Daddy's Pretty Baby

by Cassandra Dee

  She was listening, but only sort-of. Her expression was still glazed, even worshipful as she took in our cocks, both of them ramrod straight and pointed directly at her.

  “But …” she said breathily.

  And this time when she reached out to touch Holt’s massive pole, he didn’t stop her. That little hand stroked it gently at first, tracing along a pulsing vein that ran across the top, toying at the tip with delicate touches.

  She brought her fingers to her mouth, licking gently at the tips.

  “Mmm, tastes good,” she said, her little pink tongue darting out to sample my brother’s pre-cum.

  And that was the end. I could see the lust raging in my twin, just as it did in me, both of us ready to go, to devour this little chickadee. Our cocks were already out and the female was nude, flushed and plump, ready for us.

  And so it happened, Summer riding my bro’s cock as I reamed her in the back, doing her double. It wasn’t purposeful, we hadn’t meant to DP her the first time, but she’d been so sweet, so willing, that ass so juicy, her cunny so wet, that it just worked out that way.

  And when she’d creamed with both of us inside, we knew it’d been the right call. Only the best girls are able to orgasm hard with both our rods inside, and my bro and I gave it up too, filling her with our semen, the jism leaking out wetly after it was all over.

  And Summer had sighed, wiggling her hips a little, savoring the feel of us inside.

  “Oh god,” she’d moaned, leaning back against my chest. I pulled at her nips slightly and she squealed, giggling, jiggling her hips again.

  Holt’s hands shot out to keep her steady, grip her around the waist.

  “Chickie you better watch what you’re doing,” he warned, eyes already growing dark again, “otherwise we’ll be spending another half hour in here.”

  “Oh,” moaned Summer again, eyes still closed, a half-smile on her lips. But reluctantly, she sat up and smiled.

  “I guess I should go, huh,” she murmured, “I have laundry duty today.” That’s the thing about charity work in the woods – we take turns doing laundry, there are too many soiled sheets and linens from the surgeries that everyone has to pitch in.

  “Laundry huh?” I growled, eyeing her hungrily. We were still embedded deep, her pussy and ass wrapped around our rods, and it wouldn’t be too hard to start thrusting again, to take her once more.

  But Summer was already starting to stand, pulling up, and we watched, mesmerized, as our donkey dongs exited her warm cavities, the sweet flesh gripping us, as if reluctant to let go. Our poles appeared inch by inch, glistening, shiny with fluids, wet with cum.

  “Mmm,” she moaned as she stood, savoring the feel of two rods sliding out. “Oh mmm.”

  And finally with a last slip, we were out, her pinkness still wet and quivery, pulsing a bit as if already missing our shafts. And the brunette shot us one last smile.

  “See you around Holt, Hayden,” she murmured, while pulling on her shorts and t-shirt. “It was nice showering with you,” she said giggling, her voice trailing away as she exited the bathroom.

  And my bro and I looked at each other. The girl was curvy, ripe, and luscious, not to mention intelligent with an awesome sense of humor. We were hooked … and determined to get a second taste.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Holt

  How the hell did my brother and I end up seducing a sweet college intern in the remote mountains of Slovania? While on a charity medical mission no less? It’s a long story, but I should tell you from the beginning because it’s a juicy one for the ages.

  You know the phrase “to the manor born?” Well, that describes Hayden and I because we really are nobility. We weren’t just born in a manor – we were born in Konstadt Palace itself, the sons of King Constantine of Slovania, with titles, lands, and a massive family fortune.

  Our family wasn’t always royalty, only since oh about eight hundred years or so. Back then, there was a warlord who had a fort. Despite his fighting prowess, he was struck by the Black Death and only survived because of the diligent efforts of his personal doctor, Halborg. Grateful to Halborg, the warlord bestowed the good doctor with a landed estate nearby.

  And over the next couple generations, the Halborg family grew in prominence until they were viewed as the “Great House” of the surrounding lands. The warlord by now was long gone, his descendants scattered and fortune dispersed. But the Halborg family continued to multiply and thrive, calling themselves “Lord,” then “Duke,” then “Archduke,” and finally “King.”

  So it’s a hereditary throne, our dad King Constantine, our mom Queen Consort, and our older brother, Halson, the Crown Prince. Hayden and I? We’re back-ups, royal spares in case something goes off track.

  But don’t get me wrong – it’s effing awesome to be younger sons. First off, all the attention was focused on Halson. Our poor older brother grew up under the limelight, crushed by constant public interest. The guy is naturally introverted and I think the relentless glare damaged him even further, making him withdraw into his shell.

  By contrast, Hayden and I, as younger sons, had the freedom to do our thing, live up the royal lifestyle with family fortune, name and prestige backing us all the way. And it’s been fucking awesome. We just returned from a year-long tour of the continent, and yeah, we’d sowed our wild oats with plenty of pretty girls, both the ones from noble houses and the wenches at the local bar. Hopefully, our debauched ways haven’t led to any bastard children … yet.

  But despite the press painting us as sordid playboys, we’re actually decently intelligent with a reasonable work ethic. Sure, we grew up spoiled but Hayden and I have always wanted to make something of ourselves. So we applied ourselves in school, pretending to be idiots but actually getting good grades and learning a lot. And it’s paid off. We survived medical school, the grueling rounds, the endless tests and practical exams and are full-fledged doctors now, him with a specialty in plastics and me in lasers. It’s a royal double whammy. If a pretty girl ever needs a boob job or butt lift, Hayden and I are your men, bring those jigglers our way.

  Take last month for example. We’d had a giant party at our apartment and it’d gotten out of hand, three girls at once, the five of us a panting mess on the big circular bed.

  “Please,” begged one girl, “do me again,” she said, wiggling her ass.

  I’d teasingly run a hand along her pussy lips, stroking those wet folds.

  “Mmmm,” she purred, her bottom quivering. “Again, again!”

  But I’d done this so many times in the past that all I felt was boredom now. Was the only word she knew “again”? I wasn’t expecting much, but more than a one-word wonder.

  Then again, the girls we sleep with aren’t exactly top notch in the intelligence department. Okay, I admit, they’re usually really dumb. Really, really dumb. Plus, the three we had in bed with us looked eerily similar, almost out of the Twilight Zone. All blonde, thin and Barbie-like, I couldn’t even tell them apart despite the fact that I’d been in each of their bodies not five minutes before.

  “Honey,” I murmured. “Let me give you my card. Maybe you’d like to come in for a tune-up, I can help you get rid of that frozen expression.”

  And despite the fact that I’d just insulted her, the woman giggled, her boobs quivering.

  “Oh sure Hayden, I mean Holt,” she tittered. “Yeah, my last Botox session didn’t go so well. See?” she demonstrated, halfway smiling, lips pulling up slightly at the corners. “That’s as far as my lips go now.”

  It was mind-boggling. The girl had given up her ability to smile in return for a wrinkle-free complexion, and suddenly, the superficiality of it all overwhelmed me like a wave, making me depressed and moody.

  “Brother,” I grunted, “your turn,” I said, rolling the bimbo towards Hayden. But my twin wasn’t feeling it either, and he just ignored the chick’s pleas, instead hauling his massive form out of bed towards the shower. Guess she wasn’t going to get that
complimentary beauty session next week after all.

  So as you can tell, my bro and I party it up … a lot. Everything’s up for grabs, the hottest chicks, the bangest parties, the most depraved situations imaginable.

  And that leads to the next natural question. Do we always do girls together? What do you think? Because oh yeah. Hell yeah. It’s our thing, everything’s cranked up twice as hot, twice as nice. Girls always seem to perform better if they’ve got two men petting them, stroking them, they’re able to come harder, suck faster, their pussies tighter if Hay and I go at them in tandem. And the women never, and I mean never, say no.

  But all this has its downside, at least for our dad. Partying non-stop, banging different girls each night, their faces anonymous, blurring into a haze, has caused a minor public relations scandal, consternation brewing in noble circles. So Constantine called us in a froth, livid, practically spitting.

  “Get a grip,” he’d screamed at the family dinner table. The fam doesn’t get together often, but today was an exception. My mom sat at my right, delicate and frail, and big bro Halson was slumped to the left, a shadow of a man. By comparison, Hayden and I were bursting with health, muscular, athletic, vital.

  “Why, what’s wrong?” I asked, bored already. Our dad can be a nag even though he’s king. You’d think he’d have more important things to worry about with a country to run, but no. It’s been like this ever since we were fifteen and took turns with the headmaster’s daughter. Hey, the girl was ready and willing, so why not?

  But all that was lost on Constantine. He’s retro, real old-school, so he snorted and glared at us disbelievingly.

  “I got a call from Ursuline the other day,” he raged. “She says you left her daughter crying.”

  Ursuline was actually Duchess Ursuline, a scheming old crone who’d managed to worm her way into my father’s good graces. I was sure she was after something else completely, this was just a distraction.

  “Why?” I asked curiously. “What did Emmy say?”

  “Ursuline said,” continued my dad, “that Emmeline didn’t come down from her room for two days after attending a party at your place,” he spit out accusingly.

  My brother and I shared a glance. Emmy had been a total slut that night, begging us to use her body, pleading with us to take her virginity before she left for finishing school. And my bro and I had obliged. It’s the best going-away present for a nubile, willing girl because these so-called “finishing schools” were total bullshit. There was no studying, it was all about girls gone wild, flaunting their bodies before being married off to some boring small-time aristocrat.

  And I suspected our dad knew, he just wanted to get on our case for some reason or other, give us the third degree.

  “Oh that,” I said vaguely. “Emmy’s cute, yeah I’m not sure what happened to her at the party, it seemed like she was having a good time.”

  “Having a good time?” roared Constantine. “Her mom said she wouldn’t come downstairs for two days.”

  Downstairs was a quaint way to refer to Edenwood Castle. That place was fifty rooms, it was more like Emmy wouldn’t leave her wing of the house.

  But this was all beside the point. The girl was a happy camper when we left her, our cum leaking from her cunny, and if she’d used it as an excuse to avoid her hag of a mom, then it was no business of ours.

  “Listen,” Hayden said irritably. “If you want to rag on us for being us, then just say so. No need to bring Emmeline into it, she had a good time at the party, we’re sure of it. What’s your problem anyways? Holt and I are upstanding citizens, doctors no less. You got a problem with that?”

  My dad snorted.

  “My sons are doing boob jobs and butt lifts,” he said, rolling his eyes. “How does that help the kingdom?”

  Hayden just shook his head.

  “Dad, seriously,” he snarled. “You get a grip. The women we treat want these procedures because their self-image is distorted and with the surgeries, they’re able to go out and be themselves, live a fuller life.”

  I nodded in agreement because what Hay was saying was true. But there was no getting through to Constantine.

  “It’s disgraceful for the King’s sons to be doing facelifts, sucking fat out of women’s thighs,” he yelled. “Why couldn’t you be cancer doctors or heart specialists?”

  I rolled my eyes. It’s true that oncologists and cardiologists do good work, but it wasn’t the type of medicine we were interested in. We love beauty, and there’s nothing like lifting an attractive woman to the next level. So we’d devoted our practice to making women feel good about themselves with fillers, lasers, whatever tools were needed to help them live more fulfilled lives.

  But the King couldn’t see it.

  “You’re a public relations nightmare,” he ground out. “My sons touching women’s buttocks as ‘part of their job’? Think of the liability, the opportunities for sexual harassment claims.”

  That was true, but that was also what insurance was for.

  “Anyways,” continued Constantine, “I’ve decided that you should join a medical mission coming to Slovania.”

  I groaned. I hated these things, where doctors and nurses spent their vacations in some rural area, donating their services to people in need. It wasn’t our thing, we preferred glitzy nights in St. Tropez or yachting in the balmy seas of St. Barts. Roughing it wasn’t exactly our definition of a good time.

  “No thanks,” I drawled. “Not necessary.”

  But my dad continued.

  “The mission’s going to be in the Kolstya Mountains, it’s called Operation Smile, providing plastic surgery to kids with cleft palates,” he said sternly.

  And I sighed because clearly, the King had done some research. Cleft palate corrections were actually operations that we could do. Of course, we hadn’t done one in a long while because boob jobs and butt lifts are our bread and butter, but cleft lips and cleft palates are relatively common, about two per thousand births in the developed world. We’d done them during residency, so yeah, this was something in our skill set.

  “Why, what’s in it for us?” I tossed out.

  My dad shot me a shriveling look.

  “Can you stop acting like spoiled princes for once?” he frothed. “Help your people for a change. Go out there and use your skills for good, stop servicing divorcees desperate to look twenty again.”

  He had a point. The endless partying had gotten to us, even we were bored of it now. Plus, the Kolstya Mountains were beautiful, we hadn’t been there since we were boys. Maybe getting into nature would help us shake off our malaise, make us hungry for life again.

  So grudgingly, my brother and I agreed.

  “Fine Dad,” I said, inhaling my salmon fillet. Damn, it was really good, the palace kitchens had perfected the tart lemon glaze on the fillet. “But we insist on going anonymously.”

  My dad snorted.

  “That does nothing for your reputations. If you want to rehabilitate yourselves in the eyes of our people, you need to be trumpeting to the world that you’re helping sick kids,” he grunted.

  “Naw Dad,” said my brother smoothly. “Let’s go slow, one step at a time okay? Just getting us out there for two weeks is enough, maybe next time we’ll tip off the reporters.”

  And so it was settled. Hayden and I were volunteering two weeks of our time in the Kolstya Mountains, the boonies of Slovania, mending the smiles of poor kids with a group of American doctors.

  And you know what? It wasn’t bad at all. I’m not much one for charity work, but this felt good. The kids were cute, heartbreakingly young in some cases, all from destitute families. But their smiles after they awoke from the operation were the best. Even I, heartless bastard that I am, got the warm fuzzies when a two-year old little girl smiled at me, her lips straight and even for the first time in her life.

  The problem was our supplies. The mission brought all supplies needed for the two-week stay, from band-aids to blood thinners, jus
t in case we didn’t have access to something for whatever reason. You never know in these poor, rural regions. Sometimes things just vanish, and it’s not like Amazon delivers here.

  But despite the meticulous planning of our operations guy, we kept running short because things kept disappearing, far faster than they were being used. At first, we just figured it was the villagers taking things. They have so little that anything extra was a blessing.

  But the stealing grew more blatant, people making off with our stuff like it was theirs. And when it hit our drug supply, then we knew that shit was going down. The villagers shouldn’t have been taking anesthetics, this was stuff that could only be administered under the guidance of medical professionals, narcotics that were lethal if abused.

  Plus, the stuff was medical-grade, drugs that were totally pure, able to command the highest prices on the streets of Europe. So yeah, when we realized there was a problem, we’d directed our head of security to surveil the camp on the sly, figure out what the hell was happening to the drug supply.

  And our results so far? Nothing. Zero. Splat. Despite security surrounding our camp in the woods 24/7, watching our every move, we still had no idea who was making off with this stuff. Morphine, codeine, fentanyl, it was disappearing … and probably into the wrong hands.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Summer

  I wandered into the dining hall after my liaison with the twins, my body still humming, incredibly relaxed yet alert at the same time. Jenny caught sight of me and patted a chair next to her.

  “Summer, where have you been?” my friend asked plaintively. “I saved some food for you.”

  I looked down at the plate of dinner rolls, with just a smidge of butter on the side.

  “Thanks,” I said with a smile. “You’re a lifesaver.” Jenny knew I was vegetarian and likely the meal options had been meat … cow, sheep, or goat, take your pick.

  No worries though, I was hungry and took a bite of bread. Or tried to take a bite, my teeth making nothing but an imprint on the dough. Ouch. Oh yeah, the rolls were unleavened and hard as rock, nothing like the soft, fluffy white dinner rolls I was used to back in the States. With a sigh, I put it down. It’d be soda crackers in our cabin again.