by Robin Gideon
Diana wondered just how long the limo driver was willing to wait for the deVille brothers.
A pang of envy, jealousy, and anger went through Diana as she thought about all the advantages young men like the deVilles had in life. The limo driver started to open a rear door, but William waved him off. Young men like the deVilles didn’t open car doors for themselves, Diana told herself. She made a point of not clenching her jaws but was only partially successful.
Of course, they couldn’t drive for themselves. Why would you drive yourself when the money’s just flowing into the family coffers and all you’ve got to do is go to the mailbox once a month to get your payment then make a quick stop at the bank—where they treat you like frickin’ royalty—to be a gazillionaire?
It’s not their fault they won life’s lottery. Diana tried to push back envy. And they’ve never treated you in the least, tiniest bit disrespectfully. William and Marcus have flirted a bit, but even then it was pretty mild stuff. Nothing that crossed the line of propriety or got vulgar.
Most girls in Nouveau Paradis and New Orleans would drop to their knees if any of the deVille men even make direct eye contact with them.
Diana wasn’t one of those women, but she knew there were many who would. And some of them were her friends.
She suddenly felt a flash of resentment, and at first, she didn’t know what to make of it, how to emotionally wrap her arms around it. What difference did it make to her if the deVille men were promiscuous? Their sex life had nothing to do with her, so if they wanted to be male sluts and whore themselves out to a bunch of women who only wanted them for their money and some really hot sex, it meant absolutely nothing whatsoever to her.
But it did…and she knew it.
Damn.
It shouldn’t mean anything at all, but it did. The men were a thousand standard deviations from her own place in society, and she knew it. And so did they. That meant they couldn’t possibly be together, didn’t it?
Standing on the dock, Diana squared her shoulders, and smiled sardonically to herself. Men from the deVille social stratosphere sometimes fucked girls from her place in Louisiana society, but they never really bragged about having “sunk so low,” and they sure as hell never told their friends in the high society of the Big Easy that they’d dallied so far beneath their station. There were plenty of women of high social standing and low moral character for men such as the deVilles to get their sexual release without having to resort to lower-class debasement the reasoning would go.
If a man had to sink so low, and then maybe sink even lower, then do it…but for goodness sake’s, never tell anyone about it.
That was the way the story would go.
Diana cursed herself for ever having even fleetingly harbored romantic thoughts of the deVille men.
There simply wasn’t anything good that could come of it.
* * * *
Her home was a hundred yards from the dock where they anchored the pontoon. While her father went to the fish house to clean the clients’ catches, Diana hurried to the house to get out of her clothes. Her father, a sexist if ever there was one, believed that women couldn’t properly clean fish nor could they bait a hook or properly remove a caught fish from a hook. Subsequently, when they had clients on board, Diana piloted the boat, followed her father’s instructions to the letter, and let him bait hooks, take fish off hooks, and do all the other smelly things that she didn’t want to do anyway. She piloted the boat, and that was it.
Oh, and she also looked very good in the skimpy bikini top that endlessly threatened to release her breasts for the well-paying and sincerely praying clients to suddenly see. It had never happened, but that didn’t prevent the businessmen from fervently hoping for a “wardrobe malfunction.”
The bikini was her father’s idea.
He also drank cup after cup of coffee strongly laced with potent Greek ouzo. Then he chewed on black licorice, all the while pretending he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he really was. After years of practice, he was at least marginally successful in hiding his inebriation.
At home, she stripped off her few clothes, and immediately went into the shower to wash off the layer after layer of sunscreen she’d applied from morning until noon.
Once freed of the greasy film she’d applied defensively to herself against an unblinking Louisiana sun, she allowed herself a minute or two under the heated spray to bathe herself once again, enjoying the sensation of the bar of soap sliding over her skin, sometimes over intimate flesh that tingled when she touched it, no matter how innocently.
Diana turned her face to the spray. She felt her heart quickening. She suddenly felt faintly immoral and wickedly alive. More alive than she’d felt in months and months. She rubbed the bar of soap against her forbidden back entrance, arching her back slightly to make sure that the water wouldn’t go there, then let the soap fall to the floor of the shower. She heard it land with a solid thump!
Am I really going to do this?
She knew the answer, of course. She hadn’t known she was going to ask herself the question, but once the words went through her consciousness, she certainly knew the answer. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind.
At first it was just a single, very soapy middle finger that pierced her back passage then eased through the tight ring of muscle and entered her forbidden tunnel.
Nice. Very nice, Diana thought as she eased the single finger back and forth between the cheeks of her ass, fingering herself in a slow, sensual, distinctly feminine manner.
A sound came from her throat. It took several moments before Diana realized that she herself had made the sound.
I’ve never been fucked in the ass. I’ve never been with more than one man at a time. Hell, I’ve never been with more than one man in the same month!
But she was thinking now of William and Marcus and wondering what they’d want to do with her…together…at the same time. And they were twins. And gorgeous.
A shiver went up her spine. These were dangerous thoughts she was having.
Surely, one of them—she suspected Marcus, though she didn’t have a single fact to back up the assumption—would want to fuck her in the ass. These were alpha men. At least one of them would want her ass, especially when he found out she’d never allowed any man to take that passage before. Men like the deVilles always wanted to be first, always Number One. It was in their blood, their DNA.
Diana’s ring finger, along with her middle finger, slipped into her anus. She was very soapy. The penetration was without significant resistance, though the entrance was tight. She felt a twinge of discomfort, and the breath caught in her throat. For a moment she clenched her teeth. It wasn’t a sensation she found unpleasant. Quite the opposite, in fact.
This wasn’t the first time those two fingers, slickened with soap and moving with caution, had pierced the entrance of Diana’s anus. She’d never taken a cock back there, but she’d thought of it often.
There were a lot of things in the sexual realm that she’d never done but had thought of often.
Very often. Achingly covetous. Wanting to do them more than she wanted to admit…though her contemplation of such things was something that often drifted through her mind.
“God,” she said, though there was nothing even remotely theological or even reverential about what she was feeling as she pushed two fingers deeper into her ass.
It was the third soapy finger—ironically, the addition was her first finger—that caused the first real tangible pain. It didn’t stop Diana. She shoved the first three fingers of her right hand into her bottom as deeply as she could, and she embraced the biting discomfort like a richly welcomed compliment from a highly problematic customer.
Every good thing comes with a price.
She thought of the deVilles and wondered just how much they’d cost her. A woman always paid a price for her sins…and the deVilles made her want to be an insatiable sinner.
As one hand beat slowly back and forth, pumping thr
ee fingers between the cheeks of her ass, her other hand slipped over her breasts, pausing just long enough to give each one a squeeze, then travelled downward, over her stomach and pelvis, not stopping until her fingertips were pressed snuggly against her clitoris.
“Ohhh!” She sighed, the sound warbling softly above the splash of the shower spray.
She slipped a single finger between the lips of her pussy as she continued to pump three fingers into her bottom. There was something wickedly arousing about the pleasure-pain of having her ass stretched, pierced. It didn’t matter that she was doing it herself. What mattered was the sensation…and she liked it. Self-inflicted or not, she liked it.
A lot.
There were two fingers in her pussy and three fingers in her ass when the orgasmic contractions started. The ultimate pleasure came upon her faster than she had anticipated. It was almost as though it was a man—no, several men—who were pleasuring her, doing all they could to show that her ecstasy was their supreme goal.
Afterward, when she withdrew her fingers, she felt distinctly empty, and just a little embarrassed.
I shouldn’t have to be so self-reliant. There’s nothing wrong with it, but wouldn’t it be so much better if it was some hot guy giving me these orgasms?
Or two hot guys? Or four?
The thought made her shiver. She didn’t want to think too much about the deVille brothers, but whenever her passions were aroused, it was always their faces that played across the movie projector of her mind.
Guys from the New Orleans aristocracy don’t get romantically involved with the daughter of a fishing guide. Get a grip on yourself. It’s time to live in the real world, not some damned fantasy.
But no matter how hard she tried, the idea of being sexually ravaged with both Marcus and William at the same time just wouldn’t go away.
Chapter 2
Diana selected her clothes quickly and carefully. The bra and panties were matching—they were always matching—white lace, the bra firm and supportive yet still sort of pretty, despite her size, the panties bikini-style but not thong. Diana found thongs uncomfortable, and a little trashy. Over those she chose a light blue cotton sundress with a modest neckline and a bottom hem that skimmed the tops of her knees. For footwear, she chose open-toed pumps with four-inch heels. It was still only noon, so she stopped at four-inch heels.
Diana fervently believed that when you were five feet tall, and you were quite voluptuous, stilettos made your legs look longer and thinner—a fact devoutly wished for by Diana…and every other short woman in the Western world. The only time she wasn’t in heels was when she was on the pontoon boat.
Before leaving her house, Diana looked one last time at herself in the mirror. She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t necessarily interested in looking pretty for the deVille twins, but she knew this was a lie. She wanted very much for them to think highly of her. She just couldn’t decide which one she wanted to be most impressed with her.
She was adequately presentable, she decided. The blue dress was flattering but quite modest. She looked nothing at all like the young woman who moments earlier had been wearing a bikini top that left little to the imagination and a New Orleans Saints baseball cap that suggested an athleticism and a sporting enthusiasm she didn’t possess.
She stepped out of the small, tidy house on the Eau Clair River and saw that her family pickup truck was already gone. That meant that her father had already finished cleaning the day’s catch—he was an absolute wizard at cleaning fish, and doing it in the blink of an eye—and had gone to My Place.
That was okay with Diana. It meant she had to walk to the restaurant, but it would give her time to make sense of her thoughts. She’d had only one real boyfriend in her life, and when he’d gotten in legal trouble, he skipped out of Nouveau Paradis by joining the Army. And with a twenty-to-one male-to-female ratio in the territory due to the return of the fishing industry and the oil boom, while there were lots and lots of men around, not many of them were willing to have anything that even remotely resembled a permanent relationship with a single woman. Many men considered promiscuity simply what was due to them, their right, and to Diana’s chagrin, many of the local women considered the plethora of hard-working, high-earning fishermen and oilmen nothing more than a bounty to be exploited.
Lots of guys and all of them making good money. Diana checked her mascara one last time. But I’m not going to sleep around just because they’ve got money. Sex has got to mean something, or it’s just not going to happen.
She left the house without locking the door. Many of the people in the territory never bothered locking their doors, and the people on the outskirts of the Nouveau Paradis certainly never did. There simply wasn’t any need to.
The sun was high overhead, not too intense, and there was a pleasant breeze off the Eau Claire River. It was a gravel road all the way to My Place, but Diana didn’t mind. She’d be there soon enough…and maybe by then she would have made up her mind whether Marcus or William was more interested in her and what she should do with that interest.
* * * *
“Is it just me, or has Diana been looking nicer than before?” William asked Marcus as they sat with their brothers in a booth at My Place.
Luke, a year older than the twins and the eldest of the siblings, was undoubtedly the alpha male of the deVille men. He cleared his throat, and all eyes turned toward him.
“As much as I hate agreeing with anything you have to say, in this one particular instance, I’d say you’re right,” Luke said. “She’s always been drop-dead gorgeous, but when I saw her in the black bikini top this morning, it took every ounce of willpower I possessed to keep from flat-out gawking at her like a love-struck teenager. That’s why I never took off my sunglasses.”
The other three brothers chuckled under their breaths. Luke wasn’t what anyone would consider a man easily given to becoming a love-struck fool, so when he admitted to having a difficult time keeping from staring at Diana’s extravagant and on-display bosom, it was a declaration that had to be taken seriously.
Diana’s father was sitting at the end stool at the bar, quite a ways away, drinking an iced ouzo—and drinking it quickly, not giving the ice time to cool the liquor. William had palmed him three one-hundred-dollar bills for the morning’s fishing, plus a generous tip. The old man quickly broke one of the hundred dollar bills by ordering for himself three ouzos on ice. He said “thank you” for the money, then turned away, clearly in no mood to have a conversation with a young man who was no longer a customer. Losing any semblance of his sobriety was now his top priority.
Diana stepped into the doorway, and the four deVille brothers immediately noticed her. She walked straight to Marianne St. Simone, the owner of My Place, who was just a little older than Diana, and gave her a hug. They had been friends since childhood. The rumors were still swirling around Nouveau Paradis as to how Marianne had suddenly, and quite mysteriously, gone from being a waitress at the restaurant to owning it outright. Though Marianne was liked in the community, jealousy had reared its head, and William had heard that not all of the rumors were kind.
William’s heart skipped a small beat when Marianne pointed to the booth where he was sitting. Diana thanked her, but before going straight toward them, she turned and went to her father. Even from across the bar, William could see that all he’d given her for the morning’s work was a twenty-dollar bill.
Cheap bastard. You’d have your charter license pulled for being drunk and piloting a boat if not for her.
He felt his jaws clench in anger then reminded himself that it wouldn’t do Diana any good if he shattered his teeth out of frustration.
He could see the disappointment in Diana’s expression when all she received was a smidgen of the money that her father had received for the day, but when she turned away from him and started walking toward the deVille table, her expression was sunny and utterly cloudless.
This was a woman who understands customer se
rvice.
He decided he could very happily spend a lot of time with someone like Diana—and not just on a fishing pontoon boat, either.
Across the surface of his mind he imagined her in evening gowns, with diamond or emerald necklaces that came down so very near to those extravagant breasts. If he had his way, he’d dress her in velvet gowns made by French or Italian designers, not cotton sundresses that could be bought at the discount store for less than thirty dollars each. She deserved so much better.
“So, did you guys have a good time this afternoon?” Diana asked as she approached the table.
“Couldn’t have had a better time at thirty times the cost,” William said then wondered if he was being a bit too effusive. He wanted Diana to like him, but he also knew that he was in for a ration of excrement from his brothers if he went overboard in his enthusiasm for her.
“Dad knows the river like the back of his hand,” she said. She stopped at the edge of the booth, which was really only big enough for four big men. William and Marcus squished in, giving Diana room to sit, which very nicely put Diana’s thigh pressed against William’s. “There isn’t a ridge, ravine, drop-off, or sink-hole that he doesn’t know about.”
“That’s why we keep coming back to him when we want to fish,” William said.
That, and the fact that he always dresses you in a bikini top, and seeing you in that is worth the price of the tour guide. But to tell you that would be the dumbest thing that I’ve ever done. It would also be disrespectful.
William looked away for a moment. He was a skilled man with the ladies, but for some reason that he couldn’t quite understand, when he was with Diana, he felt like a completely different man. And lately, when he’d been entertaining one of the virtually countless young women of New Orleans who wanted the attentions of one of the city’s most eligible and wealthy bachelors, he’d found himself fantasizing about Diana while he sexually serviced others.
