Royal Baby Double Trouble_A Two Princes MFM Menage Romance

by Sierra Sparks

  Jordan lets out a shuddering breath. It’s addictively sweet sounding. “I would never…” He swallows loudly, but it’s a light, happy noise. “I would never do anything to make you upset with me, Bianca.” He looks me straight in the eyes and adds, “I said I would follow whatever orders you made for me, and I intend to do that, miss.”

  I let those words sit there. Partly because I want him to marinade in his promise, but also because we’ve reached the hotel at the resort.

  As the driver cuts the engine, I undo my seatbelt and say. “Good. Then I won’t worry too much about what I ask of you,” I say, purposely putting on a harsher tone. I’m getting into Domme mode now, “but we will have a lot more to discuss in my room before we start, Jordan.”

  With that, I hop out of my seat and turn to him, my figure fitting perfectly in the open door. “Grab my bag for me. You’ll be carrying it to the room so you can think about what’s in there and what's in store for you.”

  Jordan zips out of his seat belt and seat and snatches the bag. Like a punk, he doesn’t bother to open his own door and instead scoots himself out of my open side. I move for him, but it’s only so I can take him lightly by the lapels. I do so as he comes forward, and I slam his door shut with a chunky push from one of my heels.

  I think we need to shop for a collar and leash. The thought of Jordan being held in place is a powerful aphrodisiac.

  I lead him in through the key-card activated door, and down the hallway to my room. Thankfully, the Uber driver parked where I’d been picked up earlier, which is a short distance from my room.

  Something I’m grateful for more so now than earlier, because my mind is racing with what Jordan’s reactions might be to my various tools. Particularly the ones made out of suede and outfitted with little “whips.”

  Oh, you’ll be tons of fun, Jordan. I tug on his lapels, feeling him lag a little. Obediently, he picks up his pace. Once we reach my door, I swipe my keycard over the lock and we slip into room 273.

  The motion is effortless. So far everything with Jordan has been effortless and I hope the night ahead of us will be too.

  ***

  Once we’re in the room, I start unpacking my big pink bag in front of Jordan. I slowly and deliberately take my toys out one at a time inspecting them and showing them to him as I do before placing them on the bed. He watches silently. Drinking everything up. Particularly my hips and ass, which just so happen to be presented to him every time I bend over.

  I carry on unpacking. Cuffs, restraints, cock rings, tickle slappers, nipple clamps, and prostate massagers make their way onto my makeshift altar.

  The only one I don’t set down is my favorite instrument of all. My flog, made from suede and designed for the perfect amount of pain and pleasure. Particularly for a newbie like Jordan.

  I turn to him, slapping the “tails” of the flog — also made from suede — methodically, dominantly — against my hand. As Jordan catches sight of the instrument in my hand, he trembles. Backs away slightly. But not out of fear. More like he’s a bad little boy who’s been caught peeking at something he shouldn’t and is looking forward to his punishment.

  “So, Jordan we’re going to go with traffic lights.”

  He doesn’t want to show it, but I can see he’s not sure what I mean. So, I elaborate.

  “We’re going to go by red, yellow, green — for you to tell me how much you do or don’t want, or whether there is anything off-limits.” He nods, and I continue my explanation. “Green is a go. It’s acknowledgement to me that you want and can handle what I’m giving. Yellow means you’re hitting a limit, and I need to exercise caution.” Jordan nods vigorously, absorbing my every word. My every syllable. “Red means I need to stop. That where we’ve gone is somewhere that is absolutely not okay with you and you need to be brought back to your comfort zone immediately.” I give the flog another slap against my hand, enjoying the mild sting. “As your Mistress, it’s my duty to keep you safe and well taken care of, no matter how you’re serving me, or what punishments I may be giving you. It’s my job to demand as well as protect.” Jordan nods, his eyes locked on mine, then on the flog in my hand.

  I knew you might like that, Jordan, I think, silently enjoying the rapt attention he’s giving the tool. I clear my throat and am delighted when Jordan obediently rushes his gaze in my direction. Absolutely. Unfailingly.

  “Do you want this, Jordan?” I step away from my collection of toys, so he can remember the flog is not my only tool. “Is there anything that is off the table for you?”

  Jordan shakes his head then nods, confused about which one he meant. Which one he wants, saying, “Yes, Bianca, I”—I raise my eyebrows at him — “I mean, no, there’s nothing off the table for me.” He shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut for a second in an effort to get his thoughts straight. “Yes, I want this, Bianca,” he finishes.

  “Okay.” I pause, drinking him in. The way he’s so submissive looking, even in his blazer and polo shirt. “Any questions for me, Jordan, before we begin? Before I have you complete your first task as my sub?”

  Jordan thinks for a moment. Stares down at his impeccably white and fancy sneakers. Then, with a deep blush starting in his cheeks, he says, “Just one question, Mistress.” I roll my tongue on the roof of my mouth, celebrating his good manners already. I didn’t even have to tell him to call me ‘Mistress’! I’ll definitely answer whatever question such a good boy has for me, I think, preparing to reward him. He’s earned that little treat at least.

  “Go on, then,” I say. “What’s your question for me?”

  Jordan keeps his eyes on mine, despite his voice growing shaky as he says, “You said you’d never had a good boy before. That they disobeyed you, and so I’m guessing that means they were never rewarded the way they would have had they behaved.” From his words, I sense the sex he desires to have. The body of mine he wishes to devour. He licks his lips. “Forgive me, Mistress, but does that mean you’re a virgin because of those not-so-good boys?”

  I cross my arms, humming thoughtfully. “I told you, as well as all the other men bidding on me tonight, Jordan: only a good boy will have the pleasure of serving me in that way.” I level my eyes with his. “Can you be that good boy for me, Jordan? If so, you might well be rewarded with something of mine I don’t give lightly. Something of mine I’ve never given.”

  “I think I can,” he says earnestly. “I want to be, Mistress.” His eyes take on a genuine pleading quality. “I’ll try my hardest, but I’ve never done this before. So, if I don’t do something the way you want, let me know.” Again, his eyes move to my flog. He shivers, tracing his gaze down the individual strips of fabric. “Give me whatever you want.” The way he’s emphasizing this, it’s clear he wants me to give him a whipping. A flogging, but he can’t say the words out loud. “Order me. I am yours to do with as you wish, Mistress.”

  I sit on the bed, scooting the toys and other implements to the far end. The flog, I set a short way away from me. It’ll be joining the action soon enough, but first, Jordan’s going to get his first order.

  “Strip,” I say. Though the word comes out of me in a deep, sultry tone, my insides shake. My heart pounds wildly in my chest again. Never have I been so turned on by the idea that a man will be naked in front of me. Never have I been looking forward to it as much as I am with Jordan.

  “Yes, Mistress,” Jordan murmurs, and begins to obediently remove his clothing. He begins with his blazer. His polo follows. He drags it slowly up over his head and off his arms. It’s mesmerizing, the way the pink fabric gives way to toned and smooth pecs and abs. They are defined, but not disgustingly so. Just subtly, like a surf or snowboarder might have. Jordan seems like someone who takes care of himself but not obsessively.

  He looks at me while taking off his slim, silver necklaces. I tell him to leave those on and to keep moving.

  He takes his hand away from his necklaces, puts them in the waist of his slacks, and pulls them down. His
neck and cheeks flush a gentle shade of rose, telling me he’s embarrassed by me seeing him. Seeing his beautiful package hidden in Valentine's -day themed boxers.

  “Keep going,” I order gently. Despite my words being soft, they don’t lack presence. Or hunger. Both of which Jordan hears as he moves to pull off his boxers. When they’re down, and his raging hard on and soft balls are beautifully displayed for me, I smile. Give him praise. “Good. But they’re not all the way off yet, Jordan.”

  He quickly steps out of the black and red silk boxers and tosses them away from him. “I wasn’t trying to be disobedient, Mistress.” The edges of those words sound dry. Nervous. “I just wanted to make sure I was listening to you.”

  How sweet! In my head, I’m already squealing over him like a schoolgirl. Wanting to rush over and shower him with kisses. On the outside, though, I fight to keep these emotions from showing. I’m his domme right now. If I’m lucky, I might get to be his darling. But that’s not where we are now. That’s not who I get to be right now, either.

  “You’re not in trouble, Jordan. It’s good you’re listening. Let’s hope you can keep listening as I give you your next assignment, hmm?”

  He nods eagerly.

  “Undress me, Jordan.” As he takes a step towards me, I add, “and romance me while you do it. A good boy knows exactly what I mean and what I want when I say this.” He nods, waiting for me to give him permission. So I do. “Come here. Undress me as best as you can. And remember: only do what I ask.” More vigorous nodding. “Nothing more. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Then begin,” I say.

  Jordan’s response is instant. The moment my permission is granted, he’s right there, taking me out of my clothing. But his feet are the only things that move quickly. His hands and fingers are the opposite. They move slowly in and around the straps of my corset, massaging them off my shoulders. Down my arms.

  I shiver, moaning as he matches his lips to the touch of his fingers. As he moves the shoulder straps down my arms and off, he’s bathing those arms in affection. Butterfly-soft kisses. Kisses almost too soft for a mouth that swears and gives people attitude.

  I love the attention. Small, appreciative moans sound in my throat. They surprise me. He continues to move the corset off me little by little, showering each bit of progress with more kisses.

  Before I know it, the corset is down off my breasts, and now moving past my stomach and over my hips. But even here, Jordan doesn’t leave my body alone. He keeps his mouth on my skin, tracing and petting me with his lips, his tongue.

  By the time he has the corset completely off me (holding up my feet and kissing them), I’m floating. I can’t believe he’s got me so riled up, just from kisses. Kisses! And when most guys can’t even get me this excited with a few fingers shoved in my pussy.

  I’m so taken by all of the stimulation, all of the warm and fuzzy electrical signals traveling up through my body and into my clit, that I don’t even notice my thong’s been taken down. Or that Jordan has started to taste me with his tongue.

  An action that is definitely not just undressing me.

  Quickly, I snap out of my dazed reverie, and take Jordan by his hair and pull him away from my bush. Not roughly, but enough for him to realize he’s in trouble.

  “No, no, no,” I say, “you don’t get to taste my pussy until you prove you can be a good boy, Jordan.”

  Chapter 12 – Jordan

  Damn it. My first misstep. I'm an idiot. I tasted her — or tried to — before she gave me permission. As her fingers curl into my hair and she reprimands me — says only good boys get to taste her there — I’m unbelievably hard. Harder than I’ve ever been. Dripping.

  And I only get harder as she drags me by my hair over to a wall near the bed and tells me to face it, palms out. I can’t describe what I’m feeling at this moment except to say I’ve never been equally so short of breath and so full of desire as I am right now. I can’t breathe. My heart’s racing and my dick is rock hard and ready.

  Bianca holds the flog again. Even being forced to see its shadow on the wall is ridiculously exciting. That I’m about to be flogged — that’s even more exciting.

  She’s coming my way. “Boys who want to be good need to take punishment,” she says. She saunters up to me, thoughtfully striking her hand with the ends of the flog. “And they need to take that punishment well.” I shiver. My entire body tightens with anticipation. An odd sense of joy at the thought of getting a punishment, though I never thought I was the type who would enjoy that kind of thing until now.

  She sighs, stepping right in line with my back. “A boy who can take his punishment well,” she murmurs, as if answering the question she can hear in my head, and undoubtedly one she’s answered countless times before, “is a boy who doesn’t complain or cry needlessly. Say he isn’t up for what I can dish out unless it’s a true limit.”

  “Yes Mistress,” I say, knowing exactly what she means. The kind of guy like Paul. Or maybe Alex. Someone who may not be able to take what they’ve earned because they don’t think it’s fair; they don’t think it’s “right” for them to be in this position, because they are “the man” and should be in control, anyway. The kind of guy that wants punishment from his Mistress on his terms, not hers.

  “Remember that you can tell me ‘red' at any time, and I will stop, even if this is punishment,” Bianca says. “But I’ll be watching. Making sure you get what you deserve, even so.” A pause. “Are you ready to be a good boy and take what I have to give you?”

  “Yes,” I say, shakily. “I’m ready to be a good boy.”

  I shiver again, feeling Bianca’s finger trace its way down the center of my back, followed by the feathery tails of the flogger. Under this attention, my cock twitches. Gets stiffer, even though I didn’t think that was possible considering my dick feels about ready to burst. Pop, without even being stroked.

  Right as the clinching sensation in my dick gets so strong I fear I might pass out, the flog makes contact with my back. A second later, I hear it. It’s a thudding noise. Somehow, the heavy, masked sound doesn’t quite go with the light, almost bubbly sting on my skin.

  But to my surprise, I adore the sensation. The slow burn growing on my skin. Almost a similar burn to drinking alcohol, but more than that. Vulnerable. Electrified, but not painful.

  Bianca’s voice floats into my ears. It’s much like the sound of the flog. Muted, but crackling. Gentle. “Are you alright, Jordan? Should I keep going?”

  I nod, unable to speak. But it’s not because I’m too uncomfortable. It’s because I’m in a zone I’ve never been in before. Meditative. Contemplative. Speechless.

  With my consent given, Bianca brings the flog down on my back again. This slap lands close to the other: in the middle of my back. It, like the first one, is dull sounding and brings with it a spicy, delightful tingle. One that seems to marry and merge with the previous strike, putting them both on surround sound.

  Just as I sink into those sensations, I’m whipped again. Now the sting is more pronounced. More full-bodied, but still not painful. Warm. Prickly. Sharp in places, but not awful. Not torture.

  From the other side of my back, the flog comes slowly down on me again. This strike has me breathing deeper. I’m so aware of every inch of skin on the middle of my back, I could probably count the cells. Even so — even with the intensified awareness — I don’t want her to stop. I never want her to stop.

  I’m beginning to look forward to the next strike. Anticipate the next sting. Which comes shortly after, making my balls suck in.

  That strike was a little quicker than the last. It was also further up my back. Around my shoulder blades, upper back area.

  I groan. That surprises me. I hardly ever make any noise during regular sex.

  But what surprises me more than the groan itself is the quality of it. That it sounds happy. Satisfied. Deep-seated.

  In response to my vocalization, Bianca m
oans right before whipping me from left to right all the way across my upper and middle back. As she goes along each area, she gradually increases the speed of the flog. By the time she’s worked her way from my shoulders to my spine and back again, her speed has gone from slow and methodical, to rapid and energized. In each stroke, I’m aware of Bianca’s love of being in control. Her joy.

  I lean into the wall, sucking in my breath and letting it out slowly. I know it sounds weird, but even while she’s flogging me, I taste her. Savor her. As I do, my back and shoulders rise eagerly to meet her attentions. Heat floods every part of me and zeroes in on my cock.

  Still fully erect, my dick begins to drip under the most recent licks of the suede on my back and shoulders. The way the tails swish and crisscross across me is addictive like the most powerful drug in the world. Even as my skin burns and itches under all that punishment.

  Punishment I’m not expecting to stop suddenly, but it does. And that’s because Bianca decides to run her hands over her handiwork. Her nails through each hot area. She drags her nails all the way down my back. My body bows, and I present myself to her. The dull pain at her touch chills my skin and raises every hair. At my ass, she dares to scratch. Leave her mark on me.

  I shiver excitedly under this but say nothing or move. I keep my hands planted to the wall, though they want to wrap around my engorged cock and stroke until I come.

  Soon Bianca’s nails leave my body, and the flog returns. Unlike the first time she brought it down on my back, she doesn’t spend so much time in her “slow” setting. She quickly ramps the speed up, as she once again crisscrosses her way up and down the top and middle of my back, always stopping before my hips or ass.

  Speed is not the only thing she increases. She also increases the strength behind each smack. It’s not done to hurt me. Bruise me or anything like that. It’s to make me feel the presence of those tails more, though they are still raining down on me with heavy thuds.