All the Best Men: An MFMM Menage Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  His arm didn’t move an inch. But a male hand went down, down, down until it was right in front of that huge bulge. And my eyes popped then. Because the tent in his pants was enormous, like a giant anaconda lying in wait. And subtly, very subtly, those thick, blunt fingers caressed the snake, my eyes gong wide as the hardness twitched visibly, growing and straining beneath the grey suit pants.

  Oh my god, oh my god! We were literally in church, standing in front of a crowd of people. In fact, the minister’s words were droning on about peace and love and prosperity for the married couple, while this groomsman teased, stroking his boner and making me wet.

  I should have been disgusted. I should have turned away, jerking my chin like I was too good for this depravity. But instead, a blush crept over my cheeks and I smiled at the three men. That’s right, I smiled sweetly and slowly, my tongue slipping out to run over glossy pink lips.

  It wouldn’t have looked like anything if you saw. Merely a bridesmaid feeling a little hot, licking her lips as she watched the ceremony from the sidelines. But the three men knew. They knew I liked being here, with them … and that I wanted much, much more.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tyler

  Goddamn. This little backwater town was a piece of shit. Knox, Tennessee? Where the fuck was that? Where the fuck was Tennessee for crying out loud? Being from New York City, no place exists for us but Manhattan, the island at the center of the world. It’s sad but true. So to be dragged out here on a beautiful weekend was a major sacrifice.

  But fine. It’s Bobby’s big day. And since we’ve been buds from childhood, me, Kane and Mason made the trip. We didn’t sit in business class. Not even first class. Because we came by fucking private jet. Hell yeah, the plane is something we bought not so long ago. And why not? It saves time and there was an aviation sale last year. No big deal.

  But shit, Bumfuck USA was off to a bad start. There wasn’t even a runway big enough for our plane, can you believe it? So we had to do an emergency landing on a grassy field nearby, the G-6 descending from the heavens like an avenging angel, ominous and huge, its wings looming shadows.

  But we’re here now, lined up stiff at the front of the church. Bobby, my friend, this better be worth it.

  Because the four of us have been pals since childhood, and Bobby has always been the nicest, most laid-back guy around. Chubby with big, thick glasses, sure, but sometimes you need that. You can’t all be hoods and gangstas, every clique’s gotta have its Mr. Magoo. So Bobby is my bro and now, holy shit, it’s his wedding day.

  Because I hate weddings. A root canal or some mindless meeting would be better than a wedding. Girls, they get ideas at these things. It’s like they catch fever or something. Suddenly, women that were once rational and happy go insane, spouting talk about commitments. Shit. One woman, a couple weddings back even stroked my hand while murmuring, “Wouldn’t it be nice if this was us?”

  Holy fuck. No thanks. And I don’t mean “No thanks, maybe sometime in the future.” I mean, “No thanks, not ever.” Because why the fuck would I get married? There’s too much to do in life, a variety of pussy to taste. So why would I limit myself to just one?

  And it gets worse. The last girl I made the mistake of taking to a wedding got the crazy idea that somehow yours truly was ready to put a ring on it. You can bet she got a ‘Dear John’ email the next day. Or in her case, ‘Dear Jane,’ plus a six figure emerald necklace. That seemed to put a lid on it. The ladies know that the jewelry train only runs if they shut the fuck up and put their feelings on the back burner.

  So yeah, I’ve been in the hot seat a couple times now, the targets of several scheming women. But I’ve learned to deal, even to turn it to my advantage. After all, sitting on top of a giant global conglomerate, you learn how to manage these things.

  So yeah, I use the situation to get what I want. And that’s sex. There’s mad hormones in the air at these things, and some girls, instead of wanting to get hitched, turn into crazed sex friends, ready to be taken anytime, anywhere. Oh yeah, some figure they need to “catch up” to their married friends, or “live it up” somehow, throwing themselves at me like a bunch of desperately flopping fish.

  So discreetly, I scanned the church. My buddies Mason and Kane were doing the same, their eyes roving over the crowd. Not much, unfortunately. A couple old biddies wearing hats as big as umbrellas, feathers extending three feet in the air. Why the hell would you do that? It was more circus freak than Duchess of Windsor.

  Disappointed, I snorted. Oh well. At least the jet was still at that grassy field, ready to take off. We could leave as soon as humanly possible. Maybe after the wedding reception. Hell, maybe after the ceremony, if it came to that.

  But my thoughts were interrupted by the swell of organ music. Suddenly, the volume got turned on max, and what had previously been some pleasant elevator music in the background became a full-on cacophony of chords. Fuck. Is this what counted for classy in Buttfuck, Nowhere?

  The double doors to the entrance swung open slowly, and shit, but Elaine stepped in then. What the hell? I thought bridesmaids and flower girls walked first, but evidently, Elaine wanted all eyes on her from the get go.

  Her blonde hair was perfect, a smile lighting that angelic face, but there’s no fooling me. That bitch is crazy town with a heavy dose of insanity. The couple times we’d hung out hadn’t gone down well. She was constantly whining “Bobby this, Bobby that,” ordering him around like a pet poodle. He’s the fucking mayor of Knox! You’re lucky you snagged him, especially with your bipolar tendencies.

  Not only that, but one of those times, Bobby had forgotten to order one of her favorite drinks and she’d gone bat shit crazy at the bar, screaming that he didn’t love her and how could he claim to love her when he didn’t remember something as simple as that?

  Needless to say, the night had been a bust, the mood blown after listening to Elaine criticize Bobby for nothing. God. Why the hell is he marrying her? It must be the pussy. Her pussy’s gotta be the holy fucking grail, because why else would he stay around, much less tie the knot?

  But maybe that’s what we were here for: to keep him from making the biggest mistake of his life. Maybe we were here to rescue him. It’s not too late. We can haul him on the private jet and get him back to New York as soon as possible. He can be the Runaway Groom, like in the Julia Roberts movie. Silently, I cheered in my head. That sounded like a plan. What was the alternative after all? Fifty years of life with a harpy who stole your money? Was there a pre-nup at least?

  But nah, it wasn’t gonna happen. Stealing a glance at Bobby next to me, my heart went out to the man. Seriously, I felt bad for the poor guy. Chubby and sweating bullets, his face was bright pink, eyes bulging from behind those heavy glasses.

  Maybe he was having second thoughts after all. If he really wanted to make a run for it we could get him out of here James Bond-style, no sweat. I opened my mouth to say something, but then the wedding march started. Well here we go. Too late now, live and let live, buddy … it’s your life.

  So staring straight ahead, I watched disinterestedly as Elaine sashayed down the aisle, preening and smiling, nodding while batting her lashes. By my book, she was ugly. If you like skinny blondes, then Elaine was your girl, weighing in at ninety pounds, her shoulder bones scarily sharp, chest practically concave.

  And the bridesmaids weren’t much better. I saw, but only because my eyes had to see. Like their blonde friend, they too were scary skinny, a bunch of scarecrows held up by wooden rails. Elbows so sharp they could cut through metal. Faces strained and pulled tight from hunger, the shape of their skulls visible underneath. Man, somebody get these girls a ham sandwich pronto.

  But suddenly, all my pre-conceived notions were upended. Just when I’d given up, the last bridesmaid entered, biting her lip, brown curls a halo around her head. Shit, but this woman had curves! My gaze locked on her like a tractor beam; I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that lush female form. She had tits that

went on for days, wide hips that swung right and left, and an ass so big you could eat a meal off it. Holy shit! She was so unlike the other girls. Where the hell had this chickadee been hiding?

  And I wasn’t the only one that noticed her. Next to me, Kane and Mason stiffened, riveted by her presence. In fact, their whole bodies shifted to focus intently on the girl, like she was a magnet drawing our attention. We were lions stalking our prey, gazes unwavering, dicks getting hard already. I hadn’t been able to stop staring at those Double Ds for the last minute. Fuck, what would they taste like? What would it taste like between those sweet thighs? Would her puffy slit be creamy and hot? Aw, shit.

  But finally, the wedding procession came to an end. The minister’s voice started droning and Bobby took his bride’s hand, yadda yadda yadda. We faced forwards because that was the right thing to do. It’d be a fucking riot if Mason, Kane and I continued to stare at the beautiful bridesmaid out in the open, our hands on our dicks as we ate up those curves. But that didn’t mean we were done for. Hardly, the three of us are dirty motherfuckers, and this was just the beginning.

  Because we made eye contact with the beautiful brunette. In fact, all the bridesmaids were eyeing us, practically drooling. But as the ceremony started, everyone was forced to pay attention. Or at least look like they were paying attention.

  Because once I had the beautiful girl’s eyes on me, I did something so fucked up and dirty that she could have screamed, and no one would have blamed her. Yeah, I popped my dick out. At first, it was just a stroke on top of my morning suit, making sure she saw that heaviness, the thick stiffness that’s my calling card.

  But no sense in stopping there. Our dreamgirl was entranced, and no one else even noticed. So discreetly, I pulled down my zip as we stood in front of the priest, the old dude still droning monotonously about fidelity, love and honor. And with stealthy hands, it happened. I edged my fuckrod out for the girl to see, that giant length deep pink, already stiff with need.

  Oh yeah.

  Could she see how fat I was, massive and ready to take?

  Could she see the wet glans, how my pole dripped with lust?

  Suddenly, Mason coughed beside me, and I whipped my dick back into my pants. Oh yeah, the motherfucker was dying of laughter, even if his own rod begged to make an entrance. That tent at his crotch was just as bad as mine, if not worse.

  So yeah, I put it back in. Enough had been done already. After all, I pulled my dick out and stroked it during someone else’s wedding, right in front of a crowd of onlookers. Sure, no one could see because we stood a particular angle that blocked the view. But still. It was fucked-up. It was my best friend’s wedding, and I’d been a sick motherfucker.

  But it was worth it because that one act made the sweet girl’s eyes go round, her face flushing, pink pout forming a round “O” of shock. Was it wrong? Hell yeah. Triple X dirty? You bet. Happening again? For sure, times three.

  Because Mason and Kane want in on the game too. We’re fucked-up assholes, guys who go at it three on one, owning females left and right. And here, in tiny Knox? There was only one brunette who fit the bill, who could possibly satisfy us all. And fortunately or unfortunately for the beautiful bridesmaid … her time was up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Kane

  Aw shit, Tyler’s so fucking disgusting. Pulling out your dong during a wedding ceremony? Showing it in its full glory as people are getting married? Doing it at the wedding of our buddy, no less, Bobby Winkle from childhood?

  But Tyler’s just like that. Hell, Mason and I are like that too. Because shit, I would have done the same if I’d been standing where he was positioned. Fucker was turned so that no one could see except us and the beautiful brunette. And then that fuckpole came out, hard and glistening, as he smiled lasciviously at the girl.

  But I don’t blame him. Because the chick was a sight for sore eyes. Gorgeous as all get-out, with tits out to there, and a huge, lush ass. Oh yeah, that sassy butt was enormous, the material of her dress stretched so tight that the seams were practically splitting on her precious crack. Let it split, I prayed. Let her have a wardrobe malfunction right here so that I can get a glimpse of that creamy goodness.

  No such luck though. Her outfit was ugly as fuck, but it held together, squeezing her curves tight, emphasizing that hourglass figure. Shit, you could have put her in a gunnysack and she would have been fucking unstoppable.

  So yeah, Tyler went balls to the wall, and pulled out his dong to tease and tantalize the innocent bridesmaid. And she was innocent for sure. As we stood there in front of the minister, her eyes literally grew wide as saucers, a sharp inhale causing those big boobies to lift in the air, begging to be kissed.

  My dick jerked sharply then, straining against the zip painfully. And fuck, but a choked growl escaped my throat, forcing Tyler to stuff it back in immediately as people turned to make sure I was okay. Nothing to see, folks, keep moving. Yeah, right. More like we were in for a NC-17 show, straight out of the gutter.

  But that’s just how us dudes roll. We’ve been friends since fourth grade, ever since Mason stood up for poor Bobby during a particularly nasty game of kickball. Even back then, Bobby was pudgy and overweight, one of those guys who’s always sweaty. And when a ball hit him straight in the face courtesy of one of the older boys, Mason went for it. Or more accurately, we all jumped into the melee, fists flying, amateur boxers all.

  And sure, those boys were older than us. But it didn’t mean that they knew how to fight. Because me and my bros are assholes all around, and we’re not above doing some serious damage. So yeah, the fists came out, a couple cuts and tears, and pretty soon, the neighborhood bullies went running, scared shitless and screaming.

  That was the beginning of the Four Musketeers. Me, Tyler, and Mason, plus Bobby, our mascot. During college, we’d been inseparable, roaming campus together and making trouble. These are my bros. One for all, and all for one.

  But a few years after college, Bobby went on leave. Or more accurately, he left to follow his dreams. The man’s always been into politics, so when the opportunity to work for the Governor of Tennessee came along, Bobby jumped.

  And surprisingly, he’s done well. The sweating pinkness that’s always defined him works well in politics. The bumbling persona comes off as genuine, his stammer is the mark of an “everyman,” and lo and behold, but our buddy is mayor of a tiny town in Tennessee now.

  As for the rest of us, life’s taken a huge U. We were bad students. Worse than bad, more like barely graduating. But Mason, Tyler and I made it out alive, and somehow, everything fell into place after that.

  I’m now the CEO of a restaurant empire. Mario Batali? That dude’s got nothing on me. A hundred and seventy restaurants are on our roster, more opening each year. Plus, we’re in talks to start our own Food Network channel. Not a show on the Food Network, but actually a channel in and of itself, hosting chefs, cooking shows, you name it, we got it.

  Tyler’s an investor at an international bank with offices all over the world. Billions flow through his hands each day, and more than a few folks have called him the next Warren Buffett. Lucky bastard because he’s got the dough but doesn’t have to live in Omaha.

  Mason’s the CEO of his own construction company, responsible for building new high-rises and office buildings in major cities all over the world. Dude lives in a penthouse seventy stories about Central Park. And guess what? He built the place to his specs, down to every last detail.

  So yeah, we’re all captains of industry. Money rolls in waves, and there’s nothing out of reach. Influence, women, business deals, everything can be bought, at least in a city like New York.

  So none of us can understand why Bobby chose to move to this tiny town in Tennessee. Why would you limit yourself? But against all odds, he’s done well, becoming the mayor of this place. So what if it’s population one thousand? So what if the people are mostly senior citizens, doddering up and down Main Street on canes? He’s still the mayor, and it’s just a first step. Pretty soon, Bobby’s gonna be running this fucking zoo. Soon homeboy’s gonna be in the Senate or even the White House, politics come so easy to him.

  But still, this wedding. Shit, Mason, Tyler and I just flew in thirty minutes ago, and it was already a drag. Boring as all fuck. Organ music that sounded like monkeys screeching. Ladies who were skinny as scarecrows, like walking clothes hangers. Not attractive. Not by a long shot.

  Because heavy girls have always been my kryptonite. Give me a pair of thick thighs, a generous D-cup and a bit of cushion for the pushin’, and I’m in heaven. Sure, models and actresses always throw themselves at me, but they’re just not my size. Cameras do funny things, and girls who look relatively normal in magazines are fucking tiny in real life. Like bobble head dolls, except you’re afraid their brain is gonna come disconnected and roll off during dinner. It’s bad, real bad.

  But hey, I’ve never been one to turn down free pussy. So yeah, we let them have it. It’s not like there’s a vow of celibacy or something, and more often, the girls throw themselves at us, and not the other way around. Hell, there were even those who begged for the triple team. That’s right, three dicks at once, filling all their holes. Depraved? Fuck yeah. But satisfying as hell? Definitely, especially for the female plugged tight everywhere. In fact, they usually came back a second time begging for more, offering their bodies, writhing and mewling. So why not? Consenting adults all around.

  But now, this godforsaken wedding. One look at Elaine and I was immediately turned off. There’s a radar called the bitch switch, and shit, but the blonde switched that switch ON. Even with an angelic face and perfect Barbie-like blonde hair, this girl has a bad personality. Like a spoiled, whiny persona, the-world-revolves-around-me attitude. There just ain’t time for that where I come from. In our world, the Earth circles around us, not any female.

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