Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
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.
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.”
10
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.