Page 1 of Trapped In His Harem

1

Logan

Istare up at the ceiling of my bedroom as I lounge against the silk cushions on my mattress. The colors of the fresco are breathtaking, and when I first had it designed, the artwork filled me with satisfaction because it confirmed that yes, I had indeed made it. I was officially “The Man.” People looked up to me. Respect hit me like a tidal wave whenever I entered a room. After all, who else has ceilings like this? Kings. Oligarchs. Billionaires.Me.

But now, it’s just meh. I suppose it’s the human condition because people can get used to anything. Lottery winners get accustomed to their lavish mansions. Nobel laureates look at their medals without any emotion. Playboys lose the thrill of the chase. Now, I’ve become desensitized to my mansion and the fancy furnishings inside. This shit cost over eight figures, but lately, there’s been a heavy weight lodged in my chest, making it hard to motivate. Even worse, I shouldn’t be bored at this particular moment because there are two beautiful women in my bed, doing their best to spice things up.

“Mmmmh,” moans Kitty as she sucks my cock, her tongue making delicate circles around its swollen head. Once, that would have brought me to the brink of orgasm, but lately, I find it harder and harder to enjoy stuff like this. Morgan, the woman lying next to me with her perky tits in my face, makes a mewling sound.

“How about some grapes, big boy?” she purrs, noticing I’m not especially into what’s happening. “Would you like that?” Before I can even nod, she slips a grape gently into my mouth, and I mechanically chew, letting the sweet juices coat my tongue. Meanwhile, Kitty cups my balls as she sucks a little harder and faster, and I can tell she’s making a real effort to make me feel good, so I try to focus. I close my eyes and let desire build inside me as the girl giving me head increases her tempo. Meanwhile, the grape girl caresses my muscular chest while humming a melodic ditty. Their ministrations work, and soon I’m pumping my load down Kitty’s throat with a roar. Hey, I’m just a man, right? Any red-blooded dude would come under these circumstances.

“Fuck,” I bite out as jizz shoots deep into Kitty’s throat. She sucks devotedly, her lashes fluttering closed and a sweet smile coming onto her face as if my fluids are the best-tasting drink she’s ever had. But even this part is boring because it’s nothing that hasn’t happened a thousand times before. I’ve been in threesomes in the past, and frankly, even this is getting a little dull.

Meanwhile, the girls are finishing up. Kitty sucks me dry, then after wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, comes to lie in the crook of my left elbow, while Morgan does the same on my right.

I let out a silent sigh. What the fuck is wrong with me? Any other man would give their right arm to be in my place. In fact, they’d offer up their first-born child too because for the past decade, this is how I’ve generally started my day. I dally with several beautiful women first thing in the morning, and then dismiss them for breakfast. Then, I head to my office for a solid couple hours of work before hitting the gym in the evening. Then more shenanigans with the women, before it’s time for bed. It’s a healthy routine because the sex clears my mind and helps me relax, physically at least.

But lately, I’ve been in a funk, although my chosen companions have no idea. Already, Morgan is stroking my still erect cock, about to climb on top of me. But I hold her back.

“Do you want me to go get one of the other girls instead?” she coos, caressing my washboard abs. “I don’t mind.”

I sigh heavily because the other girls she’s referring to is the group of twenty or so women who live in my mansion with me.My harem, as my friend Jake likes to call it, but that’s going a little too far because I don’t think of myself as an Ottoman sultan living in a glittering palace. Instead, I like to think of the women more as permanent house guests. Beautiful houseguests, for sure, who stay here rent-free for as long they like, teetering around in bikinis and high heels.

Of course, I make sure that life is good for them. They have everything they need and get to lounge by the pool, watch movies in the private theatre, or play naked ping pong in the game room. Yes, I’m intimate with some of them, but not all, and never more than a few of the women at any given time. I’m a virile man, but servicing twenty women at once would be too much, even for me.

But people ask why I’ve chosen this lifestyle, and the answer is that I adore beauty. I surround myself with it. I own a beautiful mansion, with beautiful interior design, and inside there are beautiful women with beautiful smiles. Their presence fills the mansion with giggles and the click-clack of high heels on marble tile. Without female charm, this manor wouldn’t be half as fun to occupy. It’s a good life, and besides, the extra expense means nothing to me. What man wouldn’t want this existence?

But lately something has changed inside me, and I can’t put my finger on what, or why.

“Thanks, hon,” I growl, patting Morgan on the arm and getting up. “I appreciate the offer. You guys have been great, but I need to get up.”

“Would you like us to run a bath for you?” Kitty asks in an innocent tone. “Morgan and I could get in with you and give you a special lavender massage.”

I shake my head.

“No, thanks,” I demur, suddenly feeling tired as fuck. “Today’s a shower day. You girls run along.” Then, I send the women to their quarters and step inside the marble en suite. Fuck. Maybe I just need to clear my head. Or maybe I need some narcotics. Who knows.

As the steam starts swirling, I catch a glimpse in the full-length mirror. An Adonis-like figure stares back at me, with a broad chest, chiseled abs, and thick, powerful thighs. Even though I turned forty-five this year, I work hard to keep in shape and the effort shows. Guys half my age don’t look this good.

Meanwhile, my eye wanders down to my crotch, where my cock hangs heavily between my thighs, reaching almost to the knee. A sharp bark erupts from my throat because I’m aware that I’m unusually well-endowed. Hell, the women who live here often have to be “trained” when they arrive because they’ve never taken a man so huge. They’re taught preliminary stretching exercises to prepare for my girth and length.

But that’s the job of the seasoned women in my harem. For now, I just need to get ready. I finish my shower and head to the breakfast room, where several beautiful women are already seated.

“Hi Logan,” titters a particularly beautiful blonde with huge tits encased in a blue bikini. She shakes them at me, and I nod with appreciation.

“Hey Callie,” I greet. “Hey Violetta. Genevieve.”

Then, I smile politely and make my way over to the sideboard where a lavish breakfast buffet awaits. I could have my meal served to me in my bedroom, which I sometimes opt for if I need to prepare myself for a particularly important business meeting, but mostly I like to be in the presence of the gorgeous women who live with me. Why not? There’s no need to live like a hermit when so much beauty surrounds me at every turn.

But then, I seeher.

She’s standing by the freshly squeezed orange juice, holding a plate with a chocolate muffin and some fruit, trying to figure out how to work the juicer. I’ve never seen her before.

Whereas most women who live here look like models with long legs and slender figures, this girl is incredibly curvy. Her huge, soft breasts are barely being contained by a minuscule hot pink bikini top. Her wide, round ass and thick thighs jiggle slightly beneath a pair of matching bikini bottoms as she takes a couple of steps to put her plate down. Then she returns her attention to the juicer with both hands.

“What the hell?” she mutters under her breath. “What is wrong with this thing?”

Her delicate face is a mask of concentration as she tries unscrewing the top of the funnel where the oranges go, to deal with some kind of blockage. I realize I’m staring and want to look away, but I can’t because she’s utterly breathtaking. The new girl’s skin is milky, freckled lightly just across the bridge of her pert nose. Her eyes are downcast, focused on her task, so all I can see are thick, long lashes, but I bet they’re the same milk chocolate color as the curly hair that falls over her shoulders. Who is this angel? Frankly, she doesn’t even look old enough to be here.

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