“Fuck, little girl,” groaned Lance, grabbing my wet hair, stabilizing himself while stroking my shoulder. Lance was the same. Although his body was rock hard, stiff in its ecstasy, he was curiously gentle even with his dong massive and desperate in my face.
“Sister,” he ground out. “It’s been too long. We need you.”
And that’s all I needed to hear. I crouched face down on the shower floor so that I was almost in a ball, my ass waving in the air. Provocatively, I reached my hands back and parted my butt cheeks, holding my flesh apart so I could tempt them with both holes, letting them see straight into my pussy and ass.
“DP me, brothers. Do it,” I breathed.
They didn’t waste a moment. Logan got on his knees behind me, shoving that massive cock deep into my pussy. I shrieked loudly, my cries ringing in the tiled room. Ahhh, it was fucking amazing, I was stretched so tight and full as he ran that fifteen incher into my vaginal canal.
Meanwhile, Lance straddled my back, leaning forward to let his dick trail against my anus. I moaned, and he took that as a sign of readiness. He pressed that donkey dong against my tight little button, and I tensed automatically, my rectum resisting the penetration. Lance wasn’t deterred though, chuckling a bit at my instantaneous reaction. He rimmed me with his finger, massaging me, getting me used to the feel, before applying pressure again, and this time my anus popped open, admitting a few inches of cock.
I moaned, my cheek pressed to the shower floor, my breasts smashed against my knees as both brothers rode me from behind. I was stuffed to the max, their penises rubbing against each other through my thin vaginal wall, beginning a deep and highly satisfying rhythm.
“Unnh, unnh, unnh!” I squealed, as they penetrated me, one dick in and the other out, over and over again.
“Shit,” ground Logan. “You’re so fucking tight,” he panted, burying himself up the balls again and again.
“Keep going, brother,” growled Lance. “Because I’m about to come in this sweet little butthole!” And with that he let out a load roar, dominating my ass, his penis spurting heavy ropes of cum again and again into my anal chamber, reaming it, making my cry out in pleasure, totally spread and open, their fuckdoll for the taking.
As Lance filled me with his seed, Logan too wanted a piece of my ass. Once his brother pulled out, he pushed into my anus, creamy seed dripping down my thighs, splashing onto the tile floor, oozing out around his penis. He too fucked my butt, enjoying the sloppy used feeling before letting himself erupt.
“FUUUCK!” he roared, his fifteen incher letting loose inside me, his deposit joining his brother’s semen, sweet and virile, coating my GI tract and shooting so deep I could almost taste the saltiness in the back of my throat.
I too released, my cunt and ass clenching down hard on his dick, spasming as I milked him for each jet of cum, hoarding each precious spurt, my body a hungry cumslut. My breasts were raw, massive and trembling, and I fingered my nipples as I was violated from behind, the sensations overwhelming, magnificent, rippling in waves through our bodies.
As I slowly relaxed, letting my breathing stabilize, still curled up on the floor, I realized what a sordid picture we made. Naked, steamy, our privates rubbed raw and sore from the uninhibited fucking, pools of semen and pussy cream around us, male cum leaking from both my holes.
But I wouldn’t want it any other way … these are my brothers, my men, and I love them. My body and mind belong to them, and they to me as well.
EPILOGUE
Kacey
I guess you can tell I had no trouble getting pregnant. Logan, Lance and I fuck daily, sometimes twice or three times daily, and it’s been going on for years now. I’ve had three kids with my brothers so far, and I’m due to deliver the fourth any day.
“Luke, Lindy, Loren,” I called. “Lunch is ready.”
And my sons and daughter scampered over, their chubby legs running as fast as they could. They settled in their seats, cries of “Mommy, milk! Mommy owange juice!” starting up.
I sighed but laughed as well. Life has settled into a predictable pattern which I appreciated, now that the events of the past had blown over. We’d endured a criminal investigation into Patricia’s death but had been immediately cleared, as she’d been the one at the wheel.
There was also some publicity about our relationship bringing with it a cloud of suspicion. I mean, Logan and Lance are known around town, and when they were seen squiring me about, my form ripe in pregnancy, naturally people began to talk.
“Isn’t that their sister?” they whispered with judgmental glances.
“Oh my god, is the baby going to be deformed?” hissed another.
“Who’s the daddy? They’re twins,” added another voice, confusedly.
But we minded our own business and never let the talk get to us. Sure enough, with gay rights, marriage equality, and celebrity trans folks all over the news, our little ménage was soon forgotten, just another permutation in the many ways to love.
And so I’ve settled into a “normal” life, if you can call it that. I take care of the kids and am studying for my bachelor’s degree as my brothers rebuild their careers in real estate. Sometimes I dance, but only for Logan and Lance’s eyes now. It’s still one of my best skills, and I’m forever grateful to the Donkey Club for bringing us together.
THE END
A SNEAK PEEK
SOLD AT THE AUCTION
By Cassandra Dee
CHAPTER ONE
Ellie
“Seriously El, you can’t wear that,” said my friend Rachel.
I looked back at her, a little miffed.
“Why not?” I asked plaintively. The jeans I had on were nice, a dark denim wash, and I’d paired them with a long-sleeve top, crushed velvet with a scoop-neck. “Looks okay to me.”
Rachel snorted.
“Seriously El, we’re in Vegas for the week. We’re going clubbing at a place that doesn’t even have a name, it’s so hot. You can’t wear the stuff you usually do, now take it off,” she commanded.
I thought about refusing flat out, putting down my foot and digging in. But the thing is my friend is the one with the fashion sense, Rachel always looks amazing, knowing exactly how to do herself up for every occasion. In comparison, I was a little frumpy, dazed and confused most times, my brown hair unfashionably curly, my curves unfashionably round. So yes, I got invited to good parties because I was Rachel’s friend, but I didn’t look like any of them, skinny minnies all.
And frankly, it was amazing that Rachel and I are friends at all because we’re so different, she’s swan-like, thin and elegant, with a modeling portfolio, whereas I’m round and small, an A-student. So our interests are poles apart, not to mention our paths in life. But we’ve known one another since we were five, and have seen one another through thick and thin again and again. Take last year, for example, when Rachel’s parents got divorced. I was her confidante, her therapist, and her anchor when she was lost at sea, adrift on waves of sadness. And I know she’d do the same for me if our situations were reversed. So despite the fact that outwardly, it looks like we have nothing in common, in fact we have a bond that goes deep, far further than mere clothes or personalities would suggest.
And since my body changed, my friend’s fashion advice was even more important. Because gone was the old Ellie from two years ago, an underweight mouse shaped like a broomstick, and in her place was the body of a woman, like Venus de Milo incarnate. I have big boobs now, a huge ass that sways when I walk, and generous hips making it hard to fit any type of pants. In fact, it’d been a struggle getting into my jeans tonight, I’d had to hop up and down desperately a couple times before they squeezed on, and the button was threatening to pop off any second.
So I sighed again.
“I don’t have anything else,” I repeated plaintively, gesturing with open palms. “There’s nothing else, look at my suitcase, nothing, nada.” And flipping open the purple travel case to reveal the interior was
uninspiring. There was nothing haute couture or racy, just a couple more colored tops and a pair of grey jeans to mix things up.
Rachel pulled a face.
“Really, you didn’t bring a dress? Something a little slinkier?” she asked, picking through the stuff in my bag.
I shook my head.
“Nope, you know I don’t wear dresses that often,” I reminded her. “I’m more of a tomboy.”
Rach pulled another face.
“Tomboy, schmomboy, El, you’ve got a body now that’s decidedly not tomboyish anymore,” she emphasized. “Come on, you’re gonna have to wear something of mine then.” And with that she began pawing through her things, flipping through the closet where she’d hung a million outfits, each one colorful and gaudy, some even with pom-poms and sequins.
“No, Rach, no,” I pleaded. Even if I wore something of my friend’s, we weren’t the same size, not even close. My blonde friend was your typical petite vixen, about five one and a size zero. Whereas now, I was up to a size fourteen, maybe. Possibly a sixteen, it depended on what I’d had for breakfast, or sometimes dinner the night before. There was no way I could squeeze into one of Rachel’s outfits, I’d rip it at the seams like a juicy tomato busting out.
But my friend couldn’t be deterred.
“How about this one?” she asked brightly, pulling a dress out of the closet.
I groaned. It was terrible, all psychedelic colors, oranges swirling with purples, great big globs of green here and there.
“No Rach,” I said firmly. “Absolutely not, I’m getting a headache just looking at it.”
She sniffed, her pert nose wrinkling.
“Just so you know El, this dress is by Missoni, they’re a famous Italian design house known for their zany patterns.”
I shook my head still.
“I’ve never heard of this designer, but no Rach, it’s like an acid trip,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t.”
Rachel sighed dramatically, hanging it back up.
“How about this one then?” she asked.
I paused for a moment, stunned. The dress wasn’t even a dress, really. It was more like a band of cloth across the bust paired with a skirt, with the tiniest piece of material connecting the two vertically, enough to hide your belly button.
“What is that?” I asked, horrified.
“What you’ve never seen cut-outs before?” my friend scoffed like a grande dame. “This here is an Azzedine Alaia, I love his work,” she cooed. “So sultry, he knows a woman’s body so well.”
I shook my head again.
“Rach, that’s more like a swimsuit, I can’t go into a club wearing a swimsuit.”
And my friend laughed.
“It’s not a swimsuit, the material’s not waterproof,” she said airily. “Besides, look what I’m wearing,” she said slyly, untying her purple fur jacket. And I gasped because beneath the fur, the blonde had on something that looked like a violet handkerchief, a triangle bound around her breasts, dropping to a point that barely shielded her snatch. One flutter, and everything would be visible. I goggled, astounded.
“Will they let you in the club like that?” I stuttered.
“They better,” Rachel said cheerily. “Otherwise Miles will be soooo disappointed,” she cooed.
And I shook my head again. We’d been invited to this no-name disco by a bunch of guys we’d met at the hotel pool earlier this afternoon. Miles was the one Rachel had homed in on, an overly-tan muscular dude whose swim trunks left nothing to the imagination. I didn’t want to go out with them tonight, not really, but Rach was determined to see Miles again and I was just along for the ride, the best friend slash sidekick, always the voice of reason.
“Okay, this one then,” my friend said with finality. “Seriously El, lighten up, this would look fantastic on you.”
And I gasped again, but for a completely different reason. The dress she was holding in her hands was absolutely gorgeous. Size XS, yes, but still stunningly beautiful, a silky slip in gold that shimmered under the lights.
“Try it on, okay?” asked my friend, pushing it into my arms. “Come on, chop chop, we gotta go, it’ll look amazing.”
And with slow steps, I let myself into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and gazing in the mirror. What was going on? I was boring Ellie Danes, nerd extraordinaire, who never wore things like this. I was more a jeans and a t-shirt girl, swapping out the t-shirt for a sweater when things got cold, or a velvet top when things got sexy. No way could I ever pull off a dress like this.
But never say never, and I was transfixed by the shimmering gold fabric, the material silky and glimmery in the light. Hesitantly, I pulled off my scoopneck, then squeezed out of my jeans, holding the tiny scrap of material in front of me. Did I dare put it on? Did I dare become someone other than plain old Ellie, always the wallflower? And with a sigh, I undid the zip and stepped into the shimmery fabric, sliding it up over my hips and breasts, pulling the spaghetti straps over my shoulders.
Looking in the mirror, I gasped at the sudden transformation. Oh my god, I was someone else now. Whereas before I was curvy, yes, but hidden and discreet, now everything was out in the limelight. The fabric hugged my girls just so, emphasizing their creamy fullness, the tops of my mounds revealed in the deep décolletage. And the dress skimmed my waist, showing off how narrow it was before clinging to my hips, the shimmer emphasizing every sway of my booty.
I giggled then, humping my butt up and down a bit just for fun, letting go in the privacy of the bathroom. It jiggled and jumped under the lights, the fabric sparkling and moving on my curves like liquid gold, casting a magical sheen around me, almost like a halo of sparkles surrounding my curvy form. I loved it, absolutely loved it, and opened the bathroom door.
“Oh my gawd, it’s puuurrr-fect!” squealed my friend, handing me a jacket. “Now put that on otherwise we’re going to be late meeting Miles.”
I shook my head again, draping the coat over my shoulders. It was as if a magic trick had ended, the dark material shrouding the gold, giving no hint of the dazzling splendor beneath. But Rachel was right. It was time to go, time to have a good time tonight.
“Come on,” sang my friend, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I picked out shoes and a purse for you already, gotta roll!”
And with another sigh, I slipped my feet into the golden pumps Rachel had laid out, complete with a matching gold handbag. Oh my god, the heels were so high, I was going to have trouble balancing and sure enough, my first step was a little wobbly. Bracing myself against the wall, I took a deep breath.
But my friend was already halfway down the hall.
“Come on, last one in the elevator is a rotten egg!” she sang. And I had to laugh at that. We were still kids, even though it was our senior year in high school, even though we were in Vegas on our first unsupervised trip, without parents, siblings, or any type of chaperone. It was our last vacation before school applications started, the whole college race that was going to suck up every last minute of free time.
So this was my final opportunity to have fun, to let my hair down before the grind started, making me dutiful Ellie Danes once more. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin, forcing myself to walk confidently into the hall, hips swinging, sashaying like a princess.
“There you go,” nodded my friend approvingly, finger jamming the elevator button. “You’re a new you, Ellie, just for tonight. Remember.”
And I grinned as the elevator doors opened.
“Who’s the rotten egg now?” I asked, rushing into the lift.
Rachel just laughed.
“No seriously, Ellie. Just for tonight, you’re going to be a new you. Flirtatious, sassy, outgoing. You’re going to charm Miles’s friends and make them all fall in love with you. Every single one.”
And I giggled. I wasn’t into Miles’ friends, the guys by the pool today hadn’t been my type for lots of reasons, but Rachel was right. I wanted to dance, laugh, and live up
a storm tonight. This was it. It was time for a new Ellie, a new me, because girls can have fun … and I didn’t want to miss out.
CHAPTER TWO
Ellie
“Hi there!” sang Rachel out the window as the car pulled up to the curb. We’d gotten an Uber to this undisclosed location and I looked out onto the dark street skeptically. There were a couple street lamps casting pools of isolated light, and it looked like we’d pulled up in front of non-descript warehouses, shuttered and empty, no one else around.
“Are you sure this is it?” I said, biting my lip, a little nervous. I knew the club was supposed to be discreet, but I’d expected at least a few people hanging out front smoking, maybe a small sign tucked away somewhere. Or music. Surely there’d be music, what kind of club didn’t play music?
But it was silent on the darkened street, the Uber grinding to a halt at the curb.
“This is it,” said the cabbie, “This is the address.”
I moved to thank him but was cut off by Rachel again.
“Of course this is the right address,” she said breezily. “There’s Miles over there!” she said, her entire head out the window now, long blonde hair fluttering as she gestured furiously to the men. “Helll-oo!”
And I sighed, getting out of the car. I had a bad feeling about this, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe once the big warehouse door opened, there’d be an amazing party inside filled with gorgeous people milling about, the ladies dressed to the nines, the guys coolly casual.
But ugh, Miles wasn’t my idea of a good-looking dude. His features were okay, but his clothing was beyond bizarre. The man had a blue velvet jacket with blue ribbon trim around the lapels that made him look like a carnival barker. I didn’t even know they made men’s clothes like this, that anyone would buy stuff so gaudy. But thinking back to Rachel’s multi-colored, LSD-inspired dress, maybe these two were perfect together. They could work in a high-end circus together as one of the curiosities, people could pay five dollars to see the zany pair. So yeah, maybe they were a match made in heaven, and Rachel was skipping over to Miles now, throwing herself into his arms, twirling in his arms, a flirtatious female to the max.
The F*ck Book: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Page 56