My Boyfriend's Boss

by Cassandra Dee

But first, I wanted to confirm the good news. I strode into our bedroom, to see our little girl pale and motionless under the covers. She was gorgeous, her chestnut hair fanning out behind her, the sheets unable to hide the lusciousness of those curves.

  “Shh,” said Troy, coming up behind me. “She was suffering from morning sickness, she’s gotta be pregnant bro,” he continued.

  “Did she take a pregnancy test?” I asked.

  “No, not yet, but what else could it be?” he asked. “She hasn’t gotten her period in two months.”

  My brother was a dumb fuck. He wanted her to be pregnant so badly that he was ignoring the fact that her period may have been delayed due to stress, a change in diet, who knows? But honestly, I was just as elated and willing to engage in some magical thinking. If our little girl was pregnant … god, it made me so happy, the thought of being a father to her child.

  Despite our hushed whisperings, Krissy woke up and caught us in the doorway, gazing at her as we spoke. Instead of smiling with welcome, she started crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks, her muffled sobbing heart-wrenching and miserable.

  “What is it baby?” I murmured, stroking her head, sitting next to her on the bed. Troy sat on other side, holding her hand. “Is it the morning sickness? It’s bad, but it should get better,” I promised.

  She cried for a bit, hopefully out of joy, but it didn’t seem like it. I’ve never cared much about a woman’s emotions, and this why being with Krissy is so amazing. She’s the first woman that I want to be attuned to, want to know what’s going on in her pretty little head.

  But the crying continued for a few minutes, wrenching and sorrowful, and Troy and I looked on, puzzled. These definitely weren’t tears of joy.

  “What is it baby?” Troy tried again. “What’s got you so unhappy?” he asked.

  It came pouring out then.

  “I went to your office,” Krissy choked. “You’re not the bouncer and bartender at Club Luxe … you’re the owners!” she accused.

  “Yes, that’s true,” I said with a warning glance at Troy. Okay, so she’d broken into our office, which was bad, but never assume the worst without confirmation. “We’re the owners of Club Luxe,” I agreed, “and we also own a couple other businesses in the city,” I soothed.

  “That’s not all,” she said, glaring at us. “I saw the files. I saw the videotape,” she said flatly. “You’re pimps. I saw that girl dance around naked, sucking you off, and then asking for a job as an escort,” she screeched, her voice growing in volume with each accusation. “You’re using women! You use women’s bodies to support your lifestyle! You’re criminals!” she screamed this time, waves of anger rolling from her small body.

  I sat stock still for a minute, motionless, the air humming with tension. The things she was saying were technically true. We made money from women who had sex, taking a cut of their earnings. But explaining the complexities are tough – the way we protected our charges, that they were smart and hard-working women, appreciative of the job in most cases. And most weren’t lifelong hookers. Instead, they were women who needed some fast cash, and this was an easy route, with us as their middlemen, their protectors in some sense, as they tried to make a living.

  Unfortunately, it sounded like the moral aspect meant a lot to our little sister, and she couldn’t absorb the nuances of our job just now.

  “Shh,” I soothed. “Just sleep. You’re tired and sick, and when you wake up, we’ll explain,” I continued.

  “Just rest, sister,” added Troy. “It’ll all make sense, I promise.”

  But our assurances fell flat.

  “How can I sleep?” she asked plaintively, her eyes filling with tears. “Especially if I’m pregnant. How can I go on knowing that the fathers of my baby are criminals?” she reiterated, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Hush, baby,” I said, leaning in for a kiss. “Don’t think about it right now. We’re going to do something to help you sleep,” I said, slowly pulling the sheet from her body.

  And as if on cue, Troy got out the vibrator that he’d hidden in the bedside table. We’d been waiting for a special occasion to introduce her to a new mechanical friend, but it seemed that the toy could be put to good use now.

  He flicked it onto the lowest setting, and the hot pink shaft began trembling, vibrating with a soothing, buzzing noise. Ever so slowly, he placed it against her cunny, letting her feel the shivers through her thin cotton panties.

  “Oh brothers,” cried Krissy, tears in her eyes. She knew what we were trying to do, distract her, make her come, and then fall into an exhausted post-coital slumber. But her body knew what it needed, and she began to respond, tossing her head, squeezing her breasts through the tiny tank top as Troy pressed the vibrator insistently against her panties.

  “Brothers,” she moaned, writhing and tossing in the bed. I helped her out of her tank top, while Troy pulled the panties off her legs, and there was our beautiful girl, nude and beautiful, her pink bits gleaming and moist already. I suckled one of her teats, that deep rose areola impossible to resist, and Troy joined me on her other breast, even as he tilted his wrist to drive the vibrator into her twat.

  “Aieee!” Krissy moaned. She’s had plenty of dick in her, and there is no substitute for a thick, hot, live pole, but a good dildo can serve its purpose. Troy held still for a moment before cranking it up to its maximum setting and fucking her deep, letting the toy do its job.

  The pink dildo slid in and out obscenely, penetrating those lush folds, the shaft slick and glossy with her female juices. Unable to resist, Troy pulled it out in the middle of fucking and sucked it for a moment, running his tongue along the plastic, lapping up that sweet female nectar, before slipping it back into her cunt for a deep, solid fuck.

  And our little girl came hard, her cunny spasming on the toy, a gush of cream drenching my brother’s hand as her pussy clenched down on the shaft within. We held her as she rode the wave, moaning and panting in our arms, breathing in her soft femininity, savoring that beautiful, womanly lushness that was uniquely hers.

  As her climax subsided, Troy pulled the toy from her body and handed it to me. Guiding the pole into my mouth, I too sampled her sweet cream, my turn to drink up that female ambrosia. And fuck, she tasted good, that twat tangy and delicious, the juice clear and glossy on my lips.

  Krissy slowly sank into a deep sleep as my brother and I soothed her, cleaning off the dampness between her thighs before pulling up the sheet around her naked body. I admit that we lightly grazed our fingers over her tummy, adoringly stroking that still-flat plain, amazed that it would soon swell with our child.

  And with a kiss, we left our beautiful, pregnant step-sister.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Krissy

  I’m so tired. So very, very tired. I fell asleep after that session with the vibrator, my body drained, my cunny loose and quivering after the amazing orgasm. My brothers put me to bed, gently stroking my curves as they cleaned me off and wrapped me securely in the blanket.

  But I’ve come awake again, the events of the day swirling uncontrollably in my head. I can’t get over the fact that my brothers are pimps. They say they can explain it, but what could possibly justify this? I feel so dumb. All those women coming in and out, the gorgeous ones who barely spoke English, they were fucking men for money all this time … and my brothers were taking a cut, making a pretty penny off those female bodies.

  Shivering, I wrapped myself tighter in the sheet. And the pregnancy … although I haven’t taken a test yet, I know with a certain feminine instinct that I’m carrying their child. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I’m in love my brothers, adoring them completely as talented men, domineering businessmen, and amazing lovers. But now that I know the truth, how can I go on?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Kristen

  I admit, I’ve been hiding a bit. It’s not that I’m shy or terrified, it’s just been a little overwhelming, you know? Difficult to realize
that the men you adore, men you’re head over heels in love with, are criminals.

  Troy and Tyler are my everything, I know that now. And what started as a stunt, a cute little research project focused on teen shenanigans, has turned into something darker, deeper, much more troubling. Because through my investigation, I discovered that my stepbrothers are running an escort service.

  They insist on calling it an escort service and not a prostitution ring because the two are supposedly vastly different. A prostitution ring is what you find in Thailand or the seedy parts of New York. Those are girls often have no options, addicted to drugs, manhandled and used by self-serving, arrogant pimps.

  Not that my brothers aren’t arrogant. But they run their business by another code. For high-class escort services, the quality of asset is key … and for the Lyon twins, the assets just happen to be women.

  But my brothers invest heavily in the women they manage. The pay for medical check-ups, vaccinations, regular STD screening, and have even sponsored visas for some of the girls so that they’re able to remain in the United States legally. Plus, they screen their male clients like the FBI to ensure that no one abuses or mistreats a girl in their care.

  “How does it work?” I’d asked, my chin trembling. After the discovery of my stepbrothers’ true business, I’d felt shaky and collapsed, both under the weight of the revelation and because I was pregnant with their child.

  “How does a girl join the Lyon twins’ escort business?” I’d asked again, my hands folded demurely.

  Tyler and Troy sat on either side of me on the couch, slowly letting me into their world.

  “It depends,” began Tyler, the business guy. “Usually we’ll get a tip from someone that a girl’s looking to move, looking for work, and wants to be placed at a stand-up establishment.”

  I blanched a bit. “You guys are known as the stand-up establishment in this field?” I asked, my voice quivering.

  Troy answered this time. “I know it’s hard to believe, little sister, but yes, Tyler and I are known for running an elite service, and we have a reputation to protect. So we only take girls who can meet our standards on a number of different fronts … physically, emotionally, legally, everything,” he said. “And if she’s not quite up to par, we’ll work with her if we believe in the product,” he continued. “We invest heavily, and that’s what’s made for our amazing returns.”

  I still quivered inside, spooked at this talk of women as assets, as products with returns, that kind of thing. They were people, after all, living breathing women just like me. But on the other hand, I supposed it was no different for female celebrities, female models, actresses, etc. The product is the woman so to speak.

  “But … but what if a girl is having trouble?” I said. “What if she has a bad experience, or gains weight, or has a baby?” I said, stroking my tummy.

  Both my brothers looked at my abdomen as well, which was just beginning to swell. Their gazes were adoring, lighting their expressions with joy. But they answered the question head on, without trying to duck or save face.

  “We fire girls who have a lot of trouble in their lives,” said Tyler. “We work with them, sure, to overcome obstacles. But there are times where the only answer is to let a girl go, and it’s one of the toughest parts of this job.”

  “We don’t like doing it,” agreed Troy. “But at the same time, most girls don’t work for us for very long, believe it or not. We only hire girls who have potential … maybe they’re in a cash crunch, so they come to us for a bit. But inevitably they move on, and we’re happy for them.”

  Okay, it sort of made sense. Suddenly, a thought struck me.

  “Do you keep in touch with any of the girls who’ve moved on?” I asked, somewhat suspiciously.

  Tyler and Troy exchanged a look.

  “Yeah honey, we do,” said Troy. “You know Rachel, the weekday bartender at Club Luxe? She was one of our girls, but transitioned into bartending after she got settled.”

  Rachel? Suddenly, recent events made more sense now. I’d bumped into Rachel at the club unexpectedly, when she was picking up some files for Tyler. I’d been mighty suspicious. First, Tyler hardly trusts anyone with his business, and second, I’d bumped into her at 11 a.m., when the bar was usually closed. But now that I knew she was a trusted employee, it all gelled in my head.

  Plus, Rachel was pretty, lithe and slim, with good fashion sense. Good for getting tips at the bar, yes, but even better for mind-boggling tips from escort clients.

  “Honey,” said Troy softly. “Why don’t you talk with Rachel about her past tonight? This is really overwhelming, and I know we’ve put a lot on you. It might help to talk with a woman, especially one who’s worked for us, to get another perspective,” he said.

  I nodded my head. As a former employee, Rachel would have no reason to lie. I’d appreciate picking her brain a bit.

  But another question stuck in my head, one that I didn’t want to ask, but knew I had to.

  “Brothers,” I said slowly. “In the video on your computer, you fucked the girl who was trying out. Sandy, I think her name was. Do you usually sleep with your girls?” I asked.

  Their expressions were carefully neutral, but again, I got the sense that they were trying to be open and honest.

  “Baby … yes, we’ve slept with a lot of the women,” said Tyler slowly. “But we always used protection, and put them through the wringer when it came to regular STD-testing. But yes,” he concluded. “We did have physical relationships with many of the women who worked for us.”

  “Did you have a baby with any of them?” I asked, my cheeks flaming. It was so hard to bring this up, but I had to know.

  “Absolutely not,” stated Troy firmly. “We were militant about birth control, and honey, we haven’t slept with anyone since you’ve come into our lives,” he said simply. “You and the baby are our number ones, and we wouldn’t dream of being with another woman while we have you.”

  I smiled tremulously, my fears and doubts allayed for the moment. But I was still worried. Secrets are always hard to keep, and with one of this size, it was just a matter of time before things blew up. What would happen then? What would happen to my baby if my brothers’ business was revealed? What would people say if they discovered my baby was the result of an illicit relationship between siblings?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Tyler

  I could see that Krissy was still worried. A slight crease marred her brow, and she frowned to herself, even as she tried to look cheerful. That’s what I love about our little girl. Always trying to be happy and optimistic, although we’d just dealt her a major blow.

  Sometimes life takes twists and turns, and you just gotta roll with it. Tyler and I took a risk with the escort business, betting that the feds wouldn’t find out, and it’s paid off so far. We make boatloads of cash, have a stable of healthy, happy girls, and a steady male clientele always looking for more pussy. So it’s worked out.

  But I understand why our sister is shocked and dismayed. I mean, what we’re doing is criminal, there are no two buts about that. So it’s a blow … that her little investigative report for the high school paper yielded so much dirt, unmasking a seedy underworld right in her own home.

  But my brother and I have been trying to convince her that it’s not so bad, the way we have it set up. We’re responsible businessmen, committed to ethical behavior in a sense. We treat our employees well, make sure they have decent working environments, and conduct ourselves discreetly, all the while maximizing profit. How is that different from any business owner?

  But I am worried. The security I use for Club Luxe called this afternoon, reporting a break-in. At first, I didn’t think it was anything. Krissy had fessed up to making a copy of Troy’s keys and sneaking into our office, so it was probably just her.

  “No worries, Mike,” I growled into the phone. “I know about it already.”

  “So you know your hard drive was mirrored, right?” he sai
d. “These clearly weren’t low-grade thieves. It takes significant technical firepower to accomplish.”

  Immediately, I knew this wasn’t the work of my sister. Sure, she’d peeped into the computer and even managed to figure out the password, but she wouldn’t know what mirroring a hard drive was. Shit.

  “What are you saying?” I asked carefully.

  “Mr. Lyon, mirroring a hard drive means that the thief made a copy of everything you had saved on your computer. I just hope you have back-ups of the files stashed in different locations in different formats,” he said. “Because mirroring sometimes corrupts the original files, rendering them unusable.”

  Oh shit. I understood what security was saying, but I was concerned for a different reason. I wasn’t worried about corrupted files, or insufficient back-ups. I was worried because that hard drive had videos of girls on it, dancing and stripping, getting naked before fucking my brother and me.

  And there were a lot of clips too. Probably at least a thousand total, and Tyler and I probably fucked at least a few hundred of those women in some way, shape or form. Okay, maybe not full on vaginal sex in all instances, but maybe some oral or fun with a dildo at least.

  Fuck! We were red-blooded males, and it seemed that our actions were catching up to us.

  “How did the thieves break in?” I asked. “How did they get into the secure facility?”

  “Sir, we don’t know yet,” the consultant replied. “We have footage of a girl in a baseball cap entering your office, but she exits without ever penetrating the inner sanctum.”

  And that was another reason why I knew it wasn’t our sister. Krissy had been floored by the stripper pole and the two computers out in the open. But those are just decoys, distractions to a thief. The real dirt is in a room beyond the room – a safe room if you will, only accessible through a cinder wall outfitted with a keypad coded to mine and Troy’s fingerprints. Low-level thugs would never be able to break-in, they’d never even know it existed, distracted by the low-hanging fruit in the outer office.