Daddy's Pretty Baby

by Cassandra Dee

  This made no sense. Summer was here as a guest, not as the latest hoochie on stage. But Marko kept going.

  “She was so beautiful, so insistent, that we let her take the stage,” he shouted over the noise. “She will make many lirah.”

  And that got my attention. Her beauty? Lirahs? WTF?

  Hayden was already ahead of me.

  “Brother,” he ground out, nodding at the stage. “Look.”

  Because Summer was on-stage and amazing to behold. She danced like a pro, shimmying her hips in time to the music, letting the traditional Slovanian beat carry her away.

  Throwing her brunette curls over her shoulders, the girl bent over, lovingly running her hands down her calves. They were tight, taut, and showed off to the max in four-inch heels, elongating her legs, making her look even more like a nubile fawn.

  But Summer balanced carefully, swinging one foot around so that she was perched precariously at the edge of the stage. And as she bent over, her dress rode up, revealing inch after inch of creamy thigh.

  It was here that my dick punched out, public place or not. Because the brunette’s thighs are one of her best assets. Instead of skinny sticks, Summer’s got fleshy, meaty drumsticks, perfect for devouring. And she knew just how to work it.

  Slowly bumping her butt up and down, her thighs jiggled in time to the music, up, down, up, down, her head thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy as she danced. She wiggled, shimmied and sighed, all the while humping her butt in rhythm and the crowd went crazy, stamping their feet, cawing with cackles, egging her on. More than a few lirah were already drifting around her sensual form, falling like snowflakes to the ground.

  And Summer kept going. Sweeping a fistful of money up in her hand, she lifted the hem of her dress slightly so that her g-string came into view, that strip of purple silk bisecting two perfect, round ass cheeks. Just like her thighs, they were perfect for licking and biting, juicy grapefruits ready to explode.

  But she knew how to work it. Grasping the bills in her hand, Summer stuck them into her panties one by one, lifting her g-string at the crotch to lovingly run the money over her pussy, moistening the bills, before tucking them in at the hip.

  And then it got even dirtier. She shimmied out of her dress so that her gazongas were bare, those pale Double Ds on display in the low lights, the dress nothing more than a pool of purple silk on the floor. Getting on her hands and knees the brunette began crawling towards a man, a younger one sure, handsome by some standards if you liked craggy brows and black hair.

  But I could see why she was doing it. Because the dude had a bill in his hand and even in the low light, everyone could tell what it was. It was a thousand lirah note, the aqua ink clearly visible, the hologram almost blinding in its authenticity. Hayden and I watched, immobile, as she approached him on her hands and knees, licking her lips lasciviously, wiggling her ass, bare except for her high heels and the g-string bulging with notes.

  The dude was practically salivating, staring at her, his dick already out, massive and pulsing, ready to run his hands all over her body, make her work for that bill, but Hayden and I weren’t going for it. In fact, we were absolutely incensed at the thought of him touching her. Sure, some petting is okay but the guy looked like he was ready to run his rod into her body, spurt his essence into her moist spaces.

  So we put a stop to it.

  Flicking open my wallet, I pulled out a bill and handed another to my bro.

  “Yo!” I called to the manager. “Here,” I commanded.

  Marko was on it immediately, signaling to the lighting guy, directing him to put spotlights on us.

  Because we held bills of another denomination altogether. Golden in color, almost garish with sparkles, the ten thousand dollar notes gleamed under the lamps, decorated with elaborate scrolls, a stag prancing in the air, and best of all, the twin images of Hayden and I emblazoned on its face.

  That’s right. We’re memorialized on our country’s biggest bill, our images handsome and imposing right above the words “In God We Trust.” And best of all, Summer would be getting our faces in her sweet spot … in more ways than one.

  Hayden beckoned and Summer immediately swiveled, leaving the loser dude gaping, his dick deflated. She pranced our way, still clad in nothing but that purple g-string, the sliver of fabric between her legs by now sopping wet, her pussy lips gleaming on each side.

  “Come closer little girl,” I growled, my eyes never leaving her form, caressing her with my gaze.

  My brother, meanwhile, gestured to her to lay down on the stage, hoots and hollers a raucous din surrounding us. Obligingly, Summer reclined on her back, parting her legs in a slight vee. But my twin was having none of that.

  “Wider,” he commanded, and the girl spread further, those beautiful, meaty thighs revealing her pink pussy, lips puffy, wet and gleaming.

  “Now hold yourself open like we taught you,” he growled, and Summer obeyed. Spreading her fingers into a vee, her hand snuck down to cunny, spreading those lips, revealing the ruby grapefruit inside. And the crowd roared with approval because there had never been anything more beautiful. The deep pink pulsed with arousal, wet, fleshy in contrast to the pale white of her lips, the girl pulling up her knees up high to give everyone a good look.

  And my bro, ever the master, reached between her legs and snapped off her g-string with a mighty twist of the wrist. The fabric zinged into the air and a small scuffle ensued, probably dudes trying to catch it, an aromatic souvenir of this amazing experience.

  But Hayden and I weren’t done, not even close.

  “Wider,” he commanded again, and Summer obeyed. Taking a knee in each hand, she pulled her legs back and up even more, exposing her snatch for all to see, that beautiful twat bare and gleaming, liquid pooling at her little hole, a slight spill of cream running down her butt before hitting the stage below.

  And only then was my bro satisfied. Taking the bill in hand, he lightly trailed it over her pussy, letting her cunny feel the money, making sure that it was face down so our images were essentially being run across that soft, quivering flesh.

  “Ohhh,” Summer moaned, throwing her head back and smiling. “Highness, you’re so dirty.”

  “Yeah,” he growled, running the bill up and down her twat, the paper almost transparent at this point, totally soaked through. But he wasn’t done yet. Slowly, he rolled the lirah into a cylinder and with two fingers, spread her lips open again, her hole visible for all to see. It winked and shimmered at us, beckoning.

  With deft hands, he inserted the money into her opening, slowly pushing, pushing, until the paper disappeared into her cunt.

  “Oh Highness, feels good,” she sighed, throwing her head back, squirming as the money disappeared. “Amazing,” she breathed.

  But I hadn’t had my turn yet.

  “Legs up,” I commanded.

  Summer’s eyes flew open.

  “What?” she gasped. “There’s more?”

  “Oh yeah, honey,” I grunted. “Don’t you want to make double? You’ve only got ten thousand in your snatch right now, let’s make it twenty.”

  And with that, our step-niece hoisted her legs up even more, rolling backwards on the stage slightly so her anus was in view. This time, things were so graphic that the crowd gasped, these dudes weren’t exactly innocent newbies but this was beyond the pale.

  I rolled my lirah note into a cylinder and brushed it against her asshole teasingly, all the while stroking her cheeks.

  “You like?” I ground out, my chest tight, my dick bulging. By now, I’d released the monster and fifteen inches were on display, jism streaming from the tip, trailing onto the floor in drips.

  But Summer didn’t get a chance to answer because without any ado, I began the push. I slipped the tip of that cylinder into her anus, watching as the brown pucker winked and then winked again, sensing the penetration. It was so dirty that I almost jizzed right there, losing it, but stopped myself in time. There was important work to
be done.

  I pushed insistently and the paper slid in further, until it was completely swallowed by her ass. And with ten thousand lirah in her pussy and another ten in her ass, our girl was a winner.

  “Holt, Hayden,” she moaned, wriggling on the stage, her legs spread, little edges of paper visible at the edges of her orifices, “give it to me,” she cooed.

  “More than happy to little girl,” rumbled my brother. And like that, we pushed into her mouth, both of us straddling her head, our glans invading that sweet hole, letting her tongue us, suck on our bulging heads, savor the man-shafts.

  Our penises strained, the warm lick and suction unbearable, and with the help of her hands squeezing our balls, massaging our testicles, we came hard onto her face, coating her in a film of white.

  “Mmmph!” she squealed, as the jism dripped over her chin, onto her cheeks, down her throat. “Mmmph!” she grunted while running her tongue over her lips, tasting the sweet semen, lapping at it hungrily.

  And that’s how it went down. That’s how we became engaged to Summer Miller at the Donkey Club in the Latin Quarter of Slovania. Because when a respectable woman dances for you, offers you her “donkey” in front of other men to see, she’s essentially propositioning you. And by taking her publicly, marking her with our money, literally sliding our faces into her puss and ass, we accepted.

  Summer Miller of New York would be the next princess of Slovania.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Summer

  I’m not sure how things changed so quickly. We were merely having a fling, I thought, a discreet ménage because Holt and Hayden were princes of the kingdom. By contrast, I was nothing more than a lowly student. Sure, my mom had married their brother, but that was even more reason to stay away. The tangled family connections pretty much made our relationship off-limits, or so I thought.

  But after the dirtiest, most filthy encounter of my life, suddenly I was slated to be the newest princess of Slovania. It was mind-boggling but evidently Slovanians have a tradition concerning the donkey. It’s almost a holy animal here, and the people revere it because it got them through the Dark Ages with its meat and milk, its load-bearing ability, its capacity to work the land.

  So when women are engaged here, donkeys are offered by the groom to the bride’s family as a dowry of sorts. And some weird version of that tradition had come to pass during our dirty dancing at the club.

  Evidently, Holt and Hayden’s offering of twenty thousand lirah, literally pushed into my body, inserted into my cunny and ass, was their “gift.” When I’d gone backstage after the set, I’d asked for a private room to pull the bills out of my body. Although it felt awesome, I needed to take that sweet cash out to air-dry if nothing else.

  But Holt and Hayden followed me into the small room, their voices soothing, their big hands stroking my body as I quivered, my eyes wide, still nude from the dance.

  “Summer, we got it,” they reassured me, voices low, hulking bodies taking up all the space in the small room. “Bend over,” they commanded.

  And I found myself clutching my ankles again, my head between my knees, my intimate parts jutting in the air, a cool waft drifting over my secret spaces.

  And the men chuckled again, seeing how wet I was still. God, would I ever be able to get enough of them?

  But one masculine hand passed lightly over my cunny, slowly pulling out the rolled-up bill buried there, the slide making me shiver and gasp, as another masculine hand held my ass cheeks apart and slowly massaged my anus, fishing the lirah out with gentle strokes. I moaned and shivered, the sensations unbearably exciting, almost coming again.

  “Let yourself go,” masculine voices rumbled.

  And just like that, ecstasy ripped through my body again, my cunny twitching and spasming, exposed to their gaze, wet with want and desire. The men stroked me through it, lightly tracing my hole, massaging my clit, even letting a finger dip into my ass as it clenched and buckled, the sensations shooting through my body, electrifying my nips, tingling in my fingers and toes.

  And finally it was done. Limp and sated, I would have collapsed in a heap on the floor except Holt and Hayden held me, sweeping me up in their arms so I was cuddled against a broad chest.

  “What next?” I asked drowsily, my cheek cushioned against a muscular shoulder, brown curls trailing across Holt’s pecs. “We can’t let anyone find out.”

  A masculine chuckle ensued.

  “Honey, I think it’s too late for that,” he rumbled. “Everyone knows.”

  “Everyone?” I asked drowsily. “What do you mean?” I asked. Nothing was making much sense at the moment, I was overwhelmed with sensations and the excitement of the night.

  “Don’t worry,” soothed Hayden. “Everyone knows but it doesn’t matter because we’re ready.”

  “Hmmm?” I hummed faintly, trying to rouse myself. This was important I could tell, and I tried to pay attention through the warm seas engulfing my brain. “Ready for what?”

  “Why, ready for you to be a princess of course,” replied Hayden lightly. “You’re perfect for it, baby.”

  Hearing that, I just smiled sleepily and drifted off to sleep. After all, he couldn’t possibly mean it. We were related by marriage, my mom married to their brother, and besides, there were two of them. How would that work? But it was nice to fantasize, and so with a small smile on my face, I drifted off, floating on a hazy cloud of pleasure.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Hayden

  “No,” said Constantine flatly. “Absolutely not.”

  He was referring to the proposed marriage, Summer as my bride.

  “Highness, it’s not that bad,” I said reasonably. “She’s young, sweet and our people would love her. She speaks Slovanian fluently, did I mention?”

  My dad shot us an evil glare.

  “Are you out of your mind?” he roared. “She’s American, a commoner, and the daughter of your brother’s wife. What are you, crazy?” he spat. “Why are you so obsessed with the Miller women? One of our Slovanian girls isn’t good enough?”

  My twin and I shared a glance. The truth was that no, they weren’t. We’d bedded so many of the minor Slovanian nobility that there really weren’t any suitable virgins left for us. Not that we were looking for a virgin. We were just looking for Summer.

  “Dad,” I said firmly. “I’m marrying her, tangled family tree or not. We’ve already decided.”

  My dad roared again.

  “Who decided? You? Your brother? You think that’s enough? I’m the head of the church, I do the deciding,” he snarled.

  That was true. As head of the Church of Slovania, King Constantine approved all marriages in our country, although it was nothing but a rubber stamp from the bishop. But this was a real issue because we couldn’t exactly get married without Dad’s say-so.

  “Listen,” I said reasonably. “Holt and I have worked it out. I’m going to marry her, he’ll be best man, if we do it on the sly the people of Slovania will be surprised, sure, but they’ll get over it. In fact, I think they’d really appreciate having a commoner as a princess, shows that we’re connected to reality. Plus, our fiancée is a big fan of our culture and she speaks our language fluently, people are going to adore her.”

  But my dad was having none of it.

  “Fiancée?” he snarled. “Over my dead body. You’ve been playboys for twenty years, getting up to no good,” he scoffed. “You have no idea how to run a country, how to conduct yourselves with dignity. I’m surprised you even have thriving medical practices, given your hard partying ways.”

  That stung. We’d worked hard for our medical degrees, honing our skills and building a respectable reputation. Sure we’d partied a lot, but we’d also applied ourselves when it mattered, and for Constantine to deride our efforts, branding us big zeros, hurt. Despite everything, it really hurt, and Holt had had enough.

  “Fine then, have it your way,” my twin snarled and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.
>
  I rolled my eyes.

  “Really Dad?” I asked. “This is your idea of being open-minded? What happened to inclusion and acceptance? You’re always preaching that to the masses, how we need to be more tolerant of others. What about when it comes to your own family?”

  My dad was practically frothing at the mouth now, his face red with rage.

  “You and your brother really take the cake, you know that?” he spat. “First Halson with that disgusting American whore, and now you and Holt proposing to marry a woman of the same stripe. What have I done to deserve this? What?” he roared, and with that, Constantine stormed out as well, leaving me alone in the cavernous room.

  I sighed. The entire encounter had been frustrating, enough to make a lesser man give in. Because I could see my dad’s point of view. Marriage to Summer was tangled and complicated, for sure, but what Constantine didn’t realize was that she was ours … with or without his blessing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Hayden

  “Are you sure this is okay?” Summer asked tremulously. She looked beautiful behind the white veil, her eyes wide, lips trembling slightly. Her fingers clutching the flowers were white-knuckled, tension radiating from those narrow shoulders.

  “It’s more than okay,” I reassured, taking her hand.

  “It’s perfect,” added my bro.

  Because we were at the altar of our local protestant church. We were prohibited from marrying Summer in the Church of Slovania, so we’d decided to go with a different denomination. Had it been done before? Had princes of the state left their religion on behalf of a bride? No, but there’s always room for firsts.

  But what we hadn’t anticipated was convincing Summer about our plan. Our beautiful girl wanted what was best for us, ready to set aside her own needs on behalf of something greater.

  “I don’t know,” the brunette said, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t want to cause all this trouble, not because of me. I mean, yeah what we did at the Donkey Club was unexpected,” she said, flushing, “but I’m not afraid of what people will say,” she added, lifting her chin in the air bravely.