HUGE X3: A MFMM Menage Stepbrother Romance

by Stephanie Brother

  Not able to move, I wait. He takes his fingers out of my pussy and I already miss the intrusion. I need him to fill me, fuck me, take me as hard as he wants. He slips his dick between my legs and my juices coat him. I lean over slightly to give him better access even as I say, “Don’t, please.”

  He teases me, nudging the opening of my body with his cock, rubbing it back and forth between my lips but not plunging deep like I want him to. I can’t ask him to take me. I’m not supposed to like this. I’ve been protesting since the first caress. I force myself to stay still, wondering when he’ll do what he’s been threatening.

  “Can you feel that, baby?” he mutters in my ear. “I’m coated in your juices because you want me so bad, don’t you? You want me to fuck you so hard.”

  I’m so turned on I can hardly breathe. I sag against the car, feeling weak with desire. Officer Carlisle shifts slightly behind me, as though he might be considering pulling away. “No, I don’t. I want you to stop,” I blurt, hoping my words will keep him in the game.

  He reaches up and cups my breast, flicking the nipple into a hard peak. As he rolls it between his thumb and finger, sending a jolt of electricity to my pussy, he laughs in my ear. I love his laugh and the way it makes me feel so worthless and humiliated. His breath is hot on my neck; intimidating. I want to beg him to fuck me hard, to stick his big dick inside me as deep as he can get it. I want him to knock the breath from my lips and the sense from my head. All that matters is the ache in my pussy that can only be eased with his help.

  “What are you going to do to stop me?” His whisper in my ear sends a shiver through me because, even if I really did want to stop him, there would be no fighting him off. Officer Carlisle is a mountain of a man; brute strength and pure force combined.

  The head of his cock feels so big at my entrance. He cants his hips, nudging and nudging, and my pussy gets wetter and greedier with every move. Oh, I want him to push harder, to drive it into me, to split me open just like he promised. He grips my hips harder, fingers digging into my soft flesh, and thrusts until his cock breaches the tight entrance of my cunt and he slides right in deep. It feels so amazing, like cool lemonade on a hot summer’s day and a million other amazing clichés I could think of. I moan, in my fantasy and in reality too, as my hand slips into my silk pajama bottoms and the tip of my finger finds my clit. I rub in slow circles as I imagine the length of him filling me and owning me. It feels so good I can’t stop.

  With one hand still groping my breast, fantasy Officer Carlisle jerks his hips up as he pumps hard, my pussy gripping him tight.

  The force of his thrusts push me into the car and it rocks slightly as Officer Carlisle fucks me. The metal is cool against my skin, soothing, keeping me cool enough to enjoy the heat of the sex. He keeps thrusting, my protests completely gone from my mind now. How could I have denied him this, denied myself this?

  He grunts behind me as his hands find my waist to hold me in place while he thrusts.

  “You like that, Allyson? You like it when I fuck you like this. You want me to fuck you harder?”

  I mumble something noncommittal and rest my head on the car. It’s fantasy so I don’t even care that we’re on the side of the road and can be seen by anyone driving by. If I’m honest, the idea that someone might be watching just makes me hotter. I lean over even more so he can go deeper. I’m not supposed to be liking it but I feel so wet on the insides of my thighs. My body is betraying me and Officer Carlisle can tell. It’s as if he can read all my dirty thoughts.

  “You want me to fuck you faster?” He reaches up to squeeze my breast again sending another jolt of awareness to my pussy.

  His hands return to my waist, guiding me along his dick in a rhythm that drives me crazy. It keeps me hovering close to the edge of orgasm, but not quite pushing me over the edge. I feel it simmering just below the surface and I whimper and moan, taking all the pleasure I can from his thrusts.

  He pounds into me harder until I feel my orgasm rising. My clit pulses. My pussy throbs. After all the protests he’s going to make me come and I can’t even feel bad about it. He slips a hand between my legs, spreading my lips roughly and exposing my swollen and vulnerable clit. I imagine him pinching it hard and I do it to myself, bucking my hips with the sensation. I slip a finger inside to coat it, and imagine the rough tip of my naughty cop’s finger rubbing roughly against the most sensitive part of my body. Oh, it feels so damn good I can hardly stand it.

  All pretense is gone now because I’m so desperate for release. I rock back into him and he pumps harder and faster, cock hammering and finger rubbing, harder, harder, harder until his beautiful big cock sends an orgasm crashing through my body. The release is so sweet and seems to go on forever.

  My pussy clenches around Officer Carlisle’s imaginary cock that is really three of my fingers. Spasms rack my body as I plunge them in and out to mimic what he was doing in my fantasy. I gasp in breaths of air, eyes closed to maintain the illusion I’ve created. My heart races so fast I feel woozy, drunk on pleasure and hormones.

  It was the release I needed to keep my worries locked up in the box. I stretch out on the bed, content, sleepy. The image of Officer Carlisle’s face hovers in my mind. His full lips almost grinning, his eyes twinkling. What I would do to have his hands on my body again in reality, not just in my silly fantasies. But for now, the fantasies will have to do because I’m definitely not planning on breaking the law anytime soon, and I’ll probably never see him again.

  3

  CORY

  I’ve got less than an hour until the end of my shift when the call comes in. A domestic dispute, half way across town and called in by a kid.

  I hate this shit.

  Men using their fists to control their women, taking out their anger and frustrations on the people they should care for the most. Men using vile words to reduce the people that love them to nothing. And worst of all, doing this in front of innocent kids who grow up thinking that it’s normal to beat on their family or it’s normal to expect a beating.

  I can deal with the bullshit bar fights and the driver disputes. I can deal with chasing down thieves and arresting shoplifters. But seeing the terrified eyes and bloody faces in crimes like this sets my fists clenching and my belly filling with anger.

  I’m in my car, blue-lighting all the way. Most of the time with cases like this it’s all died down by the time we arrive, but sometimes it has escalated into worse that angry fists.

  Sometimes it ends up in tragedy.

  Another unit is also on its way so I know that I’ll have back-up. It’s not so much that I worry about my own safety, more that my anger might lead me to do something unprofessional. It takes a lot of restraint to stick within the letter of the law sometimes.

  The property is nice, the lawn neat and flowers in boxes by the door. Domestic abuse isn’t just an issue of poverty. The front door is closed and I knock loudly, my hand on my weapon as I wait for it to open.

  A boy of about ten peeks around the door and his eyes fill with relief when he sees me.

  “Alright, son. I’m Officer Carlisle. Can I come in?”

  He pulls the door open wide enough for me to enter the property. It all seems quiet so I focus on him for a second, scanning him for injuries. Thankfully he looks fine.

  “Did you dial 911?” I ask and he nods.

  “Can you show me where your mom is?”

  He pushes the front door until it clicks into place and then looks at the sliding chain as though he wants to secure the premises.

  “It’s okay. Nothing’s gonna happen while I’m here. What’s your name?”

  “Jackson,” he answers and starts down the hall.

  I look into every room we pass. There’s a table overturned in the den, and a couple of pictures have been knocked off the wall. We pass what I assume is his room; painted blue with a racing car bed. At the end of the hallway, I hear whimpers.

  “Is this where your mom is?” I ask Jackson, putting
my hand on his shoulder before we enter the room.

  “Yes.” I can feel his body trembling and I have an urge to pick up this boy who is on the verge of becoming a man and hold him close. My father isn’t a massively emotional person but I always felt his love when I was growing up. He showed me what it means to be a good man and I hope that I reflect him in everything I do. I don’t want this kid to hear any of what comes next. He’s been through more than any kid ever should.

  “Jackson, will you go to your room and wait for me there?” I ask, making sure I’m looking him right in the eye when I do. He blinks and stares back as though he’s trying to decide whether he can trust me. He must see enough to reassure him because he turns and heads back to his room.

  At the doorway to the master suite I call out. “Ma’am, my name is Officer Carlisle. I’m coming in?”

  I hear a whimper from deep in the darkened room.

  Jackson’s mom is curled on her side on the bed. Her arms are clutched around her middle and she’s weeping.

  “Ma’am, do you need an ambulance?”

  “No,” she whispers. “I don’t think so.”

  I kneel at the side of the bed, getting a look at her swollen face that is cut in places and horribly bruised. There is blood in her blonde hair and on her hands. There are bruises on her upper arms and wrists. She’s really been worked over.

  “You look like you do,” I say softly. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

  Her eyes are just like Jackson’s but wet with tears. She nods once and I call it in. “Your son doesn’t have to go with you. There’s another unit on the way.”

  I glance around the room and catch sight of a wedding picture on the nightstand. The man I assume is Jackson’s dad is huge; at least a foot taller than his wife. What kind of satisfaction can a man get from beating on someone weak and helpless? I just don’t get it.

  “Can you get up?”

  “I think so.” She slides her jean-clad legs over the edge of the bed and rests her bare feet on the hardwood. I can tell she’s embarrassed by the way she smooths her hair, attempting to make herself presentable. She doesn’t want to look bad in front of me and it breaks my heart.

  “Where did your husband go?” I know I’m going to get some serious satisfaction if I can hunt the fucker down.

  “Probably back to Hudson’s, over on Fourth,” she sighs. “He always comes back from there full of alcohol and anger.”

  “You need to press charges against him,” I say. “It’s not going to stop, no matter how much you wish it would.”

  She nods but I get the feeling I’m not the first person to tell her that. In a lot of cases like this the women are too scared to move on; fearful of the man or of life without them. I can’t pretend to know what that’s like, and I won’t judge if I haven’t walked a person’s path. Until you’ve been in their position you can’t know what you would do.

  There’s a knock at the front door and I stand, helping this fragile woman to her feet. We walk towards the front door just as Jackson is opening it. The second unit comprises a huge African American officer called Marley, and a tiny female officer called Angelique. They make an odd pair but I know how well they work together.

  It’s Marley who takes over with Jackson’s mom and leads her into the kitchen to get her some water while we wait for the ambulance. He’s so gentle that I can see her relaxing immediately. Angelique is talking to Jackson and follows him into his room. I hear them discussing Marvel comics, debating who would beat who in a straight fight.

  I open the front door, looking around in case the man of the house happens to be lurking outside. Sometimes the perps in domestic cases wait until the police have left and then go back in and finish the job, blaming their partners for getting them into trouble.

  There’s no one out there as far as I can see but I wait in the doorway, enjoying the cool night air. It’s been a long shift. Pretty crappy stuff except the traffic stop I did. That girl was something else. It took all my willpower to hold a straight face when she was trying to sass me. All her attempts to flaunt her assets in the hope I’d let her off without a ticket were very amusing.

  I have a thing for girls with long dark hair. It looks so good tangled around my fingers. And her legs were so fucking long. They’d feel fantastic clutched around my waist. My cock kicks under my uniform and I take a deep breath. I need to keep my mind on the job but it’s hard when you’ve been faced with a devil in an angel’s body. The way she looked at me, with one-part innocence and ten-parts sin has got me intrigued. I’ve got her license plate. I could look her up on the database back at the station. I shake my head at that ridiculous thought. I’m a cop, not a fucking stalker.

  The thing is, I know I could break her off. She had that look in her eyes that’s begging for someone to lay down the law. She’s a bad girl and she needs a good cop to put her on the straight and narrow. Except, I’m probably never going to see her again. Tempting or not, it looks like Allyson has become a stranger in the night.

  The ambulance pulls up and I call for Marley to bring Jackson’s mom outside. Once everything is settled, I get into my squad car and head back to the station. It’s not until I’m home, that I realize I can smell Allyson on my palm.

  Once I’m undressed and settle in bed, I come into my own hand, with angel-Allyson’s scent in my nose, and her pussy on my mind.

  4

  ALLYSON

  I walk through the mall in search of caffeine and my mom, in that order. After my orgasm last night, I slept great but I woke up early to get things done around the house. Mom spends a lot of her time with her new boyfriend so if I want clean clothes it’s up to me. Not that it’s a bad thing to have the house to myself sometimes. Now that I’m at college, I miss the comforts of home. Up until now, I’ve appreciated mom keeping her social life to herself, too. I’m glad I haven’t had to put up with finding Jeff at the house all the time.

  I spot my mom, already sipping what looks like a latte, at our favorite java place. I hurry through the mall ignoring the shops calling my name. Yes, I do need a new skirt. I want those new shoes, but there will be time for shopping later. Mom wanted to meet for a reason. As I approach she smiles but I can tell something is wrong. Her smile is too wide, her eyes too bright.

  “Sweetie, you look great.”

  “Thanks, mom. So do you. I didn’t see you this morning,” I say. She brushes invisible dust off the table. “Were you home?”

  “Yeah,” I say. I don’t want to tell her the reason. “I was out of underwear.”

  She nods. “I didn’t know what you wanted.” She gestures towards the empty spot on the table where my usual skinny latte should be sitting.

  I frown because she’s not usually forgetful. Nine times out of ten I get the skinny latte, mixing it up once in a while with an Americano or a tea. Odds were in her favor if she went with the latte. Something’s going on. I study her face but the smile stays plastered there. Her hands are folded over each other and resting on the table in a way that looks nervous.

  “That’s okay. I need something a little stronger today. Want another?” I point to her cup. She shakes her head, wrapping her hands around her mug as if to warm them. On this sunny July day.

  With a glance over my shoulder, I hurry to wait in line. From this distance, I can still see her. She pulls out her cell phone, flicks her finger over the screen and smiles. The first genuine smile I’ve seen on her face since I arrived. She taps a couple of times and puts the phone face down on the table. What is she hiding?

  The java joint is packed and it takes forever to reach the barista. More time to worry about what’s up with my mom. She looks up and smiles at me, the huge fake smile from before. I smile back, wondering what could be going on with her. I order a large Americano and do my best not to tap my fingers on the counter while the barista makes it for me. It’s not her fault that everything in my world feels so shaky right now. Feeling like I need some good karma, I drop a dollar in the tip bow
l and walk back to the table, teasing myself with the scent of coffee as I go.

  Once I settle in and take a sip my eyes close in ecstasy. I need this caffeine to perk me up so I can be understanding when my mom tells me whatever her bad news is. I’m assuming bad news because she seems so flustered. She has all the telltale signs of something eating her up inside. The napkin that came with her latte lays on the table in a shredded mess. Though her phone is face down her eyes dart to it every few seconds as if she’s waiting for a call or a text message.

  “How’s Jeff?”

  She jerks her head up and her eyes go wide. “He’s fine. How are you? How was the party?”

  I gasp, forgetting for a minute that I told her about it on the phone yesterday. Instantly images of Drew’s snarling face flood my mind and tears prick behind my eyes. I can’t cry here, not in front of Mom when she obviously has her own stuff going on. I know she’ll want to know all the details and I can’t tell her and see the disappointment on her face. I blink and force a smile, conjuring a much nicer face into my mind; Officer Carlisle in all his stern glory. It settles my racing heart, as though he’s reached out and pulled me against his solid chest and told me everything’s going to be alright.

  “It was okay,” I mumble.

  I take another sip of my coffee and study her with intense curiosity. She’s never kept anything from me before and while I can tell she wants to get something off her chest, she can’t seem to bring herself to. She fidgets in her chair, her hand moving to the phone but stopping before picking it up.

  “Mom, is everything okay? What did you want to tell me?”

  She picks up her mug to take a sip but realizes it’s empty. She puts it back on the table. Her phone buzzes and she jumps, knocking over the sugar.

  “I’m such a klutz sometimes.” She rights the sugar and wipes the fine white particles into her mug then smiles up at me.

  My mom is a lot of things but she’s never in her life been a klutz. “Mom, spill it.”

  Her shoulders slump forward, she grabs my hands, her eyes are earnest. “I want you to know it won’t change anything.”