Sinfully Theirs: Naughty Nookie Part I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Shuddering at the thought, I huddle into my jacket and continue with the short walk into town. It’s a warm day, but the breeze is brisk and overhead, the sun is covered with clouds spreading diluted rays over the buildings ahead.

  Bayling Cove possesses only three buildings higher than three stories. The town hall, the church and a community hall. It reminds me of Fountain Springs, my hometown, except up here, even in summer, it can be kind of chilly whereas back home, I’d be sweating my balls off. If I had any to sweat off, that is.

  The majority of the buildings are constructed out of brick and wood, and are low, unspectacular. Main Street is lined with equally as bland buildings, but regardless of the recession, this town seems to be thriving. Every place of business is full and I haven’t seen a For Sale or For Rent sign in any of the shop windows.

  It’s pretty cute, too, because the nearest supermarket is about a forty-minute drive away so for the most part, it’s like the old days where you had to rely on your local town for your groceries. I don’t drive, something that will change if things become permanent around here, and Jake and Zane... well, reclusive isn’t the right word, but they don’t go out a whole hell of a lot. Once a week, a box of stuff appears at the door with all the staples and I guess I could order in online, but I want to support the locals, who, even though my presence has raised a few eyebrows, haven’t outright rejected me.

  Meg from the café especially: I can see her becoming a friend.

  The café is squished between a hardware store and a specialty fishing shop. Both places of business have monster queues and the café isn’t that much better.

  When I step through the door, the sound hits me. Especially after the short if peaceful walk into town and even though Main Street bustles, it isn’t exactly New York loud. But this is.

  Well, it is a Saturday.

  Teenagers catcall at each other from across the room, while babies sit in highchairs either squawking at the meal their mothers are trying to feed them or bawling their lungs out. Families hunch together as they eat their meal, some in silence, others arguing between every bite.

  Not a table is empty and because of that, the Take Out line is packed.

  It’s not the most cosmopolitan of places. Red plaid cloths line the tables and they’re squashed between benches. The walls are clad in varnished pine making it look like a more natural version of neon orange.

  Every now and then, there’s a dead fish mounted on the wall as well as pictures of locals that have done good. I’m not shocked to see Zane’s picture there, even though I’d have imagined a place like this as being pretty... well, unappreciative of the Lesbian, Gay, Bi and Transsexual genre. However, he’s there, grinning down at me with his arm around Meg, who in the picture is planting a kiss on his cheek.

  The counter is Formica, scratched and scarred and lined with sugar servers, bottles of ketchup and mayonnaise as well as salt and pepper pots. A huge display case is auspiciously empty thanks to the huge crowd, but is usually stacked with savory and sweet pastries.

  As my eyes take it in, Meg spots me and with little fuss, blows me a wolf whistle. For a second, peace settles over the café and then jeers and laughs explode and with it, color on my cheeks. Meg waves me over, and after squeezing my way through the crowd toward the counter, she bursts out, “You are an angel in disguise, Mona. Could you help out? That damn fool Erica has gone down with the flu and I’m busting my gut trying to be everywhere at once.”

  Amused at Meg’s assumption that Erica wanted to come down with the flu, I merely nod. After all, it’s what I came down here to do. “Sure, Meg. Where do you need me?”

  “You are a darling, Mona Barranquet.” Hiding another grin, because Meg just can’t pronounce my surname, she always says Bar-in-koo-ett instead of Bah-ran-ket, I round the counter and tie on the apron she pushed into my chest. “No time for training. Just do what you can.” She blows another whistle and again, peace settles over the raucous crowd. “Now, listen everybody. Mona’s helping out, so be nice. If you know where something is and she doesn’t, give her a nudge. Thanks everyone.”

  To my consternation, everybody nods as though she hasn’t just asked her diners to help out the wait staff. I can only imagine the average New York crowd if the proprietor of an eatery did that.

  I knew there was a reason I liked this place.

  Grinning, I submerge myself into the job. And I’m almost shocked when I discover that I like it.

  I’m not as much of an introvert as I thought I was either. I chat to people, honest to God chat. I don’t shuffle between tables, mumbling behind my order pad. I talk and flirt and laugh if something funny’s said. I mop up spills, predict them before they even happen, and generally whizz through the crowd with a smile on my face.

  I’m quick on my toes and pick up the layout of the place in no time at all and by the end of the shift, have earned myself thirty dollars in tips.

  Not bad for a newbie.

  Thinking of how many tampons I can buy with that, I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit at the counter and rub my feet. Because, Christ, they ache like a bitch.

  Meg bursts through the swing hinge doors out of the kitchen and zooms in on me like a fly scenting sugar.

  She’s one of those women of indeterminate age. Somewhere between thirty and fifty with red, frizzy hair that if a straightener ever passed through, would glint gold in the light. Her eyes are lined with a thick smudge of kohl, but outside of that, she wears no make-up. There isn’t a uniform at The Pike and she’s dressed in men’s sweats, an oversized T-shirt so large you can’t even make out if she has any boobs, as well as sneakers on her feet.

  “You’re a lifesaver, Mona. Thank you so much, I don’t think I’d have seen the day out if you hadn’t stopped by. You probably only came in for that cup of coffee, didn’t you? Didn’t expect to be recruited on to the team.” She snorts and then her eyes flicker over me. “You can’t miss the sign on the door, but I’m actually hiring if you’re interested.” She cocks her brow. “Although maybe not if you’re looking after those two hunks up on the hill?”

  I refuse to blush. I’m an adult and Jake and Zane are hardly adolescents. We can do whatever the hell we want behind the privacy of our own doors.

  That very little kinkiness has gone down as yet doesn’t matter.

  It’s the principle.

  Perhaps she can tell I’ve taken umbrage, because she raises her hands in surrender and says around a grin, “Hold fire, missy.”

  Missy?

  Do people under the age of seventy call people that?

  Apparently so.

  But then, Meg isn’t your average thirty to fifty year old woman.

  Inwardly snorting, I merely cock my brow to match hers and watch as her grin widens.

  “Could tell you had balls. The minute you walked through the door. Not that you show it. All meek and proper like. And that newspaper article… Surrogate, my ass.” She studies me a moment longer, a gleam in her eye at my refusal to rise to her bait and then makes me jump when she bangs her fist on the counter. “If you want the job, it’s yours.”

  A part of me feels guilty, because maybe I’m taking the job from someone who really needs it. But I have to assume someone would have accepted it before now.

  I would soon learn Meg is a bitch to work for. An amusing, friendly bitch, but a hard taskmaster that has half the teenage population of Bayling Cove running for cover after their first day of training.

  At that point, I didn’t know that. So, it didn’t stop me from accepting the position.

  Even if I had known, I would have still taken the job. I’m used to bitches. Eddie and Marina can be real cats, when they want to be.

  As soon as the majority of the crowd disappears, Meg and I get down to discussing particulars and how long the shifts last—eight hours—and what my wage will be.

  I can keep all my tips, which is something, because it doesn’t pay all that much, but I hadn’t expected it to.

>   It sounds a bit like I’m showing off when I say that I just need this for things I don’t feel comfortable for the guys to buy me. So I don’t need to earn a fortune, just enough to get me by and to stop me from feeling like a slug, happy to mooch off them.

  And what if I want to buy them a present? I’d have to use their money to do so and that doesn’t sit well with me at all.

  I leave the café in high spirits. Tomorrow, I’ll have to go back for the breakfast shift, something that no one on the staff apparently wants to work. But after a lifetime of early morning starts, it’s no big deal and I’d prefer to get up at four for a four-thirty start than have to stay at work until ten when the café closes.

  As it is, I’ll be home before lunch and I’ll have some independence.

  Overhead, the sun has decided to sulk. It’s disappeared completely into a morass of glum-looking clouds, swirled with charcoals and silvers. There’s definitely a storm brewing and if I’m honest, I love the storms here. They’re so vibrant, so filled with energy.

  From my bedroom, which has a huge picture window and a window seat, I can sit curled up and watch the sea until night falls. In fact, that’s my plan as I forge ahead down Main Street, passing some folks I know from the cafe, and waving, before climbing the hill to the house. Although I don’t have long. The darkness is on its way thanks to my overly long stay at the café. I hadn’t expected to be returning to the house five hours after I’d set off and while I’m kind of tired, there’s a bounce to my step as I return to Jake and Zane’s.

  The nearer I get, the more of an impression it makes. It’s an imposing structure, big and Victorian with a small... I guess I’d term it as a roundabout filled with flowers in the gravel drive where cars can turn around. The instant I tread across the drive, the front door opens and Jake steps on to the threshold.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Slightly dazed at his vehemence, I shake my head, wondering if I heard wrong, because the wind has started to whistle worse than the Pied Piper. Jogging over to the door, I’ve two seconds to come to terms with the anger on Jake’s face and then, it’s too late. I’m pulled into his arms, dragged over the threshold into the house and his mouth is plastered against mine.

  His lips force mine open and my tongue has no choice but to come out and play in the face of Jake’s desperation.

  Just why he’s desperate, I’m not entirely sure. But I can’t deny it’s arousing as hell. Maybe I shouldn’t find the whole Captain Caveman thing attractive, but tell that to my pussy.

  His mouth pulls away from mine, making a faint sucking noise as he does, and then kisses are pressed along my cheekbone as he wraps me further in his arms.

  I don’t have much chance to react, before I’m tugged out of Jake’s embrace and pulled into Zane’s.

  The desperation is equal. Each kiss, each caress of his lips and tongue against my own is turbo-charged, as though he can’t get enough. A part of me wonders what the hell is going on, but I’m too wrapped up in the two sets of arms and the two erections, one at my back and one at my front, nudging me.

  Whatever’s happened, it’s definitely accelerated things along. Both men are touching me, simultaneously. And God, it feels good.

  A mouth at my neck sucks and pulls at the flesh, making it tingle and flush. I love how Jake likes to mark me. It’s such a turn on, especially the morning after when I find the bruises lashed from his teeth and lips, and I’m sucked back to the moment he made them.

  Hands are pulling at my jacket, which is unzipped and dragged from my arms then dropped to the floor. Fingers mold my breasts, squeezing, taunting, before they focus on the buttons of my shirt. My hands fumble with the fastenings, but I retain a hold on my patience, until Zane loses his. The fabric suddenly gives way as his hands join the fray and he pulls the shirt open, making buttons fly everywhere.

  I don’t even care that later on, I’ll be the one to pick them up.

  That one move was hard-wired to my sex and if I wasn’t creaming enough, now I’m drenching my panties to an almost embarrassing degree.

  Being between two men is so much more than I’d ever imagined. And at this moment, it’s hardly the most risqué of stuff we’re doing. Kissing, caressing. We’re hardly fucking, but it’s like being caught in a hurricane. They’ve uprooted me from the ground and are flying me across the state.

  Pressed against Jake is like being pressed against a wall and Zane takes advantage of his husband’s strength by pushing me against him and nudging my thighs apart by shoving a knee between my own. He steps forward so that one long leg brushes between my inner thighs and thanks to our difference in height, rubs along very sensitive and very, very wet flesh. My pussy lips rub together, making me all the more aware of how drenched I am and how ready I am to be fucked.

  The idea of being taken by both men is like adding kindling to the flames.

  If they were the aggressors, I turn into one too. I practically bite at Zane’s mouth and start to drag his shirt open. My hands claw at his chest, my fingers pinch his nipples until he grunts. I let go of his mouth and jerk my head to the side, seeking Jake and once our mouths collide, I’m equally as hungry. My lips bite at his, my tongue duels and seeks surrender from him.

  But it backfires and I pull away, my hands pushing at Zane’s chest to dislodge him. With a bit of air between our once glued-together bodies, I slip out from between them and while they look confused, hurt and pissed off as well as horny, I watch that disappear as I grab my belt buckle and nearly rip at it to unfasten it. Once I’ve loosened the damn thing, which seemed intent on clinging to me like a snake, I grasp the buttons at my crotch, semi-mortified to find that the deeper down I go, the wetter the denim is from my arousal.

  My eyes dart up to the two men and notice that they’re taking the opportunity to strip too and for a minute, I waver mid-button. Glued to hard pecs and delineated abs, two cocks, long and thick, wide and veined. My mouth drools at the sight of ripped biceps, flexing and relaxing with their movements, strong thighs and calves and the idea that these two men belong to me has me whimpering as a pulse of pleasure tears through my very soul.

  In the shit, old days —because they were never good— that would have constituted an orgasm. Now it’s merely an appetizer.

  I kick out of my jeans and accidently break the waistband of my panties in my haste to be naked. The instant I am, I practically leap on Jake. And he catches me. Thank fuck. My legs spread, I know my pussy is directly over his lower abdomen and that I’m drenching him, but right on the under curve of my butt, I can feel his cock pulse and twitch in reaction.

  There’s no room for embarrassment and hell, I don’t feel any. It’s these two guys’ faults that I’m as wet as I am.

  As Zane steps behind me, his pre-cum soaked dick nudging my back, I arch and fall against his chest, the move has my breasts jutting out, something that Jake takes instant advantage of. His lips pull and tug at my nipples in a similar way as he attacked my neck. Like I said, he likes to leave marks and my nipples sure as hell appreciate it.

  I curl my arm backward and wrap it around Zane’s neck. Turning my head to the side, I let him devour my mouth and don’t fail to notice that both of his hands have cupped my butt. One digs between Jake and I, and hones in on my pussy. It’s strange, because he isn’t trying to drive me nuts, although he’s doing so, inadvertently. He’s swirling his fingers through the copious fluids at my sex and then dragging them down, down, down.

  It’s only as he rubs my asshole that I know one of my sordid fantasies is about to come true.

  They’re going to do it.

  Fuck me at the same time.

  Mewling as he curls his tongue about my own, sucking the air from my very lungs and making me rely on him for oxygen, I whimper again as he rubs at my butt and slowly starts to penetrate it, slickening the tight, taut hole with my own juice.

  How long we all stood there, I don’t know. Jake is raking my nipples until they’re almost
hurting with sensitivity. I have a feeling that if he doesn’t stop soon, then I’ll cum. Not that that’s a bad thing, but that’s how deeply he’s affecting me.

  Zane’s fingers are rubbing against flesh that has been receiving more attention of late and which is now begging for more.

  This is Jake’s doing. Ever since that first night, he’s been preparing me for this. Playing with my butt, making me accustomed to penetration. As it is, knowing how huge Zane is, I’m quite relieved to have been prepped.

  With my clit being ignored, somehow, for some perverse reason, each sexual touch from my men finds its epicenter there. Almost as though if it can’t join in, it’ll find a way by hook or by crook. Every bite and suckle from Jake’s mouth finds its center there as does the finger fucking of my ass. Those short but intense thrusts, as the tight muscle of my butt is forced open and the coarse flesh of a man whose life has not been soft is dragged against it.

  And then, those fingers disappear, the scorching heat along my spine does too and I can hear Zane loping off to God knows where. I almost want to pout, but Jake takes the opportunity to back into the wall and slide down it so that the pair of us safely reach the floor. His mouth retreats from my nipples to bite at my lips again and as my hands tweak and pinch the nubbins topping his pecs; he maneuvers the pair of us so that he’s flat out on his back.

  It’s incongruous really. This luscious, ripped man is lying on thick, cream carpet beside an antique pot that holds umbrellas and next to a door that has windows in it —translucent ones, but you can make out shapes behind it, nonetheless— and all I can think is... Fuck.

  In the sense that, fuck, this man is gorgeous.