by Katie Ford
“God, I love hearing you say our names,” growled Logan. “Come here, sister.”
And he swept me onto his lap, sweetly kissing my neck, trailing his tongue against the elegant slope of my shoulder. Although I’d given birth only two months earlier, my body had bounced back remarkably well, on show in a clingy rose-colored shift.
“Let’s see what we have here,” rumbled Lance, getting on his knees between my legs. He lifted the hem of the pink dress, exposing my thighs inch by inch. My legs parted of their own volition as he watched with hungry eyes, revealing the moistness at my center, that part of my body wet and desperate for my brothers’ attentions.
“Sweetheart,” growled Lance, never taking his eyes from my cunt. “Are you ready for loving again? Is your body ready?”
I smiled at him, even as Logan squeezed and massaged my teats. “Yes, brothers, it’s going to be okay. In fact, I was thinking of giving you an extra treat.”
“Oh really?” murmured Logan, whispering in my ear as his hands glided over my creamy flesh, stimulating my nipples, tweaking and pulling, making me gasp. “What would that be?”
I slowly extricated myself from their arms and skipped over to the bathroom.
“You’ll see, just give me a moment,” I shot over my shoulder with a wink. “I’ll be right out.”
And I took a quick shower, sudsing myself up, shaving my pussy so it was bald, making myself beautiful. Labor and delivery had been hard, but I was still a woman with two men to please, and I intended to do it like a pro. I wanted to dance for them again, remind them of my sensual rhythm, maybe using a dildo as a prop, self-fucking my chubby pussy while they watched.
But before I could rinse, the bathroom door banged open, and there stood my two brothers, totally nude, masculine and imposing, their fifteen inch dongs heavy and hard, pointed straight at me.
“Honey, it’s time,” said Logan. “No need to get clean.”
“Baby, now,” commanded Lance.
Oh god, I felt my cunny dripping at the size of those massive forms. Their male bodies were perfect, testament to the god Adonis. Tall, broad shoulders narrowed to slim hips, plus heavy thighs which I’d bit in lust more than once. And oh god, those cocks.
I still remembered riding those cocks that first night I met them at the Donkey Club. How I’d been a shocked little girl then, dancing for dollars, willing to experiment for a five thousand dollar bonus.
And the men, god, how these men had changed my life. I was now the mother of their son, they were fathers to my child, and we were brothers and sister too, tangled in a web of relationships. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the overwhelming love and lust that guided our trio.
“Brothers,” I said sultrily, leaning forward and cupping my breasts. “Suck?” I invited, squeezing the creamy mounds.
And immediately my brothers were on me, stepping into the stall, their massive forms filling up the tiny tiled area. Their shoulders reached from one edge of the enclosure to the other and I was sandwiched in between, the tips of my nipples skimming Lance’s chest while my butt brushed Logan’s thighs, both of their dongs hard, hot and heavy, pressed against my tummy and back.
With a sweet sigh, I got on my knees between them, letting the water pound on us as I took my brothers’ cocks in my mouth. It was fucking amazing. Thirty inches is what gave me my start, and I’ll never regret it. I used techniques they’d taught me, pulling both heads in at once, running my tongue in a figure eight over and around their pink, bulbous glans, lapping up their sweet pre-cum as I tried to burrow my tongue in the sopping slits.
“Fuck, little girl,” groaned Lance, grabbing my wet hair, stabilizing himself while stroking my shoulder. Lance was the same. Although his body was rock hard, stiff in its ecstasy, he was curiously gentle even with his dong massive and desperate in my face.
“Sister,” he ground out. “It’s been too long. We need you.”
And that’s all I needed to hear. I crouched face down on the shower floor so that I was almost in a ball, my ass waving in the air. Provocatively, I reached my hands back and parted my butt cheeks, holding my flesh apart so I could tempt them with both holes, letting them see straight into my pussy and ass.
“DP me, brothers. Do it,” I breathed.
They didn’t waste a moment. Logan got on his knees behind me, shoving that massive cock deep into my pussy. I shrieked loudly, my cries ringing in the tiled room. Ahhh, it was fucking amazing, I was stretched so tight and full as he ran that fifteen incher into my vaginal canal.
Meanwhile, Lance straddled my back, leaning forward to let his dick trail against my anus. I moaned, and he took that as a sign of readiness. He pressed that donkey dong against my tight little button, and I tensed automatically, my rectum resisting the penetration. Lance wasn’t deterred though, chuckling a bit at my instantaneous reaction. He rimmed me with his finger, massaging me, getting me used to the feel, before applying pressure again, and this time my anus popped open, admitting a few inches of cock.
I moaned, my cheek pressed to the shower floor, my breasts smashed against my knees as both brothers rode me from behind. I was stuffed to the max, their penises rubbing against each other through my thin vaginal wall, beginning a deep and highly satisfying rhythm.
“Unnh, unnh, unnh!” I squealed, as they penetrated me, one dick in and the other out, over and over again.
“Shit,” ground Logan. “You’re so fucking tight,” he panted, burying himself up the balls again and again.
“Keep going, brother,” growled Lance. “Because I’m about to come in this sweet little butthole!” And with that he let out a load roar, dominating my ass, his penis spurting heavy ropes of cum again and again into my anal chamber, reaming it, making my cry out in pleasure, totally spread and open, their fuckdoll for the taking.
As Lance filled me with his seed, Logan too wanted a piece of my ass. Once his brother pulled out, he pushed into my anus, creamy seed dripping down my thighs, splashing onto the tile floor, oozing out around his penis. He too fucked my butt, enjoying the sloppy used feeling before letting himself erupt.
“FUUUCK!” he roared, his fifteen incher letting loose inside me, his deposit joining his brother’s semen, sweet and virile, coating my GI tract and shooting so deep I could almost taste the saltiness in the back of my throat.
I too released, my cunt and ass clenching down hard on his dick, spasming as I milked him for each jet of cum, hoarding each precious spurt, my body a hungry cumslut. My breasts were raw, massive and trembling, and I fingered my nipples as I was violated from behind, the sensations overwhelming, magnificent, rippling in waves through our bodies.
As I slowly relaxed, letting my breathing stabilize, still curled up on the floor, I realized what a sordid picture we made. Naked, steamy, our privates rubbed raw and sore from the uninhibited fucking, pools of semen and pussy cream around us, male cum leaking from both my holes.
But I wouldn’t want it any other way … these are my brothers, my men, and I love them. My body and mind belong to them, and they to me as well.
EPILOGUE
Kacey
I guess you can tell I had no trouble getting pregnant. Logan, Lance and I fuck daily, sometimes twice or three times daily, and it’s been going on for years now. I’ve had three kids with my brothers so far, and I’m due to deliver the fourth any day.
“Luke, Lindy, Loren,” I called. “Lunch is ready.”
And my sons and daughter scampered over, their chubby legs running as fast as they could. They settled in their seats, cries of “Mommy, milk! Mommy owange juice!” starting up.
I sighed but laughed as well. Life has settled into a predictable pattern which I appreciated, now that the events of the past had blown over. We’d endured a criminal investigation into Patricia’s death but had been immediately cleared, as she’d been the one at the wheel.
There was also some publicity about our relationship bringing with it a cloud of suspicion. I mean, Logan and Lanc
e are known around town, and when they were seen squiring me about, my form ripe in pregnancy, naturally people began to talk.
“Isn’t that their sister?” they whispered with judgmental glances.
“Oh my god, is the baby going to be deformed?” hissed another.
“Who’s the daddy? They’re twins,” added another voice, confusedly.
But we minded our own business and never let the talk get to us. Sure enough, with gay rights, marriage equality, and celebrity trans folks all over the news, our little ménage was soon forgotten, just another permutation in the many ways to love.
And so I’ve settled into a “normal” life, if you can call it that. I take care of the kids and am studying for my bachelor’s degree as my brothers rebuild their careers in real estate. Sometimes I dance, but only for Logan and Lance’s eyes now. It’s still one of my best skills, and I’m forever grateful to the Donkey Club for bringing us together.
THE END
A SNEAK PEEK
SOLD AT THE AUCTION
By Cassandra Dee
CHAPTER ONE
Ellie
“Seriously El, you can’t wear that,” said my friend Rachel.
I looked back at her, a little miffed.
“Why not?” I asked plaintively. The jeans I had on were nice, a dark denim wash, and I’d paired them with a long-sleeve top, crushed velvet with a scoop-neck. “Looks okay to me.”
Rachel snorted.
“Seriously El, we’re in Vegas for the week. We’re going clubbing at a place that doesn’t even have a name, it’s so hot. You can’t wear the stuff you usually do, now take it off,” she commanded.
I thought about refusing flat out, putting down my foot and digging in. But the thing is my friend is the one with the fashion sense, Rachel always looks amazing, knowing exactly how to do herself up for every occasion. In comparison, I was a little frumpy, dazed and confused most times, my brown hair unfashionably curly, my curves unfashionably round. So yes, I got invited to good parties because I was Rachel’s friend, but I didn’t look like any of them, skinny minnies all.
And frankly, it was amazing that Rachel and I are friends at all because we’re so different, she’s swan-like, thin and elegant, with a modeling portfolio, whereas I’m round and small, an A-student. So our interests are poles apart, not to mention our paths in life. But we’ve known one another since we were five, and have seen one another through thick and thin again and again. Take last year, for example, when Rachel’s parents got divorced. I was her confidante, her therapist, and her anchor when she was lost at sea, adrift on waves of sadness. And I know she’d do the same for me if our situations were reversed. So despite the fact that outwardly, it looks like we have nothing in common, in fact we have a bond that goes deep, far further than mere clothes or personalities would suggest.
And since my body changed, my friend’s fashion advice was even more important. Because gone was the old Ellie from two years ago, an underweight mouse shaped like a broomstick, and in her place was the body of a woman, like Venus de Milo incarnate. I have big boobs now, a huge ass that sways when I walk, and generous hips making it hard to fit any type of pants. In fact, it’d been a struggle getting into my jeans tonight, I’d had to hop up and down desperately a couple times before they squeezed on, and the button was threatening to pop off any second.
So I sighed again.
“I don’t have anything else,” I repeated plaintively, gesturing with open palms. “There’s nothing else, look at my suitcase, nothing, nada.” And flipping open the purple travel case to reveal the interior was uninspiring. There was nothing haute couture or racy, just a couple more colored tops and a pair of grey jeans to mix things up.
Rachel pulled a face.
“Really, you didn’t bring a dress? Something a little slinkier?” she asked, picking through the stuff in my bag.
I shook my head.
“Nope, you know I don’t wear dresses that often,” I reminded her. “I’m more of a tomboy.”
Rach pulled another face.
“Tomboy, schmomboy, El, you’ve got a body now that’s decidedly not tomboyish anymore,” she emphasized. “Come on, you’re gonna have to wear something of mine then.” And with that she began pawing through her things, flipping through the closet where she’d hung a million outfits, each one colorful and gaudy, some even with pom-poms and sequins.
“No, Rach, no,” I pleaded. Even if I wore something of my friend’s, we weren’t the same size, not even close. My blonde friend was your typical petite vixen, about five one and a size zero. Whereas now, I was up to a size fourteen, maybe. Possibly a sixteen, it depended on what I’d had for breakfast, or sometimes dinner the night before. There was no way I could squeeze into one of Rachel’s outfits, I’d rip it at the seams like a juicy tomato busting out.
But my friend couldn’t be deterred.
“How about this one?” she asked brightly, pulling a dress out of the closet.
I groaned. It was terrible, all psychedelic colors, oranges swirling with purples, great big globs of green here and there.
“No Rach,” I said firmly. “Absolutely not, I’m getting a headache just looking at it.”
She sniffed, her pert nose wrinkling.
“Just so you know El, this dress is by Missoni, they’re a famous Italian design house known for their zany patterns.”
I shook my head still.
“I’ve never heard of this designer, but no Rach, it’s like an acid trip,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t.”
Rachel sighed dramatically, hanging it back up.
“How about this one then?” she asked.
I paused for a moment, stunned. The dress wasn’t even a dress, really. It was more like a band of cloth across the bust paired with a skirt, with the tiniest piece of material connecting the two vertically, enough to hide your belly button.
“What is that?” I asked, horrified.
“What you’ve never seen cut-outs before?” my friend scoffed like a grande dame. “This here is an Azzedine Alaia, I love his work,” she cooed. “So sultry, he knows a woman’s body so well.”
I shook my head again.
“Rach, that’s more like a swimsuit, I can’t go into a club wearing a swimsuit.”
And my friend laughed.
“It’s not a swimsuit, the material’s not waterproof,” she said airily. “Besides, look what I’m wearing,” she said slyly, untying her purple fur jacket. And I gasped because beneath the fur, the blonde had on something that looked like a violet handkerchief, a triangle bound around her breasts, dropping to a point that barely shielded her snatch. One flutter, and everything would be visible. I goggled, astounded.
“Will they let you in the club like that?” I stuttered.
“They better,” Rachel said cheerily. “Otherwise Miles will be soooo disappointed,” she cooed.
And I shook my head again. We’d been invited to this no-name disco by a bunch of guys we’d met at the hotel pool earlier this afternoon. Miles was the one Rachel had homed in on, an overly-tan muscular dude whose swim trunks left nothing to the imagination. I didn’t want to go out with them tonight, not really, but Rach was determined to see Miles again and I was just along for the ride, the best friend slash sidekick, always the voice of reason.
“Okay, this one then,” my friend said with finality. “Seriously El, lighten up, this would look fantastic on you.”
And I gasped again, but for a completely different reason. The dress she was holding in her hands was absolutely gorgeous. Size XS, yes, but still stunningly beautiful, a silky slip in gold that shimmered under the lights.
“Try it on, okay?” asked my friend, pushing it into my arms. “Come on, chop chop, we gotta go, it’ll look amazing.”
And with slow steps, I let myself into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and gazing in the mirror. What was going on? I was boring Ellie Danes, nerd extraordinaire, who never wore things like this. I was more a jeans and a t-s
hirt girl, swapping out the t-shirt for a sweater when things got cold, or a velvet top when things got sexy. No way could I ever pull off a dress like this.
But never say never, and I was transfixed by the shimmering gold fabric, the material silky and glimmery in the light. Hesitantly, I pulled off my scoopneck, then squeezed out of my jeans, holding the tiny scrap of material in front of me. Did I dare put it on? Did I dare become someone other than plain old Ellie, always the wallflower? And with a sigh, I undid the zip and stepped into the shimmery fabric, sliding it up over my hips and breasts, pulling the spaghetti straps over my shoulders.
Looking in the mirror, I gasped at the sudden transformation. Oh my god, I was someone else now. Whereas before I was curvy, yes, but hidden and discreet, now everything was out in the limelight. The fabric hugged my girls just so, emphasizing their creamy fullness, the tops of my mounds revealed in the deep décolletage. And the dress skimmed my waist, showing off how narrow it was before clinging to my hips, the shimmer emphasizing every sway of my booty.
I giggled then, humping my butt up and down a bit just for fun, letting go in the privacy of the bathroom. It jiggled and jumped under the lights, the fabric sparkling and moving on my curves like liquid gold, casting a magical sheen around me, almost like a halo of sparkles surrounding my curvy form. I loved it, absolutely loved it, and opened the bathroom door.