the schoolyard for several times that amount. His dad never missed a pack or two, and one Strike stretched up to three smokes if he was careful—most of his buyers didn’t know the difference anyhow. He remembered looking at the Strikes and thinking: I could shift these at mark-up as they are, or I could make more by trebling my profit. So Jacob did more, and the more Jacob pocketed, the more Jacob sold. At a young age he grasped that the world turned on the clean and straightforward principle that money, when channelled to effect, could make a shitload more money. It was simple when you looked at it right.
It was ever since his involvement with a world-changing social network site that his personal profile had rocketed. A young entrepreneur by the name of Leith Friedman had pitched his idea for an online hub whereby friends and followers could travel-share. It was smart, clean and most importantly green: a security-screened, 100% legitimised, twenty-first-century hitchhiking. Jacob had known how to make it fly: money and balls—and since Leith was lacking in both departments (especially the latter, but then he was a computer programmer), he had pushed for a sixty–forty split. OK, so he’d be getting more than half the business, but there wouldn’t be a business without him, just some fat kid sitting in his bedroom jerking off into his babysitter’s panties.
MoveFriends had been born— Join the Ride , ran the strapline—and both Jacob and Leith, in the space of eighteen months, had become billionaires. Since then Jacob had been invited onto every talk show, to attend every party, to speak on every panel, and last month had been summoned to the White House to meet the president. He had addressed a group of post-grad entrepreneurs in a scheme set up by the Republicansenator Mitch Corrigan. After the show Jacob had nailed two blondes in the cleaning closet, both of whom had certainly known what to do with his rich investment.
‘You totally messed me up,’ Lilly-Sue purred as they arrived at Hollywood’s Rieux Lounge, patting the back of her head and throwing him a naughty smile.
They exited the car and were hit by a barrage of sound.
‘Jacob! Lilly! Give us a smile!’
Lilly-Sue primed and posed for the cameras, holding his hand and nuzzling his neck. Jacob decided he would dump her. She was a decent screw but way too clingy.
Kiss my cock and tell it you love it. Just don’t tell me.
He dragged her through the doors. The Rieux was LA’s number-one spotlight. Everyone who was anyone got photographed. Many a wasted selfie got tweeted in the small hours, only to be rapidly deleted by management next morning. Heavy beats thrummed. Bodies wound. VIP spaces were roped off, flanked by security.
Without warning Lilly-Sue pulled him into a toilet cubicle and gave him his second blowie of the evening. As Jacob watched her tongue attending to his hard-on, he leaned back against the marble and felt faintly bored. Truth was, he could only operate on half a tank unless there was a camera in the room. Shit, he knew it was wrong but he was a sucker for the buzz. He was as addicted to this as he was to the kick of investment. The one thing that turned Jacob Lyle on more than horny girls was watching horny girls fuck—more specifically, watching horny girls fuck him. As a result he had his personal cars, and several classified suites across town, rigged. He kept a record of every encounter. From Amy through Zara, the library grew and grew.
Was it legal? He wasn’t sure, but Jacob showed them a fine enough time to not feel totally bad about it—always they leftwith dreamy-eyed avowals that they had never spent a night (or morning, or afternoon, or any time of the day, really) like it.
The girls wouldn’t find out. Nobody would.
After all, he was Jacob Lyle—and Jacob Lyle was invincible.
Lilly-Sue stood, wiped her mouth and kissed his face off, which was kind of gross because she tasted of his come. They emerged
It was ever since his involvement with a world-changing social network site that his personal profile had rocketed. A young entrepreneur by the name of Leith Friedman had pitched his idea for an online hub whereby friends and followers could travel-share. It was smart, clean and most importantly green: a security-screened, 100% legitimised, twenty-first-century hitchhiking. Jacob had known how to make it fly: money and balls—and since Leith was lacking in both departments (especially the latter, but then he was a computer programmer), he had pushed for a sixty–forty split. OK, so he’d be getting more than half the business, but there wouldn’t be a business without him, just some fat kid sitting in his bedroom jerking off into his babysitter’s panties.
MoveFriends had been born— Join the Ride , ran the strapline—and both Jacob and Leith, in the space of eighteen months, had become billionaires. Since then Jacob had been invited onto every talk show, to attend every party, to speak on every panel, and last month had been summoned to the White House to meet the president. He had addressed a group of post-grad entrepreneurs in a scheme set up by the Republicansenator Mitch Corrigan. After the show Jacob had nailed two blondes in the cleaning closet, both of whom had certainly known what to do with his rich investment.
‘You totally messed me up,’ Lilly-Sue purred as they arrived at Hollywood’s Rieux Lounge, patting the back of her head and throwing him a naughty smile.
They exited the car and were hit by a barrage of sound.
‘Jacob! Lilly! Give us a smile!’
Lilly-Sue primed and posed for the cameras, holding his hand and nuzzling his neck. Jacob decided he would dump her. She was a decent screw but way too clingy.
Kiss my cock and tell it you love it. Just don’t tell me.
He dragged her through the doors. The Rieux was LA’s number-one spotlight. Everyone who was anyone got photographed. Many a wasted selfie got tweeted in the small hours, only to be rapidly deleted by management next morning. Heavy beats thrummed. Bodies wound. VIP spaces were roped off, flanked by security.
Without warning Lilly-Sue pulled him into a toilet cubicle and gave him his second blowie of the evening. As Jacob watched her tongue attending to his hard-on, he leaned back against the marble and felt faintly bored. Truth was, he could only operate on half a tank unless there was a camera in the room. Shit, he knew it was wrong but he was a sucker for the buzz. He was as addicted to this as he was to the kick of investment. The one thing that turned Jacob Lyle on more than horny girls was watching horny girls fuck—more specifically, watching horny girls fuck him. As a result he had his personal cars, and several classified suites across town, rigged. He kept a record of every encounter. From Amy through Zara, the library grew and grew.
Was it legal? He wasn’t sure, but Jacob showed them a fine enough time to not feel totally bad about it—always they leftwith dreamy-eyed avowals that they had never spent a night (or morning, or afternoon, or any time of the day, really) like it.
The girls wouldn’t find out. Nobody would.
After all, he was Jacob Lyle—and Jacob Lyle was invincible.
Lilly-Sue stood, wiped her mouth and kissed his face off, which was kind of gross because she tasted of his come. They emerged
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