Billionaire and the Sisters Ch. 63

A note to readers: This is a long story that unfolds chapter by chapter through the eyes of two protagonists – Mark and Elsa, and as in many of my other stories involves a growing spate of horny characters.Every ten chapters or so I will provide a short summary at the start of that episode to bring new readers up to date (see start of Ch. 60). This story could appear in a number of genres (Loving Wives, Incest, Lesbian, Fetish, and more) depending on the chapter, but the overall theme is Group, so I have applied this moniker to all chapters. The story is still being written, yet I intend to post a new chapter every couple of days. Enjoy.

Mark

July first finally arrived; it was as though that date had been hanging over the entire family for nine months – the gestation period for our new home. The girls had arranged a huge party at The Meadows. Every construction worker from any trade who had worked on the house, their spouses or partners, kids, and everyone we knew was invited. The party officially started at noon, but my arrival at The Meadows had been announced as one p.m. There was no ending time given.

Elsa, Cindy, Sheila, Melanie, Izzy, and KC all stayed overnight at the house to break it in, and be there to meet caterers and other people helping out first thing that Saturday morning. We had lifeguards for the river swim hole and pool to keep an eye on the kids. Chloe and Zoé were both guests as well as some of our sexy waitresses – a role they enjoyed; they brought eight of their equally sexy friends with them, also scantily clad, yet just barely acceptable enough for family viewing. Only a few of the teenage boys really freaked out.

I arrived in a long caravan of cars that included my limo and two war wagons, along with a motorcycle escort complete with sirens and blinking lights. I thought I'd make a bit of a splash on my entrance. The kids loved the lights and sirens. Of course, as a good will gesture the local chief of police and county sheriff were present at our housewarming.

Greg, Sean, Elsa, Doug, and Alice had the honors of escorting me around the land and then in and through the house. I was effusive with my praise and joy at what I saw, and it was genuine. I loved it. I loved the layout, although that had long since ceased to be a surprise. The decorating was superb. So much had been done in the three weeks since I'd been there last.

Alice was nearly in tears, anxious beyond description, and ripping apart a small handkerchief about whether I'd like the actual look and feel of the decorating. She'd obviously put her heart and soul into the decorating for us. She again was dressed to the nines, and looked beautiful. Every time I saw her she made my heart beat faster just as all my wives did. Deep inside, I realized that I wanted her as another wife.

I hugged the anxious woman to my side as we walked and tried to get her to relax. I kept telling her I loved it, I loved it, I loved it. Only when we were through and I could hold and kiss her did she seem to relax a little. She seemed so vulnerable in that instant. The last time I'd held her like that we were nude and I'd just made love to her. Alice was one of the people who loved me. The feeling had become more than mutual. In that instant I knew it was the right thing to say and do; I told Alice that I loved her. She cried as I kissed her and kept nodding to indicate she felt the same way.

Several members of the media were racing around taking pictures of everything from every angle. Here was a unique chance to see inside a billionaire's home. I have to say modest, it wasn't. On the other hand, it wasn't overly ostentatious either, well maybe it was given that it cost around fifty million to build, and consisted of forty-two rooms if you were generous in what you counted in the main house. Every room fit into the house and had a reason for being there. With so many of us living in the house, we just happened to have a lot of reasons for needing one room or another.

The 'Wow' Factor that Alice created extended to every room. Even the small rooms were dramatic in some way, through paint scheme, art, sculpture, or view. On a side note, we had tucked away the nearly pornographic photographs we owned from Brite Reber given the presence of children and young teens in the crowd. In their place, KC had borrowed some art from her gallery for the occasion.

During the afternoon, Chloe and Zoé used some golf carts we'd bought to shuttle people down to the cabana by the river (really only a short walk), or to the airplane hanger. We had the 210 and Citation shined up and parked on the ramp in front of the open hanger for photo op. The 737 was too large to bring into our small strip, so that stayed at city airport. I had managed to get the tail number for the Cessna 210 as N3MW, to match N1MW and N2MW on the two other planes. John, our chief pilot, was giving tours of the hanger and aircraft to those interested.

One man I didn't know came up and introduced himself as Jake Warner, Brodaw Publications. I knew they had a portfolio of magazines. He was polite and asked if he might ask me some questions about the house and our family. I was off guard, and my PR gal was tied up with three other media types, so I said yes.

Warner asked about the accelerated timeframe for construction. I referred him to Doug Reed, but did say that I had promised special incentives to finish that day – Saturday, July first. I didn't say what the incentives were. He asked about the planes, the kinds of trips we took, and seemed especially pleased to learn that I was a pilot and getting my extended ratings. I even pointed out Wes and Scott to him for follow-up, my instructors. I emphasized that Cindy and Elsa were also qualified jet pilots.

Warner went through some of the special purpose rooms in the house and property: martial arts and full gym, basketball court, shooting range, cabana, ten car garage, and then I got an interesting question.

Warner asked, "I saw in the master bedroom, your super king-size bed; it's magnificent. Why so large?"

Before my brain was fully engaged from the mundane questions he'd been asking, I said, "Because so many of us sleep in it."

"Who?"

"Well, me, and the girls that live with me."

Right there I had put my foot in it. I knew it as the words formed in my feeble brain, and yet they still tumbled out of my mouth. I tried to add, "and that's off the record," but I don't think those words held any meaning for a genuine news hound. Instead, they made the revelation that I slept with a number of girls scream for headlines and revelation. Internally, I winced.

Warner said, "Well, I'm guessing that would include Elsa and Cindy – they were in the news a lot because of the shooting incident. Who else?"

By then I was trying to backpedal. "Errr, let's just say others. Everyone is happy with the arrangement, I might add." Again, I kicked myself for what he could do with that statement.

Warner wisely moved on to a couple of other benign questions, but I knew it was too late. I warned Rose, my PR gal about what I'd said. After also wincing she crossed her fingers and said, "Let's pray."

The afternoon party was a big blowout. I tried to visit personally with every person who'd had anything to do with construction of The Meadows. I'd met many of them during my earlier visits during construction, but I knew it gave some of the guys a special treat to introduce me on a first name basis to their wives or girlfriends or teenage kids. Soon, they'd all get a financial reward for making my tough deadline – Doug Reed especially. I planned a two hundred thousand dollar bonus for him above what he normally earned; I'd never had a man devote himself to any of my projects so singularly the way he had.

By dinnertime, the crowd had thinned down. I got a call from Brita. Her small jet was about thirty minutes out and planned to land at our little airport. Elsa got her handheld radio that covered the frequencies used for aviation, and we started to listen for their tail number when they announced they were on final approach.

Like clockwork, about thirty minutes later we heard, Meadows Unicom, this is Learjet Oscar Yankee Juliet Bravo Tango, on ten-mile approach for your runway two. Please acknowledge and report traffic."

Elsa instantly responded, "Lear Bravo Tango, no traffic in pattern. Taxi and park near the hanger after landing. You will be met at the hanger. Welcome to America."

Elsa took one of the golf carts and I took the other, and we rode down the paved path to the hanger. About five miles out we could see the double landing lights of the sleek small jet and watch as the landing gear deployed. As it neared, the sleek swept-wing profile of the jet became clearer.

The plane touched down with a loud squeak of the tires about a quarter of the way down the runway. Immediately, the reverse thrusters deployed with great engine noise, as the plane slowed. At the end of the runway, the plane turned onto the narrower taxiway, and came towards us at the hanger. Elsa held her arms up to indicate the preferred parking area. She'd flown so much she knew all of the hand signals that linemen used to direct aircraft to a parking space. The Lear taxied right to where she indicated. She crossed her wrists over her head to indicate that that was the spot to park.

Brita was out of the plane and in my arms in seconds after the plane stopped and the stairway deployed. She turned and hugged Elsa too, commiserating with her about the shooting and her return to health. The women had obvious talked, but not seen each other for months. Nils stepped out of the plane a moment later with smiles and greetings for all of us.

We joked about customs and immigration at our 'international airport,' but their little jet had stopped in Bangor, Maine, on the way into the U.S. and been cleared through. We drove the couple up to the house and the rest of the party. After greeting everyone, I gave Brita and Nils a tour of the house. We then got some wine and joined the rest of the festivities.

Later, I saw Warner talking to Brita. He was pointing at the plane, and then I could see the questions start.

I caught up to Brita later and asked, "What did Warner want to know?"

Brita laughed, "Well, he learned who I was to have flown in on the Lear for one. After many other questions, he asked whether I liked the big bed. I'm afraid I told him I did. I think he's got the list of your bedmates down pretty well. He asked me to verify it, but I just laughed and told him he'd have to ask you. I may as well have said, 'You got it right.' He did, you know. I think he's talked to each of them too, plus Vanessa and Anna."

I hoped for the best.

Elsa

Mark was upset, ergo we were upset – all of his girls. Truth be told, I wasn'tthat upset and neither were the others. I guess a secret part of me wanted another fifteen minutes of fame that didn't involve a shooting.

Famous, one of the top and most highly read publications on the market, had a feature article about Billionaire Mark Worthington. Moreover, the article was accurate to a fault.

After reciting Mark's rise to fame and meteoric growth in his personal self-made earnings, the article got to the meaty part of his life – the part that would provoke the most interest.

Worthington lives with six women, and has several others on his favorite list. Two of them, Elsa and Cindy Conners, sisters, recently were involved in a self-defense shooting incident that put Elsa in the hospital for an extended stay and resulted in the self-defense killing of her attacker. 'KC' Mayer, a world-renown artist whose works now command top dollar, is also part of his stable of women.

Three other women in his inner circle also work with him: Sheila Arden, his chief of staff; Melanie Wood, his director of special projects; and Isabella Mendoza, his executive secretary, and an occasional 'stay over' member of his circle.

A seventh woman is also one of his special friends, although she lives with her husband in Denmark: Brita Jean Thorsen, CEO of Danskpharma, the giant Scandinavian pharmaceuticals firm, in which Worthington has a significant business interest. Thorsen's husband, multi-millionaire financier and logistics magnate Nils Dahlgren, considers Worthington a good friend and is glad that their families and friends interact on many levels.

Worthington now has two residences near the City: a penthouse downtown, and the sprawling new mansion and playground in Dillonville complete with pool, river swimming, and an airport for his private jet. The place is aptly named The Meadows.

The Meadows new house that would price near fifty million, includes one particularly noteworthy feature [see photo insert], a custom made bed to hold seven or eight people – normally, Worthington and the six women who often sleep with him.

Worthington's friends include Vanessa and Anna, also known as Trixie Dix and Anita Cox, world-renowned stars in the adult entertainment industry. Each woman has made well over one hundred videos with more in the pipeline. The women reportedly are often at the 'special' parties that Worthington holds.

Even at the housewarming party to launch The Meadows, a core group of partiers stayed behind for the hardcore part of the evening.

v

Melanie and Izzy reported a steady stream of calls for verification and further details to Mark's office. They all got routed to the PR specialist or publicist for Worthington Industries and hence Mark. The fashionable thing to say was 'NO COMMENT,' or when asked a specific 'wife beating' question, 'Oh, I have no knowledge of anything like that.' In some ways, it was fortunate that Rose had plausible deniability.

Many of the reporters from other publications picked up and extended the direction the article inFamoushad gone, often with file pictures of the women taken at various functions, usually looking regal and beautiful at some charity gala that Mark frequented now that he had steady girlfriends.

One tabloid reported, 'Billionaire's Wild Sex Parties Made Public' and another a feature article on 'The Bed Made for Sex,' complete with pictures of the giant bed in the center, Mark, and each of the women who'd been at the housewarming in smaller pictures surrounding the photo of the bed and Mark, speculating about whether they'd been a guest in the bed or not. Of course, they properly assigned the first seven women to the bed since they were in the core article; the others, including the porn queens, were speculation, but pretty accurate.

Mark asked us to call the women named or shown in the article's pictures who were not part of our 'intimate' circle of friends and apologize for their having been dragged by innuendo from the article implying they were participants in sex parties. He left it to us to put a storyline together to give them.

Most of the local politicians who'd been at our housewarming party regretted being associated with the article. They were afraid the gossip would hurt their or their spouse's attempts at reelection. One woman was positively gleeful because she thought the newswould hurt her husband's chance at reelection she wanted 'the bastard to suck pond water and die.' Three others asked whether they could come to our next sex party – actually, they pleaded.

The calls to the non-politicians, the much larger group, also resulted in many other requests to attend the parties we hold. Several explained that they were already active swingers and could bring a lot to the table in terms of fun and entertainment capability. We dutifully collected and kept those names in a separate category to mull over later.

Mark's publicist seemed to be pulling her hair out by the roots trying to keep a lid on the situation. She described the situation as like the game 'Whack-a-Mole.' We'd get one set of rumors and headlines tied down and dying off, and another would pop-up within the hour. The longer the time from theFamous article the more outlandish and error-ridden they became.

Many other press people, especially from the tabloids, called to 'verify' the various rumors: was Mark harboring refugees from the porn industry? Sex slaves? A religiously-based harem? A nudist colony? A cult? The list went on.

Did Mark really own a business that made porn videos? Someone had really done their homework on that one, because one of Mark's entertainment subsidiaries did indeed have an interest in a company that had made a few adult films, but emphasized more presentable videos – kind of like a 99% to 1% issue. We said 'No Comment' on that speculation.

Mark's 'deep and enduring friendship' with two porn queens ignored that they had steady boyfriends and lived with them. That raised a question about his health – was his body riddled with STDs? and a question about whether he knew Charlie Sheen and other celebrities who had cavorted with girls from that industry. Again, 'No Comment.'

Cindy and I started a series of flip charts that we hung in the new home's media room that listed the frequency we heard particular questions, rumors, gossip, and issues resulting from the housewarming party. It was our way of keeping all of us informed.

The ultimate article came out five weeks after the party and kind of put an end to the whole shebang. TheNational Gossipreported, with fuzzy pictures, about how Mark was actually harboring aliens from the planet Gealch, and that they had overtaken his body and insisted on continuous intercourse on a daily basis. They stated that Mark had been rendered nothing more than a tool of the aliens, pumped up on the aliens secret hormones so he could render continuous satisfaction to the visitors from light years away.

Fortunately, Mark was able to remain relatively hidden to the general public and the fourth estate. He had business in Japan again, and was over there and then in China for a week while a lot of the press went bonkers about all this. Fortunately, some young pop rock star had a very public DUI with a well-known Hollywood hooker in the car, and the juicier and more verifiable news eclipsed the speculations about our lives. We couldn't believe how rapidly the onslaught from the press ended. We were sort of sorry to bid farewell to the aliens from the planet Gealch.

There's a quote attributed to P. T. Barnum that seemed to fit the whole situation when it was over,'There's no such thing as bad publicity.' After the month of hubbub about our racy and sex-filled lives, everything went back to normal. The only difference was that now everyone thought we had sex parties, and, as it turned out, no one gave a shit except those people who wanted to come to one. The stock in Worthington Industries went up on the whole set of speculations plus great quarterly earnings.

The same upswing in the stock price happened with Danskpharma in Denmark, where Brita received a glancing shot from the publicity. Things were actually better afterwards. We didn't have to hide as much. Brita did report that Petra wanted to come to all future sex parties regardless of location. That sounded like a great idea to me as I wanted to meet the hot Dane who'd also found Mark appealing.

The summer weather came to The Meadows and we shifted into high gear in our new home with our summer activities, with swimming and tanning being prime when we weren't working, tennis on the new court, biking around Dillonville, and just relishing the look and feel of the new home.

For my part, I was still working on regaining the strength in my legs, particularly my left leg where the bullet had nearly killed me. I did a long jog every day and then would swim laps in the pool, followed by an hour in the gym with lots of leg squats.