ROMANCE: Party of Three: A Lustful Collection of Menage Romance (Menage Romance, Bisexual Romance, Stepbrother Romance)

by Brittanee Farrow

  “Good morning. I heard you were the best seamstress in town and I seem to have ripped one of my shirts.” He holds up the long shirt I tore and I steel myself not to blush or give away that I had anything to do with it.

  “I don’t know about the best seamstress, but I’m happy to help,” my mother smiles. “May I look at it?”

  He hands the garment to her, and takes the seat she offers while she looks at the damage. I may not have this chance again, so I walk behind Aaron, then pause.

  “Mr. Pryor, you have strings on your back. May I snip them? I don’t want the fabric to unravel.”

  Rashi hands me the scissors, but as I reach to snip a lock of hair, his hands lift the brown hair from the coat.

  “Wouldn’t want you to miss and get some of my hair,” he smiles.

  I’m frozen for a moment, but pretend to clip the strings. One single strand of hair rests on the back of his coat, and I pull it. Could a single strand be enough? I’m not sure, but it’s clear Aaron suspects I’m a witch and knows enough to be dangerous, so I replace the scissors and tuck the hair into my pocket while my back is turned. As I return to sewing, my mother explains it might be better to cut a length off and just raise the shirt up, getting rid of the jagged part. Aaron nods, and once they settle on a price and delivery date, he leaves.

  All I can think about it adding the hair to my doll, so when mother goes out to deliver the repaired clothes, I race upstairs while Rashi keeps watch. Frantically, I pull the stitches out, stuff the long, dark hair inside, and stitch the doll back up. Since mother is not back, I light a candle, wave the doll over the flame, and say the words. By the time mother is back, the dolls are back beneath the floorboards, the rug is smoothed, and both Rashi and I are sewing.

  Anticipation makes our work even more tedious, but I steel myself and focus on each stitch. Rashi prepares dinner and we eat, which is the only break from sewing. My hopes hinge on who will arrive at my window tonight, and I think greedily that either man would be nice, but both would be better.

  I can hardly wait to climb into bed, excited and curious about what will await me in the moonlight. Despite my eagerness, my eyes are tired from sewing and I soon fall asleep. Just like the night before, I am woken by the clatter of pebbles against my window. As I part the curtains, my heart stops: Zachary looks up at me…and next to him, Aaron! The butterflies in my stomach surprise me as I motion for them to wait there, and hurry out of the house.

  As both offer me an arm, I feel shy, but the surge of power emboldens me, and it is I who leads them into the woods.

  Close to the same spot from before, I stop and remove my nightcap. My honey-colored hair is in a braid, and falls below my waist. I wear nothing else but my shirt, which I lift over my head, draping it gently over a low branch. Naked, I stand before both men, who are frozen except for eyes that survey my whole body.

  I can see both their breeches are straining against their growing desire, and I pull them forward by the waist of their pants. Aaron lays his cloak over a rock, and I lean there, pulling off his breeches, then Zachary’s. My mouth waters at the sight of them both so hard for me.

  The need grows inside of me, and we lay Zachary’s cloak on the ground and lay down there, one man on either side of me. A hand strokes my naked back while another squeezes my bottom, pulling me closer to the naked manhood, and I close my eyes. Without seeing what is happening or will happen, I surrender myself and focus on only the sensations. My nipple is sucked while another pair of lips kisses mine; two hard members graze my thighs, creating pinpoints of sensitivity. A hand reaches down to stroke that most sensitive spot between my legs, and I grind into the fingers, pushing harder and wanting it rougher. Legs straddle my chest and my breasts are pressed around one throbbing rod while the other, finding me adequately wet, drives inside. I am pounded at a forceful rhythm, stretched on the inside and pulled on the outside. I feel the soft skin slide between my breasts, and the tip just touches my chin, making me want a taste. My mouth opens, and the warm skin is greedily shoved in. I lick and suck, hearing a soft moaning as I take more of the length in and out of my mouth, with increasing urgency, until just before the climax. Warm liquid spills onto my breasts, and the hot tip smears it around, and then approaches my lips, offering a taste. I suck, and it’s salty.

  All sensation stops for a moment, and I feel the cool night air on my bare skin, then my legs are spread slightly wider. I gasp as I feel a tongue begin to stroke me down there. It’s like nothing I could have imagined. Fingers slip inside, reaching for that spot as the mouth teases that little bead. The tongue will flick back and forth, just rough enough to make me breathe faster, then change to a sucking sensation, then back to licking, all while fingers grope from the inside, and I am all feeling as I crash into bliss, squirting my own juice from the sensation.

  Only then do my eyes open, and I see both men watching me, glistening with sweat. Both are hard, and I want so much more. I push Aaron down, and straddle him backwards, pulling Zachary’s waist toward me. From below Aaron begins to pound into me while I take Zachary into my mouth, feeling as much as I give. It’s hard and almost painful, but not quite. The pleasure is so intense it could hurt if it didn’t feel so good, and Zachary comes first. I can feel him tighten and press his tip to my chest, showering myself in his warm liquid. He then rubs me while Aaron pounds, hitting a place deep inside that leaves my mouth opened in pleasure until we come, his thick member pulsing as he squirts, and my insides gripping him as the waves of my climax take over my body.

  Fire and Brimstone

  A very large part of me just wants to do this until my heart gives out, but the softening sky lets me know I’ve already stayed too long. We do our best to clean ourselves, and then hurry to our homes. All I can think about is when we’ll do this again, but when I sneak into the house, Rashi is waiting.

  “Are you enjoyin’ yourself, Eden?” she asks.

  “Yes, thank you.” I try to be polite, wondering why she seems so angry.

  “Well, you need to be thinkin’ about what will happen if either of those men gives you a baby,” she whispers. “How will you explain being pregnant without a husband?”

  “Isn’t there a way to—”

  “Don’t even ask me,” her eyes blaze. “You can have your choice of men. I thought you just wanted to settle down and didn’t think you could with your past. But this will ruin you.”

  “You’re right.” I bow my head. “I’ll choose a husband.”

  She nods and I try to look contrite. We both return to our beds, but my mind begins to race, formulating a plan. This power, despite any danger it may bring, has made my life more vivid and enjoyable in a few days than the rest of my entire life. I won’t give that up. But things need to happen to protect this secret.

  I roll back the rug and lift the loose floor board to retrieve both dolls. It’s an easy decision, in the end. Aaron is a witch hunter, and I cannot be married to a witch hunter. Then again, with the dolls either one will be in my control, so maybe it doesn’t matter. My perfect logic is unraveling, and the prospect of choosing one seems impossible.

  Finally, in a moment of frustration, I close my eyes and toss the dolls around, mixing them until I don’t know which is which. I grab one, without looking, and run downstairs, then toss it into the fire. Quickly, I scramble back upstairs to see which doll is left.

  Zachary.

  It’s what I wanted when I first asked for this power, so it seems fitting. Rashi shows me how to compel him to marriage, and within a few hours, we are engaged. My mother is happy, albeit confused, about the whole arrangement, but we are disrupted by screams outside.

  Mrs. Rowe runs over, breathless, but ready to spread the news, as always. “Aaron Pryor is dead. He somehow caught fire while he slept, and they didn’t discover it until his whole room was up in flames. The boarding house is half destroyed and Reverend Parris says we are all to meet at the church.”

  I take Zachary’s arm and we walk over
together, and voices everywhere are muttering about the fire.

  “It had to be witches.”

  “They knew he’d find them out.”

  “Maybe it was an accident.”

  “Fire is the devil’s sign, like that fire in the forest.”

  As the church doors close behind the last few stragglers, Reverend Parris begins.

  “Aaron Pryor is dead,” he announces, in case Mrs. Rowe missed telling anyone. “It is a tragedy and happens to coincide with another episode. My daughter, niece, and wife are now afflicted. Whoever is working their magic on them feared Aaron, and eliminated that threat.”

  “What do we do?” voices whisper, as panic begins to spread amongst the congregation.

  “Before he died, Aaron explained a better way to find who the witch is. We will pursue that test once we have a suspect. Does anyone have such a person?”

  The room is dead quiet for the first time that day. No one is sure and it is not a charge easily refuted. In the midst of the silence, the wood creaks as my mother stands.

  “I believe Eden may know something.” Her voice is strong and clear. I am stunned. “Back when my husband and I were married, Rashi would make healing powders. She said they were natural remedies. But then my husband strayed. I was called the adulteress, but it was he who could not control his…appetite. One night, I even saw him fornicating with Rashi.”

  “Why are you just now explaining this?”

  “I feared for my life, and Eden’s. But things have become stranger. I saw Eden throw a doll into the fire today. Then Rashi ran to remove it from the fire. I think she has Eden under her control with some voodoo doll, and when Eden tried to free herself Rashi stopped it.”

  Everyone in the church stares at Rashi and I. The blood rushes from my face, and I feel lightheaded. All I remember from that point on is falling, and Zachary catching me.

  Settling Debts

  When I wake up, I’m in my own bed. I startle, remembering the last events up until I blacked out. No one is in my room, so I roll back the rug and check under the floor—the Zachary doll is gone. In its place is a doll that has been partially burnt.

  Once I replace everything, I have to lie back down. I’m dizzy, and can’t keep my eyes open. The world fades to black again.

  I wake up to a group of people this time, my mother being the closest. Reverend Parris is there, and Zachary.

  “You’ve been asleep for days,” my mother whispers gently. “A lot has happened.”

  “After Rashi was accused and you blacked out, we held her on suspicion of being a witch,” the Reverend explains. “She claimed that you were the one who was practicing magic. She said that when you threw the doll into the fire you killed Aaron, and she tried to save him by pulling the doll out. Even more interesting, she explained that you had power to entrance men for your desires, and that is why Zachary asked you to marry him.”

  My eyes search Zachary’s as this last piece is revealed, but his expression is even—I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

  “I explained the truth,” mother says. “Rashi worked for us back when your father still lived here. We were happy, for a time. Then she worked a spell on him that gave her control. We all know what happened there. But when you were grown, the same thing happened. She used a doll and took control of you. By controlling you, she wanted to carry out her plans but have you take the blame, and I can’t let that happen. If her story is true, there would be a doll under your bed with some blonde hair in it,” mother concludes. “That is how you supposedly control Zachary.”

  “Please go ahead and search,” I answer tiredly. “I have nothing to hide.”

  They move the rug and test the floorboards, finding the right one, and pry it back to reveal the burnt doll.

  “This settles it,” the Reverend says. “If she were trying to protect this doll, Rashi would not have hid it back under your bed. Even more importantly, if she were not a witch, she would not think burning a doll could kill a man. Clearly this has been used to control Eden.”

  My mother begins to cry, and the men apologize for the distress we’ve suffered. They leave to sentence Rashi, and my mother begins to laugh.

  “Oh, finally. I thought they’d never leave.”

  She sees my shock and asks if I want to know the real story. I nod, and she begins.

  “The women in our family have always had gifts. Healing, seeing the future, captivating men, speaking to animals, and so on. I was no different. When your father and I were married he did not know about my gifts, but the new maid we hired figured it out. She promised she could make me stronger, and worked magic on me. But she had lied. Rashi wanted my power and she took it. We became her pawns, but when our love began to overcome the spell, she enchanted him to fall in love with someone else, and we were split apart. Broken-hearted, I could not resist and have been under her control. When you found your power and chose Zachary, she would have switched places with you. Every bit of strength I had left was to name her a witch.”

  “You hid the Zachary doll,” I guess, and she nods.

  “If they burn her, I am freed, your father is freed. And you can have the life you never dared to want.”

  Almost as if on cue, there was a rough knock on the door. We both went downstairs, partly afraid it would be Rashi, but found my father.

  “Can you forgive a stupid man?” he asks my mother.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” she smiles.

  The Fog of Passion

  An Interracial Romance

  By Brittanee Farrow

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  Chapter One: Mr. Perfect

  Maria found herself alone, again. Waiting in a five-star restaurant for some guy she'd been hooked up with to show up. They were never on time. Not a single one had ever been on time. Why would this one be any different? She didn't even know why she'd agreed to do this. Carol had hounded her and all but backed her into a corner until she'd said yes to the blind date. Carol had always taken it upon herself to find Maria a date.

  She sighed and stared at her glass of half empty wine, trying to decide if she should ask for it to be topped off this early in the evening. She was soon broken from her thoughts by a smooth masculine voice that nearly rattled her from her trance.

  “Maria?”

  Her eyes shifted upwards, landing on the man's face. He was...perfect. Wow, he was perfect! His face was nearly smooth, though it had just the right amount of stubble to make him ruggedly attractive. His jaw was strong and his lips full with a perfectly dipping cupid's bow. His skin was pale but still had a pink warmth to it that made him seem inviting and gentle.

  Her deep, amber eyes were so focused on his face and his sea-green eyes that she hardly heard him when he spoke. “I'm so sorry, Maria. I got stuck in rush hour traffic.” He said softly, those perfect lips curling into a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

  “Oh! Yeah. Rush hour traffic is a bitch.” She said, offering her hand over the table, gold bracelets clinking together and sliding down her toned arm. She grinned brightly at him, a little put off at just how excited she was. She really hadn't expected someone this...beautiful.

  He quirked his lips into another smile and took her offered hand “A strong lady. Something I always appreciate.” He almost purred, returning her firm handshake before sitting in the seat across from her.

  She laughed and moved to brush a hand through her thick, tightly curled hair. She'd always avoided relaxers and tried to keep her hair natural and as kinky as possible. She'd been told it made her look like a 'wild' woman but she didn't really care. If you couldn't handle her kinky hair then you certainly couldn't handle her.

  She leaned forward on her elbows, taking him in like a tall glass of water and he was clearly returning the gesture. Just as she'd never seen someone as beautiful as him, he'd never seen someone quite like her. Her rich, mocha colored skin
was smooth and well cared for, though various scars along her arms and finger's told stories of a girl who'd played outside much of her childhood. You could tell so much about a person based on their skin, and their lipstick. And hers was the deepest shade of burgundy, applied with an unbelievable amount of care.

  Maria was just the type of woman he'd been searching for.

  They both seemed to look up at the same time and Maria was shocked at how in-sync they appeared to be. Was it bad that she was hoping this date ended in a very intimate way? She smiled and took a sip of the wine that matched her lips and spoke “So, you know my name. What's yours?”

  He laughed and placed a hand at the base of his neck, finger's scratching into his thick, black hair “Right, right. I suppose that you deserve that much information. My name is Dorian.”

  She grinned at that “It's such a classical name. I love it!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together once to make sure he was aware of her excitement.

  He couldn't help the small laugh that slipped passed his lips and drifted off into the air. Even his voice and laugh were musical. Seriously, what was the catch? No one this perfect existed without a catch. “I suppose it is a little dated.”

  She snorted, clearly displeased with his commentary “Not dated. Strong. Classical.” She said firmly, pointing her fork at him and leaning forward.

  He sipped his wine, his smile hidden behind the glass “Well, I certainly won't argue. I don't think I would win.”

  She set her fork down “You're damn right you wouldn't. I like you. You pick up on things fast.” Her toothy grin was a clear sign that she was joking.

  “Well. That makes two of us then.” He said, holding up his wine glass to signify a toast. “To strong, loud women who wear their lipstick like they own the world.”