Bryan obediently fucked the dildo in and out of my twat, making sure it got all the way in with each stroke as I balanced precariously, one leg still up on a chair, my hands rubbing my breasts as my pussy was pleasured.
Finally, I could take it no longer. I pulled the toy out, gleaming wet with my juices, and handed it to Bryan who was still on his knees before me in a submissive position, legs spread.
“Fuck yourself with it, bad boy,” I hissed, smiling lasciviously.
“Mistress, please,” he panted. “Let Blake do me, you know how I like getting it up my ass from my brother.”
“Quiet!” I hissed again, holding a hand up threateningly, as if about to strike him. “I said I wanted you to do it to yourself, so DO IT!” I almost screamed.
And Bryan piped down, his eyes downcast, obedient. He lay forward onto the rug so that his cheek was pressed to the floor, still in a kneeling position. Taking the dildo from me, he angled his legs apart slightly and just like that, began inserting the dildo into his anus.
Blake and I watched avidly as the red pucker stretched and pulled. Fortunately, Bryan had gotten a lot of butt play in recent days, so we knew it was possible, but it was still a sight to behold. The man moaned in front of us, his face scrunched in pain, his mighty body so thrilling in this submissive, ass-up position as he fucked himself.
And with a pop, it was in. It was disgusting, seeing that glistening dildo erect, sticking out between those muscular ass cheeks like a lollipop, but also so arousing, so absolutely wrong in every way.
“Keep going,” I murmured threateningly, and Bryan did. He pushed the dildo in and began buttfucking himself, the long length of plastic disappearing into his rectum before reappearing again, the stench of man meat mixed with ass overwhelming, filling the trailer with the heavy scent of sex.
And with a few more pulls, I knew Bryan was on his way. I was tempted to walk over and finish him off, maybe pull on his dick a bit as he buttfucked himself, but no, I wanted to see the man do it all.
With a mighty cry, he gave in, his face pressed to the floor, tears squeezing from his eyes as he shook, that broad chest rippling with spasms, his nipples hard and penis jerking as cum sprayed onto the carpet. It was a beautiful white, thick, creamy liquid and I hated to see it wasted on the shag rug.
But there was more of the same DNA just inches away. Turning to Blake I said, “Ready brother? Ready to release some sperm?”
And Blake smiled at me obediently.
“Yes, Mistress Callie. Whatever you say.”
CHAPTER TEN
Blake
The brunette giggled as I propped the dead cat up.
“Erkel want a hamburger?” I made the cat speak, like a ventriloquist.
“Stop Blake, it’s so wrong,” she laughed. “The poor thing’s dead, don’t make him ask for a hamburger.”
And I grinned in turn, continuing to make the cat dance, do little jigs, all to get a smile from this beautiful girl.
I have to admit, it was totally out of character for us. My brother and I are hardened cops, undercover at Canterdale High to ferret out a suspected drug ring after two teens died under questionable circumstances.
But things changed when we met Callie. She was different from the others – soft, giving, vulnerable, a scholarship student at this ritzy school. There were no airs about her, so we felt comfortable letting our guard down as well, entertaining her during lab class, doing silly stuff like making dead cats dance.
Bryan was just as lame as me. My twin had been sorting out the dissection instruments, sharp-looking knives, a vial of green liquid, a piece of tarp, but he was unexpectedly circumspect towards Callie.
“Girlie, we gotta tie this guy down,” he said gently, nodding at the cat. “You want to turn away while I do it?”
“But why?” she asked, gazing at the matted fur askance. “I mean, there’s no cutting yet right?”
“There’s no slicing, true,” said my brother gently, “but I’m going to have to break his arms to lash him to the tray.”
That did it. Suddenly our girl looked nauseated again, like she was going to hurl.
“Oh god,” she whispered. “It hasn’t even started yet and it’s already bad. Oh god.”
I comforted her as she turned away, slinging a muscular arm over her hunched shoulders. Callie was built exactly right, the way that Bryan and I prefer -- curvy, luscious, with big boobs and a narrow waist that led to wide, swinging hips. I could watch those hips all day when she walked, the bump-da-dump mesmerizing, a rhythm that lulled me into a daze even in the most inappropriate of circumstances.
Because Bryan and I were definitely engaging in unethical behavior. Sure, we’ve fucked girls on the job before, it’s a necessity when you’re undercover in a bad neighborhood. You’ve got to show that you’re a man, treating women like dirt sometimes, screwing hos, prostitutes, even a mafia princess once in a while.
But Callie was different. She was a nice girl, someone we’d want to know even in our regular lives. So despite the fact that what we were doing wasn’t technically wrong, I knew it might not hold up under a departmental investigation.
Plus there was the fact that we’d let Callie in on our greatest secret – that Bryan and I regularly engage in twin sex. It sounds gross, I know, bizarre even. But it works for us. My brother and I pound each other, drinking each other’s cum and anal sweat, lubing up our members for each other. What can I say? The bisexual lifestyle suits us just fine.
And now Callie’s become a much-needed third. Her home life isn’t really stable, so she’s moved in with Bryan and I, into our little trailer on the edge of St. Francis Wood. She told us about her family a little.
“I’m not sure where to start,” she confessed. “I mean, do you guys watch porn?”
Porn? Silly girl, we’d been part of the vice squad for years now and sometimes we had to watch porn as part of the job. It sounds like it should have been fun, but trust me it’s not. At least not when you’re watching victims being degraded against their will.
But the little girl didn’t know that, she thought we were just senior transfers from a bad neighborhood in New York.
“Sure we watch porn,” I tossed off casually, sharing a glance with my brother. “What guy doesn’t? In fact, we pay for a streaming channel,” I added with a wink. That was true. We forked over money each month for a gay site as inspiration, wanking off as hard male bodies writhed and shuddered in ecstasy.
“Well,” the brunette said slowly. “Do you know of a porn star named Violet Wood?”
Violet Wood? She was practically the next Sasha Grey, a break-out star with huge gazongas and a nubile, flexible body. She’d come to fame recently because she resembled some famous model.
Callie nodded, as if reading my mind.
“My sister is Jenna Walsh, the model she impersonated,” she said slowly. “But it’s complicated because Jenna and Violet actually are twins.”
My brother had laughed with disbelief.
“You’re telling us that not only are you related to a famous fashion model but also a notorious porn star?” he’d asked. “No way!”
But Callie shook her head, unsmilingly.
“It’s true,” she said slowly. “Jenna was never like the rest of us, but I genuinely thought she was my sister. Turns out, she was actually given away at birth and Violet is her biological twin. So the resemblance isn’t make-up or coincidence. It’s because they share the same DNA.”
That made me frown.
“How is the relationship between Jenna and Violet now?” I asked with a frown. As an identical twin myself, I knew all about twin connections. “It must have been a shock to realize you have a secret twin out there.”
“I don’t know,” said Callie unhappily. “Jenna’s practically disavowed us, she never felt like she belonged to the family anyways. So from us four girls … there’s really just three left,” she said sadly.
And my heart went out to her. Maybe her older sister w
as a flashy international star whose mug stared out from the hottest magazines, but Jenna would always be big sister to our girl and Callie missed her.
“No worries honey,” I said pulling her into my lap. “Bryan and I are here for you now,” I said, stroking those brunette curls.
She sighed, leaning her head against my chest, nuzzling into my chest, her softness warm and trusting in my arms.
“Thanks Blake,” she murmured, her voice tinged with weariness. “I appreciate it, you can’t imagine how tumultuous these last two years have been.”
And I stroked her hair more, my brother coming to join us on the couch. It was almost idyllic, surrounding the girl of our dreams, making sure she was okay, happy, taken care of. Okay, so maybe we were living in a shitty little trailer for the time being, but what counted was being together, making sure Callie felt safe and content.
Which was why we’d taken pains to exclude her friend Chrissy from the dissection today. The blonde had been useful so far – she’d hosted a party at her house where Bryan and I had done some undercover investigation. We’d learned that Canterdale isn’t as terrible as it seems, that the kids, despite being rich and spoiled, aren’t bad … at least not in the criminal sense of the word.
After doing Callie in Chrissy’s bedroom, we’d snuck downstairs, straightening out our clothes, trying to look nonchalant.
“Oh there you are!” squealed Chrissy, her eyes darting between the three of us suspiciously. “Where have you been? Bryan, I went to the kitchen to re-fill your drink and you disappeared,” she accused.
“Oh right,” said my brother. “Sorry about that, just went to the restroom and got distracted,” he stated.
“Did you find it?” asked Chrissy, still suspicious. “I mean, it’s been forty minutes and the bathroom’s right there,” she said, gesturing to a closed door behind us.
“Oh I just whizzed in a potted plant,” tossed off my twin with a salacious grin. Man, that guy had the moves because instead of being grossed out, Chrissy just giggled and started flirting again.
“No way!” she said. “I hope you take lots of Vitamin K because it’s good for leafy greens you know,” she simpered.
And that had been that, or so we thought.
But suddenly, the bathroom door burst open and two kids came out, stumbling a bit as they laughed and pushed each other.
“Hey man!” chattered one boy to the other.
The two were gangling, unreTylerable looking adolescents. They would have been okay-looking had it not been for unfortunate haircuts and a bad case of acne.
“Yeah way!” said the other, “I swear it’s true.”
My brother and I frowned at each other. What seems like an innocuous exchange to the general public can sometimes set off the radar of a cop. Teenage boys are notorious trouble-makers and the way these two were acting … I don’t know. I mean, what were two male adolescents doing together in the toilet anyways?
Without saying a word, Bryan disappeared into the now-vacated bathroom, presumably to relieve himself, but I knew he’d be checking for drug residue. Even if you’re careful, crack is hard not to spill and almost always leaves traces on the bathroom sink, the cover of the toilet, wherever you’d done the deed.
Meanwhile, I eyed the boys with an impassive face as they stumbled off, my arm still slung around Callie.
“Who are those dudes?” I’d asked Chrissy.
“Oh them?” she asked, distracted as she mixed another drink. “I think they’re friends of my sister Valerie, I don’t really know.”
Callie shot me a warning look, but I ignored it.
“Oh is Valerie a freshman?” I’d asked casually. Those boys couldn’t have been more than fifteen.
“Not exactly,” said Chrissy. “Valerie’s three years older actually, she was at Canterdale a couple years back but dropped out because she needed some time to find herself.”
I almost snorted but kept myself in check. “Finding yourself” was a euphemism at the precinct for a rich kid with serious issues, like addiction or crime.
“So where is Valerie now?” I asked casually, ignoring Callie’s jab to my ribs. “She around tonight?”
That got Chrissy’s attention. “Yeah, I think so,” she said, craning her neck, looking around to survey the mass of bodies. “She bought the beer tonight and I think she was going to make a second run to the store if necessary,” she shrugged. “I mean, you never know with Valerie. She’s got this new boyfriend, he’s so disgusting,” she said wrinkling her nose. “Old, stringy brown hair in a ponytail, thinks he’s some biker gang member.”
That definitely caught my ear. An old dude hanging out with high school kids? Definitely a recipe for disaster. I wanted to ask more but could no longer ignore the sharp looks from Callie. Clearly, there was something buried here and my girl didn’t want to go any further down this line of questioning.
“Come on Blake,” she said, trying to distract me. “Let’s head outside. The Gordons have an amazing pool house,” she said.
I’d glimpsed the cabana in passing and it did look fancy, like a second residence situated some distance away from the main house. And you know what? I was feeling horny again, maybe there’d be some privacy for a second fuck of the night.
“Sure,” I drawled. “After you,” I said just as my brother came out of the bathroom. He silently shook his head no, indicating that there was no drug residue, and I dragged him along for the ride.
“Let’s get outta here, see what everyone else is up to,” I drawled nonchalantly. “Bryan?”
“Yeah,” he growled, his face impassive. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bryan
The investigation wasn’t exactly going well. There hadn’t been any telltale residue on the sink or toilet at Chrissy’s house. Instead, I’d found a recently used condom still filled with warm, bubbling cum in the trash.
So those teenage boys, those comic-book turds, were probably gay. They’d probably fucked each other in the bathroom, groaning aloud, spanking each other’s asses, and then come out again acting like typical adolescents, pushing, shoving, pretending to be alpha males.
It was juicy, but not exactly criminal. I mean, my brother and I should know – we fuck each other, and that probably is criminal in the State of California, crossing a couple lines like incest, not to mention illicit and nasty twincest.
But Canterdale High? Not squeaky clean, but not exactly a hotbed of criminal activity either. So the investigation continued.
We were in the biology classroom on a Sunday afternoon, getting ready to dissect a cat. Goddamn this cat. I was so sick of it already, I hated biology, Blake and I hadn’t become cops to re-do high school. But here we were in this antiseptic environment, all the tools laid out, Callie looking nauseated again as I prepared to sink a knife into the belly fur of the glazed-eyed corpse.
Trying to hide my relish, I plunged the blade into the cat’s abdomen, expecting the knife to slice cleanly through, as if cutting chicken or a juicy piece of steak. Instead, I encountered some resistance, the blade bouncing back a bit. Oh fuck, it was probably just the formaldehyde they pumped into these things to keep them preserved. I’d probably hit some organ that was now stiff with frozen chemicals. Disgusting.
I chopped and sawed away with determination, and the skin fell away to reveal the body cavity of the cat. And damn, but my eyebrows flew off my forehead because we’d just gotten our best lead yet. Not only was the cat filled with frozen organs, but there were also a couple of pouches … bulging with white powder.
Immediately, I swept the cat off the table, not wanting our little girl to see. Fortunately, she had her back turned at the moment, half-bent over trying not to retch.
But Blake raised his eyebrows at me in question. I hadn’t fully opened the cat so he probably hadn’t caught a glimpse of the balloons but I merely shook my head in silence.
“Callie baby, this isn’t the right cat,” I said.
“Wha
t?” she asked faintly, turning back to the lab table. “What do you mean it isn’t the right cat? Mr. Grimes said he ordered a new batch so that we could make up the assignment without having to reuse corpses.”
“There must have been a mistake,” I said smoothly, “because this cat is pregnant.”
I was making shit up but that did the trick.
“Oh!” said Callie, her forehead rippling with revulsion. “Oh my god, did you see the dead kitten embryos in there? Oh my god, I’m going to be sick again,” she said, this time breaking out in a sweat, really looking green.
And my brother frowned at me but took the cue, hustling our little girl out of the classroom for some fresh air. In the meantime, I bundled the corpse into a plastic tarp, securing it with some string before slipping it into my backpack. The Sarge was going to be interested in this exhibit, for sure.
In the meantime, where the fuck had this cat come from? Was Mr. Grimes the perpetrator? Was our kindly science teacher actually a drug dealer, peddling illegal substances to his students? Or was it someone else? I was sure the freezer was probably chock-full of animals filled with heroin. The issue was busting this ring without giving everything away in the first few minutes. Our strike had to be coordinated, a methodical sting with no loose ends.
But in the meantime, there was still our little girl.
“Bryan, get out here,” I heard my brother shout in warning.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I strode outside … and immediately ran over to where my brother stood. Because Callie had fainted, her head slumped over, her body limp and dangling in my twin’s arms.
“Oh shit,” I breathed. “Oh shit, oh shit.”
“Oh shit is right,” my brother agreed. “We’ve got to get her to the hospital.”
And we rushed off to the ER because our little girl was sick … and in trouble.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Callie
Beg Me: Sold to My Dad's Boss Page 17
