Slowly, I began to come down from heaven as my breathing evened, pulling the cock from my mouth, inch after inch appearing, glossy and appetizing, so huge yet mouth-wateringly delicious.
And as I straightened, the wall dildo pulled out of me on its own, a loud squelch signaling its retreat, drenched in my personal juice, sweet and tangy-smelling.
And me? Well, I was done for now, my breasts heaving, my cunny still twitching after the massive pound. The only problem? My climax wasn’t enough, I needed more. I needed Pax and Peyton, my stepbrothers … in the flesh.
PART I
CHAPTER ONE
Pax
I sat back on the sofa, aimlessly flipping through the channels. Lounging, I spread my arms along the backrest, stretching my legs out.
“Wanna beer?” asked my brother.
“Sure,” I grunted and wordlessly Peyton tossed me a Coors.
Yeah, we’re not fancy dudes. Even with NFL contracts we’re still simple guys, a can of beer hits the spot, no need for a magnum of Dom. Not that we’d pass on the champagne, it’s just there was no need to be P. Diddy. No way I’d be caught in an all-white get-up, white shoes, white shirt, white suit, although traveling by helicopter is pretty sweet.
So it was with a grunt that I lay back on the couch, thinking back to our last game. It’d been a blow-out, the Chargers rolling over the Dolphins like a bunch of high school girls. That was how bad the Dolphs were, their defense pathetic, their offense even worse. I wouldn’t be surprised if their head coach was fired, it was downright embarrassing to score absolutely nothing in a game.
But now, time for relaxation. I flicked through channels randomly, bored by most things. Reality TV, Jeopardy, the Real Housewives, damn this sucked. No way was I watching some middle-aged hags screaming at each other over the latest designer bag, I’d rather claw my eyes out first.
So I flicked to what always got my goat going. A re-play of last Sunday’s game, pro football dissected in endless slow-mo, pundits opining on each move, camera zooms from every angle. It was so sweet, the green grass leaping to life, the perfectly manicured field, the players like little men on the screen, banging and getting banged, knocked over like so many toy soldiers. I knew how it felt.
And Peyton grunted as we watched a quarterback get sacked, hitting the turf face first as a dude the size of a tractor plowed him. The poor sucker was going to have more than grass stains on that uniform, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was now covered in a massive, full-body bruise.
But that’s what they pay us the big bucks for, right? Not everyone can do this job and my bro and I were picked because of our speed, size, strength, coordination, and smarts. At this level, you can’t just be some loser with fancy feet. You’ve got to be able to psych out the opponent, memorize hundreds of plays, all balanced with an innate feel for the ball, for the field, for the talents of your teammates.
I scrutinized the play carefully, my mind whirring, only to sit up straight when the camera flashed to an announcer. It’s something, or rather someone, who’s been on our mind for a while now, the face on-screen familiar and yet totally strange.
Because it was our stepsister Ana. Or Stacey, as she’s called now, with the long, blonde hair and perfect Crest smile. Our little sister, who’d burst into our lives when we were eighteen.
It’d been a surprise. Back in the day, my dad was a real hound dog. Ever since our mom died, he’d dated like a man with a mission, taking out two, three women per week. And trust me, it’s not easy to accomplish in suburban White Plains, known more for its family atmosphere than a hotbed of available singles.
But Gordon Jones was like a tomcat gone wild, howling after every female with his hormones on fire, sniffing like a hungry horndog. He dated old women, young women, heck even girls who looked like they were in their teens, everyone desperate to get a piece of Gordy.
And it wasn’t because he was particularly rich or successful, it was that he was available. In a small town like White Plains, there aren’t that many unmarried guys, so women threw themselves at our dad left and right, clamoring for attention. It was insane. Who would have guessed a mid-level manager could get more dates than Johnny Depp? But if you’re a decent guy in a small town with limited options, it’s all about supply and demand.
Anyways, Pey and I didn’t have much to say about it. We were already on the cusp of becoming men and guys don’t talk about feelings, especially not when you’re eighteen year-old bruisers. Better let my dad run his own life, we didn’t want to know.
Besides football had always been our obsesssion, our first love, the source of satisfaction, release, triumph, everything for us. So we just threw ourselves into game after game, thinking of nothing but the next play, the next move, how to improve, how to bring the opposition down, grind them into the dirt.
That is, until Ana showed up in our lives. We were at breakfast one morning, eating our usual meal of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, juice, more scrambled eggs, all of it topped off with a carton of orange juice. It takes a lot to maintain muscle mass, and Peyton and I were going at it like starving men, wolfing down plate after plate after our morning work-out.
“Boys,” said my dad, putting down his fork. “I have news.”
“Mmmph,” I grunted, my mouth full. Man, these waffles were tasty, it just needed more butter and more syrup. Yeah, that’d do the trick.
“I’ve met someone,” announced my dad.
Silence except for chewing noises and the crackle of bacon browning on the griddle. My dad met new women each week, this was nothing new. But he pressed on.
“She’s really special, I hope you’ll welcome her with open arms.”
At this, Peyton looked up.
“Sure Dad, no prob,” he tossed off between bites of food. We weren’t worried. After all, he dated like a madman, this woman probably wasn’t any different from the others.
“And she’s moving in,” continued my dad. “Next week.”
At that, we looked up. What the? My mind whirred furiously. Had he brought someone by who was particularly pretty? I tried to remember but there was merely a blur of faces, no one stood out especially. Oh, there was that one woman who cackled when she laughed, she got on my nerves, but whatevs. It wasn’t permanent or anything.
“What do you mean, moving in?” I asked slowly, finally opening my mouth. “Why?”
“Because that’s what people in love do,” said my dad simply. “In fact, Virginia and I have been dating for three months.”
I rolled my eyes. My point exactly, it’d only been three months. That was hardly enough time to get to know each other, much less move in. But my dad pressed on.
“Virginia’s the one,” he said in a rush. “And we’re getting married!”
This time, my brother and I choked, food flying from my mouth as I spat out a mouthful of scrambled egg.
“What?” I gagged. “Why? When?”
“Really Pax, do you have to ask why? We’re in love,” he said airily. I guess even old people fell in love, anything was possible. But Gordy continued. “Virginia’s the one, I hope you’ll welcome her with open arms.”
“But why?” demanded Peyton ruthlessly. Like peas in a pod, my twin and I. “What the hell is this about?”
My dad shot him a warning glance.
“It’s about life,” he stated. “I’ve been lonely since your mom passed, it’s time I found someone to take care of, to take care of me. We all need a companion.”
“Hmmph,” grunted my twin.
My dad just sighed and looked around the kitchen. Okay, it wasn’t exactly clean, not like when our mom had been alive. In fact, the place was downright sloppy, dishes in the sink, dirt caked on the floor, a wet dishrag on the ground. But that stuff could be solved by hiring a cleaner, not marrying a wife.
“You boys need it,” announced my dad. “And I need it too,” he hinted darkly.
That made me sit back, realization suddenly dawning. Could it be? Did my dad need to
get laid and this chick Virginia was the answer? I shared a glance with my twin and could see that he was thinking along the same lines. Oh yeah, dear old dad needed a bed buddy, and he probably couldn’t afford to keep taking women out on countless dates. So marriage it was. Holy cow, we didn’t realize dating and relationships were so complicated.
“When are you getting married?” I asked, more curious now than anything. If he needed to blow his load on a regular basis, the sooner the better as far as we were concerned.
“This weekend,” Dad replied simply. “Virginia’s handling the details, you guys just need to show up.”
I shook my head, it was happening so fast. But you know what? I didn’t blame Gordon. The need for food, water, shelter and sex are commandments, and if that’s what would float his boat, get his goat … then so be it.
CHAPTER TWO
Stacey
It was shocking, my mom getting married.
“Ana, I’m getting married,” she announced one day, not even looking up from her laptop. Her nails clacked, fingers flying in a fury, and that’s how I found out I was going to have a new dad … and two new stepbrothers.
I was surprised, beyond surprised really. My mom is a workaholic, someone who travels a lot as a bank executive, and it’s been a good living for the last ten years. It was a shock when my dad divorced her, leaving nothing in his wake. He’d been a sneaky bastard, emptying their joint bank account, their safe deposit box, heck, even taking some of the jewelry my grandma left her.
But my mom is tough. She was a bank teller back then and despite her broken heart, the endless crying jags, she showed up at work each morning like nothing had happened, her suit perfectly pressed, ready with a firm handshake and calm smile. Some women are born resilient, and Virginia was the best.
And I’m proud because she’s done well. Management liked Mom, the way she was always punctual, her natural way with numbers, how she was meticulous with money, even though it was just helping little old ladies with their retirement accounts at first. Mom was promoted, then promoted again, then again and again, until she was Senior Vice President with a shot at the top job. Can you believe it? My mom, who doesn’t have a college degree, is in competition with a bunch of Wall Street guys with slicked back hair and perfectly-cut, thousand dollar suits.
But it’s a lonely life, working 7 a.m. to midnight, so I was surprised to hear that she’d even met someone, much less gotten all the way to marriage.
“Who is it?” I asked, my eyebrows raised. Had she met someone on the job? That was the only plausible explanation, she had no time to socialize. But I was wrong.
“He’s a nice man, I met him at a coffee shop,” she said, still barely looking up, fingernails clacking away at the keyboard. “You’ll like him.”
Okay, at least this wasn’t an interoffice romance that would get her fired. But I was still curious.
“Name?” I pressed. It was unlike Virginia to be so secretive.
“Gordon Jones,” she replied, finally looking up. “He’s an insurance exec, a widower, lives out in White Plains with his sons.”
I knew I should have asked more about the man, about his family, but all I could hear was “White Plains,” a desolate suburbia thirty miles north of Manhattan.
“Um Mom,” I said slowly. “Sorry to intrude, but does this mean we’re moving out to White Plains? Or are they going to move in here? Or,” and here, I hoped against hope, “we’ll just stay separate?” To me, anything other than NYC was the boonies, much less the outer boroughs. In fact, White Plains wasn’t even outer boroughs, it was Westchester County. Right? Maybe I was wrong, but I sure as hell didn’t care. Anywhere other than Manhattan was a living death.
Finally, my mom closed her laptop with a click, meeting my eyes.
“Yes Ana, it means that we’re moving,” she replied. “In fact, I’m getting married this weekend and we’re moving into Gordon’s home next week.”
I sat stock still, my mouth open. You probably could have tossed a golf ball in without missing, I was so flabbergasted. WTF? Mom made a nice living in the City, why were we moving? What did they have out there anyways? A jail? A mall? Nothing, seriously nothing, at least not compared to Manhattan.
“Mom, no,” I said forcefully. “I can’t move, you know how well I’m doing at school, Trinity is awesome, I love my coach, I love my friends, I can’t go.”
But she cut me off.
“Ana, there’s more to life than track, and besides you can still run at your new school. You’ll have new brothers to show you around, they’re your age and athletic too. You’ll get along like a house on fire, I’m sure of it,” she said emphatically.
Um, she was completely wrong, boys had never been interested in me. I was “The Bean,” a girl ten miles tall and shaped like a string of rope. No guy had ever looked my way, but that was beside the point.
“Ma,” I shook my head furiously, “no way am I moving. No way.”
But Mom just ignored my protests.
“Yes you are because I’ve already given up the lease on this apartment, you’ll have no place to live.”
Oh no. Our beautiful triplex on the Upper West Side, and it was going to be gone? The rug was pulled out from under me with a whoosh and I could literally feel a jolt to the stomach, the surprise overwhelming and disorienting.
“I don’t care!” I whined. “I’ll stay with Jenny instead.”
But Virginia just shook her head. Jenny was my friend since kindergarten, and we’d practically grown up together.
“Jenny’s parents would never let you stay, they don’t have the room. You have no idea how lucky you are living here anyways,” she replied. “Not everyone has their own room and bathroom in the City.”
And I sat back, floored, because unfortunately she was right. Even at a fancy school like Trinity filled with well-to-do families, real estate in NYC is expensive and most families are squeezed into tiny apartments, siblings sharing rooms, even opposite-sex siblings sometimes sharing a living space. Jenny lived in a three bedroom with her parents and two sisters and I knew the Millers didn’t have a square foot to spare, much less a spare bedroom for me.
So mentally, my mind started exploring new options, furiously trying to come up with something. There had to be a way out of this. I had to resist moving to the boonies, I couldn’t go there, not even if my twin brothers were gorgeous … as I discovered in the most intimate way.
CHAPTER THREE
Peyton
The wedding was elaborate, over the top even to my inexperienced eye. All-you-can-eat shrimp and lobster on ice, free-flowing champagne, and an open bar with top shelf liquor. Oh yeah, whoever was paying for this was going to be out a pretty penny.
And Gordon wasn’t footing the bill. He’s done well, but insurance guys aren’t exactly rolling in dough, they need to save just like everyone else.
“Who’s paying for this?” I asked my brother.
“Dunno,” he shrugged. “I guess Virginia? Not Dad.”
Well, whoever it was had gone all-out, judging from the décor, the food, and the country club setting. Probably renting this space cost an arm and a leg right there.
But no matter, we were just here for the food. In the meantime, a girl in a yellow dress brushed past me, short, rotund, with straw-like hair.
“Oops sorry!” she giggled, almost dropping her plate of appetizers. “Hi, I’m Jenny,” she tittered.
“Hi,” I said shortly, giving her the once over. Not our type, too many giggles, but no reason to be rude.
“I heard you’re the best men,” she said, eyeing us openly. Yeah, it happens. Women of all ages look us up and down with open lust, and this girl was no different.
“Yeah, that’s us,” drawled Pax. “And you are?”
“I’m Jenny,” giggled the girl, her high-pitched laugh grating on my ears. “I’m a friend of Ana, your new stepsister.”
Ah, the mysterious Ana. Our dad had mentioned that Virginia had a daughter, some ch
ick named Ana who was exactly our age, also a senior in high school.
“Tell Ana we say hi,” grunted Pax. “We haven’t met her yet.”
“Oh I will!” squealed Jenny, “she’s so lucky, she’s transferring to White Plains High. I’m so sick of Trinity, I wish I were transferring too.”
“Oh really, Trinity’s no good?” I asked, eyebrows arched. I’d vaguely heard of the school and figured it was a rich kid playpen, filled with trust fund babies and the like.
“Trinity’s awesome but we want to be with regular kids for a change,” sighed Jenny. “I mean, Trinity kids are snooty you know? I like them and all,” she rushed on, “it just takes a lot of money to fit in.”
That was interesting. We thought Ana was a rich bitch, judging from her background with the high-flying mom, the lavish wedding, the elite private school. But her friend was making it sound like they were unpopular.
“Well, I hope to see you again,” gushed Jenny. “I think Ana’s in back getting her hair done right now, but we’ll look you up after the ceremony, okay?”
“Sure,” I rumbled, barely looking at the plump blonde. “Laters.”
And my bro and I turned back to each other as the girl dashed off.
“Interesting huh?” remarked my brother.
“Sure is,” I rumbled in return. Our interest in our new stepsister was piqued. Not a rich bitch, but still rich, with a desire to be “regular” for a change.
I shrugged. We’d meet her soon enough. Suddenly, something caught my eye in the bushes, maybe the rustle of a small animal, except it was accompanied by a flash of pink material.
“Yo,” I grunted to my brother, “over here.”
We prowled, following the noises, the snaps of twigs, the shuffling of leaves, even little gasps and shrieks sometimes. Definitely not a small animal.
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