Kansas City, January 16, 2026

Suite 2400 – Hotel Phillips Penthouse

Three high-powered executives. Three elite escorts. One night. No limits.

A lavish penthouse. Champagne, cocaine, and satin sheets. Every hole claimed. Every desire fulfilled. A merger sealed in sweat, cum, and unrelenting pleasure.

Author’s Note Explicit. Unapologetic. Filthy. For adults only.

Contents

Introduction 4
Living Room Ignition 11
First Bedroom Takeover 19
Living Room Double Penetration 29
Second Bedroom Airtight 39
Living Room Rotation & DP Sandwich 47
Final Bedroom Free-for-All 57

Introduction

The sleek black stretch limo glided to a smooth stop beneath the glowing canopy of the Hotel Phillips in downtown Kansas City. Rain had just stopped, leaving the pavement glossy black and reflecting the neon signage in fractured pools of red and gold. The driver opened the rear door with practiced discretion. Three men stepped out into the cool January night air, each adjusting cuffs and ties as though preparing for a boardroom rather than what awaited them upstairs.

Mark Harlan led the way. Mid-forties, venture capitalist, salt-and-pepper beard trimmed sharp, charcoal three-piece suit tailored to perfection. He carried himself with the easy arrogance of someone who had closed nine-figure deals before breakfast. Beside him walked Alex Chen, thirty-six, tech founder who had sold his last startup for north of two hundred million. His hair was artfully tousled, navy suit unbuttoned at the collar in deliberate casualness. Bringing up the rear was Jordan Whitaker, pushing fifty, real-estate baron whose portfolio included half the luxury condos along the Missouri River. Burly, broad-shouldered, his dark pinstripe suit strained slightly across the chest.

They had been promised an unforgettable close to the merger negotiations—a final, private celebration that would ensure every signature landed exactly where it needed to. The company’s “hospitality team” had arranged everything: Suite 2400, top floor, penthouse level. Two expansive bedrooms, a cavernous living room with panoramic glass walls, full bar, and a view that stretched across the Missouri River to the lights of the West Bottoms.

As the private elevator ascended, the three men clinked the last of their champagne flutes from the limo ride. Alex smirked. “Here’s to closing the deal ... and whatever comes after.” Jordan chuckled low. Mark simply raised his glass in silent agreement, already feeling the anticipatory heat low in his gut.

The doors opened directly into the suite.

Soft jazz—Miles Davis, muted trumpet—drifted from concealed speakers. The air carried a subtle, expensive perfume: lavender undercut with something darker, more primal. Crystal chandeliers had been dimmed to a seductive amber glow. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like a private movie screen.

Waiting inside were the three women who would define the next eight hours.

Sophia stood nearest the door—brunette, voluptuous, late twenties, curves poured into a deep red silk dress that clung like liquid to every swell of breast and hip. Her dark hair fell in loose waves to mid-back; her smile was slow, knowing, professional.

Lena lounged against the bar—blonde, lithe, athletic build, early thirties, wearing a black lace bodysuit that left nothing to the imagination yet somehow remained elegant. Her blue eyes were sharp, playful, predatory in the best way.

Mia waited near the windows—caramel skin, long dark waves, exotic features, mid-twenties, draped in a sheer green negligee so translucent the city lights silhouetted every perfect line of her body. She turned slowly, letting the light catch the gold chain around her waist, the tiny pendant resting just above her pubic bone like a delicate arrow.

A mirrored tray on the low glass coffee table held the night’s full arsenal: chilled bottles of Clase Azul tequila, Macallan 25, and chilled Dom Pérignon; thick lines of premium cocaine arranged in precise rows; several perfectly rolled joints of high-grade sativa; discreet bottles of silicone-based lube; a small stack of black hand towels; a silver bowl of fresh strawberries dusted with powdered sugar—for later, perhaps.

Sophia stepped forward first, tray of whiskey glasses already in hand. Ice clinked softly. “Gentlemen,” she purred, voice low and smoky, “welcome to Suite 2400. We’ve been expecting you.”

She offered the first glass to Mark. Their fingers brushed—deliberate, electric.

Alex accepted his from Lena, who leaned in close enough that he caught the faint scent of vanilla and musk on her skin.

Jordan took his from Mia, who met his gaze without blinking, lips curving into a slow, filthy promise.

Mark raised his glass. “To closing the deal.”

Three glasses clinked in unison.

Three women smiled—slow, hungry, utterly unafraid.

The door behind them closed with a soft, final click.

The night began.

Living Room Ignition

The moment the heavy suite door clicked shut behind them, the atmosphere shifted—like a match struck in a room full of gasoline. The living room sprawled before them: vast black leather sofas arranged in a loose U-shape, crystal chandelier dimmed to a seductive amber glow, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering Kansas City nightscape. Soft R&B pulsed from hidden speakers, bass low enough to feel in the chest. The coffee table was already a still life of temptation: chilled bottles of top-shelf tequila and whiskey, a mirrored tray dusted with neat, thick lines of cocaine, a small crystal bowl of rolled joints, and several discreet bottles of premium lube tucked beside a stack of black hand towels.

Mark moved first. He picked up the rolled hundred-dollar bill, bent over the mirror, and snorted a long, thick line in one practiced pull. His head snapped back, eyes widening as the chemical lightning hit his bloodstream. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, voice already rougher, pupils blown wide. “That’s the good shit.”

Sophia had been waiting for exactly this signal. She crossed the room in three slow strides, red silk dress clinging to every curve, and climbed straight onto his lap facing him. The dress rode up instantly—no panties, just smooth skin and the slick heat of her already-aroused pussy pressing directly against the growing bulge in his charcoal trousers. She rolled her hips in a slow, deliberate circle, grinding her wetness along his length while she reached for the tray. Two manicured fingers dipped into the remaining powder; she brought them to his lips. He opened for her, tongue curling around her digits as she fed him the bitter dust. His hands clamped onto her hips, pulling her harder against him.

Across the room, Alex had Lena bent forward over the wide arm of the largest sofa. Her upper body rested on the cool leather, ass presented high. With one rough yank he dragged the black lace bodysuit down to mid-thigh, exposing pale skin flushed pink and the glistening pink folds of her cunt. He didn’t bother with teasing. He freed his cock, stroked it twice to spread the pre-cum, lined up, and sank into her in one long, relentless thrust. Lena’s breath punched out in a sharp “Fuck—” as he bottomed out, filling her completely. Alex gripped her hips hard enough to leave fingerprints and started fucking her with steady, punishing strokes—deep, full-length pulls that made her breasts swing beneath the stretched lace, every forward slam punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin.

Jordan had claimed the deep armchair like a throne. Thighs spread wide, slacks already unbuckled, he sat back while Mia knelt between his legs on the thick Persian rug. Her long dark hair spilled over her shoulders as she worshipped his thick, veined cock. She started slow—long, wet licks from base to flared head, tongue swirling around the sensitive underside, tasting the bead of pre-cum that gathered at the slit. Then she took him deeper, lips stretching wide, cheeks hollowing as she sucked. When she finally relaxed her throat and swallowed him to the root, Jordan’s head fell back against the chair with a guttural sound.

“Goddamn, girl,” he rumbled, one big hand resting lightly on the back of her head—not forcing, just guiding the rhythm.

The room quickly filled with a filthy symphony: the slick glide of Alex pistoning into Lena, the wet, rhythmic sucking from Mia’s mouth, Sophia’s soft moans as she ground harder against Mark’s clothed erection, silk rustling, zippers hissing, glass clinking as someone reached blindly for another shot.

Sophia decided she’d waited long enough. She slid down Mark’s body until her knees hit the rug, nimble fingers opening his belt and trousers in seconds. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, already leaking. She looked up at him through dark lashes, then took him into her mouth without breaking eye contact. Slow at first—lips tight, tongue flat along the underside, swirling around the head on every upstroke. Then deeper, until her nose brushed his trimmed pubic hair. She held him there, throat working around him, before pulling back with a wet pop, a thin string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening shaft.

Mark’s hand fisted in her hair. “Again,” he ordered hoarsely.

She obeyed, bobbing faster now, one hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach, the other slipping between her own thighs to rub frantic circles over her clit. The sight of her pleasuring herself while she sucked him flipped a switch. He pulled her up by the arms, spun her around, and bent her over the back of the sofa right next to Lena.

Sophia braced her forearms on the leather, ass up, dress bunched around her waist. Mark notched himself at her entrance and thrust in hard—burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. She cried out—half pain, half pleasure—as he filled her completely. He didn’t give her time to adjust, just started fucking her with the same ruthless rhythm Alex was using on Lena inches away.

The two women were now side by side, bent over the same sofa, being pounded in tandem. Every time Mark slammed forward, Sophia’s body jolted, breasts swaying, nipples brushing the cool leather. Lena’s moans had turned into broken, desperate whimpers; Alex had reached around to rub her clit in tight circles, driving her toward the edge.

Jordan watched the scene unfold while Mia continued worshipping his cock. He finally couldn’t take it anymore—he pulled her off with a wet pop, stood, and guided her to kneel on the sofa cushion between the two couples. Mia arched her back, presenting herself. Jordan knelt behind her and pushed into her soaked pussy in one long glide. She gasped around the fingers she’d shoved into her own mouth to muffle the sound.

For several long minutes the living room became nothing but motion and sound: four bodies rocking in rough harmony, skin slapping, breath ragged, cocaine-fueled energy making every sensation razor-sharp. Sophia came first—back arching, inner walls clamping down on Mark so hard he nearly lost control. Lena followed seconds later, shuddering violently as Alex’s fingers and cock pushed her over. Jordan lasted longest, but when he finally came he pulled out at the last second and painted thick stripes across Mia’s ass and lower back.

Mark was the last to finish. He yanked Sophia upright by her hair, spun her to face him, and pushed her down to her knees again. She opened her mouth eagerly. Three hard strokes into her throat and he came with a low, guttural groan, pulsing across her tongue. She swallowed every drop, then licked him clean with slow, satisfied swipes.

When the first wave finally ebbed, the five of them were panting, half-dressed, skin flushed and gleaming under the chandelier light. Empty shot glasses and scattered powder dotted the coffee table. The music looped back to the beginning, as if nothing had happened.

Sophia wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled at the room—lips swollen, eyes still dark with hunger.

“Round two in the bedrooms?” she asked, voice husky.

No one argued.

First Bedroom Takeover

The master bedroom door closed with a soft, decisive click, sealing Mark and Sophia away from the living room’s chaotic symphony. The space felt immediately more intimate: floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering Kansas City skyline, city lights casting long silver streaks across the charcoal satin sheets already rumpled from earlier teasing. A single bedside lamp glowed low and warm, turning the room into a cocoon of amber and shadow. The air carried faint traces of Sophia’s perfume—jasmine and something darker, more animal—mixed now with the sharp, electric scent of cocaine still clinging to Mark’s nostrils.

Sophia walked backward toward the massive bed, fingers hooked in Mark’s belt loops, tugging him along with a slow, knowing smile. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress edge she let herself fall gracefully, landing propped on her elbows. The red silk dress had ridden up during the walk; it bunched around her waist now, revealing smooth thighs and the unmistakable fact that she wore nothing underneath. Her pussy was still flushed and slick from the living-room ride, inner lips swollen, glistening in the low light.

Mark didn’t speak. He simply dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed like a man who had been starving for this exact moment. He hooked his arms under her thighs, yanked her forward until her ass rested right at the edge, then spread her wide—wide enough that the cool air made her shiver and her clit throb visibly. He paused for a heartbeat, just looking: taking in the way her arousal had already coated her folds, the faint tremble in her inner thighs, the way her breathing had quickened in anticipation.

Then he dove in.

His tongue was broad and flat at first—long, slow laps from her entrance all the way up to her clit, tasting the heady mix of her wetness and the faint salt of his own earlier release inside her. Sophia’s hips jerked upward on the first full stroke. He growled against her flesh, the vibration making her gasp, then shifted focus—pointed tongue circling her clit in tight, relentless loops while two thick fingers slid inside her, curling upward in that perfect, practiced come-hither motion.

He stroked her G-spot with steady, firm pressure, matching the rhythm of his tongue exactly. The dual assault was merciless. Sophia’s hands flew to his hair, gripping hard enough to sting, pulling him closer while her hips tried to buck away from the intensity. He clamped his forearms down harder across her thighs, pinning her exactly where he wanted her, refusing to let her escape even an inch.