My name is Alex Turner, and at 25 years old, I was the definition of average. Average height, average build, average face that blended into any crowd. No one gave me a second glance on the street, and honestly, I didn't blame them. I worked a dead-end job at a dingy warehouse, stacking boxes for minimum wage, barely scraping by on rent for my crappy one-room apartment. My social life? Nonexistent. Girlfriends? A couple of awkward high school flings that fizzled out faster than cheap fireworks. Life was a grind, and I was the one getting ground down.
That all changed on a rainy Tuesday night. I'd just gotten fired—some bullshit about "restructuring"—and was trudging home through the downpour, soaked to the bone. My phone buzzed with eviction notices, and my bank account was in the negatives. Rock bottom? Yeah, that was me, staring up from the pit.
I ducked into a sketchy alley to avoid the worst of the rain, and that's when I saw it: a glint of gold peeking out from under a pile of trash. Curiosity got the better of me. I dug through the wet cardboard and pulled out an old ring, heavy and ornate, with a strange symbol etched into it. It looked valuable, but what did I know? I slipped it onto my finger, figuring I could pawn it for a few bucks.
The moment it settled on my skin, a jolt shot through me like electricity. My vision blurred, then sharpened in a way I'd never experienced. Colors intensified, and suddenly, overlays appeared in my sight—like augmented reality, but real. Numbers, words, floating above everything.
I stared at a discarded soda can: *Value: $0.05 (recyclable aluminum).* A cracked smartphone in the gutter: *Value: $20 (salvageable parts).* Holy shit. This ring... it let me appraise anything. But it wasn't just objects. A stray cat slinked by, and text hovered: *Weakness: Hunger – easily lured with food.*
My heart raced. This was no ordinary ring. This was my golden ticket—my "golden finger," as I'd later call it. I tested it on myself in a puddle's reflection: *Alex Turner – Average physique, exceptional endowment (length: 9 inches, girth: 6 inches), stamina: 45 minutes sustained. Weakness: Low self-confidence.*
I blinked. Endowment? I mean, I'd always known I was packing down there—big, thick, and lasting longer than most guys from what I'd heard—but seeing it quantified like that? Weirdly empowering. But the weakness hit home. Yeah, that tracked.
Shaking off the rain, I headed home, mind spinning with possibilities. If I could see values and weaknesses, I could flip junk into cash. Start small, build up. And women? If I could spot their weaknesses... no, I pushed that thought aside for now. First, survival.
The next morning, I hit the streets with purpose. Pawn shops, flea markets, dumpsters—I scanned everything. An old watch in a thrift store: *Value: $500 (antique Rolex, needs cleaning).* I haggled it down to $50 with the clueless owner and flipped it online for $450 profit. Boom. First win.
By week's end, I'd turned $200 in scraps into $2,000. I paid rent, stocked my fridge, and even bought some decent clothes. But the real test came at a local bar. I wasn't there to drink; I was scouting.
A woman sat alone at the counter—stunning, mid-20s, curves that turned heads, long brunette hair cascading down her back. Name tag from her waitress job: Emily. I focused, and the overlay appeared: *Emily Hayes – Weakness: Loneliness after breakup; craves validation and physical intimacy. Value: High emotional loyalty if satisfied.*
My pulse quickened. I wasn't some creep, but this... this was an edge. I approached casually, ordering a beer. "Rough night?" I asked, nodding at her empty glass.
She glanced up, eyes tired but pretty. "You have no idea. Boyfriend dumped me for some bimbo."
I leaned in, using my new confidence. "His loss. You're way out of his league." Simple, but the ring's insight guided me. We talked—her job sucked, she felt invisible. I listened, validated her, shared a laugh. Before long, she was smiling, touching my arm.
We ended up at my place. Clothes hit the floor fast. Emily's eyes widened when she saw me—fully erect, thick and veined, pulsing with anticipation. "Oh my god," she whispered, her hand wrapping around it, barely fitting. "You're... huge."
I grinned, pulling her close. Her body was soft, full breasts pressing against my chest as I kissed her deeply. She moaned into my mouth, her hands exploring. I laid her on the bed, trailing kisses down her neck, sucking on her nipples until they hardened like pebbles. She arched, gasping.
My fingers found her wetness, sliding in easily as I rubbed her clit in slow circles. "Alex... please," she begged. I positioned myself, the head of my cock teasing her entrance. With one thrust, I filled her completely—deep, stretching her walls. She cried out, nails digging into my back.
I paced myself, thrusting slow at first, building rhythm. Her pussy clenched around my thickness, juices coating me as I pounded harder. "You're so tight," I groaned, feeling her body respond. She came first, shuddering, her orgasm milking me. But I kept going—my stamina holding strong. I flipped her onto her hands and knees, slamming in from behind, her ass jiggling with each impact.
"Fuck, yes! Don't stop!" she screamed, another climax ripping through her. I lasted, driving deep until I finally released, filling her with hot spurts. We collapsed, sweaty and spent.
Emily curled against me. "That was incredible. I've never... lasted like that." Her weakness sated, she was mine—at least for now. My first harem member? Maybe. But I knew this was just the start.
Word spread subtly. Emily introduced me to her friend Sarah at a party—a fiery redhead with a athletic build and a sharp wit. Overlay: *Sarah Kline – Weakness: Boredom in routine sex; seeks intense, prolonged pleasure. Value: Adventurous spirit, potential for group dynamics.*
I played it cool, charming her over drinks. We danced, bodies grinding. Back at my now-upgraded apartment (thanks to more flips—an old painting appraised at $10k sold for profit), things heated up.
Sarah was aggressive, stripping me down and dropping to her knees. Her mouth engulfed my cock, lips stretching around the girth as she sucked hungrily. "Mmm, so big," she murmured, tongue swirling the head. I gripped her hair, guiding her deeper until she gagged slightly, eyes watering with lust.
On the couch, I ate her out—tongue flicking her clit, fingers curling inside her g-spot. She squirted, soaking my face. Then I entered her, missionary style, legs over my shoulders for deep penetration. My thick shaft split her open, hitting spots that made her scream. "Harder! Fuck me like you mean it!"
I obliged, pounding relentlessly. Her orgasms came in waves—three, four—before I unloaded inside her, her pussy pulsing around me. Emily watched from the doorway, biting her lip. "Join us?" I invited.
Soon, it was a tangle of bodies. Emily rode my face while Sarah bounced on my cock, their moans harmonizing. I switched, fucking Emily doggy while fingering Sarah. No rush—my duration let me satisfy both until they were limp, covered in sweat and cum.
My wealth grew too. Appraising stocks via online listings (value overlays on company reports), I invested smartly. From thousands to tens of thousands. A luxury car, better digs. Women noticed the change—the confidence, the aura of success.
Next was Lisa, a corporate exec I met at a networking event I'd crashed using a fake invite (appraised weaknesses in security). Blonde, busty, in a tight dress. Overlay: *Lisa Grant – Weakness: Stress from work; needs release through dominant pleasure. Value: Connections in high finance.*
We flirted over champagne. In her penthouse later, she was on all fours, begging. My cock slammed into her from behind, hands on her hips as I thrust deep. "Yes, fill me up!" she gasped, her walls gripping me tight. I pulled her hair gently—not rough, just guiding—as she came hard, squirting on the sheets.
Post-climax, she introduced me to investment opportunities. My net worth hit six figures.
Then came Mia, a college student barista. Petite Asian with perky tits. Weakness: Curiosity about size queens' fantasies. I showed her—stretching her tiny pussy to its limits, making her cum repeatedly on my thick length.
Step by step, my harem grew: Emily, Sarah, Lisa, Mia. Group sessions became routine—me in the center, pleasuring them one by one or together, my stamina outlasting their exhaustion. Bodies writhing, pussies dripping, moans echoing.
But this was only the beginning. Bigger opportunities loomed—appraising rare artifacts, exploiting business weaknesses. More women to conquer. My average life? Transformed into something extraordinary.