This article is part of the They Came From the Kindle series.
Reclusive billionaire Hayden Kane grants BBW reporter (she is a fat reporter, not a reporter working the BBW beat) Sheila Carey a rare interview. She repeatedly tries to get him to admit to being gay and interrogates him about giving his female staff the entire month of July as vacation. He doesn't really answer.
Sheila is impressed by his cold calmness and his billionaireness and decides she has to get to the bottom of the scoop. She sneaks onto his property and peeps Mr. Kane all greased up and jerking off when, suddenly, tentacles pop out of him and start jerking him off extra hard. Sheila takes a bunch of pictures of all the tentacles popping out of him and then feels guilty and breaks her camera's memory card.
"How could I expose Mr. Kane to rejection, disgust, or even horror? What sort of person would that make me?"
Oh, I don't know, maybe a journalist who just caught a frigging alien jacking it instead of a hoglady with weird morals who wants to get her holes stuffed with octopus. Not to spoil the big twist, but it turns out Hayden Kane is an alien. His space ship crashed on earth when he was a baby and his parents died, forcing him to fend for himself and become a billionaire on his own. Naturally, once the truth is out, Sheila has to ride the calamari. In miserable detail.
By the way, this book is straight-faced serious.
Liquid heat spurted within me, and hot salty caramel jetted into my mouth.
An alien that ejaculates caramel? Way to pander to the BBWs.
Classic Kindle line:
(Minutes after having sex)
"Am I really pregnant?" I asked.
What could the tentacle billionaire even say to that? "Yes, I have ESPT, and by the way," he said smiling at me, "my offspring chew their way out through your butt."
What reviewers say:
Crystal, you can't say much period. What the fuck are you talking about?
Also from this author: The Billionaire's Tentacles 2: Ravished by Tentacles
If you are 35 and you are not integrated into the Gigathrax then you are not ready to retire.
While designing this space, I imagined David Fincher being forced to recreate the music video for Nine Inch Nails' Closer in a haunted gas station bathroom.
My game is funded. Now I know everything.
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