His Baby to Keep: A Forbidden Romance

by Katie Ford

  “Again, brothers?” she asked sweetly.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Kristen

  I’m a fucking slut. A fucking slut in love, to boot. There’s no other way to describe my actions around my brothers. When their bodies are in my vicinity … I don’t know, I just go nuts, my pussy immediately moistening, my nips standing at attention. There’s something about the twins that transforms me into a crazy woman, you know?

  It’s weird about the whole birth control thing too. My brothers have never asked, and I’ve never said anything … but I’m not on it. I thought about going to the doctor for a prescription, but I’m nervous. My friend Elaine went on the pill and gained thirty pounds only to find out that she was pregnant. What a fucking nightmare that was.

  But senior year is starting to wind down, and I really want to finish with a bang, leave an imprint, which means getting an A on my expose. Although Troy and Tyler don’t know it, I’ve made a copy of their keys, and that includes the one that opens the interior office at Club Luxe. I’m not sure what I’m going to find inside, but it’s crucial to unlock Pandora’s box … and see what the future holds.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kristen

  I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I’d come to the club during the day, using my key to let myself in the front door. The place was deserted. After another night of hard partying, the main floor looked curiously depressing, just an open area with some light fixtures and an empty DJ booth. Plus, it was kind of grubby, the floor slightly sticky, the paint garish in the light of day.

  I was going to have to tell my brothers about the grimy interior. Tyler and Troy are the bouncer and bartender at Club Luxe, but they seem to have a direct line to management. Just last night, there’d been some dispute between Jimmy and Paul, two guys who worked security. Before I knew it, Tyler and Troy had interceded and the fight went out of the guys, leaving them deflated.

  And I don’t blame them. Tyler and Troy are alphas, with a commanding presence. It’s not just that they’re tall, dark and domineering. There’s an aura of danger about them, something seductive and menacing at once.

  But for me, that dark side translates into a hundred degree, scorching hot sex, the stuff of any girl’s dreams. Because you see, I’m in a relationship with my brothers. They’ve explained to me that they can’t call me their “girlfriend” because we’re stepsiblings, but I get the full girlfriend treatment from them, and that includes sex … loads of it, every possible position and combination explored and enjoyed.

  I love being so close to my brothers, both physically and emotionally. But in my heart of hearts I have to say, yeah, it does bother me that I’m not publicly acknowledged. Sure, they shower me with gifts and make meaningful conversation, but it’s all in the privacy of our home. In public, I’m just their sister. In fact, I don’t even think the staff at Club Luxe knows that we’re related, I was just some chick who needed a job.

  I promised myself to bring it up with Troy and Tyler … after my article was written. You see, my brothers got me the job at Club Luxe to help me out on a research project. I’m a senior in high school, and my senior thesis is an exposé in the school paper, a look into extreme partying, underage drinking, that kind of thing. I was using Club Luxe as an entryway, hoping to get a glimpse into the seedy underworld. And from working as the coat check girl, I could definitely tell something was up.

  “Why are there so many women coming in and out?” I’d asked curiously. “You know, the ones who look like models and come and go several times a night?”

  Troy frowned at me. “Leave it, little sis,” he’d warned.

  But I hadn’t heeded his warning.

  “Do you think something’s going on?” I’d pressed.

  Tyler slammed his hand down on the countertop.

  “It’s none of your business,” he snarled. “We’ve told you to stay out of it for your own good, and you need to get that into your pretty little head.”

  I’d nodded, subdued for the moment. But I wasn’t giving up that easily. I’d made a stealth copy of Troy’s keys, and was bent on investigating the mystery.

  And so here I was … alone in the gloom of the club, sneaking into the back office. I don’t know why I was spooked because there was no one around, and I could always just fib if someone happened to show up. But it was my first stealth assignment, and I was nervous as all get-out.

  I tiptoed to the steel door, the one that looks like it belongs on a bank vault. Looking up at the ceiling, I could see a camera tracking my moves, and pulled my baseball cap lower over my face. Fumbling in my pocket, I got out Troy’s keys, and thrust the biggest one into the combination lock.

  Shit! It didn’t work. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy. I tried another key, but this one didn’t even fit into the keyhole. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I tried a couple more keys, but none of them were a match. Goddammit!

  Exasperated, I tried my own key, the one for the coat check booth. With a gasp of surprise, the key turned and clicked, and the door creaked open. What the …? Why would the key for the coat check be the same for this obviously high-security door? But I didn’t have time to think. I let myself in, fumbling for the light switch.

  The light came on, glaring and bright. It looked like a standard office, two desks, two chairs, two computers, a file cabinet … and a stripper pole with a camera pointed at it. What the fuck?

  I was nervous, frazzled and jumpy. But I berated myself. This was investigative research for my senior thesis, and I wanted an A in the class.

  I tiptoed to the file cabinet and seized the handle. It was locked, but fortunately, one of Troy’s keys actually worked and I was able to open the top drawer. Oh. Boring. Just tons of files, papers everywhere. But I looked closely, and saw that each of the files was labeled with a name … a woman’s name. Carly, Jordan, Mikaela, there had to be at least fifty files in the top drawer alone.

  Curious, I pulled out Carly’s file for a peek. Inside the manila folder was a snapshot of a beautiful brunette, smiling. There were basic stats, her height, weight, eye color, that sort of thing, as well as a copy of her fingerprints and a credit report. Okay, whatever. This was a pretty standard background check.

  But I flipped to the next section, and saw that a thorough medical evaluation had been performed. Evidently Carly was healthy as a horse, with no known diseases or vectors.

  I flipped through more pages and saw a couple years of taxes, some bank statements, and then at the very back, boudoir photos of the girl. Already beautiful, she’d done herself up as a 50’s bombshell. She posed in revealing positions, first in some lacy black lingerie, and then wearing nothing at all, her luscious assets on display. What the …?

  I flipped open another folder, this one for a girl named Ekaterina, and saw much of the same. Financials, credit history, medical records … and boudoir photos again. Except this time, Katya, as she was referred to, wasn’t wearing anything except for spiky black stilettos in her photos, languidly spreading her ass cheeks and her labia in a series of X-rated stills meant to tease and tantalize, if not straight out make a man come. What the hell? Why would Club Luxe have files like these?

  My suspicions beginning to rise, I turned towards one of the computers. It flickered to life, but was password protected. Fuck, I was bad with computers. I tried a number of common passwords, including “password,” “12345678,” and “clubluxe” among others. No such luck. On a whim, I tried “twincest” and boom, I was in. What the hell? Alarm bells were clanging in my head now, but I ignored them.

  I looked through the files on the desktop and most of it was financial spreadsheets, blurry and incomprehensible. There was more than one business though … there was Club Luxe, Club Brass, Bar Brass, Steel, and a couple others which I didn’t recognize.

  But I hit the jackpot when I opened the “Photos” folder. There were multiples vids, all named with women’s first names and a date, like “Sandy 4-11-2011.” I clicked, apprehensive about what I was
going to find.

  A video flashed on screen, and I could see that it was this office, the very one I was sitting in. A blonde sat on a folding chair, wearing nothing but a bikini, smiling and flirting with the camera. She tossed her hair as a male voice said, “Hold on, just making sure we’re recording ….”

  I gasped. It was unmistakably Troy’s voice.

  “And go,” he commanded the girl.

  Sandy got up and began twirling in her high heels, dancing on the stripper pole, shaking her hips and playing with her breasts. Teasingly, she pulled the bikini off piece by piece, revealing huge Double D breasts, firm and gorgeous, as well as a slick pink cunt, bare and nubile.

  I could hear men talking in the background, their voices somewhat muffled by the music, but could make out comments like, “Moves well,” “Great body,” and “Good attitude.” What the hell, were these the stripper tryouts? Were those my brothers’ voices making the comments?

  And as if in a nightmare, one of my brothers moved on screen. It was Tyler, dark and forbidding in a black shirt and trousers. Sandy shimmied up to him, completely nude, and dragged his head down for a deep kiss.

  I shrieked, my breath coming in gasps. A dagger of pain lanced through my heart, but I reminded myself quickly that this was filmed at least four years ago, long before I came into their lives.

  And the debauchery picked up steam. Sandy unzipped his pants, letting Tyler’s big prick free, and knelt to take it in her mouth, sucking on the veiny girth as she smiled coyly at the camera. And as Tyler moaned, fucking her mouth ever so slightly, damn if it wasn’t Troy’s voice off camera murmuring encouragement, saying shit like, “That’s right, show us your best slut technique,” “Get him wet, really wet, lick that cock like it’s your last popsicle.”

  My heart crumpled in my chest, searing pain at my brothers’ actions, despite the fact that I knew this was far before my time. The twins were engaging in sex with women they clearly didn’t know, and videotaping it to boot. Not that sex with strangers was so bad, but this seemed to go beyond that … they were clearly sampling her wares for an ultimate purpose.

  I forced myself to watch until the gory end, Tyler spurting hotly into Sandy’s mouth, overflowing her so that cum dripped off her chin. Troy had evidently been beating his dick off-camera because I could hear a roar as he came, a muffled “fuck!” as the camera shook from his thrashing arm. And as Tyler pulled off, I heard the words which changed my life.

  “Tyler, Troy,” said the blonde sweetly. “Did I get the job? I’d love to start working at Club Luxe … as an escort.”

  The blood rushed to my head and I collapsed in a faint from the realization that my stepbrothers were pimps.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Kristen

  I gasped as I came to, my head throbbing against the utilitarian carpet. I must have hit something on the way down, and it pulsed painfully, like a dagger in my brain every other second. Experimentally, I tested my body and was relieved to note that everything seemed okay, my limbs tired and curiously drained, but in sufficient working order.

  I pulled myself to my feet, grabbing onto the desk for balance. The last still in the video was frozen on-screen, a shot of the naked blonde with her mouth inches from my brother’s spent cock, smiling as she chewed on sperm.

  At this point, tears spilled from my eyes because of the import of the video. My brothers were honest to god pimps, and had been at least since 2011, when this tape was made. They were profiting from selling girls’ bodies, trafficking in the female sex, and I crumpled inside, devastated.

  I’d never meant to uncover something so damaging. In my mind, I thought I’d uncover the shenanigans and foibles of teenage clubbing, maybe documenting some wild nights of partying, recreational drug use, that kind of thing. Instead, I’d stumbled upon something much darker … with my stepbrothers at its decayed, rotted heart.

  Tiredly, I logged off the computer and returned all the files to the cabinet, making sure to put them in the same order. I crept out of the office, ensuring that the door locked behind me, and went out into the open dance area. Feeling nauseous suddenly, I ran to the bathroom and vomited, my stomach heaving its contents into the toilet. I was sweaty and panting, hugging the ceramic bowl, leaning my forehead against the cool porcelain rim when suddenly the door to the restroom swung open.

  A pretty brunette walked in. Oh it was Rachel, a bartender who usually worked weekdays. She came to abrupt halt when she saw me in the bathroom stall, kneeling on the floor.

  “Krissy, you okay?” she gasped, coming to stand by me. She handed me some paper towels, helping me wipe my forehead.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled feebly. “Just felt really sick for a second and had to heave.”

  “Oh poor you,” she said sympathetically. “Did you have a hard night last night? Or could it be something else?”

  I wasn’t sure what she was referring to, but I shook my head slowly.

  “Nah, just a bug,” I said, pulling myself unsteadily to my feet. “What are you doing here, Rachel? It’s only 11 a.m.,” I said frowning, looking at my watch. The club closed at 1 a.m. and didn’t re-open until eight or nine each night. Rachel’s presence was definitely unexpected.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” she laughed, taking in my dark, nondescript clothes. Oh right, I’d tried to dress like a spy, and this was what I imagined spies wore.

  But Rachel shrugged it off and said, “I’m here to pick up some files for Tyler. Have you seen him?” she asked.

  Tyler? My brother was here? Oh shit, oh shit.

  But as if reading my mind, Rachel continued.

  “Yeah, he wanted some historical attendance records to estimate tonight’s crowd. Making sure we have enough security tonight, that sort of thing,” she said. “You okay?” she asked again. “I’m supposed to meet him in fifteen, so I gotta run,” she said apologetically.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I mumbled. “Thanks for the paper towels,” I said, wiping my mouth again. “Sorry I was so gross.”

  “No worries,” said Rachel breezily. “I’m working tonight, so I’ll see you then?”

  “Yeah, see you,” I replied, and with that the pretty bartender was out the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Troy

  Krissy let herself into the house, looking terrible. She was pale, her complexion drained, and her hair hung lankly around her face. Usually well-dressed, she was wearing loose, non-descript dark clothes, baggy and unflattering.

  “Hey sis,” I called out, ignoring her outfit. “How goes?”

  She gave me a furtive look before looking away. Was it my imagination, or was there a bit of sadness in that glance?

  “Um, I’m good, thanks,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “Just going to take a nap,” she said, beating feet towards her bedroom.

  But what she’d forgotten was that her bedroom was now our bedroom. Since she became our girlfriend, Tyler and I moved into her room, sleeping with her cuddled between us each night. Sure, our clothes and belongings are scattered around the house, but for all intensive purposes, this is where Tyler and I belong now.

  I followed her, standing in the doorway as she stripped off her clothes. God, her body was amazing. Her breasts were creamy and white, the light blue veining a maze that I never tired of staring at. Her waist was narrow before flaring out into ample hips, with that cheeky, bouncy ass I loved to spank.

  Krissy was in the middle of pulling on her sleep tank, wearing nothing but panties underneath when suddenly she rushed to the en suite, making horrible gargling noises. Without any warning, she heaved into the toilet but nothing came out. It was all air, dry retching and painful, intense heaves from deep inside her abdomen.

  I rushed over, alarmed.

  “Sis, are you okay? What’s going on?” I asked.

  “It’s nothing,” she panted between another series of dry heaves. “Nothing at all,” she said, leaning her forehead against the porcelain bowl.

  That was clearly u
ntrue. I moistened some hand towels and wiped her face gently, holding her hair out of the way as she retched again.

  “Baby,” I said gently. “When was the last time you had your period?”

  She looked up at me, stricken. Clearly, this hadn’t occurred to her.

  “I … um … I guess … maybe two months ago?” she said weakly.

  “Honey, I think I know why you’re ill,” I said gently. “It’s morning sickness because you’re pregnant … with our child.”

  This spurred another round of heaving, our little girl panting and spent, as news of her pregnancy sank in.

  “You think?” she asked weakly, her eyes looking at me warily.

  “Yeah, definitely,” I said. Okay, so the girl hadn’t exactly taken it well, but given that she was feeling miserable, who would? There was nine months of this ahead, not to mention an excruciatingly painful labor and delivery.

  But inside, I was jumping for joy. The thought of my beautiful little sister, her body swelling with our baby, made me incandescent with happiness. I loved knowing that our seed had bred her fertile body, that this lush, eighteen year-old was going to be a mother to our child. Stroking her head, I said, “Let me get you some crackers, that’s supposed to help with the nausea.”

  I was on my cell as soon as I exited our room. Tyler picked up with a grumpy “What? I’m busy.”