Mischief Night

by Cris Anson

  Suddenly Lowell’s mouth found hers and she opened herself willingly to his searching tongue, sucking it fiercely into her mouth. Simultaneously his fingers slid under her thong and impaled her. Annabelle’s head spun in sensual abandon. One man kissing her fervently while finger-fucking her dripping wet pussy, the other suckling one nipple and pinching the other. One man’s scorching-hot cock fucking her fist, the other rubbing his cock against her bare thigh. It was all too much. She felt the orgasm building, building, she was seconds away from exploding into a cataclysmic reaction—

  “No!”

  Lowell’s firm voice cut into her haze of passion. She felt herself being lifted to her feet and shaken like a wayward child being castigated. Disoriented, she vaguely noted strong hands holding her at the armpits to steady her as she regained her sightless balance on her stilettos. Her breaths came in harsh rasps. Her pussy throbbed, wept, her juices flowed down her thighs. Her stone-hard nipples ached from the loss of stimulation.

  “What—?”

  Fingers at the back of her head untied the scarf around her eyes. As it fell to the floor she blinked several times and found herself staring up into the intense visage of Mr. Lowell Smith.

  “I want to see what it’s like to have you totally dependent on me for your pleasure.”

  Annabelle blinked again. Was he kidding? It would be a dream come true.

  Lowell’s sapphire-blue eyes glowed as richly as the jewels they resembled. “Will you cede control to me?”

  She had already ceded control, she realized. To both men standing naked before her, their cocks rampant and eyes full of lust, their faces and bodies similar enough to be brothers. Still, she needed some answers.

  “First,” she asked with a falsely sugary voice, “do you think you could introduce me to the man whose cock I just spent ten minutes giving a hand-job to while he was sucking my nipples?”

  Lowell’s eyebrows raised. His mouth twitched, but if he’d had the urge to smile, he suppressed it easily.

  “Annabelle Fortier, meet Charles Smith, also known as Chaz.”

  Hiding her exasperation at the cursory intro, she turned to Chaz. Perhaps he’d be more forthcoming. “How are you two related?”

  “Our fathers are twin brothers. He’s my first cousin.”

  “And do you switch places often?”

  Unlike Lowell, Chaz had no compunction to hide a brilliant smile, which he used to devastating effect on her. “Only when the subject is such a beautiful woman. When I saw you, I didn’t know you knew Lowell. You whispered my name. Mr. Smith. I thought the guy who threw this party had told you who I was.”

  He reached to her face and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Frankly, I was flattered that you sought me out.”

  “Enough of this chatter,” Lowell butted in. “If you will be kind enough to answer my question, Miss Fortier?”

  Annabelle bit back a response. She knew that Lowell’s speech at work tended toward the stuffy. Then a thought slammed into her. Being a member of a sex club, for it couldn’t be anything else, he probably just pretended to be stuffy at work so no one would guess his true nature.

  If that was the case, she thought—and said, “Yes.”

  A glance around her surroundings showed that they occupied a small room fitted with a large bed, two boudoir chairs and a dresser. Sort of a guest room. An ajar door led her to hope it was a private bathroom. Her eye snagged on a mirror at the far wall. The sight of herself, wearing only a thong and her heels, flanked by two gorgeous, naked hunks with hard-ons made in heaven, weakened her knees and made her juices flow again. Her baser self immediately wanted a photo, or better yet, a video, of what would transpire here. Her saner self overruled it. She didn’t want to find herself on YouTube. But yes, she wanted to watch in that mirror.

  “On second thought, Miss Fortier, you may assist in bringing about your own pleasure by suggesting a way to incorporate both Smiths into your fulfillment.”

  Annabelle’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He wanted her to…

  A flush suffused her skin, starting at her cheeks and flowing down to her shoulders, her breasts and, it felt, all the way to her toes. She could easily visualize herself on her knees with Lowell pumping into her from behind, and Chaz on his knees in front of her while she sucked him off.

  But to put it into words? To actually say it out loud?

  “I think,” she began, swallowing around the dryness in her throat, “that maybe you could…”

  She cleared her throat. “That is, you and I…”

  Dammit, how could she just come out and say it? Okay, Lowell, I’ll lie down on the bed and you climb on top of me and… No. She just couldn’t do it.

  Chaz seemed to understand her sudden shyness. He came up behind her, wound his arms around her sides and cupped her breasts. “Repeat after me. ‘I can kneel on the bed and Chaz can fuck me from behind and Lowell can watch as you ram into my tight, sweet pussy’.”

  “That’s out of the question,” Lowell snapped, his narrowed eyes glued to the way Chaz was manipulating Annabelle’s nipples, at the way her nipples responded.

  “Then you come up with a scenario, cuz. Can’t you tell she was raised to be a lady and can’t articulate her deepest desires?”

  The two men glared at each other with Annabelle between them. At last Lowell stepped closer, forcibly removed Chaz’s hands from her breasts, and grabbed her hips, grinding them into his erection. He captured her gaze with his own intense one.

  “I’ll be the one whose cock rams into that tight, sweet pussy. Chaz can watch, or he can lie alongside while you jerk him off—if I let your mind stray enough to pay any attention to such a minor, secondary diversion.”

  From behind her, Chaz nuzzled the spot where her neck met her shoulder, nipping small bits of skin with his teeth, sending shards of electricity up and down her spine. “Maybe the lady can find some middle ground here. How about if Lowell lies down on his back and you sit on him? Your legs will be wide open on either side of his hips, and that opens up your rosebud to me. Would you like that? Have you ever had a cock in your ass before?”

  Dear God, Annabelle had never been so turned on, sandwiched between two naked, thoroughly male bodies and listening to what each of them wanted to do to her. Her pussy throbbed, and her breasts felt heavy and aching.

  “And remember,” Lowell murmured as his lips brushed hers in a teasing, taunting kiss, “no one else in this house will give you a climax if I so decree it, since you did cede control to me. We could set you down in one of the Haunted House scenarios, to be brought time and again to the brink with no relief in sight. But regardless, you would be unfulfilled unless I allow you to come.

  “The choice is yours.” Still gripping her hips tightly against his engorged cock, he leaned back a little to stare into her glazed eyes. “Your wish is our command.”

  Annabelle gulped. “I want…I want you to…to…can I show you instead?” She simply could not utter the words.

  Lowell gave a terse nod. Both men stepped away from her, and Annabelle involuntarily shivered at the loss of their scorching heat. Shaking herself from the spell they’d cast, she climbed onto the bed, positioned herself in its center on her hands and knees then beckoned to Lowell.

  “Please. Behind me,” she said as she swept one hand around to her rump.

  Lust flamed in Lowell’s eyes as he crawled over the mattress, stopping inches away from her flanks. He grabbed the elastic of her thong with both hands then ripped it on one side then the other. “We won’t need this anymore.”

  He balled up the tattered garment and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. Smells like heaven.”

  Nudging her knees farther apart, he dipped his head and began dropping kisses on her inner thighs, her hips, her spine. Annabelle closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of his mouth, his hands touching her, arousing her all over.

  She barely heard Chaz say plaintively, “What about me?”

  Suddenly
Lowell gave her ass a hard smack with the palm of hand. “You didn’t forget your duty so quickly, did you?”

  Her skin sizzled where his imprint no doubt showed. It was so erotic, like a direct connection between his hand and her pussy, she wanted him to do it again. Deliberately she ignored Chaz.

  “Miss Fortier!” Another smack.

  In reaction, Annabelle’s ass lifted in a silent plea for more.

  Lowell chuckled. “I’m in charge, not you. For that transgression, you will…”

  He stopped speaking, stopped moving, lifted his hands from her. Annabelle waited on a withheld breath for another smack. And waited. She held back a groan on realizing he was punishing her in a different way. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from earning another punishment, for she had just come to realize a truth. Punishment wasn’t merely the inflicting of corporal pain, it could also be mental, a withholding of pleasure.

  “Ah, you are beginning to understand that I control your pleasure.” She heard the crinkle of foil. “For that I will give you…” In one smooth stroke he slammed his cock deep inside her pussy and held himself tight against her.

  Annabelle cried out in delirious pleasure as her inner muscles spasmed against him. So big, so burning hot, he filled her to bursting. Against every instinct to move, to feel him sliding in and out of her sheath, she held herself still.

  “What about Chaz?” Lowell’s voice.

  Her muzzy brain processed the question too slowly. Chaz. There was something she had to direct him to do…

  She felt Lowell’s cock sliding out of her pussy. She clamped her muscles down to hold him inside, but he was stronger. On a moan she realized this was yet another punishment, for she hadn’t completed Lowell’s directive.

  “Here,” she gasped, lifting one hand to beckon Chaz in front of her.

  “No.” Lowell’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, holding her immobile. “You must specify what you want to do to him.”

  “Please, I can’t…”

  Lowell’s cock teased the entrance to her pussy. “Say it.”

  Oh God, she wanted him inside her, needed him to pound into her. “Chaz, I-I need you to kneel in front of me so I can—so I can suck your cock.”

  Her reward was another swift, hard thrust of Lowell’s cock into her welcoming pussy, then another and another as he entered then withdrew. Lord, he felt good. Her inner muscles clenched around him, increasing the pleasure of his thrusts.

  The mattress dipped as Chaz positioned himself at her direction. Then he guided his cock into her waiting mouth and she drew him greedily in. With one Mr. Smith in front and one behind pleasuring her in this daring new way, she wondered why she’d ever hesitated to say what she wanted.

  She gave herself up to the myriad sensations, Chaz slowly easing his cock in and out of her mouth as he held her head just so with both hands, Lowell hunched over her, one hand stroking her clit and the other tugging her nipple while pounding his hips into her, his taut balls slapping into her. Her pleasure gathered, strengthened, drawing itself together from her mouth to her breasts to her belly and, finally, intensifying into that pinpoint of feminine cells, her clit, which suddenly exploded into a thousand fiery pieces and redistributed themselves into every atom of her being.

  Boneless, she wondered why she didn’t collapse onto the mattress then realized that Lowell was still fucking her, his hands now holding her hips in a death grip, his breaths harsh against her shoulder, his hips pounding into her in a frenzied cadence, the slap of skin on skin resounding around them.

  And Chaz was doing the same, his hips pistoning into her mouth as she increased the tautness of her lips and tongue on his cock. She reached up with one hand to cup and massage his balls, felt them tighten in her palm as his climax neared.

  She felt Lowell tense and swung her free hand behind her to clutch his ass cheek, trying to hold him one more millimeter closer as he too neared the end of his control. And then Chaz was shooting his cum into her mouth and she swallowed and swallowed to capture all of it, while behind her Lowell shouted hoarsely, pounded her viciously once, twice more, then roared his own climax as she experienced another orgasm so powerful, she didn’t realize she’d blacked out until she again became a sentient being aware of the two spent males keeping her tethered to earth.

  Chapter Three

  “Good morning, Miss Fortier, did you sleep well last night?”

  Annabelle’s head jerked up as Lowell—make that Mr. Smith—poked his head into the outer office where she was reviewing the day’s calendar with her assistant. A quick scan told her he hadn’t changed his persona one bit. Still the slicked-back hair, curling just the slightest at his neck. Still the superbly cut Italian suit, silk tie, hand-tailored shirt with monogrammed cuffs.

  The eyes, though. His eyes seemed to glow as he looked at her. She wanted to pounce on him, but remembered her assistant Delia’s presence. In her late forties, Delia Thompson had been with the firm since its inception eighteen years ago and mothered all the staff. It wouldn’t do to fuel any office gossip. Annabelle was the latest hire and would be the one to go if things turned sour.

  Should she tell him she’d never had a better night’s sleep since childhood? That she’d even fallen asleep in Mr. Savidge’s car while being driven home? That a valet had followed with her own car? That her pussy ached and her nipples hardened just from looking at him this morning?

  She dipped her head in greeting. “Fine, Mr. Smith. I hope you did, too.”

  “I’d like to discuss the Wesley drawings with you this afternoon.” He glanced at Delia. “How’s her schedule, Miss Thompson?”

  Delia checked Annabelle’s calendar in her computer. “Miss Fortier has the morning blocked off to finish the plans for the library addition for their two o’clock meeting.”

  “Oh, is that meeting today? Well then, I won’t disturb you. Why don’t you stop by my office after they leave.” He nodded to them both and continued to his corner office.

  Delia sighed as she followed his exit with greedy eyes. “I’m happily married, but it’s no sin to look. He’s such a hunk. Honestly, I don’t know why he doesn’t do anything about it.”

  “About what?”

  “The way he looks at you sometimes. Like he wants to eat you up. Then he goes into that ‘Miss Fortier’ routine and walks away.” She shook her head. “I just don’t get it.”

  Annabelle bit her tongue against the urge to confess that Mr. Lowell Smith had indeed “done something about it.” The news would spread like a rash in a poison-ivy patch.

  “Mixing business with pleasure,” she said neutrally. “I’m way down on the totem pole in this firm. He’s a senior partner.”

  “Pffft.” Delia flung her hand up negligently, dismissing the argument.

  Annabelle had scheduled the time today for a final review even though she’d completed the design last week. Good thing. She spent the morning at her CAD-CAM program, staring at the screen and thinking about last night and all the mischief Mr. Smith—the two Mr. Smiths—had gotten her into. How would Lowell greet her privately as opposed to the office where anyone could and did see how they interacted? Could she hold her head up if he decided there were separate standards for him and for her? What on earth was she thinking of to have allowed herself to be talked into a threesome with her boss? Was the Wesley account just a cover to get her into his inner sanctum so he could hem and haw and finally blurt out that he could no longer have such a wanton working for him?

  Her stomach twisted in knots. He couldn’t fire her. He couldn’t. After all, he was a member of what was apparently a sex club and he’d invited her to go, gave her time off to find a costume, had bullied her into accepting his dictates once there. And he didn’t even ask her about a safe word! Of course she’d never before been in a situation before where a safe word might be needed, but she’d read more than a few erotic romances and knew her way, theoretically, around the BDSM scene.

  Delia knocked once then st
uck her head inside the doorway. “The Library Board is here. I put them in Conference Room B.”

  “Thanks.” Annabelle glanced at the half-eaten turkey wrap Delia had brought her two hours ago, but it wasn’t the upcoming meeting that had her stomach too jumpy to eat much. She squared her shoulders and strode into the conference room with a façade of confidence. Three hours later, she was shaking hands with the Board as they departed. They would convey their verdict to the senior partners in a few days.

  Now all she had to worry about was Lowell. Mr. Smith, she corrected herself.

  Retrieving the Wesley plans from Delia’s desk, she said good night as her assistant left for the day then walked to the corner office and knocked on Mr. Smith’s open door.

  “Come in.”

  She took a deep breath and entered.

  “Please close the door, Miss Fortier.”

  Not good. His demeanor was stern, like he’d had a hard decision to make and he’d stoically accepted the one he reached. He stood rigidly behind his high-backed executive’s chair, one hand resting on the leather as if it would help keep him upright.

  The door clicked shut behind her. She approached him gingerly, laid the plans on his polished walnut desk.

  His mouth moved, but no sound came out. He might have said her name, but Annabelle wasn’t a lip-reader and couldn’t be sure. His sapphire-blue eyes glowed the way they had last night when he’d mentioned punishment.

  Finally he spoke. “Are you wearing panties?”

  Annabelle gasped, jerked her head around to be sure the door was still closed and no one had crept in to hear his unbelievable, totally un-PC question. “Mr. Smith, this is no place—”

  “All day long,” he overrode her objection, “I’ve burned to know the answer to that question, Annabelle. Lift up your skirt and show me.”

  Which came first, she wondered bitterly, the rock or the hard place? She should have known—did know—better than to fish off the company dock.