by Katie Ford
“Stacey,” Pax growled. “We have something for you.”
And I figured I knew what it was. We’d been talking about going to Tahiti during the off-season, take some time off when things weren’t busy. The beach would be amazing, palm fronds waving in the air, a cool tropical drink in my hand, my lovers by my side.
And sure enough, out came a bulky envelope, the kind with plane tickets inside.
I toyed with it, examining the envelope closely, running my finger along the seam.
“Ooh, wonder what it could be,” I giggled. “Tickets to Tahiti anyone?”
My brothers looked at me with hunger but also anticipation.
“Open it,” growled Peyton.
“Now,” added Pax. “Please sister.”
“Okay, okay,” I laughed. “The season’s been tough on you guys, I know a vacation’s in order.”
And sure enough, when I pulled open the file there were three first-class tickets to Tahiti. Awesome, it couldn’t be better timing.
“Thank you, thank you,” I cooed, throwing my arms around my steps’ massive frames, covering them with kisses. “I’m going to start packing right away.”
“Um, sister,” said Pax, “I think you’re missing something else in there.”
“Really?” I asked. As far as I could tell, it was just a sheaf of bulky papers, probably offers for travel insurance and carry-on rules and regulations. Airlines were always changing the rules with that kind of stuff. “Are you sure?” I asked, riffling through the mass.
But then my fingers slowed and stopped. Because besides the requisite junk mail there was an application … for a marriage license.
I pulled the form out from the papers slowly, my fingers trembling. Could it be? Sure enough, there was my name and date of birth printed on the license, with Peyton listed as the prospective groom.
“Brothers,” I said, my voice quivering. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yes,” rasped Peyton. “We want you … forever.”
I was elated, out of breath and beyond excited, but I wasn’t sure how our ménage could continue if only two of us were married. My eyes filled with tears and I could feel them begin to spill over, trailing down my cheeks hotly.
“What, what is it?” growled Pax. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just that … what about you?” I asked tremulously. “The application only lists Peyton and me. What about you? I want you to be a part of this too, I’m in love with you both,” I confessed.
And my brothers descended on me, stroking me, petting me, growling words of comfort into my hair.
“No worries, we’ve already talked this through,” replied Pax. “You obviously can’t get married to us both, but we want to keep you with us, bind you to us in the best way we know how.”
“But how did you decide on Peyton?” I asked plaintively. “I don’t love one of you more than the other, I love you equally.”
“It was simple,” said Peyton, “we flipped a coin. Heads me, tails Pax.”
I gasped. Something this momentous had been decided by a coin toss? That was way too simple for something as complex as marriage.
But my brothers only nodded.
“It’s okay,” soothed Pax, “I’m used to it. We begin every football game with a coin toss, even the Super Bowl. It’s just how life is,” he concluded simply.
I threw my arms around him.
“But you’ll live with us, won’t you?” I breathed into Pax’s ear. “The three of us together?”
“Oh yeah sweetie,” he growled, stroking my back. “I’m with you every day … and every night.”
And with that, I kissed him deeply, willing him to feel the gratitude and excitement I had for our future life.
He returned my kiss passionately before pulling back and pressing a pen into my hand.
“Now sign that application,” he growled, “before I change my mind.”
And I laughed joyously, excited about our future life.
So here I am in Tahiti, about to step out onto the beach clad in a white slip dress, my feet bare, hair blowing in the wind except for a wreath of white flowers. It was the perfect opportunity – we’d go on vacation and have the ceremony here, before returning to New York and filing the certificate with the registrar.
I was almost lost in a reverie of happiness when the harp began strumming the wedding march. With a delighted smile, I stepped onto the sandy walkway, each step bringing me closer to my future.
The twins waited for me at the edge of the water, their eyes watching me every step of the way, hungry, waiting, eager for the next phase of our lives.
“And do you, Stacey, take Peyton as your true and wedded husband?”
I took a deep breath, looking deep into Peyton’s eyes, clasping his hands in mine. But then I averted my eyes just a bit, looking directly behind him, deep into the baby blues of Pax and nodded yes, never breaking eye contact.
“Yes, yes, I do,” I sighed, my eyes still locked with Pax, my hands joined with Peyton.
And that’s how I married both my steps. And you know what? It couldn’t have turned out better because we weren’t going out with a bang. Rather, we were doing a double bang … for keeps.
THE END
DOUBLE MASSIVE
A Twin Stepbrother Romance
(Erotic Romance, PI, Ménage)
© 2015
By Cassandra Dee
A SNEAK PEEK
With a hard pump, I fucked into her. Kacey was literally lifted off her hands and knees, my shaft was so fucking big, skewering her on my penis like a pig on a roast. She screamed, throwing her head back, pussy stretched unbearably, labia like thin rubber bands pinched around my dick with no choice but to submit. She squealed again, the violation so complete, so overwhelming, that her eyes rolled back for a moment showing their whites.
Finally though, the girl calmed and tried to breathe, her pants rhythmic and fast.
“Slowly, slowly,” I murmured, my hands caressing her waist and ass. Because I was only about five inches in … and there were still ten to go!
CHAPTER ONE
Kacey
I have a secret. I’m a stripper and I have a crush on one of my customers. It’s the ultimate no-no for girls in my line of work. I mean, who dates and marries the stripper at their local club? No one, right?
What makes this worse is that this isn’t even Lace, Mystique or New York Dolls. I work at the Donkey Club, a joint that prides itself on its hot girls, but also the sawdust on the floor, the peanut shells littering the ground, the take-no-prisoners approach of its dancers.
Because that’s why we’re called the Donkey Club. Here, the girls are able to take nine, ten, eleven … even fifteen inches. Not that I’ve ever gotten up to fifteen. Since starting here a couple weeks ago, I’ve done nine and ten, but fifteen is like a myth. It’s something the girls are always chattering about backstage, but who knows if it really exists?
“I could swear it was at least fifteen,” confided Alana to the semi-circle of ladies around her.
“Oh yeah, did you have a ruler with you?” snapped Jenny, a bitch as usual.
“Please, girl, this is my line of work. You know how many men I’ve fucked by now? I can size up a cock in two seconds, sometimes even before his tightie-whities are off,” Alana spat in retort.
And it was true. Though I’ve only been working a few weeks, I’ve already been promoted to the exclusive Donkey Girls service. Not every stripper here is trusted to fuck our customers … only those who have elastic pussies, who can take a big man hard, deep and rough. And you’re put through the ringer during tryouts too. I had to fuck three men, all of them enormous, before I was even considered for the job. I wish I’d gotten it on tape. Those tryouts had been brutal but yummy … god, I’m getting wet just thinking about it again.
But my line of work pretty much means that I don’t have a boyfriend. After all, I dance three or four nights a week, and I’m fucking six to eight men per week to
o. I’m proud to say I’ve built up a few regulars even, guys that I see once or twice a week after they’ve had a hard day at work.
So I’d been dancing last Tuesday, shimmying for dollars, when I saw him. He was dominating and elegant at once, which caught my eye because unfortunately, most guys here are overgrown frat boys, their mouths open, drool practically hanging off their chins. But not the new guy. He was wearing a grey suit and I couldn’t see his face because he sat in shadow, but I could see his crossed legs, arms neatly folded over his chest.
And damn what an expensive suit can do for a guy! The stranger was trim and fit, not too bulky, but definitely athletic, you know? It takes a lot to make my mouth water these days, but I was curious about our new customer, and started sidling over to him, shaking my ass, gliding my hands over my curves.
You know you’re a good stripper when a guy is completely still, his hand too busy to even stroke his dick. I admit, at the Donkey Club, guys whip out their poles in public, fondling themselves, letting those stiffies get some air. But you know you’ve got a guy captive when he’s not even beating himself, he’s just so mesmerized.
The classy guy obviously didn’t have his dick out. But he was absolutely motionless, still as a rock. He didn’t move a centimeter as I approached, stroking my curves, wiggling my ass, letting my breasts bounce up and down. Oh, and did I mention I was completely naked? Yeah, the Donkey Club doesn’t pull its punches … we girls wear nothing but our heels by the time we’re finished.
So I was butt-naked, sensuously gliding over to this guy, and I could tell he was breathing hard, but still as a statue. When I finally got close to him, I gasped involuntarily. He was gorgeous. Deep, dark hair, coupled with emerald-colored eyes that took in my every movement. I shimmied seductively, my body begging him for attention … and dollars.
Like a movie in slow motion, his hand reached for his money clip. Hmmm, I liked that. I’ve noticed that high rollers don’t really use wallets, instead they have these fat rolls of cash, and sure enough, this dude pulled out an extra-wide roll. Peeling off a bill, he gestured for me to dance closer.
I pulled up in front of him, shaking my boobs in his face and then held still so that he could latch on. Fuck, his lips felt good! He lapped gently at my nipple first, teasing my tit with his tongue, before suckling hard, pulling on my breast flesh. When he’d gotten his fill, he nodded and gestured for me to hold my boob up.
I lifted the pendulous Double D, and he tucked a Benjamin Franklin underneath, my jug pinning the bill in place as I lowered it. He then nodded to my other tit, the nipple hard as rock now, and I lovingly offered it to him, letting him suckle to his heart’s content. And god, the man’s mouth was like honey. He slipped and slid over my peak until my cunny was gushing, it felt so fucking good. Again, he had me lift my breast so that he could slip another bill into my secret space.
But the best was coming. I twirled around, the money tucked securely under my girls, but there was still one entrancing crevice that attracted bees like honey. Taking advantage of a chair nearby, I perched a high heel on it, lifting my knee so that my cunny was bared. Taunting him, I reached down and spread my lips with my fingers, showing him my hole, that deep, pink flesh moist and dripping. He nodded and gestured for me to turn around.
I knew what he wanted. I bent over, spread my legs, and held my ass cheeks apart so that he could get in. Lovingly, he licked my cunny and I mewled, it felt so fucking good. I love this job … I love the attention, I love dancing, and most of all, I love feeling men in my snatch. And this one was particularly handsome, just an incredible fuckstud, someone I wanted to do hard and unprotected.
As he licked my cunt from the back, I moaned again, wiggling my ass in his face, forcing him to grab my butt to hold me still. But he got the message. He took a couple bills from the roll this time, and folded them up into a little square. Teasingly, he pushed it into my wetness, the folds grabbing the money like it was gold. Fuck, bills are always nice, but it felt extra-nice in my twat.
Straightening, I blew him a kiss, and the dark stranger smiled. My set was ending, and I’d be damned if this guy didn’t order a private dance from me later in the night. Our interaction had been too hot, too steamy for him to walk away.
But as the night passed, there was no call from the manager, no nothing. Instead, the evening continued, and I went up for a second set, then a third, but the dark stranger had disappeared. What the … ? He had to come back. He had to.
CHAPTER TWO
Logan
Fuck, that stripper was still on my mind, and I hadn’t even fucked her. I’d just tongued her hole, licked her nipples a bit, sampling that sweet flesh between her legs. What the fuck was wrong with me?
I usually don’t even frequent joints like the Donkey Club. It’s so fucking low-class, the girls garish and coarse, and the setting, don’t even get me started on the sawdust on the floors, I was mad as shit knowing I’d have to get my shoes professionally cleaned now. But that girl, fuck that girl was amazing.
She’d had an amazing body, firm, curvy, and luscious. Hers was a hundred percent real though, the tits heavy teardrops, her ass tight with a juicy honey pot. Her hair was naturally streaked by the sun, with warm caramel eyes and pillowy, kissable lips. Not that I’d kissed those lips. I’d only kissed her bottom lips, and goddamn, they’d been delicious.
“What’s your problem brother?” asked Lance. He’s my twin, born only five minutes later. We’re real estate guys. We sell property in the city, and shoot, the Phillips Group is the highest grossing team in the country. We specialize in marketing high-end condos to international billionaires, netting ourselves a pretty penny in the process.
“It’s that fucking Jane Street deal,” I rumbled. “The developer is a fucking asshole, refusing to put in the high end finishes we agreed on.”
But my brother knew me better than that.
“Patricia tells me that you didn’t come home for dinner last night,” he drawled. Patricia is my wannabe girlfriend, a beautiful woman, really too beautiful for her own good. We met a year ago, and she conveniently quit her job and moved into my condo last month, living the high-life. I got her credit card bills each month and believe me, these were bills that could make your fucking eyeballs bleed.
So I’d been feeling trapped lately. I knew what the woman expected: a diamond ring, courtesy of a pale blue box, soon and fast. Fuck. I’d even half-heartedly looked at some rings on line, but couldn’t get myself to pull the trigger.
Lance, on the other hand, was still living the high life. Single and ready to mingle, my asshole twin was going out every night looking for trouble, fucking girls right and left. Fuck my life! How had I gotten here, dreaming about a stripper who’d let me suck her tits? Ah, screw it.
I wasn’t about to tell Lance about my depraved night at the Donkey Club. He’d consider it slumming, a far cry from the fancy joints he frequented, filled with bottle service and sleek models. But I wanted to go back again, if only to momentarily shake off the nightmare that my life had become.
“Um yeah that Jane Street deal, I’m going throttle James and Vikram,” I said, referring to the developers again. “They’re such fucking bullshitters. They want twenty-five million for the place and won’t even put in high-end finishes? Fuck them,” I growled.
Lance still had his eyebrows raised, but didn’t pursue it further. He knew when not to push me, and straightened his tie instead.
“The boys and I are going to the Dream Hotel tonight, you want to come?” he asked. By boys he meant Jeremy and Jonas, two dickwads we hung with sometimes.
“Nah,” I growled. “I better go see what Patricia wants.”
But I knew I was headed back to the Donkey Club, to see the stripper with the big tits and even bigger smile. She’d wormed her way into my brain … and seeing her again was the only way to rid myself of the addiction.
CHAPTER THREE
Lance
I knew Logan was lying. That fucker was a
lways bad at lying which is why I’m the negotiations guy. My brother is charismatic and friendly, great at getting a potential seller to list with us, at partying and making people like him. But he’s never been great at driving a hard bargain, slamming down on his emotions while playing the big points. So I knew he was lying through his teeth. It had something to do with where he’d been last night, and I’d been tipped off after Patricia called me, her voice venomous.
“Where’s Logan?” she hissed. “Did you take your brother to Club Luxe again?” She was referring to a gentlemen’s club around town famous for its hot underage hookers.
“No Patty,” I ground out, knowing she hated that name. “I have no idea where Logan is. Why don’t you try calling him?” I said, my own voice cold as ice.
There’s no love lost between us. Patricia’s like a fucking poison vine growing on my brother’s soul, and it hurt me to see him like this, depressed, moody, not wanting to go home because that blood-sucking leech would be there. Ever since she’d had that “miscarriage” last month, he let her move into his place. What a mistake. She’d done nothing but spend his money and whine, living a life of indolence and greed. God, how I hated that viper.