The Hundred Heirs
Copyright© 2026 by Victoria Kane
Chapter 2: The Invitation
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2: The Invitation - One woman. One week. One hundred masked men. The Institute demands heirs from the world’s most powerful bloodlines. Victoria Kane is the Vessel they chose. She has other plans. Raw group ritual. Power reversal. Legacy mindfuck. No escape. No mercy.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Heterosexual Fiction FemaleDom Humiliation Group Sex Orgy Cream Pie Oral Sex Pregnancy Voyeurism
The invitation arrived without warning.
A single black envelope rested on the antique mahogany desk in each of one hundred private studies, war rooms, and sanctuaries scattered across the globe. No courier had been seen; no doorbell had rung. The wax seal caught crimson under lamplight: the Institute’s old crest, a stylised womb ringed by a hundred interlocking chains. Heavy card stock waited inside, gold lettering precise and unadorned.
You have been selected.
The Centennial Claiming will commence on the new moon.
One woman.
One week.
One hundred men.
The child conceived will inherit everything.
Your presence is required.
No signature.
No return address.
Only coordinates: a private airstrip carved into a glacial valley in the Swiss Alps.
One hundred men received it.
Billionaires whose balance sheets owned entire nations’ debts.
Princes whose blood traced unbroken lines to crusader knights.
Cardinals whose whispered decrees still shaped moral law across continents.
Senators who drafted legislation deciding who lived and who died.
Doctors whose hands had held the scalpel over generations, determining viability itself.
All married.
All fathers already, yet hungry for something purer, stronger, more enduring.
All terrified of exposure.
They came anyway.
Helicopters descended through low cloud one by one over two days. Rotors beat against the freezing air; snow swirled in violent spirals around landing skids. Each man stepped out wearing heavy winter coats over tailored suits, breath clouding white. No aides accompanied them. No luggage beyond a single small case. They walked the heated black basalt path in silence, flanked by masked attendants whose porcelain faces revealed nothing.
The Institute’s compound crouched against the valley wall: a fortress of smoked glass and black granite, cantilevered over the glacier’s blue-white drop. Frost rimed every external edge. Warm air exhaled from concealed vents froze instantly into glittering veils. Inside, temperature never wavered from twenty-two degrees Celsius; outside, the mercury hovered at minus thirty-two. The contrast was deliberate. Cold sharpened the mind. Isolation pressed against the skin like a physical weight.
Victoria Kane waited in the grand hall.
She wore a simple black gown of heavy silk. Hair loose down her back. No jewellery. At thirty-two she was breathtaking: dark eyes that seemed to absorb light, sharp cheekbones, body built for the role she had chosen and now intended to redefine. She greeted none of them by name. She did not need to.