Introduction To Rhyull's Accidental Billionaire

The Accidental Billionaire

Electronic Books

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  • You didn't set out to gain an almost unimaginable amount of money. But now you have it and a new hobby - finding the most beautiful women and taking them to bed!
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    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • Now with a sense of direction and his time in the clinic over, he's looking very much more the part and feeling it too. In this book he finds three very different places to live, laying the foundations of his future life. He also lays the foundations of his personal harem
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    Smashwords

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • The first two Accidental Billionaire books in a single volume.
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    Amazon Paperback

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • Here we find him continuing his creation of a suitable bedrock upon which to build his life. The house, hotel and yacht are all close to completion and key members of his staff are located including a quartet of deadly Israeli women to act as bodyguards
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    Smashwords

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • What if you are a billionaire and you want some real-life roleplaying. And if those adventures do go off the rails, who's to say you won't end up meeting a fairy queen, or rescuing a beautiful girl from a brutal gangster?
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    Smashwords

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • The second two Accidental Billionaire books in a single volume.
    Amazon Kindle
    Amazon Paperback

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • The billionaire continues his adventures and sets out to prove a Chinese saying wrong. He dicovers that royalty looks very similar to normal folk when they go commando, amid gains and losses to his harem; along with less significant but equally arousing encounters of a more casual nature.
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    Smashwords

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • Who could have guessed what the Accidental Billionaire could achieve? Of course, he doesn't do it all alone. One of the benefits of wealth is the ability to set wheels in motion and then step aside to follow more entertaining goals. And for him, entertainment tends to be warm, female and available.
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    Smashwords

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • The third pair of Accidental Billionaire books in a single volume.
    Amazon Kindle
    Amazon Paperback

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • TAB decides he needs an entourage and starts his following by hiring two maids and a translator. Not too surprisingly all three are sexy. He also finds time to finance a movie, shag a film star, add to his harem and trace a lost prince.
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    Smashwords

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • From self-confessed sluts to a sexual goddess via an old friend and several others, the Billionaire continues to shag beautiful women.
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    Smashwords

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • Books seven and eight in a single volume
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    Amazon Paperback

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • With a need to save as much as possible from a coming catastrophe, his staff are busy getting as much as possible to safety. But as for the Billionaire, he is busy at his favourite occupation - saving as many gorgeous, sexy young women as possible - for himself!
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    Smashwords

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and polygamy. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
  • Lisa creates locations to roleplay. Elite Escorts provides the girls. The Accidental Billionaire shags them in various fantasies from highwayman to examining a captured spy to hypnotist
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    Smashwords

    This book contains explicit sexual themes including oral sex, hetero sex, three-way and fantasy themes. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 and may offend.
 

What would you do?

No wife, no family, few friends and a mediocre job that paid enough to keep him modestly afloat. No real ambitions or expectations. They get knocked out of a person by the time they are approaching middle age. No real belief he could ever change his situation because he wasn't driven enough to stab others in the back and climb over their bodies. Nor did he have the sort of skills at sports or music or anything else that would propel him upwards. Just an average almost faceless cog in the modern machine known as 'society'. That could describe a lot of us in this modern world, couldn't it. But one day it all changed. This is his story, in his own words. Does he have a name? Yes but it wouldn't mean anything to you. Use your own name or think of one for him if you want to.

Now read on...

Chapter One

Wal-Mart seemed to have a pall of gloom hanging over it as I tried to figure out what I wanted there. Maybe it was the wet weather outside or perhaps I had my own personal rain cloud. Probably the latter. I had always come in here with my wife... ex-wife... and she had always hated it because it was 'common'. Well, it wasn't Macy's but then I wasn't the Shah of Brunei either It was practical and it had most of what we needed.

Now I was here without her complaints and without the rest of her. It didn't seem like much of a trade. I had really loved her and been gullible enough to believe that an attractive woman half my age would find a middle aged computer geek fascinating enough to marry. Turned out that she needed someone to support her and mistook a knowledge of computers as being an indication of a well paid job. By the time she found out the nice house had been left by my parents and my job was probably paying less than the guys who collected our refuse sacks every Thursday morning, we were married.

Within two years she was gone again. An insurance salesman I believe. After all, everyone needs insurance so he must be well paid? Whatever. He was romantic, or horny, enough to take her to Vegas. She did the quickie divorce and no claim for alimony which would have slowed down her ability to hook mister ten percent. The papers had arrived in the mail that morning without a thank you card and now I was in Wal-Mart wondering why the rest of my life was worth the effort.

After a few minutes I realised I had been staring at the gun rack long enough to attract attention and I hastily moved away. I didn't think I could do it anyway and if I could, it wouldn't be that way. But I definitely did need a reason to have even some hope for a better future. None of the single women shoppers were eyeing me and drooling. They never did. I think I had looked married even when I wasn't. I definitely wasn't grotesque but equally definitely wasn't going to fuel Chippendale fantasies within a female bosom. "Why don't you call the Rosicrucians they will give you back your hope..." not the best Cohen song at that moment and I tried to think of something else.

"Do you have your lottery ticket yet?"

"Eh?" I looked around and tried to orient myself. I was right next to a huge placard that positively screamed its message. The State Lottery had rolled over again and hit the half billion dollar mark. "Oh, errr thank you." I took the proffered slip without stopping to think, embarrassed at my lack of awareness and wanting to get away but little miss pushy also pressed a cheap biro into my hand and pointed to a plastic shelf.

"You can fill it in there and bring it back when you're ready," she smiled a nice fake ten percent smile and added "Don't steal my pen now!" It was a joke. I think. Another time I would have politely declined. I knew the odds and preferred the chance of being abducted by beautiful sex-crazed aliens, which was statistically more likely to happen. But today I had no resistance so I did as I was directed. Which numbers to write? Random? That sounded too much like work. Vindictive then! If I did win, I knew what I wanted the numbers to be. Her age. Her date of birth. Our wedding date. Another... the number of times she sucked my dick after we got married. Number one then. I remembered she wanted a really expensive leather coat at that time. It had gone now, along with the former occupant, so it must have been a good one. I gave the girl my ticket and money and her pen, with a mock bow. She didn't smile so much this time. Ten percent of one line wasn't enough to generate a lot of effort. Putting the receipt in my pocket, I promptly forgot it, and went back to the house. Not really home any more, just the house.

Monday comes to everyone, rich and poor, sick and well, happy and sad and it arrives every week immediately after the weekend. Actually that's a load of bollocks. Rich people don't have Mondays at all and poor people have two every week, in some sort of financial renunciation of an Einsteinian universe.

Observations like that make good signatures on message boards and pass the time while staring at a computer screen and trying to muster the enthusiasm to actually do anything. "So what do you reckon to the half gig man?" Kent from the next cubicle popped up like a meerkat and looked over the dividing wall. "Janko thinks he's just playing it cool. Wazza thinks he's lost the ticket and I think he's some 80 year old guy who died of a heart attack watching the draw. I'm hoping for the latter, since I have some aged relatives who are due for a visit from their favourite nephew."

"What?"

"Oh come on, get with the flow or you'll be excommunicated from the water cooler first division. Half a gig? Five hundred and twelve million plus change? Of course it's not strictly half a gig but its close enough." I continued to look blank until he grimaced and explained that the lottery had been won by a single person who was probably not even filling in for a consortium. Half a gigabyte is a similar number of bytes to $512 million. This explained the rather contrived nickname. It also explained why programmers made poor after-dinner speakers. Heck, it probably explained why programmers have no friends who are not also programmers. And why so few get divorced - on account of them never getting married in the first place. Anyway the news was that no one had yet made a valid claim on the money.

"Depending who he is, he's probably either getting the longest blow job in history off his wife or she's had her boyfriend kill him so she can claim the ticket as her own." I said, and that pretty much ended the conversation. Which made me think that the water cooler bush telegraph had already been operating earlier.

It was pretty old news by Thursday. Even reporters run out of variations on how to say nothing had changed. But it still rated a mention towards the end of the local news which I had on waiting for NCIS to start and the microwave to ring in another invitation to indigestion masquerading as a ready meal. "Oh thanks a bunch for reminding me," I told the television as the winning numbers scrolled across the bottom of the screen. My wife... ex-wife's birthday. And her age. And a sudden memory of little Miss Pushy in Wal-Mart as the remote control unaccountably fell onto the glass coffee table just missing falling into a mug of the appropriate beverage.

I looked at it blankly for a minute wondering what it was. Then I looked at my hand and wondered why it was shaking so much it had dropped the thing. Then I looked at the TV as NCIS went through its familiar routines, too terrified to move. Exactly which numbers had I used and in what format? Some were just too big to use intact, like the years of dates. What had I done with the ticket? What if it wasn't there? What if I had remembered the numbers wrong? What if some gangsters had cracked the lottery computer and knew who I was. What if it was one of those supposedly funny pranks where some guys got a TV show to make an idiot out of someone who thought they were his friends and who was expected to give it a big Santa-like 'ho ho ho' when the presenter jumped out of the wardrobe, instead of strangling the bastard and claiming justifiable homicide if it even got to court?

It must have been an hour later when I took my next breath and could just about find my mouth without spilling too much of the cold coffee or dropping the electronic cigarette. It was even later when I felt ready to stand up but I had to know. First though I went round and locked all the doors and shut all the windows and remembered every movie and apocryphal story about winning tickets that blew under metro trains or into rivers or got eaten by dogs or went up the chimney to Santa or were abducted by sex crazed alien beauties in exchange for a lifetime of oral sex.

I realised I was getting a bit crazy and then I remembered that the world was full of evil psychiatrists who would have you in a padded cell and steal your ticket as soon as look at you. Finally I ran out of excuses and went to where my weekend jacket was hanging. The one I wore because it made me look marginally more 'cool' than the one I wore to work. The ticket was still there in the pocket and it came out without tearing or spontaneously combusting. I carefully held it and carried it to the desk where my home computer was sitting and there were no sudden drafts, nor were there any drinks to spill over it or greasy foods to erase parts. No sharp objects nearby or anything that could trick me by sitting there looking innocent and just waiting for its chance.

So there was the ticket sitting in the middle of at least an eighteen inch square of empty desk, weighted down by a stapler so it couldn't escape. The computer was already on and I managed to find the right web site eventually, and the actual results, easier, and the exact numbers, child's play. Nor was it difficult to see that all the numbers on my ticket appeared on the top line of the results. Though I still double checked about 20 times. And treble checked the dates matched. And quadruple checked that it was the same lottery.

It all checked out right, every time.

By then it must have been about three AM and I had to get up for ... work? Work! Don't be so stupid. But the terms and conditions were not making sense and the how to make a claim only gave a phone number and a series of times that all started at 9am. And I had to make absolutely, positively 100% certain nothing bad happened to the ticket for another six hours at least.

Chapter Two

I could bore you with the highs and lows of the next few hours but I am sure you can guess sleep did not figure heavily in them. Shortly after nine, with the ticket intact and no sign of either terrestrial or extra-terrestrial interference, the call was made. A young lady answered the phone asking if I wanted to make a claim and which lottery and how many numbers matched, and I replied yes and gave the date and said all of them. Which got her attention, so we agreed I wouldn't mind waiting a minute which lasted somewhat longer and led to another lady. Which led to some more chat and a promise that she would send the boys round.

When they arrived, they didn't look like gangsters but that could have been because my mental imagery tended towards 1930's Chicago and none of them appeared to play the violin. So we agreed that it would be nice if they took me for a ride which did actually end up at a quite exclusive hotel instead of in a remote swamp being eaten by alligators. This seemed to be part of their VIP treatment, or perhaps it was just to keep me away from the newspapers while they validated the ticket, which I had rather trustingly let them take away with them.

The suite was a long way up so if anyone had told me it was the penthouse I would have had no reason to doubt that assertion. I didn't spend much time looking out of the window though, in case of snipers with long-range rifles. Instead I picked at some of the buffet that was laid out on a side table, and tried unsuccessfully to relax as I waited, the reality of the situation gradually starting to percolate inwards. Which started my hands shaking again. I suppose it hits different people in different ways.

It was then that I first met Carole who arrived about an hour later. My initial and rather wild thought was that penthouse suites were even better equipped than I had imagined. But she wasn't wearing a tag that read complements of the management. Nor was she wearing a low cut dress with a high hemline. So that nixed my second guess, which was that she was eye candy for any promotional photos.

Not that she wasn't qualified. If anything she would have been too pretty to stand in the background with a fake smile and an even faker cleavage. Carole had that unmistakable Eurasian look which came about only when someone who had gone to work in Japan or perhaps Vietnam had stayed long enough to get married and have at least one child. The result was a compellingly attractive face above a body that looked delicate whilst still curving in all the right places. Well to be honest in one area it curved more than the body looked like it needed, but I wasn't going to complain because it also appeared to do so naturally. She was also probably used to being stared at. Or perhaps she was kind and assumed I was still in shock about the lottery ticket.

I found it wasn't difficult to look at her face too. Her skin was a flawless pale sort of golden-brown colour with a small nose above wide and rather pouty lips that looked really kissable. But it was her eyes that lit her up, large deep brown pools which surveyed the world with a combination of intelligence, humour and compassion. She inspired trust but also didn't give the impression of judging lesser mortals. In any event, she smiled and held out her hand and told me my ticket had been verified and she was there as a courtesy from the lottery organisers to help me adapt to the sudden, almost obscene amount of zeroes that would be showing up on my next bank statement. I think I smiled back and shook hands and perhaps even said something coherent. Then she suggested we sit down, which would never have occurred to me at that moment but which seemed like an excellent idea. There was a faint scent of jasmine in the air when we were seated closer to each other.

At the time it seemed like a nice gesture to send her round but when I thought about it later, it was just being practical. After all it's bad publicity if a winner makes headlines by losing it all in a ponzi scheme or crashes their new sports car into a bridge a week later. Of course I was also to find out that people do do nice things for those who have a lot of money, as well as for those who have good looks. It doesn't make a lot of sense but there seems an underlying belief that the rich are somehow superior. But I digress...

Carole... Carole was very nice and she wasn't pushy about it when I said I didn't want publicity. I think she was supposed to be, but that wasn't her way. She didn't start talking about things like bank accounts and investments and tax havens and all that kind of thing either, figuring correctly that I needed more time to come to terms with it all. Instead she got rid of the actual eye candy, who was a singer who had been popular a few years back before sinking without a trace. He definitely minced out of the room in something of a huff so I figured he would have to try Plan B and get himself into a jungle TV reality show and eat bugs. I never did like his songs much.

Then Carole talked about herself a bit. Perhaps she needed to do that to have anyone see beyond her looks; it certainly didn't come across as boasting. So I learned that she had two degrees in business and economics, that she had worked as PA to a very well-known movie star until his ego made him unemployable, and also worked for a famous rock band until the lead singer tried to rape her on the tour bus one night. Now she worked for the lottery corporation and by the way, did I have any special ideas about what I might like to do with some of the three hundred million and some dollars that would be left after the government had claimed its own lottery win without even buying a ticket?

Surprisingly enough I did. I guess her talking had calmed me down enough to start thinking at least somewhat rationally. "Well for a start I'm going to show up at work one more time and tell them I got a new job abroad and I have to leave right away. I should be able to get out of giving notice if I don't want to get paid and it will stop them thinking maybe I won the lottery. Then I'm going to find a good hotel a long way away and get the house sold and never come back."

"Nothing holding you here? No family or friends?"

"No family and no close friends here. Some online ones in various places."

"Then that is a good start to a new life. You will live in your hotel and think about things like a new house and a new car or two and maybe finding a nice girl, or a few nasty ones." I looked at her rather sharply but there was no hint of invitation in her bearing. She maintained a rather Oriental acceptance of the male inclination to try and pollinate as many flowers as possible. Perhaps she even approved but she wasn't volunteering.

I skated over that and the talk turned to investments, about which she knew a great deal. And about which I knew nothing except I preferred to maintain that ignorance and pay someone else to worry. She seemed to know a lot about a lot of things. Like where might be a good place to live while I planned and which was the best hotel there. And who to call should I wish an escort for company.

She already knew everything I would need to know.

"Carole..." I paused. "Will you come work as my personal assistant if I triple your current salary?"

She gaped a moment then laughed. "Quadruple it, guarantee six months pay if you fire me and understand I never sleep with an employer!" she joked.

"Deal"

She started to laugh again but then she saw I was serious. "But..."

"Ok," I couldn't resist a smile at having blown her cool composure. "You drive a hard bargain. Quintruple or whatever it is for five times. But you did agree. So do I still have to pay for six months if I fire you for breach of contract in the first three minutes?" I felt like someone who had fallen overboard from a sinking ship and landed in a lifeboat full of caviar and sex-crazed alien beauties. Or something. At any rate the weight on my shoulders lifted and I managed the first really carefree smile I had achieved since I saw those numbers on the TV screen.

Crazy? Reckless? I had always been impulsive but those impulses rarely let me down. Except in my sex life... or lack of one. They wouldn't let me down this time anyway. Even if I fired her after a week I would still be established in a good hotel somewhere with a very useful telephone number for the sort of escort service rich people used. I would have paid the money just for that and never even missed it. Given that I had no clear idea whether I was actually worth $340 million or $350 million or some other number entirely, I could lose a lot more on impulses.

But I never expected to regret this one and I never had cause to

..........

The Accidental Billionaire's story is available on Kindle, Kobo, Barnes and Noble and Smashwords as a series of 40,000 word novellas.
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