“You think?” she asked coyly. “I thought you looked a little jealous when I interviewed McBrown Knight.”
Oh yeah, McBrown, the hottest thing to hit the NFL since sliced bread. The rookie was so big in the head, he needed to get knocked around a little stet.
But what made us really happy was her saucy demeanor, the way she looked at us with spark in her voice, her face open, smiling, her shoulders straight, her frame with a little more weight on it now.
“McBrown making you jealous?” she teased, slinging a leg over my own.
And I growled at the sight of that slim thigh on top of my massive one. Both Pax and I are heavily built … everywhere, and it was time to show the girl who was in charge.
“Stacey,” I said with a note of warning in my voice. “Be careful,” I said, my stare hungry.
“I wasn’t flirting with him,” she tossed-off, winking at me. “McBrown is just soooo cute, you know? Maybe I should invite him to the Donkey.”
And that made us laugh because McBrown was actually perfect for the club. He was an oaf, seven feet tall, about three hundred pounds with straw-like hair and a gigantic stomach. But hey, overgrown farm boys find the Donkey just like home, he’d fit right in.
“You still dancing at the Donkey?” my brother asked casually.
“Yeah, sometimes,” she admitted. “It’s the place where I get release, you know? Where I’m someone else for a little while, I can let loose and let my wild side show.”
“Well honey, you’re a public figure now,” I said carefully. “If you weren’t already before, then you really are now with the trial and the recall. You sure people aren’t recognizing you up on stage?” I was worried. Ever since the decision came down, and there were pictures of our sister in the regular news, not just the sports channels.
But the girl smiled at us.
“I hear you, I get it,” she replied. “Don’t worry, I’m not that silly. I’ve been using a mask to cover my face recently, it’s a net with a hole for my mouth. I call myself ‘Enchantress Inga.’ You like?” she teased.
And I have to admit, we were titillated. The thought of our girl going up there, dancing nude with only her ruby red lips showing was a turn-on, we wanted to see that show, oh yeah.
But we were serious.
“Stacey, we’re concerned about you,” growled Pax. “Are you sure no one knows that you’re Enchantress Inga? Because we’re fighting the good fight, Henry’s close to getting enough signatures to get Judge Martin recalled and we don’t want it to go to waste.”
And that made the blonde sit up, look somber.
“That’s the thing,” she said slowly. “I’ve been thinking, is it too late to stop this recall stuff?”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Henry’s already gotten over fifty thousand signatures, there’s a lot of outrage over the sentence.”
“I know,” she replied seriously. “It’s just that it seems really harsh for a judge to lose his job over something like this.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
“Really?” I asked, eyebrow arched. “But aren’t you pissed about the sentence?” Pax looked just as confused. What was going on?
Our sister nodded.
“I’ve been reading and studying,” she replied. “State court judges, like all judges, need judicial independence. That means that they have to be able to examine the facts without fear of losing their job.”
“Well Martin effed up,” Pax grunted. “He’s not doing his job because the defendants got peanuts for punishment.”
“I know what you’re saying,” replied Stacey. “I want Lester to pay more than anyone. But it’s a question of process. Judges need to be able to judge without worrying about a popularity contest. It’s why many judgeships are life-time appointments. They shouldn’t lose their job because of unpopular decisions in specific cases.”
This made us pause. We’ve always known that our sister had the smarts but had no idea that she was this sharp. All this stuff about judicial independence and recalls, it made my head hurt, I’d simply been going with my gut, enraged about the situation.
But she continued, sharp as tacks.
“From what I’ve gathered, the judge did his job,” she said slowly. “He didn’t abuse his legal authority, he reviewed the facts of the case and the recommendation from the probation authority. Taking those into account, he used his discretion. Given all that, I don’t want to upend the judicial system. Not on my behalf.”
“Sister, you know what you’re saying right?” I said seriously. “You’re saying you’re okay with the sentence?”
“It’s not that I’m okay with it,” she replied slowly. “It’s that there’s a wider world beyond just me. There’s an entire system at issue, and I guess I’m not ready to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.”
My brother and I looked at each other. This girl was amazing. She wasn’t hung up on herself at all, even as the victim of a heinous crime. Instead, she was able to look beyond herself, think about the future, about others, how her actions could seriously weaken the status quo.
We were astonished, elated, and more than a little in awe. Because behind the bouncy blonde exterior, behind the sports-girl persona, there was also a woman with empathy for others – even ones who had hurt her. She was able to look objectively at a situation and understand that sometimes there’s a bigger goal to achieve. Stacey was balanced, process-driven, with incredible compassion for others.
“Sister,” I said seriously. “If you want to call off the recall, I’ll let Henry know immediately.”
“Let me think about it some more,” she said slowly. “Just give me another week.”
And I nodded. It was bad to jump into anything at this point.
“I have an idea,” suggested Pax. “Henry’s still nowhere near the number of signatures needed for a successful recall. Why don’t we let it ride for another week or two and see what happens? Maybe it won’t even be an issue.”
That was true, and I nodded. Sometimes the best action is to wait and see, don’t rock the boat any more than you have to on already turbulent waters.
“Okay,” said Stacey, her mind made up, her chin firm. “Let’s go with that then.”
And we looked on with wonder. Our sister, the victim, who more than anyone should have been screaming with rage, beating her chest, tearing her hair out, instead was proving to be a smart cookie. More than that, a cool cat, someone who handled pressure well, who’d fought off her demons and was back on the beat, which made us love her even more.
I looked at my twin and he nodded. We were in the same boat. We wanted this girl … for keeps.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Stacey
Life is sometimes crazy, you know? Pax, Peyton and I were thrown together unexpectedly, step-siblings one second, and then forced to walk through hell together. Or I should say I was forced to walk through hell, they came along for the ride.
And I appreciate it because my steps didn’t have to. They could have ignored me, brushed me off as some girl they barely knew. But they didn’t. They stuck by my side, a steady hand on the wheel when I needed it most, the star by which to sail my ship.
And I feel like that’s what relationships are about, hanging through the thick and thin, when things look bad your SO is someone that’s there for you. I’d had serious doubts about that before. Actually, take that back, even worse. I thought they were heartless bastards, nowhere even in SO territory.
So it’s amazing that things have done a one eighty now. Yep, you guessed it. I’m now standing in a white dress with my groom waiting, best man at his side.
I’m getting married, can you believe it? After all the trauma, the roller-coaster, the agony, I’m now here on the best day of my life, about to tie the knot with Peyton, Pax as our best man.
It was amazing, the proposal. We’d just finished another hot session, my limbs entangled with theirs in the sheets, our skin hot and flushed, our br
eathing still coming fast and hard.
“Brothers,” I heaved, smiling at my twin lovers, taking their hands. “That was incredible, I loved it.”
And they smiled back, growling their pleasure, taking in my ample curves, the blonde hair spread on the pillow.
“Stacey,” Pax growled. “We have something for you.”
And I figured I knew what it was. We’d been talking about going to Tahiti during the off-season, take some time off when things weren’t busy. The beach would be amazing, palm fronds waving in the air, a cool tropical drink in my hand, my lovers by my side.
And sure enough, out came a bulky envelope, the kind with plane tickets inside.
I toyed with it, examining the envelope closely, running my finger along the seam.
“Ooh, wonder what it could be,” I giggled. “Tickets to Tahiti anyone?”
My brothers looked at me with hunger but also anticipation.
“Open it,” growled Peyton.
“Now,” added Pax. “Please sister.”
“Okay, okay,” I laughed. “The season’s been tough on you guys, I know a vacation’s in order.”
And sure enough, when I pulled open the file there were three first-class tickets to Tahiti. Awesome, it couldn’t be better timing.
“Thank you, thank you,” I cooed, throwing my arms around my steps’ massive frames, covering them with kisses. “I’m going to start packing right away.”
“Um, sister,” said Pax, “I think you’re missing something else in there.”
“Really?” I asked. As far as I could tell, it was just a sheaf of bulky papers, probably offers for travel insurance and carry-on rules and regulations. Airlines were always changing the rules with that kind of stuff. “Are you sure?” I asked, riffling through the mass.
But then my fingers slowed and stopped. Because besides the requisite junk mail there was an application … for a marriage license.
I pulled the form out from the papers slowly, my fingers trembling. Could it be? Sure enough, there was my name and date of birth printed on the license, with Peyton listed as the prospective groom.
“Brothers,” I said, my voice quivering. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yes,” rasped Peyton. “We want you … forever.”
I was elated, out of breath and beyond excited, but I wasn’t sure how our ménage could continue if only two of us were married. My eyes filled with tears and I could feel them begin to spill over, trailing down my cheeks hotly.
“What, what is it?” growled Pax. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just that … what about you?” I asked tremulously. “The application only lists Peyton and me. What about you? I want you to be a part of this too, I’m in love with you both,” I confessed.
And my brothers descended on me, stroking me, petting me, growling words of comfort into my hair.
“No worries, we’ve already talked this through,” replied Pax. “You obviously can’t get married to us both, but we want to keep you with us, bind you to us in the best way we know how.”
“But how did you decide on Peyton?” I asked plaintively. “I don’t love one of you more than the other, I love you equally.”
“It was simple,” said Peyton, “we flipped a coin. Heads me, tails Pax.”
I gasped. Something this momentous had been decided by a coin toss? That was way too simple for something as complex as marriage.
But my brothers only nodded.
“It’s okay,” soothed Pax, “I’m used to it. We begin every football game with a coin toss, even the Super Bowl. It’s just how life is,” he concluded simply.
I threw my arms around him.
“But you’ll live with us, won’t you?” I breathed into Pax’s ear. “The three of us together?”
“Oh yeah sweetie,” he growled, stroking my back. “I’m with you every day … and every night.”
And with that, I kissed him deeply, willing him to feel the gratitude and excitement I had for our future life.
He returned my kiss passionately before pulling back and pressing a pen into my hand.
“Now sign that application,” he growled, “before I change my mind.”
And I laughed joyously, excited about our future life.
So here I am in Tahiti, about to step out onto the beach clad in a white slip dress, my feet bare, hair blowing in the wind except for a wreath of white flowers. It was the perfect opportunity – we’d go on vacation and have the ceremony here, before returning to New York and filing the certificate with the registrar.
I was almost lost in a reverie of happiness when the harp began strumming the wedding march. With a delighted smile, I stepped onto the sandy walkway, each step bringing me closer to my future.
The twins waited for me at the edge of the water, their eyes watching me every step of the way, hungry, waiting, eager for the next phase of our lives.
“And do you, Stacey, take Peyton as your true and wedded husband?”
I took a deep breath, looking deep into Peyton’s eyes, clasping his hands in mine. But then I averted my eyes just a bit, looking directly behind him, deep into the baby blues of Pax and nodded yes, never breaking eye contact.
“Yes, yes, I do,” I sighed, my eyes still locked with Pax, my hands joined with Peyton.
And that’s how I married both my steps. And you know what? It couldn’t have turned out better because we weren’t going out with a bang. Rather, we were doing a double bang … for keeps.
THE END
DOUBLE MASSIVE
A Twin Stepbrother Romance
(Erotic Romance, PI, Ménage)
© 2015
By Cassandra Dee
A SNEAK PEEK
With a hard pump, I fucked into her. Kacey was literally lifted off her hands and knees, my shaft was so fucking big, skewering her on my penis like a pig on a roast. She screamed, throwing her head back, pussy stretched unbearably, labia like thin rubber bands pinched around my dick with no choice but to submit. She squealed again, the violation so complete, so overwhelming, that her eyes rolled back for a moment showing their whites.
Finally though, the girl calmed and tried to breathe, her pants rhythmic and fast.
“Slowly, slowly,” I murmured, my hands caressing her waist and ass. Because I was only about five inches in … and there were still ten to go!
CHAPTER ONE
Kacey
I have a secret. I’m a stripper and I have a crush on one of my customers. It’s the ultimate no-no for girls in my line of work. I mean, who dates and marries the stripper at their local club? No one, right?
What makes this worse is that this isn’t even Lace, Mystique or New York Dolls. I work at the Donkey Club, a joint that prides itself on its hot girls, but also the sawdust on the floor, the peanut shells littering the ground, the take-no-prisoners approach of its dancers.
Because that’s why we’re called the Donkey Club. Here, the girls are able to take nine, ten, eleven … even fifteen inches. Not that I’ve ever gotten up to fifteen. Since starting here a couple weeks ago, I’ve done nine and ten, but fifteen is like a myth. It’s something the girls are always chattering about backstage, but who knows if it really exists?
“I could swear it was at least fifteen,” confided Alana to the semi-circle of ladies around her.
“Oh yeah, did you have a ruler with you?” snapped Jenny, a bitch as usual.
“Please, girl, this is my line of work. You know how many men I’ve fucked by now? I can size up a cock in two seconds, sometimes even before his tightie-whities are off,” Alana spat in retort.
And it was true. Though I’ve only been working a few weeks, I’ve already been promoted to the exclusive Donkey Girls service. Not every stripper here is trusted to fuck our customers … only those who have elastic pussies, who can take a big man hard, deep and rough. And you’re put through the ringer during tryouts too. I had to fuck three men, all of them enormous, before I was even considered for the job. I wish I’d got
ten it on tape. Those tryouts had been brutal but yummy … god, I’m getting wet just thinking about it again.
But my line of work pretty much means that I don’t have a boyfriend. After all, I dance three or four nights a week, and I’m fucking six to eight men per week too. I’m proud to say I’ve built up a few regulars even, guys that I see once or twice a week after they’ve had a hard day at work.
So I’d been dancing last Tuesday, shimmying for dollars, when I saw him. He was dominating and elegant at once, which caught my eye because unfortunately, most guys here are overgrown frat boys, their mouths open, drool practically hanging off their chins. But not the new guy. He was wearing a grey suit and I couldn’t see his face because he sat in shadow, but I could see his crossed legs, arms neatly folded over his chest.
And damn what an expensive suit can do for a guy! The stranger was trim and fit, not too bulky, but definitely athletic, you know? It takes a lot to make my mouth water these days, but I was curious about our new customer, and started sidling over to him, shaking my ass, gliding my hands over my curves.
You know you’re a good stripper when a guy is completely still, his hand too busy to even stroke his dick. I admit, at the Donkey Club, guys whip out their poles in public, fondling themselves, letting those stiffies get some air. But you know you’ve got a guy captive when he’s not even beating himself, he’s just so mesmerized.
The classy guy obviously didn’t have his dick out. But he was absolutely motionless, still as a rock. He didn’t move a centimeter as I approached, stroking my curves, wiggling my ass, letting my breasts bounce up and down. Oh, and did I mention I was completely naked? Yeah, the Donkey Club doesn’t pull its punches … we girls wear nothing but our heels by the time we’re finished.
So I was butt-naked, sensuously gliding over to this guy, and I could tell he was breathing hard, but still as a statue. When I finally got close to him, I gasped involuntarily. He was gorgeous. Deep, dark hair, coupled with emerald-colored eyes that took in my every movement. I shimmied seductively, my body begging him for attention … and dollars.
All the Best Men: An MFMM Menage Romance Page 45
