Double Exposure: A Dark MMF Bisexual Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  Without any warning, he pulled me roughly to him and fucked his cockpole into my dampness, no mercy, that huge meat spearing me like an iron rod in my flesh.

  “Aieee!” I squealed. And reader, there was nothing I could do but take it. Cade gripped my hips tight, pinning me in place even as my knees collapsed, holding me up, my pussy muscles gripping that fuckpole as I struggled with his girth.

  He couldn’t pull back easily at first, the donkey dong was stuck tight in my little hole. But with a grunted “umph” he pushed my hips forward as he pulled back, and the cock came out with an audible pop, only to be thrust in deep again, literally lifting me in the air as I squirmed, my little pussy used and abused, the best kind of drill it’d ever had.

  And Caden set up a rhythm, pounding me from the back, chanting, “Take it, take it, take it,” all the while nailing me, my cunny dripping wetly, my boobs dangling down. There was only one moment of pause, and I turned my head over my shoulder to see what had caused this break in our sweet ecstasy.

  My eyes almost popped out. While Cade was fucking me, Caleb had moved in back of his brother, his butt still stuffed tight with the dildo. Grabbing his brother’s hips, he’d edged his dick between those masculine cheeks and had wormed the first inch of his monster in, the only lube his dripping sperm.

  “Give it to me,” breathed Cade. “Give it to me, brother.”

  And Caleb did. With a hard, forceful thrust, he rammed into Cade’s rectum, tearing that deep hole even as Cade rammed insistently into me. It was like a choo-choo train, the three of us lined up, all of us fucking and being fucked simultaneously.

  I squealed, screaming, completely lost to sensation now, losing my mind. My brothers, was I really fucking them? It was overwhelming, sensational and so nasty at the same time. I could feel the tension building in my body as my cunt was reamed, the growls from both men growing louder, our bodies tensing as the wave crested.

  “Oh fuck!”

  “Aieee!”

  “Fuck fuck fuck!” we cried in unison as orgasm rushed like a tidal wave. My puss clenched and twitched around the donkey dong inside me even as the hot rod filled me with the most delicious fluids, spilling out around my puss, gushing down my legs, coating my ovaries with fertile sperm.

  Meanwhile, Caleb, our caboose, had come deep in his brother’s ass and though I could hardly believe it, it looked as if Cade’s anus was milking his brother’s cock dry, the same way my pussy was draining Cade’s penis as he pumped. I could see the rhythmic twitches as Cade jerked, then the corresponding grunts as his brother pulsed, and I realized the twins were truly joined, that I’d been blessed to be a part of this dirty, nasty, incestuous ménage.

  As I recovered, I pulled off Cade’s dick, smiling as I turned to my steps.

  “More, please?” I asked sweetly.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Caden

  Life has been a series of ups and downs. Of course, the time we spend with our sister is an obvious up. Karina’s been wilder than our wildest expectations, a real hellcat between the sheets, servicing us both, watching with hunger and lust as my brother and I fuck her and each other.

  She’s also learning the ins and outs of pole dancing, something that turns us on, makes us hunger and beg for her lithe, curvaceous body, to kneel before her in obeisance just to lap that wet cunt or grasp a perky nipple, pulling it tight and making her moan and squeal.

  “Oh!” she screamed last night as we drilled her, my dick in her ass, my brother’s cock in her mouth. “More!” she choked as she played with her clit before bursting into a thousand flames.

  Because it’s a depraved world we live in but Karina seems to accept it, to fit right in with our little backstory. And it’s a lot to absorb, I admit. I mean, how many twins really fuck each other and their stepsister? How many billionaires lead secret lives straight out of the raunchiest, lustiest skin mags?

  But discretion is important. No one knows what goes on in our apartment and we like to keep it that way. Just the other day Karina asked, “Cade, does your family suspect? I mean, what about Matt and Jake and your dad? Do they have any inkling about what you and Caleb have been doing?”

  I paused. The thing is that Caleb and I were separated for a long time, him in Wyoming with our mom and me in San Francisco with our dad. I took my time answering.

  “Well little sis,” I drawled, “I don’t think anyone knows. I mean our parents got divorced because they didn’t get along, not because they suspected Caleb and I needed to be separated. And we’ve been pretty good about keeping things a secret. Obviously, everything we do goes on behind closed doors and we don’t generally bring girls into our … escapades, if you will.”

  That made Karina laugh. “Escapades?” she asked with an arched eyebrow. “Is that what you call it?” she said sweetly.

  “Yeah, escapades,” I grunted, circling her waist and drawing her near, stroking the curve of her waist. “I’d say this is Escapade 101.”

  She laughed again, kissing me lightly and purposefully rubbing her breasts against my chest before pulling away to pick up her backpack.

  “You’re so hilarious Cade,” she chimed. “I want to talk about this with you some more, but right now I gotta get to class. See you tonight?” she asked, turning to shoot me a dazzling smile from the door.

  “Absolutely,” I grunted. And she was gone, her long auburn hair a whirl, that sensuous figure disappearing in a flash.

  The fact was that Caleb and I had talked about our set-up. We were in paradise at the moment, living together with our step, to the outside world just three siblings sharing an apartment as we attended university. But we weren’t sure how much longer it could go on.

  Unbeknownst to Karina, the Chancellor had asked Caleb and I to drop by. I’d figured it was for some bullshit reason having to do with money. NYU needs to constantly fundraise and Caleb and I, as billionaires, are not only donors but also key thought leaders, the university hoping to tap our network of high net worth individuals.

  We’d shown up at the Chancellor’s office, casual in jeans, our backpacks slung over our shoulders. Oddly, we’d been directed into an inner sanctum, the Chancellor waiting for us with only a trusted aide, both serious and professional.

  “Hey Chancellor,” tossed out Caleb. “What’s up? Looking forward to discussing the latest fundraising initiative.”

  The Chancellor nodded but didn’t reply, gesturing for us to take a seat first.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “I hate to be having this discussion with you, but were you at a DUP party a couple Saturdays ago?”

  “Yeah,” I confirmed. “What of it? We already talked to the cops, lawyers present of course, we denied everything because there was nothing to know.” I shrugged. “I heard there was some crazy girl inventing stories, but she was on drugs, it was all a figment of her imagination.”

  The Chancellor’s somber expression remained. “Unfortunately, that crazy girl spoke with a reporter at Rolling Stone and we’ve just gotten advance notice that an exposé is scheduled to appear in the magazine next week.”

  “No way,” said my brother slowly. “We’d heard she’d spoken with the press but figured it was harmless. I mean, any respectable publication that does any sort of fact-checking would immediately realize that the story was fabricated.”

  The Chancellor nodded his head again.

  “That’s what the university thought as well,” he said slowly, “but rape victims are shielded by the press. Generally publications never identify the victim, so it’s almost impossible to do any fact-checking. We’re expecting the worst,” he concluded. “We’re expecting for a bomb to go off, for NYU to be named as a sexist, racist university, one that doesn’t fully investigate claims of sexual abuse.”

  “What? Racist too?” I said disbelievingly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “That’s how these things work,” said the Chancellor with a heavy sigh. “The paper will seize on anything to poke holes in the
University’s armor. They’ll invent things based on the slimmest justification, just to pump more juice into their story.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. School was turning out to be just as challenging as work. I mean Sterling Pharmaceutical was a bitch to run, but we hadn’t had a claim as wacky as this yet.

  “Chancellor,” said my brother slowly. “What is it that you want us to do? How can we help?”

  “At this point, nothing,” he replied. “I just wanted to give you a heads up because you were at that party. It’s almost inevitable that you’ll be mentioned in the papers, that the Sterling name will be brought up.”

  “You mean dragged through the mud,” I said grimly. “They’re going to work this exposé for everything it’s worth, including bringing down our family company.”

  The old man shrugged heavily. “I’m so sorry Caden, Caleb,” he said. “Your enrollment at NYU was a boon to the university, helping us elevate our profile. But with every gift comes an edge of danger, and now it looks like Rolling Stone is going to push that boundary.”

  “Fuck,” I swore, not so quietly, looking down at the table. Anonymity was important to my brother and I for obvious reasons. We would never be the average guy walking down the street, but we weren’t nobody either.

  “I guess there’s only one thing to do then and that’s to see what the article says,” drawled Caleb.

  And we took our leave, strolling back to the apartment, the day sunny and bright but with ominous clouds on the horizon.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Caleb

  Clouds were only the beginning. It was more like a fucking blizzard of supernova proportions, debilitating the University and shocking in its magnitude. The papers came out the next day and the headlines themselves were unbelievable.

  “A RAPE ON CAMPUS: A BRUTAL ASSAULT AND STRUGGLE FOR JUSTICE” screamed the cover of Rolling Stone. Plus, a few secondary publications had caught on, belittling the university, calling DUP and other fraternities “Greek Gangs” and the like.

  I could hardly believe it. As I scanned the story, the so-called facts came rolling out. Evidently, Sandy, a pseudonym for the diabolical Brenda, alleged she’d been gang-raped at a frat party by seven guys. I snorted right there. I vaguely remembered a brunette dancing around with a friend during the party, but that particular brunette had offered herself freely and willingly, holding her cunt open for all. She wasn’t even cute in my opinion, skinny as a twig with bad skin.

  But the rape was graphic and disgusting, recounted in excruciating detail in the magazine. Allegedly, someone had slapped a hand over Sandy’s mouth, preventing her from screaming, and when she bit it, someone else had punched her in the face, yelling, “Grab its motherfucking leg.”

  Sandy also purported to remember every moment of the three-hour rape, in which seven men took turns doing her, while two more – including her date – gave instruction and encouragement. While the last man sank into her, evidently there were cries of “Pussy!” and “What, she’s not hot enough for you?” because the poor guy looked like he was going to cry or puke. Then the brothers egged him on, asking, “What, don’t you want to be a brother? We all had to do it, so you should too.”

  I slapped the magazine closed at this point. I was a made brother within DUP and I knew that there was no “rape requirement” to join the fraternity, it was all fucking lies. Sure there had been some sex, even public sex, but nothing described in the article had happened. This was fucking libel.

  I called my brother immediately. “Cade, did you see the article?” I asked as soon as he answered.

  “Yeah,” he grunted. “Did you see that part about us?”

  Oh shit. I hadn’t given the piece a close read, instead focusing only on the lurid details of the rape itself. “No, what,” I commanded.

  He proceeded to quote directly from the story:

  And two of the rapists present were the notorious Sterling twins, Caleb and Caden, CFO and Head of Tech at Sterling Pharmaceutical based in California. Will money shield the twins from their depraved acts? Will the rich “game the system” in this case? Only time will tell.

  Oh fuck. That was bad. So evidently the press had no problem with outing alleged “guilty” defendants, although the identities of the victims were kept private. It seemed so unfair, so unbelievable. They were calling us rapists already, when we should have been presumed innocent. How was that justifiable whatsoever?

  I growled menacingly.

  “I hear you brother,” said Cade dryly, still on the line. “I hear you. What next?”

  The truth was, I wasn’t sure. It was tempting to go public immediately, denounce the article, take out an ad in the Times to proclaim our innocence. But it would be playing right into their hands, creating more allegations that we were rich boys with the ability to buy our way out.

  “We wait,” I growled. “And I’m giving Phipps a call.”

  “Do that and tell him not to leave anything out,” replied Cade.

  As soon as I hung up, I dug up the number to Phipps, a journalist with a blog. James Phipps had worked at the Washington Post back in the day, but had quit at fifty to start his own blogroll, deeming the traditional press too “vacuous” and “undisciplined.” He was a salt-of-the-earth type of guy, crusty but bold.

  Phipps picked up on the first ring.

  “My man,” he said, “is this what I think it’s about?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Look into it, will you? Hunt down all discrepancies, figure out everything there is to know about the accuser.”

  “Do you know her real name?” asked Phipps. “It’ll give me a head start in destroying her story.”

  I thought for a long minute. Was it a crime to disclose the name of the alleged victim? Maybe for the press, but not for me.

  “Brenda Bey,” I said shortly. “That’s the place to start.”

  “You got it boss,” said Phipps, “prepare for Armageddon.”

  “Good, keep me updated,” I said grimly.

  And as I walked home, I thought about the consequences. Obviously, my brother and I would be exonerated. There had been no gang rape, nothing of that sort, nor had Cade or I touched anyone. Sure, it’d been a debauched party but there was no rape of Sandy, it was two girls, Brenda and Vera, who’d offered themselves to a roomful of men. We would destroy them.

  What required special handling though, was the total annihilation of Brenda’s credibility, the public outing of a desperate girl who had concocted this scheme for some bizarre reason. But why? What had driven her to mislead the public, to tell all these lies? A need for attention? Publicity? Didn’t she realize she was wrecking her future?

  I pondered the issue as I strolled home. We’d need to be careful, deliberate, even delicate in every public move. There was no way the world could find out about our twinsex although unfortunately, there were unmistakable traces of our illicit behavior.

  The stripping in Vegas … I cursed when I thought back to it. It’d been fun but there were cameras in those clubs, recording every move, more to protect the club against any liability than to catch the depraved acts of patrons.

  But with the evil eye of the press on us, it was completely possible that someone would piece two and two together and realize that the twincest boys of Lucky Paradise Two were actually the Sterling brother billionaires. Oh fuck.

  As I opened the front door to the apartment, Karina confronted me, her face flushed, tears in her eyes.

  “Caleb,” she pleaded. “Have you seen the article? Have you been to the DUP house?”

  “I saw the article,” I said, “but what about the house?”

  “It’s been vandalized,” she said tearfully. “Bricks have been thrown through the windows, there’s spray paint all over the walls making death threats, and there’s going to be a rally on the doorstep at three today. It’s awful,” she cried.

  “Is there anyone still living there?” I asked, my face darkening.

  “No, the university prov
ided temporary accommodations to the brothers, but all anyone can talk about is “poor Sandy” and the culture of sexual violence at the school,” she said tearfully. “I can’t believe Brenda’s done this.”

  “I can’t believe it either, but we’re going to prepare for the worst,” I said grimly. “We’re going to unravel this story even if it means hauling that bitch to hell by the roots of her hair,” I spat.

  “Caleb,” Karina said in a wavery voice. “I wanted to let you know. Brenda’s asked me to come over, she says she needs emotional support. I said no, my brothers are named as attackers in the piece, I couldn’t possibly. But she’s so insistent. Do you think I should go?”

  This was just the latest in a series of fucked up episodes. This Bey girl was so twisted that I wanted to throw her into an insane asylum where she belonged. But at the same time, my mind was whirring.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Say nothing, be careful, and just listen. Who knows what’ll happen? The crazy can only get crazier.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Karina

  I knocked softly on the door to my old apartment, trembling a bit with anticipation. What awaited me here? I felt like somehow my future rested on the next few moments although Caleb had been nothing but reassuring, telling me that all I had to do was listen and watch. But listen and watch for what?

  As I heard footsteps approach, I looked around and shuddered. I’d forgotten how filthy the place was, reeking of garbage, the squeak of rats audible even during the day. Thank god my brothers had come to rescue me, wrapping me in their muscled arms, letting me stay in their palace in the sky.

  And I wanted to help them. We were being torn apart by this awful scandal, the cause of which had just opened the door.

  “Karina,” said Brenda joyfully. “It’s so awesome you’re here. Come in.”

  Okay, this wasn’t what I’d expected. I thought she was going to be broken and hurt but instead, she looked totally happy and healthy, cheerful even.