ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories)

by Donovan, Astrid Lee

  Celia’s skirts fell back in to place - another hindrance to put up with.

  Lead through the cavernous house, she was asked to stop in what may have been a rumpus room. Thick candles were mounted on every surface on the edge of the room and extra large hung mirrors reflected the mellow light into the scene before her.

  Seven men sat around a roughly hewn circular table.

  “Welcome Celia, to the Table Of Plenty,” Anton stepped into view from behind a seated guest, “This here is our special turntable,” with that, Anton gave the table surface a push and the tabletop spun.

  Celia could see four soft leather loops bolted onto the table and the glint of a painted red arrow near the edge. The area in the centre was worn completely smooth.

  “You are invited to the table and asked to submit to being tied. Once tied, the table will be spun and whomever the arrow points at will get the chance to fuck you. Are you interested?” there was a short riding crop in his hand.

  The naughtiness was too much to ignore, “Yes, I am. What do you need me to do?”

  Stepping up onto the table, the seated guests handed her a towel to pop under her head and gently secured her wrists and ankles to the loops so Celia was spread-eagled on the table. Anton had asked her to keep her dress on, as it would only tantalize the guests further.

  The ceiling featured a massive mirror that encompassed the whole table, and the large mirrors on the walls also reflected her image. Her heart thumped keenly in her throat with excitement, her dress already dampening with the thought of being ravaged on a table by strangers.

  “Are you ready?” Anton’s face appeared in the corner of her vision, “Remember anytime you say ‘suffice’ you will be unbound from the Table of Plenty,”

  “Yes, I’m ready.”

  With that, Anton instructed all his guests to lay a hand on the table and spin it clockwise.

  *****

  After several rotations the table came to a smooth stop. Celia couldn’t look up past her breasts to see who had been indicated, but there was a gentle cheer near her feet.

  There was a rustle of fabric, and Celia felt the table dip just slightly as one of the mystery guests clamored on top.

  A young muscled guy with a shaved head appeared from beneath Celia’s breasts, his arms glistening with body oil. He was clothed from the waist down, but when she poked her head up she could just make out the head of his cock protruding from his pants. The guy looked nervous wrestling with her skirts.

  “Hey,” Celia whispered in his ear, “Why don’t you put it in my mouth first.”

  The guy broke a wry smile and whispered a “thank you” before looking up at his audience, “I reckon the beauty is hungry. I’m thinking I’ll give her a taste?”

  The men cheered and toasted, revealing drinks hidden from the surface of the turntable.

  Climbing over her chest, the shaved headed guy straddled her face, tipped forward and let his cock slip into Celia’s warm wet mouth.

  “She’s a good-un,” the guy was playing up the theme, but his reactions were real and he was letting the thrusts of his pelvis come naturally.

  He let out a moan and worked his cock deeper into her mouth, the bulbous head of his length swelling as she pressed her tongue into him.

  The guy drew his now engorged cock from Celia’s mouth and cried out “Excalibur!” to the laughs of the audience before shimmying back down the table and pulling up the many skirts.

  Now able to see in the ceiling mirror, Celia watched her lover push her skirts back and climb on top. He gave a perfunctory swirl of his finger on her hardening clit, and thrust into her slit, the welcome return of rigidness pleasing her more than she could say since being interrupted by Diane.

  With her arms strapped to the table, Celia was turned on by watching the oiled back muscles of her suitor flex with every thrust, the power of his desire making her writhe uncontrollably. After several thrusts, the guy dug his hands into Celia’s shoulders and came, his length jerking against her g-spot. The guy slipped out, and gave Celia’s damp forehead a kiss.

  Disappointed, Celia watched him descend and high-five his comrades before leaving the table to let another sit.

  “Are you ready Celia?” Anton asked.

  “Yes.”

  The table spun, harder this time, and it seemed like the revolutions weren’t going to stop before the room’s spinning came to a slow halt.

  “Apologies for that Celia, we have some very eager guests who seem to want to be with you tonight. I promise you won’t be spun that hard again,” Anton’s voice was edged with iron, and although she couldn’t see it, she was sure he was giving someone a visual dressing down.

  Celia was enjoying the safety that Anton was giving. It felt like anything could happen in this room and she’d be safe.

  This time, the arrow had selected a knight to join her. The guest was disrobing some of his cumbersome costume and pulled back the hood to reveal a tremendously handsome face framed by tousled blonde hair. It was a face that would give Trent a cause for concern.

  The knight was wearing nothing but black, his tunic featuring an elaborate “M” and “A” done in medieval style script. The knight peeled the tunic off, uncovering a chiseled, suntanned body. He adjusted his pants by loosening the tie cord and climbed onto the table.

  The knight got his face level with Celia’s and propping himself up on one elbow he rummaged through her skirts and brought his hand to her throbbing centre.

  Ever so gently, he began to swirl his fingers and massage her aching pussy.

  “That last guy was a bit brutal in the end, you just relax,” his eyes looked kind, warm and strikingly familiar, but she soon swept that thought aside to succumb to his hands.

  Giving in to the sensations, Celia opened her knees and pulled against the holds to try and give the knight better access.

  “She likes you,” Anton smiled.

  Celia moaned and took a look around the room. From above, she could see the knight’s hand buried in her skirts, the muscles in his arm flexing erotically. To her side, she could see in the mirrors her voyeurs squirming in their seats. Some of the most brazen pulled out their cocks to masturbate to the live sex show.

  “It’s ok boys, you can pleasure yourself as you watch, but if you come you leave your chair,” Anton instructed. In the wake of his words several other men open flopped out their engorged members and pumped excitedly.

  The knight slid his fingers in her hole and nuzzled her already active g-spot, causing her pussy to clench.

  The knight chuckled and slid his fingers out, “My turn,”

  The man slipped between her thighs and lined up his erect sex. For Celia, this would be the first time she hadn’t seen a cock before it went in.

  Slippery from the previous guy’s come, the knight had no issue sliding his pulsing head into her slit. He groaned with desire, letting Celia’s overexcited pussy muscles clamp onto his considerable girth.

  The knight thrust gently, letting her juice spill over and drench the dress. With one hand, he untied Celia’s leather corset and swept her breasts out of the plunging neckline to suckle on them.

  Men groaned in lust, with two voyeurs spurting come on the table.

  Aroused by seeing these perfect strangers turned on by her loss of control, Celia clenched her pussy and sent her knight into energetic thrusts. Her hard clit was rubbed by the man’s rough pants, and she found a seed of her orgasm take root, her pelvis dropped and her pussy engorged, pulling another inch of the knight deeper inside. With another series of passionate thrusts, Celia screamed and her arms and legs shot out in their manacles as wave after wave of release swept from her toes to her fingertips. The knight grunted heavily and with a final plunge exploded his come, Celia’s pussy dripping with juice.

  Panting, the knight propped himself up, gently kissed Celia’s breasts and slid off the table towards his original place.

  “Well done Celia, you knocked off three men in one round,” A
nton sounded impressed, “Would you like to go again?”

  “Yes, just once more will suffice,” Celia gasped.

  Anton chuckled, “For that, I am making the next choice, which I’m sure you will enjoy. Dev, your turn,”

  Dev, Anton’s newest love, emerged from the shadows.

  Dev was a beautiful man, but not one that Celia would ever considered bedding. He had a broad forehead, swept back deep brown hair and a perfectly square dimpled chin. He looked more like a Bollywood star than a lover she would choose, but if Anton wanted her to experience Dev, she was going to trust him.

  This time, Dev didn’t undress her. Instead, he climbed onto the table and leveled his face with her crotch. With a warm and soft hand, Dev eased Celia’s damp skirts away to reveal what could only be the richest cream pie any of them had ever seen. Using the wall mirrors, Celia could see Dev lick his lips in appreciation – it all made sense.

  Dev gently opened Celia’s labia and trailed his thick, long tongue up the length of her sex from oozing hole to pulsing clit.

  Celia groaned with agonizing arousal.

  After several tentative licks, Dev nuzzled his mouth down and slurped on her mixed juices of come and pussy. Dev alternated strong flat rubs against rigid tongue swirls around her throbbing bean. Celia clawed at her manacles, part of her trying to get away from the sensations, the other desperate for Dev to ravage her senseless.

  Darting his tongue into her hot slit, Dev renewed his hunger and gobbled up the sticky fluid her past lovers had left.

  With every stab of his tongue, Dev was bringing Celia to the brink of her next shattering orgasm. Turned on by her mingling tastes, Dev had taken his free hand to his pants and was fumbling with his crotch to free his rigid cock.

  Showing no intention of wanting to fuck Celia made the session even more erotic. Celia bucked and thrust with her hips to finish the coiling sensation that grew in the pit of her stomach. Never had someone been so greedy to eat her out before. Her clit ached for release.

  With a final tongue-stab, Celia screamed out as her orgasm ravaged her senses and shot her come-infused juice into Dev’s eager mouth, “Suffice! Suffice! Oh my god, suffice!”

  Dev peeled his mouth away and took a nearby towel to wipe his mouth. Anton clapped and the seated guests gently released the manacles.

  With gentle hands, the mystery men guided Celia off the table to where Anton stood holding a bathrobe.

  “You, my dear, are a treasure,” he wrapped the robe around Celia, giving her some privacy to tuck her breasts back in, “Between you and me, Dev has a terrible time of getting a hard-on in group sessions, so what you did will keep me occupied for another few hours,” Anton winked and walked back to the dimly lit table to bring in the next invitee.

  *****

  Back in the living room, Celia took a seat on a couch and breathed a sigh of relief; her clit had never been so completely worked.

  Appearing from another side room, Trent was backslapping and jostling with another guy. It was the same handsome knight from the table.

  Seeing them together triggered a familiarity she had only glimpsed fleetingly in the candlelit room. Her breath caught uncomfortably.

  “Celia, I want you to meet someone very special to me,” he led the knight over. Catching her eye, the knight’s eyes flashed and he visibly blushed.

  “This, is Celia,” Trent gestured to the stunned Celia, “and this, Celia, is my little brother Mark,”

  Celia couldn’t help but laugh, “I’d hardly call him ‘little,’ Trent,” Mark’s lips pulled into a sneaky smile.

  “But yes, I think I bumped into him and experienced some of the family resemblance,”

  So, Celia thought, this is going to be a family affair.

  THE END

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  Chapter One

  Reese mumbled nonsensical curses under her breath, looking out the window of her father’s car. He kept shaking his head, his fingers gripping the wheel so hard they were turning white at the knuckles. He looked over at her sporadically, keeping an eye on the busy city streets in front of them.

  “Just look at me,” he finally said. Reese responded by pressing her forehead against the window. These streets were not unfamiliar to her, but she rarely saw them through the frame of a car window. In Brooklyn, it made more sense to walk or take the subway most places you needed to go. She didn’t understand why her father insisted on driving to work every day, getting caught in traffic, when he could be at his office in less than twenty minutes on the train.

  “It’s not becoming of a man of my position to arrive from public transport,” he’d say, as though being in middle management at a real estate corporation was something to brag about. Sure, the company itself was prestigious; Callion Enterprises was known worldwide as one of NYC’s most respected and exclusive real estate agencies, and its CEO was a billionaire many times over.

  But Reese’s dad was a paper pusher. He managed the Lower East Side offices from the corporate headquarters on Fifth Avenue. He certainly wasn’t going to be singled out as not keeping up the company image if it was found out that he took the subway instead of his Hyundai Sonata.

  “How many times do I have to tell you this is for your own good? This position is…well, it’s just…it’s unheard of, for someone of your age and, uh, experience…or lack thereof…to get this job,” her father said, rehashing the same argument they’d been having all summer.

  Reese was not interested in how hard it had been for her father to get her the interview, how impressive it was that she’d managed to actually get the gig. All she knew is that working with her father at Callion Enterprises meant she wasn’t going to SCAD, the Savannah College of Art and Design, the prestigious art school she’d been accepted to the year prior.

  Reese was an extremely gifted painter, and a decent sculptor as well, and even a pretty good potter. But she wasn’t necessarily the best student in other fields. And no matter how much she tried to convince her parents that being accepted to SCAD meant something, that it could open doors to the career she really wanted, a career in the arts, they only looked at her B-, C+ grades in calculus, chemistry, physics and computer science.

  “That’s no way to make a living,” her mother had said sadly, shaking her head and clutching her husband’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Reese, but we just cannot allow it.”

  “I don’t care if you allow it,” Reese had spat back. “I’ll take out as many loans as it takes…”

  “With what credit? And without us as cosigners? You simply don’t understand what that will mean for you,” her father had retorted, far less sympathetic than her mother. “You’ll come and work for Mr. Callion, and if, in five years or so, you’ve saved enough to put yourself through school, we’ll consider helping you out.”

  “Five years? Five years, Dad? By then, they won’t even take me! I don’t have any space here to work; I don’t have a studio here! If I’m going to have to wait five years, I’m going to have to have someplace to keep honing my skills…”

  “Painting pretty pictures of fruit is not a skill!” Reese shrank under her father’s judgmental eyes. “If you can afford your own studio space, I won’t argue, but it’ll have to come out of your pocket, young lady. Or, you can focus all that energy on a real career, something that will get you a retirement fund and health insurance.”

  So that’s how Reese came to be sulking in the passenger side, watching lower Manhattan fade away into the opulence of Midtown. It would be her first day as the assistant to the assistant to Mr. Callion. She stewed over how rich the guy must be to be able to hire an assistant for his assistant. Not to mention how needy.

  It was no secret that Mr. Callion was high-maintenance. Reese need only watch her father’s face fall in shades of fear when he spoke of his boss, or watch the woman she’d be helping jump as her boss paged her for the tenth time in an
hour, to know that the man was something of a force of nature.

  And Reese was no fan of authority on any level. She didn’t foresee herself lasting very long at this job if she had to act the part of dutiful and deferent underling. Which was fine with her; maybe if she got fired and had to take a job at Burger King, her parents would see the point in allowing her to attend college.

  They’d said they would consider helping her get through one of the city universities if she could get in and agreed to study business, but Reese knew herself well enough to know that she’d be wasting her time pursuing anything that wasn’t art. It was her one true passion.

  When she’d brought up the possibility of community college, where she could rack up some credits before transferring to save money, her father had clucked and said he’d be ashamed to tell his colleagues his daughter was in community college. Reese hated her father’s obsession with his image. It had made her life a living hell for long enough.

  As the car slowed, preparing to turn into the underground garage, Reese’s heart sank even further. The building was one of those huge, glass monstrosities she hated so much. She much preferred the gentle brownstones and elegant architecture of Brooklyn and lower Manhattan. Her art teacher had called buildings like this one “glass prisons.” She sighed thinking of Mr. Selter, on whom she’d had quite the crush.

  She had no interest in the boys her own age, finding them all immature and dull, but Mr. Selter had been sophisticated, intelligent, and handsome. He was in his thirties, with long hippie hair and a bohemian style that made Reese’s mouth water. She’d always liked older men. Not that she really knew what it would be like to be with one; she’d only had sex once, experimentally, believing that sex and death were at the heart of all great art, and thus an important part of her education. She’d found it unappealing, but at least it got it out of the way.

  The car pulled into a parking spot reserved for her father. When she finally turned to look at him, he was puffed with pride.