Daddy Daddy: MFM Menage Romance

by Demi Donovan

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  A Little Taste…

  Copyright

  Sawyer

  Cassie

  Parker

  About Demi

  Daddy Daddy

  MFM Menage Romance

  Demi Donovan

  Contents

  A Little Taste…

  Copyright

  1. Sawyer

  2. Cassie

  3. Parker

  4. Cassie

  5. Parker

  6. Cassie

  7. Sawyer

  8. Cassie

  9. Parker

  10. Sawyer

  11. Cassie

  12. Sawyer

  13. Cassie

  14. Parker

  15. Cassie

  16. Cassie

  17. Cassie

  18. Sawyer

  19. Parker

  20. Cassie

  21. Sawyer

  22. Cassie

  23. Parker

  24. Sawyer

  25. Cassie

  26. Parker

  27. Sawyer

  28. Cassie

  Epilogue

  About Demi

  A Little Taste…

  The door closes behind us and I stifle the urge to lock it. What little I have left of my self-control keeps me reminding myself that doing anything would not be appropriate, no matter how much I want it.

  “Thank you,” she whispers as she flits past me, heading for the wrong machine.

  I chuckle, grabbing her gently by the arm and spinning her toward the right one. She fumbles with the lid of the big industrial Xerox machine and after watching her try to figure it out for a couple of minutes I step in, staying quiet. My arms reach around her and open the folder, taking out a couple of pages and instructing her hands to lay them flat on the glass.

  She closes the lid and then I guide her fingers to the right buttons, looking over her shoulder, her body almost pressed against mine. I can’t stand it as I hear her breath hitch a little when my fingertips slip over the inside of her wrist and before I can stop myself, I’ve taken that last step closer, pinning her between me and the Xerox machine.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this, Cassie,” I growl, not sure whether I’m trying to tell her this or just myself.

  “Doing what, Mr. Layton?” she asks, that snippy, prideful woman that met me a few minutes ago back in full force. “Are you saying you shouldn’t be showing me how to use the copier?” she asks, almost mocking.

  “No,” I growl. “I’m saying we shouldn’t be doing this.”

  Without hesitation, my hand jerks down and yanks up her pencil skirt. My hand trails up her inner thigh as my cock presses against her ass. I shove her legs apart and she yelps, breathless.

  “You’re an insolent little slut, aren’t you?” I ask, my breath on her ear.

  “No more than you’re a lecherous old man,” she snips back, but her ass is flush against my cock now and as my fingers make it to her black panties, I can feel how moist they are.

  “Your daddy never taught you manners,” I tell her, Vixen’s penchant for the word apparently having stuck with me.

  But where Vixen was never going to be the kind of woman I’d want to teach a lesson to, this headstrong thing definitely is.

  “I know my manners well enough,” she says, but it’s more of a whine as I push the panties aside and let my fingertips wet against the soft lips of her pussy.

  Copyright © 2017 Demi Donovan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Daddy Daddy

  MFM Menage Romance

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Demi Donovan. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover © Jack of Covers

  One

  Sawyer

  A man is only worth as much as he can take in life. I’ve made it my mission to take as much as I can.

  She twists in my arms, her round ass bobbing up against my crotch as she writhes and tries to pry her arms loose, her breaths quick and muffled. It’s no use, I know my knots.

  She shudders as my hand runs down the curve of her ass and stops at the most delicate part, right where her ass and thigh meet. She’s hoping I’d slap her there, send her reeling into the red satin sheets she’s put on the bed in anticipation of my visit.

  I don’t know her, but I don’t need to know her name. The first look I got of her, I knew what and who she was. Someone easy to take, someone eager to be taken. It makes it less fun, I like a challenge, but a man has to do what a man has to do.

  “Stay still,” I growl, and she does.

  All that shuddering and twitching stops and she stays ramrod straight, her shoulders and chest against the mattress, her arms bound behind her back, her plump ass up in the air. Sneaking a glance over her shoulder, she gets another smack with the belt across her ass for it. The whimpering groan she puts on for my behalf barely covers the moan of pleasure underneath.

  Still wearing the little black dress she met me in at the door, I find her pretty. Attractive. Entirely forgettable. Blonde, blue eyed, slightly Nordic features. Nice big tits, which I’ll probably remember better than the rest of her. My hand reaches around her and I yank her dress and bra down, a couple of stitches tearing as it gives and her breasts spill out. She wails, and the dry crack of the leather as it whips through the air before landing on her pristine skin makes my cock swell.

  Her eyes are brimming with tears, the mascara already marring her pink cheeks as she tenses up when my palm rolls across her tits, pawing at them, abusing them. I pinch her nipples so hard that she can’t stay still, her knees buckling and making her collapse on the bed in an effort to both get away from me and get closer to my touch.

  I pinch her again and then knead the soft roundness of her breast in my smooth palm. Her back arches and her butt hits the sheets, no longer in the submissive position she was in for me.

  I shake my head, discarding the belt on the bedside table. It’s cluttered with her phone and the kind of ultra-feminine magazines you wouldn’t expect to find by the bedside of a woman who seeks mid-day thrills with strangers from the internet. She called herself Vixen D. At best she’s a Vixen C, but I’ve had worse disappointments.

  When my hand snaps away from her, she realizes her mistake. Quickly, she scrambles back on her knees on the bed, desperately looking at me over her shoulder, pleading with me that I won’t leave, as much as her bound wrists, ankles and gagged mouth allows her, anyway. I suppress a grin as I shrug off my jacket, keeping the black tie on for effect.

  I think I’m everything she hoped for. Older. Fit to the point of the suit hiding my body rather than accenting it to the best of its abilities. Cruel. She practically melted on the spot when she opened the door for me half an hour ago and if the scent hitting my nostrils is anything to go by, she’s soaking through her black lacey panties.

  I pull my briefcase wordlessly up on the bed and open it. On top of the stacks of folders for SCP Limited, my company, sit two black cases. I open one of them and Vixen is craning her neck to see what I produce. I grab her by her blonde mane and yank her head back so she’s staring in front of herself instead.

  “Stay the fuck still,”
I remind her, and she nods against the pain. Good girl.

  The vibrator’s thick in my palm, but not as thick as I am. Without letting go of her hair, I pull her panties aside with a crooked finger and run the length of the vibrator along her pussy. She’s shaved, and she moans like a bitch in heat. Pressing the tip against her clit, I lean into her, my breath on her ear.

  “If you can’t take this, you can’t take me,” I tell her, a gargled whimper as my only answer.

  The tears have stopped, but not for long, I imagine. I drag her by her hair so she’s just about teetering over the edge of the bed now, her face level with my crotch. She can see that I’m bulging against my slacks and her eyes flick up to me, baby blue but sort of dull, like the rest of her. I check my watch. I don’t have either the patience or the time to draw this out any longer.

  I unfist my hand from her hair and shove the vibrator up her cunt in almost the same motion. She lurches ahead, nearly toppling over the side of the bed as the gently curved cock fills her leaking pussy. Vixen screams, eyes wide, because it’s thick, like I told her. She catches herself, her body rocking backward to keep from falling.

  “You better be soaking that thing if you want to make this easier on yourself,” I tell her, unzipping my pants and undoing the button.

  She gets my drift, evident from the way she practically freezes on the spot, despite the stretching her pussy is taking. She knows I’m not done with it, or her, but she’s equally as hungry to see my cock.

  I didn’t tell her how big I was. I don’t need to advertise myself, I’m not here for money. I’m here because it’s my fucking lunch break and I need a break, I need to break something. She’s the best I could do on short notice and despite the floral patterns on the walls and the god-awful pink curtains, she’s okay so far.

  Vixen gasps, or gags, or both as I pull out my cock. Circumcised, nine inches and so thick my fingertips just meet around it, I might as well be swinging a baseball bat in front of her face. She can’t be more than twenty-four, but the look in her eyes tells me she’s seen enough to know that this can hurt. A lot. And that’s exactly what she wants.

  That eager, glistening gleam in her eyes should be spurring me on, but it doesn’t. I hate that look, that cumslut eagerness that’s trained by someone else but me, that hunger for cock that comes from experience and not from obsession.

  I shuck my palm along my cock a couple of times, the precum beading on the head and the veins perking up as it stands at attention, before I hook a finger under the scarf I was using to gag her and pull it up, loosening it only enough so I could cover her eyes with it. I don’t want to see that look anymore.

  “Daddy, please,” she whimpers, licking her lips with the same effort.

  “I’m not your Daddy,” I growl, and before she can get another dumbass line across her lips, I shove my cock between them.

  She tries to make those porn star noises and to wiggle her ass in some form of shitty seduction, but I push in so far that instead of putting on a show, she needs to concentrate on breathing and taking me down her throat. Those moans turn into gargled gasps and spluttering and I can feel warm saliva pool in her mouth.

  I take it slower as I push into her throat and reach to pull out the vibrator. It makes a satisfying squelching noise as it pops out of her pussy, probably the only good sound so far other than the belt as it smacked her entitled ass before. There are a couple of reddish marks on her ass and I appreciate them for what they are as I move the tip of the vibrator up the crack of her ass and then slowly push it against the pucker of her asshole.

  I can’t see it in her eyes anymore but from the way her body tenses, I know she’s realizing what’s about to happen. The vibrator she could barely take in her cunt is about to stretch her ass. She mewls against my cock, trying to open her mouth wider to get a word out, but I only push deeper, filling her with cock like she’s been begging me to.

  The tip of the vibrator, glistening with her juices, sinks in slowly and I work it in time with the bucking of my hips, filling her at both ends with far too much and far too fast. She struggles to keep up and that’s what I prefer. When the vibrator is a couple of inches in, I pull back once and then pound it in the whole way it’ll go when I grab her hair again and bottom out in her mouth and throat.

  She screams, but no one can hear a scream when there’s nine inches of cock in your throat. She bucks, but she’s tied up all nice and tidy. And then she spasms in that inevitable, rolling orgasm a greedy little cumslut like her was bound to have.

  Her throat opens wider for me and when I flick on the vibrator, letting the thick fucker buzz in her ass, she’s completely lost to anything other than the sensation of being fucked. So I indulge her.

  Leaning forward, I grind into her, full force, facefucking her like the nameless hole she is. I pound my cock into her, gritting my teeth as her tongue tries to slick the underside of it even though saliva and tears coat her face and her breathing is a wheezing gasp every now and then.

  I want to teach her that this isn’t what good girls do. That this isn’t how good girls beg for cock, and instead of someone like me, the next time she opens her door to a stranger, it could be someone a lot more fucking dangerous.

  But I know I won’t teach her any of these things. All I’m teaching her is that when she asks for something nicely enough, a man twice her age might show up on her doorstep and give her the fucking of a lifetime. Counter-fucking-intuitive, but like I said, I’m not her daddy. She’s not my problem.

  My balls twitch as I push my head back, closing my eyes as I grind slower, pull back a little so she can suckle on me. She has a nice mouth. It’s no worse than a quick jerk-off at my private bathroom at the office, anyway. When I cum, filling her mouth with a big, sticky load that she can’t quite gulp all the way down, I’m not thinking of her.

  I’m not thinking of anyone, really.

  Vixen slavers over me, licking up the remnants of cum and saliva and cleaning me up while the vibrator still buzzes in her upturned ass. I yank it out of her and turn it off, tossing it on the bed. She yelps in surprise, suddenly entirely cockless. The disappointment is palpable.

  By the time she’s nudged off her blindfold, I’ve tucked my limp dick back in my boxers and put my belt back on.

  “You’re leaving already?” she asks, her words hoarse from the violent throat fuck she just participated in.

  She’s trying to pry some dried-up spunk loose from the corner of her mouth with her tongue. She looks like she does need someone with a firm hand in her life, but I’m done taking responsibility for lost causes, though for a moment, I think about it. Must be getting soft.

  “I am,” I say, loosening the handcuff knot just enough that she could wiggle out of it when I’m gone. “Keep that,” I tell her, nodding at the vibrator.

  “Something to remember you by?” she asks as I close the briefcase and pull on my jacket.

  “Sure.” I shrug. I just don’t want it back in my briefcase.

  “Can I see you again?” she yells after me, wriggling awkwardly to her side to pry herself loose from the binds.

  I look at her from the doorway. She’s a mess, but I shouldn’t be allowed to judge. Just because I know how to prop up a good façade doesn’t mean I’m not exactly as fucked up underneath.

  “Maybe.”

  There will be no next time. In fact, by the time I’m out of the building, I’ll likely barely remember anything about her, other than the fact that she was eager to choke on strange cock and that I was eager to provide it. No one’s the hero in this story.

  Two

  Cassie

  “Shh,” I hush Mark, hearing my mother stomping around downstairs. “She could hear us.”

  “So?” he asks, cocking a brow at me as he takes another drag of the cigarette, exhaling out of the open window.

  It faces the backyard so mom probably hasn’t smelled anything yet, but it won’t be long until she does. I wasn’t planning on still being home wh
en she got in after work but the day got away from us, the ashtray full of smoked cigarettes and the couple of discarded Kleenex tissues in the corner showing as much.

  “You need to relax, Cass,” he tells me smartly, peering at me through his thick guyliner as he leans against the windowsill. “You’re way too uptight.”

  This coming from a man dressed in jeans so tight that I’m still surprised that he gets them back on every time he manages to shimmy out of them. He has a tendency of doing that, swinging his dick around, that is. I think he’s more fascinated by it than I am, or actually I know that’s the case. My hand still feels sticky from the handjob I gave him earlier and I briefly wonder why I did it.

  He’s not that impressive, not that I’d know.

  Because I love him, I remind myself. Sometimes I forget, but this is what love is, right? Companionship, being around one another, choosing the company of the other person instead of anything else.

  Anything like school, or a job, or commitments of any sort. I cringe, remembering I was supposed to be at school today for a meeting about the graduation party, but I wasn’t. I hope no one called mom.

  “I’m not uptight,” I say with a sigh, pushing back my auburn hair, streaked with purple. I did it myself. I think it looks good, though Mark insisted on touching them up for me later. He’s good at that sort of stuff.

  “Sure you’re not,” he mocks, offering me the cigarette, knowing I won’t take it.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve smoked before. I carry a pack of Marlboros – incidentally the nickname Mark insists I call him by – with me in my backpack. A recent run-in with too much booze, a club back alley and a badly timed cigarette right after have put me off of them, though.

  “Don’t give me that face,” Mark says, beckoning me closer. I go easily, being folded under his arm and pulled up against his black fishnet-covered chest. He’s warm and my hand reaches around him contentedly. “That’s better.”