Beg Me ~Sold to My Dad’s Boss~

By: Cassandra Dee
A May December Romance Novella



For everyone who’s ever begged …

Admit it, you liked it!




I struggled into my swimsuit.  It was kinda obscene, I had to admit.  I’ve grown a lot in the last year, horizontally mostly, and my boobs, which had been tiny before now went out to here, while my ass went out to there.  Basically I was the proverbial hourglass, sassy, curvy, busting out in all places.

But I sighed.  What choice did I have?  It was my parents’ twentieth anniversary and I’d rushed home for the party after finals.  I’d been so busy studying and trying to do well that I hadn’t had a chance to buy myself a new swimsuit.  So I scrutinized myself again.  Okay, well if I hiked the top up a little at the neck, and made sure the butt part stayed down, at least most of me would be covered … almost.  Barring any accidents, any slippery mishaps, I’d be okay.

So I sighed again, turning away from the mirror in my childhood bedroom.  Yep, the space was exactly as I’d left it last year, a blast from the past.  In high school, I’d been really nerdy, studying all the time so that I could get into a good college and the room showed it.  The walls were bare but I had a huge bookshelf filled with textbooks and “serious” reading like Charles Dickens and some Russian authors whose names I couldn’t pronounce, then or now.  Go figure.

But despite the boring exterior, I’m still a fun girl … it’s just fun of a personal kind.  Because I got a Kindle for Christmas and suddenly there was unlimited access to all sorts of naughty stories, steamy times with my hand tucked between my legs, bringing myself to heaven as I devoured the words, ate up the dirty pictures and videos.  So I was the proverbial good girl with a bad side – innocent on the outside but filthy within.

But I shook myself, sighing.  Right, back to business.  This swimsuit.  I looked kinda like a pornstar even though it was a modest black one-piece, something that was supposed to cover real acreage, totally appropriate for a family setting.  The problem was me, there was so much of me now that the conservative cut was now racy, flesh jiggling this way and that, creamy and exposed.  But sighing again, I gave up, tying my brown curls into a ponytail, grabbing a towel and leaving the room.  I’d just have to be careful, I reminded myself, padding downstairs to the kitchen and glancing through the back window to the patio outside.

The party was already in full swing, people splashing in the pool, my dad at the grill looking jovial, chatting up a storm.  It was mostly older folks, my parents’ friends, middle aged couples in their forties, wrinkled and tired.

But then I saw him.  Christopher Jones was my dad’s boss at United Electric, although I think he was actually a few years younger than my dad.  I’d always had a crush on him and at this moment, the big man was hauling himself out of the pool, his arms strong as he dragged that muscular torso from the water.  I gasped, my breath coming fast, knees literally going weak because the man was like a god come to life, so gorgeous and dominant emerging from the water.

Rivulets of liquid sluiced off his hard muscles, his arms strained and flexed as he pulled himself to hip height, level with the pool’s edge before maneuvering himself out all the way, rising to stand on the deck.  He was like a warrior come to life, his body muscled, perfectly proportioned, those broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, the thick, heavy thighs.  And as if feeling my gaze on him, he turned sparkling blue eyes to me, meeting my eyes through the window, his look knowing, warm.  I flushed, growing bright red, forcing myself to stay still instead of instinctively ducking out of sight.  Oh my god, had he seen me, or was it just a trick of the light, a reflection of the window pane?

It was impossible to know for sure, but my inner parts tingled suddenly, wetly moist from that masculine stare.  Oh god, how did Mr. Jones do this to me?  There were boys at school who’d been interested but they did nothing, I’d shared a couple kisses, wet and slobbery, and a few had felt up my boobs, moaning with ecstasy as they grabbed fistfuls of breastflesh, making me squeal with pain, pull away at the manhandling.

But I knew with certainty that Mr. Jones would be completely different.  Reflexively, my gaze dropped to his large, square hands, dripping with water and my mouth went dry, a fire lighting within my body.  Because those hands would be so smooth, so agile on my curves, stroking me to heaven, making me come again and again, my body moist, open, begging him for more.

And oh god, that package.  The big man was wearing board shorts, the kind that looked like regular shorts, coming to his knee.  But even through the loose canvas material, I could see a hard edge, an outline of something massive, a promise so hard, hot and hungry that my pussy began to tingle, responding to the call of this male animal.

And as if reading my mind, Mr. Jones grinned at me through the window, winking before turning away to talk to someone, nonchalant, like nothing was wrong.  I snapped back to reality.  Holy shit, he had seen me, I hadn’t been imagining the eye contact, those blue eyes had read my desire, how I’d grown flushed with heat, needing him, my breasts heaving with excitement.  My mind went crazy, spinning into various scenarios, imagining being with him, on him, in him, in all sorts of illicit, crazy positions.

But real life struck.  I was a nineteen year old college girl whereas he was an experienced, dominant alpha male.  What did I have to offer him?  Chris could get any woman he wanted, any female would be happy for a few minutes alone with that hard, male body.  So I snapped myself back to reality.  What had felt like a slow-mo scene to me, a fantasy sequence complete with flashbacks and flash forwards, had probably been two seconds of real life at most.  I’d probably imagined the whole thing, it’d been nothing but a daydream, the fantasies of an inexperienced girl.  Because of course, Mr. Jones was already chatting up some middle-aged woman, a skinny blonde chick with an orange tan who looked him up and down hungrily, eyeing him lasciviously while licking her lips, hanging onto his every word, devouring him with her eyes.

And embarrassed suddenly, I turned away, head down, grabbing my towel before making my way outside, going over to sit over behind a tree, making myself inconspicuous.  Mr. Jones had so many options, the world at his fingertips, women dying to meet him.  And as for me?  I was a teenage girl, a complete nobody, and absolutely, utterly out of my league.



I’ve known Lindy a long time now.  The first time we met was when she was sixteen and she’d come to a company function.  Back then she was rail-thin and mousy with huge clunky glasses, and I hadn’t paid much attention except to say hello to my employee’s family.

Because Lindy’s dad, Jim, works for United Electric.  We’re a small construction outfit, doing jobs all over Long Island, both residential and commercial, and Jim was a great guy, talkative, outgoing, like a friendly golden retriever always ready to do your bidding.

But there had been some anomalies in his performance lately, some things I couldn’t overlook and I’d had to take it up with him.

“Jim-boy,” I said casually last Friday, leaning back at my desk.  “What the fuck is going on?  What the fuck happened with that last job?”

Jim got really red, made all the worse by the fact that he had blonde eyebrows.  He looked like a red potato with golden whiskers, fresh from the oven.  I almost felt sorry for him, the dude was so uncomfortable and fidgety, but I steeled myself.  I was the boss and this was business, nothing more.

And he hemmed and hawed, making excuses.

“Costs got out of control, the supplies were more expensive than we thought and you know Danny over with Kamco, he was supposed to extend us credit, but he didn’t,” the man babbled nervously.

But I shook my head slowly, the drivel running through my ears.  These were just shady half-truths.  Jim was our controller, he was supposed to be on top of the numbers and the problems didn’t stem from supply issues or cost overruns.  It was far more serious, a rotten inner core from deep within.

So ignoring the other man’s chatter, I leaned over my keyboard, tapping a few times and pulled up a spreadsheet before turning the monitor towards my employee.

“These are the books from last month,” I said casually, “Your job is to keep on top of them, make sure they reflect United Electric’s daily revenues, our spend, our take from each job.”

The blonde man nodded miserably, so nervous that he was beginning to sweat, and I could see a shiny slick on his forehead.  But I was going in for the kill and this was no time to back off.

“And this,” I said pointing to a column numbers, “is less than it should be.”

Instead of denying it, Jim just looked down, nodding, twisting his hands in his lap.

“I know, I know,” he babbled, “I’ll look at it again, I had a feeling something was wrong, the numbers didn’t square up, didn’t meet our estimates …”

I cut him off.

“This has nothing to do with estimates or projections,” I drawled smoothly.  “The numbers don’t add up because you’ve been taking from the till, helping yourself to some extra, Jim-boy.  Why?  Why did you do it?  Do I not pay you enough?”

And Jim looked about ready to burst into tears then, his chin quivering, eyes growing moist and bright.

“No, you pay me great!” he protested with a hiccup to his voice.  “Thank you Mr. Jones, thank you for hiring me, I didn’t mean to be ungrateful, it’s just that … that …” he mumbled.

I sat silently, expectantly.  What could possibly justify stealing from your employer?  Shit, I should turn this guy into the feds, this was criminal behavior.

But the tears began to spill then.

“I’m so sorry,” blubbered Jim, his nose running with trails of slime, his chin drooping with sorrow, “but my daughter’s college tuition is so expensive I needed some extra to get us through this next year, I’ll pay it back, I swear.”

I steepled my hands thoughtfully, shaking my head.  Jim was disgusting, that was no justification for his actions, there was always the option of student loans, parent loans, or fuck, he could have just come to me for a personal loan.  But I got it.  A lot of people lied to themselves, telling themselves that they’d just “borrow” some money, they’d take it without anyone noticing, the money would be put back before anyone even realized it was gone.  But that’s a bunch of jack shit.  That money doesn’t ever come back, it’s gone, flown off to its next destination and the unfortunate part in this case, was that I was his boss and I wasn’t exactly the nicest guy out there.

“You’re fired,” I said abruptly.  “HR will have your paperwork.”

The blonde man blubbered again, dropping to his knees before my desk and clasping his hands.

“Please Mr. Jones, no,” he begged.  “I didn’t take that much, please don’t, my family needs the money, we have a mortgage, my daughter’s in college, please.”

I shook my head, turning away.

“Business is business,” I said ruthlessly.  “Get out.”

But Jim was tenacious, I’ll give him that.  Instead of getting to his feet and leaving my office, head down and defeated, he anted up and doubled down.

“Please!” he screamed, throwing himself at my feet.  Okay, now this was getting a little dramatic, like out of a movie.  Was I going to have to get security to escort him out?  “I’ll give you anything you want.  Just another month on the job so that I can find a new one.  Please!” he wailed.

And I paused for a moment.  In general, I like to cut a cancer out at its source, discard it before it festers and grows into a huge sore.  But in this case, Jim had a point.  I didn’t have a new controller lined up and it would take time to interview candidates and conduct a thorough search.  So if I kept him on for another month, it would help with the transition, help us keep the books up until someone new stepped in.  But I’d have to keep an eye on the fucker.  Fuck.  That fucking sucked.  I was here to bring in business for United Electric, it was my job as the boss to drum up new jobs for us, to wine and dine clients so that we landed multi-million dollar contracts.  So to spend my nights as a part-time accountant fucking sucked, it was the last thing I wanted to do.  But against my better judgment, I agreed.

“Fine,” I said roughly.  “One more month and then you’re out.”

And the man bobbed his head up and down thanking me.

“Thank you, thank you Mr. Jones,” he blabbered, eyes welling with tears of relief.  “Thank you, this will give me just enough time to find a new job, and I will pay you back, I will,” he promised.

I just turned away, disgusted, shaking my head.

But the pathetic dude had the temerity to keep going.

“Is there one more thing I can ask of you?” he begged, still on his knees.

My head snapped to his, eyes blazing.  What the fuck, this guy had just admitted to stealing my money, taking my shit, caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and now he wanted something more from me?  Fuck, some people are unbelievable.

But before I could throw him out of my office, the guy’s face crumpled again.

“Please come to my twentieth anniversary party this weekend,” he mumbled, “It’s Linda’s and my anniversary, and I don’t want her to suspect anything.  I want my wife to be happy and you know she’s been sick lately, she’s been looking forward to this party for so long.  Please come so that she doesn’t think something’s wrong.”

And to my own disbelief, I agreed.  What the fuck was wrong with me?  I was going soft between this talk of sick wives and family events.  But the damage was done.

“Fine,” I ground out, “I’ll be there.”

And with that, Jim shuffled out the door, bowing and scraping, his blonde head bobbing, the wisps of white hair comical as they waved back and forth.

“Oh thank you, thank you,” he blubbered.  “You won’t regret it Mr. Jones.”

And after the door shut, I just sighed.  Really, what the fuck was wrong with me?  Seriously, I had money to make, a business to build, and I’d just been roped into going to a loser party, put on a happy face so that this thief could make his wife happy.  Had the world gone crazy?

But I knew the real reason.  I’m no Mr. Nice Guy.  I’m a sick fuck, an asshole through and through and Jim-boy here had something I wanted.  I hadn’t seen Lindy in a while, not for a year almost and she’d been captivating, young, nubile, shy but exciting.  It was summer break now, she’d be at the celebration, right?  And when my dick jerked, growing hard and twitching uncontrollably, I knew I’d made the right decision.  Because Lindy was worth it, I wanted to set my eyes on the beautiful girl even if I was firing her dad.


I lay on the lounger, sunglasses over my eyes, drifting a little.  Most of the guests had gone and I was shaded by a huge tree at the edge of the pool which partially blocked the view.  With my eyes closed, I reached a hand out to grab my soda, my fingers questing for the drink sightlessly as I fumbled.

Suddenly the cool bottle was pushed into my hand, firm and solid.

“Hey!” I gasped, sitting up, startled.

And oh god, but chills ran up my spine, my body going weak because Mr. Jones stood over me, his big form looming, throwing me in shadow.  And he was so close, so near that I literally began to pant.  His massive form was only inches away and I had a perfect view of that huge chest, the chiseled six-pack, and that package.  Oh god, that package.  A small trail of hair ran from his belly button downwards to his waistband, pointing down, down, down to a bulge that made my mouth go dry.  I could see the strong arch, the curve underneath the fabric and my cunt started tingling, sparkling deep inside.  Oh fuck, I was seriously losing it just being around this guy.

And Mr. Jones chuckled, following my line of sight.

“See something you like?” he said smoothly, eyebrow raised.

I flushed, immediately flicking my eyes away, embarrassed, pulling my towel over my breasts, trying to look cool although my insides were dissolving, warm and melty.  God, I was such an amateur, caught head on, staring at his bulge like a virginal girl.

“Um hey Mr. Jones,” I said with a weak smile.  “How are you?  Thanks for coming to my parents’ anniversary party,” I added lamely.

The big man’s eyes became impenetrable for a second but then it passed, and I shook my head, sure it was a mirage.

“No problem,” he said smoothly, not sitting down, still looming over me.  “I wanted to come, it’s been a long time since I saw you, Lindy.  You look great.”

I colored.  I hadn’t seen Chris since high school graduation and that was a year ago.  Did he remember?  I looked completely different now, no longer a skinny beanpole, now outfitted with a woman’s body that was acting extremely womanly at the moment, creaming slightly down below, my nipples tense, tight with excitement.

“Oh thanks,” I said with bright smile on my face.  “How have you been?”  Better to pass my gaffe off as nothing, pretend nothing had happened.

And big man chuckled low in his throat, taking a swig of his cocktail.

“Good, I’ve been good,” he rumbled, before fixing me with an electric look, those blue eyes piercing, seeing through my towel like x-ray vision.  Oh god, my nips grew harder under his gaze and I cursed my body.  Why now?  Why, why, why?

But Chris just shot me another grin.

“You’ve changed a lot,” he remarked.

And this time, I was determined to shield my body’s reaction.  I pulled my towel even tighter, wrapping it around me like I was a mummy in a blanket.  But instead of hiding things, it had the opposite effect.  It was so tight on my breasts that my nips stuck out like missiles, hard and pointy, poking out so that the big man couldn’t help but see, his eyebrows rising with amusement.

“Miss me?” he growled low in his throat, shifting his stance so that the rest of the party was blocked from our intimate exchange, his big body shielding me from other’s gaze.  “Your body certainly does, those luscious tits are sending me a message.”

And I colored again, my hands still.  Oh my god, was this really happening?  Was Mr. Jones coming onto me, talking about my body, my creamy tits, his dick only inches from my face?  Wasn’t this wrong?  He was in his forties, more than twenty years older than me, plus he was my dad’s boss.

But that was the problem exactly.  I didn’t want to offend the big man because he was my dad’s boss, and besides, I kinda liked his eyes on me, the way his gaze slid warmly over my curves, eating me up, looking approvingly at my wide hips, my big ass.  So I managed to smile and looked at him brightly.

“My boobs are sending you a message?” I murmured.  “I didn’t realize,” I cooed, pulling the towel up, hoping to cover more of myself, like a drape over my torso.  Except this effing towel wasn’t a beach towel, it was your standard bath towel and it rose up so that my crotch was bare, my thick thighs on display, the pale skin joining at the top in a beautiful vee.

And Mr. Jones just chuckled again, not even bothering to hide his amusement, his eyes fixed on my vag, his dick lengthening, growing so hard, so big that it strained against his waistband before popping a bit over the fabric, the pink fleshy helmet gleaming wetly in the low light.

“Little girl,” he said, “I think you forgot something.”

And I looked down and gasped, horrified.  Because the swimsuit wasn’t doing its job at all.  The leg holes had pulled so high, so tight, so that the nylon was basically a string between my pussy lips, bisecting the plump, swollen flesh.

“Oh god!” I squealed, trying with hasty hands to adjust the towel again.  But I just made things worse.  I was so clumsy, so awkward that somehow the towel got tangled up over my head and crept up even more, baring more of my exquisite cunt, the lips wet and glistening.

“Fuuuck,” growled Mr. Jones hoarsely, holding out a hand to stop my thrashing.  “Still little girl, still.”

And like a skittish mare sensing its owner, I calmed under his reassuring touch, the way his big hand was so calm, so dominant.

“I gotcha,” he murmured again, slowly pulling the towel way entirely, disentangling it from my body, the soft terrycloth dropping away to reveal my lush curves in their full glory.  “Fuck Lindy,” he breathed again.  “How did you get so beautiful?”

And I blushed once more, this time a full body blush, the pink spreading from my chest all the way down to my cunt, every part of me slightly rosy from hairline to toes.  And I had nowhere to hide from his gaze, there was nowhere to go although truth be told, I didn’t want to hide anymore, his eyes felt so warm on me, so delicious, leaving tingles wherever they landed.

“Mis-Mister Jones,” I stuttered softly.  “What’s going on?  I-I need my towel back.”

He flicked an eyebrow at me.

“But maybe I want to see more,” he drawled.

And I shivered inside, my nips jutting out like rocks now, one boob literally popping out from the top of my swimsuit.  Fuck, I was barely clothed, lying back on the lounger with one huge tit out for his gaze, the other straining to break free, my pussy shielded only by a string.

“Mr. Jones,” I whispered, my eyes begging as I met his.  “Please.”

But the big man ignored me, instead shifting his board shorts a bit so that about three inches of dick stuck out over the waistband and oh god, but he was leaking from the tip, the deep purple head swollen so big and glossy that I could see a vein beating along the bottom, painfully throbbing.  Immediately my lips parted slightly, my mouth opened as if in anticipation of a deep suck, knowing where that man meat belonged.

And Mr. Jones just chuckled deep in his throat then, his eyes on fire now, the blue so hot that it practically threw flames where it landed.  He shifted his big body once more to make sure we couldn’t be seen. I guess from over by the food table, it probably looked like we were having a normal conversation, Mr. Jones’s broad back blocking any visual of me other than my legs sticking out.  But still, this was so wrong and fucked up and dangerous … and I loved it.  My parents were only twenty feet away chatting with friends, with no idea what their baby girl was doing with the boss man.

And gulping, my heart beating a million miles a minute, I tried again, eyes wide.

“Mr. Jones,” I whispered softly.  “I need my towel.  I can’t get up from this lounger without that towel, give it back.”

The big man chuckled, his fingers tightening into a fist around the soft terry.

“That’s what you get for wearing that fuck-me swimsuit,” he growled, his eyes running up and down my curves.  I colored.  This was a modest one-piece, I’d just grown out of it and had no opportunity to shop.  But before I could interrupt, the big man continued.  “Tell you what, little girl,” he rumbled smoothly.  “I’ll give this back to you if you do something for me first.”

My cheeks colored and I whispered, “What is it?  I’ll do anything, please Mr. Jones.”

And the dark slashes across his cheeks heightened, his chest and abs growing tight, the pre-cum leaking in a stream from his dick now.

“Play with your tits,” he commanded.  “Rub and stroke yourself without making a sound so your folks don’t hear.  And then take that thing,” he said nodding at the Coke bottle, “and put it in your pussy.”

I gasped.  What the?  That was the most depraved idea I’d ever heard of.  I mean, I was being blackmailed right under my parents’ nose, Mom and Dad standing not twenty feet away, forced to show my body otherwise the rest of the guests were going to see my nudity.  Plus, we were at my house!  Chris was a guest here and yet he held all the cards.  How in the world had this happened?

But something changed in me, a switch had flipped on ever since we began our conversation.  Maybe it was from reading all the naughty stories, watching all the skin flicks, but suddenly my body pulsed uncontrollably and I was compelled to obey, magnetically drawn to Mr. Jones’s aura.  So with a slow, hesitant hand, I began playing with my tits, rubbing them, massaging and squeezing huge handfuls of the white flesh, my nips pink and rosy.

“Take your other tit out,” Mr. Jones commanded darkly.  “Let me see them both.”

And obediently, I pulled my left boob out of the suit as well so that both of my girls were free, mountainous and creamy, the Double D jugs standing out to there.  With clever fingers, I pulled at my nipples, tracing circles around the sweet pink tips, corkscrewing off them with audible pops before bringing one, then the other, to my mouth for a deep lick, then a quick suckle.  Because yeah, that’s one of the benefits of my changed body.  I’m now able to lick and kiss my own boobs, there’s enough breastflesh so that I can push them all the way up to my mouth, tongue myself while sparks shoot from my nipples to my cunt.

And from the way the big man was breathing, his eyes glued to my form, his huge body rock hard, filled with unleashed power, I could tell he was massively turned on.  So coyly, I raised one to Chris, waving it in small circles, the pink nipple hard and wet from my saliva.

“Come and taste?” I cooed softly, looking up at him between my lashes.

And something flared in the big guy’s eyes then.  He wanted to, I could tell he would have given anything to get on his knees beside me and dive into my creaminess, but it was his bulk that was shielding us from the partygoers’ gaze.  So instead, with deft hands, he pulled his entire cock out of his swim trunks and began fisting it, balls high and tight, the massive length heavy, deep pink, and glossy.  I wanted so bad to taste, to feel that fuckpole inside me, but I was just as stuck.  I couldn’t move on the lounger without giving us away, without letting other people in on our secret.  So instead I did the next best thing.  Reaching for my Coke, I picked it up and put to my mouth as if taking a sip.  It was a throwback bottle, the kind that’s green glass with a narrow bottle neck flaring into a circular base.  And with a coy smile, my pink tongue flickered out, lapping lightly at the neck before circling around the bottle head, lubing it up, getting it warm.

“This is all for you, Mr. Jones, all for you,” I said breathily, never breaking eye contact as the big man fisted his dick, his hand a blur now.  And with a sigh, I parted my legs, pulling the tight nylon to one side and hooking it over my labia so that my pussy was completely uncovered, everything exposed, creamy and wet for him.

“See Mr. Jones?” I panted, canting my hips up so that he could look into my pussy, spreading my lips a bit so that my inner channel was visible, my clit huge and stiff.  “Is this what you wanted to see?”

And I began sliding the coke bottle up and down my pussy lips, wetting the glass, the clear green growing smoky with my cum.

“Oh fuuuuuck,” came the groan from above, the man’s eyes fixated on my steaming cunt, the penetration that was about to happen.

I giggled.  I’ve never had a man so turned on for me, so completely under my spell and it lit something within, made me into a girl I didn’t recognize.  So going with the flow, exploring this new side of me, I did the unthinkable.  With a deft flick of my wrist, I slipped the coke bottle inside, just half an inch, my pussy lips parting and squeezing wetly around the round head.

“Ohhh!” I moaned quietly, throwing my head back, eyes closed.  My nips were pointed up in the air, my boobs creamy and full as I fucked myself with the glass bottle.  “Ohhh!” I moaned again.

Suddenly the conversation in back of us paused for a moment.

“Was that a dog I heard?” asked a female voice.

“Maybe it was a dying squirrel,” smirked a male voice in return.

And Chris and I held our breaths, eyes open and alarmed, our bodies tight as we paused, breathless, waiting.  But soon the hubbub of voices started up again and we went back to our wicked ways.  Slowly, oh so slowly, I inched the bottle up my puss, the green glass hard, smooth and relentless in my channel.  I slid it in partway and then pulled it out, moaning low in my throat as the glass reappeared between my cunt lips, coated in cream.  The big man growled deeply, his hand fisting his dick at light speed as my pussy gushed and streamed with white, clit stiff and trembling in the air.

Suddenly my mom’s voice cut in.

“Lindy!” she sang out, “Can you help me in the kitchen please?”

And I groaned.  I knew what it was, Brenda probably needed help getting the cake ready, lighting candles or getting the dessert plates.

“Sure Mom,” I managed to say in a semi-normal voice, the words a little croaky despite my best effort.  “In a sec.”

And with another sweet shove, I pushed the bottle in again, this time frigging my clit at the same time, gasping under my breath, my body pulsing and arching.  It was so good, so hot, to know that we were touching ourselves within twenty feet of assorted family and friends that Chris and I came simultaneously, my pussy pumping around the glass bottle as Chris roared under his breath, ejaculating all over my breasts, dripping onto my stomach, running into the sweet vee between my legs.

“Awwww fuck,” he moaned quietly.  “Fuck fuck fuck.”

And I was no better.  The shower of white electrified me, I loved seeing the sperm jump through the air, sail in arcs before spattering on my tits, globs and rivulets running all over me.  My cunt pulsed and spasmed on the bottle inside, gripping it tight, my nether lips seizing the green glass like it was the real thing, a dick inside with a job to do.

“Oh oh oh!” I cried breathily, trying to keep it down.  “Oh!”

But we’d both been too loud.

“There’s that damn dog again,” said the disembodied female voice, this time a little louder.  “Wonder what’s going on?”

“Or it could be the squirrel again,” smirked the same male voice.  “You know, death throes and all.”

Suddenly, I recognized who it was.  It was my Aunt Mildred and Uncle Ronald, my dad’s sister and brother in law.  They were middle aged busybodies to the max, always gossiping about this or that, nosy and annoying, I tried to avoid them most of the time.  And unfortunately, footsteps were approaching as their voices grew louder.

Chris had the same realization, his dick still stiff, shaking with the remnants of his cum as he stuffed the massive pole back into his shorts.  Just as quickly, he threw the towel at me and I covered myself, rubbing some of the semen into my skin as I swathed myself in terrycloth.

And in the next second, Aunt Mildred and Uncle Ronald were on us.

“Oh hey there,” simpered my aunt, looking Chris up and down closely, that big body so devastatingly gorgeous that she’d probably forgotten about the weird noises already.  “I’m Mildred, Jim’s sister.  You’re his boss right?  Chris?”

And to his credit, Mr. Jones looked completely calm, completely at ease even though two dark slashes still decorated his cheekbones.

“Yes, I am,” he said deep in his chest.  “Chris Jones.  Nice to meet you.”

And I took that as my opportunity to slip away.

“Bye Aunt Mildred, Uncle Ronald,” I squeaked.  “Mom’s expecting me in the kitchen so I gotta roll.  Talk to you later, okay?”

But Mildred didn’t even notice and her husband was too busy cowering in Mr. Jones’s presence to be aware of me.  So I crept off quietly, trying to look as normal as possible as I walked past the remainder of the guests, Chris’s cum warm and hot on my body, smeared all over my breasts.  Oh god, this was so wrong, we’d frigged ourselves to orgasms within twenty feet of the other party guests, at my parents’ anniversary party to boot.  Oh god, we were such dirty perverts, oh god, oh god.

But I couldn’t resist.  When I got to the patio door I shot a quick look backwards in Chris’s direction.  And what do you know but he was looking right at me, his blue eyes knowing, a slight half-smile on his face as he took in my curvy form.  My pulse jumped, my body flaring with heat once more.  Because oh god, what had I done?  What had we just done together?  Mr. Jones was my dad’s boss … and I had just fucked myself with a coke bottle in front of him.



I couldn’t get the thought of Lindy out of my mind.  When had she become so delicious, so irresistible?  I’d gone to the party for her, although it was supposedly to help my employee celebrate his twentieth anniversary.  But I didn’t give a fuck about Jim, it’ll all been for his daughter.

And as usual, my sixth sense paid off.  The brunette was all grown up now, curvy and delectable wearing a swimsuit way too small for her.  What the fuck was she thinking?  I saw the teen sneak out the side door, skulking by the edge of the lawn before lying on the lounger, sunglasses on.  But Lindy caught my eye immediately because her curves were leaking from the black nylon in every direction, her boobs almost busting out and nothing more than a tiny string on the bottom.

And fuck, I had to have it, had to get my hands on that.  But I’m a predator who waits for the right time, waiting for the precisely right moment to strike.  So I waited until late afternoon, biding my time, when everyone was relaxed with a warm, balmy breeze blowing through the trees.  And most folks were gone by now, just a bunch of losers still hanging out by the food table.  Perfect, no one was gonna notice.  So I strode over to Lindy to reacquaint ourselves, and fuck, but was it an incredible getting-to-know-you-again.

Because every thought of being appropriate flew out of my mind the moment I laid eyes on her up close.  WTF?  That swimsuit was even worse up close.  Her tits were so huge that I could see the top of one of one pale pink areola, the rosy circle sweet and sensitive, it was that low-cut.  And oh fuck, but the crotch was no crotch at all.  It was more like a string running between her pussy lips, how the fuck could Jim and Brenda let their daughter wear this?  A burqa would have been more appropriate, or maybe a full-body scuba suit, yeah that sounded more like it.

So my eyes blazing, I said a rough hello.  And fuck, the conversation went off the rails from that very moment, there were no niceties, no “getting to know you” small talk.  Because within minutes, the brunette was fucking herself with a coke bottle for me, pushing that green glass up her cunt, the bottle smeared with white as it moved in and out, and I was an animal in response.  I grabbed my dick and went at it sixty miles an hour, spraying Lindy with blast after blast of slick semen, painting her torso, her boobs, her stomach with my cream, watching as arc after arc landed on the girl, glistening on those generous curves.

But the brunette was no newbie.  Sure, she gasped when the first lash of sperm hit her tits, but soon she was massaging it into her skin, treating it like lotion, even pushing some of it into her cunt as she came all over the coke bottle, her labia gripping the glass tight, hugging and convulsing as she practically shot off the lounger.  And oh fuck, oh fuck, we’d done it all within twenty feet of the remaining guests, fuck, within twenty feet of her mom and dad, muffling our moans, letting out silent screams, forcing our bodies not to betray us to the world.

So yeah, that happened.  And shit, but the encounter has been on repeat in my mind since it happened, for sixteen fucking hours straight driving me crazy, and now I’m ready to ravage the girl again, abduct her from her parents’ house and bring her back to mine, tie her to a bed and make her cum until she absolutely shatters.

So what could I do?  Seething with frustration, I ground my teeth until an idea popped into my mind.  I didn’t get to be CEO without some ingenuity, and I realized the solution was right in front of my eyes.  Because I didn’t need a reason.  I’m Jim’s boss, I own that man, and fuck, if I wanted to go over there now and help myself to his daughter?  It was fucking wrong, I was an asshole, a caveman, but so what?  The blood was pounding in my groin and I jumped into my SUV, ready to take what was mine.



I was lying in bed re-living my encounter with Mr. Jones for the millionth time when tires squealed into the driveway.  What the hell?  Even though I’d been in the middle of lightly tracing my clit, absentmindedly stroking my wet cunt, I jolted up in bed to glance out my second floor window.  And oh my god, but it was Chris Jones himself, the man of my dreams, his masculine form huge and assertive, stepping out of luxury SUV, the expression on his face grim.

What the hell?  What was he doing here Sunday at six a.m.?  No one in the neighborhood was awake, there were a couple birds tweeting, a couple rays of sunshine just starting to come out from behind the mountains, what the hell?  This was insane, nothing good could come of this.  So I rushed downstairs in my nightshirt, a big pink tee that came down mid-thigh with only my tiny panties on underneath.

“Mr. Jones,” I hissed opening the front door and poking my head out.  “What are you doing here?”

He stopped for a moment, looking dazed as if caught momentarily unawares.  But then recognition dawned once more at the sight of me and he charged up the stairs, seizing my wrist.

“Come on Lindy,” he ground out.

And god, but his big hand was so warm around mine, so commanding and possessive that I almost went with it, almost let him drag me off.

But reality got a hold of me, and I resisted, pulling my arm back, squeaking a bit even as I tried to keep my voice down.

“Mr. Jones!” I protested, “Stop!  What are you doing?”

But with one thrust, he pulled me out from behind the door so that I stood with him on my front porch in nothing but my nightshirt.  And that made the big man stop, eyes eating me up, running over every inch of my form, hungry, almost panting.

“What the hell?” I whispered angrily again.  “You can’t just come and abduct me, what the hell?”

Chris shook himself but the look of determination didn’t leave those blue eyes, if anything they only got more intense.

“Lindy,” he ground out.  “Come and talk with me in my car.”

I shook my head furiously.  Hadn’t he just heard my outburst?  I wasn’t about to be kidnapped.

“No,” I shot back, still whispering.  “We can talk here.”

But the morning was cold and I was shivering, my arms and legs bare, the cold of the wood blanks beneath my bare feet seeping into my very being.  And Chris knew it too.

“Baby,” he ground out smoothly.  “I’m not here to abduct you, trust me,” he said, his eyes darkening.  “I just want to talk about yesterday and we need to do that in some privacy without your parents hearing.  Come on, into my car,” he jerked his head towards the SUV again.  “We won’t even drive, let’s just sit in the cab and be warm at least.”

And I stood, trembling, practically naked on our porch, weighing my options.  On the one hand I could ignore him and slam the door on him, but I had a feeling he’d just pound loudly and wake my parents, he wasn’t giving up.  So that was out.  Or I could go with him and get in the car, and hopefully have a productive conversation about yesterday.  Because yeah, I wanted to talk about it too, I wanted to figure out what the hell had happened, how in the world had I just bared my cunt to a forty year-old man, an alpha male more than twice my age?

So wrapping my arms around me tight, I nodded.

“Okay,” I whispered.  “I’ll go with you, but no sounds.”

And Chris nodded silently, agreeing.  Slowly we crept over to the silver SUV and like a gentleman, he held the door open for me as I clambered into the passenger seat, trying to keep my nightshirt down as I got comfortable.  God, why were these SUVs always so high up off the ground, you practically needed a footstool to get into one of these things.

But Chris just chuckled deeply in his throat, his eyes appreciative as he eyed the backs of my creamy thighs, the obscene length of leg exposed as I sat down.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, baby girl,” he remarked low in his throat before shutting the door behind me.  And circling the car, he got into the driver’s seat, only to start up the ignition.

“Chris,” I said sharply, my eyes turning towards him again.  “We said we were going to talk in the driveway.”

“I know,” he ground out even while pulling the car away from the house, “but I’m gonna go around the corner and park so we don’t alert your parents.  Here, look,” he said as the SUV rolled to a stop.  “We’ll stay right here.”

And my heart beating furiously, I nodded.  My thighs were shaky, trembling a bit, and my insides were getting melty again in his presence.  I couldn’t understand it.  The big man had acted like a fucking caveman, driving to our house at 6 a.m., forcing me to come outside, and then forcing me to get into his car for crying out loud.  It was so crazy, like he’d lost his mind.

But the thing was that I’d lost mine too.  Because I was the one who hadn’t put a robe on, who didn’t grab a jacket before coming downstairs, who’d willingly got into the car on the flimsiest of excuses.  And now that we were alone again, I found myself mesmerized by him, that big frame, the muscled arms, the strong thighs and long legs.

“Chris,” I breathed slowly, “what is this about?”

I turned to face him over the center console even as his hands gripped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.  And slowly, he turned to look at me.

“Lindy,” he growled in reply.  “I wanted to see you again.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him, my insides flushing.

“Really?” I murmured.  “There are easier ways you know, you could have called instead of coming to my parents’ house at 6 a.m. on a Sunday.”

And he shook his head as if to clear it again before fixing me with a hot blue gaze.

“Oh I know what I’m doing,” he drawled.  “I just wanted to make sure it got done right.”

Done right?  What was he talking about?  I shot him a curious glance and he chuckled deep in his throat in reply.

“You know, I hear college is really expensive these days,” he drawled, nonchalant.  “You making your parents’ proud?  Doing well at school?”

And I colored then because the truth was, college wasn’t going well.  I’ve always studied hard, always been a good student, but unfortunately, I wasn’t that good, not in high school and not now.  I dunno, maybe I have dyslexia or something but I’m more of a B+/A- student so I wasn’t able to get a very big scholarship, more just pocket money.  As a result, my parents were forking over a sizeable chunk this year, and things weren’t looking up for the next three either based on my freshman grades.

But Chris didn’t know any of that, so I bit my lip.

“I’m doing okay,” I said quietly.  “Yeah, my grades are okay, why?”

The big man looked at me speculatively.

“I hear Hudson University’s expensive, that’s all,” he drawled.  “Tuition’s something like thirty thou a year right?”

I colored.  It was forty plus living expenses on top of that, and I bit my lip again.  Jim and Brenda were paying most of my bills and I knew it was a strain, my parents had taken out a second mortgage because of me.

So I gulped, looking at the big man again.

“Why?” I asked quietly.  “Is there a scholarship or something I could apply for?  Is United Electric sponsoring a grant for students this year?”

It was possible, sometimes local businesses chose a student to support in return for an internship, maybe as a marketing gig more than anything else.  And I’d be a perfect fit, the kid of an employee, I’d grown up in this community with strong ties to the school, to other families, it’d be fabulous advertising for United Electric.

But Mr. Jones just rumbled in his chest, smiling slightly.

“Yeah, a little like a scholarship,” he said.  “Kind of, but not exactly.  Because you know Lindy, I fired your dad last week, gave him a month’s notice but after that he’s gone.”

I sat stock still, stunned for a moment.  What the hell?  My dad had been perfectly fine this last week, maybe drinking a little more at night, but he’d made no mention of being let go.  And why did Mr. Jones come to my parents’ twentieth anniversary party yesterday if he’d just fired my dad?  That was like rubbing salt into the wound, making my dad feel even worse on his special day.

As if reading my mind, the big man answered.

“Your dad asked me to come,” he said casually.  “I wasn’t going to, but he didn’t want to ruin your mom’s day.”

And I gasped again.

“So this entire week, my dad’s been fired and he’s just been putting on a show?” I asked, my cheeks coloring.

And the big man shrugged.

“Yeah, pretty much.  Jim’s got one month before he’s gone for good.”

And at that, I began struggling to get out, futilely yanking the latch, trying to unlock the door.

“Let me out,” I struggled, hissing.  “You’re an animal, treating my dad that way, I hate you!”

But my struggles were futile, the big man had locked the doors and I was stuck inside, the dark tinted windows shielding us, the big silver SUV rock steady even as I thrashed inside.

“I can’t believe it!” I shrieked again.  “You fired my dad!?  Jim needs his job, my mom doesn’t work, I’m in school, how could you do that to him?” I cried, my eyes welling up with tears.  “How could you?”

And I was about to throw myself bodily against the door, go crazy and escape somehow, some way, from this confinement.  But Chris grabbed my shoulders and turned me to look at him, gazing deep into my eyes, his blue ones piercing, arresting.

“Listen to me Lindy,” he said roughly, giving me a small shake.  “I didn’t want to fire your dad but Jim was stealing from me,” he ground out.  “Hear that?  Stealing, caught red-handed, admitted the whole thing.”

And I was stock still now, gazing at the big man with shock, tears streaming down my face now.  Stealing?  My dad?  Oh no, it couldn’t be.  But in my heart, I knew it probably was.  Times were tight, I was in college now and my brother was starting soon, my parents had two giant mortgages and my mom hadn’t worked in years, she was sick.  So yeah, maybe Jim took a little, but it was all for his family, for us.  And I choked on my sobs, my tears streaming uncontrollably as the strength went out of my body, my head dropping, the fight dissipating.

“Oh please,” I said, begging Mr. Jones, and suddenly my hands were the ones grabbing at him and not the other way around.  I took his big forearms in my small palms, holding tight onto the muscled strength as if for dear life.  “Please,” I pleaded, “give my dad his job back.  We’re so dependent on him,” I choked.  “I work but it’s just at the coffee shop on campus and you know my brother starts school soon, too, please, Mr. Jones, please.”

And the big man sighed wearily, sitting back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, ruffling the black strands attractively.  I was ashamed, like I was betraying my family even noticing his looks at a time like this, but he was just so gorgeous that my body’s reaction was instinctive, growing soft and desperate in his presence.

“Please,” I begged again, my hands grabbing one his big ones again, squeezing the square, strong fingers.  “Please, I’ll do anything.  Just ask.”

And there was silence in the car, my sniffles the only sound until slowly, Chris turned his head towards me.

And the fiery burn in his look took me aback, made me catch my breath.  Because he wanted something, wanted something that only I could give and I could feel it deep in my bones, deep in my hotly throbbing pussy.

“Anything?” he growled, his fingers tightening reflexively around mine, boxing in my little palm with his big one.  “Anything?”

And I nodded again, confirming my offer.


And the burn skyrocketed from warm embers to a flaming blaze because suddenly Mr. Jones was ON, his eyes seizing mine, devouring me, his big body tense, hard, in the driver’s seat.

“Well there is something you could do,” he drawled.

“What?” I breathed, holding my breath expectantly.  “Just tell me, I’ll find a way.”

And I’m not sure what I was expecting really.  The hot session between us had set off a storm in my body, lit me on fire in a way I’d never expected, making me run moist and creamy, but at the same time I was a virgin and ridiculously naïve.  So when he said “anything,” I was still thinking along the lines of some casual kisses, maybe a little petting, even some fun with the coke bottle again.

But Mr. Jones was an experienced man, an alpha male who dominated and gave with no quarter.  So his demand took my breath away, never in a million, zillion years would I have expected this.

“Move in with me,” he ground out.  “For ten days, you’ll belong to me, and after that?” he said, his eyes dark, possessive.  “Your dad can keep his job.”

I paused for a moment, my heart fluttering.

“Mo-move in?” I stuttered, “You mean, cook for you and do some light housekeeping, that kind of thing?”

As embarrassing as it was to admit it, I kinda wanted more kisses and fondling, exploring this new side of myself, so I was devastated that all he wanted was a glorified maid.  Oh god, it was so shameful that I was even thinking this, that I’d been envisioning the big man with his clothes off, learning his body, tracing that massive, thick dick with my hands, my tongue.  My imagination had gone completely off the tracks, and I shook myself sternly.  All Mr. Jones wanted me for was my cleaning skills, not anything like a girlfriend.

But that was all put to rest in a second, squashed like a fly.  Because in a low rasp, Mr. Jones made his intentions clear.

“No baby,” he drawled, “Not as my maid.  As my fuckdoll.”

And my face flushed, my body growing hot as my heart pumped a million miles a minute, my cunt growing wet and steamy, the liquid running moistly from my untouched hole.  His fuckdoll?  As in fuck + doll?  Oh my god, oh my god … yes, I wanted it.



Lindy was so exciting, practically naked again in the close confines of the SUV with me.  Because yeah, this car was huge but somehow we’d wound up right next to each other in the front seat, the brunette’s curvy, nearly-nude form pressed up right next to me, making my dick jut out with nothing more than her presence, her nearness.

Because oh yeah, the teen looked that good even first thing in the morning.  She was positively delectable, her brown curls in disarray, a glorious mass down her back, her curvy body covered by nothing but the thinnest of cotton, a nightshirt that was indecent, bra-less, those big boobs jutting out, huge and pendulous.  And fuck, but I could almost see her pussy through the cotton, the pink, threadbare material doing nothing to hide those luscious lips, the outline of her puffy flesh practically visible through the filmy material.

So yeah, my fuckrod was on full attention the minute I saw her, the minute I touched her hand on the porch.  And I couldn’t control the animal within, she made me that crazy, that alpha, that I couldn’t even act the gentleman.  Because yeah, I propositioned Lindy like she was a whore, and not an innocent teen.

“A fuckdoll,” I confirmed.  “You come to my house, stay with me for ten days, and let me fuck you every which way,” I ground out, never letting go of her eyes, her caramel ones penetrated by my deep blue.

And she gasped, the color rising to her cheeks, so beautiful, so delicious that I almost spurted right there, almost let it go right there in the cab of the car.  But I forced myself down, willing my dick not to give it up so soon, so close to winning.

And with a slow, trembly inhale, Lindy spoke.

“Mr. Jones, are you sure?” she whispered.  “Because,” and here she paused.  “Because I’m a virgin,” she stumbled a bit on the words.

Now it was my turn to be astonished.  A virgin?  The teen girl before me was a virgin?  How could any woman with a body like hers, the huge tits, the soft, strokable tummy, the luscious thighs and pink cunt, be a virgin for crying out loud?  How was it possible that no man had ever breached this beautiful acreage, had never pushed his dick into that tight cunt, never been milked by her inner walls?  I practically fell out of my seat but forced myself to stay calm, my breathing ragged even as I stared at her.

“Baby, is it true?” I ground out hoarsely.  “You’ve never been touched by a man?”

And her blush grew even deeper, spreading to her chest, disappearing below her neckline, making her breasts rosy.  Oh god, how much I’d give right now to see those tits, those creamy pendulous orbs quivering before my eyes.  But if I played my cards right, they’d be mine and so much more.  Because the girl was nodding again, her eyes bright, chin trembling a little.

“Yes, Mr. Jones,” she said biting her lip.  “I’ve never done it before so I’m not sure I could be- be your fuckdoll,” she said, stumbling over the words, as if almost unsure of the correct phrasing.  “I’m sorry, is that okay?” she said quickly, her eyes lighting up with worry.  “I just wanted you to know first,” she finished quietly.

And I sat back in my chair, leaning my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes for a moment.  Holy shit, this changed everything.  Because I was going to be able to use an untouched girl, sample flesh that had never been touched by a man before, teach a girl to love taking dick, scream for my cock night after night.  Her cunt would be curved to the shape of my dick, and I wanted to, oh god yes, I wanted to, I wanted to make Lindy mine, imprint her with touch, brand her with my mark before any other man.

So I sat up abruptly, eyes blazing, taking the teen’s chin in my hand and meeting her gaze intensely.

“Baby, it’s even better this way,” I growled.  “I’ll take care of your body, of you, I’ll make sure everything’s okay,” I promised, my eyes full of emotion.  “Just say yes.”

And the brunette nodded, her eyes never leaving mine.

“Yes, Mr. Jones, yes,” she whispered against my lips, her sweet, scented breath mixing with mine.  “I’ll be yours.”

And I kissed her deeply then, pulled the brunette to me and kissed that pouty, full mouth, searing her lips with mine, imbuing our contact with everything I felt, every hope I had, giving her a preview of our intimate moments to come, her breasts flush against my chest, that sweet, curvy body leaning against mine, so soft, so willing, so womanly.

“Baby girl,” I murmured into her ear.  “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

And the girl sighed against me then, melting into me, giving herself to me fully.  And although I was the one supposedly in charge, the one who had all the experience, held all the cards, somehow the situation was careening away from me … and I was in serious danger.



I swung my duffel bag and ran down the steps to the kitchen.

“Hey Mom, hey Dad,” I greeted lightly, “Sorry I have to go back to school early, I know it’s a surprise.”

And Brenda made a frowny face before leaning forward to kiss me on the forehead.

“Oh honey,” she sighed, “we barely saw you and now you have to head back so soon?  But you just got home.”

And I nodded, flushing a little on the inside.  I was supposed to return for summer school, that was true, but summer session didn’t start for two weeks.  I’d fed my parents a white lie about the coffee shop needing extra help during this time, how they needed me to come early to hold down the fort.

So my parents had nodded sagely, eating it all up, never suspecting that I was moving into Chris Jones’ place for ten days to be his … oh god, I could hardly say it.  Fuckdoll.  Fuck.  Doll.  Fuck + Doll.  The word made my cunt shiver, the cream begin to drip, my insides moist and hot.  Because even the thought of what was about to happen made me grow achy inside, my pelvic region tingling, my knees weak as my pussy pulsed pleasantly.   Was I ready for this?  Could I do it?

But even though it was so wrong, so crazy, I felt oddly at ease, which was strange because a chasm gaped between me and the big man.  On the one hand, Chris was an alpha male, worldly, in his forties, and my dad’s boss for crying out loud, whereas I was an nineteen year-old girl, untested, naïve, and a virgin no less.  There could be no two people more different, with different experiences, outlooks and expectations.

But the thing is, none of that seemed to matter when it came to Mr. Jones.  Not the age gap, not our differing backgrounds, not his abundance of experience or my lack of it.  Instead, we’d always seemed okay around each other, casual, friendly, without any crazy awkwardness.  And that was part of the reason why I’d agreed to this.  Because of course, I wanted my dad to keep his job and only Chris could make that happen, but at the same I felt comfortable around the big man, knowing instinctively that he’d take care of me, make sure everything turned out okay on this wild adventure.

So with another goodbye to my parents, I skipped down the porch and hopped into my little car.  My parents trailed behind me, waving, with no idea that I wasn’t about to make the drive back to school.  Instead I was driving twenty minutes to Chris’s house, in the expensive area of our neighborhood, a gated community with huge estates and lavish grounds.

And as my little Jetta pulled up before Chris’s mansion, second thoughts started screaming into my head.  Here I was, little Lindy in my college sweatshirt and jeans, whereas Chris lived in a huge stone mansion, sculpted grounds perfectly manicured, a fountain tinkling melodiously next to the front door.

And as if on cue, the big man came out then, casually handsome in jeans that hugged those long legs and a blue t-shirt that showed off his broad chest and thick, strong arms.

“Hey,” he growled low in his throat, the eye contact between us electric.

I smiled shyly him.

“Hey yourself,” I said softly, and like that it was on.  His mouth came crashing down on mine as he dragged me into the house, slamming the door behind us before seizing my head between his hands and tilting it for better leverage, to thrust his tongue even deeper into my warm mouth.

And I loved every second of it, pressing up against him, pushing my boobs against his chest, mewling, squirming, sucking on his tongue as he ravished me, running his hands through my curls, all over my body, tracing my hips, ass, and waist as if they belonged to him.

Because they did … for the next ten days.  But Chris didn’t take me immediately although I was more than ready.  I’d been mentally preparing myself to lose my virginity the moment I set foot on his property but instead, he pulled up for a moment, breathing hard, and shot me a smile before lifting me in his arms and striding into the kitchen.

“You’re gorgeous, baby girl, and I’m gonna be in you soon enough, but first we eat,” he growled.

I giggled nervlously.

“No worries, I had a bite at my parents’,” I said, flushing.  Even using the word “parents” made me blush, reminded me of how illicit this was, how Brenda and Jim, even now, thought I was merrily driving back to school when actually I was at my dad’s boss place about to lose my virginity.

But Chris just chuckled seeing my blush, how I turned pink and bit my lip.

“Baby,” he growled gently.  “Don’t feel bad about what we’re doing, it’s natural and we’re two consenting adults.  And trust me, I’ll take good care of you, your parents won’t have a thing to worry about financially.”

And I bit my lip again, nodding.  Because his promise felt so genuine, the look in his blue eyes sincere even as he pulled out some pots and pans to whip up a mysterious concoction.

So I let go, taking a deep breath.  After all, I’d agreed to this bargain and it was time to hold up my half of the agreement.  But what was this stuff about eating first?  It was a weird detour when I’d expected to be thrown onto his bed within seconds of the first day.

“Um, Mr. Jones,” I said hesitantly.  “I’m not sure what you’re making but if it’s a protein powder or some kind of energy drink, I’m not really into that stuff,” I said.  The blender was whirring and he had about a million ingredients out on the corner.

“I mean, I eat anything, I love food,” I amended quickly, not wanting to sound picky, “It’s just that you must do protein shakes, right?  You’re in such great shape …”

My voice trailed off.  Oh god, why had I put my foot in it so soon?  I was already talking about his physique like I couldn’t get enough, it was the first and only thing on my mind.  But Chris just glanced over at me and grinned.

“Really, I’m in great shape, huh?” he rumbled.  “You like what you see?” he said casually while cracking an egg into a bowl.

And what could I say?  Mr. Jones was positively gorgeous at that moment, the sun shining on his ruffled dark hair, casually handsome, confident, deft with his hands as he mixed things up, his big body at ease and yet filled with latent power, energy that I could feel crackling all around us.

And so I just nodded silently, my eyes wide, lips trembling.  Chris paused for a moment to lean towards me, taking my mouth in a sweet kiss, his lips gentle, tracing mine, savoring my plushness, marking what was already his.

“Mmm,” he murmured, drawing back to stare into my wondrous eyes.  I was going to melt into the floor right there, slip off my stool and became a puddle on the ground because the kiss had been so warm and so utterly surprising, I was breathless.  The big man had tricks up his sleeve, a side to him that was gentle, tender, warm and caring.

But Mr. Jones just shot me another grin.

“Baby,” he said smoothly.  “You’re gonna see more sides to me than you ever imagined, more than you ever bargained for,” he said with a wink.  “Because so far, you’ve only known me as Mr. Jones, the boss man, but we’re about to change all that.  We’re gonna become something more, a man and a woman, exploring each other, enjoying each other, and you’ll get a feel for what I like, as well as what you like … and love,” he said with a heated glance.

But before I could reply, warmth rushing to my pelvic region once more, Mr. Jones poured a huge cup of orange juice and set it before me determinedly.

“But first,” he said with a growl.  “We’re eating.”

And I flushed again.

“But I already ate,” I protested in a small voice, although the orange juice bubbled invitingly, the vivid color indicating that it was chock full of nutrients and vitamins.

“No worries,” rumbled Chris casually.  “We eat five meals per day around here, and baby, you’d look better bigger,” he added with a sly smile.  “You’re too thin.”

I gasped then, my cheeks coloring.

“Too thin?” I parroted dumbly.  “But… but … look at me!” I sputtered, gesturing to my figure.  Even in the college sweatshirt and jeans, it was obvious that I was curvy, the cotton unable to hide the swell of my girls, my thighs thick on the stool.  I guess there’s this new thing called “thigh gape” where skinny girls have a hole between their legs, but I was the complete opposite.  I have “thigh smush,” where there’s absolutely no space between my clunkers, no light to be seen.

But I like it.  I love being curvy, sassy, and fine, it makes me feel confident and powerful, it was just surprising to hear that my man wanted more.  After all, the “preferred body shape” was skinny, but I guess Chris had different tastes?

And the big man nodded, grinning at me again.

“Yep baby,” he confirmed, while slipping a stack of pancakes onto a dish.  “You’re gorgeous honey, but I think about twenty pounds more would do the trick,” he said, carefully spurting whipped cream onto the golden mound of dough.  “Yep, about twenty sounds right,” he said before pushing the heaping mass towards me.

And I gasped, not just at the amount of food, which was unbelievable, but also at his comment.

“Twenty pounds!” I parroted, hardly believing my ears.  “I’d have to eat non-stop to put that on.”

And Chris just grinned at me again.

“Yep, and we’re starting today,” he rumbled, “I’m gonna help you honey, don’t worry, I do all the cooking around this place, I’m good with the pots and pans.”

And blushing, I melted even a little more.  A sexy man who was an expert chef, who could whip up every meal, who wanted me curvy, sexy and bouncy all for him?  Oh god, this was like a dream come true, a romance hero come to life and I dug in obediently, cutting off a slice of fluffy pancake, dipping it in gooey syrup before putting it in my mouth.

“Don’t forget the butter,” added Chris helpfully, pushing a huge tub of the good stuff towards me.  “Everything’s better with butter,” he said with another wink, seating himself on the stool next to me and helping himself to a short stack.

And so my introduction to my ten days wasn’t scary or weird at all.  In fact, it seemed like a completely harmless breakfast with an older man, one who was funny and charming, one who went out of his way to cook for me, make me laugh, put me at ease.  I could almost say that there was nothing to worry about, except reality had to intrude at some point.  Once the last bite of pancakes was finished, I leapt up and began clearing the plates.

“Here, I’ll clean,” I said with a smile at the big man, “You cooked so I’ll clean, it’s fair.”

But Chris’s hand came down over mine, his big palm square, the fingers blunt and oh so warm.

“That can wait,” he rumbled deep in his chest, his eyes electric suddenly.  “We have some things to talk about.”

And my breath caught in my throat, my fingers stilling on the plates.

“Um, of course,” I said, “Just give me a minute to clean up and we can talk all you want,” I said with a sassy smile before fleeing to the bathroom.

I could hear plates clinking outside as I stared at myself in the tiny powder room mirror.  Everything about me looked normal, the same brown curly hair, the same big caramel eyes except that there was a new awareness humming all through me, my lips trembling slightly, a little more pink than usual, my eyes were especially bright.

Calm down, I directed myself.  You signed up for ten days with Mr. Jones and you know what you’re getting yourself into.  It’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, I reassured myself.

So taking a deep breath, I stepped out into the kitchen once more, smiling brightly.

“Ready schmeady, I’m at your disposal,” I teased with a confidence I didn’t quite feel, and the big man quirked an eyebrow at me before shutting off the water, turning to look at me with a dishtowel draped over his shoulder, crossing his arms over that broad chest.  Oh god, he looked so good, that white towel was so small and limp draped over a strong shoulder, the contrast only highlighting his masculinity.  Again, I could feel myself losing control, spinning helplessly once more in his powerful orbit, drawn magnetically by his aura of confidence.

And the big man’s eyes deepened as he took me in, becoming fathomless, magnetic pools.

“Good,” he rumbled, a hand reaching out to stroke my cheek.  “Because I can’t fucking wait anymore.”

And with that, he swept me into his arms, lifting me up to press my curvy form against his big one and smashed his mouth onto mine, all the while striding through the living room and up the stairs, kicking open a door before depositing me on a huge bed.

“Oh!” I squealed, bouncing up and down, everything about me flying in all directions.  “Oh!”

I got a glimpse of dark furniture, heavy, solid, contrasted against cream white walls before I was pushed back onto the navy bedspread, Chris’s big hands helping to pull the sweatshirt over my head, strip off my jeans, my socks, my everything, until I was completely bare in front of him, every inch nude, creamy and white, spread before his gaze.

And I had another instant of momentary shock, of “What the fuck am I doing?”  Because a waft of cool air trailed over my nipples, making them tingle almost painfully, while another one trailed between my thighs, blowing sense into me, and I tensed automatically, pushing my legs together, my virginal instincts on high in the presence of an alpha male.

But Chris was on it in a sec, he noticed every small reaction of my body, every small shudder, every quick, indrawn breath.

“No baby,” he murmured, trailing one big hand up my right thigh, caressing and squeezing the luscious flesh.  “Don’t get scared, it’s just me.”

I tried to act casual, relax a little, force my leg down but I couldn’t help the tremor that ran through my form, the elevated breathing.

“It’s just you?” I said weakly.  “Mr. Jones, I’ve never done this before so ‘it’s just you’ isn’t very comforting.”

“I know,” he said, leaning close to take my lips in another deep kiss as his hands massaged and stroked my waist and ass, running smoothly over the creamy skin, the hills and valleys that came so naturally to me.  I quivered underneath him, moaning a bit, and instinctively lay back, my thighs spreading of their own accord.  “But you’ll get used to me because I plan on being in you every possible second, getting to know your body and having you know mine.”

And I couldn’t’ answer because the sensations that were coursing through my body took over, making me their prisoner, carrying me on a current that I couldn’t resist.  I tossed my head back, sighing, lips slightly parted as his big hands explored me, weighing my girls in his palms, squeezing and loving the soft flesh, playing with my nipples, flicking them with his fingers before he leaned down and took a puffy tip into his mouth.

“Ohhhh!” I sighed, arching my back, unconsciously offering myself to him even more.  “Ohh!”

And the big man murmured with my breast in his mouth, lightly tonguing my nub before biting it playfully, making me squeal, and then soothing the hurt with his tongue, licking me again, running the sensitive tip around his mouth.

“Mmm baby girl,” he rumbled against my skin, “You taste good.”

And I’d lost it by now, even so early into our foreplay.  I was writhing, twisting underneath him, my hands running through his hair, grasping at him with panting breaths, desperate to see him, hold him, do whatever came next.

“Please Mr. Jones,” I panted, my body loose and wet for him already.  “Please.”

And the big man chuckled deep in his chest, quirking an eyebrow at me.

“So soon, baby girl?  You really are a horny slut aren’t you, that little cunt can’t wait to be taken,” he growled.

The nasty words should have made me cringe, should have made me hate him, but they just turned me on more, my body growing slick, begging for him.  Because yeah, I was horny, my pussy ached so bad, I wanted Chris to touch it, to kiss it, to make it his, and I wasn’t above begging.

“Please Mr. Jones,” I mewled again, writhing on the sheets as he lapped my breasts.  “Please, please, touch me there.”

And a deep chuckle emanated from his chest, the vibrations pressed against my tummy.

“Here?” he murmured, my boob still in his mouth as he stroked my arm with one hand.  “Here?” he teased again, as he ran that same hand down my waist and over my hips.

“Here?” he played with me again, tickling my tummy with his fingers, making me mewl and writhe again as they dropped lower and lower, teasing me.  “Or here?” he asked with finality, that big hand finally cupping my wet folds, the center of my femininity, my pussy aching and begging to be explored.

“Yes, there, there,” I panted, clutching his shoulders now, my legs spread so wide I should have been ashamed, losing it all in front of the big man.  But I didn’t care and just spread my thighs wider as his fingers began to stroke through my folds, moaning so loud you could probably hear it in a neighboring town, my wetness so sleek, so swollen that each drag of his fingers through my folds made tingles run through my cunt, emanating all through my pelvic region.

“Yes, there,” I panted again as one big finger began circling my clit, playing with my little nub, stroking it on its underside before giving it a sweet pinch.

“Ahhh!” I shrieked, shivers of electricity running through me, my breasts jiggling with the unbelievable sensations below.  “Ahh!”

And the big man groaned before muttering, “Fuck, I have to taste.”

And in a flash, he was between my thighs, that big head right at my snatch.  He pushed my knees up so that he could see everything, everything bared from ass to clit, and shook his head, growling, his eyes glued to my twat.

“How’d you get so beautiful, baby girl?” he ground out before diving in, lapping up my right wall, then my left.  My cunt creamed immediately, the white rising up from inside, spilling out, dripping wetly down my butt but Chris was on it.  He lapped it up, letting my juices run down his throat, the tangy taste of female the ultimate ambrosia.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” I cried out, this was so fucking dirty.  My pussy was being tasted for the first time and it felt so good I’d lost my mind already, my head thrashing back and forth on the pillow, my hands scrabbling mindlessly at the sheets, grasping at air.  “Oh fuck me, fuck me!”

The big man just growled between my legs, this time pulling my labia apart with big fingers so that he could see up my insides, my stiffly engorged clit, waving and dancing in the air, and the beautiful, glistening walls of my inner channel, pulsing and begging for his dick.  Without hesitating, he dipped his head and licked lightly at my entrance, teasing it, nipping at the soft flesh.

“Yeah, this is where my dick is gonna go,” he rumbled, more to himself than me.  “This is what I’m gonna fuck.”

And I creamed wetly again at those words, I wanted it so bad, my clit buzzed with electricity, I needed him so badly in me, my pussy gushing even more juice.

“Do it then,” I panted.  “Put it in me, put it in me.”

But Chris shot me a sly glance then.

“Not just yet baby, because you have something that I want to taste.”

I paused momentarily.

“What?” I begged, my voice on a whine, my hips writhing beneath his hands.  “Please taste it, you’ve tasted it already.”  If he meant my cunt, my clit, my interior channel, he could have as much of that as he wanted, I’d be more than happy to let him feast so long as put his dick in me stat.  But the big man had other plans, there was another part of my anatomy that was precious, untouched.

“No baby, not that,” he nuzzled against my folds, making me squirm again and let out a light squeal.  “I want to taste your hymen, I want to feel that little piece of tissue that’s never been broken before.”

And my eyes popped open then.

“You can taste that?” I breathed, still for a moment, unbelieving.  “You can …”  I couldn’t even finish, it was so obscene.  Chris could push his tongue into my pussy far enough to run it up against my hymen, the proof of my virginity?

And the big man nodded, a dark, possessive look coming over his face.

“Oh yeah,” he growled, deep color suddenly slashing his cheeks.  “This is yours to give once and you’ve chosen me, baby.  So I’m gonna savor it, I’m gonna take everything that’s mine.”

And with that, he pushed my knees back even further so that I was a feast before him, my butt almost lifted off the bed, my cunt so wet, so wide, so willing that every part of my lower region was now coated in cream, glistening in the low lights.  And with a shake of his head and a deep growl, Chris went in.  He lapped lightly at my labia first before circling my hole, and then slowly, oh so slowly, inched his tongue up my pussy.

“Ummm!” I cried mindlessly, the sensation amazing.  I could feel that warm muscle moving up my channel, so soft yet strong, sure and slickly wet.  “Umm!”

“Relax baby girl,” he muttered, backing away for a moment before pushing his tongue in once more.  “Fuuuuck,” he groaned.  Because it had happened, his tongue had pushed against the rubbery, sensitive barrier that proved my virginity, my innocence as a girl.  And I don’t know what I was thinking but I wanted him so badly that I actually fucked my hips against his face, jerking slightly, like I wanted him to break my hymen with his tongue.

But the big man chuckled, holding me still, still lapping at my pussy.

“No baby, this is yours to give once, and I want to savor it.  So hold still,” he commanded, and with another deep thrust of his tongue, was in my pussy once more, licking my hymen, testing its rubbery strength, lapping gently at the tissue while drinking my pussy cream.

And I couldn’t take it then.  I was young, nubile, untested and inexperienced and I was no match for the sensations coursing through my body, the boundaries being pushed.  So I came like a hurricane then, his tongue in my cunt, my little body juicing and giving it up, my pussy spasming uncontrollably on his mouth, squirts of cream running everywhere.

“Ohhh!” I screamed.  “Mr. Jones, Mr. Jones!”

And as if in reply, he just pushed his tongue even further up my cunt, groaning into my folds, egging me onwards, the vibrations of his mouth like a motor on my pussy.

“Ohhh!” I screamed again as my vision went black, then white, my back arching off the bed, boobs bouncing wildly as electric jolts shot through my pelvic area, my cunt snapping and clamping, tidal waves coursing through my clit, making me shake, shiver and tremble.  “Ohhh!”

And Chris just drank it all up, never moving his tongue from my cunt, burying it even deeper still, big hands caressing my thighs, hips and waist, touching me everywhere, soothing my untested body as it was ravaged by its first man-made orgasm.  And I ground down hard on his face, my cunt creaming on him so that his chin and nose were coated with nectar, swallowing him in my soft folds, the swollen flesh spasming and twitching against his cheeks.

But the big man loved it, loved being face first in a woman’s pussy as she screamed his name and orgasmed.  He savored every second, giving me light licks, teasing me with his tongue, kissing the soft flesh while stroking my body with his hands.  And as I calmed and came back to Earth, Mr. Jones pulled back slowly, licking his lips, wiping his face with the back of his hand, smearing the cream a bit.  I was so inexperienced that I half-expected him to say something silly, to make a joke about being smashed in my pussy or some other lame thing, but instead the big man leaned forward and dropped a kiss on my nipple before seizing my mouth with his, breathing in my scent, my breath, my essence, savoring everything I had to give.

“Thank you baby,” he said simply, looking into my eyes, that blue gaze serious, so arresting.  “Thank you honey, that was amazing.”

And I melted into a puddle then, my insides going warm, my heart softening.  Because whatever Mr. Jones wanted, whatever his desires … I was his for the next ten days.



Lindy is so fucking amazing.  Sweet, willing, giving, and so horny during her first time, I could hardly believe it.  The brunette had never had dick before, her hymen was intact, but fuck, she’d begged me to put it in, begged me to push through that thin barrier and make her into a woman.

And I was only too happy to.  I wanted ten days of depravity with her, ten days spent straight in bed, getting up only to eat and shit.  Because fuck, that body, those sweet, breathy gasps, her responsiveness, her constantly slick cunt were such turn-ons that I was tempted to tie her down and lock her up.

But when the teen stepped out of the car, the sunlight glinting off those brown curls, shooting me a shy smile and wearing a college sweatshirt, I jolted sharply, rudely reminded of her youth and innocence.  So instead, I made Lindy breakfast.  Yeah, that’s what I’ve come down to.  Chris Jones, CEO and Mr. Alpha Male, made a teenage girl breakfast in his kitchen, pancakes with whipped cream, plenty of butter and syrup.

But it was the right thing to do.  Lindy was sweet, unassuming, sharing her heart with me despite our “arrangement,” despite the danger lurking ahead.

“My parents think I’m at school already,” she confessed, looking down at her hands.  “I told them the coffee shop needed me back early.”

I frowned then, my hand stilling while beating eggs.

“You work?” I rumbled darkly, glancing over.  “I thought you were going to class full-time.”

And she nodded again, biting her lip.

“Yeah, I guess I’m not as smart as people think,” she said a little wryly.  “Everyone thinks I got a huge scholarship to go to school, but actually, I just got something small, nowhere near enough.  So I’m a waitress at Little Mo’s near campus, it’s not much but it helps pay the bills.”

And I paused for a moment while mixing the batter.  No scholarship?  Waitressing at a place called “Little Mo’s” while going to classes full-time?  Shit, serving is a tough job, you’re on your feet all day and she was probably dead tired squeezing shifts in before and after classes.  Plus, college was supposed to be a time to have fun, socialize and party, so when did that happen?  When did my little girl get to relax and spread her wings? Suddenly I felt like a total douche because the financial pressures on the brunette must have been enormous, crushing her slim shoulders.  And I could almost, almost, understand her father’s urge to steal, to help his daughter so she didn’t have to work so hard.

But growling, I shook my head in disgust.  Fuck, Jim had stolen from me, his hand in the till right under my nose, he deserved to be fired, the month of extra pay was a courtesy only.  And I raged at myself more.  What the fuck, was I going insane?  Was I getting soft in my old age, feeling sympathy for a loser? It was so out of character, so whacko for my usual hard edges, my dominant, arrogant self, that I started feeling unsettled.

But I forced myself to take a breath and relax, to stop beating the eggs to a pulp, and instead turned to Lindy with a reassuring smile.

“Little girl, I’ll help,” I rumbled casually.  “I’ve got more than enough with the business, I’m a single dude with nowhere to spend it,” I said.  “Send me your tuition bill and I’ll write a check.”

The brunette’s cheeks colored and her chin trembled for a moment.

“Mr. Jones,” she said quietly, “I know this … um, arrangement is unconventional but you’re not paying me for sex,” she said firmly.  “I’m not a whore.”

And I stopped all movement for a moment.  Because sure, I wasn’t giving her cash in an envelope, it wasn’t that obvious, but I was keeping her dad at United Electric because of our agreement.  So there was definitely money involved, even if it wasn’t blatant.  So I tried again.

“Honey,” I said softly, “I want you to be comfortable, to not stress about money when you should be having fun at school.  It’s not a big deal, trust me, I can afford it, so let me help, okay?  Seriously.”

But the girl just colored even more, shaking her head stubbornly.

“No Mr. Jones,” she said in a low voice.  “I can’t let you do that, please understand,” she said, her voice wobbly, her chin trembling a little.

And suddenly I realized how much she didn’t want this to be some nasty money-for-sex exchange, how she’d categorized this as “helping her dad” rather than “selling her virginity for cash.”  So I let it go, sensitive to the brunette’s needs and wants, how much this transaction was probably taking out of her.  Shit, this was getting to be more than what even I’d bargained for, I needed to be more careful around Lindy otherwise my heart would slip and I’d find myself flat on my face, gasping for air.

So turning the conversation light once again, I teased her about her curls, about her fine, curvy form.

“And I want to see you put on some weight, put some jiggle on that body,” I grinned lasciviously at her while passing over a jar of maple syrup.  “Put this gooey shit all over your pancakes, it’s got a lot of calories.”

And the girl just nodded as I poured a generous amount of amber liquid over her short stack, licking her lips in anticipation, her pink tongue flickering slightly, making my heart stop and my mouth water.  Because Lindy was so fucking sexy, so amazing without even knowing it.  I loved how she dug into the food, relishing it with a voracious appetite, savoring every last bite, even closing her eyes as she swallowed, like I was a Master Chef who’d served her a five-course meal.

“Mmmm, that was good, thank you Chris,” she purred.  “I didn’t know you could cook.”

And I grinned at her.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know baby girl, and I’m about to teach you,” I growled before pouncing on her.  Because I couldn’t wait anymore.  Even though breakfast had taken only about half an hour, I was so hungry for her, dying inside, watching those sweet lips caress the pancakes, swallow the syrup, that I wanted her bad, wrapped around me, that mouth on me, swallowing my syrup.  So I grabbed her and rushed up the stairs, dumping her unceremoniously on my bed.

And oh fuck, what happened was so amazing, so dirty and unreal that I almost creamed myself.  I tasted that swollen pussy, drank her nectar, sampled the honey within, and it was the best I’ve ever had.  Lindy’s so aromatic, her cream slick and wet, running down my throat in gushes, and I loved as she heaved above me, her boobs bouncing here and there as I licked her twat.

“Ohhh Mr. Jones,” she cried out, eyes alive, feeling a man’s tongue on her clit for the first time.  “Ohhhh.”

Fuck, even the way she said “Mr. Jones” was such a fucking turn-on, my mast popped out at full force, the pre-cum dripping wetly from the head.  But this first orgasm was hers, all hers, and I was determined to ride it until Lindy was nothing but a gasping, moaning pile in my arms.

And it wasn’t hard to do.  The girl was so sensitive, so responsive and attuned to my every touch, my every directive, that she creamed within minutes, orgasming hard on my face, giving it all up with my tongue buried in her pussy, caressing her hymen as it vibrated with shock, with ecstasy, her cunt clenching and spasming as her eyes rolled back, screaming.  Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, I was alive on all fronts, my senses heightened, like I was Superman on drugs, powerful, omniscient, that’s how amazing Lindy made me feel.

And when it was over, the brunette was sweet, looking at me through half-lidded eyes, that heaving, plump body covered in a light sheen of sweat, creamy and glistening under the low lights.

“Mr. Jones,” she laughed, panting a little still, those big boobies jiggling with her giggle.  “But you haven’t, you know …” she said, blushing again.

And I dropped another kiss on her pussy, swiping my tongue across her clit for good measure.

“I know, baby,” I said smoothly.  “I haven’t forgotten because yeah, you’re taking my dick next.”

And the brunette’s breathy gasp, the desire lighting in her eyes, only confirmed what I suspected and now knew for sure.  This was going to be the best ten days of my life … bar none.



The sex had been amazing.  There, I said it.  Sex.  Or did that count?  Did orgasming on Chris’s face count as sex or did his dick have to be in me?

Suddenly I was lost and confused because that’s what Mr. Jones does to me.  He’s so charismatic, so charming that suddenly I find myself doing what he wants, when he wants.  He could probably say, “Lindy, spin on my dick like an ice skater,” and I’d probably just murmur, “How fast, Mr. Jones?  Just tell me how fast?”

Because I could feel it, I could feel how much under his spell I was.  I wanted him so badly, I wanted him to put it in, to take me, make me his.  And the way he was reaching for me now, his big body tense again, those muscles rippling, a certain gleam in those dark blue eyes told me that my dream was about to come true.

“Baby come closer,” he said, his voice dangerously soft.  And I melted inside, I couldn’t wait to be near him, to wrap myself all around this big man but my body betrayed me.  I’ve always been a little clumsy and I just wasn’t sure how.  So awkwardly, I hoisted myself over, landing between his spread legs with a thunk on the mattress, my generous behind bouncing as my breasts flew this way and that.

I half expected him to shake his head in disgust, the unladylike way I’d just plopped myself in front of him, but instead the big man laughed, one hand going up to stroke a breast, pinch my nipple, while the other one lazily caressed my thigh.

“Baby got back,” he murmured against my lips while kissing me.  “And boy does that back fly.”

I just leaned into him, reveling in his approval.  Because oh yeah, the big man loved my curves, adored the fact that I had huge Double D’s and a giant ass, in fact he wanted me to put on more weight.  And I grew heated within, realizing how perfect we were together, man and woman together, adoring each other, bringing each other to the highest heights.

But wait, that hadn’t happened yet.  Despite the fact that he’d made me cream and shudder for him wetly, Mr. Jones hadn’t come yet and I desperately wanted him to … with his dick in my pussy.

So I mewled and lapped at him, running my tongue delicately across the strong jaw, sampling him while biting lightly at his shoulder.

“Please Mr. Jones,” I said sweetly.  “Put it in?  My kitty wants you.”

And the big man’s shaft was a massive fucking pole between us, standing straight up and leaking from the tip, practically brushing against my nipples it was so hard and stiff.  So I knew he wanted it, and it was just a matter of getting it in, right?  But I was naïve and had no idea how simplistic my views were.

“Honey,” he ground out.  “I want you to get my pole wet first.”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“But Mr. Jones, there’s pre-cum running all over your dick.  Aren’t you wet enough already?” I asked innocently, reaching out one finger to touch the tip where the white cum flowed from, the source of the goodness.  And oh god, it was my first time touching a penis and it felt so good.  I circled his head, exploring a little, the glans puffy and deep purple, hard yet soft at once, slickly wet with his semen.  And then I ran my little fist down his shaft, pumping it experimentally, tracing a vein delicately with my fingertip before playing with his balls down below.

“Ahhh,” groaned the big man, his face growing strained, eyes shut.  “Fuck, you’re amazing,” he growled roughly.

I paused for a moment, my hand stilling.

“Mr. Jones, don’t you like it?” I asked innocently, eyes wide, boobies jutting out to there.  We were seated facing each other and my hard nipples could almost touch his chest, we were so close.

“Fuck, you know I fucking love it,” he ground out.  “But I want you to wet me with your juice.”

Now I was really puzzled.

“But how?” I cocked my head, spreading my legs to look down at my pussy.  Of course the folds were wet and pulsing already, glistening under the light, swollen with orgasm and desire, but I didn’t see how exactly to get my pussy cream on him unless he put it in.

The big man just shook his head, sensing my bewilderment.

“Here,” he said, holding out a hand, “get up for a minute.”

And I stood up for a moment as he lay back, his legs spread out with his dick in front of him, sticking straight up in the air.  Fuck, it was really leaking now, a dripping faucet with a constant stream of cum oozing out the tip.  It looked delicious and my mouth watered, dying to taste, but Mr. Jones had plans first.

“Now straddle my legs,” he ground out roughly, “Careful, don’t fall.”

And slowly, I brought myself down so that we were facing each other, my ass on his thighs, my legs parted so that my pussy was almost covering his balls.  Giggling, I ground down a little on those sensitive testicles, loving the way the soft skin felt against my slick folds.  Mmm, it was just so yummy.

But Mr. Jones shot me a sharp look.

“That’s it, honey, I want you to grind away but I want you to do it on my dick, do the camel toe slide.”

A camel toe slide?  What the fuck was that?  But the big man was ready.

“Baby,” he said hoarsely.  “I’m gonna teach you how to ride my dick horizontally, rubbing that little kitty all over my fuckpole so you get it wet with your cream, and then you’re gonna sit down on me.  Got it?”

And I didn’t get it at all, but I loved the way it sounded so I bit my lip and nodded.

“Just show me what to do, Mr. Jones, and I’ll do it,” I whispered.

And groaning, he pulled his dick towards him so that it lay flat against his stomach.

“Now mount it,” he commanded.  “Get up and pull your pussy lips apart and then slide up and down my dick.”

And slowly, I did as I was told.  I hoisted myself on my knees and reached two fingers down to part my lips, baring my moist, wet kitty.  And then I leaned forward, planting my pussy down on his shaft horizontally and began rubbing up and down.

Fuck!  It felt so good.  I’d never dreamed about humping a man’s dick this way but it was fucking heaven, his shaft was so hot, so hard under my cunt, I could feel his veins throbbing beneath my own swollen flesh, and the angle was perfect.

“That’s right,” the big man said hoarsely, his eyes hot on where we touched, where my pink folds parted so sweetly over his pole, glued to the giant shaft, gripping him tight.  “Rub yourself up and down sweetheart, get me wet with your cunt juice.  And make yourself feel good baby, rub that clit against my shaft while you do the slide.”

And I arched my hips forward and back, dragging my nub along his shaft, teasing myself, teasing him, feeling the hot meat move slickly through my pussy lips.  God, it was so fucking hot that I gushed more, the cream spilling out and smearing all over him as I slid back and forth along the big man’s fuckpole.

“That’s it,” he rasped hoarsely, his eyes still glued to the nasty sight.  “Keep creaming, get me wet with your fuckjuice.”

And I went at it like a crazy girl then.  I humped myself up and down, dragging my clit against his hot meat, the man staff making me tremble, jiggle and shiver.  My nub of pleasure felt like it was going to explode and I kept gushing hot gust after hot gust of pussy cream, the fluids between us so copious, so overwhelming that we were both coated in white now.

And the big man threw his head back and roared, his face tense with pleasure.  I almost thought he’d come, but no, he was saving the best for last.

“Now fuck me, little girl,” he commanded.  “Fuck that big dick with your virgin pussy.”

I gasped.  I’d always thought it would be easier the first time if the man took charge, if he grabbed my hips and thrust in, it’d be done in half a second, my hymen busted and gone.

But the big man chuckled deep in his chest, shaking his head.

“No baby, I’ve always wanted to see a desperate virgin fuck herself onto my dick,” he rasped.  “And that desperate virgin just happens to be you.”

Oh god, oh god.  Was I stuck in some kind of sick fantasy?  Some kind of weird porn movie where I acted out a depraved scene?  But the thing is that I did want Chris, I was so horny and willing that I was actually going to do what he ordered.  So I lifted my hips, high up on my knees, and tried to lower myself down on his aching shaft.

It was okay at first.  My pussy lips kissed his dick tip, brushing gently, like a butterfly landing on a flower.  And as I pressed down, they split, parting wetly over his head and oh god but he felt good and I moaned deep in my chest, my vaginal hole breached for the first time by a man’s stiff shaft.  Oh god, oh god, this was really happening.

“Keep going,” Chris ground out, his eyes never leaving my face.  “Fuck that hungry kitty onto my dick, show me how much you want it.”

And screwing up my face, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried again.  Pushing down once more, I forced my pelvic area down so that a couple more inches of cock slid in, making me scream, shriek at the incredible fullness, the way my pussy lips hugged his cock, gripping him tight, my inner channel breached.

“Oh god, oh god!” I screamed.  “Mr. Jones!”

And the big man was encouraging.

“You’re almost there baby girl,” he soothed.  “We’re at the breaking point, do you feel that?  My dick tip is pressed against your hymen baby.  If you really want me in you, you’ll do it.”

And I knew it was true.  I was so stretched, so full, so fucked, but I needed him in me all the way, balls pressed against my asshole, clit tight up against his pelvic region.  So I took a deep breath, screwing up my eyes and screamed once before impaling myself all the way.

“Fuck!” I screamed.  “Fuck fuck fuck!”

Because I’d done it.  I’d pushed myself all the way down until he was buried to the hilt, and my pussy ached from the penetration, he was fucking me so deep and I could hardly breathe, the shock of having a man in my most secret space, buried all the way to the core, psychologically and physically spinning me onto another plane.

But the big man held on to me, nuzzling me, soothing me, encouraging me.

“That’s it baby girl,” he murmured against my neck.  “You’ve been a good girl and busted your own hymen on my cock.  Good girl, I’d say you deserve a reward.”

And with that, he rocked his hips forward once, jolting me.  Oh fuck, oh fuck.  I’d thought it couldn’t go any deeper but suddenly Chris was pushing even further up my vaginal channel, so full I thought his dick my pop out in my throat, my pussy gushing loads of cream as he breached me, touched parts in me I didn’t even know existed.

“Chris,” I moaned, grabbing those broad shoulders, pulling him to me.  “Chris.”

And he chuckled deep in his chest, although there was a hitch to his voice, like he couldn’t quite control his body’s reaction either.

“Fuck little girl, you fucking feel so good,” he rasped.  “Now I’m gonna fuck that kitty until you can’t walk.”

And he was as good as his word.  Grabbing my fleshy hips in his hands, he began to rock, pushing up, then down, up, down, each thrust of his penis making me mewl, moan and gasp breathily, my forehead dropping limply against his shoulder as my boobs bobbled between us, the tips trailing against his chest.

“Oh god,” I cried, “oh god, yes, just like that.”

And the big man turned it up a notch then.

“Fuck you, honey, I need to fuck you hard now, I gotta cum in that sweet puss.”  And with renewed energy, he grabbed my hips so that they were still and began fucking upwards like a piston, his dick drilling into me again and again as he grunted, his body coursing with energy, the cords in his neck tight as his jaw clenched with strain.

“Fuck,” he panted, “fuck fuck fuck, I’m gonna ….”

And it ended in a roar as he threw his head back in a shout of agony and ecstasy, that big body clenching tight beneath me as he released blast after blast of hot jizz into my pulsing channel.  And oh god, the feel of a man searing me with his juice, pumping me full with his special batter, tipped me over the edge, pushed me into freefall.

“Fuuuuuck!” I screamed.  “Oh gawwwd!” I squealed as my pussy went wild on his dick, clenching and spasming with electrical tingles, my entire body seizing as I milked him, desperately pumping him for more, more, more.

And the big man answered, his own body rigid with tension, spurting again and again into my hot hole, repeatedly creaming me, his shaft pulsing with heat between my swollen folds, lash after lash of creamy jism exploding like a gale force.

“Ohhh fuck,” he grunted hard.   “Fuck fuck fuck.”

And I just twisted more, trying to eat it all up, my boobs heaving and jiggling as I bounced on his dick, draining my lover of everything he had to give, every last drop a precious gem that belonged inside me.

And after it was over, we collapsed, our bodies heaving, me on top of him, his dick still buried in my cunt.

“Fuck baby girl,” he grunted as a big man stroked the smooth curve of my back, trailing the S-shape of my haunches.  “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

And I just giggled, pushing my boobs against that massive, strong chest, feeling his dick twitch in me in response.  I clenched my pussy muscles around him experimentally, and sure enough, another dick twitch came, plus a little spurt of something hot.  Oh god, had I made him do that?  Did I coax that last bit of cum out by pumping my kitty?

And the answer was obvious.  Chris groaned, then dropped another kiss on my nose.

“Like I said, baby girl,” he rasped, holding me still against him so I had to stop wiggling.  “The death of me.”

And I just giggled again.  Because sure, Mr. Jones was in his forties and my dad’s boss, but you know what?  We were perfect together and I was determined to show him exactly how.



The way Lindy gifted herself to me was amazing.  Okay, maybe that’s a nice way of saying it.  Because I’m a dirty fuck and there was no “gifting,” no fairy tale with a Prince Charming and happily ever after.  Nope, like I said, I’m a sick fuck and I made the virgin fuck herself on me, breaking her own hymen on my dick shaft.

What the fuck would possess me to do it, make a little girl reach into her dirtiest depths and fuck herself onto a man her first time?  Well, it’s partly my dirty mind.  I’ve heard that virgins are the sluttiest of sluts, that girls who’ve never been touched are dying for it.  And it makes sense if you think about it.  If you’ve never felt a dick inside, never been breached, yeah, you’d be more than a little desperate.  Fuck, I’d slit my wrists with a dull razor if I were still a virgin.

So yeah, I wanted to see exactly how horny the brunette could be, and my baby girl didn’t let me down.  Lindy was a stellar pupil, learning how to do the camel toe slide in seconds, humping herself up and down my cock, dragging that clit slowly along my shaft to make herself feel good, moaning and creaming along the way.

And fuck, I almost came then, by the time she was through my dick was thoroughly coated in a layer of her cum, the white so thick, so viscous, it looked like I had a film of glue on it.

But that was only the beginning.  Watching the brunette take my shaft in her pussy, watching those sweet, swollen lips part over my dickhead and then slide wetly down my pole, gripping it close, praying to never let go?  Fuck, I could feel the sperm boiling in my balls, my body under iron control as I fought not to release in two seconds, fought to make it last as that tiny cunt tasted dick for the first time.  And she’d wanted it so bad, needed it so desperately that yeah, she’d popped her own cherry, fucked herself on me until that hymen broke.

So yeah, I’m an obscene motherfucker, not exactly Mr. Nice Guy, but I’ve never pretended to be otherwise.  I’m rude, arrogant, domineering, and women do what I say, when I want and how I want.  And now that we’d breached Lindy’s barrier, it was time to set down some rules.

“Baby,” I drawled, “You warm enough?”

Because I’d taken her downstairs to get a sandwich, sex takes a lot of energy and god, the little girl didn’t know anything, she’d only just lost her v-card.  So she was happily nibbling away, which made me smirk inside, the extra calories would help her put on more padding, make her extra sassy when she was in bed.

And the brunette nodded, her curvy form ensconced in my thick terry cloth bath robe.

“Yeah, Mr. Jones, I’m really toasty thanks.  And thanks for making me this ham sandwich, you really have a way around the kitchen, I’d never guess.”

I grinned at her again.

“No worries, it’s partly the ingredients, they’re high-quality so it’d taste amazing no matter how you slap it together.  For example, the Serrano ham is straight from Italy,” I said smoothly.  “Twenty bucks a pound, and each slice as thin as paper.”

The brunette nodded before taking another bite, her eyes almost closing as she bit into the thick sourdough coated with mayo.  I looked on approvingly.  Oh yeah, the little girl was already learning that it was better not to argue, better not to put up a fight, everything would work out if you just listened and obeyed.

Because I wanted everything to go smoothly, and for that, there were rules.

“Lindy,” I drawled, casually seated on the chair next to her, fingering a tumbler of whisky, the amber liquid fiery through the glass.  “I have a couple rules around this place that I thought I should explain.”

The girl swallowed, taking a sip of water.

“Rules?  Sure, no prob, I’m a really great houseguest,” Lindy nodded before biting into the sandwich again.  “I hang up all my towels, do dishes, all the good stuff,” she volunteered.

And that made me chuckle deep in my chest.

“No, not rules for houseguests, nothing like that,” I rumbled.  “What I meant are rules especially for nubile young females that stay here.”

The brunette frowned suddenly.

“What do you mean?” she asked slowly.  “You’ve had girls here before?”

And I cursed internally.  Of course I’ve had women at the house, I lost my virginity thirty years ago and was still enjoying the pleasures of the female sex each and every night since.  But Lindy was new to all this, precious and innocent despite the fact that she’d just been breached, so I tried to be gentle, brush it under the rug a little.

“I’m forty-five honey,” I said gently.  “And I’m not a virgin, so I’ve had girls over before, yeah.”

And the brunette thought for a moment.

“But are you… are you still seeing anyone now?” she stammered, flushing as she put down her sandwich.

And that one was easy to answer.

“No one but you, honey,” I said genuinely.  “It’s only you.”

And she smiled hesitantly then, biting her lip.

“Good, I’m glad Mr. Jones,” she said quietly, “Because I’m not sure ….”  Her voice trailed off.

“Not sure exactly how you’d feel if I were seeing other women?” I finished.

And she nodded silently, her eyes wide and fixed on mine, her lips trembling as emotions crossed her face, a rush of elation, confusion, indecision, the mix so new to her that it was impossible to put words to.

But I merely took her face between my big palms and dropped a kiss on her lips before looking deep into those warm pools of caramel.

“Honey,” I rasped, imbuing my gaze with genuineness, with truth.  “So long as you’re with me, I won’t be with anyone, I promise.  It’s just you.”

And the girl grew rosy again, a smile breaking out and wreathing her lips, the indecision falling away.

“Oh good,” she whispered, “Thank you, Chris.”

And my heart swelled with what, I’m not sure.  The way she trusted me?  The way I felt like I had her heart in my hands, her sweetly giving nature, that warm body available and pliant in my arms?  But I shook my head.  This was a ten day thing, nothing more, so there was no long-term planning, no serious investment.

But something in my heart, my brain, knew I was lying to myself, knew that this was starting to be more, a kernel of emotion blossoming, taking root.  I shook it off, cursing myself internally.  This wasn’t the time to have second doubts because I was just about to lay down the rules, establish myself as the man of the house.

So I turned back to the brunette, who was nibbling on her sandwich once again.

“Baby,” I said gently.  “While you’re with me I want to set some ground rules.  There aren’t many, but there are a few I thought you should be aware of.”

And she nodded, licking her lips slightly, lapping up a couple crumbs.  I was so distracted by that pink flicker that I almost lost my train of thought again, almost jumped her right there, under the kitchen lamps.  But fuck, back to business.

“Of course, Mr. Jones, I’m all ears.”

And I nodded approvingly.

“Good, because the first one is this,” I said, pulling a tiny black g-string out of my pocket, the lace sheer and fine, the crotch nothing but a postage stamp of cloth.  “When you’re in the house, this will be the only thing you wear. I want everything else bare, boobs, butt, ass, open and creamy.”

And the girl gasped, her cheeks flushing.  Again, that g-string couldn’t have been more than a square inch of cloth at most.

“But Mr. Jones,” she sputtered.  “I –I –I’ll get cold!” she protested helplessly.

I grinned wolfishly at her.

“I’ll set the house temp so that it’s eighty degrees at all times, you’ll be toasty baby, I’ll make sure of that.  In fact, it’s already at eighty-five.”

And sure enough, the girl overheated again, a delicate flush rising to her cheeks.

“I did think it was a little hot,” she whispered, her eyes dropping to the table before stealing a glimpse at the g-string again.  Fuck, the tiny piece of lingerie was so small, so flimsy in my hand that I bet she was already thinking how I’d rip it off in one fell swoop, that bit of fabric no match for my aggressive ways.

And I laughed deep in my throat because the teen was right.  And there was more.

“Good, that was rule number one.  Rule number two is that when I’m in a room, you’ll need to show me your pussy.”

She gaped again at me, mouth open.

“But I don’t get it Mr. Jones.  Aren’t I supposed to be wearing … that?” she gestured at the lacy g-string in my hand.  “That would co-cover me,” she stammered.

“Yes,” I ground out, my eyes hot on her body.  “But you’re gonna be pointing your pussy at me at all times, pulling the cloth to the side so you’re bare.  Like this,” I demonstrated with the g-string, stretching the crotch to one side so there could be no mistaking exactly what she was supposed to do.  “Your kitty is mine and I expect it to be open for my gaze and touch whenever I want.”

And the girl gasped again but I could tell she was turned on too.

“Oh my god, Mr. Jones, oh my god.”

I could tell Lindy thought she was in the middle of some Fifty Shades of Grey dream scenario, but there could be nothing further than the truth.  Christian Grey was a boy, a sissy trying to figure himself out.  By contrast, I was an adult male, alpha, dominant, and had been playing with females for years.  I knew exactly what I was doing, and exactly how I wanted to do it.

“Got that honey?” I rumbled deep in my chest, my voice as soothing as liquid amber.  “Got that?”

And the brunette nodded slowly.

“Yes, I – I think I got it,” she stammered, blushing again.

That was good enough for now because I’d saved the kicker for last.

“And honey,” I said slowly, “My last stipulation is that you fall asleep with my dick in your body each night.  It can be in your pussy, your mouth or your ass, but it’s gotta be in you somewhere, pushed up tight.”

And that one made Lindy audibly shriek then, her gasp sliding into a high-pitched whine.  Because I’d said nothing about oral or anal so far, maybe she thought the ten days with me were going to be just pussy sex, just a little dick in twat, a little creaming kitty on my pole.  But hell no.  HELL no.  I fucking love a woman’s ass, that dry, hot heat, the anal breach so tight, so mysterious, and I wasn’t holding back this time or ever.

And the girl’s mouth?  Well those pink pouty lips had had me distracted from the get go, made my motor rev for years, and there was no better place for them to be than circled around my dick, kissing me, licking my member, sucking me hard until her cheeks hollowed.  So yeah, rule number three?  It was the cherry on top and I was looking forward to having those lips on me tonight in fact.  Fuck, I was looking forward to being in Lindy every night from here on out.



My time with Chris has been shocking, blowing through all of my boundaries … and so arousing too.  Because I’ve been tutored by a master, Mr. Jones knows exactly what he wants and is always in control, taking, stroking, kissing, loving, making me feel good all over.

And it was shocking at first, I admit.  I knew my ten days here would open new frontiers, that he was going to take my virginity, that I’d have cock in me every night.  I just didn’t realize how sensual it would be, how much I’d want it every second of it.

Take rule one for example.  I saunter around the mansion now in nothing but a lacy g-string and black patent heels, everything about me out on display, boobs jouncing, hips swaying, my little cunt so wet all the time that my thighs are constantly smeared with cream.

And the big man?  It’s like it’s normal to him to have a conversation about current events, about what he’s making for dinner with me perched on the stool, totally nude.  He acts like nothing’s wrong, sautéing away, putting together five course meals while asking me about school, my job, my interests and hobbies, except that my huge tits are resting on the table all the while, the white flesh creamy and enormous, my pink nipples pointed at him while we talk.

And he notices, of course. I see the constant bulge in his pants, the way those blue eyes trace my figure, watch my tits glisten, the curve of my ass generous and firm.  But he goes right ahead with whatever he’s doing, cooking, cleaning, getting my bath ready, it’s all par for the course.

And I have to say that it’s changed me too.  I used to be kinda shy and conservative, wearing clothes that covered me up, swathing me entirely so that I was shapeless and frumpy.  But since rule number one, I’ve developed a new awareness of my body, loving the way it jiggles, how it’s able to turn Mr. Jones on without even trying, my curves out to here, my ass out to there, the big man’s eyes glued to me all the time, appreciative and hot.  And the truth is, it makes me tingle inside, my pussy starts steaming, there’s a burning sensation that never goes away now, a slow, exciting arousal that’s with me 24/7.

So as you can see, we don’t leave the house much.  I’m not sure how Mr. Jones is able to work from home so much, but he’s the boss so I guess he calls the shots.  Obviously, I can’t go out because I’m not dressed, and it seems that Chris is more than happy just to have me trail him around, sit quietly as he works, watch TV as he lifts weights.

But that’s when rule number two gets put into play.  Because I’m not reading in a chair, or watching TV on the lounger.  No sir.  I’ve got to respect rule number two and that means that even though I might have my nose buried in a book, I’m reading on my hands and knees, my ass facing him with my panties pulled to the side, cunt on display.

“Mmm, that’s good,” he rumbled the other day, seated at his desk.

And I giggled a little before shaking my kitty at him.

“What was that, Sir?” I murmured dulcetly.  Mr. Jones likes to be called “Sir” or “Daddy” sometimes, and the names roll off my tongue now.

He frowned a little.

“Seems the stock market’s doing well,” he rumbled.

I pouted a little myself.  I thought he was talking about my kitty, how it gleamed and ran under the low lights.  So I went fishing for a compliment.

“Sir,” I murmured.  “If the market’s doing well, maybe you could celebrate … right in here,” I said, sassily wiggling my cunt.

Okay, so my come-ons aren’t exactly masterpieces, I’m not gonna be winning a Pulitzer Prize any time soon, but you know what?  It works.  Because the big man groaned, his gaze hot on my ass, dick out, the tip leaking wetly as he stroked it slowly.

And I giggled again, shaking my sweet cunt, the folds open, wet, bare for him.

“Daddy,” I said naughtily.  “This book on the Kama Sutra you asked me to read is so amazing, I’ve learned so much just looking at the pictures,” I purred.  “See this one?  The woman’s foot is way high up over here, and then the guy’s dick is … oh my god, it’s like he’s turned upside down!  Sir, can you do that?”

And the big man let out a curse deep in his throat.

“Baby you gotta be a yogi to do some of that shit, you gotta be able to bend over double, grip your ankles all the while sticking your tongue out.”

And I giggled again.  Chris’s words were so nasty, he talked dirty to me sometimes and I should have been disgusted but instead, it turned me on.  Besides, I agreed with his comments.  The Kama Sutra was ridiculous and I don’t know how people twisted themselves into those poses without having a Ph.D. in acrobatics.  But that didn’t bother me.

“No worries, I’m young and flexible,” I cooed.  “I can do it.”

The big man just grunted again.  I saw from the corner of my eye that he’d completely turned away from his monitor now and was fisting his dick slowly now while staring at my bare ass, my boobs dragging on the ground as I crouched over.

“So Mr. Jones, what do you say?” I baited again, shaking my kitty at him once more.  I heard an incoherent grunt come from his direction, those blue eyes blazing as they took in my wet folds.  “Wanna try position number three hundred and fifty seven here?  It just means that we’ll have to … um, stretch a little first, maybe warm up and get our muscles loosened.”

But Chris was done with games.

“Face down, ass up,” he ground out, eyes hot on my curves.

And I moaned throatily because suddenly playtime was over, the tone of his voice had changed so that the alpha was at the fore now, commanding, dominant, forcing me to do his bidding.

And like a little fuckdoll, I did exactly as I was told.  I pushed the book aside and lowered my cheek until it was pressed against the Persian rug, my ass high up, wafts of warm air drifting across my pussy, shivering across my thighs.

“Sir,” I murmured breathily, “Is this what you want?”

I half-expected him to be on me in a moment, to feel the tip of him probing at my soft folds before pushing inside all the way, making me cream and shiver uncontrollably, my cheek smashed into the ground as he pounded me again and again.  But instead, the big man just watched.

“Baby,” he growled low in his throat.  “Pull yourself open for me.”

And I did as he ordered.  Bracing my narrow shoulders on the ground, I reached both hands in back so that I was cupping my ass cheeks and slowly pulled the meaty orbs apart, my white flesh opening to show my pink slit, everything from clit to asshole.

“Like this, Daddy?” I asked.  “You wanna fuck me like this?” I panted against the ground.  Oh god, I was dying for his touch now, I wanted it so bad, my clit throbbed hotly, my channel creaming in anticipation of his touch.

But I hadn’t been thorough enough.

“No baby girl,” he growled in reply.  “Show me what you got up that passageway.”

And I moaned throatily then, my eyes closed.  Because Chris is a master and my pussy is his playground.  He wanted to see absolutely everything I had to give.  And so with another whine, I let go of my ass cheeks, spreading my legs further before reaching between my thighs with both hands and delicately pulling my labia apart, baring my inner pinkness to him, the folds so steamy and wet, pulsing for his touch.

“Daddy, like this?” I murmured again.  “Is this what you wanted?”

And this time the big man was satisfied.

“Fuck, little girl,” he ground out, “Fuck fuck fuck, you’re so beautiful, that cunt’s so tight, so small, so …”

“So pink?” I giggled.  “Dying for …”

But I wasn’t able to finish because he was on me then.

“FUCK!” he roared, thrusting his dick in me in one fell swoop, nailing me deep.  “Oh FUCK you’re tight!”

And I squealed then, almost lifted in the air by his hugeness, my hips bucking uncontrollably, panting and gasping.  My boobs swayed as he knelt behind me, drilling me again and again.

“Ohh!” I shrieked, lifting my chin up, throwing my head back so that brown curls spilled over my shoulders.  “Oh oh oh!”

And the big man took his cue.  He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my head so that I was arched backwards almost painfully as his dick thrust away.

“You like that?” he growled, using my hair like the reins on a horse.  “You like that little filly?”

And I could only mewl and cry my pleasure, my cunt was about to explode, I was so swollen and wet, stretched and full of his dick that words escaped me, I was incoherent with ecstasy.

“Mmmm!” I screamed again.  “Mmmm!”

I thought I was going come then, it was so hard, fast and rough, and we did it differently each time, this being one of my favorites, being ridden like a horse, jerked and controlled as his dick sawed away in back.  But suddenly, Chris stopped all movement and the cessation made me mewl and cry out in desperation.  I needed cock in me, his member was the source of my desire and I couldn’t understand how we’d gone from a deep drill to a complete standstill.

“Daddy?” I panted.  “Mr. Jones?”

But the big man just slapped my ass hard, once, making me jolt and jiggle before massaging the red area, his fingers warm, gliding over the sensitive spot.

“Wha-what was that for?” I asked, panting.  “Did I do something bad?”

The big man just chuckled deeply behind me, his dick still buried inside my wet cunt and I could feel the vibrations of his laugh through his cock, making my pussy gush wetly again.

“No, not at all baby girl,” he drawled, his own voice slightly hoarse from the deep drill.  “I just want to try something new,” he ground out.

New?  I flushed, looking over him at my shoulder, eyes wide, only to be met with Chris’s knowing blue gaze.  And I shuddered inside, melting, giving into my fate.

“Yes, Mr. Jones,” I panted.  “Do whatever you want.”

And the big man chuckled.

“Good to see I’ve trained you so well,” he ground out.  “For that, you’re getting my special.”

I closed my eyes, my body tensing, bracing for something shocking, something crazy to happen, and Mr. Jones didn’t let me down.  I heard him spit for a moment, and then a telling trickle of warm saliva dripping onto my ass.

My eyes flew open.  What the?

But it was true.  As the fluid crested into my asshole, a big hand began rubbing it around my pleats, the brown pucker sensitive and tight, making my lids flutter, my entire body come alive.

“Oh!” I panted, my head dropping weakly between my shoulders.  It was so private, so unexpected.  No man had ever touched my anus before, it was straight out of my dirtiest fantasies.  “Oh god, you’re touching me there,” I mewled.

The big man grunted.

“Baby, I touch you anywhere I want,” he growled and with that, his digit began to apply pressure.

“Oh!” my eyes flew open this time.  “Oh oh oh!” I panted.  “It’s inside!”

“That’s right,” he confirmed, his voice deep and possessive.  “Like I said, anywhere I want, and that includes inside you.”

And at that moment, my butt popped open, my anus giving it up, letting the big man breach me.  His finger slid in smoothly, that blunt, thick digit making its way up my back hole, the feel incredible, my dry walls clenching tight around him.  My nipples were on fire, his dick still buried in my swollen cunt, and oh god, but now my ass was being violated.

“Mmm,” he murmured throatily.  “Fuck you’re tight back here,” he said before stirring his finger a bit, making me moan with lust, a wave of sensation beginning to build.

And slowly, the big man began shifting his hips again, pulling his dick in and out of my pussy as he fingered my ass, using both holes, playing my body like a fine instrument.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he muttered, “I can feel my cock moving through your ass wall, it’s incredible, you’re so sensitive, so hot, so fucking responsive.”

And my pussy jerked again then, loving the DP, everything open, willing and wet for this man.

“Yes, Daddy,” I murmured.  “Please.”

“Please what?” he grunted in return.  “Say it.”

And as my ass and pussy were drilled from behind, my clit buzzing with energy, my walls beginning to pulse on their own, I did the unthinkable.

“Mr. Jones.” I gasped, my body shaking with desire, “I want it, I want it, ohhhh, put it in me, I think I love you!”

And without thinking, I careened over the edge then.  My vision blacked out for a moment before becoming pure white, my pussy teetering before exploding, sending shockwaves of sensation through my body, clamping on his dick, milking it like a madman as I screamed and shouted my heart’s desire.

And the words drove him over the edge too.  Upon hearing the word “love,” the big man gave it up, pulse after pulse of hot semen releasing in my snatch, spraying my insides even as he fingered my anus, stretching it and fucking it, pushing me more and more until a second orgasm crashed over me.

“Oh god!” I screamed.  “Mr. Jones!”

I’m not sure why I screamed for God one second and then for Mr. Jones in the next, but all I knew was that the follow-up orgasm was even harder than the first, this time my ass bearing down like a mighty earthquake, both pussy and anus spasming so hard on him that I almost forced his dick out, my hips bucking, ass cheeks clapping like thunder as I tossed and jolted, every part of me on fire, cream gushing like a river.

But this wasn’t Mr. Jones’s first rodeo and he knew exactly how to ride an excited filly.

“That’s it baby,” he growled, his finger in my ass stroking, directing the way.  “Easy honey, easy.”

And I just squealed again, spasming on his digit.

“Ohhhh god!”

The big man grunted again, this time going a little slower, his hips a little gentler, the finger sliding smoothly instead of probing wetly.

“That’s it baby, easy, easy,” he said roughly, his voice still caressing with a grainy edge.

And I collapsed then, absolutely gave it all up, my heart in my throat, my breasts pressed flat against the mattress, his dick and digit in me still.  I was completely full, every part of me overflowing because somehow, some way, this man had wormed himself into my heart.



Somehow everything’s spiraled out of control.  I don’t know how the fuck this happened, it was supposed to be ten days of hedonism, ten days locked up in my house where I’d explore Lindy’s body thoroughly, take her v-card and then send her packing once it was done, wham, bam, thank you ma’am.

Except that everything has gone off course.  Instead of staying locked up inside just the two of us, I’ve actually been taking Lindy out.  And not to hidey holes where no one would find us, I mean like real places, right here in my neighborhood where we might run into friends, acquaintances, hell, even her parents.

“Um, Mr. Jones,” the brunette said, biting her lip.  “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said as we walked towards Osteria La Bistra, my favorite Italian joint.  “I mean, people might see us and start talking.”

I grinned at her.

“No worries baby, let them talk,” I said casually.  “Doesn’t bother me.”

She shot me a glance then.

“Chris,” she said seriously, coming to a halt, pinning me with those warm caramel eyes.  “I’m not joking.  You know people who live here, I know people who live here, it’s not a good idea.”

But I just smiled at her, putting an arm around her waist and guiding her to the back door.  And oh god, but it felt amazing with my arm around her.  Not just because she was beautiful but because there was a sense of belonging, like the girl was mine and my arm belonged there, with absolute right of possession.  So ignoring her protests, I swung open the door, feeling possessive and masculine.

“Don’t worry honey,” I whispered in her ear, pushing close so that she was forced to brush her breasts across my chest as she swept past.  “I got us a private room in back and no one’s seen us so far, so we’re all good,” I growled.

The brunette just shook her head, sighing.  I could see why Lindy was exasperated and on edge.  We were playing with fire coming out into the open, but it felt so good to have her with me, I wanted to parade her around, show her off in front of everyone, consequences be damned.

But once the private door closed, Lindy relaxed a little, settling back in her plush leather seat and shooting me a sweet smile.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she murmured softly, playing with her napkin.  “I didn’t expect this.”

And another wave of … what, I’m not sure, rushed over me.  All I knew was that I wanted to be there with a hundred percent of my being, I wanted to spend every available second with this beautiful brunette.

“It’s no problem honey,” I growled.  “You deserve the best and Osteria La Bistra has the best Italian for miles around.”

She giggled.

“Better than your Spaghetti Bolognese?” she teased.  She was referring to the time I’d cooked her my special, treated her to a three-course meal that had ended up with noodles on the floor and her ass perched on the table as I drilled her over and over.  So, no, not quite like that but the memory made me hungry.

“If Chef does anything like that, even looks at you the wrong way, I’m fucking killing him,” I ground out.

And Lindy just laughed again, her hand covering mine.

“Oh Mr. Jones, nobody has ever looked at me the way you do,” she said with a sweet smile.  “Trust me, nobody.”

And that’s what blew me away.  Because what male wouldn’t want a piece of Lindy?  The brunette was sweet, sharp and so smart, it was hard to believe she was only nineteen.  Our conversation was easy, rolling along like we’d known each other for years, two adults spending time with each other, enjoying each other’s company, relaxing in each other’s presence.

“So what do you think about this food?” I asked casually as the brunette nibbled at another mouthful of pasta.  I looked on approvingly, Osteria did it right here, the sauce was made from scratch by the owner’s grandmother who simmered tomatoes until they dissolved entirely, becoming a delectable, mouthwatering stew.

“It’s good,” the brunette nodded, delicately patting her mouth with a napkin.  “I’d say tangy and fine, but also with a hint of robustness.  All it needs is a kick more of garlic.”

I nodded approvingly, I couldn’t have said it better myself.

“True, true,” I rumbled.  “And what about the bread?” I asked curiously.  Lindy always surprised me with her knowledge, her sensitive palate.

Here, the brunette was a little more critical.

“I like it,” she answered truthfully, candidly.  “It’s airy, rustic, almost continental in its flavor.  But,” she said, lowering her voice and looking around, “The accompaniment could have been done better.  The butter’s just … blah, you know?  It’s supposed to be whipped with sea salt, but look,” she said, pointing at the bowl they’d given us, “the ingredients are already separating, the buttermilk’s re-liquefied and the sea salt wasn’t mixed in well, there are clumps here and there.  You have to be careful with this stuff,” she said, shaking her head slowly, “Sea salt’s not like table salt, the granules are a lot bigger so it doesn’t mix as easily, takes twice as long to blend.”

I sat back for a moment, looking at the brunette contemplatively.

“Honey, you’re so good with food.  Where did you learn all this?  It’s amazing, you’re a real gourmand,” I complimented.

Lindy blushed a little.

“Well, I do like to eat,” she said with a shy smile.  “I mean, look at me, can’t you tell?”

I nodded again approvingly, my eyes sweeping over that generous bosom, the fleshy ass.  On my watch, Lindy had put on a couple pounds already, and the extra heft, extra bounce was gorgeous, I planned on tasting her as soon as we got back.  But she hadn’t answered my question.

“But where did you pick up your interest in food?” I asked casually, leaning back in my chair, forcing myself to focus on her face and not be distracted by that delectable body.  “From your parents?  I never knew Jim and Brenda were into fine dining and culinary experimentation.”

The brunette threw her head back then and laughed, the peals melodic in our private room.

“Oh, my mom and dad would never come to a place like this,” she admitted.  “There’s no way you would ever find them here, it’s way too fancy and we could never afford it, we…” her voice came to a halt suddenly.  Because of course the Joneses couldn’t afford to dine here, Jim had stolen from me to help pay for his daughter’s tuition.

Obviously, Lindy had just had the same thought and colored, but despite the awkwardness, she went on.

“My parents are different from me,” she said slowly.  “Jim and Brenda love me and adore me, I’m their daughter after all, but they’re different.  You know I’m the first person in my family to go to a four-year college right?” she asked hesitantly.

I nodded.  Jim was a fantastic accountant but he only had an associate’s degree.  The fuck I cared.  One thing I’ve learned from being the boss over the years is that school is well and good but common sense and experience isn’t taught in the classroom.  

But I was curious, pressing on.

“But is that what you want?” I asked.  “Are you finding that you like college?  Are your classes stimulating, helping you figure out what you want to do, who you want to be as a person?”

And the brunette sighed then.

“I guess that’s one of the tough things,” she admitted.  “My parents have wanted me to go to college since I was a little girl, I always studied so hard, tried my best in school, and now I’m here.  But Chris,” she sighed, “it’s not all that.  I don’t love my classes, I feel like I’m twenty years older than my friends sometimes, the stuff they want to do, the stuff they’re interested in, I’m just not into it, you know?”

I nodded understandingly.

“You mean like smoke weed and get drunk every weekend?” I asked wryly.

And she sighed again, her hand playing with the table cloth.

“Not just every weekend,” she said ruefully, rolling her eyes.  “More like every day.  I think my roommate’s an alcoholic, and she’s not the only one who has a serious drinking habit at school.  But it’s other stuff too,” she continued.  “I don’t feel like I’m in a groove, the friends I’ve made are interested in talking about boys, shopping and TV shows.  Not that I don’t like that stuff,” she said quickly, making me frown slightly, “it’s just that it’s all the time with them.  Plus, my professors are in their own worlds, stuck in an ivory tower that makes no sense to me, and sometimes I just don’t know,” she said with another helpless sigh.  “I really don’t know.”

Holy shit, there was a lot to unpack there, but I was interested, curious about the beautiful brunette and her life.

“Let’s start with the friends,” I said slowly.  “What don’t you like about them?”

“Well,” replied Lindy slowly.  “Sometimes they’re so … so juvenile, you know?  Everything’s about texting and hooking up, and while I realize I come across as a little conservative,” she flushed, biting her lip, “I dunno, the guys at school just seem so … so …” she hesitated.

“So what?” I pressed, my voice gentle yet rough at once.  I wanted to hear her say it, wanted the brunette to voice what I was hoping.

“So amateur,” she said in a whisper, looking down, and then back up at me, her eyes catching mine with such meaning, such resonance, that my my heart jumped, my head spinning.  “Next to you, Mr. Jones, they’re just amateurs.”

And I could feel myself staring at her, eating her up, devouring the goodness that was Lindy.  Because the girl made me feel about ten feet tall, ready to conquer the world, and fuck but I loved it.  I couldn’t believe that a nineteen year-old was doing this to me, making me shake in my shoes, harsh streaks of color staining my cheekbones, but yeah, Lindy knew exactly how to truss me up and leave me helpless.

“And what else?” I asked, my hand deceptively still on the wineglass.  “What else about school seems wrong?”

“My classes,” the brunette sighed again.  “If the classes were okay, I’d feel better about spending so much on tuition every semester.  But they’re not!  My professors make no sense, they’re talking about magical realism and negative capabilities and I want to scream, ‘What is this going to do for me in real life?  How does this apply in real life?’  I mean, I get it, this has to have some utility later down the road, but right now, I don’t see it, Mr. Jones, I really don’t.”

And I nodded approvingly.  I have a four year degree myself but the value it’s added to my empire?  I’d say about zero.  Yeah, the shit I do at United Electric is about managing people and you can’t learn that in college, it’s about experience, trial by error and being a fair, open-minded boss.  This shit isn’t gonna be found anywhere in a textbook, you can’t read about it, you have to live it.

So I took her hand across the table, gentle, understanding.

“Well, if school isn’t right for you, have you talked about this with your parents?” I asked, squeezing her fingers.  “Jim and Brenda are forking a lot over for tuition, I’m sure they’d want to know how you really feel, what you’re getting from these four years.”

And Lindy sighed again, her little fingers still under mine.

“That’s the thing, Mr. Jones,” she said quietly.  “I’m afraid to tell my parents.  Afraid that what they hoped for me, what they dreamed, isn’t panning out.  I appreciate all the sacrifices they’ve made, how my dad st-stole from you to help put me through school, but I can’t stop now,” she hesitated.  “They’re already spent so much money and that would be wasted, we can’t get that back..”

I enveloped her small hand in a big, warm one.

“Are you sure baby?” I reasoned gently.  “Sometimes it’s better to consider it a lost cause, there’s no sense in throwing good money after bad.”

That made her shake her head even more.

“That’s it exactly,” she sighed again.  “If Jim and Brenda heard the words ‘lost cause,’ they’d go ballistic.  They’d be devastated and I can’t do that to them, I can’t do that to people I love.”

And I understood.  Lindy was a good girl, she wanted to like school, wanted to do her best, but was caught in a conundrum because what her parents wanted for her was different from what she wanted for herself.  I got it.  Sometimes you’re caught between a rock and a hard place and there aren’t any good ways out, there are only okay or bad solutions, but that was part of being an adult and learning how to navigate the waters as well as possible.

“Honey,” I said slowly, “Just think about it more.  You have plenty of time, the clock’s not ticking, you’re young.”

“I’m young,” she agreed with a rueful smile, “but the clock’s definitely ticking.  I calculated that every day I spend at school costs my parents about a hundred bucks,” she said sadly.  “Can you believe it?  Imagine what I could do with a hundred bucks per day.”

And I knew exactly what I’d do with that money.  I’d give Lindy anything she wanted, hell, one hundred was nothing.  I’d open an unlimited account for her, let her use it as she saw fit, I knew my girl wasn’t the type to go crazy and buy a fire truck or anything.  She’d use it to find her dreams, to make other people happy, her sweetness and innate goodness overwhelming.

And suddenly I wanted to make it right.  Wanted to show this girl how much I appreciated her and with my heart thundering in my throat, I reached into my pocket, clasping my fingers over the velvet box before pulling it out.

“Honey,” I rasped, “I have something for you.”

And slowly, I snapped open the lid to reveal a huge emerald pendant hanging off of a delicate gold chain.

Lindy paused, eyes open in shock.

“Wh-what is this?” she gasped, eyes wide.  “What?  Why?”

“It’s for you,” I said simply.  “I want you to have it.”

And it was true.  Usually when I end a relationship, I provide the woman with a consolation prize, expensive jewelry in most cases.  Everything just goes down easier, makes the crying stop, the hysterical screaming comes to a halt a lot faster when you’ve got a fifty thousand dollar bracelet on your wrist.  So yeah, I’d been planning on sending Lindy off with an extravagant parting gift, but somehow everything had gotten screwed up.

Because when I’d passed the jewelry store, my feet had magnetically been drawn to the door, and pretty soon I was picking things out.  Not one item.  Not two, but actually five things, I made a giant six figure purchase that day, much to the glee of the salesperson.  And when I stepped outside, I was a little dazed because yeah, I’d had Lindy on my mind the entire time, imagining how the precious gems would look draped around that elegant white throat, clasping her wrist, on her finger, or wrapped around an ankle.

But I shook my head, trying to bring myself back to reality.  I wasn’t gonna give her all of it, one was enough, and it was a fucking parting gift for crying out loud, something I’d hand her at week’s end.  But while dressing for tonight’s dinner, I’d found myself spinning the lock to the vault, my fingers moving of their own volition.

And pulling out the emerald pendant, the green gem lit with an internal fire, I knew it was right.  I wasn’t going to wait, it’d look beautiful on her now, compliment that shining fall of brown curls, look amazing against her creamy throat.  And god no, I wasn’t gonna unpack my emotions now, figure out what was causing me to behave this way.  So shaking my head, I slipped the gem into my pocket, promising myself to give it to Lindy only if everything went right, if I had absolutely no doubts.

And fuck, but everything was more than right.  It was a hundred, a thousand percent right.  Lindy’s humbleness, her giving nature, the way she wanted her parents to be happy, cared more about them than herself, spoke well of the girl.  Plus, school.  I liked what she had to say, about her classmates being juvenile, the dudes mere ants, nothing compared to a mature man.  So “right” wasn’t the word to describe the brunette, it was more along lines of “perfect.”  And I wanted to make her happy.

“Here,” I said, pushing the box towards her.  “Put it on.”

Her hands trembled a little, her eyes welling up.

“But Chris, I don’t get it,” she said, her voice quavering.  “Why?  What is this for?”

And I leaned forward and pressed a swift kiss against her lips.

“For being you,” I whispered against that peachy pink pout.  “For nothing else but being you.”

And Lindy positively melted against me then, her mouth opening under mine, her arms going around my neck to hold me tight, the sweetest, softest restraints.  And fuck, but I’d never felt a better prison, feeling her latch onto me like that, her curvy form warm, willing, so generous and sweet.

“Thank you,” she murmured, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, you don’t understand how that makes me feel.”

But I knew all too well because I was feeling it too.  Somehow, the physical had become intertwined with the emotional and I knew, fucking knew, that I was in real danger.  Well it’s only ten days, I growled to myself.  Ten days and then the danger’s gone, the fairy tale’s over.

So I went took advantage of the time left.  Taking a couple bills from my wallet and throwing them onto the table, I swept the brunette into my arms, growling into her mouth.

“I need you baby,” I whispered rawly against that slim white throat, nuzzling the sensitive flesh.  “I need you now.”

And she was so responsive, her breathing hitched, hard nipples pressed against my chest that I knew she needed it just as badly, wanted to ravish me and be ravished, now and not later.

“But Chris,” she panted, her voice trembly and soft.  “What about the food?  We haven’t finished our meal yet.”

I growled, not giving a shit.

“I know the chef, he’s not gonna be offended if we take off … especially since I left a giant tip for the staff.”  And it was true, money paves the way for everything, and I’d be welcomed back at Osteria with open arms based on the tip alone and not the way we were rudely leaving our food half-eaten.  So I spirited her away, racing back in my Lamborghini to the house, rushing up the stairs with Lindy in my arms before depositing her on the big master bed.

“Take off your clothes,” I commanded.  “Let me see all of you.”

And the girl smiled shyly.  Really, still shy after everything we’d done, my cock in her pussy countless times, my thumb in her ass?

But my brunette is no worldly woman, her movements still hesitant, slowly peeling away the lavender cocktail dress, letting the high heels drop softly to the ground before sensuously rolling off her thigh highs, leaving her clad in nothing but a black g-string.

“This too?” she asked softly, fingering the lace, her eyes melted pools of caramel.

I nodded sharply, my blue gaze pure fire on that sassy form.

“That too,” I commanded, and in a sweet second, it was off, her cunny bare to my gaze.

But I wasn’t finished yet because my mind moves in mysterious ways and Lindy’s body was just the ticket for release, to find my dreams.

“Baby,” I said, taking the emerald necklace out of my pocket.  “Run this through your cunt, get it all lubed up, and then put it on your neck.”

She flushed then, head to toe, I could see the beautiful pink making her nips turn red, stand out all the more, her pussy grow more swollen before my eyes.

“But it’s priceless,” she gasped.  “That emerald is worth so much, I can’t just …” her voice trailed off.

“Put it in your pussy?” I growled, finishing her sentence.  “Believe me, you can.  And believe me, you’re going to,” I said with finality.

Because I wanted to see Lindy draped in jewels, items that I’d given her, marking her as mine.  And to have each and every one christened in her pussy first?  That was the cherry on top.

So with trembling, obedient hands, the girl did as told.  She took the emerald pendant, rubbing it between her fingers, feeling the hard facets.  It was gorgeous, a deep, sparkling green, huge at about ten carats.  I’m no cheap bastard, and I certainly wasn’t holding back when it came to my best girl.

“It’s big, isn’t it?” I grinned at her.  “It’ll feel good in your cunt.”

The girl gasped at my nasty words, her eyes going wide with shock, but also with desire.  Because oh yeah, she wanted it.  Lindy is perfect for me, and the nasty words turned her on.  So sitting back on the bed, the brunette spread those creamy white thighs, opening herself to me, and leaned back slightly so that her honey hole winked a bit, pink and gleaming in the low lights.

And oh fuck, the insertion.  I growled as I watched, it was so fucking dirty, so fucking incredible, watching those swollen, wet pussy lips suck the giant green gem in, watching them close over the sparkling facets, her pink flesh enclose the emerald until it could no longer be seen.  I almost came right then, my dick so hard that I was sure I was going to unload right there on the floor of my bedroom, let loose with a spray of cream, hit everything and anything in sight.

“Push it in deep,” I commanded, my eyes never leaving that curvy form as I fisted my pole, the shaft slick with pre-cum.  “Deep, baby, deep.”

With a mewling cry, the girl leaned back more, tossing her hair and closing her eyes as her fingers inserted the gem up into her pussy, sliding up that internal channel, her hole creaming as I watched, juices spilling until her thighs were positively coated, a sweet trickle running down her crack.  And the brunette was so sensuous, pushing the gem all the way in until only an inch of the golden chain still showed, a bit of metal dangling out between her lips.

And I was so fucking turned on, fisting myself, my hand a vise around my fat cock, that I was about to burst.  But I wanted this to be about her, and not me.  So I ignored the insistent pulsing in my balls, the ache in my cock, and pinched my dickhead, forcing myself into line.  Down boy, I commanded.  Down, this is about her.

And striding over to the beautiful girl, I positioned myself between her legs.  Lindy’s eyes flew open for a moment, languid, almost dazed, the sensuousness of the situation overwhelming, her breasts soft and huge, yet capped with stiff pink tips, her thighs spread while her pussy pulsed.

“Put it in me, Chris?” she murmured, writhing a bit, begging for my touch.  “Please?” she asked.

But I had something much dirtier in mind.

“Oh yeah, little girl,” I rasped.  “But first, I’m gonna do this.”

And grasping that bit of gold chain in my finger, I began to pull.  Oh fuck yeah, I began to pull the ten carat emerald out of her pussy, letting the precious stone drag against her internal channel, stimulating her like a giant ben wa ball exiting her tight cavern.  And at the same time, my other hand played with her clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in circles, up and down, stimulating it, feeling it grow bigger and harder beneath my hand, pulsing with her heartbeat as I stimulated her vag.

“Oh god!” she gasped breathily, looking down between her legs, eyes wide at the dirty sight, both my hands working her.  “Oh god!”

“Yeah,” I grunted, still dragging that chain out slowly, letting her pussy feel every inch of the emerald as it made its descent down her internal canal.  “Jewelry’s so much better once it’s been in your cunt, isn’t that right?”

And the little girl creamed then, creamed hard as I popped the emerald out.

“Fuuck!” she shrieked.  “Oh god, oh god!”

And with one last yank, I got the green giant out, the stone exiting with a satisfying wet sucking sound, spattering me with her juice.  And sure enough, Lindy’s pussy went wild then, clamping and spasming at the sensation, shivers running through her entire form as I continued to stimulate her clit, pinching it, giving her a good rub all over, the cream gushing from her hole now, covering my hand with that sweet, tangy goodness.

And fuck, but my dick.  I’m not sure how this happened because this has never happened before, not even when I was a gangly adolescent with raging hormones.  Because I came then, with no physical stimulation.  Oh sure, my hands were on her body, I was touching those sweet curves all over, but she wasn’t touching any part of me.  My dick was there one second, hanging in the air, and the next it was spurting wildly, like it’d been in her hand, her mouth, or her pussy, some curvy part of her rubbing on me.

Because she was so exciting, so responsive that I couldn’t help it, and I came straight onto the little girl’s puss as I massaged her clit, exploding with blast after blast of hot white, spraying that sweet cunt with everything I had to give, spurt after spurt landing in gooey, wet lashes all over her pulsing slit.

And Lindy loved it.  While thrashing in the throes of her orgasm, she reached one hand down and opened up her nether lips so that my semen went inside, the white bubbly inching up into that sweet hole as her fingers caressed the sperm into her folds, pushing it up into herself, moaning and gasping the entire time.

And fuck, fuck, fuck.  But it was so good, so satisfying, so fucking amazing that I could hardly believe a nineteen year-old nymphet had done this to me, a forty-five year old man of the world, turned me into mush.  And that was the problem.  Lindy hadn’t broken a single rule of mine, she’d played my game fair and square.  It was me, I was the one who’d lost my heart and fuck, but I had no idea what was going to happen next.



“Hey,” I said softly, wheeling my rollerboard behind me.  “I’m off.”

Chris looked up from his desk, blue eyes calm, taking me in, the jacket, the bag, the keys in my hand.  There was something in his eyes that made my heart jump for a moment, made me think that he might say something, ask me to stay, but I was wrong.

Instead the big man got up, coming around the desk to give me a hug, enveloping me in those strong arms.

“Thank you honey,” he rasped against my temple.  “These ten days have been magnificent.”

Magnificent didn’t even describe it.  Mind-blowing, out of this world, a dream come true were more like it, but I couldn’t say those words, they were stuck in my throat.  So I just let out a little squeak and forced myself to throw him a smile.

“Yeah, it was great wasn’t it?” I said lightly, trying to act casual, act like I wasn’t devastated our ten days had come to an end.  “I better get going, my manager at Little Mo’s wants me to be there for the late shift tonight.  You know, waitressing and all,” I said.  I didn’t want to go back to that greasy spoon, didn’t want to go back to my classes, I wanted to stay here with Chris and live in his mansion, spend my days and nights wrapped around him, but that wasn’t my life.  My real life was back at campus, going through the motions even if it didn’t fulfill me anymore.

And Chris frowned at me for a moment.

“Little Mo’s?” he growled in his throat.  “Seriously honey, are you really going back to that place?  You could sell any of the gems I gave you and it’d be enough for a year’s tuition,” he said with a wry smile.

Sell that beautiful emerald?  The sapphire necklace he’d given me with the matching earrings?  Or the diamond tennis bracelet?  They were so precious to me that I’d rather starve before I sold one, they were from him after all, they were the only reminder that we’d had this illicit week together, this time of getting to know one another, exploring each other’s minds, bodies, and souls.

So tears filled my eyes and I choked, but I couldn’t let him know.

“Oh Chris,” I said playfully.  “I like to work,” I lied through my teeth.  “And I get free meals working at Little Mo’s, it’s not so bad.”

Oops that was the wrong thing to say because it only made the big man frown more.  He strode behind his desk and banged open a drawer, pulling out his checkbook before scrawling out a check and handing it to me.

“Take this,” he growled.  “I can’t stand the thought of my girl not getting enough food.”

Oh god, was I his girl?  Did I belong to him, were we something more than a drive-by romance?  But his gaze remained elusive, so my fingers just closed numbly around the check.

“Thanks,” I said, head down, taking a long time to put it in my purse so that he couldn’t see the tears welling.  Get with it!  I scolded myself.  You knew this day was coming, you knew this was going to happen.  Don’t be a weakling now that it’s over.

And I was right.  I had to be strong, I’d done this for my dad, for my family, so that we’d have a place to live, food to put on the table, and I was being released from the shackles now, my chains were broken, and I was free to go.  So why was I so sad?  Why had I been dreading this moment in the back of my mind?

But it was really time to go now so I steeled myself before pasting a bright smile on my face.

“Thanks Chris,” I said merrily, not quite meeting his eyes.  “I really, really appreciate it and come visit me on campus sometime, okay?  I don’t think I’m gonna be back until winter break and you know that’s seven months from now, so you come to see me, alright?”

Chris’s eyes darkened momentarily for a moment, but I guess he could tell that my invitation was just words, there was no place for a forty-five year old man among undergrads.

“Of course,” he said smoothly.  “I’ll miss you Lindy.  And I mean it, I’ll miss you.”

“Not as much as I’ll miss you,” I said merrily, again with that fake smile pasted on my face.  I probably looked like a mannequin, my lips pulled into a grimace while my eyes were filled with pain, but it was the best I could do.  I couldn’t break down, not here, not with my bags packed and everything ready to go.

I turned, taking a deep breath, my hand already on the doorknob when suddenly Chris’s big hand landed on my waist, warm, almost hot through my sweater, pulling me back to him, spinning me around so that I was pressed against his chest, the breath gone from my lungs.

“Baby,” he growled deep in his throat, the blue eyes so meaningful, so sensuous, that I almost lost it then, almost broke down and cried in his arms, begged him to let me stay.

But all he did was push a tendril of my hair behind my ear, look at me closely, the trembling chin, the warm pools of brown, and sigh.

“Baby,” he started again.  “I want you to know that these ten days meant a lot to me, that being with you was more than I ever could have imagined.”

Then ask me to stay, I cried inside.  Ask me to put down my luggage, don’t let me walk out the door!

But Chris just shook his head, like he was clearing his mind, before seizing my chin in his fingers.

“And honey, you’ve opened up so many avenues to me, you can’t even imagine,” he said hoarsely.  “I thought I knew everything, I was pretty much the alpha male in control,” he stopped for a moment, his voice rough.  “But you, a nineteen year-old girl have shown me that I actually know nothing, that I have a shit ton to learn.”

What he was talking about? I had no idea, but my heart beat fast, pitter-pattering like it was on speed.

“Oh Chris,” I said merrily.  “I’m sure I didn’t teach you everything.  You taught me everything … in bed,” I added with a saucy smile.

There, make it about the physical again and I was in safe territory, a zone that I could handle.

But Chris wasn’t going there, he wanted to tell me something more.

“Baby, you think that this was all about our bodies, and you’re right, it started out that way,” he said seriously, still gazing deeply into my eyes.  “But you’ve changed me in ways that I can’t even begin to process, you’ve made me into a new man, a new everything,” he said roughly.  “And I’ll always treasure these ten days together.  Always.”

My heart just about broke again, I wanted to scream.  But what my heart felt and what I could actually say were two different things.

“I know,” I said lightly, with that fake smile still on my lips.  “Me too.”

And with a quick peck on his cheek, I disentangled myself, pulling my luggage after me.

“I gotta roll now otherwise my manager is really gonna have my ass,” I joked.  “Little Mo’s is going to be serving some Lindy stew if I don’t get going.  Bye now,” I said with one last smile, and with that, I was throwing my suitcase into the backseat, jauntily opening the car door before blowing him one last kiss.

“Bye Mr. Jones!” I trilled merrily, hopping into my Jetta and zooming off.  But as I drove down the long drive, I looked into my rearview mirror out of habit more than anything and saw the big man standing there, watching me drive off, his hands in his pockets, expression brooding, moody, his shoulders hunched, tense and still.  If I wasn’t crazy, I’d think that he was miserable, that watching me drive off was like watching his heart roll away, the meaning of his life disappearing with each mile.

But I shook myself, forcing myself back to reality.  I was dreaming, I was living in a fantasy land where a forty-five year old alpha male fell head over heels in love with a nineteen year-old know-nothing, and clearly that wasn’t happening.  Chris was my dad’s boss, and I’d only agreed to our arrangement so that he wouldn’t be fired immediately, so that my family could save up a little while making the transition.

And suddenly, I really did break down.  Right there, in the middle of traffic, my little Jetta going about twenty-five on a local street, the tears started rolling and a tearing, wrenching sob erupted from my chest.  Because I’d left my heart behind with the big man … and there was no getting it back.



“Hey,” I said disinterestedly to my roommate Kara.  “What’s up?  You’re back early.”

It was summer break still and I hadn’t expected Kara to be at the apartment, I thought she was still going to be on vacation with her family, summering in Cape Code or Nantucket, wherever it is rich people go.  Frankly, I found it hard to care.  The last ten days had wiped my mind of everything but Christopher Jones and it was going to be hard to pick up the pieces, to get back in the groove.  But I had to, I had to reconnect with my old life no matter how difficult it was, no matter how painful.

So I forced myself to smile at Kara again.

“How was your break?” I asked again.

But Kara ignored me, her head still buried in a book.

I sighed.  We’d never gotten along but still, Kara’s silence was so rude.  I’d asked her a direct question and she was ignoring me, pretending me like she didn’t hear.

But I had other things on my mind, so I ignored my roommate and started unpacking, my hands slow as I pulled open my rickety bureau and placed my clothes in, my faded jeans and plaid t-shirts plain and frumpy.  Next up was my underwear and I reached into my luggage, only for my hand to come out with a black g-string.  One of the special black g-strings, the ones I’d worn for Chris’s eyes alone, parading around the mansion in nothing but this and skin.

Suddenly my eyes filled with tears again and I dropped the lingerie like a hot potato.  I couldn’t stand the sight of the lace, the skimpy fabric.  So hurriedly, I rezipped my bag and threw it under my bed, taking a deep breath.   I’d do my toiletries instead, yeah that was pretty safe, what could go wrong?

But as soon as I unzipped my cosmetics bag, it popped open to reveal the designer lipsticks and eyeshadows he’d bought for me, a tube of the good stuff costing fifty bucks from the department store.  Chris had been generous, pushing me to buy it even when I’d protested.

“Drugstore stuff is fine,” I said, shaking my head when we were in Saks.  “The make-ups all the same, anyways, they make it at the same factory.”

But the big man shook his head.

“Even if it’s the same, I want you to feel special when you’re putting it on,” he growled under his breath so that no one could hear.  “I want you to get dressed up, get made up, knowing that it’s all for me.”

And I’d reddened then, my breath coming quickly.

“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my brown eyes sparkling.

“Well I’m gonna pick it out for you then,” he said with a smirk.  “So better you pick the colors, otherwise you’re going to end up with, let’s see … this green eyeshadow looks good, don’t you think?”

And I’d giggled then, giving in.  Because the green eyeshadow he held up was so ugly it was laughable.  If I wanted to be a witch for Halloween then that was one thing, but no one couldn’t possibly use it in real life.

So I picked out a couple items, a blush, a lip liner, an eyeshadow that were pretty, neutral, colors I could wear day and night.  But Chris shook his head.

“Nuh uh, honey, we just bought you a couple cocktail dresses in red, purple and blue.  You need more than that to match your new outfits, so keep going,” he commanded.

And sighing, I picked out a couple more things as Chris looked on, adding to the pile, offering commentary along the way.

“Honey, this would be perfect on you,” he said, holding up a vampy red lipstick.

I laughed, exasperated.

“Chris, have you seen my lips?  They’re so big already, this lipstick is going to make them look bigger, I’m gonna be Angelina Jolie on drugs.”

He just grinned.

“My point exactly,” he rasped, throwing the red lipstick into the “buy” pile.  “My point exactly.”

And now I was left with reminders of him everywhere, his generosity, his sense of humor, his preferences in clothes, make-up, lingerie, apparent even now that I was a hundred miles away.  Oh god, what was I going to do?  My heart crumpled again, my attempt to unpack and take my mind off things had backfired, making me depressed and sad once more.

Suddenly, Kara’s voice interrupted me from outside.

“Lindy, phone!” she yelled.

God, why did she have to scream?  Our apartment was so small, we could practically hear each other breathe even when were in different rooms, a nice, mild “Phone, Lindy” would have been enough.  But I guess it was good that Kara had even called me, sometimes she ignored the land line, letting it ring until it stopped on its own.

“Got it!” I called back, going into my room to take the call.  “Hello?” I said breathlessly into the receiver.  My heartbeat accelerated uncontrollably.  Maybe it was Chris, maybe he was calling to check up on me, maybe he missed me already and wanted to hear my voice.

But reality dropped like a ton of bricks.

“Hi honey!” came my mom’s cheery voice.  “How are you?  How’s the job going?  Are you ready for school?”

Oh right, my parents thought I’d been on campus this entire time working at Mo’s, they had no idea of what I’d been up to in the last ten days.  Right.  My heart stopped its thudding, coming almost to a standstill instead.

“Things are good,” I lied with a small, sad twist to my lips.  “Things are good.”  Hopefully my parents would never know about what happened, that my secret would be hidden forever.

“Oh good,” trilled Brenda.  “And are you ready for school to start?  When does it start again, baby?” she asked.

“Tomorrow,” I breathed into the phone, suddenly feeling extremely tired.  “Listen Ma, I gotta get to work, and then I need to go to the bookstore, then the laundromat, there’s a ton of errands I have to run.”

“Oh sure, sure,” my mom gushed.  “Your dad and I, we just wanted to check in, we hadn’t talked to you since you left here last week.  We’ll be up for parents’ weekend, see you then?”

I groaned internally.  Of course my parents were going to visit in two weeks’ time, they never missed stuff like parents’ weekend because I was the living manifestation of their dreams, a student at a four-year college.  And I desperately wanted to avoid them, I wanted to mope and be alone instead, nurse my heart in privacy, but there was no deterring Jim and Brenda.

So I gave in.

“Sure Mom,” I said listlessly.  “Sure, no problem.  I’ll see you then.”

But it was then that Brenda threw me for a loop.

“And Lindy,” she added, almost breathless now with excitement.  “We’re going to celebrate that weekend because you know what?  Daddy just got a promotion at work!  Can you believe it?  He’s worked for Chris Jones for years now and never gotten a promotion, but the boss just told him today, Daddy’s going to be a VP in the company starting next week!”

My mouth dropped open, my fingers almost losing hold of the receiver.  I knew that my ten days with Mr. Jones had guaranteed my dad a couple more months, he wasn’t going to be let go right away.  But my dad was still going to be fired, it was just a question of when.

So this was a complete turnabout and I was cautious.  Chris had never promised this, so I asked gently.

“Mom, are you sure?  I mean, I thought Dad was having a hard time at United Electric.”

She just squealed again.

“Of course I’m sure!  Chris Jones told Daddy himself, called him into his office today and made it official with a letter and a raise.  Can you believe it?” she asked excitedly.  “Daddy made so little before and Mr. Jones tripled his salary just like that!  I had no idea being an accountant could be so lucrative, but you know, Daddy’s always worked so hard …”

Her voice babbled on and on but I was only listening with one ear.  Chris had called my dad into his office, and personally given him a promotion, throwing in a raise to boot?  I could hardly believe it, hardly believe the windfall that my family had just received.  And it’d make a huge difference for sure, because now Brenda was babbling on about my job.

“Honey, you won’t have to work at Little Mo’s anymore, you can quit your job.  With Daddy’s new salary we’ll be safe, you can concentrate on school and getting good grades.  Didn’t you want to be an architect baby?  You were always so good with building blocks, always building little houses and barns, even tepees and igloos when you were small.”

I was silent, motionless.  I couldn’t believe what was happening, that Mr. Jones had done all this, that my family’s finances had turned on a dime, all because of the big man’s generosity, his appreciation for my ten day stay.  And that brought me back to reality with a jolt.  Because this wasn’t generosity, this wasn’t a gift because Chris Jones was a good man.  This was payment for my services, we’d negotiated a bargain and I’d exceeded expectations, so the big man was rewarding me for my excellent work.

And knowing that only made the bottom drop out of my stomach, made me miserable, a nauseous feeling rolling over me.  Because I was nothing but an employee, I’d performed well and deserved to be compensated, to see the fruit of my labor.  Sadly, I was nothing more than a minion to Christopher Jones, one who slept in his bed, but a paid employee nonetheless.  And the knowledge made my head hurt, another wave of nausea overtaking me.

“Okay Mom, that’s great news,” I said weakly.  “I’m so happy for you guys, it’s fantastic.  See you in two weeks okay?”

But Brenda was so excited that she kept babbling away, chattering on and on about Daddy, his job, United Electric, and Mr. Jones until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Ma,” I said sharply this time.  “I gotta go, I gotta get to work.”

My mom paused for a second.

“But honey, I thought we just agreed you don’t have to work at Little Mo’s anymore, your dad makes more than enough now.  Just tell them you’re quitting.”

I let out a huge sigh.

“Ma, I can’t leave just like that, without any notice.  Besides, you know Carla, my manager, has been so nice to me, she’d never speak to me again if I left her hanging with an open dinner shift.”

My mom paused for a moment.

“Of course honey, I understand,” she said.  “But this will be your last shift, right?  No more Little Mo’s?”

And I grew angry all of a sudden.

“No Brenda, I’m not sure I’m so ready to quit,” I said slowly, grinding my words.  “I like this job even if you think it’s below me, I like my co-workers, I like the environment and I do fine in school, thank you very much.  So no, I’m not sure I’m going to quit even if Daddy’s rolling in it now.”

And I had to admit to myself, I didn’t want to quit because I knew that’s what Chris would want me to do.  Suddenly stubborn, I didn’t care what the big man wanted, I wanted to do my own thing, spread my wings and fly a little.

Sensing my feeling of rage, my mom backed off instantly.

“Of course, honey,” she said gently.  “Of course.  We’ll talk about it more in two weeks when we come up.  Take care, okay baby?  Don’t work too hard and we’ll see you soon, okay?  Bye, honey.”

And with a sigh, I hung up, relieved yet angry as well.  Because even though I’d left the big man, it seemed that his actions, his thoughts, still permeated every corner of my life.  My parents’ financial situation, my financial situation, heck, even my unpacking, were filled with memories of him, his actions, his choices, his words, his decisions.  I was irritated and angry, but also suddenly sad.   Because I desperately missed the big man, wanted to feel his arms around me, his big form holding me tight … but all I had were memories now.



I walked into the restaurant.  School had started with more of a whimper than a bang, and the whole cycle had begun again, classes, clubs, events, everything in a swirling whir.  Because although I was going through the motions, I was distracted.  I was still thinking of Mr. Jones, dreaming of the big man and nothing had succeeded in pulling me away just yet, my thoughts and memories filled with him, his voice, his touch, those big hands holding me close.

But now it was parents’ weekend and I’d forced myself to be alert, giving myself a small pep talk while getting ready.

“Act happy,” I told myself sternly.  “Brenda and Jim are gonna be over the moon with happiness, and you’ve got to act happy too, don’t spoil their celebratory mood.”

Because they were splurging.  Instead of going to a local pizza joint or grabbing a burger at Little Mo’s, my parents had made a reservation at Bistecca Formaia, a fancy white-table place near campus.  In our previous life, it would have been wildly out of our budget, but with my dad’s new salary my parents wanted to enjoy life a little, savor the finer things with the extra disposable income.

So I smoothed down my purple dress, taking a deep breath before pushing open the restaurant door.  I was wearing an outfit that Chris had bought me, and in fact there was a matching amethyst bracelet but I could hardly parade that around without attracting my parents’ attention.  So instead, I’d stuck with the dress and matching heels, swinging a purse over my shoulder before heading out the door.

And as I made my way towards the back, I caught sight of my parents.  Oh right, there were Brenda and Jim, solid, upstanding middle-class citizens, my mom with her grey hair in a bun, my dad’s face a little flushed from a pre-dinner drink.

But suddenly my steps came to a halt.  Because seated right there at the booth with them was Mr. Jones, his muscular form dominating, impossible to miss, seizing the eye.  Oh god, what was he doing here?  This was like a nightmare come to life, an episode of the Twilight Zone where ghosts from the past come to haunt you.  I almost swung on my heel, ready to duck out, but my mom caught sight of me and it was too late.

“Hi honey!” she sang, waving.  “We’ve been waiting for you, we came a little early and ordered a couple appetizers.  Come and say hello!  You remember Daddy’s boss, Christopher Jones, don’t you?”

I almost choked as I approached, my face growing beet red, my knees wobbling.  What was he doing here?  At my college?  In my space, with my parents no less?

But the big man was smooth, standing to tower over all of us, his frame outfitted in a perfectly-cut suit.

“Hello Lindy,” he said smoothly.  “We’ve met before, at your parents’ anniversary party, I believe.”

And I almost choked then.  His dick had been in me so many times, making my body scream and tremble, give it up over and over again, and yet we were going through this farce of “oh, how nice to meet you.”

But I had to act normal otherwise my parents would suspect, so I managed a weak smile and nod.

“Hi,” I mumbled, looking away.  “Nice to see you again.”

But suddenly my eyes snapped up, meeting his, challenging.  I had nothing to be embarrassed about, I’d kept my part of the deal so why was he here, on my territory?

And seeing the flare in my eyes, the big man’s gaze grew warm, even hot on my body, his eyes running up and down my curvy figure.  Oh god, I knew he recognized the dress.  Chris had pulled it off me after dinner one night, and fuck, I’d put on a few pounds so it was even tighter than before, my boobs out to there with the curve of my ass highlighted by the stretchy material.

Mr. Jones eyes flamed once more before going smooth, cool again.  But I knew he was affected from the slight flare of his nostrils, the tenseness in his throat, signs that only I’d notice.

“So nice to see you again,” he rumbled, that voice like amber whiskey.  “I hear you’re a sophomore at Evergreen?”

I nodded and forced myself to smile like nothing was the matter.

“Yes, I’m a sophomore,” I said inanely, parroting him.  “And I love it, Evergreen is such an amazing place.”

Mr. Jones’s eyes darkened then, perhaps with the memory of my confidences, how I’d told him I didn’t find the classes fulfilling at all, how all the kids were juvenile teens and I didn’t have much in common with them.  But this wasn’t the place to hash it out, so we both turned when my mom clucked.

“Lindy, we’re so excited to see you,” she chirped happily.  “When Daddy told Mr. Jones that we were coming up to see you, he offered to take us in his helicopter to avoid traffic.  Isn’t that so nice?  It would have taken hours to drive up otherwise.”

I almost swallowed a golf ball then.  A helicopter?

And the big man nodded smoothly.

“I always have a ride ready and I was coming up for business anyways, so why not?  Figured I’d give you nice folks a ride.”

Business, schmisness, I was sure there was no such thing and it was all a farce.  But I forced myself to smile again and ask sweetly, “Oh, and what do you do up here?  I thought United Electric was a local contractor, Long Island jobs only.”

The big man smiled at my attempted barb.

“Most of our jobs are local, that’s true,” rumbled the big man, sitting back.  “But I’m meeting with the governor and some local politicians, I want the company to start getting some state-owned contracts, so I’m here to press the flesh, do what a CEO’s gotta do,” he drawled.

And I gritted my teeth, trying look calm.  Of course he had a perfectly good reason, I was in over my head and should have stopped right there.  But I wanted to trip him up so badly that I tried again, went in for a second bite of the apple.

“And you know the governor personally?” I asked in a deceptively gentle tone.  “Like you and he are friends?”  That was unlikely.  I knew Chris was rich, but knowing the governor?  That was another level of wealth.

Mr. Jones just shook his head.

“You’re right, I’m not on a first name basis with the governor himself,” he said smoothly, “but I do know his chief of staff.  Corey and I were buddies back in business school, so I always drop by to play a round of golf, catch up when I’m in town.”

And I bit my lip then.  What the hell was wrong with me?  Why was I even attempting to spar with the big man when I knew I’d lose?  I was out of my league and my attempts to foil Chris had come up empty … so far.  But before I could go in for round three, my mom interrupted.

“That’s so wonderful Mr. Jones,” she said excitedly.  “But can we order now?  You know Jim and I read all about Bistecca’s prime rib, I heard you have to get it medium rare.  Their menu’s on-line, you know, we can hardly wait to taste test it.”

And gratefully, I turned to my menu, staring at it blindly as my parents chit-chatted with the big man.  I figured I could wing it through the rest of the meal, eat quietly and excuse myself early except that there was no such thing.

“Lindy,” said my dad, interrupting my thoughts.  “Did you hear Mr. Jones just now?  He said he has a meeting tomorrow and needs someone to take notes for him, his secretary’s sick.  We thought you could go in her place.”

I gaped a little before snapping back to my senses.

“No, no, I have class, I’m so sorry, I can’t,” I made excuses quickly, looking between my parents’ expectant faces and my lover’s knowing one.  God, I didn’t know if I wanted to slap Chris or kiss him right then.

But my dad frowned at me.

“Now Lindy, I know you’re a fancy college girl now, but we’re humble folk and you’re not too good to take notes at a meeting.  Please assist Mr. Jones tomorrow,” my dad said sternly, “He was kind enough to make this trip, save us hours in traffic.”

And I was about to refuse again, about to stubbornly shake my head no when I caught my mom’s pleading gaze.  Brenda was begging me without saying a word, her eyes droopy and sad, her mouth pursed into a downwards line that broke my heart.  So I sighed, and found myself agreeing.

“Okay,” I said shortly, none to gracious.  “But what time?  I have class.”

“Your call,” said Mr. Jones smoothly, his eyes twinkling at me.  “We haven’t decided a meeting time yet, so whenever works for you.”

Damn it.  I was hoping to argue that I had a midterm and couldn’t possibly make it, but the big man had caught me again.

“Fine,” I said shortly, “Nine thirty okay?”

The alpha male just smirked at me.

“Perfect,” he rumbled.  “I’ll let my associate know.”

And as we turned back to dinner, I had a sudden impression that I was a fly in a web … and I’d been caught by a spider with no hope of getting out.



I walked into the hotel, grumpy already.  Where was this meeting?  I was going to take notes in the background and then disappear without a word, Mr. Jones wasn’t getting a second more of my time than necessary.

So with my mouth pressed into a firm line, I went up to reception.

“Hi, I’m here for the meeting with United Electric?” I asked.  Hopefully that wasn’t too vague.

“Oh yes,” said the lady, pursing her lips and gazing at her monitor.  “Looks like you’re in the Rose Room.  Up one level and to your left.”

I nodded my thanks and made my way up the stairs.  Chris evidently had something to prove to his clients because the meeting was in the Four Seasons and the surroundings were unbelievably luxurious.  The grand staircase was a double spiral which flowed gracefully from the first floor landing to the second, with ruby red carpet decorated with gold scrolls.  It sounds gaudy and tacky but was actually tasteful and elegant.

But I sighed.  I was a nobody and no one noticed me making my way up the stairs.  Which was for the better, I guess.  All I wanted to do was to take notes and then make a getaway, my obligation done.  I’d signed up for ten days of hedonism with the big man and that was over now, I’d done my part.  This note-taking business was an extra that had been tacked-on by my dad, of all people.

So I stopped before the big double doors, knocking softly.  When no one answered, I let myself in, a freezing cold blast of A/C hitting me in the face.  God, why didn’t they turn up the temperature in this place?  My summer suit was no match for the arctic blast and I could feel my nipples hardening, goose bumps coming up on my thighs, make me shiver involuntarily.

But that’s when I saw him.  Chris was alone in the room, his feet up on a conference table, turned towards the door as if waiting for me.

“Hey,” he said casually, getting up, that big form unfolding.  “How are you?”

I looked around, puzzled.  Nope, not a soul in sight.

“Good,” I replied slowly, “But where is everyone?  I know I’m early,” I said, glancing quickly at my watch again.  “But it’s nine fifteen and I thought you said the meeting was at half past.”

“It is at nine thirty,” the big man drawled casually, sitting down again, “but my counterpart canceled five minutes ago.”

I stopped in my tracks.

“Canceled, really?” I said, disbelieving.  “That’s rude, especially with such last minute notice.”

“It is rude,” growled Chris, nodding, “so I’ll be tearing him a new one the next time I see him, but in the meantime, let’s discuss business.”

I stopped for a moment, hands on my hips, mouth firm.

“I’m not sure what you think is going on,” I said tightly, “but my obligation to you is done.”

The blue gaze gleamed for a moment, and the big man paused, looking me over, his gaze slipping and sliding over my curvy form.  To my horror, my body began to respond, my nipples growing perky, my insides hot and moist.

And Chris grinned at me like he knew exactly what was happening.

“You look beautiful, Lindy,” he said in a growl, blue eyes intense.  “I’ve missed you.”

I shook my head.  No way was this guy softening me up.  After everything that had happened?  No way, this was all a trap, suddenly I was sure there had been no meeting scheduled at nine thirty, there was no business in Albany, everything had been made up.  But for what?  I didn’t get it.

“Listen,” I said huffily, my hands on my hips.  “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you better come clean with me.  What are you thinking, dragging my parents into this?  Giving my dad a promotion?  A raise?  You were set on firing him, remember?”

And the big man leaned back in his chair, coolly confident as always, playing with his pen.

“I had second thoughts,” he said casually.  “I reconsidered my personnel issues and decided Jim was critical to my staff.”

I stared at him, disbelieving.

“Don’t give me that,” I snorted.  “Jim stole from you, don’t you remember?  Embezzled money from United Electric, did all this hocus pocus mumbo jumbo accounting stuff hoping you weren’t going to catch on, it was just his bad luck that you’re good with numbers.  So what happened?  Why didn’t you fire him?  Stealing is grounds for immediate termination, no one would blame you if you did.”

The big man quirked an eyebrow then.

“So little sympathy for your own father, Lindy?” he murmured, his voice smooth.  “That’s so un-daughter like of you.”

I shook my head, exasperated.

“It’s un-daughter like, I know, but this whole thing is un-employer like,” I retorted.  “Jim stole from you, so what’s going on?  None of this makes sense!”

The alpha male leaned back even further in his chair.

“Well since we’re on the topic of men and their daughters, maybe I wanted something from the daughter,” he drawled.

That got to me.

“Oh no you don’t,” I warned, shaking my head.  “Don’t even start, don’t even go there.  I’ve paid my debt to you, we had an agreement and I held up my end.  You can’t just go and change the rules.”

But the big man shook his head again, amused.

“Says who?” he asked.

I was stunned, completely nonplussed.

“What do you mean, ‘says who’?” I asked, dumbfounded.  “That’s just how the world works!  You strike a deal and you stick to it, you don’t change the rules halfway through.”

But the big man laughed then, a growl deep in his throat.

“Oh baby girl, you have so much to learn,” he chuckled.  “You did so well in the game that I want more now,” he added suggestively.  “What do you say to that?”

I shook my head furiously.

“No way, there’s no more,” I said vehemently.  “There’s no more where that came from.”

And a spark lit in Chris’s eyes then.  A challenge had come his way and the big man never passed up challenges.

“Is that so?” his deep voice rumbled.  “Do you really think so?” he added softly, silkily.

Suddenly I had the distinct feeling of real danger.  Although Mr. Jones was lounging in his chair, his big body relaxed, he reminded me of a predator lying in wait, still among the bushes, eyes sharp.  It was like he was waiting for me to get lazy, step into the middle of the crosshairs before pouncing.

So I backtracked then.

“Listen,” I said quickly.  “I can’t get caught up in all that again, okay?  I can’t, I have a lot on the line, school, family, you know,” I added helplessly.

But Mr. Jones wouldn’t give me any quarter.

“You don’t like school, Lindy, you told me that already.  The other kids, your classes, your professors, it’s not what you’re looking for.”

I squirmed then.  It was true, I’d said that and I still believed it but I was grasping at straws here, throwing anything in the path to get him off my scent.

“Well, I’ve changed, I like it more,” I improvised.  “Things are a lot better now, I’m taking some good classes, I’ve met a few great girls and some really interesting guys …”

And here Chris cut me off.

“Men?” he ground out.  “Who?”

And I was sorely tempted to make something up, to pretend I had a boyfriend, that suddenly I’d been swept off my feet.  But I couldn’t do it.  These games had my head spinning and I couldn’t do it anymore, didn’t want to anymore.

“Mr. Jones,” I said slowly, “I’m gonna start again, and I’m not going to bullshit you.  I’m not going to pretend that I’m Miss Popular with the football player boyfriend, a hundred men trying to date me.  Because I’m just plain old Lindy, and I always have been.  Why are you here?” I implored.  “Why are you playing with my family, toying with us, with me?”

And now my brown eyes met his clearly, with honesty and sincerity shining through.

“Please,” I tried again.  “Please tell me what’s going on, I’m so lost.”

And the big man stared at me hard for a moment before shaking his head.

“Lindy,” he said slowly, “You’re a smart girl but so stupid sometimes.”

I grabbed my stuff, ready to flee.  He’d just called me stupid?  How could he?  My cheeks flamed and I whirled on my heel, my bag in my hands when a big fist clamped on my wrist.

“No baby,” he rumbled gently.  “You’re not stupid, I’m sorry, that’s not the right word.  ‘Innocent’ is a better descriptor.  You’re innocent and I keep forgetting because you’re a girl with a woman’s body, a girl who knows so much, but so little as well.”

And I turned to go again.  What was it with these backhand compliments, these double-edged comments?  He could keep them to himself, I was done.

But Chris wouldn’t let go of my arm and instead, pulled me to sit in a chair across from him.

“All I’m saying Lindy,” he continued quietly, “is that I’ve fallen in love with you and want to be a part of your life.”

Now I sat back, stunned, my eyes wide.  I was literally speechless, no words came to mind.

“I see I took you by surprise,” said the big man wryly.  “Like I said, innocent.  You really had no idea, baby girl?  No idea after I jumped through all these hoops to see you?”

I closed my eyes, shaking my head silently.  Was I really here, in the Four Seasons, alone with Mr. Jones?  Had he really just declared love for me?

But when I opened my eyes, the big man was still there, looking at me amused, but with deep emotion in his eyes.

“It’s true, baby,” he rumbled, taking my small hand in his.  “Christopher Jones, confirmed forty-five year-old bachelor, is head over heels for Lindy Martin, daughter of my employee.”

And I jumped up then, my heart pumping.

“Chris,” I said quickly, “If this is another farce, another way to get back at my dad, make him pay for his misdeeds …”

But this time, the big man’s hand was firm and he yanked me to sit back down.

“This has nothing to do with Jim,” he growled, dark streaks appearing across his cheekbones, “and everything to do with us.”

I sat, unspeaking again.  “Us”?  There was an “us”?

And the alpha male nodded.

“There’s absolutely an ‘us,’” he affirmed, voice rough.  “There was an “us” the minute you stepped into my home, looking like an innocent doe, unsure, hesitant, not knowing what was next.  I felt myself falling, falling that entire week, it was like doing a nose-dive with no parachute, and suddenly there was an ‘us,’” he said roughly.  “I had to have you.  I have to have you even now, Lindy, come with me.  Leave college, I can give you what you want, what you need, you can travel, go to culinary school, do whatever it is that makes you happy.”

And my heart beat so quickly that I thought it might explode in my chest, but something about this didn’t make sense, didn’t jive.

“Mr. Jones,” I said slowly, “I don’t get it.  We had an arrangement, you’re the one who made that clear.  My dad could keep his job for a little longer, so long as I spent ten days with you …” and here I choked.  But it was better not to hold back, I wanted to be perfectly clear.  “So long as I spent ten days with you having sex,” I said with finality, stuttering a bit despite my best efforts.

At least he didn’t deny it.

“That’s true,” he said smoothly.  “But things changed along the way.  I saw you, I talked with you, I felt like we were two people who really got along despite our age difference, despite the unusual circumstances.  Didn’t you feel that as well?” he asked, that voice like smooth brandy.

And I paused for a moment.  Of course I’d felt it, but I was sure it was one-sided, that it was the imagination of a teenage girl.

“Yes,” I said slowly, “but what happened?” I asked.  “Why the turnabout?”

And Mr. Jones paused for a moment.

“Honey, I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he drawled.  “I’ve always been interested in you, and now I’m talking about making it legitimate, making it into something permanent.”

My pulse jumped at the words “legitimate” and “permanent,” but I couldn’t quite get over the way our relationship had begun, how it’d been a business transaction more than anything, literally my dad’s job in exchange for physical release, the opportunity to enjoy my young, untouched body.

“I guess I just feel like I’m being bought,” I said slowly, carefully.

The big man jolted at the word “bought,” but I nodded my head, more sure of myself.  “I feel like you buy everything, Chris.  The meeting with the governor, wining and dining powerful friends, contracts for your company.  Even my parents’ allegiance,” I added slowly.  “They’re in debt to you now with that helicopter ride, even more so than before.”

And at least the big man had the grace to flush, acknowledging my words, nodding imperceptibly.  So I continued, rueful.

“I’d give anything not to feel this way,” I said, my voice soft. “But you’re a man who’s able to buy anything you want, and right now, that’s me,” I added.  “You bought me with my dad’s job, the promotion, my family’s financial security, not to mention the clothes, the jewels, the offer to send me to culinary school, travel the world with you,” I said with a sad smile.  “But one thing you’ll learn is that I can’t be bought,” I said simply. “My heart’s not for sale.”

And the big man gazed at me thoughtfully again, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, what do you want then, Lindy?” he asked reasonably.  “Do you want me to fire your dad?  Take back the clothes and jewels?  Take back the helicopter ride, is that what you want?”

And I sighed because of course those were ridiculous suggestions.

“Of course not,” I sighed, shaking my head.  “I just mean … I don’t know, you know?  We didn’t exactly meet under ‘normal’ circumstances so now it feels strange to think that you’re interested in me.”

The big man leaned forward then, taking my hand in his, his blue eyes piercing, penetrating.

“Oh believe it,” he said silkily.  “It’s real little girl, it’s for fucking real.  But I see what you mean with the ‘buying,’” he conceded, “I am a man of great wealth and I’m used to greasing the wheels with money,” he said.  “It’s the way the world works, baby, this is nothing new.”

And here I set down my foot.

“But not with me,” I replied softly.  “You can’t buy my love.  Like I said before, it’s not for sale.”

Chris threw up his hands in exasperation again.

“But Lindy, I can’t re-write history, I can’t re-write the circumstances of how we met.  What do you want me to do now?  Demote Jim?  Take away the promotion?  Say, no, I made a mistake, I’m letting you go?  This is the real world, little girl, I had something of value, you had something of value, and we exchanged to our mutual satisfaction, so what’s wrong?  How do you want me to make this right?”

And I wasn’t sure, to be honest.  All I knew was that I didn’t want to feel this way, would do anything to throw myself into his arms, forget our past.  But the mercenary aspect of our history made me shudder, made my skin crawl, and I couldn’t get over it so fast.

“I’m so sorry, Chris,” I said slowly, getting up again.  “I’m not sure how to make it right, but I know this is wrong.”

And this time, when I turned to go, the big man didn’t stop me.  Why, oh why, did my heart cry out then?  I loved him too, with every fiber of my being.  But the way we met was insurmountable and I couldn’t forget it, not now.



“Hi Mom,” I said dully into the phone.  “How are you?”

“Lindy!” said my mom happily.  “Good, how’s school treating you?”

To be honest, terrible.  I was barely dragging myself to class, barely talking to anyone, barely eating any meals even.  Ever since my meeting with Chris my world had gone grey, I lived in a world of shadows and distant sounds, my hearing muffled, my senses dulled.

But Brenda didn’t need to know that, so I slipped a little white lie in there.

“Okay,” I said, trying to sound cheery.  “Things are okay.”  But my voice cracked at the end and that was a dead giveaway because my mom has been my mom for nineteen years and she could tell something was off.

“Honey,” she began slowly.  “Is everything alright?  I got something in the mail, and it was addressed to you from the school, and I know I wasn’t supposed to open it, but I did …” her voice trailed off.

That jolted me awake.

“What is it?” I asked sharply.  Oh shit, was it my tuition bill?  Something about my grades?

And my worst nightmare came true because my mom’s wavery voice came back on the line.

“Baby,” she said, “the registrar sent a letter saying that you’re getting D’s in two of your classes.  Is that true?” she asked.  “Are you having trouble academically?”

And I was silent for a moment.  I’ve always struggled in college, it’s not the same as high school and things don’t come easy.  I couldn’t quite seem to get the hang of my classes, no matter what I did, no matter how much studying I put in.  And of course, I couldn’t focus since my conversation with Chris, so it was a miracle I was getting D’s, and not F’s.

I thought about covering it up, making up something about being sick, but my life was such a travesty that I couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stand going deeper into the web.

“Ma,” I choked, my voice thick.  “I don’t think I belong here.”

“Oh no baby!” came my mom’s cry.  “Of course you do, you worked so hard to get into college, why wouldn’t you belong there?”

And suddenly, hot tears began rolling down my cheeks.

“Mom, it’s not that.  I just- I just don’t think college is right for me,” I sobbed into the phone.  “It’s something you and Dad wanted, I know you’re proud of me, but I don’t think this is right for me.”

I could almost hear my mom shaking her head frantically.

“That’s not true baby girl,” she pleaded.  “Your dad and I only want what you want, what makes you happy.  We always thought school was what you wanted to.  Isn’t that true, Lindy?  Isn’t that true?”

And it broke my heart because I couldn’t say yes.  I couldn’t lie anymore and pretend that getting a degree was my heart’s desire.

But my mom did a sudden turnabout.  Perhaps it was because she’d sensed it all along, realized that I never really wanted to go down this path, or maybe it was because I was her baby girl, and she couldn’t stand to see me like this. So her voice softened, becoming soothing.

“Oh honey,” she said gently.  “If this isn’t what you want, we’ll talk about it, okay?  Don’t give up just yet, Daddy and I will go over options with you, there’s more than one way to live life.”

“Is there?” I sobbed into the phone.  My heart was breaking with crushed dreams and I could almost feel my mom’s heart breaking along with mine, this was so tough.

“There are absolutely many ways to live life,” affirmed Brenda, her own voice choking a bit.  “We love you baby, no matter what.”

And it was then that the floodgates broke free because I couldn’t keep my secret anymore, I couldn’t hide the fact that I loved Chris and wanted to be with him despite the sordid deal we’d struck, the way we’d gotten to know each other.

“Mom,” I bawled into the phone.  “I have to tell you something.  I’m in- in love,” I stuttered, “and it’s with Christopher Jones.”

My mom was confused for a moment.

“But why is that bad, honey?  We’re so glad you met someone, is he a nice boy?  I’m sure there are so many nice boys at school.”

I could tell Brenda hadn’t made the connection, my dad’s boss was so far from her mind, completely out of the realm of possibility.

“No Mom,” I said softly.  “Christopher Jones as in Mr. Jones, CEO of United Electric.  You know, dad’s boss.”

And this time there was a shocked silence.

“Mr. – Mr. Jones?” she stuttered.  “But how do you even know him?  You’ve only met him once or twice before.”

And the whole story came tumbling out then, about my dad stealing from the company, his impending termination and how I bargained with Mr. Jones to keep Jim on for a little while longer in exchange for my body.

“No baby,” pleaded my mom, “say it isn’t true.”

“Mom, I’m so sorry,” I cried into the phone.  “I didn’t want you and Dad to suffer, we don’t have much and we were going to lose the house.  You know Dad can’t find another job that fast, he’s old and employers only want to hire young people now.”

“No baby,” cried my mom again, her voice breaking.  “You didn’t have to do this for us, you didn’t have to make this sacrifice.”

And it was then that I pulled myself together.

“It’s okay Mom,” I said gently.  “I did it, it’s done, and what’s more is that I fell in love with Mr. Jones along the way.  And Mom,” I said hesitantly, pausing for a moment, “he fell in love with me too.”

There was utter silence from the other end of the line.

“Honey, you know that this whole older man younger woman thing is only in the movies,” she said gently.  “You’re a young girl, you don’t know what you want.”

And I lost it then, gritting my teeth.

“Ma, if one more person tells me I’m too young to know myself, I swear I’m gonna scream,” I managed tightly, trying to keep a rein on my urge to slam the phone down.  “I’m so through with other people telling me what I want.”

And my mom was silent, a pause so long that I thought she might have hung up had it not been for the soft breathing over the line.  But then Brenda spoke, taking me by surprise.

“If you’re in love with each other,” came her voice gently, wavering only a little.  “Then what’s stopping you from being together?”

I gaped, my mouth opening and closing without sound because this wasn’t the question I expected.  I expected more denials, screams of grief, bellowing and beating of the chest, tearing at her hair, and not a totally logical question.

“Well, he is really old,” I said tinnily.  “What you said was true.”

Another loaded pause.

“How old?” asked Brenda.


And there was a gigantic whoosh of air as she exhaled, my heart dropping as I heard it.  Oh no, that was a deal-breaker and Brenda couldn’t look past it, couldn’t see that age was just a number.

But she surprised me unexpectedly.

“Honey, you know your dad and I are fifteen years apart, don’t you?” she reminded me quietly.

I stopped for a moment.  I had known that, but had forgotten because they were just Mom and Dad to me, in the general category of “old people,” people who were positively ancient.

“I know Mom,” I said slowly, “but Chris is twenty-six years older than me, not fifteen.  That’s a lot.”

“It is,” Brenda agreed, “but you can overcome it, so long as you’re on the same mental level with the same approach and expectations to life.  And trust me, your dad and I know, we went through a period where people questioned our decisions, questioned our love for each other.  We started dating when I was twenty and he was thirty-five, folks thought that we couldn’t possibly be a good match.”

I gaped, astounded.

“Really?” I asked.  I’d never heard about this part of their courtship, it’d always been rainbows and smiles from what they’d told me.

My mom hesitated.

“Yes, both sets of your grandparents opposed our marriage.  Nanny and Don, and Marta and Gramps didn’t come to the ceremony, you know that.”

I did know that but they’d always painted it as a romantic elopement, a quick getaway because they were so hot for each other.

“But what happened?” I asked confused.  “Everyone loves you guys, I’ve never seen anyone be nasty or resentful.”

And my mom sighed.

“Honey, it’s because you were born.  The birth of a child is a magical thing and you were such a beautiful baby.  Who could hold a grudge?  After you were born, Lindy, our parents saw that we were truly committed to one another, that we were going to be a family no matter what, so they fell into line.”

And I gaped again.  Holy cow, there’d been years of discord before I was born, my grandparents had opposed my parents’ union   because of their age difference?

And hearing my unspoken question, my mom’s voice came over the line again.

“Yes, honey,” she said, her voice stronger now.  “So if you tell me that you’re in love with Chris Jones, then Jim and I aren’t going to stop you just because you’re nineteen and he’s forty-five.  It would be hypocritical, and based on our own experiences, we know it’s not a dealbreaker.”

I gasped, hardly able to believe what I was hearing.

“But Mom,” I said slowly, shaking my head, still trying to get my bearings.  “What about the way Mr. Jones and I met?  Don’t you think it’s so sordid, like he bought me somehow, paid me for my services?”

“Oh honey, you’re so young,” began Brenda again

Again, the “young” thing.  I really was going to scream now, but my mom couldn’t hear my thoughts and she pressed on ahead.

“You haven’t seen the world,” my mom began slowly.  “There are so many ways to meet people, and yes, yours was a little more transactional than most. But baby,” and here, her voice hitched.  “You did it because you love your family.  You care about your dad and me, and … and we didn’t have many options financially.”

That was true, I loved my parents and hadn’t wanted to see them thrown out on the street.  But what about the issue of Chris “buying” me?

“But Mom,” I began again.  “Mr. Jones paid for me, lock, stock and barrel, like I was a horse at auction almost.  Don’t you think that’s wrong, that any relationship like this is doomed?”

And that’s when my mom paused again.

“Honey, how do you think your dad and I met?” she asked slowly.

“At a restaurant,” I said slowly.  “You were a waitress and dad was eating there, and you struck up a conversation.”

“That’s true,” confirmed my mom, “but there’s more to it.  Your dad saw me but I didn’t like him at first.  So he paid me for my phone number.”

I cut in quickly.

“Dad slipped your manager a fifty for your number,” I said stoutly.  “That’s different, you didn’t get the money.”

“Not quite,” said my mom quietly.  “Jim handed the manager a fifty, but then my manager passed the money onto me and said there was a nice man outside interested in meeting me.  And so I too was ‘paid,’ baby.  Maybe not as explicitly as you, but I got paid just the same.”

But I couldn’t square it away.  My parents’ meet-cute was exactly that, a sweet story that they’d relayed countless times.

“It’s different for you guys,” I said stubbornly.  “You didn’t have sex for money.”

And my mom sighed.

“Sex, sex, sex, all young people are about is sex these days,” she said.  “Honey, there are so many grey areas and all I’m saying is that both you and I fall into the grey space.  Maybe you’re a little more towards one side, and I’m a little more towards the other, but the fact is that a man bought us in some way, big or small.  And all I can say now,” she said with a small smile in her voice, “is that your father and I have been together for twenty years.  Twenty years honey,” she said softly, “happily married for twenty years.”

And I paused then.  That was real food for thought because despite all the objections I’d thrown out, my parents were living proof that you could succeed despite ominous beginnings, when all the signs pointed to no.

And my heart began to beat rapidly then.

“So what are you saying, Mom?” I asked slowly.  “That I should date Mr. Jones?  See where it goes?”

And my mom sighed again, her voice low.

“Baby, I can’t tell you what to do,” she said simply.  “But I know from my own experience that the heart wants what it wants, and you can’t stop it from going where it will.  So follow your emotions, ask yourself what’s right for you, and I promise baby, your dad and I will support you every step of the way.”

And with those words, we ended the conversation, my heart full, my mind buzzing.  Because I’d expected this phone call to be filled with terror and recriminations, demands that I come home immediately, locking me the house until I came to my senses.  But instead, it had been the opposite.  My mom and dad were open-minded human beings who’d lived full, colorful lives themselves, in many ways mirroring my own situation.  And I knew without a doubt now that Brenda and Jim would only want happiness for me … in whichever way, shape or form it came.



“Anyone home?” came the dulcet voice, its tones so familiar, so sweet that my body immediately hardened.  Shit, what the brunette could do to me was unbelievable, turning me into pure iron with just a few words.  But I called back, responding in a normal tone.

“In the study,” I growled.  Okay, that wasn’t too bad, I sounded like a bear but at least a friendly bear, right?  Not one that was going to devour a sweet girl.

Because Lindy had emailed unexpectedly, asking to meet at my house and I was shocked to get the message.  She’d been so confused after our meeting at the Four Seasons, stuck on the point that I’d “bought” her, her thoughts whirling, eyes troubled, that I was sure it was over.  I was sure the girl was going to retreat, take her time finishing school, find a job, and heck, probably the only time I’d ever see her again was now and then at her parents’ place if I was lucky.

So I’d steeled myself to the possibility.  It fucking sucked, I’ll admit it. I’m used to getting what I want, and when it comes to women usually it’s not very hard.  Generally there’s a sigh, maybe some token resistance, but sure enough, the woman’s in my bed at the drop of a hat, sometimes even by the next sentence.

But I’d had a feeling of foreboding with Lindy because she was different.  The brunette was genuinely troubled, she wasn’t putting up a front of “I want you but I don’t,” trying to snare me by being difficult.  She genuinely felt torn by the circumstances, feeling that she’d exchanged her beautiful body in return for her dad’s job.  And of course she had, so I was curious to see what had changed … if anything.

And sure enough, the door pushed open and the curvy brunette appeared, just as spectacular as before.  Lindy was wearing a formfitting cashmere dress and the soft wool only highlighted her big tits and bigger derriere, my cock stiffening at that sensational figure.

“Hey,” I said, shifting a bit behind my desk.  “What brings you home?  The semester can’t be over yet.”

And the girl bit her lip, her pink pout going rosy.

“No, it’s not,” she said hesitantly.  “I left school, Chris, I dropped out.”

At that my mouth hung open.

“You did?” I asked before stopping myself.  “It’s for the better, baby, I know you didn’t like it anyways.”

And she nodded, still biting her lip, crossing her legs uncertainly as she took the seat across from mine.

“It wasn’t right for me,” she said with a giant exhale, that beautiful bosom rising and falling.  “It wasn’t right in so many ways, as I explained to you,” she added ruefully.

I steepled my hands underneath my chin, nodding thoughtfully.

“So what’s next?” I said casually, my voice neutral.  “If you’re not going to school then what’s next for Lindy Martin?”

And she met my eyes then before taking another deep breath.

“I thought- ,” she paused for a moment, choking a bit.  “I thought I might take you up on that offer of culinary school,” she said.  “If it’s still open,” she added in a hurry.  “No worries if it’s not.”

That floored me.  Not only had Lindy dropped out but she was here asking me for help with her education?  Not that I wasn’t ecstatic, this was a huge step in the right direction, but what were her motivations?

“Baby girl, I’m more than happy to support you if that’s what you want,” I growled.  “But where are you going with all this?  What’s caused this turnabout?”

And Lindy took another deep breath, this time meeting my gaze straight on.

“I did a lot of thinking,” she said slowly, “and I only have one life to live,” she added with a wry upturn of her lip.  “I don’t want to waste it and so I’ve decided to pursue the things that I want.”

“And that is?” I asked, my voice deep, the bass much lower than usual.  My heart was beating so fast that my pulse jumped at my throat like a jackhammer, giving away my need, my hopes for the future, how our futures might intertwine.

And the little girl nodded at me, a hesitant smile creeping over her face.

“I was thinking,” she said slowly, “that we might be together.  You know, like a couple, boyfriend and girlfriend … if you want,” she rushed again.  “Only if you want.”

That was exactly what I wanted.  I wanted nothing more than to spend my days and nights with the beautiful brunette, talking with her, sharing ideas, loving, fighting, laughing, enjoying amazing days and sensuous nights all rolled into one.  But I hesitated.

“Lindy,” I said slowly.  “When we met two weeks ago you were genuinely disturbed by the idea of ‘us.’  I get it, you had legitimate reasons that made sense.  But this is a pretty sudden about face, so what caused the change little girl?  Why are you now here, in my office, everything different?”

And the brunette blushed beautifully, fingering the hem of her dress.

“I was stuck on the way we met,” she acknowledged slowly, nodding her head.  “I mean, you have to admit it was unconventional,” she said, meeting my eyes with a smile, her tongue between her lips.  Oh god, I wanted to pull her into my lap right then but I forced myself to pay attention, forced my brain to keep going.

“And?” I prompted with a low growl.  “What changed your mind?”

The girl took a deep breath.

“My parents,” she said slowly.  “Jim and Brenda … they told me that whatever I wanted they’d support, that I should find what makes me happy and not make a mistake going down the wrong path.”

That just about blew off the top of my head.  Jim and Brenda?  Boring old Jim the accountant and his middle-aged wife, who was lovely, perfectly nice, but just as boring?  And seeing my shocked expression, Lindy nodded.

“My parents are pretty mainstream now,” she acknowledged, “but it turns out they have a past too.  When they met, my mom was twenty and my dad was thirty-five,” she confessed with a wry grin, “so they’re no strangers to major age gaps.”

“Yeah but fifteen years is a lot different from twenty-five,” I inserted quickly.

“Twenty-six,” replied Lindy with a blush.  “You’re twenty-six years older than me Chris, I’m nineteen still.”

And my cock rocketed to diamond hardness then, the girl’s youth, her sheer inexperience a turn on in a very wrong way.  But that only proved my point.

“You don’t know what you want,” I ground out, “and I can’t let you make a mistake, you’re too young.”

And to my surprise, the brunette stood up abruptly, her fine form bouncing as she put her hands on her hips, glaring at me, her gaze shooting sparks.

“If one more person tells me I don’t know what I want because of my age, I swear I’m gonna kick something,” she said through gritted teeth.  “Because I know exactly what I want and that’s this.”

And without further ado, she marched around the large mahogany desk and plunked herself into my lap, that beautiful ass smashed up against my cock, my dick immediately finding that sweet space between her thighs, right up next to her pussy.

And although I was surprised, I’ve never been a man to say no to a beautiful woman.

“Well, well,” I drawled, my hands running up and down her arms, that lusciousness so close, so near that my senses were overloading.  But I forced myself to focus.  “What is this?” I growled, my heart going like a jackhammer.

And Lindy smiled at me then, that pink pout so delectable, so sweet.  “I missed you,” she breathed, and leaned in for a deep kiss.  And oh god, she was so tempting, so desirable that my cock punched up against that bouncy ass, trying desperately to find where it belonged, her warm wetness so close yet covered by frustrating layers of cloth.  I growled, taking her mouth, pushing my tongue between her lips, exploring her warm, wet cavern, her breasts bouncing in my hands, hips wriggling provocatively.  But before I completely lost it, I forced myself to focus once more.

“Lindy,” I sat back, grabbing her arms and holding her away from me.  It was only a few inches, but it was enough.  I looked deep into her eyes, drowning in the chocolate pools, forcing myself to speak again.  “Little girl, I need to know that you’re okay, baby.  Because once I start, I’m not gonna stop.  You’re gonna be below me, screaming and panting, and you’re not getting up until I say you can.”

And the girl just smiled at me, her breath warm, her body tense yet relaxed near mine.

“It’s absolutely what I want Chris,” she breathed.  “You’re what I want because,” and here she paused, “my mom and dad had an unexpected courtship.  I’m not going to get into it now, but let’s just say that they got married when no one approved, not one of my grandparents attended the ceremony.  And you know what?  It’s worked.  They’ve been happily married twenty years, and so I know that we can make it work.”

My body grew hot then, my jaw clenching as her words sank in.  Twenty years?  More like I wanted fifty years with this beauty, shit, even that wasn’t enough.  A lifetime was more like it.

But I still didn’t get it.

“But honey,” I ground out.  “What about the way we met?  You hated that, you thought I was buying you, that you traded sex for money.”

The girl nodded soberly, her brown eyes meeting mine.

“I admit that we met in a … um, untraditional way,” she said softly, “but that doesn’t mean that what we have now isn’t real.  I’ve been thinking, and I think everyone ‘buys’ others to some extent, it’s just a question of how explicit it is.  I mean, my mom’s never worked during her marriage so I guess my dad has ‘bought’ her for the last twenty years, right?  It was part of their marriage pact.”

And I growled deep in my throat.

“But honey, that’s completely normal.  Your mom is taken care of because she’s a wife,” I ground out.  “I’d want that for my wife as well, I’d want to provide for her and my family, but we’re talking about something different.  You weren’t my wife, you were a girl whose body I wanted, and which I paid for, I admit.  And that transaction was making you question everything, our love for one another, our devotion, our mutual trust and understanding.”

And the brunette nodded at me, her eyes growing wide at the word “love.”

“I know, Chris,” she whispered, her breath warm against my skin.  “But I’ve realized that as cheesy as it sounds, love can triumph … if you’ll just let it.  And we love each other, don’t we?  We love spending time together, talking, fighting, loving, we’re a match through and through, aren’t we?”

And the lump in my throat was so big, so enormous that I could hardly make out any words.  But I forced myself because this was literally the most important moment in my life and I couldn’t let her down.  I couldn’t let down my best girl, who’d pushed through her own inhibitions, her own justifiable concerns and doubts, to end up here, with me, believing in me, in us, trusting me and revealing her heart.

“Baby,” I ground out, pressing my forehead against hers.  “I’ll make it worth it to you.  I promise,” I rumbled deep in my throat.  “There is no one more precious to me than you because yeah, we started off in an unsavory situation but I’ve never regretted it.  Never,” I ground out roughly.

And the girl laughed softly then, flashing that beautiful smile, making my heart pump all the faster.

“Chris, let’s do something different from here on out, okay?” she suggested gently, her brown eyes filled with such emotion that my heart overflowed and burst, I was such putty in her hands.  I was a prisoner to Lindy, whatever she wanted, her desires were mine, her needs, her wants, were my guides in life.  “I want to propose that instead of referring to our first moments together as a ‘transaction,’ let’s just say that I ‘gifted’ myself to you instead.  Is that okay?” she asked shooting me a special smile.

And I leaned down to kiss her again, nuzzling her lips, grazing my mouth across her cheek.

“Of course baby,” I rumbled.  “Because I’ve never had a gift as good as you.”

And the brunette just sighed, wrapping her arms around my neck.  “Good,” she breathed.  “Now take me again and make me yours.”

And this time, I didn’t hesitate.  Because the virgin was a virgin no more, but instead of walking away as I normally do, Lindy and I were going to find a future together.  It wasn’t a straightforward path at all.  We’d gone from sex for money, a hedonistic ten-day arrangement, to a long-term relationship all in the course of a few months.  But I wouldn’t trade it for anything because the brunette was my lover, my star, my guide, and I can’t imagine life without her anymore, it would be cold, pathetic and miserable.  But instead, a new chapter has blossomed and I’ve got a girl in my arms that’s worth more than anything.

So I kissed her and murmured into her hair.

“I love you baby,” my throat tight, my heart aching.  “I love you so much and I can’t wait for our life to start together.”

And she looked up at me, brown eyes full with adoration and yet spiced with a twinkle of mirth.

“I know Mr. Jones,” she murmured.  “And let’s start now, okay?  Because I can’t wait a moment longer.”

And with that, the new chapter unfolded.  We rushed up to the master bedroom, sure, but there was so much more than just the physical this time.  Because there was real emotion, caring, adoration in every touch, and our love was cemented then in a way that only happens once in a lifetime.  And about making it permanent?  You’re right, I did it, because Lindy was a catch and I was never letting her walk away.  So yeah, I was gifted a virgin … and I never let her go.  She was mine, I was hers, and the entire world was at our feet, our love shining so strong, so pure, so true that there would never be any doubts again.




“Oh Chris,” I moaned into the pillowcase.  “Oh god.”

The big man chuckled behind me.  “Are you referring to God or me?” he panted, his voice rough.  “Because although I’m flattered, I’m not him … although I could if you wanted me to be,” he panted with a sly smile.  Because at that very moment, Chris was driving into me, his hips forceful, his rod so deep into me that I mewled again, muffling my cry.

“Shhh, baby,” he hushed, his hips pistoning like crazy, his cock bouncing off my cervix with every stroke, making me moan even louder.  “Don’t wake the baby, don’t make her cry.”

And I choked back my groans as best I could, swallowing my gasps, pressing my face into the pillow so hard that I could barely breathe.  Because we’d just put Joanie to sleep, our six month-old daughter was sweet awake, but even sweeter asleep, and Chris and I wanted to make the best of her naptimes, use the brief interludes to explore each other physically, reacquainting ourselves with each other’s bodies, tasting one another, savoring, sampling, and releasing ourselves in our mutual love.

Because Chris and I didn’t waste any time after we talked.  There was no dilly-dallying after I showed up at his mansion, after we confessed our love to one another and decided to make a go of it.  So yeah, I moved into his mansion immediately and within a month, I was pregnant.

“Mr. Jones!” I gasped, staring at the pregnancy test.  “Oh my god!”

The big man pulled my hand to his, the stick limp between my fingers to take a look.  And instead of panic or recriminations, a smile slowly crept over his face.

“You’re pregnant, baby girl, is that so hard to believe?” he drawled, pulling me into his lap.  “We’ve never used protection and I’ve filled you with cum so many times, there’s no way you couldn’t be pregnant, you’re nineteen and fertile.”

And that was true, we’d never bothered with condoms or birth control, but still, the surprise knocked the air out of me and I couldn’t answer at first.

“But … but we’re not married,” I finally managed.  “I just moved in, I just dropped out of school, I just enrolled at the culinary institute to be a chef.  This is …” my voice trailed off.

But Chris wouldn’t give up.

“Amazing?” he said with a cocked eyebrow.  “Incredible?  Another miraculous gift?”

And I smiled at him because we always play on the word “gift” now, it’s how we refer to our first interaction, and he was right.  The thought of a baby on the way was the best gift of all, I couldn’t imagine anything better.

“So you want to keep it?” I asked tremulously.  “Him or her?  You want to be a dad?”

And Mr. Jones growled low in his chest, dropping kisses against my breasts, my nipples, my stomach before laying me on the bed and moving slowly to my pussy.  I tensed and sighed beneath him, my slit creamy and wet, tingling uncontrollably as he parted my folds, gazing deeply at me before bending his head for a slick taste.

“Baby,” he murmured as he lapped at my clit, “there’s nothing that I’d want more than to see you swell up with my child.  There’s nothing in the world that could be better, this is the second best gift I’ve ever received … the first being you.”

And I shuddered then, moaning his name, my pussy on fire, my hands scrabbling for his big body, begging for his cock.

“Oh Chris,” I moaned as he slid into me, making me feel so full, my cunt spreading wetly as he filled my wet cavern.  “Oh god, I love you.”

And as the big man pressed deep inside, making us into one, once again cementing our adoration for one another.  He caught my lips for another kiss, pressing into my mouth with his tongue as he pushed into my pussy with his dick, the movements mirroring one another.

“Yes, baby, yes,” he ground out into my mouth.  “You’re mine.”

And I melted again, all over him, creaming wetly, giving myself up.  Because this is my life now, I live with the alpha male, we’re good together, better than good, amazing, great.  And we’ve been blessed, finding each other, committing to one another, reveling in our love, our connection so strong, so deep, that it takes my breath away.

So yes, I’ve become Mrs. Christopher Jones, we made it permanent after finding out about the baby.  And you know what?  Nothing feels better than wearing his ring on my finger, trumpeting to the world that I belong to him, that I’m half of a whole, that I’ve found my one and only.

And as for Mr. Jones?  Well, he still likes it when I call him that, so I do it for fun, as part of our love play, our teasing, our mutual adoration for one another.  And although we started unconventionally, it’s ended well, and I can only look forward to our life together, exploring, loving, adoring, walking hand in hand as the days pass.  Because it’s been almost two years now and the fire hasn’t dimmed, the flame still burns as strong as ever.  And I know deep in my heart that it will burn that way forever because I’ve gifted myself to him, and in return, my man, my lover, has done the same for me.





Chris’s depraved ways got you turned on?  Watch him work an MFMM foursome during his younger years in Taken by Three Men, a special bonus follow-up free when you sign up for my newsletter at!




The Naughty Virgin

The Wicked Virgin

The Dirty Virgin

Delivering the Virgin



Please turn the page for a complimentary copy of Addicted (Book 5 of The Sterling Brother Series).


A Sterling Brothers Romance


(Erotic Romance, MFM Menage, Twincest, M/M, BDSM)


© 2016


By Cassandra Dee


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“Psst,” whispered my friend Christine.  “Check out who just walked in the door!”

I spun around in my seat.  Sure, I should have been paying attention, taking notes and listening carefully, but honestly this class bored me.  It was something like “Intro to Anatomy” or “Biological Anatomy,” and as far as I could tell all we did was look at diagrams of animals cut in half, scrutinizing their insides.  Gross.

But a tall drink of water had just sauntered into the classroom.  Or more accurately, two tall drinks of water.

The men who strolled in couldn’t legitimately be called boys, they were at least six three and two hundred pounds each.  With blue-black hair and deep green eyes, they were swoon-worthy of the latest Playgirl magazine … if only they’d been nude.

“Oh my god!” squealed Christine.  “Science class just got so much better!  Who are they?  The board of visitors?  Oh please please please, say they’re here to stay.”

I had to laugh.  Christine was so silly but fun in a million ways.  We’d had a lot of wild rides together and I could trust her to be my wingwoman, my partner in crime.  But right now both of us were one hundred percent focused on the two men who’d just walked in, backpacks casually slung over their shoulders.

Mr. Grimes paused in his lecture, frowning as he took a slip of paper from the first man.

“Blake Hanson?  Bryan Hanson?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s us,” drawled the first one.  “We just moved here from New York, mid-semester transfers.”

I could hear Christine gasp beside me, along with most of the other girls in the room.  School had just improved a great deal and life was going to be a lot more interesting from here on out.

“Take a seat, gentlemen,” directed Mr. Grimes.  “Right there, next to the window.  We’ll get textbooks and all that sorted after break.”

And wouldn’t you know it, but the two-person table next to Christine and I was empty.  When Mr. Grimes turned back to the blackboard, I could feel Christine furiously scribbling something in her notebook, only to tear it out and pass it my way.

I looked down, figuring it’d be something like a sappy picture of hearts and arrows or something, but she’d gone further this time.  Already, there was a folded note with the name Blake written on top.

“Chrissy!” I whispered aghast.  “We don’t even know which one Blake is!  How am I supposed to get this note to them?”

“Who cares?” she whispered back.  “They’re twins, it doesn’t matter, they’ll figure it out.”

“But what does it say?” I asked again.  “I mean, these guys just got here, what could you possibly have to say to two new transfers who just showed up at Canterdale High?”

Christine rolled her eyes.  “I swear Callie, you’re so unimaginative sometimes.  Who cares what the note says?  We just want to strike first before any of the other girls here get to them,” she said, jerking her head backwards to indicate the rest of the class.

I almost started laughing out loud.  Sure, there were a lot of pretty girls at Canterdale but Chrissy had to take the cake for most aggressive.  Just last week, she’d concocted some scheme to hold a wet Speedo contest in the gym – to the horror of the PTSA.

So with a sigh, I did as she asked.  With a slip of my hand, I tossed the note onto the twins’ desk, to be met by a smooth look from the one closest to me.  God, he was handsome.  Up close, his eyes were a deep blue and unexpectedly a dimple flashed as he smiled at me, his hand swooping out to cover the note in a swift flash.

Slowly, the man opened it, glancing at the contents, only to casually tuck it into his back pocket before turning to grin at us.

“Oh god Chrissy,” I whispered.  “What did you put in that note?”

“You’ll see,” she said airily.  “Nothing bad, don’t worry … just something to kick things off, that’s all.”

Internally, I groaned.  I was boy crazy too but I had a feeling my friend had gone overboard this time.  What could she have possibly written?  Hopefully something not too embarrassing.  I groaned internally again.  Fortunately at that moment Mr. Grimes spoke up.

“Alright, everyone to your stations.  Blake, Bryan, why don’t you join Chrissy and Callie at station eight.  You’ll have to share a cat, I didn’t order enough for another team, but it’s fine.  We’ll get you your own animal to dissect by tomorrow.”

“Eee!” squealed Chrissy.  “They’re our lab partners, perfect!”

But as much as I was looking forward to getting to know these two men, I was already feeling queasy from the task at hand.  The smell of formaldehyde was rising in the classroom as people pulled out dead cats from the fridge, the sad, stiff bodies wrapped in plastic tarp.  It only became worse when people started unwrapping the saran, the fumes almost overpowering.

We made our way to the station which was equipped with a sink and a range of sharp-looking tools.  Blake and Bryan strode our way as Chrissy got the cat ready, softly stroking its matted fur, the dead googly eyes glazed and lifeless.

“Thanks for the note,” said one of the men.  “I’m Blake, this is my brother Bryan,” he noted with a lopsided grin.

That smile got to me.  From someone who looked like an Adonis, I wasn’t expecting anything but a dazzling flash, the kind that movie stars routinely show with capped, too-white teeth.  But his smile was genuine, reaching his eyes, the kind that could make you melt.

And disappear into a puddle Chrissy did.

“Oh hi,” she said breathily.  “I’m Chrissy, this is my friend Callie.  Where are you guys from?  We’re so excited to have you join Canterdale.  Just ask if you have any questions,” she burbled.  “Callie and I have been here forever.”

“Thanks,” growled the other twin.  “Yeah, we have a ton of questions, it was kind of an unexpected move as senior transfers and all that … but is your friend okay?  Callie?  Callie?” he said urgently, his voice fading in volume.

Because despite my best efforts, I was losing it.

“Um, I’m fine,” I said weakly, gripping the lab countertop.  “Welcome to Canterdale.”  But I wasn’t okay at all.  With a loose sigh, I began to topple, the world moving in slow motion as dizziness overcame me, images blurring at the edges.

I was just lucid enough to feel a pair of strong arms catch me before dropping into a daze, the haven warm and reassuring.




I woke in the nurse’s office, my body stiff, my head spinning.

“There, there,” clucked Nurse Jane.  “You’re going to be fine, it was just anatomy class.”

Just anatomy class?  I groaned internally.  More like we’d been in a confined space with a bunch of dead animals, their innards pumped full with poisonous antifreeze.

“I can’t go back,” I said weakly from my prone position, not even trying to get up.  “I just … can’t,” I finished weakly.

“Shhh,” said the nurse.  “Nobody’s making you go back, you had a scare.  I’ll let Mr. Grimes know that you’re under the weather and won’t be back today.  In the meantime, you can thank these two young men for carrying you over,” she said with a beaming smile, nodding to the corner.

And I turned slightly to look over my shoulder.  There, like twin sentries, sat the Blake and Bryan, gazing at me with quizzical frowns.

“You okay?” drawled one.  “You had us worried there for a sec.”

“Yeah,” added the other.  “Your friend started screaming and it was pandemonium in room, everyone scrambling trying to get you help.”

I shook my head tiredly.  Oh god, no.  Just what I didn’t want – a ruckus.  You see, I’m somewhat allergic to scandal and crises.  My family is so messed up that I try to stay under the radar as much as possible, drawing as little attention to myself.

But I didn’t want to seem like a weakling, some incompetent girl unable to take care of herself.  So I struggled to sit, to get up a bit and look alive.

But it was fruitless.  I was just too weak, too dazed from the chemical smells and ghastly presence of dead cats.

“Try to rest,” clucked Nurse Jane.  “Don’t get up, these nice young men will keep you company.  In the meantime,” she said.  “I’m going to update your records, I need to log this in our system,” she said kindly before stepping out.

“Um, thanks for your help,” I said shyly, looking at the twins.  God, I hope I didn’t look terrible.  I patted my hair self-consciously and was relieved to feel the brown curls more or less in place.  I flushed when I realized that the boys were observing me closely, the edges of their mouths lifting slightly.

“No worries,” said Blake … or was it Bryan?  “We wanted to make sure you were okay, it was lucky that we were there otherwise you might have fallen and hit your head.  Is Canterdale always so accommodating?” he asked casually.

“What do you mean?” I said confused.

“Well, where we’re from,” he said slowly.  “People take care of themselves.”

“We’re lucky if there’s even a nurse on campus,” his brother added dryly.  “You guys got a lot of bells and whistles around here.”

I shook my head in confusion again.  Having a nurse on campus was an extra amenity?  I mean, Canterdale was a private school but I’d never thought of it as anything fancy.  Most of us were here because the local public school was atrocious and our parents couldn’t stand to send us to a place where we’d have to go through metal detectors each morning.

“Um, I guess so?” I said softly.  “I mean, I’m a scholarship student so I’m not exactly like everyone else, but I guess the school does okay.”

And it was true -- I was here through the generosity of some rich donors.  My mom had always struggled as a single mom to four girls, and I was the baby, the last one to leave the nest.  But our situation was changing because Mom was recently engaged to Harold Sterling of Sterling Pharmaceuticals … hopefully, financially things would be looking up in the near future.

But I was getting ahead of myself.

“So what brings you guys to Canterdale?” I asked curiously.  “I mean, it’s midway through senior year.  Why didn’t you guys finish at your old high school?”

“It’s a long story,” chuckled one brother.  “And more complicated than we’d like it to be.  But listen, we gotta get back, Chrissy’s probably chopped that cat into fifty pieces by now without us.  Feel better, you hear?”

“Sure,” I said, intrigued.  “But listen, there’s a party tomorrow night at her house.  I’m sure Chrissy wouldn’t mind if I invited you,” I said hastily, “Everyone’s invited and we’ve been friends since childhood, she’s almost like family to me.  Stop by if you have a chance.  Meet some people, have some drinks, no pressure,” I said a little lamely.

“Sure,” said Blake as he sauntered out.  “We’ve got nothing planned for Friday right Bryan?”

“Nope, not yet,” winked his brother.  “But we do now.”

And with that, the boys were gone … and my Friday night was shaping up indeed.




The girl had been amazing.  She was beautiful, a little shy, and sweet.  Sure, she’d fainted at the sight and smell of dead animals, but who wouldn’t?  That shit’s disgusting.

Of course my brother and I hadn’t batted an eye.  Dead corpses and spilled blood is part of our job for better or worse.  Because, you see, we’re undercover cops at Canterdale High, kind of like Jonah Hill and Channing Tatum in 21 Jump Street.  Due to our youthful looks, we’ve been placed at school to ferret out an alleged drug racket.

It wasn’t altogether unexpected.  It’s is a ritzy academy in a nice neighborhood, the kids with plenty of disposable income and little adult supervision.  With no one around, a bunch of bored rich kids with money usually turns to crime and drugs are a common sin of choice.

So Bryan and I have been sited here.  The assignment had been sudden, our sergeant calling us into his office just last week.

“Officers Hanson,” he said nodding to me, then at my brother.  We’d graduated from the Academy two years ago but were no longer newbies.  Walking the Tenderloin beat in San Francisco is an all-night racket, something that will transform the greenest rookie into a hardened cop overnight, the poverty, disease, domestic abuse and general crime overwhelming.  Just last week, a woman had been arrested for tossing her newborn baby girl out the window in a rage.  Can you believe that?  A baby thrown like garbage from the eighth floor.  Needless to say, the little girl didn’t survive.

So Canterdale wasn’t going to be cakewalk, sure, but there wouldn’t be the atrocities we witnessed in a crime-ridden neighborhood … we hoped.

“Hanson,” barked my sergeant.  “We’re doing a sting in St. Francis Wood, you know that neighborhood just south of Tyleret?”

My brother and I nodded.  St. Francis Wood was a hoity-toity place where Jags and Mercedes were stolen, not exactly a source of violent crime.  But our sergeant lowered his voice.

“There’ve been two overdoses in the last month,” he said.  “Two kids at the local high school.  It’s been kept hush-hush because people are so protective of their property prices that they don’t want anything to sully their image.  But evidently there’s a lot of drug use going on and the kids are getting it somewhere,” he continued.  “The parents want us to bust the ring.”

Okay, well maybe if the parents were around more there would be less drug use.  But it wasn’t my place to say.  “Sarge,” I drawled gamely, “what do we know so far?”

“Unfortunately not a lot at this point,” he replied.  “Victim one was Brian Adams, on the football team, seventeen, early admission to Harvard.  Comes from a so-called nice family except his parents are never around, always raising money for some charity or other,” the Sarge snorted.  “Victim two was Tyler Needham, also on the football team, recruited to play football at Cal although he obviously won’t be there this fall.”

I digested this information.  “So do Bryan and I need to try out for the football team to get the down low on these suckers?” I asked.  My brother and I were athletic and agile, plus we’d played football before.  Street ball for sure, but it was enough for some high school rinky-dink sports program.

“Nah, the season’s over, but you’ve got to get in with the right crew of kids.  This isn’t the stoner crowd, Brian and Tyler were athletes, kids with good grades from nice families.  Somehow they got their hands on cocaine and heroin, not just the usual soft stuff.  Hey, if they’ve got the money to pay for it, there’s not much stopping them,” said the sergeant dryly.

And I could see his point.  Bryan, the Sarge and I are working class, our parents are schoolteachers, firefighters, people who are comfortable but hardly living the high life.  It was only too ironic that kids who’d been given everything on a silver plate were shooting themselves in the foot … or in the arm in this case.

So my twin and I had packed up our stuff, moving into a trailer on the edges of St. Francis Wood.  I guess SFPD could have found a “foster family” for us or other some bullshit, but it was just easier to paint a story as two twin boys who’d moved to town because of a troubled past.  Our “uncle” would be the Sergeant, although he didn’t live with us.

And now our first lead had appeared … and Callie had given it to us inadvertently.  The party promised to be fruitful, a bunch of rich kids on a Friday night, loosening up, letting it all hang out.  As we prepped, Bryan and I talked it over.

“I’ll take Callie, you take Chrissy, see where it leads us,” I’d suggested nonchalantly.

No such luck.  “Yeah, whatever,” grinned my twin.  “No way I’m passing up the brunette.”

And it was to be expected -- both of us had liked the curvy girl on sight.  Okay, more than liked, more like very, very intrigued.  Callie was exactly up our alley with curly brown hair, big brown eyes and a figure shaped like a sensuous S.  Big boobs, a tiny waist and luscious, swinging hips.  I’d never developed a taste for skinny anorexics, and neither had my brother.

“Fine,” I said gamely.  “We’ll play it by ear, see what develops.  No sense in tying ourselves to some rigid plan.”

“You got it, brother,” drawled Bryan.  He’s always been easygoing, it’s part of his charm, girls love that laid-back vibe and handsome mug.  But I knew that as soon as we saw Callie, we’d both be on her like white on rice … agreement or not.




The music was pounding, people standing by the pool with drinks in their hands.

“Where you’d get the beer?” I asked Chrissy.

“Oh my sister, she picked up some stuff at the local bodega,” she replied distractedly, looking around.  Of course the local bodega in St. Francis Wood was a high-end liquor shop, but Chrissy’s family could afford it.

“Is Valerie actually here?” I asked curiously, also peering into the mass of writhing bodies.  Chrissy’s older sister was notorious – rumor had it she’d gotten pregnant by some older guy a couple years back, causing her to drop out of high school.  But St. Francis Wood was full of rumors … and I’d never had a glimpse of the so-called baby although I’d visited the Gordons many times.

But my friend had other things on her mind.  “You did invite them, didn’t you?” she asked, frowning.  “Did you remind them?”

I sighed.  The them in the sentence was all too obvious.  “Of course I did, Blake texted me for the address to your place just this morning,” I confirmed.

“Oooh, you got his number?” she squealed.  “Cool, give it to me, I want to make sure they’re coming.”

“Umm, let’s just wait a bit, okay?” I hedged.  I didn’t want to seem too desperate, nor did I want to be giving out phone numbers like candy.  “Let’s hang tight and see if they show in the next fifteen.”

“God I hope so,” said Chrissy, blowing air impatiently.  “I got my hair and make-up professionally done, those twins better appreciate it!” she said emphatically.

And my friend did look good.  Her blonde hair was in loose, silky waves, like a Victoria’s Secret model, and her make-up was flawless with ruby red lips and dramatic violet eye shadow.  I, on the other hand, was a mouse by comparison.  There was no professional help for me but I’d brushed my hair as best I could, the ringlets glossy and defined, and applied some blush and eyeliner to highlight my features.  I was round, compared to Chrissy’s thin figure, but there was nothing to be done about that.

“Oooh, there they are!” she squealed, spying Blake and Bryan.  “Come on, let’s go!” she said, grabbing my hand and dragging me over.

I tripped over myself as I followed in high heels.  This was a pool party, but Chrissy had been adamant about looking sexy.

“Wear your swimsuit underneath, you never know what’ll happen,” she’d said with a knowing wink.

“Okay, but why the stilettos?”  I said.  At least the swimsuit would be under my clothes, that wasn’t a huge deal.  “Wouldn’t flip-flips be more appropriate?”

“No!” my friend squealed.  “Stilettos are sexy, they make your legs look longer.  Come on Callie, live a little, we’re almost done with school!”

I’d only sighed.  It was true, we were just waiting to hear from colleges now, our grades practically didn’t matter anymore.  I could afford to relax a little, play it by ear.

So I teetered awkwardly over to where the boys stood by the gated entrance, their figures lean and athletic, dressed in jeans and button-down shirts.  They were casually handsome in flip-flops, black hair swept to the side.

“Hey there strangers!” squealed Chrissy.  “Glad you could make it.”

Blake and Bryan nodded, slight smiles on their lips.  “Thanks for the invite,” drawled Blake, “we appreciate you extending a friendly hand to us new folks at school.”

“No problem,” said Chrissy.  “Come on in, can I get you a drink?  I make a mean piña colada,” she said with a wink.

“Um,” said Blake, “You got something harder?  We’re not really tropical drink guys.”

“Oh,” said my friend, flushing pinkly.  “Of course not, you guys are too “guy” for that.  How stupid of me.  What about Jagermeister shots?  Does that sound good?”

“Yeah, that’s more up our alley,” confirmed Bryan, nodding.  “Thanks a bunch,” he said as my friend ran to the drinks table, practically falling over in her effort to impress our new classmates.

In the meantime, I was left alone with the twins although there were already a couple girls circling about, eyeing the hard bodies with hungry looks, ready to get their game on.  Oh god, the pressure was on and I was so bad at this.

“Umm, how did that cat dissection go?” I asked lamely.  I could have kicked myself.  Time alone with the hottest new guys in school and I was asking about biology class on a Friday night?  Shoot me now.

But the men looked at me gamely.

“It didn’t happen.  Grimes said we could make it up on a weekend, come in on a Saturday and give it another shot.  He’s ordered some new cats, hopefully ones that aren’t stale this time.  Care to join us?” asked Blake with an amused grin.

I was already feeling faint again, although from the dead animals or the proximity of these men, I wasn’t sure.

“I think I’ll pa-”  I was about to say “pass” but Chrissy sprang up again.

“Of course we’ll come and make up the lab with you,” she gushed, shoving drinks into the men’s hands.  “Just let us know which Saturday and we’ll make time, won’t we Callie?”

I blushed red for my friend and for myself.  This was really getting out of hand and I couldn’t believe that I was witness to so much overblown emotion.  But I merely muttered an indistinct reply, my head down and my cheeks flaming.

“Hey,” said Blake smoothly.  “Got some ice around here?  Not crushed,” he said to Chrissy, nodding at the cooler, “but maybe some of the real stuff from the fridge.  Callie, why don’t you show me inside?  Bryan will hold the fort down here,” he said, nodding at his brother.

I could have sworn that Bryan shot an evil look at his twin, but maybe I was just imagining things because his expression cleared immediately, his face suddenly smooth.

“Yeah sure, no prob bro,” he said casually, draping an arm about Chrissy’s shoulders.  “We’ll be here … be sure to bring me some ice too.”

And my friend was practically drooling already, so elated at the feel of the man’s big arm on her body.  “Take your time!” she squealed.  “Callie, you know where the ice chest is.”

I did, I’d been here so many times that her home was like a second home to me … probably more than it should have been.  But I turned to Blake and beckoned for him to follow.

“Come on,” I said with a smile.  “Let’s get out of this heat, I feel like everyone is looking at us.”

He chuckled.  “Everyone’s looking at you sure, but no one’s looking at me, pretty girl.”

And I flushed.  Most people don’t think I’m attractive.  I’m tolerable, yes, even pleasant-looking.  But pretty?  Not really, unless you liked them round and curvy.

But I found myself adding an extra wiggle to my walk as we made our ways indoors, past the crowd and into the relatively deserted kitchen.

“I know it’s here,” I muttered, opening the freezer door, fumbling around.  “Chrissy’s dad is really into top shelf spirits, he has this special ice cube thing that makes big, perfectly square cubes,” I said, digging around in the freezer depths.  The ice tray was cool, and the resultant cubes amazing if you could get them out of the mold in one shape.

But when I turned triumphantly, Blake wasn’t paying attention … at least not to the ice.  His eyes flitted ever so quickly away, and then back guiltily.  He’d been checking out my ass!  My rump had been in the air when I bent over and the alpha male had been helping himself to a big visual serving of my pert behind!

I smiled then.  Okay, so the twins weren’t as laidback as they seemed.  I could feel myself loosening up, warming up under the flattering attention.

“Come on,” I said, taking the drink from his hand and flipping my hair over my shoulder flirtatiously.  “I’ll show you upstairs … Chrissy’s family has an amazing game room.”




I’d gotten rid of my brother with a fast move, I admit.  Hey, sometimes you gotta strike before someone else moves first, and I wasn’t above one-upping my closest kin.  I admit it was slick after our agreement this afternoon, but each man for himself my friend.

Besides our relationship runs deeper than that.  Not only did we share a womb, but we’re close.  Maybe too close.  On the outside, everything was as American as apple pie growing up.  My twin and I grew up in a working class neighborhood in Queens, New York, playing stick ball, eating hot dogs with beans.  We didn’t have much, but no one in our neighborhood did so none of us kids knew any better.  Sure, there were tales of phenomenally wealthy people in Manhattan, but that could have been a galaxy away for all the difference it made.

So we’d chosen to enroll in the police academy after high school because there wasn’t enough money to go to college for the both of us.  Besides, the band of blue was in our blood, just like my dad and a couple of our uncles.  Our first assignment was in the Bronx, a fucking nightmare … but also a dream come true.

Because you see, that’s where Bryan and I discovered our predilection for gay sex … with each other.  It’s twincest, straight up, his dick in my ass, my dick in his, enjoying each other’s bodies.  It sounds twisted and wrong, but it worked for us that first time and it’s worked for us ever since.

It happened because of the job, to tell the truth.  Our first beat was a stretch along the Grand Concourse in the Bronx, a seedy strip where the county jail was located as well as a bunch of flophouses with accompanying methadone clinics.  I guess it was convenient – junkies could get high illegally and then come down just as legally, all within minutes.

But Bryan and I had been placed undercover to investigate a Russian bath house.  Rumor was that a Ukrainian gang was dealing inside the all-male establishment, not just in drugs but whores as well.  There were allegedly women chained in the basement, serving bathhouse customers, forced to engage in the most heinous, obscene sex acts.  And the only customers admitted were those who could be vetted, preferably by an insider.

So Bryan and I had a contact provided by the force – a seedy CI named Vladimir with a serious drug problem.

“Come on in!” chortled Vlad, meeting us at the door.  Uncharacteristically, Vlad was paunchy and fat, unlike the rundown heroin users we usually encountered.  “Come in, come in!” he said in a heavily-accented voice.  “Meet my friends.  Vodka to start you off?”

Bryan and I accepted the tiny shot glasses and then made our way past the front office which was nothing more than a bored-looking girl with bad skin sitting at a desk.  She looked at Vlad, nodded to us, then languidly opened an appointment book and jotted something down by hand.  Clearly, there were no electronic records in this place.

Vlad led us downstairs into the bathhouse itself.  This was no luxury spa, I assure you.  Instead, it was all cement, a warren of small rooms which were alternately hot, medium and cold in temperature.  We passed one dude in a private room, laid out on a massage table, a scary-looking Russian woman beating him with a bunch of branches as he screamed in pain and pleasure.

But that’s how it goes in Russian banyas.  There were men of all sizes around, strolling around naked, letting it all hang out with no compunction, wandering around in the steam.  More often than not, these guys were overweight, their bellies so huge that you couldn’t see their genitals due to the overhang of their supersize stomachs, so at least we were spared that.

But as we got comfortable in a sauna, Vlad grew jumpy.  There were a couple other guys who’d made no comment when we entered the space, lying around in a half-daze, barely awake even.  But Vlad was suddenly startled, his eyes darting right and left, looking like a scared rabbit despite his massive size.

“You … you do it now,” he said in his heavily-accented English.

“Do what man?” asked Bryan, a towel draped over his head, his face hidden.

“These men,” said Vlad.  “They the dragon heads, the masters.  They want to see it now.”

“What, my friend?” I asked more forcefully.  “What do they want to see?  My tats?  My brother’s tats?  We got some good ones from the gulag, I assure you,” I said casually.  And we had.  In addition to the designs already spread across our chests, we gotten some additional ones which supposedly had special meaning in Russian jailhouse lore, if the NYPD culture specialists were accurate.

But Vlad merely shook his head.

“No,” he whispered, bringing his head closer to ours.  “They want to see you fuck … all the boys do it as a sign of legitimacy, of belonging.”

I have to say, I was still confused.

“Fuck who?” I asked, fast losing patience.  “Where are the whores?  I’m happy to fuck some juicy pussy if that’s what they want to see,” I grunted.

“No, no,” whispered Vlad, his eyes still darting around nervously.  “Fuck each other, man.  That’s the agreement.  You fuck each other in front of the audience to be legit.”

I was disgusted and horrified when I heard those words.  Fuck my brother?  My twin brother, a man who was biologically related to me?  This was fucking disgusting and I was ready to stalk out, mission be damned when Bryan interrupted.

“Sure no problem, Vlad,” he said smoothly, his face a blank wall.  “You got any condoms?”

I looked at him, struggling to control my expression.  This was the most fucked-up undercover operation ever.  What did Bryan have in mind?  Some fake act where nothing actually touched?  No penetration?  How were we going to pull that off with a live audience mere feet away?

But Vlad seemed relieved, pulling out what looked like a small first aid kit.  When he popped the lid, I saw that it full of condoms, lube, and sex toys.  Oh yeah, there were vibrators, butt plugs, everything you might need to have a good time at the bathhouse.

“Here, XL ok?” he asked, passing a gold-covered foil to my brother.  And Bryan took it, his eyes flashing.

“More than okay, it’s the only size I can manage,” he said smoothly, whipping his towel off.

And that was the first time I’d gotten a look at my twin’s dong since we were boys.  Sure, we’d been on the football team together in high school, but I never gazed at another man’s cock on purpose, you know what I mean?  I’d been just as alpha as the rest of the guys, snapping towels and wisecracking in the locker room, professing my love of pussy, cunt and snatch, in that order.

So when my brother began rolling the condom onto his massive prick, I was horrified, although careful not give anything away with my expression.  Hopefully this was all some sick joke and the SWAT team was about to burst in, blowing the need for this farce.

But Bryan merely gestured to me after rolling the rubber on, the latex sheathing that veiny pole.  Oh god, it was huge, his deeply pink balls hanging heavily behind the massive steel, threatening yet appetizing at once.  Shit, had I just thought the word “appetizing”?  This was getting more and more fucked up, it must have been the heat in the sauna driving me to hallucinations.

But like a slave, I did as Bryan gestured and got on all fours, nude, my own dong poking out rock-hard and stiff.  Because yeah, I’d gotten a boner, the sight of my brother’s perfectly sculpted body coupled with that massive fuckpole a turn-on, an aphrodisiac that my body couldn’t ignore.  Plus the fact that all eyes were on us was making me hot and hungry, and I wanted to see where this was going.

Still expecting an abort at the last minute, I felt Bryan’s hand on my ass, that big palm smoothing over my skin, stroking, massaging even as I tensed in anticipation.  He dragged his index finger to my hole, circling it, touching it even as I shivered.

He leaned close over my back, whispering in my ear.

“It won’t take long, you’ll like it, I promise.”  What the fuck?  What did he mean, I was going to like it?  Again, I was still expecting the SWAT team to burst into the chamber, breaking up this misguided farce.

But then it happened.  I felt a tiny bit of cool lube plop onto my anus, my brother’s finger pushing the sticky gel into my chamber, and then the pressure of something huge, massive, pressing insistently against my rectum.  Oh god, could it be?  I half-turned my head, expecting this all to be a mirage, but nope, it was true.  My twin was in back of me, crouched between my legs, pushing his dick into my ass, slowly, slowly, but insistent all the same.

And oh fuck, it felt good.  I’d never been touched there before and to get a massive dong back there, to see the ecstasy on my twin’s face as he fucked me, was insane.  I felt my ass resisting, that pucker stubbornly hetero, refusing to give in.  But Bryan was persuasive.  He rubbed my anus with his fingers as his penis inched forward, building momentum with his hips, and with a slight pop, my rectum caved and he was in.

“Good boy,” he breathed so that only I could hear, massaging my left thigh in encouragement.  “Now just hold still.”

And with a groan, he grabbed my hips and slid forward again, this time pushing that veiny length into my backdoor, my ass screaming in pain as it took its first dick.

“Owww!” I must have shrieked, given the chuckles that surrounded us.  But Bryan groaned loudly as well, drowning out my cry of pain, and began stroking in and out smoothly, stopping to empty half a tube of lube where our bodies were joined.

And it began to feel good, the heated, burning sensation slowly replaced by the most delicious penetration, the feel of a hard dick ramming my insides, extending almost to my throat, my brother’s cock was that enormous.  I began breathing in rhythm with the strokes, letting myself relax and just savor the feeling.

“Oh god,” I groaned, my head dropping in ecstasy like a delirious man.  “Fuuuuck,” I moaned again.

And Bryan was going with it as well, his hips now swinging in a regular rocking motion, my ass given up all resistance.  I could hear the wet slipping and sliding as he pounded me, the huffs of air as they left his lungs, the sweat dripping from his brow as he drilled his first man.

And suddenly, my twin was tensing.  I could feel it in myself as well, my muscles gearing up, the friction becoming unbearable, my own cock getting ready to spurt.

“Ah ah ah, UNNNNH!” roared my brother, and just like that, I was coated with cum on the inside.  His big penis ripped through me, pulsing, spurting jet after jet of creamy white into my GI tract, coating me with that hot, intense man milk … which had the same DNA as mine.

Call me a disgusting pervert, but the feel of that baby batter coating me caused my own semen to jet and I spontaneously let go, my orgasm flying out of my dick, showering my belly and torso with male cream, spurting everywhere as I was fucked by a man.

And it was only after Bryan withdrew from my body, his veiny length leaving me with a huge anal gape, that the applause started.

“Vlad, you bring us good men,” said one especially fat guy from the corner, his chest covered with hair.  I hadn’t even noticed him before, it was so steamy in the bathhouse.  “Let’s see how they do with women now, shall we?” he growled.

Thus, because of our twincest performance, we were able to bust a Russian prostitution ring … and discover a new side to ourselves as well.


I still had no idea what I was doing, although I’d taken a chance showing Blake around the Gordons’ home.

“Here’s Chrissy’s bedroom,” I said, indicating a half open door through which a glimpse of a frilly bedspread was visible.  “And here’s her parents’ room,” I nodded to a massive pair of gigantic oak doors.

I’d planned on going straight to the game room after that because it was pretty cool.  The Gordons had invested in a massive flatscreen TV that almost covered an entire wall, plus they’d just bought new Oculus Rift glasses.  Every guy likes 3-D holograms right?

But Blake interrupted me.

“I think I hear something inside,” he said, nodding his head to the master bedroom.

Really?  I hadn’t heard anything but I’d been feeling sick lately with the fainting spell over the cat and all that.  I couldn’t trust my senses, everything was out of whack after being inundated by formaldehyde.

So I hesitated.  “You think we should see what it is?” I asked.  It could always be some hooligans, some of the other kids messing around.  In fact, I practically owed it to Chrissy’s parents to check it out if that was the case, they’d been so kind to me in light of my own dysfunctional family.

Because, you see, I’m a Walsh.  My mom was a single mom to four girls – Jenna, Tina, Karina, and me.  It was rough raising the four of us, I mean it’s never easy with that many kids, much less four girls who didn’t exactly get along.  But I thought we were doing okay until the events of the last two years.

It turned out that Jenna wasn’t even really my sister, at least not biologically.  She’d gone to NYC to be a model after dropping out of law school, and a huge scandal had ensued.  Someone had discovered a video of my sister doing porn with two guys and released it, intent on wrecking her career.

But it wasn’t even Jenna in the film.  Instead, it turns out my sister had been given away as a baby by her biological parents and it was actually an imposter named Violet in the video.  Or more accurately, Violet was Jenna’s real twin, separated at birth but with the same beautiful face, blonde hair, and curvaceous bod.  I had no idea how Jenna and Violet were getting along now because what could an A-list model and D-list porn star have in common?  Maybe a lot, actually.

But the baggage didn’t stop there.  Somehow, my family had gotten involved with the Sterling brothers.  It sounds perfect, right?  Four Sterling boys, four Walsh girls, we’d be one big happy family.  And my mom was engaged to Harold Sterling, the patriarch of the clan.

But everything just kept getting messed up.  Jenna and Tina were in a spat because Tina allegedly stole Jake Sterling from Jenna, breaking up their engagement.  And Karina and the twin boys, Cade and Caden … don’t even get me started.  Although there was nothing “official” going on, I suspected something – mainly that my sister was having sex with both Cade and Caden, banging the boys in their shared apartment near NYU.  But it’s not my business and so long as they were in New York, they were far enough so that the fam could turn a blind eye.

So as you can tell, we Walsh girls are a piece of work.  With the drama that’s surrounded us, things had gotten unbelievably complicated and I’d taken refuge with Chrissy and her family, the reassuringly normal Gordons.  Of course, every family has its ups and downs, but compared with mine, the Gordons were practically the Partridges, picture perfect with smiling, golden children.

Out of a sense of loyalty, I opened the door, expecting to see some kids drinking, maybe making out on the bed, that kind of thing.  It’d be gross but not unexpected, and at least it’d be easy to clean up.

But there was no one inside, the room silent.

“Come on,” said Blake, leading the way to the en suite.  “I thought I heard some noise coming from in here.”

I followed tentatively behind him, trailing that masculine form.  Blake seemed so sure of himself, stealthy and agile, like he knew exactly what he was doing while tracking an intruder.

But there was no one in the tiled master bath either, no half-opened window, no fluttering curtain indicating a quick escape.  It was just a regular bathroom, the vanity clear, the tub and shower gleaming white.

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” I said perplexed.  “I never heard anything, maybe it was …”

I had been about to say “the wind,” but I never got to finish because Blake covered my mouth with his.

“Oh!” was my muffled cry as those firm lips descended on mine, gentle, roving, explorative.  I’d kissed boys before but my sexual experience was far behind that of my sisters.  In fact, I was practically a nun compared to them.

But it didn’t seem to deter Blake.  His big arms came around me and I instinctively melted, enjoying the warmth, the feeling of security pressed against that massive chest.  He was two inches taller than anyone I’d ever dated and much more athletic.  I could feel the hardness of his pecs, the faint tracing of washboard abs … and something insistent, rising against my tummy, unmistakable in demand.

But before I could react, Blake had walked me backwards to the master bedroom, pressing the backs of my calves against the king-size bed until we toppled over, bouncing onto the floral bedspread.

I giggled a bit.

“Blake, we shouldn’t be doing this,” I whispered, scandalized.  “This is Chrissy’s parents’ bedroom!  It’s so wrong!”

“It’s no different from any other bed,” he growled, nuzzling my neck while tracing my décolletage with a finger.  “In fact, it’s better, it’s bigger than the futon I have at our trailer.”

A futon?  A trailer?  He must have been living in temporary circumstances but I couldn’t think about that now, his hot mouth trailing closer to my nipples distracting me, making me focus on nothing else.

“But Blake,” I gasped.  “We haven’t locked the door – anyone could come in.”

“I locked it,” he growled, “you didn’t notice, but I took care of everything baby girl.”

And despite my reservations, I could feel myself melting, my body growing soft and warm under his, receptive to that demanding male form.  It was senior year and I could afford to relax a little, enjoy some downtime with a handsome man, especially one who’d “saved” me during biology class.  I wanted this, I wanted to explore physical attraction with someone who made me steamy inside.

And Blake wasn’t taking no for an answer.  His hands had been busy, undoing the strap at my neck, slowly peeling off the pink dress until I was before him clad in nothing but my swimsuit.

“Thinking about taking a dip?” he said, his eyes ravenous, trailing up and down my curves.  “I like a little skinny-dipping, invite me anytime.”

“Oh that,” I breathed, giggling a bit.  “Yeah Chrissy said we should have our swimsuits underneath just in case we got pushed into the pool or something.”

“Good thinking,” he growled, bending his head to nuzzle at my breast, the edge of the nylon fabric just preventing him from accessing my boobs.  “Let’s see what you’ve got here,” he continued hungrily, and with a teasing, tantalizing move, pulled the string of my bikini slowly, undoing it, pulling off that pink ruffled fabric.

And judging from his expression, I’ve never been so happy as to have natural Double Ds.  They’ve been a pain in the past because sometimes I get back aches, and they make certain outfits look ridiculous as if I were Jessica Rabbit in heat.

But right now, my boobs were full, luscious, the dark pink nips doing me proud.  They were erect, standing stiffly in the cool air, and Blake wasted no time in descending on them, suckling the pink into his mouth, rolling the tip around like it was the tastiest piece of candy he’d ever had.

“Ohhh,” I moaned, tossing my head, “mmmm.”

And the big man continued, circling the nub with his tongue, slowly making concentric circles until he’d consumed all of my breast flesh before moving to the other side to do more of the same, suckling hard this time, pulling the hard, sensitive meat against his palate as I writhed and cried out beneath him.

But he was dirtier than I imagined.  While suckling, he pulled my hand up to my own breast, directing me to cup my jug.

“Taste,” he commanded.

“What?” I gasped.  It felt so good when he did it, but he wanted to do it to myself now?

Blake nodded.  “I like seeing my girls taste themselves … everywhere,” he said.

And with a trembling hand, I lifted my mound to my mouth, tentatively licking the point.  It was wet, and hard, and … I dunno, good, I guess.  It clearly turned Blake on because he watched with rapt eyes as I licked my own tit, that huge mound pressed to my face.

And I started to get into it, never breaking eye contact with the big man, smiling at him as I suckled, massaging my boob, getting into it by rolling the pink a bit before starting up a flat-tongued lave.

“Now both knockers,” he commanded and I gasped again.  But I understood exactly what he wanted this time.

With my other hand, I lifted my left breast to my mouth, licking this one as well, savoring it, trailing my tongue over my sensitive areola, moaning a bit as I massaged both jugs at once, even slavering a bit, letting my saliva coat my pink nubs with the glossiest, most tantalizing wetness.

Holding both Double D’s up, I pushed both nipples into my mouth at once, the creamy flesh pendulous and succulent, practically slipping out of my grip.  It was fucking dirty and I loved it, feeling twin jets of sensation shoot straight from my nips to my cunt, my little twat getting wet and dirty because of my self-play.

And Blake ate it up.  He had his dick out now, his pants unzipped, the huge purple member jutting out as he stroked it firmly, pulling off the head with slight popping sounds, growling as he gazed at me with ravenous eyes.

And it only spurred me on further, knowing that I had a man in my hands, ready to do my bidding like putty.

“Kiss me down there,” I said.  “I want to feel you tongue me,” I nodded to my creaming snatch.

The big man was before me on his knees in a flash, his mouth open and panting as he scrabbled furiously at my bikini bottoms.  I don’t shave, but I make sure to trim and my landing strip was a mini-rectangle, cute and beckoning.  With a moan, Blake dove between my lips, burrowing his tongue into my slit.

“Oohhh!” I squealed, lifting up from my nips.  It felt so good to have a man there, to have him sample my female cream, my cunt lips dripping wetly, a trail running down my thigh I was so turned on.  Blake was a master – he pulled apart my labia, revealing my little clit standing to attention, and circled it with his tongue before beginning a suck, the jets of sensation making my legs go weak as he devoured the nub of flesh.

Then he pulled my nether lips apart even wider to look straight up my cunt, enjoying the view of ruby rose insides, the walls wet with need and want.

“My dick goes there,” he growled, before diving in to lick my inner channel, hungrily kissing my puss, making me squeal with desire.  “But I’m not sure it’s going to fit.”

“Oh it’ll fit,” I gasped.  At least I hoped it would, I prayed silently to myself.  I’d seen that dong and it was godawful huge but I looked forward to the challenge, I wanted it in me, wanted to be impaled, to feel the commanding presence of a big dick deep in my vag.

To get me prepped, Blake slipped a finger in me, first one, then two, letting me sigh and moan, tossing my head in ecstasy as he rubbed my pussy walls, stretching me out.

“Fuck you’re a slut,” he said while nuzzling my clit with his tongue, his fingers still pounding me.  And I guess I was.  I was nude now except for those high heels, a man’s fingers buried in my cunt as I toyed with my own breasts.

I was just about to cream on his hand, my pussy going into little throes of pre-spasms when suddenly a clapping sound penetrated the clouds, another deep, low laugh intruding on my senses.

“Huh?” I asked, half-dazed, turning my head, sure that my mind was playing tricks.

But it wasn’t my imagination because just inside the door stood Bryan, applauding, watching avidly even as he let out a deep-throated chuckle.

“Room for another?” he asked, his member already at full-bore, and I could do nothing because my pussy was clenching … tight, tight, tight as I came hard on Blake’s hand.




The girl was beautiful to watch as she orgasmed.  Her body was all luscious curves and jiggling flesh as she lost herself to the mini-death, her eyes rolling up in her head a bit as my brother stroked her cunt, his hand buried in her soft folds.

And my twin was fucking near the edge as well, I could see his donkey dong from where I stood, the mast fully erect, glistening and glossy with saliva.  Or wait, shit that wasn’t saliva, there was just so much pre-cum that it was literally dripping down his pole, coating his balls, even running down his thighs.

And I didn’t blame him.  Callie was intriguing and smart, just the kind of girl that we like to romp with.  Unfortunately we have to do bimbos as part of our job as undercover cops, building up our cover.  But sex on the clock is just that.  It’s just a job, and the girls were usually dirty and nasty, the kind of ho you’re praying doesn’t have some kind of weird disease.

So meeting someone like Callie … god, it was amazing, a welcome breath of fresh air.  She’d been so innocent in class, fainting because of that cat, and the interactions we’d had in the intervening week only proved that she was a woman of quality.

Because one of the things about this particular assignment was that we knew the perpetrators were likely college-bound kids, as one of the victims had gotten into Harvard early admission.  So we couldn’t exactly be taking remedial classes, Blake and I had to socialize with the so-called “smart crowd,” the kids who actually had the grades to get into Ivy League schools.

But that’s the awesome thing about being twenty-five … we’d already graduated from high school and even the advanced classes were cakewalk for us.  Not that the material was useful in any sense of the word, life on the beat was a thousand times more educational, but these kids would find that out for themselves.

So we were in a ton of our classes with our favorite girl, and without her nincompoop of a friend Chrissy.  I appreciated the blonde, for sure, she was outgoing and seemed to host a lot of parties, but frankly … there was nothing going on in that airhead.

During English, I’d seated myself near Callie, the better to get to know her and do some investigating at the same time.

“So Callie,” I said nonchalantly.  “You look like you could be a cheerleader,” I’d winked.  “Did you know Brian Adams?  We heard he was a great guy, what happened to the football team after he died?”

Callie had grown quiet at the mention of Adams’ name.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.  “I mean, I’m not a cheerleader but we all knew Brian.  Most of us have gone to school together since kindergarten,” she clarified.

Oh right, in these ritzy neighborhoods all the kids knew each other practically since they were babies, born with silver spoons in their mouths.

“But Brian was always nice to me,” continued Callie.  “I started in this district in third grade on scholarship, and I think it was the Adams’ money that made it possible.  I’m not sure of course,” she said hastily.  “The board never said which donor sponsored my seat, but I think it was Mr. and Mrs. Adams.”

“Was there anything extraordinary about their son’s death?” I’d asked gently.  “Were you close to the Adams?  How were they after their son died?”

She looked down at her hands, not answering at first.  “The Adams were devastated,” she confided in a quiet voice.  “Nicer people I never knew, and Brian was a good son.  No one could understand how it happened.  An asthma attack during practice that got out of control, and suddenly poof!  He was gone.”

Oh, so that’s how people were playing it.  Brian had had an unexpected medical emergency which took his life.

“But didn’t someone try to revive him?  Weren’t their coaches and trainers who were skilled in CPR, knew how to help a kid who’s struggling to breathe?”

Callie shrugged her shoulders sadly.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly.  “I just heard that he went into spasms, was frothing at the mouth, and there was nothing anyone could do.  He was gone within minutes.”

Okay, that part sounded right.  When people overdose on drugs, it’s often a nasty sight with flailing limbs, uncontrolled spasms, crossed eyes, you get the picture.  Not like dying peacefully in your sleep at all.

“So was there an investigation?” I asked.  “Was anyone held responsible?  Did the coroner do an inquiry?”

But I’d gone too far.

Callie eyed me suspiciously.  “Why?  What is this to you?  You didn’t even know Brian and now all these questions?”  She turned her face away, looking out the window pensively.  I gave her credit for that.  She’d been friends with these kids since grade school and now a stranger was here, asking all sorts of intrusive questions.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” I said, backing off immediately.  “It’s just that Canterdale is such an awesome place, people have been really nice to my brother and I since we arrived.  We’re used to people not giving a shit, you know what I mean?  So we want to get to know this school better, the history of the place, what matters to the folks here, that kind of thing.”

I could tell that she wasn’t completely buying my explanation but it appeased her somewhat.

“Well, Brian and Tyler were great guys,” she said softly.  “They were in this class and as a matter of fact, you’re sitting in Tyler’s seat now.”

Well, well, well, what a coincidence.

“I think I’m using his books in fact,” I confided, holding up a copy of The Catcher in the Rye.  “Look,” I said, opening up the inside cover.  And sure enough, printed on an old-fashioned check-out card was the name “Tyler Needham, Period 3.”

“Crazy huh?” I said, as Callie’s face turned white.

“They shouldn’t have given you his book,” she said stiffly, not meeting my eyes.  “Those were his things, I don’t know, they should have burned them or something.”

“Callie honey,” I said gently.  “These things didn’t belong to Tyler, they belong to the school district and there’s no sense in wasting perfectly readable books.  Besides, I don’t mind.  I didn’t know the kid and there’s no harm in re-reading Catcher in the Rye, it’s an amazing piece of work.”

“You’ve read it before?” she said swiftly, her eyes turned to me inquisitively, sharp and assessing.  “Where did you say you went to school again?  I thought you said you’d transferred from a low-performing school in Queens.”

Oh shit!  I’d almost blown my cover.  Hastily, I tried to make things right.

“That’s right,” I rumbled, “Blake and I are from New York, and not the nice part.  But you know us,” I shrugged.  “No one cared what we did, so we had a lot of free time and did some reading on our own.”

And Callie smiled then.  “I had a feeling you guys know a lot more than you let on,” she said warmly.  “You’re so … educated and perceptive, you know what I mean?  You noticed that I was feeling faint before anyone else did.”

And I was relieved to be going back to the dead cat because it was safe territory after nearly giving myself away.

“That cat,” I snorted.  “Listen, you wanna catch up on the dissection this weekend?  Grimes says the new animal is ready, we can come in anytime Sunday.”

Callie flushed.  “Sure,” she said, “I need to do the make-up.  But you’re coming to Chrissy’s party on Friday right?  She made me promise to get you guys to come,” she confessed.  “It’s so embarrassing, I’m sorry.”

I just laughed.  “Yeah, Chrissy’s only mentioned it to us a hundred times already.  But no worries, you’ll look great in a swimsuit,” I’d chuckled, looking over her figure appreciatively.

And the girl had flushed, ducking her head shyly even as her breasts quivered with pleasure.  But I was gazing at her nude form now, that swimsuit on the floor of the bedroom, discarded in pieces as my brother kissed her cunt, the creaminess rising to the fore as she spasmed … with her eyes locked on mine.




Oh my god.  Oh my god.  I could barely think as my body shook, my insides pulsing, the cream spurting wetly around Blake’s hand.  Because he’d finger-fucked me to ecstasy as I cried out in pleasure, screaming as my boobs trembled and jiggled, doing their own little dance.

But it had only gotten more raunchy because Bryan was here too.  Somehow Bryan had finagled his way into the master bedroom and stared at us now, pumping his dick while his twin fingered me to heaven.

“Blake!” I screamed.  “Bryan!” I shrieked.

“Mmmm, little girl, say my name again,” said the man between my legs.  And with a lascivious grin, he lifted his head, wiping his mouth of wet cream as I continued to shake, the shivers only subsiding slightly with each passing moment.

With a soft sucking sound, he pulled his fingers out and put them to his nose.  Inhaling deeply with his eyes closed, he murmured, “Wet cunny, fuck yeah.”

But Bryan wasn’t about to be left out.

“A taste brother?” he asked, kneeling next to Blake on the bed.  And never taking his eyes from mine, he began to suck his brother’s fingers, sampling my pussy liquid, licking between each finger to savor as much as possible.

And was it my imagination or was the licking fucked up in a gay sense?  I mean, both these males were so alpha, so straight, so hetero, that it was a little weird to see Bryan licking Blake’s fingers, even if it was my juice he was tasting.

But my instincts were right.  Blake moaned as his brother made love to his fingers and ran his free hand through his twin’s hair, caressing his scalp.

“We’ve been waiting,” he grunted softly.  “Where have you been?”

Bryan paused momentarily.  “You fucker,” he said softly.  “You left me with that blonde girl, I practically had to kick her ass to get away.”

That made Blake chuckle.  “That’s right, the real treat was up here.  Left the door unlocked for you.”

“I know baby, I know,” said Bryan softly before leaning forward for a kiss, locking lips with his twin.

And this is when I screamed.  My eyes were practically bugging out of my head now, I could hardly believe what was happening.

“You’re brothers!” I shrieked.  “Twins even!  What the fuck are you doing?”

The men broke off the kiss, but only momentarily, turning to look at me with devious eyes.

“What does it look like we’re doing?” said Blake deeply, his eyes mischievous and dark with lust.  “We’re about to fuck.”




And that was my plunge into the mysterious world of twincest.  I’d never imagined it, not even in my raunchiest moments.  Sure, I’d thought of being pummeled by two men, a dirty MFM ménage where I took dick in my mouth and dick in my puss at once, but I’d never imagined it with brothers … much less twins who also serviced each other.

Because it was clear that this was a two-way street.  Most of the time I was the main course, both men focused on my pleasure.  But Blake and Bryan.  God, they had some ways of taking it up the ass that I’d never even dreamed of.

“Unnf,” grunted Bryan one day as Blake pummeled him from behind.

I watched raptly, seated on the couch in their trailer.  Both men were kneeling on the shag rug, Bryan bent over as his brother stuffed a toy in his anus.  And I don’t mean just any toy.  I mean a ten-inch dong, the black shaft dry as bone, ridged for whose pleasure, I wasn’t sure.

But I loved seeing it.  I loved seeing these alpha males, their bodies masculine, hard, muscular, fucking each other, their little anuses violated again and again.  And I’d done my share of violating as well.

“Give it to me,” I commanded, getting up from the sofa.  I was dressed in nothing but a mask and high heels, my boobs and cunt on full display, the wetness streaming like a river from between my legs.

“Yes Mistress,” groaned Blake, obediently placing the black dildo in my hand.  And I licked it.  That’s right, what had just been in Bryan’s ass, I tasted, savoring the musky butt smell, disgusting but a turn on as well.

Salivating as much as I could, I lubed it up and then pressed the handle into Bryan’s mouth, the man still nude on his fours on the living room shag rug.

“Now insert it into my vag,” I commanded, lifting one leg, baring my cunny so that my pinkness was on display, the slit dripping wet.

And like a slave, he crawled over, the dildo gleaming and used.  With a soft nudge, he pushed it into my cunt with his lips and tongue, making sure to aim right for my little hole just so.  And reader, it felt so good, getting stretched that way, having two live dicks on call while getting fucked by a third plastic one.

Bryan obediently fucked the dildo in and out of my twat, making sure it got all the way in with each stroke as I balanced precariously, one leg still up on a chair, my hands rubbing my breasts as my pussy was pleasured.

Finally, I could take it no longer.  I pulled the toy out, gleaming wet with my juices, and handed it to Bryan who was still on his knees before me in a submissive position, legs spread.

“Fuck yourself with it, bad boy,” I hissed, smiling lasciviously.

“Mistress, please,” he panted.  “Let Blake do me, you know how I like getting it up my ass from my brother.”

“Quiet!” I hissed again, holding a hand up threateningly, as if about to strike him.  “I said I wanted you to do it to yourself, so DO IT!” I almost screamed.

And Bryan piped down, his eyes downcast, obedient.  He lay forward onto the rug so that his cheek was pressed to the floor, still in a kneeling position.  Taking the dildo from me, he angled his legs apart slightly and just like that, began inserting the dildo into his anus.

Blake and I watched avidly as the red pucker stretched and pulled.  Fortunately, Bryan had gotten a lot of butt play in recent days, so we knew it was possible, but it was still a sight to behold.  The man moaned in front of us, his face scrunched in pain, his mighty body so thrilling in this submissive, ass-up position as he fucked himself.

And with a pop, it was in.  It was disgusting, seeing that glistening dildo erect, sticking out between those muscular ass cheeks like a lollipop, but also so arousing, so absolutely wrong in every way.

“Keep going,” I murmured threateningly, and Bryan did.  He pushed the dildo in and began buttfucking himself, the long length of plastic disappearing into his rectum before reappearing again, the stench of man meat mixed with ass overwhelming, filling the trailer with the heavy scent of sex.

And with a few more pulls, I knew Bryan was on his way.  I was tempted to walk over and finish him off, maybe pull on his dick a bit as he buttfucked himself, but no, I wanted to see the man do it all.

With a mighty cry, he gave in, his face pressed to the floor, tears squeezing from his eyes as he shook, that broad chest rippling with spasms, his nipples hard and penis jerking as cum sprayed onto the carpet.  It was a beautiful white, thick, creamy liquid and I hated to see it wasted on the shag rug.

But there was more of the same DNA just inches away.  Turning to Blake I said, “Ready brother?  Ready to release some sperm?”

And Blake smiled at me obediently.

“Yes, Mistress Callie.  Whatever you say.”


The brunette giggled as I propped the dead cat up.

“Erkel want a hamburger?” I made the cat speak, like a ventriloquist.

“Stop Blake, it’s so wrong,” she laughed.  “The poor thing’s dead, don’t make him ask for a hamburger.”

And I grinned in turn, continuing to make the cat dance, do little jigs, all to get a smile from this beautiful girl.

I have to admit, it was totally out of character for us.  My brother and I are hardened cops, undercover at Canterdale High to ferret out a suspected drug ring after two teens died under questionable circumstances.

But things changed when we met Callie.  She was different from the others – soft, giving, vulnerable, a scholarship student at this ritzy school.  There were no airs about her, so we felt comfortable letting our guard down as well, entertaining her during lab class, doing silly stuff like making dead cats dance.

Bryan was just as lame as me.  My twin had been sorting out the dissection instruments, sharp-looking knives, a vial of green liquid, a piece of tarp, but he was unexpectedly circumspect towards Callie.

“Girlie, we gotta tie this guy down,” he said gently, nodding at the cat.  “You want to turn away while I do it?”

“But why?” she asked, gazing at the matted fur askance.  “I mean, there’s no cutting yet right?”

“There’s no slicing, true,” said my brother gently, “but I’m going to have to break his arms to lash him to the tray.”

That did it.  Suddenly our girl looked nauseated again, like she was going to hurl.

“Oh god,” she whispered.  “It hasn’t even started yet and it’s already bad.  Oh god.”

I comforted her as she turned away, slinging a muscular arm over her hunched shoulders.  Callie was built exactly right, the way that Bryan and I prefer -- curvy, luscious, with big boobs and a narrow waist that led to wide, swinging hips.  I could watch those hips all day when she walked, the bump-da-dump mesmerizing, a rhythm that lulled me into a daze even in the most inappropriate of circumstances.

Because Bryan and I were definitely engaging in unethical behavior.  Sure, we’ve fucked girls on the job before, it’s a necessity when you’re undercover in a bad neighborhood.  You’ve got to show that you’re a man, treating women like dirt sometimes, screwing hos, prostitutes, even a mafia princess once in a while.

But Callie was different.  She was a nice girl, someone we’d want to know even in our regular lives.  So despite the fact that what we were doing wasn’t technically wrong, I knew it might not hold up under a departmental investigation.

Plus there was the fact that we’d let Callie in on our greatest secret – that Bryan and I regularly engage in twin sex.  It sounds gross, I know, bizarre even.  But it works for us.  My brother and I pound each other, drinking each other’s cum and anal sweat, lubing up our members for each other.  What can I say?  The bisexual lifestyle suits us just fine.

And now Callie’s become a much-needed third.  Her home life isn’t really stable, so she’s moved in with Bryan and I, into our little trailer on the edge of St. Francis Wood.  She told us about her family a little.

“I’m not sure where to start,” she confessed.  “I mean, do you guys watch porn?”

Porn?  Silly girl, we’d been part of the vice squad for years now and sometimes we had to watch porn as part of the job.  It sounds like it should have been fun, but trust me it’s not.  At least not when you’re watching victims being degraded against their will.

But the little girl didn’t know that, she thought we were just senior transfers from a bad neighborhood in New York.

“Sure we watch porn,” I tossed off casually, sharing a glance with my brother.  “What guy doesn’t?  In fact, we pay for a streaming channel,” I added with a wink.  That was true.  We forked over money each month for a gay site as inspiration, wanking off as hard male bodies writhed and shuddered in ecstasy.

“Well,” the brunette said slowly.  “Do you know of a porn star named Violet Wood?”

Violet Wood?  She was practically the next Sasha Grey, a break-out star with huge gazongas and a nubile, flexible body.  She’d come to fame recently because she resembled some famous model.

Callie nodded, as if reading my mind.

“My sister is Jenna Walsh, the model she impersonated,” she said slowly.  “But it’s complicated because Jenna and Violet actually are twins.”

My brother had laughed with disbelief.

“You’re telling us that not only are you related to a famous fashion model but also a notorious porn star?” he’d asked.  “No way!”

But Callie shook her head, unsmilingly.

“It’s true,” she said slowly.  “Jenna was never like the rest of us, but I genuinely thought she was my sister.  Turns out, she was actually given away at birth and Violet is her biological twin.  So the resemblance isn’t make-up or coincidence.  It’s because they share the same DNA.”

That made me frown.

“How is the relationship between Jenna and Violet now?” I asked with a frown.  As an identical twin myself, I knew all about twin connections.  “It must have been a shock to realize you have a secret twin out there.”

“I don’t know,” said Callie unhappily.  “Jenna’s practically disavowed us, she never felt like she belonged to the family anyways.  So from us four girls … there’s really just three left,” she said sadly.

And my heart went out to her.  Maybe her older sister was a flashy international star whose mug stared out from the hottest magazines, but Jenna would always be big sister to our girl and Callie missed her.

“No worries honey,” I said pulling her into my lap.  “Bryan and I are here for you now,” I said, stroking those brunette curls.

She sighed, leaning her head against my chest, nuzzling into my chest, her softness warm and trusting in my arms.

“Thanks Blake,” she murmured, her voice tinged with weariness.  “I appreciate it, you can’t imagine how tumultuous these last two years have been.”

And I stroked her hair more, my brother coming to join us on the couch.  It was almost idyllic, surrounding the girl of our dreams, making sure she was okay, happy, taken care of.  Okay, so maybe we were living in a shitty little trailer for the time being, but what counted was being together, making sure Callie felt safe and content.

Which was why we’d taken pains to exclude her friend Chrissy from the dissection today.  The blonde had been useful so far – she’d hosted a party at her house where Bryan and I had done some undercover investigation.  We’d learned that Canterdale isn’t as terrible as it seems, that the kids, despite being rich and spoiled, aren’t bad … at least not in the criminal sense of the word.

After doing Callie in Chrissy’s bedroom, we’d snuck downstairs, straightening out our clothes, trying to look nonchalant.

“Oh there you are!” squealed Chrissy, her eyes darting between the three of us suspiciously.  “Where have you been?  Bryan, I went to the kitchen to re-fill your drink and you disappeared,” she accused.

“Oh right,” said my brother.  “Sorry about that, just went to the restroom and got distracted,” he stated.

“Did you find it?” asked Chrissy, still suspicious.  “I mean, it’s been forty minutes and the bathroom’s right there,” she said, gesturing to a closed door behind us.

“Oh I just whizzed in a potted plant,” tossed off my twin with a salacious grin.  Man, that guy had the moves because instead of being grossed out, Chrissy just giggled and started flirting again.

“No way!” she said.  “I hope you take lots of Vitamin K because it’s good for leafy greens you know,” she simpered.

And that had been that, or so we thought.

But suddenly, the bathroom door burst open and two kids came out, stumbling a bit as they laughed and pushed each other.

“Hey man!” chattered one boy to the other.

The two were gangling, unreTylerable looking adolescents.  They would have been okay-looking had it not been for unfortunate haircuts and a bad case of acne.

“Yeah way!” said the other, “I swear it’s true.”

My brother and I frowned at each other.  What seems like an innocuous exchange to the general public can sometimes set off the radar of a cop.  Teenage boys are notorious trouble-makers and the way these two were acting … I don’t know.  I mean, what were two male adolescents doing together in the toilet anyways?

Without saying a word, Bryan disappeared into the now-vacated bathroom, presumably to relieve himself, but I knew he’d be checking for drug residue.  Even if you’re careful, crack is hard not to spill and almost always leaves traces on the bathroom sink, the cover of the toilet, wherever you’d done the deed.

Meanwhile, I eyed the boys with an impassive face as they stumbled off, my arm still slung around Callie.

“Who are those dudes?” I’d asked Chrissy.

“Oh them?” she asked, distracted as she mixed another drink.  “I think they’re friends of my sister Valerie, I don’t really know.”

Callie shot me a warning look, but I ignored it.

“Oh is Valerie a freshman?” I’d asked casually.  Those boys couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

“Not exactly,” said Chrissy.  “Valerie’s three years older actually, she was at Canterdale a couple years back but dropped out because she needed some time to find herself.”

I almost snorted but kept myself in check.  “Finding yourself” was a euphemism at the precinct for a rich kid with serious issues, like addiction or crime.

“So where is Valerie now?” I asked casually, ignoring Callie’s jab to my ribs.  “She around tonight?”

That got Chrissy’s attention.  “Yeah, I think so,” she said, craning her neck, looking around to survey the mass of bodies.  “She bought the beer tonight and I think she was going to make a second run to the store if necessary,” she shrugged.  “I mean, you never know with Valerie.  She’s got this new boyfriend, he’s so disgusting,” she said wrinkling her nose.  “Old, stringy brown hair in a ponytail, thinks he’s some biker gang member.”

That definitely caught my ear.  An old dude hanging out with high school kids?  Definitely a recipe for disaster.  I wanted to ask more but could no longer ignore the sharp looks from Callie.  Clearly, there was something buried here and my girl didn’t want to go any further down this line of questioning.

“Come on Blake,” she said, trying to distract me.  “Let’s head outside.  The Gordons have an amazing pool house,” she said.

I’d glimpsed the cabana in passing and it did look fancy, like a second residence situated some distance away from the main house.  And you know what?  I was feeling horny again, maybe there’d be some privacy for a second fuck of the night.

“Sure,” I drawled.  “After you,” I said just as my brother came out of the bathroom.  He silently shook his head no, indicating that there was no drug residue, and I dragged him along for the ride.

“Let’s get outta here, see what everyone else is up to,” I drawled nonchalantly.  “Bryan?”

“Yeah,” he growled, his face impassive.  “Let’s go.”




The investigation wasn’t exactly going well.  There hadn’t been any telltale residue on the sink or toilet at Chrissy’s house.  Instead, I’d found a recently used condom still filled with warm, bubbling cum in the trash.

So those teenage boys, those comic-book turds, were probably gay.  They’d probably fucked each other in the bathroom, groaning aloud, spanking each other’s asses, and then come out again acting like typical adolescents, pushing, shoving, pretending to be alpha males.

It was juicy, but not exactly criminal.  I mean, my brother and I should know – we fuck each other, and that probably is criminal in the State of California, crossing a couple lines like incest, not to mention illicit and nasty twincest.

But Canterdale High?  Not squeaky clean, but not exactly a hotbed of criminal activity either.  So the investigation continued.

We were in the biology classroom on a Sunday afternoon, getting ready to dissect a cat.  Goddamn this cat.  I was so sick of it already, I hated biology, Blake and I hadn’t become cops to re-do high school.  But here we were in this antiseptic environment, all the tools laid out, Callie looking nauseated again as I prepared to sink a knife into the belly fur of the glazed-eyed corpse.

Trying to hide my relish, I plunged the blade into the cat’s abdomen, expecting the knife to slice cleanly through, as if cutting chicken or a juicy piece of steak.  Instead, I encountered some resistance, the blade bouncing back a bit.  Oh fuck, it was probably just the formaldehyde they pumped into these things to keep them preserved.  I’d probably hit some organ that was now stiff with frozen chemicals.  Disgusting.

I chopped and sawed away with determination, and the skin fell away to reveal the body cavity of the cat.  And damn, but my eyebrows flew off my forehead because we’d just gotten our best lead yet.  Not only was the cat filled with frozen organs, but there were also a couple of pouches … bulging with white powder.

Immediately, I swept the cat off the table, not wanting our little girl to see.  Fortunately, she had her back turned at the moment, half-bent over trying not to retch.

But Blake raised his eyebrows at me in question.  I hadn’t fully opened the cat so he probably hadn’t caught a glimpse of the balloons but I merely shook my head in silence.

“Callie baby, this isn’t the right cat,” I said.

“What?” she asked faintly, turning back to the lab table.  “What do you mean it isn’t the right cat?  Mr. Grimes said he ordered a new batch so that we could make up the assignment without having to reuse corpses.”

“There must have been a mistake,” I said smoothly, “because this cat is pregnant.”

I was making shit up but that did the trick.

“Oh!” said Callie, her forehead rippling with revulsion.  “Oh my god, did you see the dead kitten embryos in there?  Oh my god, I’m going to be sick again,” she said, this time breaking out in a sweat, really looking green.

And my brother frowned at me but took the cue, hustling our little girl out of the classroom for some fresh air.  In the meantime, I bundled the corpse into a plastic tarp, securing it with some string before slipping it into my backpack.  The Sarge was going to be interested in this exhibit, for sure.

In the meantime, where the fuck had this cat come from?  Was Mr. Grimes the perpetrator?  Was our kindly science teacher actually a drug dealer, peddling illegal substances to his students?  Or was it someone else?  I was sure the freezer was probably chock-full of animals filled with heroin.  The issue was busting this ring without giving everything away in the first few minutes.  Our strike had to be coordinated, a methodical sting with no loose ends.

But in the meantime, there was still our little girl.

“Bryan, get out here,” I heard my brother shout in warning.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I strode outside … and immediately ran over to where my brother stood.  Because Callie had fainted, her head slumped over, her body limp and dangling in my twin’s arms.

“Oh shit,” I breathed.  “Oh shit, oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right,” my brother agreed.  “We’ve got to get her to the hospital.”

And we rushed off to the ER because our little girl was sick … and in trouble.




I woke groggily, unsure of where I was.  Blinking hazily, the lights were a blinding white, everything antiseptic and sterile.

Slowly, a face took shape before me, a handsome mien with penetrating blue eyes, dark hair and a concerned expression.

“Callie?” asked Blake.  “You okay?  You’ve been out for a while.”

Suddenly it all came rushing back.  The biology make-up session, the aborted dissection, all gone horribly wrong.  I hadn’t even been able to look really, the sight of the poor dead animal making me shake with revulsion.  So Bryan had done the honors.

But when he’d announced that we had the wrong cat, that the animal was in fact pregnant and filled with kitten embryos, I’d lost it.  I just couldn’t go on and had passed out outside, collapsing into the arms of my lovers.

Because Blake, Bryan and I are lovers now.  Sure, we’re a little young, eighteen, but Blake and Bryan are practically grown men.  They live by themselves in a trailer on the outskirts of St. Francis Wood, the ritzy neighborhood where we go to school.  Their uncle is allegedly their guardian, but I’ve never seen this guy and he seems to care little about his nephews, not giving a crap so long as they don’t bother him.

So I’d moved in, and we’d begun a lovefest, doing each other morning, noon, and night, enjoying each other’s bodies, exploring, fucking, fighting, loving.

And right now, they were showing me what the real meaning of family was.  Both men hovered about my hospital bed, Blake holding my hand as Bryan traced a finger down my cheek softly.

“You okay girlie?” he murmured.  “You had us scared there for a sec.”

I sighed.  No, I wasn’t okay, the thought of dead kitten embryos still made my stomach turn, but I’d survive.

“I dunno,” I sighed, stretching slightly, trying to make myself comfortable.  “It was just so wrong in every way, you know what I mean?  We shouldn’t have to re-do the lab, twice is enough,” I said emphatically.

“Of course not,” agreed Blake, squeezing my hand.  “We’ll do another assignment or just take a zero, it doesn’t matter,” he shrugged.

I frowned.  Taking a zero wasn’t exactly ideal – after all, I hadn’t received a college acceptance letter yet.  But Blake and Bryan had a curiously relaxed attitude towards school.  On the one hand, they seemed to know everything already, had already covered all the books in our literature class, and were frighteningly well-read when it came to American history.  On the other, grades themselves seemed to matter little despite the boys’ obvious intelligence and aptitude.

I’d quizzed them about their plans after college, and they’d answered in a straightforward manner.

“We’re going to apply to the Police Academy,” said Bryan, smiling.  “And the Academy doesn’t require a 4.0 GPA.  They just require an IQ test, a personality assessment, and some fitness minimums.  Trust me, Blake and I have it under control.”

“But have you signed up for the exams yet?” I asked worriedly.  “I mean, maybe there’s a cut-off deadline.  Plus, graduation’s only a few months away, have you stopped by the local precinct to talk to some officers, get their perspective on what it’s like to walk a beat?”

Bryan had been about to answer when Blake interrupted.

“You know, I think that’s a great idea,” he said smoothly.  And was I imagining things or had he just shot his brother a warning glance?  “We’ll drop by the precinct after school tomorrow and see if we can chat with some of the boys in blue, see if someone’s off duty and willing to give us the low-down on the lifestyle.”

And I’d smiled happily because I wanted what was best for them.  I’d never expected to marry rich, and was perfectly content with two handsome men dressed in police uniforms.

But my mom had other ideas.  Mary had laughed when I mentioned I was dating a guy who wanted to be a cop.

“Honey, you can’t be serious,” she said.  “Now that I’m engaged to Harold Sterling and Tina’s married Jake Sterling, you have so many opportunities before you!  The Sterlings can provide you with an entrée into the most elite crowds, you can meet bankers, lawyers, young tech entrepreneurs.  Don’t you want that?  Don’t you want to be taken care of?” she’d asked.

I was confused.  “But Mom, you didn’t marry rich and things worked out okay,” I said.

Okay, obviously that wasn’t exactly true at the moment given that my sister Jenna had disowned us.  But stuff happens and I was still holding out hope that Jenna would come back, be my big sister again.

But my mom just shook her head in exasperation.

“Honey, it’s not easy to raise a family and you know how I struggled as a single mom with four children,” she admonished.  “I mean, this isn’t serious, is it?  You’re both still in high school and this young man … it’s just puppy love,” she concluded emphatically.

That’s the thing.  That’s not how I felt about Blake and Bryan, it wasn’t puppy love at all.  I’ve been “in love” with a few boys before and my relationship with the twins went far beyond that.  It was deeper, stronger, and we relied on and trusted each other, making dinner together, paying bills, acting like adults.  I wasn’t sure where they got their money, but I wasn’t worried.  The twins were going to make an honest living regardless.

But I figured this wasn’t the time to dive deeper into the conversation, much less confess that I was sleeping with twins.

“Listen Ma,” I sighed.  “I haven’t been at home for a few months and it’s because I’ve been staying with Blake and his brother,” I said simply.  “It’s just easier, you know?”

“Of course I know you’ve been staying with those boys,” she’d replied.  “But it was just temporary until we got this Jenna thing sorted out, there was so much scandal.  You can come home now,” she said with a queenly air.

“Ma, I’m not coming home,” I sighed.  “Graduation’s just around the corner and then I head off to college.  Not that I’m not grateful to the Sterlings,” I said hastily.  “Please tell Harold and Jake that I really appreciate their contributions to my college education fund.”

In fact, Jake had made it clear that he’d pay full freight for my tuition, relieving me of any burdensome student loan debt.  But my plans were changing and if the twins were at the Academy here in San Francisco … suddenly, City College just a block away sounded more and more attractive.

“Honey, just don’t decide anything now,” my mom pleaded.  “You’re young, you don’t know yourself.”

I’d merely sighed and nodded in assent, but my mind was buzzing in a totally different direction.  I knew myself well enough to know that I was in love with my dark, dangerous twins, and that Blake and Bryan were my future.

So I took their hands in the hospital room, squeezing their big fingers with hope and love.

“What’s next?” I asked softly.  “I just wanna get out of here,” I said, looking around at the antiseptic environment.  Nauseatingly, there was the unmistakable smell of chemicals in the air, someone’s chemotherapy treatment I was sure.

“We’ll get you out of here as soon as the doctor clears you,” Blake promised, shushing me.  “But first … a kiss,” he said, bending low to place soft lips on mine.

And I sighed.  This was exactly what I needed after the nightmare of this morning.  I returned his kiss with relief, breathing in his woody scent, reveling in the magnetism of his nearness, his maleness, the pure masculine presence.

“Hey, what about me?” teased Bryan lightly.  “My turn,” he said, bending down.  But Bryan wasn’t kissing my lips … at least not my upper ones.  He’d parted my hospital gown so that I was bare before him, my body luscious and nubile, naked before their gaze.

And with one big hand, he parted my thighs so that my slit was on view, the pink pussy lips healthy and plump, beckoning to him.

With a groan, he bent his head and placed a soft kiss onto that quivering womanflesh, my cunny immediately growing wet with need and want.

“Yes,” I breathed.  “Yes, please, it’ll make me feel so much better.”

And my boyfriends obliged, stripping the gown off so that I was bare on the gurney, my body fleshy and delicious for their enjoyment.  I spread my legs like a slut, begging them to take me, holding my boobs up for their enjoyment.

But the boys had something different in mind.

“Ever played doctor?” asked Blake with a wicked grin.  In fact, I’d played a lot of things with them, but never in a hospital setting.

“No,” I said coyly, writhing a bit on the white sheets.  “What did you have in mind?”

And Blake whipped out a metal instrument.

“We know you hate medical things, but this looked especially interesting.”

My eyes widened with shock.

“What is that?” I gasped.  The tool was long and thin with little pincers at the end.

“Frankly honey, we have no idea,” said Blake lasciviously.  “But I know what I want to do with it,” he said with a grin and spread my legs apart further.  “Bryan, hold her open,” he directed, and his twin moved forward to spread my cunny, pinning the labia back with his fingers to expose my hot pink wetness, damp, moist and oh-so-juicy.

My clit was so hard and big that it stood up like a little dick, alert, waving almost in the cold hospital air.  But I felt hot, overheated in fact, from the gaze of the two men before me.

With careful hands, Blake positioned the pincers right over my clit and seized the trembling nub, squeezing.  Gently at first, but then with increasing pressure, he tightened the pincers so that my love bud began growing red and engorged, distended with pleasure.

“Ohhh!” I squealed, looking down between my spread legs.  “Oh god!”

My pussy was creaming wetly, leaving a damp spot on the sheets, but the twins weren’t done yet.

“My turn,” said Bryan, brandishing another tool.  And I almost screamed when I saw what he held in his hand.  It was like a metal tube, clearly meant to go into my vagina.  But what set it apart were the ringdings on all sides, tiny buds that would graze my internal channel, make me slime with pleasure.

He held it up before his mouth, breathing hotly on the cold metal.

“Ready little girl?” he asked, his eyes fixated on my cunt.  And I parted my legs obediently, spreading them further as Blake continued to pinch my clit.  My little hole opened obligingly, gaping and hungry at the prospect of penetration by that huge, metal dong.

But Bryan wasn’t looking at my vag.  He pushed my knees up so that my butthole was exposed and positioned the club against my back entrance.

“No!” I shrieked.  I couldn’t.  That tool wasn’t meant for anal play and I wasn’t ready, my body couldn’t do it.

“Yes, you can,” he said with an evil grin and slowly, oh so slowly, began inserting the metal into my ass.

“Nooo!” I wailed, the pressure intense.  I began breathing heavily, rhythmic pants as if I were about to give birth.  But really it was to loosen my sphincter, help me deal with the discomfort to come.

Because it hurt, my anus getting dicked by the medical tube.  My little pucker stretched and twisted, going from a light pink ruffle of pleats to beet red, contracting between every insistent push by Bryan.

But with an audible pop, he was in.  Bryan chuckled and paused for a moment, letting the instrument hang obscenely from my anus, my pussy lube dripping down to coat the instrument.

“You’re a dream come true,” he breathed, looking me in the eye.  “Everything Blake and I ever wanted.”

And that’s how I came to play doctor with the twins.  Every orifice I had was violated in the space of an hour, the twins’ inventiveness unending and deliciously, delightfully titillating.  In the middle of the anal sex, Blake paused for a moment and whipped out a camera, the pincers still dangling from my clit.

“What?” I gasped.  “No!”

I knew I looked a mess, nude, my pink bits red and inflamed with all sorts of clamps squeezing and pulling, obscene and sexual at once.

But he merely shushed me.

“You’ve never looked so beautiful,” he soothed, clicking away as the flash popped.  “Seriously, we might never get this chance again,” he admonished as the shutter whirred.

And I couldn’t help but pose and preen a bit, loving the attention, the delicious wrongness of what was happening.

“You’re not in any of these,” I’d whined when we were back home, looking over the developed pictures.  “I barely see any cock.”

“Baby, you’re a thousand times more beautiful, who would want to see Bryan and I posing naked with medical instruments jammed in our behinds?” asked Blake.

But I knew there were gay mags that would pay a lot of money for that stuff … and all sorts of men and women who would die to see identical twins stuffing each other, lovingly fucking each other’s asses.

“You never know,” I said with a sly smile, a twinkle in my eye.  “You never know.”


“So what’s up?” asked our sergeant as we walked into his office.  The sarge was a great guy, in his fifties but still buff, a devotee of the gym.

Bryan and I had taken some time off to come by on the precinct on the pretense that we were investigating potential career options.  Callie had given us the perfect opening.

“But do you know anything about police work?” she’d asked quizzically.  “I mean, walking a beat can be so tiring, so different from school.  Is there anyone you could talk to about what it’s like to actually be an officer?”

My twin and I had barely kept a straight face because we were full-fledged police officers, stationed undercover at Canterdale High to ferret out a drug ring.  Posing as mid-semester transfers had been pretty easy so far, but it also felt silly to fake anxiety about SATs and college applications when none of that applied to us whatsoever.

“Honey, we’ll stop by the local precinct next week,” I’d promised.  “Maybe there’s some cop on a coffee break who could talk to us about his experience on the force.”

And so we had the perfect in.  We’d swung by the precinct after classes let out, our backpacks slung casually over our shoulders, nothing more than two high school boys exploring career options.

Thankfully the front desk knew exactly how to treat undercover cops.  Our receptionist gave no indication of knowing us despite the fact that she’d seen our mugs every day for the last three years.

“Can I help you?” she’d asked impersonally.

“Sergeant Collins, please,” I said.

“Of course,” she said, dialing upstairs.  “Just one moment.”

And we were whisked upstairs, none of our colleagues giving any indication that they knew us as we strode past their desks.  I did feel something hit the back of my shoulder and turned quickly to see what it was.

“Psst!” cracked Jack, one of our friends.  “You like being in an episode of Grease?” he asked.

I figured he was referring to the movie with John Travolta, when Travolta was way too old to be in high school.  But hey, people can suspend disbelief at least temporarily.

“Shut the fuck up,” I growled under my breath.  This was so unprofessional, anyone could be watching the exchange.

But at that moment the Sarge appeared at the door to his office and gestured to us.  “Come in boys, I’m happy to talk to you about what it’s like to be a police officer,” he said with a believably straight face.

“Come on,” said my brother, shooting Jack a dirty look before disappearing inside the office.  And so it was with a relieved sigh that Bryan and I settled into the comfy chairs in front of the desk, letting go of pretense for a change.

“So how’s it going?” asked the Sarge, one eyebrow raised.  “How’s that trailer working out for you?”

Oh right.  The city budget being what it was, the precinct couldn’t afford to put us up in a rented house or apartment.  So they’d installed us in a ramshackle trailer on the edge of the school zone with Sergeant Collins as our supposed “guardian,” our long-lost uncle.

“It’s fine,” I said nonchalantly.

“At least there’s heat and hot water,” my brother quipped.

But the Sarge was suddenly serious.

“How’s the investigation going?” he said.  “I’ve got to feed the beasts at City Hall soon.  The Adams, parents of victim Brian Adams, have been pressuring the Mayor for results and he’s been knocking on my door,” he said, shaking his head.

I felt bad for our boss.  That’s the thing about moving up the management ladder – you barely get a chance to do any actual police work, instead spending all your time managing superiors.

“We got a big break,” said my brother, unzipping his backpack.  “We found this.”

And out came an unidentifiable shape wrapped in plastic.

“What the fuck is that?” asked our boss, perplexed.

“Hold your breath,” warned Bryan.  “Best to blast the AC, open the windows.”

And my twin set the package on the Sarge’s desk, carefully unrolling our precious cargo.  Because despite its gory exterior, it actually contained key evidence.  The plastic fell apart to reveal a dead cat, semi-thawed and decomposing, its eyes unseeing, set in an eternal unblinking stare.

“God almighty!” raged our Sarge.  “This better be good, you’ve just stunk up my office.”

“Just give it a sec boss,” I chimed in, as my brother continued with the honors.  Because now he’d snapped on a pair of gloves and was pulling the cat’s abdomen apart … to reveal five packets stuffed with white powder.

“Oh shit,” breathed Collins.  “Is that what I think it is?”

“Probably, yeah,” smirked my brother.  “It’s likely heroin or cocaine, packaged conveniently into a dead animal where no one would think to look.”

“How did you get your hands on this?” asked our boss.

My brother shrugged.  “Luck, more than anything.  Our lab partner fainted during the dissection and we ended up having to do a weekend make-up.  During the make-up, there must have been some mix-up when it came to the specimen and we got this instead,” he said, gesturing to the dead cat.

“Shit, who’s transporting this stuff?” said the Sarge, a disgusted look on his face.  “I mean, what the fuck, are they killing animals to use as couriers?”

“My guess is no,” I said.  “You can order these things on-line, they’re shipped straight to the school.  My guess is the dealer is connected to the school in some way, intercepting the cats without anyone noticing, and then stuffing them full before retrieving the goods for final retail.”

“It’s gotta be that fucking science teacher,” growled our boss.  “Grimes did you say his name was?”

“Nah, it’s not Grimes,” I said confidently.  “No one running a drug ring could be so dumb as to accidentally lose track of goods the way this dealer did.”  And I meant it.  There had to be at least 5Gs worth of pure cocaine in there.

“So it’s someone else then,” mused our boss.  “Any other leads?”

“Still working on it,” I said promptly.  “Give us some time, we’ll crack it Sarge,” I said confidently.

“Well speed it up, I can’t keep City Hall off our backs for much longer,” said our boss.  “Two weeks max and I’ve got to say something.”

“We’ll have it solved by then,” my brother chimed with assurance.  “Trust us, we have a secret weapon,” he winked.

And I knew he was referring to our girl, our lover, our everything … Callie.




My lovers strode in the door, confident, their pace unhurried, warm grins for me as they set down their backpacks.

“So how’d it go?” I asked anxiously.  “Was someone available to talk with you?  What did you think?”

Truth is, I was kind of anxious about the twins going to the precinct.  On the one hand, I absolutely respected Bryan and Blake’s decision to apply to the Academy.  There’s nothing sexier than a man in blue, and my lovers have the intellectual and physical chops to be police officers.  But on the other, I was concerned about the danger.  As rookies on the force they’d be assigned to the toughest beats, patrolling housing projects, the Tenderloin, places where random gunshots still rang out at night.

“It was great,” said Blake easily.  “There were a couple guys off-duty, they were only too happy to spend a couple minutes shooting the shit about their jobs.”

“What did they say?” I asked anxiously.  “Did they tell you what the hours are like, whether you’ll have a gun, all that kind of stuff?”

That’d made Bryan laugh.

“Of course we’d have guns, honey.  Even SFPD doesn’t expect you to go out there unarmed, like a volunteer neighborhood watch or something.  In fact,” he said, leaning forward, “Small arms weapons combat is probably going to be my favorite module.”

And I smiled tremulously.  Again, I was happy for the boys because they were going to make an honest living doing something they clearly had the aptitude for.  I just didn’t want them getting hurt.

“Okay,” I said softly.  “Just so long as you’re sure.”

“Honey, we’re more than sure about entering the Academy,” said Blake confidently.  “We’re perfect fits, in fact.”

“Oh, have the test results come back already?” I asked curiously.  I knew the twins had sat for psychological assessments recently but hadn’t expected the results to come back so fast.  Typically government bureaucracy took months, if not years.

But it seemed that last week’s results were already available.

“Yep, scored 95 and 99 percent,” said Blake, nodding at his brother with a grin.  “Like I said, we’re perfect fits for our dream job.”

And my heart dropped a little.  I knew they were good, I didn’t know they were great.  But Blake changed the subject abruptly.

“Honey, about that Adams boy, did you know him well?  I think you’d mentioned that his parents sponsored your seat right?”  He was referring to the fact that I was a charity student at Canterdale, my tuition subsidized by a generous donation from an anonymous donor.

“Well, I’m not totally sure the Adams endowed my scholarship,” I said slowly.  “The district never says for sure, but I thought they did because Mr. and Mrs. Adams have always made an effort to be nice to me throughout the years,” I said.  “Ever since third grade, when I started in this zone,” I clarified.

“Did you pay them a visit after their son died?” Blake asked.

I hung my head with shame.  After Brian passed unexpectedly from a seizure during football practice, his parents had secluded themselves and I hadn’t made an effort to reach out, to see if there was anything I could do.  I felt guilty.  The Adams had always been nice to me in the past, a kindly older couple who’d made sure to ask about my schoolwork, my grades, how I was doing in general.  One year, I remember it was especially cold and they’d presented me with a winter jacket for Christmas.

“But it’s not even December yet!” I’d gasped when I’d opened the gift.  I’d never had something so nice, the downy purple material soft and warm.

“Oh honey,” said Jane Adams gently, “we thought you looked a little cold when we bumped into you on campus last week, you didn’t have a jacket on, not even a sweater,” she reprimanded gently.

I remembered that day.  I’d been coming out of science class and unexpectedly run into John and Jane Adams, shivering a bit as I made conversation outside the classroom.  But I hadn’t expected something as generous as a puffy winter jacket, new and unused.  Their thoughtfulness was overwhelming and really touched me.

“Thank you,” I’d murmured, gratefully slipping into the coat.  My family wasn’t poor, but Mom had been distracted with Jenna’s issues and hadn’t had time to go shopping with me, much less buy groceries or cook.  So I’d been getting by on my own, wearing threadbare clothes from last year.

Jane Adams just chuckled in reply.  “You let us know if you need anything, okay?” she asked gently.  “We’re always here, and I know you’re good friends with Brian.”

I was friends with their son.  Friends since third grade, in fact, but we weren’t close anymore.  It was just a part of growing up.  Brian was into football, sports, hanging out with the cool kids, while I wasn’t exactly cool … more of a wallflower, unnoticed, the shy girl.

But Brian was still nice to me, acknowledging me in the hallways, occasionally carrying my bag if it was really heavy.  We just hadn’t had any meaningful conversation in years now, our separate interests leading us down different paths.

So I was ashamed.  Brian had died about two months ago under horrific circumstances and I hadn’t had the basic decency to pay my respects to his parents.

“Um, no,” I said shamefacedly, not looking up at Blake and Bryan.  “I should have, I know.  I should have at least sent the Adams a card or something at least,” I mumbled, still not looking up.

I felt a big hand stroke my shoulder.

“Baby, don’t worry about it,” growled Bryan.  “Grief does strange things to people and it takes time to get your bearings.  Maybe the Adams didn’t even want you to come around, they weren’t taking visitors.”

That made me feel marginally better, but only marginally.

“No, I think I should visit them,” I said, straightening on the couch.  “It’s time.  I shouldn’t wait anymore, and if they’re not ready, it’s okay, I can come back some other time,” I said resolutely.  I’d get them some flowers maybe, and a card, to express my condolences.  I could always leave those on the doorstep if they didn’t answer the bell.

“Good idea, honey,” said Blake.  “We’ll go with you for the visit.  It won’t be easy,” he said softly, rubbing my thigh reassuringly, “but we’ve got your back.”

And I was grateful.  Grateful that I had these men, that they were my everything now.  Because even for the most difficult of tasks, they were my back-ups … just like true family.




Callie looked around nervously as we stood on the doorstep.  She was dwarfed by a huge bouquet in her arms, the long fronds and lavish flowers protruding this way and that, causing her to bend awkwardly as she rang the bell.

Out pealed a melodious chime and the three of us were silent, seeing if we could hear any movement inside, our ears alert and aware.  The Adams had just lost their only son, and it was totally possible that they wouldn’t be answering their door, instead letting visitors come and go without acknowledgment.

So we stood in silence, waiting quietly but also in awe of the gorgeous surroundings.  The white colonial was a mansion, the gleaming clapboard surrounded by a manicured garden.  And there had to be someone inside because the Jag in the driveway had just been driven, judging from the slight drip of motor oil staining the drive way.

But it’s okay.  Sometimes people don’t want visitors and we’d give the Adams a pass given the tragedy they’d experienced.  The three of us were turning to go when suddenly the door cracked open slightly, a pair of faded blue eyes peering out at us.

“Oh Callie,” said an old lady.  “It’s you.  Thank you for coming,” she said as she opened the door wider.  And I could see this was a woman in the throes of grief.  Her clothes were rumpled and stained, her grey hair matted, looking like it hadn’t been combed in months.

“Mrs. Adams,” said Callie sorrowfully.  “I’m so sorry about Brian.  Here, I- I- wanted to bring you these,” she said awkwardly, thrusting the bouquet towards the older woman.  “We don’t have to come in or anything, I just wanted you to know that we’re thinking of you.  Me and Bryan and Blake,” she clarified, gesturing to my brother and I.  “Bryan and Blake are new students at Canterdale.”

Mrs. Adams’ eyes filled up with tears again.

“Canterdale High,” she said faintly.  “I can barely even think about Canterdale now that my poor Brian’s gone.  You know how much he loved that school, he was so into school spirit and the sports teams,” she said softly.

“Of course I remember,” said Callie.  “Brian was the star of the football team.”

Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration.  From our investigation, we knew that the Adams kid had been a decent second-string player, not a stand-out.  But why shame the dead?  Only speak good of those who can no longer speak for themselves.

Callie continued.  “Is there anything we can help with?  You and Mr. Adams have always done so much for me, it’s the least I can do.”

Mrs. Adams breathed in deeply and closed her eyes for a moment.

“We’ve always had a commitment to the school and that’s not going to end because of our son’s death,” she said, resolutely lifting her chin.  “Come in Callie, please sit and have some tea.”

Our girl’s cheeks flushed.  “Thank you Mrs. Adams, I’d love to,” she said, and we stepped over the threshold into the imposing mansion.




Callie doesn’t know it, but my brother and I have our suspicions about Jane and John Adams.  On the surface, they’re a perfect family.  Generous donors to Canterdale, even sponsoring a scholarship for needy students, with a perfect, athletic son who was Harvard-bound.

But often it’s those who appear immaculate on the outside who have secrets to hide.  And we’d been tipped off by an unexpected source … Valerie, Chrissy’s sister.

The tip had been unexpected.  Bryan and I had been at the library, ostensibly studying but really trying to get to know some of the honors students who had palled around with Brian Adams and Tyler Needham.  After two hours of uninterrupted reading, a bunch of kids decided to step outside for a break, a few surreptitiously lighting cigarettes.

It was here that a girl with bleached blonde hair, slightly overweight but still attractive, approached the group.

“Oh great,” groaned Amy, a fussbudget.  “The former prom queen is back.”

That was interesting.  Why would someone who’d already graduated stop by study hall?

The girl sauntered over.

“Hey,” she said directly to us.  “I’m Val.  You’re Blake and Bryan, right?  The new guys?”

It was strange that she knew our names.  But okay, we’d roll with it.

“Yeah, I’m Bryan, this is Blake,” drawled my brother.  “Can we help you?”

“Not here,” she said, her nose wrinkling, looking around like there was a bad smell.  “This isn’t exactly where I’m most comfortable, if you get what I mean,” she said, eyeing the honors students with suspicion.

And they were eyeing her back with just as much distaste.  I could see why.  Val was dressed in wildly clashing leggings and a fur vest with heavy make-up, while the kids we were with were straight shooters, wearing button-down shirts with carefully pressed jeans.

“Val, just leave them alone,” said Amy, the bossy girl.  “Your time at Canterdale is over, seriously just go,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Valerie assumed a nasty expression.

“Shut up,” she spat.  “You know nothing about me and besides, I never graduated.  Maybe I’ll re-enroll and make your life hell,” she threatened.

“Oh god,” said another unnamed girl.  “Spare us, please.”

But we wanted to hear what the girl had to say.  So I stubbed out my cigarette and turned to Amy.

“Be back in five.  Come on Bryan,” I said.  “Let’s go to the bodega around the corner, I could use a coffee.”  High school kids were always there, buying sandwiches and drinks and whatnot.  We wouldn’t stand out.

And at the bodega, Val was shameless.

“Buy me a hot dog?” she said, a dog already in her hand.

Bryan snorted.  “We’re not exactly millionaires,” he said darkly.  “We live in a trailer.”

“Oh I know,” the blonde wheedled.  “But I could use a hot dog to relax, you know loosen up a little.”

“Fine,” said my brother gracelessly, plunking another five on the counter.  I knew he’d bill this to the SFPD.

The girl began gobbling up the hot dog as I tapped my foot impatiently.

“So what did you have to tell us?” I asked.  There was work to be done, and I didn’t want to waste time.

“I was just wondering,” she said through gobbled mouthfuls of food.  “Didn’t you guys do a make-up for biology recently?”

That caused us to stop short.  Yeah, we’d made-up the missed class and that’s where we discovered the cat with balloons of cocaine inside.  The techs at the station had since confirmed that it was pure 100% Colombian shit.  Quality product, not your usual street-level powder cut with detergent and wood pulp.

“Yeah,” tossed off my brother nonchalantly.  “What of it?”

“Well,” said Valerie, still chewing.  “I’d talk to the Adams about it.”

What the fuck?  Did she mean the John and Jane Adams, the parents of the dead boy?  Upstanding citizens and all that?

As if reading my mind, the chubby girl nodded, still chewing.  “Yep, those Adams,” she confirmed.

“Why?” I asked harshly.  “And what does this have to do with us?  We’re just transfers at Canterdale.”

That made the girl snort, almost spurting hot dog from her nose.

“Please,” she laughed, the first time we’d heard a genuine sound leave her mouth.  “You’re not senior transfers at all.  Who transfers during their senior year, months before graduation?  And who looks like you when they transfer?” she asked, pointedly gazing at our masculine physiques.  “You’re athletes, real athletes, not seventeen year-old boys pretending to play football.”

And she had a point there.  I guess people are willing to suspend disbelief, but only when they want to.  This mess of a girl, Valerie, had caught on immediately that something wasn’t right.

“Listen,” I said.  There was no point beating around the bush.  We only had a week left before the Cap had to report to City Hall, and desperately needed to break the case.  “What do you know?”

But Valerie was done.  “See for yourself,” she said ominously.  “Go and face the Adams … and be prepared,” she warned, before turning to leave the bodega.  “They’re no joke.”

I had no idea what she meant by that, but her comments had led us to this mansion, the setting a chintzy living room with an elderly, grieving mother and our best girl trying to make awkward conversation

“Mrs. Adams,” said Callie softly, a teacup balanced on her knee, “I’m so sorry for your loss.  I’m sorry that I didn’t come earlier to visit,” she said, hanging her head.  “I should have, I know.”

The older woman stroked the brunette’s curls, her withered hand trembling slightly.

“Don’t worry honey,” she said softly.  “We’ve all had a lot going on lately.  John and I … we’ve fallen apart in the worst possible way.”

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Callie hopefully, her eyes wide.  “You know I’d do anything.”

This made the older woman pause.

“Well, we need some help sorting through Brian’s things,” she said, her voice trailing off.  “We put them in the basement after his passing but it can’t stay there forever.”

I could see Callie go green at the thought of touching the dead boy’s possessions.  First the cat, now this.  Our girl hadn’t had a lot of luck getting plum assignments recently.

But my brother and I were more than happy to step in.

“We’ve got it under control, Mrs. Adams, just tell us where to look and we’ll bring the boxes up,” said Blake, standing up.

“Oh thank you,” said Jane.  “There are some plastic bins just to the left of the entrance.  If you could haul them up the stairs, I’d be so grateful.”

And so my brother and I got up to make ourselves useful.  The basement was accessible through a narrow, dark stairway, and I admit, we were intent on snooping around down there.  After what Valerie had told us, we’d be idiots not to at least look.

It was damned dark downstairs, and Bryan felt around for a light switch, clicking on a single harsh, bare bulb.  Nope, nothing looked out of place, just your usual storage space jam-packed full with an assortment of athletic equipment, a washer-dryer, that kind of thing.

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” whispered Bryan, indicating the rows of bins on either side.  We’d poke around a bit, see if anything interesting came up.

But that was when the door to the basement slammed shut, the bulb simultaneously snapping off to plunge us into darkness.

Instead of screaming or shouting, our police training immediately kicked in.  I could sense Bryan reaching for his gun and I did the same.  Yes, we were wearing concealed weapons, and rightfully so given that this mansion was a place of suspicion.

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” muttered Bryan again, repeating his phrase from before.

Because we were prepared … to fight or die.




The tea was slightly rancid, but I didn’t say anything.  I was here for more important things, mainly consoling my benefactors, Mr. and Mrs. Adams.

“Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do,” I said, tentatively biting into a cookie as we waited for Bryan and Blake to come up from the basement.  “I’m not sure exactly how I can be helpful, but really anything, just ask.”

Just then, a door slammed shut loudly, jarring in the quiet.

“What was that, my dear?” asked Mrs. Adams, perking up a bit.  “What were you saying?”

Was it my imagination or had the older woman just dropped ten years from her appearance?  She was already sitting up straighter, looking healthier, more vigorous.

“I was just saying that I’d be happy to help you out with anything you might need.  You’ve been so kind to me over the years.”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Adams, taking a big gulp of tea.  Okay, it definitely wasn’t my imagination.  Just two minutes earlier she hadn’t been able to drink anything, the grief overwhelming, and now here she was guzzling like a hungry bear.

“Mrs. Adams?” I said, as the woman looked around the living room.  “You were saying?” I asked, perplexed.

“Oh honey,” said the older lady, her voice strong and assured.  “You have no idea of the big favor you’ve done.”

I was really confused now.

“But I haven’t done anything,” I murmured, looking around.  Was she referring to the flowers?  “I mean, we haven’t sorted through your son’s stuff yet, not that I don’t want to, I’m just saying that I haven’t done anything of value.”

That made the older woman laugh.

“You silly, silly girl,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “You really have no idea, do you?”

Now I was genuinely confused.

“Mrs. Adams,” I said, setting my teacup down carefully.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.  Please, enlighten me.”  Where were Bryan and Blake?

But the woman saw me looking around and laughed raucously.

“Those boys aren’t going to be able to help you … and boys isn’t the right word to describe them either,” she snarked.

Of course not, they were more manly than most of the men I knew.  Bryan and Blake were mature, giving, kind and had it together.  That was saying a lot more than many adults out there.

But I couldn’t hide the look of confusion from crossing my face.

“Mrs. Adams, please, I’m tired of asking.  What exactly are you talking about?” I queried.

And the woman just rolled her eyes.

“You’ve been living with SFPD, didn’t you know?  Undercover cops,” she jeered.  “Did you really think Bryan and Blake Hanson were senior transfers to Canterdale?  In the middle of senior year?”

I gasped.  It couldn’t be.

“No, that’s not true,” I shook my head.  “They’re normal guys with aspirations to attend the Police Academy.  They told me so themselves,” I stated resolutely.

“You’re so stupid!” cackled the older woman.  “They are the police, they already graduated from the Academy.  Haven’t you noticed that classes seemed easy for them, that everything seemed too easy for two boys from a bad neighborhood in Queens?”

Well yes, but I thought it was because an intelligent mind could make up for a deficient education.  I’d never thought it was because they’d already graduated from high school … and not just high school but the academy, no less.

I was frozen with shock, suddenly realizing that there was some truth to what the hag was saying.

“But … but why are they here?” I asked tremulously.  “What’s going on at Canterdale that would merit undercover cops?”

“I’ll tell you,” said the old lady nastily.  “They’re here to bust a drug ring.  One that my husband and I run.”

That made me gasp.  Sure, there are kids with drug issues at school but it was just pot, chew, the small stuff.

The old hag cackled and spilled the beans.

“You stupid girl,” she said, an evil grin on her face.  “My husband and I have been running cocaine through San Francisco using Canterdale as a transfer station.  It’s never been easier, and so profitable until our boy died,” she lamented.

I was still confused.  I shook my head, my mind racing as I struggled to process the information.

“Mrs. Adams, what are you talking about?” I asked softly.  “What drug ring?  And what did Brian have to do with any of this?”

“Brian was our courier,” said Mrs. Adams offhandedly.  “Our son was the best courier you could ask for, a straight-A student with a Harvard admissions letter,” she bragged, “that is, until he got addicted to the junk himself.”

That made me gasp.  Brian was an athlete, there’s no way he could have been using and play football at the same time.

“Oh he was no good at sports,” waved his mom, “but he had a bright future.  We were just waiting to expand to Cambridge with his impending move East.   Imagine that,” she cackled again.  “A bunch of rich Ivy League kids with money to blow and time on their hands.  Perfect customers,” she summed.

“But why?” I asked, stunned.  “Why did Brian have to die?”

This made the old woman pause, looking momentarily sad.

“Brian decided to sample the stuff freshman year.  He started using, just a little bit at first to feel better, to build confidence, but it grew … and grew and grew.  Pretty soon he was a full-blown addict, we had to bribe his doctor to fake medical records to play football.  But he never stopped using despite our efforts.  You can’t use and sell successfully, you’ve got to maintain distance from the product,” she shook her head sadly.

But I was still confused.  “So the seizure he had during practice.  That was all fake?” I asked tremulously, shaking my head.

“No, that was real,” said the old woman.  “But Brian didn’t seize up due to some congenital heart problem.  He seized up because he was using and overdosed,” she said simply.

“But what about Tyler?” I asked.  “Was he using too?”

“Oh yeah,” cackled Mrs. Adams.  “I never liked that kid but Brian insisted we needed another courier for better distribution.  So John and I agreed to bring Tyler into the fold.  What a waste,” she added.  “He started in on the cocaine immediately and wasn’t able to get anything done,” she shook her head disgustedly.  “A total loss.”

I sat back, petrified with disbelief and fear.  What was happening?  What I’d expected to be a condolence call had turned into a nightmare tale of drug use and death.

“I need to go,” I said woodenly, getting up.  “I’ll just go and get Blake and Bryan, we’ll be out of your hair in a second.”

This made the woman blow a stream of air, the disbelief on her face evident.

“Didn’t I just tell you?  Bryan and Blake Hanson are undercover cops here to bust me and my husband,” she said impatiently.  “But you honey, led them right into the lair.”

What?  My head spun and I felt dizzy.

“There’s a mistake,” I said firmly.  “Just let us go and we won’t be back, I promise.”

“Sweetie,” said the old woman nastily.  “It’s too late … because the Hansons are probably dead already.”

And it was then that I fell into a faint, the world going black.


The single bulb light snapped off, the darkness ominous as my brother and I stalked silently in the Adams’ garage.  Shadows shifted along the concrete walls and I realized that we’d been played.

Bryan and I had accompanied Callie on a condolence call, thinking we’d do some  surveillance at the Adams mansion.  No sweat, I figured.  John and Jane Adams were elderly community benefactors, known for their generosity and good deeds.  It’d be an easy sweep, just some discreet poking around in the most innocuous ways.

But we’d underestimated the enemy.  Jane Adams had convinced us to check out the basement, allegedly to pick up some boxes belonging to her deceased son.  And like idiots, Blake and I had obeyed without a second thought, only to be trapped in the dank space now, underground, with no obvious out.

I silently cursed.  What the fuck was wrong with us?  Why had we acted like rookies?  I shook my head in disgust.  No use getting into it now, it was too late and I just prayed that Callie was alright upstairs as Bryan and I fought our way out of this trap.

Because I wasn’t worried per se.  You don’t go undercover unless you’re resourceful with a trick or two up your sleeve, kind of like a cross between MacGyer and James Bond.  So I calmly made my way to the corner of the basement and squatted silently in place, lowering myself to the concrete ground.  My footsteps had been inaudible and I could feel my pulse grind almost to a halt, my breath mere whispers in the cavernous space.  The Adams had to make a move sooner or later and I preferred to have my back to the wall, ready to strike.

There wasn’t long to wait.  I heard a scuffle to my left, about twenty feet away, Bryan engaging the enemy.  I could hear a muffled grunt, a growl and a thump as something hit the ground.

After about twenty seconds of silence, I called out.

“Yo,” I hissed.

More silence pounded until the light snapped on with a stunning glare.  There stood Bryan by the switch, blood running down from a cut on his forehead.  The stream was bright red, leaving a stain on his shirt, but I could tell that it was just a surface wound, nothing serious.  More telling was the body lying twenty feet from me in an unnaturally frozen angle.

“Oh shit,” I breathed.  It was the girl, Valerie, the one who’d tipped us off to the Adams.  She had seemed suspicious as shit, a high school dropout who allegedly had a secret child.  But now the girl was motionless on the ground, her body twisted awkwardly.

Valerie’s bleached blonde hair was dirty and unwashed, the circles under her eyes visible even in the dim light of the garage.  But it was the track marks on her arms that gave her away.  A junkie, clear as day, with a serious habit to boot.

I toed her body and to my relief, the blonde grunted, her eyes flickering open.  Okay, so her neck was at a weird angle but it wasn’t fatal.  She’d just have a sprain.

“What is this about?” I said, kneeling next to the blonde.  “Where are the Adams?”

Her eyes rolled back in her head momentarily and I thought I might lose her.  She emitted a series of gasping coughs and I rolled her over to her side, the better to keep her from choking.  But the girl was okay.  Looked like Bryan had administered a body block which would leave bruises but was hardly fatal.  She bent over, clutching her middle.

“Uhh, what have you done?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“Come on Valerie,” I said grimly.  “What’s this about?  Why did you lead us here?”

The blonde closed her eyes and drowsed her head wearily, but I wasn’t about to be deterred.

I shook her roughly, insistently this time.

“Come on,” I ground out.  “What do you know about the Adams?”

After a few more coughs, she managed to say a few words.

“John and Jane,” she rasped.  “Don’t trust them.”

“We know that,” I said sarcastically.  “But why?  And how the fuck do we get out of here?”

She nodded her head wearily towards a mess in the corner.

“Don’t trust my parents either,” she said faintly.  “I’ve been trapped,” she said, her voice trailing off.

What the fuck?  This was new.  But I looked more closely at the pile of recycling in the corner and realized that it wasn’t just a random series of boxes.  One of the boxes, which had probably once held a giant flat-screen TV, was cunningly assembled so that it provided a shelter of sorts.

In the meantime, my brother strode over and kicked the flimsy shanty, revealing rags interspersed with food and a saucer of water.

“Blake,” he ground out.  “She’s been kept here like a dog.”

Oh shit.  So Valerie had been imprisoned by the Adams in their garage, locked in slovenly, inhumane conditions.  But it got worse.  The girl coughed again.

“My parents,” she said weakly.  “Don’t trust them.  Not just them, no one in my family.”

This was just getting more and more twisted.  We’d attended the Gordons’ pool party earlier this year and although we hadn’t met the parents themselves, we’d met their daughter, the ebullient and boy-crazy Chrissy.  Chrissy also happened to be Callie’s best friend.  Oh shit, was our girl in danger upstairs?

“Valerie,” I rasped, my voice urgent now.  “Tell us if Callie’s in trouble.  We need to know.”

The blonde coughed again, her body jerking on the concrete floor, but I could tell she was slowly recovering.

“My parents,” she said wearily.  “My sister.  They’re running drugs in San Francisco, Canterdale is a distribution point.  The cocaine is shipped in with school supplies, and Chrissy picks them up before they flow through a network of couriers.”

Shit.  This was starting to make more sense.  The drugs came through Canterdale before Chrissy, the golden girl, picked up the loads, transporting them to her parents’ home.  The Gordons in turn acted as distributors, saturating San Francisco with junk.

“But what about the Adams?” I asked urgently.  “What’s their role in this?”

“The Adams are small-time distributors,” wheezed Valerie.  “My parents cut them in after their son got hooked.  The Adams didn’t care about their son,” she said bitterly.  “They just cared about the money they could make.”

Damn, but St. Francis Wood was some fucked-up neighborhood.  Picture perfect on the outside, but as deadly as a viper’s nest on the inside.  Actually, why was I surprised?  Parents who didn’t give a shit about their kids were de rigeur in rich enclaves.

But my brother and I were still trapped in this dank basement, with our girl upstairs.

“How do we get out of here?” I asked grimly.  The color was coming back to the blonde’s face.

“There’s no way,” she said sadly, shaking her head.  “Trust me, I’ve been living here for two years, I’ve checked every nook and cranny.  You got a fix for me?” she asked hopefully, her hands beginning to shake.

I shook my head with disgust but also sadness.  It was clear that Valerie was treated like an animal, drugged so that she lost consciousness, day passing into night, again and again and again.  They must have let her out that one day to talk to us at study hall, bribing her with more drugs, keeping her on a leash using her addiction.  Bryan and I were going to have to bootstrap our way out of this shithole.

I tried to shift the blonde into a more comfortable position on the floor, cushioning her limp body with some dirty rags.

“It hurts, I know, but you’re going to be fine,” I said grimly.  “Just hang tight.  We’ll be back.”

But she just shook her head wearily, her body in the throes of a spasm now.  “Don- don’t- leave me here,” she whispered.

“We won’t,” I promised, and locked eyes with my brother.  It was time to make a break.




Jane Adams glared at me with venom, her look pure evil.

“You think the cops are going to come for you now?” she jeered.  “Your so-called heroes are trapped in the basement with triple-reinforced locks, you might as well give up.”

I shook my head stubbornly.

“You don’t know Brian and Blake,” I said quietly.  “You don’t know them at all,” I emphasized.

The older woman cackled again.

“What is there to know?  Undercover cops are the worst of the lot, they get assigned to the easiest beats because they’re unfit to do anything else,” she shrugged.  “They’re not alpha males.  Try beta zeros instead.”

I shook my head in denial again.  Maybe Brian and Blake were cops, I could believe that.  They’d always seemed mature for high school but I’d always attributed it to their gritty New York roots, a life of hard-knocks.  I refused to believe that they were the runts of the litter, the ones that no one wanted.

“You’ll see,” I promised.  “Brian and Blake will surprise you.”

And as if on cue, we heard a series of noises emanating from the basement.  There were some grunts, some moans, and then a long ahhhhh of ecstasy.

“What is that?” squealed the old woman, her withered face crunching in disbelief.  “What the fuck?”

“Like I said, you don’t know them,” I said ominously.

The moaning continued with an unmistakable series of harsh grunts, then the sound of flesh slapping rhythmically.

“Oh god,” moaned a male voice, “Yeah, right there, in my ass!”

Jane Adams’ eyes almost popped off her face.  I could see the thoughts whirling through her head.

“Is it?  Could it?  No, not possible,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

But the next interlude from the basement made it clear there was something raunchy happening.

“Hit it hard brother,” growled a voice.  “Hit it, oh yeah, just like that, unnnnf.”

And I realized the strategy.  Bryan and Blake were engaging in some hot twincest to lure the enemy to the door and unspring the trap.

And it was working.  Jane Adams, all of seventy years old, got up unsteadily, her face a mask of unabated lust, her withered form animated with a tense energy.

“My years are limited,” she warbled as she teetered towards the basement.  “I’ve got to see those two gods having sex in my house,” she practically panted.

Limping towards the door, she reached out with an arthritic hand, a green laser on the knob.

Just then, an old man burst in from another room, his face frantic.

“Jane, don’t!” he shrieked, but it was too late.  The scanner had detected her fingerprint and the lock popped open with an audible click.  The elderly man threw himself against the entryway but Bryan and Blake moved too fast.  The door burst open and my two alpha males came rushing in, their nude forms muscled, hard and still erect from the fucking.

“Get away from her,” roared Bryan as he dragged me to safety.

“You two are disgusting,” snarled Blake as he threw a punch at the elderly man.

There was a ruckus and more screaming, but Jane and John Adams were subdued in thirty seconds flat, Blake’s massive form looming over them.  He had them trussed up and laid them out like hogs on the floor of their own living room, although Jane Adams’ eyes still flickered hungrily over his naked form.

“You were fucking your brother,” she panted, her eyes eating up the sight of his erect cock.

“Shut up,” Blake hissed.  “You’re a drug dealer, who’s going to believe you?” he snarled.

“Jane,” cried her husband.  “Why are you focusing on that now?  Where’s Valerie?  Call the Gordons.”

But Blake and Bryan were having none of that.  After depositing me safely in an armchair, Bryan ran back into the basement, coming out fully dressed with a blonde in his arms.  She was in bad shape, crumpled in pain, her hair matted and greasy.  I also didn’t miss the track marks on her arms and legs, the red streaks painful jags of lightning.

“Look what you’ve done to this girl,” hissed Bryan.  “You motherfuckers, treating her like an animal,” he cursed.

“She’s a junkie!” squealed Jane.  “She brought it on herself!”

“Addiction is a disease,” growled Bryan, “She needs empathy and rehabilitation, not incarceration in your homemade prison.”

“Her parents didn’t care,” protested John Adams from the floor.  “They gave her to us, otherwise Valerie would jeopardize our business.”

I gasped involuntarily, peering closely at the girl in Bryan’s arms.  Holy shit, it was Valerie Gordon, Chrissy’s older sister.  Hadn’t she been at the pool party just last semester?  I shook my head, furiously trying to remember.  Why hadn’t Chrissy said something if her sister was missing?  This was making no sense.

“Your business is dealing drugs to kids,” said Blake sarcastically.  “Valerie was the least of your problems, you took advantage of a child.”

“She’s not a child, she’s twenty years old!” cawed the old woman.  “She couldn’t take care of herself, she was causing problems for her parents and they asked us to lock her up.”

“No one should be keeping humans in cages,” said Bryan.  “Drug-addled or not,” he shook his head disgustedly.

By now, my head was spinning.  The Gordons had permitted their elder daughter to be locked in the Adams’ basement?  The Gordons, whom I’d spent so much time with, who’d been like a second set of parents when my mom couldn’t manage?

And Valerie blinked wearily, her eyes cracking open to look at me.

“Callie,” she said hoarsely.  “You were next.  You were so vulnerable, so needy all the time.  They already had a plan for you,” she confirmed.

And with that, I vomited.  The realization that I’d been a pawn, that my surrogate family had played me, took the wind out of my sails.  I wasn’t wanted … anywhere it seemed.




The saying that no good deed goes unpunished was true in this case.  The drug ring had been busted, its nefarious tentacles chopped off at the root due to our efforts.

“Good work boys,” said the Sarge in the privacy of his office.

“Sure no prob,” said Blake nonchalantly, slumping in his chair.  “What’s next?”

The Sarge frowned.

“That’s the problem,” he said.  “It seems that Internal Affairs wants to do an investigation of your … ahem, more questionable tactics.”

I sat up straighter.  “And what would that be?”  It could be several things, but what worried me most was our liaison with Callie.  She’d technically been underage when we began fucking, and IAB was full of assholes that would hold your feet to the fire for shit like that.

But the Sarge merely cleared his throat again, looking uncomfortable.

“The Adams say that you were … ahem … having sex with each other,” he mumbled.  “As in brother on brother, mano a mano.  Is that true?” he asked, squirming in his chair, unable to meet our eyes.

I was angry, but my face betrayed no emotion.

“Why would you ask that Sarge?  What makes you ask whether Blake and I fuck each other?”

“Well,” he mumbled.  “There was the Russian bathhouse incident a couple years back, and now the Adams are saying that you pounded each other in the basement of their house.  Not that I’m saying you did,” he clarified quickly.

My face assumed a hurt look.

“Sarge, you’d believe drug dealers over guys on your own squad?” I said plaintively.  “That hurts, that really hurts.”

“I know,” rushed Sergeant Collins.  “It’s just that I have to ask because it was in the Adams’ witness statement.”

“Well you can tell IAB to stuff it up their asses,” snarled Blake.  “That’s fucking disgusting.  If they really think that about us, then we’ll hand in our badges, no prob.”

“Son,” said the Sergeant.  “Just tell me it didn’t happen and I’ll get these fuckers off your tail.  I find it as offensive as you.”

“Of course it didn’t happen,” I snorted.  “It was all playacting to get Jane Adams to unlock the door.  We weren’t actually banging each other, please.”

The Sergeant looked relieved.  Bisexuality, much less twincest, makes people uncomfortable, questioning their ethics and beliefs at the deepest level.  But we’d reassured the Sarge with our macho, no-bull behavior, the same way we’d pulled the wool over so many peoples’ eyes in the past.

“And you didn’t touch the girl either, right?” he asked, more as an afterthought.

“You mean the junkie Valerie?” I clarified.

But the Sarge shook his head slowly.

“No, IAB wanted to verify that you didn’t touch Callie Walsh, the girl who accompanied you to the Adams’ house.”

This was trickier.  Blake and I had no trouble lying about the twincest but lying about Callie somehow felt wrong.  It was vile to pull an innocent eighteen year-old into this cesspool, especially a girl we loved.

Because we realized that we wanted Callie to be a part of our lives permanently.  She was sweet, innocent, and fresh, yet with a womanly air that entranced us completely.  Callie had accepted our twin bisexuality, and was also accepting of the career path we had chosen.  Undercover police work was necessarily dangerous and there would be long periods where we would be separated.  But her graciousness and loving attitude was all we needed.

“Blake, Brian,” she’d said, her voice dulcet.  “I guess the Police Academy was just a front?”

My brother shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Well, we have been to the Academy, it’s just that we graduated a couple years ago,” he said, his cheeks flushing a bit.  That was a first.  Usually Blake’s unflappable, so smooth with the ladies.  But I could see that he was unnerved by our girl calling him out.

“Well, what was that about visiting the precinct then?” she asked.  “Did you actually go and talk with some police officers?”

I cleared my throat slightly.  “Yeah, we dropped by,” I said slowly, “but we went to see the Sarge, provide an update, you know that sort of thing.  It was an opportunity we couldn’t resist,” I clarified.

“So then it was another move from your playbook, wasn’t it?” she said, frowning a bit.

“Yeah, kinda,” I admitted.

“Was I just another means to an end?” she asked, her frown deepening.  “A way to get what you wanted?”

“Of course not,” I rushed, the words tripping over my tongue.  I too, wasn’t my usual self, wanting to make a good impression on Callie, to keep her close without getting too much into the take-no-prisoners ethics of police work.  “You were something, I mean someone, that happened to us unexpectedly.  You were a boon, a lucky break, but we’ve never taken you for granted.  You were the best thing about this mission,” I added hopefully.

“But what about breaking up the drug ring?  Surely the commendations you’re going to get are the best thing,” she wavered, unconvinced.

Blake let out a deep chuckle.

“Little girl, that’s the thing about undercover work.  There’s no recognition for what we do.  Our work is never going to be acknowledged, much less exposed.  In fact, graduation’s right around the corner and Brian and I are going to walk,” he said with a wry grin.

“Oh really?” said Callie, disbelieving.  “You’re going to don the brick and mortar, go up on stage, all that?  The mission’s not over already?”

I nodded in confirmation.  Like true professionals, Blake and I were tying up all loose ends, dotting every I and crossing every T.  To the wider world, we’d just be two more seniors receiving diplomas from Canterdale, two more faces in the crowd.

My brother nodded in affirmation.  “Yep, we’re going to walk and we want to do it with you.”

This time Callie flushed, the pink running beautifully up her cheeks.

“I’d like that,” she said softly.  “I’d like that a lot,” she repeated, while melting into our arms.

And you can imagine what happened afterwards.  Her feminine form was warm and trusting again, her lusciousness providing what our male bodies needed.  She gasped in our arms as I lapped at her nipples, my brother’s mouth finding its way to her bottom.  When she was wet with his saliva, her pussy slowly leaking cream, we positioned her between us.

“Yes,” she moaned breathily, nude on her hands and knees.  “Yes, yes, yes.”

And Blake and I looked at each other over her writhing form.  The yesses were gratifying because we had a surprise for her that required a yes – a permanent one at that.

But in the meantime, we were in the throes of enjoying each other’s bodies, and this was an opportunity not to be missed.  Blake slowly tilted Callie’s chin down and inched his massive dong into her willing mouth, feeding her until her cheeks bulged, the spongy tip visibly moving down her slender throat.

In the meantime, I thrust two fingers into Callie’s behind, making her jolt, startled, choking in surprise around the hot meat stuffed in her mouth.  But what was coming wasn’t easy and I wanted her to be ready.  Pulling my fingers out, I massaged her anus, that little pucker loosening slightly around my massive digits.

Swiping her pussy quickly, I lubed up my fingers and stuffed them into her butt.

“Here goes,” I growled, before pushing my shaft against that tiny dark star.

“Unnf!” Callie moaned around the shaft in her mouth as her little anus struggled to accommodate my penis.  It was tight, but I forced it, insistently increasing the pressure until with a pop, her rectum gave and I slid in, that veiny girth invading her backside.

“Unnnnf!” she moaned around the dick in her mouth, choking again.

“Keep going, brother,” groaned my twin.  “Her mouth tightens when she’s got dick up her butt.”

And so I eased myself in further, caressing her GI tract with my veiny length, pulling in and out, watching with avid hunger as her little hole struggled against the assault of my cock.

“That’s it, little girl, that’s how you take it,” I encouraged roughly, my big hands circling her tiny waist.  And I savored the visual of that round, juicy rump, plump and trembling as I violated her ass, her pussy dripping wetly down her thigh.  God, this girl was the answer to our dreams.

I want to say that I lasted for hours, but the dry, tight friction was too much and I could feel the pressure building in my balls, the unmistakable crescendo of release.

“Get ready, brother,” I panted, hissing slightly.  “I’m about to …”

With a massive roar, I unleashed, the cream spurting forcefully up the little girl’s butt, spraying her insides with hot male jism.  My brother found his end as well and his groans joined mine as he orgasmed, his sperm filling Callie’s mouth with white, choking her, the goo seeping from the corners of her mouth as she gasped futilely.

But this was exactly how we liked to see our girl.  Filled with life force from both sides, branding her a Hanson girl.  Because Callie would be ours … to keep.




The last few weeks have been an unbelievable whirlwind.  Despite the fact that Blake and Brian busted a major San Francisco drug ring, life continued as usual on the outside.  There were no newspaper stories, no TV spots, not even an article in Canterdale High’s school paper.  Like true undercovers, their work was best done out of the spotlight and there would be no recognition for their brilliance.

But I was determined to reward them in my own way.  I was in love with these two men, these hotly bisexual twins who rang my every bell and whistle.  Our lovemaking had reached new heights after the bust at the Adams house, and the little trailer shook each night with our moans, the scent of sex so strong that it was a permanent musk in our home.

And I took comfort in the arms of my two lovers.  Because the Walsh family had truly fallen apart, and I’d given up trying to explain my situation to my mom.

“Ma, I’m getting married,” I said abruptly one day at brunch.  “And I’m not going to college.”  Might as well drop both bombs at once.

“What do you mean?” she said, an ugly expression on her face.  “Don’t tell me it’s to that twin … or one of the twins.  How can they provide for you?  They’re high school boys,” she said, her face twisted in scorn.

“Ma, you don’t need to worry about us,” I said shortly.  “Not that you do,” I added under my breath.

But my mom went on like nothing had changed.

“Don’t you want to be a part of the Sterlings’ world?” she asked plaintively.  “You’ll never fit in with a blue collar husband,” she said.

I sighed.  She hadn’t even asked which twin I was getting married to, it mattered so little.  All that mattered was social standing and making sure that her upcoming wedding to Harold Sterling was the talk of the town.  If I showed up on the arm of a police officer, she was sure the world would blow up, that people would talk about her “lowly connections.”

I shook my head again, exasperated.

“We’ll be fine, okay Ma?” I said tiredly.  “We won’t ask for money, I promise.”

“Money!” she screeched.  “Who said anything about money?  I never offered you any financial help.”

“Right,” I said slowly.

“What about the Gordons?” she said.  “I know you’re close with their daughter Chrissy.  What do they think about your upcoming nuptials?”

This was going to be hard to break.  The Gordons had been like a second set of parents to me, surrogates in light of my own dysfunctional clan.  My eyes filled with tears because they were nothing like I’d imagined – they’d been running a drug ring in the city, with Canterdale High as a drop-off and distribution point.

And their daughter Chrissy, my best friend.  She’d been in on it all along, acting as a courier for her parents, getting rich on the backs of high school junkies.

“Chrissy, why?” I’d asked plaintively, visiting her in jail.  She was to be tried as a juvenile, her case bifurcated from her parents.  “Why did you guys do this?”

She’d shrugged, her blonde hair glossy even in the dim light of the county jail.  Her expression was haughty but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Why else?” she sniffed.  “Money.  We needed it, we couldn’t keep up with everyone else in St. Francis Wood, so Mom and Dad decided to go for it,” she shrugged.  “I can’t help that Brian Adams and Tyler Needham got addicted.  It was their own fault,” she snapped.

“But you didn’t have to work for your parents,” I said slowly.  “You didn’t have to make drug dealing a family business.”

“I know,” she tossed off nonchalantly.  “But Valerie didn’t join and look what happened to her?  A junkie in rehab without a penny to her name.”

That was true.  Valerie had been in bad shape since her rescue, entering a live-in addiction center in Southern California, her health precarious.  But at least there were no charges pending against Valerie, even the DA recognized that she’d caught a bad break.

“Valerie made her choices, and they were hard ones,” I said slowly.  “But …” I shook my head.  “Why didn’t you tell someone?  Why did keep this secret?  I would have helped you get out.”

“Oh please Callie,” blew Chrissy impatiently.  “Please, your family is a bigger mess than mine, your sister a so-called porn star, your other sister stole her fiancé, all that shit.  So don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped.

A stricken look on my face, I turned to go.  This was a total one-eighty.  Chrissy and the Gordons had always been so kind to me, but I guess it had always been a farce.  I suppose they’d never cared about me, I was just an innocent school friend who provided a layer of normalcy to cover their deception.

“Okay,” I said slowly, as the guard arrived at the gate.  “I guess this is goodbye then,” I said.  “But I wanted to let you know … I’m getting married to Blake Hanson.”

“Oh good,” snarked Chrissy.  “That leaves Bryan for me.”

I shook my head again.  The cold, hard facts obviously still hadn’t penetrated Chrissy’s head yet.  She didn’t realize that she was looking at five years in the slammer minimum.  Sentencing was tough, even for minors.

Softly I murmured, “Goodbye Chrissy,” turning to leave.

But only silence followed me, echoing in the jail cell.  I really was dead to my closest friend, our ties severed forever.



Nothing will bring Tyler Needham and Brian Adams back.  They live on in our memories as nice boys who met untimely deaths, Brian on the football field and Tyler after an unexplained fainting spell.  Only a few know the terrible truth – that they were innocent boys drawn into a dark web of greed, lies, and crime.

I wish things had worked out differently, I really do, but at least the crisis has changed my life for the better.  I’ve learned who’s really on my side and who’s just using me as a pawn.  Unfortunately, the world is filled with people who don’t give a shit about you, whether real or surrogate families.

So I’m lucky that I have my husbands with me, twin bedrocks of solace and support.  Although I was only able to marry Blake at City Hall, in fact we have a very workable threesome, Bryan, Blake and I.   I still remember the ceremony.  I walked towards Blake in a wispy white dress, escorted by Bryan.  The city official looked at me askance when I didn’t let go of Bryan’s arm at the altar.

“Ms. … um, Ms. Walsh,” he stuttered.  “You realize you can only marry one man?”

“Of course,” I said sweetly.  “But Bryan means just as much to me as Blake and we’re three witnesses to this holy covenant.”

The official shrugged helplessly.  He’d seen all sorts of kooks in San Francisco and it was no crime to have an additional observer at the altar.

So when he’d pronounced us man and wife I hadn’t hesitated to give Blake a kiss, and then turn and lock lips with Brian as well, our breaths mingling hotly, the sensation bringing my toes to a curl.

“Mmm, wifey,” he murmured, his lips hungry on mine, “you taste delicious.”

“Mine too,” rumbled Blake from the other side, his hand possessive on my hip, trailing slowly to my bottom, squeezing the juicy flesh there.

“Boys,” I giggled.  “I belong to both of you because I’m addicted.”

And it’s true.  My addiction to the Hanson twins is a raging infliction … that will never be cured.


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