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Twice the Fun: A Bad Boy MFM Menage Romance
Copyright 2016 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
Published by Sizzling Hot Reads.
Chapter 1 – Dante
One of the best parts of my job is constantly having tits rubbed in my face by different women.
Sometimes it's multiple women at once. Like right now, for instance, Lucia has her perky little A cups in one part of my face while Ebony has her ample double Ds all over the rest of it.
"Ebony, your tits are great," I tell her for the millionth time since she's started working here at The Fun House. "A man can sleep on them like a giant pillow during a great night’s sleep or eat them like cake at a birthday party."
She hangs her head back and laughs as her delicious tits shake in my face.
"Thanks, Boss. Let's just say I was gifted these from a god who must have wanted me to be a stripper."
"Don't worry, Boss," Lucia says, pouting. "I'll get a boob job soon."
"What's stopping you?" My brother Marino calls out from his perch near the front door. Well, he’s not really my actual brother, but close enough. "You certainly make enough money here."
"Don't do it," I tell Lucia, kissing her tiny boobs. "Your tits are perfect too. Some of our best customers love them."
"That's right!" Bill Jenkins calls out, lining up some twenty dollar bills on the edge of the stage. He's a banker who spends a lot of his large disposable income at our fine establishment. "Like me over here. Come take my money. But not if you're going to use it to change your body in the slightest."
Lucia jiggles her tits one more time and then turns around to go treat her favorite customer to their tastiness.
"Marino, are we still clear?" I ask, nodding to my brother.
He peers out the small window from which he can see the street.
"Yep. The place is all ours."
I slap Lucia's ass and say, "Hold on. You forgot something."
She wiggles it in my face like she was just doing with her tits.
"Sorry, Boss. You're the man of the day. I forgot to ask. May I please go see Bill?"
I squeeze Ebony's tits as Nadia sidles over to take Lucia's place.
"Yes," I tell her. "And don’t forget, your tits are heavenly. All tits are. It's just that every man has different tastes when it comes to tits. And my tastes run large."
"Like these?" Nadia asks, removing her bra to let me get a glimpse of her generous D cups.
"Those are definitely my kind of perfect."
I grab a handful while keeping one hand on Ebony's beauties.
Ebony must get jealous, because she straddles my lap while Nadia stands, displaying the full glory of her tits.
"Happy birthday, Boss," Ebony says, grinding on my lap while I play with her tits. "I hope you're getting everything you wanted for presents."
She expertly bounces up and down, making my cock a little hard.
"There's that bad boy," she says, grinding against my package. "I was wondering when he was going to come out and play with me."
"Why don't you take her into VIP so that I can join in?" Marino asks from across the room.
"You just keep making sure no one comes in," I instruct him. "That's your job tonight."
I look down at Ebony’s beautiful body and then across the stage to where Lucia's crawling over to Bill, her tits hanging out and her ass up in the air. She's wearing a small covering over her thong and I know that Bill’s about to take it off of her, so she can tease everyone by showing everything but the most important bits.
My cock gets harder.
Don't get me wrong. Ebony's body is fucking glorious and her moves are near master level. But owning a strip club comes with so many extracurricular privileges that things get boring after a while. Lately I've needed two or more women at once to even get to the point where I'm fully hard, and sometimes the chase is half the fun.
All I want to do is rip off Lucia's thong now and take her myself right here, maybe with Ebony and Nadia joining in. If Lucia’s favorite high rolling customer weren't right there expecting to be the one to get to do the exact same thing, I definitely would.
But right now I just fantasize about the thought while playing with Nadia's perfectly erect nipples and being ridden by Ebony. I know that after the customers leave, Marino and I can have our fun. With Lucia and whomever else we want.
There's a commotion at the door, and my head swivels in that direction as fast as it can escape from Ebony's and Nadia's tits.
"Everything all right?" I ask Marino.
There's a pause, as he's looking out the window, and then he says, "Yeah. It's just a girl."
I nod, and the funbags return to their rightful place in my face.
"We didn't schedule any new girls tonight, right?" Marino asks me.
I manage to get out a "no" that sounds more like a "nmph" because multiple pairs of tits are squishing my face and making it hard to talk.
"We didn’t schedule any auditions either?" he asks.
"Now why we would do that?" I respond, but it comes out as an unintelligible mishmash of words.
Tonight's not just any night at the club. It's my birthday. And that's why Marino's sitting at the door.
Because even though we've been scrutinized lately for allowing a little too much fun to occur at The Fun House, we're not the type to let that stop us. In fact, we've ramped up the fun tonight, inviting all of our big spender VIP clients for a private party to celebrate the birth of yours truly.
I squeeze Ebony's curvy ass while motor boating Nadia's tits.
No one can stop the party at The Fun House. Especially not on my birthday. That's why my little brother Marino is guarding the doors. Because things are going to get wild tonight. So wild that only the most trusted of customers were invited to participate in our celebration tonight.
"Ummm, Dante?" Marino calls out. "You might want to come see this."
"Come see what?" I ask, slightly annoyed with him for interrupting now that my cock is rising to its full nine inches.
I'm trying to decide which girl to fuck first and all Marino wants to do is talk to me.
"The fucking hottest girl I've ever seen in my life is out here asking for you," Marino says. "I think she might be your birthday present."
Chapter 2 – Marino
One of the best parts of my job is working with my big brother.
Well, he’s not my actual brother, but it always felt like he was, and still does to this day.
Sometimes I still can't believe how far he and I have come. We started off kids of two single mothers who were too busy chasing dick and smoking crack to properly care for us.
Our fathers— whoever they were— had never been in the picture. Just our two BFF druggie moms, who didn’t know what they were doing when it came to being parents and never should have had us. The state stepped in and removed us when I was just five years old and Dante was eight.
But the state didn't know how to care for us any better than our mothers did. We were tossed around from one house to the next, each of them seeming to get progressively worse— or maybe it's just that I kept getting older and more aware of my surroundings.
I always had Dante, though. He was like a father figure to me more than a brother when we were younger. The only one who cared about protecting me.
The state tried to keep us together as they moved us through the foster system but there was only so much they could do, since we’re not blood brothers and since apparently it’s hard to even keep blood-related siblings together all the time. Dante and I even started saying we had the same last name— Rossi, even though we obviously didn’t.
We tried to insist we were real brothers when we were
n’t. The state was sympathetic but couldn’t always do much about our plight.
So there were times when we had to be separated. Those times didn't last long at all. Because Dante always found me and ran away from wherever he was supposed to be to wherever I was.
He would tell his foster parents, my foster parents, our social worker, our pathetic excuses of mothers whenever either of them was clean enough to visit us, whoever would listen at all— although no one listened to either of us very much— that he wasn't going anywhere his “little brother” didn't follow. That they couldn't keep us apart. And if they tried, they'd regret it.
Dante was as smart as he was protective. He said no brother of his was going to go to school with dirty rags as clothes. When we were really young he would steal all the latest name brand clothes from any store that didn't toss him out at first sight— which was most of them.
Then he realized he had to schmooze his way into the places that had what we needed. So he applied for a job at a name brand clearance store warehouse, really looking the part of a hard-working strapping young man even though he was all of fourteen at the time.
They'd put him to work moving crates, stacking boxes and fixing up rickety parts of the old warehouse. All of the hard grunt work that no one else wanted to do.
And they left him alone to do it. So no one was around to see him filch a brand new leather jacket or a pair of brand name shoes. They didn’t know he’d put them in his tool box and carry them out with him when it was time to go home— or to whatever place we were temporarily calling home.
They thought he did great work and began to trust him— or ignore him— more and more. So soon he was loading whole boxes into the work truck they gave him to drive, and driving it straight to whatever pathetic excuse of a foster "home" we were living in at the time.
Every day was like Christmas. I admired him so much. As soon as the higher ups at the warehouse got wind of missing merchandise and started sniffing around, Dante was out of there.
It was easy for someone like him— like us— to disappear and never be found. Disappearing was what our whole life was based off of whether we liked it or not, so Dante just learned early on how to capitalize on it and make it a strength instead of a weakness.
His ID was fake, his stated name and age were fake, his work qualifications were fake. And when he started to be discovered for who he really was or what he was really doing, he would move on to the next job.
He re-invented himself whenever necessary. And he taught me how to do the same.
As we got older, it became clear that street smarts weren't the only thing we had going for us. We were attractive. Apparently women liked to throw themselves at us.
So we enjoyed it as much as any teenage and then young adult guys would. We had our fun. We bragged about our conquests. We shared them with our friends.
Because these girls would do anything we wanted them to do. It was like they got off on pleasing us. And we, of course, got off on that too.
Soon, though, Dante had found a way to capitalize on that just like he had always found a way to capitalize on everything. And by that point it was a necessity.
He had aged out of the system and had gotten caught with some petty theft charges a few too many times. He'd spent some time in juvie but had always managed to bust out before I needed him too badly.
But now that he was an adult they were a lot stricter with him. They threatened to lock him up for a long time if he so much as looked at a loaf of bread and thought about stealing it for us to eat on those days when whenever foster "parent" we were with decided they felt like blowing the money they got for "taking care" of us at the casino instead of at the grocery store.
He couldn't go to jail and be away from me, his minor brother who still needed him to look out for me. So it was time for Dante to find another way to support us: one that didn't involve the constant threat of criminal charges and time behind bars.
That's when the idea of The Fun House was born. That’s how we got to where we are today: having girls throw themselves at us, and getting money for having them do it.
Chapter 3 – Marino
Dante had thought up the original idea for what eventually became The Fun House one night when we were out celebrating his release from a short prison stint.
"I'm not going back there," he'd said, shaking his head as he’d pounded a shot. "There's gotta be a better fucking way. I've been thinking about it."
"Oh yeah?"
"These fucking girls just flock to us," he'd said. "And we need to capitalize on that. We've always made money off of whatever we have at our disposal, so why not make money off of our looks?"
"Cheers to that fucking fantastic idea," I'd responded, as we’d thrown back another shot.
"We can make all our dreams come true just by getting these girls to do what we want."
"How do you know?" I'd asked him.
It was a silly question. Dante always ended up being right. And he'd proven it, right there and then.
"Hey Bartender," he'd called out, motioning at the hot blonde behind the bar.
"Yes?" She'd asked, coming over to us and looking interested. "You need another shot?"
"Of course," Dante had said. "But we need something else first."
"What's that?" she'd asked, batting her doe eyes, all innocent like.
"We need to see your tits."
"Oh my God."
She'd blushed. She was a real goody two shoes, for a bartender. We'd been going to that bar for ages and she'd never seemed like the type to flash a guy her boobs. But then again, I guess no guy other than Dante had ever had the balls to ask.
"Come on," I'd chimed in, flashing my famous grin at her. "Just a little bit. Real quick."
I'd picked up really quick on what my role here was going to be. I was the good cop charmer. And Dante was the bad cop hunter.
"Fine," she'd said, and lifted up her shirt for us, revealing perfectly round and perky breasts. She’d even held up her shirt a few seconds longer than necessary and winked at us.
I’d known she was going to do it, but I hadn't counted on how much she'd enjoy it.
She had a big smile on her face, proud of herself.
"There you go," Dante had said, with a shrug. "Wasn't hard."
She'd looked crestfallen, and I knew it was my cue to lift up her spirits. So that maybe one day she'd come lift up her shirt again for us, and a whole lot more than that. On stage. For everyone to see.
"Good job," I'd told her. "Nice tits."
I'd winked back at her, and she'd blushed again.
I’d had no idea why she'd done it. Sure, we’d tipped her well, but no more than normal that night. She’d seemed to be elated just by the thrill of showing off her tits to us.
And that's when I knew that Dante really had stumbled onto a genius plan. My big brother was brilliant.
He'd always had good ideas about ways to make money and keep us afloat. But I could just tell from the look in his eyes— and the smile on the bartender's face after she had done exactly what we'd wanted her to, for no other reason except for the fact that we'd asked her to do it— that this idea was different. It was his greatest idea yet. It might even make us rich.
And he was right. Because plenty of girls after the bartender had done the exact same thing. Now here we are, a couple years down the line, running the show.
Sure, we have our share of problems. Investigators. Threats of criminal charges. But no one rises to power without others wanting to pull them back down. No one is in the spotlight without extra scrutiny.
Dante had built the strip club he'd wanted to build and I'd helped him do it. I owed my brother so much.
So tonight, on his birthday, I stand guard while he's on stage getting lap dances from the hottest girls at The Fun House: the club we’d built together. We employ a slew of bouncers but none of them could be trusted to be informed about tonight.
They're as scandalous as we are, and they would have
spread the word. We need tonight to be extra quiet. Nothing needs to get in the way of a birthday for Dante.
That's why when Little Miss Innocent-Looking comes to the door, I have no idea whether to let her in or not.
"Hello?" she says, rather timidly, after I crack open the door a bit for her.
"What are you here for?" I'd asked gruffly, but then I look her up and down and my tone instantly softens.
She has dark brown hair and matching brown eyes. Full breasts but not the fake kind. A perfectly normal sized waist with a curvy ass. Just the way I like them.
She's fucking hot all right. So hot that all I can think about is bending her over and fucking her right here and now. I'm popping a boner right here where I’m sure she can see. How fucking embarrassing.
"I'd like to see about working here," she says.
I give her a skeptical look. While telling my cock to quiet down so that my brain can think.
"Who sent you?" I ask her, suspicious but hoping that she can hurry up and start doing what she came to do. I want to see her naked. I want to be inside her. "How did you find out about us?"
"There was an ad…" she says, holding up a copy of the Local Gazette.
She points to the free classified section in the back, where we continually run an ad looking for fresh meat. I mean, new dancers. I wouldn’t expect a girl like her to be reading that section, let alone applying for it.
But times are tough. It's hard for these girls to get a job out of college, let alone high school. She doesn't look much older than twenty.
And she doesn't look like a normal stripper, the part of my brain that isn't seized with testosterone points out. She looks like some rich preppy girl who's trying to look like a stripper. Or like what she thinks a stripper should look like.
The rational part of my brain is trying to tell me it's not a convincing act. I should listen to that part of my brain. I should ask myself why she's here.
Four Billionaires for St. Patrick's Day Page 47