by Celia Crown
I don’t want to pry into their personal matters if they would rather not share it.
I should ask them how they met. It’ll give me some background as to how Daddy is willing to let another man put his hands on me and not say a word about it.
It’s freaky.
Yes, I need to talk to him, but my body needs to cooperate with me for that plan to work.
I struggle mentally first, fighting off the sleepiness by pulling in random thoughts and beating up the tiredness with air fists. The worst part comes, my body has to connect to my brain cells, so it can give commands to move.
My eyes take the initiative, and my lashes flutter open.
It’s like opening my eyes under ocean water; it hurts, and it’s blurry, and it’s too fuzzy to make out that blob of black and some tan color. It’s such an odd combination that my mind can’t come up with anything remotely close to it.
I sluggishly take my hand out of the blanket to pat the hard surface. It’s warm and moving. I rub it and furrow my brows when it rumbles.
Whatever it is, it’s too hot, and it’s moving.
It is dangerous to have a furnace in my bed; Daddy would be angry at me for trying to burn down his home through this weird desire that I have to sleep under toasty conditions with the air conditioning on.
It’s weird, but I can’t help it. it’s the perfect condition to get the perfect night of sleep, and Daddy had never complained about being too hot under the covers.
He also doesn’t say anything about the electricity bills, but he is a very wealthy man with enough money to live off of air conditioning for the rest of our lives.
He can have it on every minute of the whole year and not put a dent in his bank account. I grumpily pat the furnace, “Hot…”
I’m talking to myself again, and it’s not good, so I humph at the moving machine and roll to the other side. I’ll take the furnace off the bed once I have my thirty minutes of lazing in bed.
The other side isn’t any better.
It’s hot, and it’s moving, but it’s also speaking a human language.
What the heck?
This is what sleeping too much does to me. I become a little crazy in the bed that I’m associating a heating machine with a human form.
The only way to redeem this is to close my eyes and curl deeper into the bed; it folds in my creases and shapes my body to the best it can so it supports my spine. My joints will thank me later when I roll out of bed. The level of tiredness multiplies, and I find myself falling back to sleep with a count of three.
The furnace is laughing again, but it’s coming from in front of me, and this nightmarish dream should see itself out of my sleep.
I crack one eye open and frowns. The rumbling gets louder from both sides of me. I extend one hand out and pet the smooth surface to silently tell the freaking heater to calm down. There is no need to set the bed on fire for sitting on an uneven bed.
“Morning, little princess.”
My hand twitches to a stop, and my mind pauses to let it reel back the fogginess.
The only person who calls me that is Mr. Stephan, and he’s in the other room. I sleep with Daddy, and I shouldn’t be hearing Mr. Stephan’s voice chuckling. The hotness of a palm scorches my cheek, and I furrow my brows.
My eyes jerk wide open at the patch of inky skin, I intake a shuddering breath when it’s not the tattoo that I’m familiar with on Daddy’s body. I lurch up on my elbows to stare at the white headboard, my mind running wild at what could have happened last night for me to end up in the same bed as Mr. Stephan.
I look down, and I’m wearing a cotton shirt. The shoulder slips off, and I’m peering down on my nipples. Slapping a hand across the shirt to prevent it from slipping further, I wreck my brain to connect the missing timeframe in my head.
A hand creeps towards my thigh, and I narrow my eyes in question as to where it’s coming from. I look towards the side of my thigh that’s being groped, and it’s the mob of messy blank hair that throws me off balance.
My elbow falls, and I’m planting my face straight to the pillow, but not before it gets caught by the arm to my forehead. Wincing in pain, I rub my head on the arm and thump it back in retaliation.
Daddy laughs at me, and I gasp in shock. It dawns on me that this isn’t a dream where I am sandwiched between two men. It’s a reality, and it’s messing with my mind. I have trouble associating anything in the room with my memories as they are all haywire. I turn my face, and there he is in all his handsome glory; messy hair, intense eyes, and a scruffy beard.
He’s shirtless and doesn’t have pants as I can tell by feel of my bare legs seeking out his.
With much effort and great hesitation, my head cranks to the other side in jerky movements that I remind myself of a haunted doll that turns her head too slow as the mechanism in her neck area isn’t well oiled.
Yeah, I’m losing it. I just compared myself to a freaky doll being haunted by an evil force with nothing better to do than to scare people.
“What…?” I stutter in disbelief as Mr. Stephan’s smile puts another rock in my heart.
It should lighten my day, but I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Two men in one bed with me who can’t remember much from last night, naked under a shirt that is too big to be mine, and the belief that something happened last night.
Oh no, a hand creeps closer to my bare pussy.
Daddy’s arm spins me around, so my back is pressed to his naked chest. The heat seeps into the shirt and warms my back. I look up at Mr. Stephan as Daddy traps me with one arm swinging over my waist and the other stretched over to grope my breast from under the shirt.
Panic explodes in my chest as Mr. Stephan’s eyes darken, and I wiggle nervously on Daddy’s cock, which is hard and hot on my butt.
Daddy tweaks my nipple, rolling it between his fingers to demand a salacious moan that sounds too dirty to my ears. I arch my back to push my breast into his palm as there’s a spark of interest in Mr. Stephan’s lusty brown eyes. He watches with an interest of a monster lurking and waiting to pounce, but he’s controlled and resolute as he regulates his breathing into calm breaths.
It takes me a second to feel the slide of two thick fingers into my wet pussy, too slick to be normal under such a short amount of time after being woken up and touched.
My legs quiver and my body shake as Daddy spreads my walls with a thumb smoothing over the juices into the folds where my clit throbs softly. It’s a small thrilling hum that pulsates with the flushed heat that strikes the color of my already pink skin.
The logical part of me should stop Daddy’s hand because his friend is watching our intimate moment, and the illogical part wants to take Mr. Stephan’s hand and let him join in on the fun.
I settle for the middle ground.
Taking a supportive hold on Mr. Stephan’s hand, I shakily squeeze it, and he hungrily kisses my lips at the same time as Daddy puts enormous pressure on my clit. It brings a squeal of shock and neediness that sparks outrage in my other neglected nipple.
Mr. Stephan doesn’t help me feel good. He only kisses me gently as he watches me fall apart piece by piece at the capable hands of Daddy.
I muffle my moans by biting down on my lip. It stops some as most comes out a little too desperate for the freedom to trigger a strong jerk of Daddy’s cock on the curve of my butt.
Mr. Stephan’s eyes curve, and it’s the same deviously handsome devil from last night. I have no time to open my mouth when it’s busy with panting and moaning. I beg to stop the torture on my body. Daddy senses my urgency, and it’s why he is thrumming my sodden clit with vigor.
I lay there like a docile, little girl as a show of submission. The hum of approval resonates in the back of my head as Daddy fucks my pussy in front of another man.
A course of excitement crackles through my blood as I roll my hips to help him bring me to an orgasm. The length of his cock is fully hard. I remember the shape from anywh
ere, and I know the twitching means that he needs to pull my tiny cunt taut with his big cock.
Their impeccable self-restraint from touching their cocks amazes me, but I know better than that. They’re waiting for the right moment, and something at the back of my mind tells me that I won’t be getting either of them today for reasons still unknown to me.
Maybe it’s the fact that we haven’t discussed anything yet, we’re still in open waters and interpretation is at an all-time high for me to make up reasoning that will fan the doubt in me. Insecurity would have taken me if Daddy didn’t instill in my head that he wants me even if I turned into a zombie.
He had to use terms that I will understand since he uses big words when he works, and he doesn’t want to mix business with pleasure. Daddy keeps whatever is going on with the company to himself, and he doesn’t want me to worry about how he brings in revenue.
I’m just a bit more curious as to how his sweets company can be so successful for someone who doesn’t like sweet things.
It’s an ironic thing to muse about, but when I become an investigator about why he chooses this occupation, I’m left with more questions than answers.
The tell-tale signs of my orgasm are starting to display, and Mr. Stephan doesn’t waste time to focus on the depth of my pleasure. Shaking thighs, high-pitched moans, and teary eyes are good indicators, but when I say Daddy in the sweetest voice, I’m two seconds from coming.
Daddy cups the curve of my breast as he drags his thumb over the puffy nub. It draws more blood and stiffens under his ministration.
He fucks my pussy harder and faster, turning my voice into a broken recorder of wanton cries. My attention is split between the brutal thrust of his finger scraping on my pussy and the constant attention to my clit through forceful rubbing to the soothing and silken caresses against the smooth column of my throat.
I’m going to come, and it’s going to be open for Mr. Stephan to see, but Daddy withdraws his hand with sticky fluids breaking and snapping coldly back to my heated cunt that’s throbbing and drooling for the thickness of his fingers to shove back inside.
It’s waiting and waiting, but it doesn’t come back.
I mewl pathetically, “Daddy, please.”
He hums offhandedly from behind me, and his body leaves mine. The chilliness from the room blows the kiss of thousands of ice particles on my back.
Mr. Stephan takes over with one hand between my thighs and sinking two thick fingers inside my soaked wall. The heel of his palm grinds down on my clit, and black dots form in my vision, stealing the beauty of his rugged appearance.
He pushes me on the back and hovers over me with an elbow on the pillow; he only needs one hand to make me a gasping mess with my juices smeared on his fingers.
It’s different. Being fucked by a pair of fingers titters my hazy mind to the musk of his scent. It’s different in a good way because Daddy’s fingers make me feel good and Mr. Stephan does the same to my body, but it’s the fact that it’s his that makes it better with the reassurance of his calm heartbeats over the roaring of my own in my ears.
My watery eyes blink, and I sniff wetly at him.
He didn’t waste any time exploring my body like I assumed he would do since it’s the first time he’s touching my body so intimately. Granted, I didn’t know he was going to touch me at all in the sensual ways of making me succumb to his domineering efforts.
A flare of heat rushes through my body, and every inch of me reflectively helps my hips grind down on his wicked fingers.
I turn my head as I hear ruffling sound of Daddy getting dressed. My mind whispers his company’s name and work comes to my thoughts.
“W-where are you going?” I shudder, nudging the back of my head to the smooth curve of Mr. Stephan’s neck.
“Work,” Daddy answers indifferently as he buttons up his shirt, his eyes fall on the moving covers, and my skin bleeds pink at the heat rising from my impending orgasm.
Swallowing the dryness of my throat, I croak out with a sniffle, “You said you would spend time with me, but you didn’t come home.”
“I was home, but you were already asleep.” Daddy turns his wrist up to fix the cufflinks. It’s a sexy move, and I’m getting too wet under his watchful gaze.
“Liar,” I pout the best I can given the circumstances where I’m moaning and shaking on the bed. Mr. Stephan is merciless when my attention isn’t on him.
“Say that again, little girl,” Daddy drops his hands and glares at me. I keep passionate eye contact with him, and I pat myself on the back for not shrinking back into the bed and becoming one with Mr. Stephan’s colossal-sized body.
“Liar,” I bravely and very foolishly repeat.
Mr. Stephan scrapes my swollen clit with his nail and takes away his fingers, leaving me throbbing in violent tremors and a choked sob of their names.
Their rightful title, Daddy.
“You’re a bad, little princess. You don’t deserve to cum,” Mr. Stephan says as he wipes the sticky juices onto the clean sheets and I shake my head frantically while trying to grasp his retreating body.
“While Stephan and I are at work, you will sit here and think about this bratty attitude.” Daddy fixes his suit jacket, and it enhances the size of his shoulders.
“You will be punished when we return home,” Mr. Stephan’s voice comes from the other side of the bed, and I’m indecisive about which one to pull back first because they’re both leaving in a synchronized move.
“Do not touch that tight little cunt; it’s ours,” Daddy sneers with a thousand thorns stabbing into my skin.
I’m excited, and it’s mostly going to make my punishment more severe if they see me practically vibrating at the thought of a little pain.
Does that make me a masochist?
Chapter Eight
Pepper
I don’t mind the pale white colors that are the foundation of the mansion; I love it because it doesn’t hurt my eyes nor does it mean anything odd; it’s comforting and relaxing to see after a long day.
It’s not overly stimulating like a blue or too gloomy such as grey and black. The walls are uplifting and easy to take in without making me sick of seeing them.
Most of the white walls are empty, but some have paintings up to put some life and color into the massive home.
I help decorate it after seeing how plain it was, but Daddy gave me strict orders to never repaint them since the chemicals in the paint are not good for me.
Overall, I like the pale vanilla color that is almost close to a lighter side of ivory.
Not anymore, though, not after my men had come home from work thirty minutes ago.
They went to the office with Mr. Stephan’s order bouncing around in my head.
“Corner, now.”
It’s clear that the best thing I can do is to follow his command. I wouldn’t want them to be angrier at me for today’s mishap.
I don’t know what came over me, but I was upset that I couldn’t spend time with Daddy. Also, how was I supposed to know that Mr. Stephan would take Daddy’s side?
They left me sensitive, tender, and dripping on the bedsheets. I wanted to touch myself and bring closure to the pleasure that throbbed insistently throughout the day, but one message from Daddy stopped any of those thoughts from living up to the expectation.
I was ordered not to leave the mansion, not to touch myself, and I was to be expected to be clean and sitting at the corner of the master bedroom when they returned.
That left me wondering exactly what time they would return home, but I figure that I shouldn’t call them and distract them from their work.
I had been sitting on the bed for more than thirty minutes; I just know it because my feet are getting restless.
I did hear them come home when Mr. Stephan stepped into the master bedroom, but he barked out the order for me to go to the corner and face the wall. He left soon after I positioned myself to the wall and he hadn’t given any indication of when I
would be done with counting the minor imperfections of the wall.
The only place they could be is at the office, and I want to have super-hearing, so I can tell what they’re talking about.
I entertain myself by rummaging through my thoughts and the memories that I have with both of them. I think back to the first time I met Mr. Stephan and Daddy’s reaction since the office is the first link that connected all three of us together.
What I still don’t understand is what Daddy is thinking. He’s sharing me with Mr. Stephan, and that is a red flag that should have smacked me in the face the minute he walked into the office and saw me on his friend’s lap.
While I’m stewing in my thoughts, I’m beginning to feel upset and slightly fidgety as time ticks away into the night. My skin tingles under the oppressive heat of a pair of eyes, but I don’t know which man it is that is causing a riffle of my neck, and neither do I care.
“Turn around.”
It’s Mr. Stephan’s voice.
I take a deep breath and look across the room where the shadows created by the light above swallow the light in his brown eyes. It’s black now, undeterred by its primitive nature swimming in his gaze, and the weight of that façade that whispers desire.
He allows me a moment to acknowledge his presence, and when he has done enough waiting, the timber in his voice rocks my equilibrium as heat nips at the sides of my neck.
“Do you know what you did wrong?”
I nod with much effort as I scan the room for Daddy, but then my ear picks up the sound of the bathroom door open. It’s a connection to the bedroom, and the fog settles on the floor in thick puffs as Daddy steps out with a towel around his waist.
The sculpted grooves of his frame and the water droplets licking his skin penetrate the already scattered thoughts in my head.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Mr. Stephan’s voice barks.
I feel lust creep into my blood and spread through my veins like electrical current flashing repetitively.
I notice that Mr. Stephan has changed into something that he wasn’t wearing from the morning. It’s a casual cotton shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants that hangs low on his hip. The creases fold into his body like a second skin, drawing attention to the narrowing of his waist as it tapers off to the untied strings that swing between his legs.