was on offer. If it was a bad day at the office, he’d phone one of the club whores to come and handle his needs there and then. He didn’t care about what his employees thought of him. When he needed his dick sucked, he called on one of the girls. He liked them slutty, always willing and ready to take cock.

He stared down at the small skirt, which was not any bigger than a belt. Her shirt came together between her breasts with a little delicate hook. Leaning forward, he flicked the catch on the hook, and her shirt fell open, spilling her breasts out.

“I’m feeling so much better now,” he said, staring down at her large breasts. Her tits were fake, bought by the club, but he didn’t care.

“Do you like what you see?” She ran her hand down his chest, and he took hold of her hand, and placed it over his dick.

“What do you think?”

“Oh, baby, why didn’t you give me a call? I’d have taken care of that for you.”

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