HUGE X3: A MFMM Menage Stepbrother Romance (20 page)

He
grunts behind me as his hands find my waist to hold me in place while he
thrusts.

"You
like that, Allyson? You like it when I fuck you like this.
 
You want me to fuck you harder?"

I
mumble something noncommittal and rest my head on the car. It's fantasy so I
don't even care that we're on the side of the road and can be seen by anyone
driving by. If I’m honest, the idea that someone might be watching just makes
me hotter. I lean over even more so he can go deeper. I'm not supposed to be
liking it but I feel so wet on the insides of my thighs. My body is betraying
me and Officer Carlisle can tell. It’s as if he can read all my dirty thoughts.

"You
want me to fuck you faster?" He reaches up to squeeze my breast again sending
another jolt of awareness to my pussy.

His
hands return to my waist, guiding me along his dick in a rhythm that drives me
crazy. It keeps me hovering close to the edge of orgasm, but not quite pushing
me over the edge. I feel it simmering just below the surface and I whimper and
moan, taking all the pleasure I can from his thrusts.
 

He
pounds into me harder until I feel my orgasm rising. My clit pulses. My pussy
throbs. After all the protests he's going to make me come and I can’t even feel
bad about it. He slips a hand between my legs, spreading my lips roughly and
exposing my swollen and vulnerable clit.
 
I imagine him pinching it hard and I do it to myself, bucking my hips
with the sensation.
 
I slip a finger
inside to coat it, and imagine the rough tip of my naughty cop’s finger rubbing
roughly against the most sensitive part of my body. Oh, it feels so damn good I
can hardly stand it.

All
pretense is gone now because I’m so desperate for release. I rock back into him
and he pumps harder and faster, cock hammering and finger rubbing, harder,
harder, harder until his beautiful big cock sends an orgasm crashing through my
body. The release is so sweet and seems to go on forever.

My
pussy clenches around Officer Carlisle’s imaginary cock that is really three of
my fingers. Spasms rack my body as I plunge them in and out to mimic what he
was doing in my fantasy. I gasp in breaths of air, eyes closed to maintain the
illusion I’ve created. My heart races so fast I feel woozy, drunk on pleasure
and hormones.

It was
the release I needed to keep my worries locked up in the box. I stretch out on
the bed, content, sleepy. The image of Officer Carlisle's face hovers in my
mind. His full lips almost grinning, his eyes twinkling. What I would do to
have his hands on my body again in reality, not just in my silly fantasies. But
for now, the fantasies will have to do because I’m definitely not planning on
breaking the law anytime soon, and I’ll probably never see him again.

3

CORY

I’ve
got less than an hour until the end of my shift when the call comes in. A
domestic dispute, half way across town and called in by a kid.

I hate
this shit.

Men
using their fists to control their women, taking out their anger and
frustrations on the people they should care for the most. Men using vile words
to reduce the people that love them to nothing. And worst of all, doing this in
front of innocent kids who grow up thinking that it’s normal to beat on their
family or it’s normal to expect a beating.

I can
deal with the bullshit bar fights and the driver disputes. I can deal with
chasing down thieves and arresting shoplifters. But seeing the terrified eyes
and bloody faces in crimes like this sets my fists clenching and my belly
filling with anger.

I’m in
my car, blue-lighting all the way. Most of the time with cases like this it’s
all died down by the time we arrive, but sometimes it has escalated into worse
that angry fists.
 

Sometimes
it ends up in tragedy.

Another
unit is also on its way so I know that I’ll have back-up. It’s not so much that
I worry about my own safety, more that my anger might lead me to do something
unprofessional. It takes a lot of restraint to stick within the letter of the
law sometimes.

The
property is nice, the lawn neat and flowers in boxes by the door. Domestic
abuse isn’t just an issue of poverty. The front door is closed and I knock
loudly, my hand on my weapon as I wait for it to open.

A boy
of about ten peeks around the door and his eyes fill with relief when he sees
me.

“Alright,
son. I’m Officer Carlisle. Can I come in?”

He
pulls the door open wide enough for me to enter the property. It all seems
quiet so I focus on him for a second, scanning him for injuries.
 
Thankfully he looks fine.

“Did
you dial 911?” I ask and he nods.

“Can
you show me where your mom is?”

He
pushes the front door until it clicks into place and then looks at the sliding
chain as though he wants to secure the premises.

“It’s
okay. Nothing's gonna happen while I’m here. What’s your name?”

“Jackson,”
he answers and starts down the hall.

I look
into every room we pass.
 
There’s a table
overturned in the den, and a couple of pictures have been knocked off the wall.
We pass what I assume is his room; painted blue with a racing car bed. At the
end of the hallway, I hear whimpers.

“Is
this where your mom is?” I ask Jackson, putting my hand on his shoulder before
we enter the room.

“Yes.”
I can feel his body trembling and I have an urge to pick up this boy who is on
the verge of becoming a man and hold him close. My father isn’t a massively
emotional person but I always felt his love when I was growing up. He showed me
what it means to be a good man and I hope that I reflect him in everything I
do. I don’t want this kid to hear any of what comes next. He’s been through
more than any kid ever should.

“Jackson,
will you go to your room and wait for me there?” I ask, making sure I’m looking
him right in the eye when I do. He blinks and stares back as though he’s trying
to decide whether he can trust me. He must see enough to reassure him because
he turns and heads back to his room.

At the
doorway to the master suite I call out. “Ma’am, my name is Officer Carlisle.
I’m coming in?”

I hear
a whimper from deep in the darkened room.

Jackson’s
mom is curled on her side on the bed. Her arms are clutched around her middle
and she’s weeping.

“Ma’am,
do you need an ambulance?”

“No,”
she whispers. “I don’t think so.”

I
kneel at the side of the bed, getting a look at her swollen face that is cut in
places and horribly bruised. There is blood in her blonde hair and on her
hands. There are bruises on her upper arms and wrists. She’s really been worked
over.

“You
look like you do,” I say softly. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

Her
eyes are just like Jackson’s but wet with tears. She nods once and I call it
in. “Your son doesn’t have to go with you. There’s another unit on the way.”

I
glance around the room and catch sight of a wedding picture on the nightstand.
The man I assume is Jackson’s dad is huge; at least a foot taller than his
wife. What kind of satisfaction can a man get from beating on someone weak and
helpless? I just don’t get it.

“Can
you get up?”

“I
think so.” She slides her jean-clad legs over the edge of the bed and rests her
bare feet on the hardwood. I can tell she’s embarrassed by the way she smooths
her hair, attempting to make herself presentable. She doesn’t want to look bad
in front of me and it breaks my heart.

“Where
did your husband go?” I know I’m going to get some serious satisfaction if I
can hunt the fucker down.

“Probably
back to Hudson’s, over on Fourth,” she sighs. “He always comes back from there
full of alcohol and anger.”

“You
need to press charges against him,” I say. “It’s not going to stop, no matter
how much you wish it would.”

She
nods but I get the feeling I’m not the first person to tell her that. In a lot
of cases like this the women are too scared to move on; fearful of the man or
of life without them. I can’t pretend to know what that’s like, and I won’t
judge if I haven’t walked a person’s path. Until you’ve been in their position
you can’t know what you would do.

There’s
a knock at the front door and I stand, helping this fragile woman to her feet.
We walk towards the front door just as Jackson is opening it. The second unit
comprises a huge African American officer called Marley, and a tiny female
officer called Angelique.
 
They make an
odd pair but I know how well they work together.

It’s
Marley who takes over with Jackson’s mom and leads her into the kitchen to get
her some water while we wait for the ambulance. He’s so gentle that I can see
her relaxing immediately. Angelique is talking to Jackson and follows him into
his room.
 
I hear them discussing Marvel
comics, debating who would beat who in a straight fight.

I open
the front door, looking around in case the man of the house happens to be
lurking outside. Sometimes the perps in domestic cases wait until the police
have left and then go back in and finish the job, blaming their partners for
getting them into trouble.

There’s
no one out there as far as I can see but I wait in the doorway, enjoying the
cool night air. It’s been a long shift. Pretty crappy stuff except the traffic
stop I did. That girl was something else. It took all my willpower to hold a
straight face when she was trying to sass me. All her attempts to flaunt her
assets in the hope I’d let her off without a ticket were very amusing.

I have
a thing for girls with long dark hair. It looks so good tangled around my
fingers. And her legs were so fucking long. They’d feel fantastic clutched around
my waist. My cock kicks under my uniform and I take a deep breath. I need to
keep my mind on the job but it’s hard when you’ve been faced with a devil in an
angel’s body. The way she looked at me, with one-part innocence and ten-parts
sin has got me intrigued. I’ve got her license plate. I could look her up on
the database back at the station. I shake my head at that ridiculous thought.
I’m a cop, not a fucking stalker.

The
thing is, I know I could break her off. She had that look in her eyes that’s begging
for someone to lay down the law. She’s a bad girl and she needs a good cop to
put her on the straight and narrow. Except, I’m probably never going to see her
again. Tempting or not, it looks like Allyson has become a stranger in the
night.

The
ambulance pulls up and I call for Marley to bring Jackson’s mom outside. Once
everything is settled, I get into my squad car and head back to the station.
It’s not until I’m home, that I realize I can smell Allyson on my palm.

Once
I’m undressed and settle in bed, I come into my own hand, with angel-Allyson’s
scent in my nose, and her pussy on my mind.

4

ALLYSON

I walk
through the mall in search of caffeine and my mom, in that order. After my
orgasm last night, I slept great but I woke up early to get things done around
the house. Mom spends a lot of her time with her new boyfriend so if I want
clean clothes it's up to me. Not that it's a bad thing to have the house to
myself sometimes.
 
Now that I’m at college,
I miss the comforts of home. Up until now, I’ve appreciated mom keeping her
social life to herself, too.
 
I’m glad I
haven’t had to put up with finding Jeff at the house all the time.

I spot
my mom, already sipping what looks like a latte, at our favorite java place. I
hurry through the mall ignoring the shops calling my name. Yes, I do need a new
skirt. I want those new shoes, but there will be time for shopping later. Mom
wanted to meet for a reason. As I approach she smiles but I can tell something
is wrong. Her smile is too wide, her eyes too bright.

"Sweetie,
you look great."

"Thanks,
mom. So do you. I didn’t see you this morning,” I say. She brushes invisible
dust off the table. "Were you home?”

“Yeah,”
I say.
 
I don’t want to tell her the
reason. “I was out of underwear.”

She
nods. "I didn't know what you wanted." She gestures towards the empty
spot on the table where my usual skinny latte should be sitting.

I
frown because she's not usually forgetful. Nine times out of ten I get the
skinny latte, mixing it up once in a while with an Americano or a tea. Odds
were in her favor if she went with the latte. Something's going on. I study her
face but the smile stays plastered there. Her hands are folded over each other
and resting on the table in a way that looks nervous.

"That's
okay. I need something a little stronger today. Want another?" I point to
her cup. She shakes her head, wrapping her hands around her mug as if to warm
them. On this sunny July day.

With a
glance over my shoulder, I hurry to wait in line. From this distance, I can still
see her. She pulls out her cell phone, flicks her finger over the screen and
smiles. The first genuine smile I've seen on her face since I arrived. She taps
a couple of times and puts the phone face down on the table. What is she
hiding?

The
java joint is packed and it takes forever to reach the barista. More time to
worry about what's up with my mom. She looks up and smiles at me, the huge fake
smile from before. I smile back, wondering what could be going on with her. I
order a large Americano and do my best not to tap my fingers on the counter
while the barista makes it for me. It's not her fault that everything in my
world feels so shaky right now. Feeling like I need some good karma, I drop a
dollar in the tip bowl and walk back to the table, teasing myself with the
scent of coffee as I go.

Once I
settle in and take a sip my eyes close in ecstasy. I need this caffeine to perk
me up so I can be understanding when my mom tells me whatever her bad news is.
I’m assuming bad news because she seems so flustered. She has all the telltale
signs of something eating her up inside. The napkin that came with her latte
lays on the table in a shredded mess. Though her phone is face down her eyes
dart to it every few seconds as if she's waiting for a call or a text message.

"How's
Jeff?"

She
jerks her head up and her eyes go wide. "He's fine. How are you? How was
the party?"

I
gasp, forgetting for a minute that I told her about it on the phone yesterday.
Instantly images of Drew’s snarling face flood my mind and tears prick behind
my eyes. I can’t cry here, not in front of Mom when she obviously has her own
stuff going on. I know she’ll want to know all the details and I can’t tell her
and see the disappointment on her face. I blink and force a smile, conjuring a
much nicer face into my mind; Officer Carlisle in all his stern glory. It
settles my racing heart, as though he’s reached out and pulled me against his
solid chest and told me everything’s going to be alright.

"It
was okay," I mumble.

I take
another sip of my coffee and study her with intense curiosity. She's never kept
anything from me before and while I can tell she wants to get something off her
chest, she can't seem to bring herself to. She fidgets in her chair, her hand
moving to the phone but stopping before picking it up.

"Mom,
is everything okay? What did you want to tell me?"

She
picks up her mug to take a sip but realizes it's empty. She puts it back on the
table. Her phone buzzes and she jumps, knocking over the sugar.

"I'm
such a klutz sometimes." She rights the sugar and wipes the fine white
particles into her mug then smiles up at me.

My mom
is a lot of things but she's never in her life been a klutz. "Mom, spill
it."

Her
shoulders slump forward, she grabs my hands, her eyes are earnest. "I want
you to know it won't change anything."

Panic
races through my body. Is she sick? Has something happened to someone in the
family? "What won't change anything?"

"Jeff
proposed!"

Joy
shines through her eyes. A huge smile turns up the corners of her mouth revealing
perfect, straight white teeth that she never tires of thanking her braces for.
Torn, I plaster a smile on my face as I lean over and hug her above the table.

"That's
great, Mom."

What
else do you say when your mother tells you she's getting married? Stomp your
feet and demand all of her attention? Remind her that Jeff is the first real
relationship she's had in years? It seems quick. Can she really be sure about
him?

It
will no longer be just me and my mom. Jeff will be her husband, not just a
boyfriend. I liked it when he was a boyfriend. Boyfriends are temporary.
Husbands seem so much more permanent.

"You
really think so, sweetie?"

"Of
course, I do. I guess I’m just a bit flustered because I’ve never met Jeff. I
feel like I should know something about him, now that he’s going to be my
stepfather?”

Another
wave of panic settles in my stomach. Would he move in with mom, into my home?
Would we have to move in with him? I try not to think about the details yet and
concentrate on my mom. Her eyes light up as she talks about him.

"You'll
love him. He's in law enforcement. A captain actually."

So my
new stepfather is a cop. Great. Not the best profession for a long term
commitment. The worry, and the long hours. So many law enforcement marriages
end in divorce. It’s one of the main themes in cop dramas on TV. I wonder if my
mother has thought through all of these things. Don't cops have baggage? Lots
of baggage. I'm not thinking about trysts during stakeouts, though that crosses
my mind too. But what about the other stuff? The drinking problems, abuse,
deep-seated emotional baggage. Scary stuff that my mom doesn't deserve, because
she’s been through it all before.

I
wonder how much my mom really knows about Jeff. Her words tumble out of her
mouth like she's a recording on high speed. She finally stops and takes a
breath.

"I
can't wait for you to meet him. There's a lot we have to talk about. Living
arrangements and stuff, but don't worry about that right now. It’ll be a few
months before we get to that."

She flicks
her hand out to show me her ring. I was so engrossed in the events of the night
before and worry that she was hiding something that I hadn't even seen the ring
on her finger. I take her hand and examine it. Not a bad cut, sparkly enough,
not too big but not small either. Jeff has decent taste in rings.

I look
up at my mom's bright eyes and grin. Great taste in women too.

"Nice
ring."

She
holds out her hand in front of herself to admire it. "It is, isn't
it?"

"Have
you talked about a date yet?"

"No
date yet. We wanted to talk it over with you and Cory first. It's the second
marriage for both of us so we don't want to go too big."

Of
course. Me and Cory. Who the hell is Cory?

"Cory?"
I ask.

"Did
I forget to mention Jeff has a son!"

I take
a deep breath and another hit of my coffee. A new stepfather and a stepbrother.
It seems as though I’ll be going from being an only child, to part of a family
of four. I can handle that, can't I?

The
idea of being a normal family grows on me the more I think about it. For so
long it's just been the two of us and while I love my mom to pieces, I always
wanted more. I wanted what my friends had; two parents that were looking out
for them, siblings to confide in. I’ve always thought those things were out of
reach.

I
wonder what Cory will be like. When I was younger I used to think about having
a brother or sister. I thought if I had a sibling I would always have someone
to play with. Not that I minded growing up an only child. Being the only kid in
the house had its advantages.

"Tell
me about my new stepbrother."

"He's
following in his father's footsteps. He's also a police officer."

Two
police officers in the soon-to-be family.

"Interesting.
Does he like being a cop?"

"They
both love it. You can ask them all about it tomorrow at dinner."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes,
if you can make it. Jeff wants to meet you and make it all official and I
really want you meet his son too. Can you make it?"

Fresh
panic sets in. I’ve got enough on my plate right now without having to play
happy families. What if I don't like them? What if they don't like me? This
could be a disaster.

I take
another sip of my Americano, draining the rest of it. Suddenly I need more
caffeine and maybe a little sugar now. All I want is for my mom to be happy. At
least one of us should have that luxury. She's been through a lot in her life
and deserves something good for a change. Silently I vow to be on my best
behavior tomorrow. If my mom loves him, he can't be horrible.

She
reaches over and pats my hand. "Relax, sweetie. It's just dinner. A chance
for us all to get to know each other better. Jeff will love you. And you'll
love him."

I hope
she's right. At least his son will be there, someone closer to my own age who I
can commiserate with while our parents make goo-goo eyes at each other. The
more I think about the two-parents-two kids-dynamic, the more I like the idea.
I'm looking forward to meeting Cory. Having a stepbrother might be fun. Having
someone else to trust, someone to talk to might be good for me.

"Okay,
sure. Dinner tomorrow sounds great."

"Wonderful!"

She
snatches the phone from the table and her fingers fly over the screen as she
types a message. A few seconds later it buzzes with a response.

"Jeff
can't wait to meet you," she says beaming.

"Tell
him I can't wait to meet him either."

She
types in the message and her posture relaxes. She's no longer fidgeting. A glow
takes over her face and I smile despite the nerves knotting my stomach.

I'm
always looking for an excuse to go shopping and a new insta-family is a perfect
reason. As soon as we’re done with coffee I'll stop by those shops and get
those shoes and that skirt. Anything to help make a good first impression.

Somehow
it will all work out. And I get a stepbrother. What could be wrong with that?