Donkey Doubled: A Twin Stepbrother Menage Romance Read online

  I gasp, I moan, I breathe deeply to Zach’s reassurance and when I think there is no way I can take Jack’s hugeness inside, my pussy relents and I swallow his length inside me.

  Nothing I have experienced so far on this earth even comes close. Masturbating to orgasm compared to this, is like eating gruel and never tasting fine dining.

  It is so good, I have to hold my breath and tense every single muscle in my body not to come. My pussy grips onto Jack’s cock and won’t let go. I take him as deep as I can and feel him everywhere inside me at once.

  “Ok?” Jack asks. “Like it?”

  “Mmmhmmm”, I offer, a garbled response, too overwhelmed to form proper words.

  Zach caresses the skin of my torso, working towards my breasts to draw circles around my hardened nipples, while Jack withdraws his huge cock, until his entire length is almost out of me completely, before he folds down again, rolling his hips forward and stretching his legs out, to fuck me hard and deep, his weight pressing me into the bed.

  I wrap my legs around his back, lock my ankles together and pull him towards me, while Zach looks on, his eyes a marbled mix of ecstatic excitement and fraternal pride.

  Jack and I roll together, our bodies as one, the sensation magnifying itself ten fold every second that passes, and despite this being the first time for us both, I feel like an expert already in an unknown field, and wonder how anything that we might do together subsequently could be good enough to beat this.

  Jack is reluctant to leave me, but fair with his time, and as excited to share as he is to have me all to himself.

  Zach needs little encouragement, and taking a slightly different approach, positions himself below me so I can mount him and ride his length up inside me, increasing the depth and intensity little by little as we go.

  Under, above, on my knees or with my back to the wall, these men could make me feel like there is nothing in this life I want to do more.

  Jack was close before he pulled out, but he held back as I have somehow managed to do too, but with Zach inside me I’m not sure I’ll be able to do the same again.

  I hold Jack’s hand in mine while he watches us, my eyes moving from one incredible man to the other.

  It’s closing in on me and I can feel it stronger than ever. Perfection has it’s limitations, and right now I feel like I’m peering into the abyss.

  Jack, more than happy with the part he’s played in this so far, desheaths himself from his condom, edging close enough to me when he’s ready for me to take hold of his cock in my hand.

  I can tell he’s close, without even needing to ask him. His glans has swollen purple with pride and twitches with every intention to explode.

  “Like this?” I ask, folding his foreskin back over his crown and directing him towards my heaving breasts. Jack nods, his muscles tense, his lower lip caught between his teeth, perhaps in case it trembles too much.

  “All together”, Zach says, taking control.

  “All together”, I echo.

  My heart beats like a drum in a tunnel, the dull thwack of blood racing through my veins. BOOM, a neuron fires, a jerk of lava along my spine, and I know I can’t hold it any more.

  “Fuck”, Jack says seeing me, his cock too hot in my hands. “I’m going to-.”

  “Me too”, Zach agrees, his back arched up, the muscles in his neck tense.

  “I’m coming”, I moan. “Fuck, I’m coming.”

  It’s orchestral. Like a symphony we explode in orgasmic ecstasy together, Jack’s cock spitting hot ribbons of silky cum across my chest, while Zach swells even larger up inside me, to deposit his load hot against my womb.

  I’m shaking like a leaf in the wind, attached, but barely, to the reality it once knew. I’m gasping for air, or moaning, I’m not entirely sure which, my body hot and damp, sensitive and explosive all in one incredible, unparalleled, seemingly unending moment in time, and lost, but found all at once.

  Jack has come hard, and I can only imagine Zach has done the same, and while he slowly pulls himself out of me, I feel myself come again at the thought of what we’ve just done, the consequence of it too overwhelming to ignore.

  A hot hand on my forehead to gather the hair there and sweep it away in organised symmetry feels so abstract in its detail and so comforting in its casual familiarity that for a moment I’m unsure whether something has changed forever inside me. Other touches across my body make my brain hurt with activity, the skin there as sensitive as exposed nerve endings, and until the echoes of my orgasm have ebbed away, I can neither speak nor do little other that fold myself into the bed below me and smile away like an absolute maniac.

  Jack lies to one side of me and Zach to the other, and when I’ve finally calmed down enough to reach out, I venture with both hands and pull them towards me.

  “That”, I begin slowly, still unsure whether I’ll be able to control my voice, “was-.”

  “Incredible”, the twins say in chorus, taking the words right out of my mouth.

  I lower the notebook solemnly, silence filling the void my voice has now left. Marcy begins to clap slowly, reverently, the sound echoing in the enclosed space of the car.

  “Did you like it?” I ask, embarrassed, but just about bolstered enough by the alcohol Marcy has obliged me to drink.

  “You are something else”, Marcy says. “I can’t, I don’t even have words. You’ve made me horny. I’m horny right now. My panties are soaking wet.”

  “Ewww”, I say.

  Marcy is shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

  “You think it’s too much?” I ask.

  “Not that, you. Such an innocent looking girl as well.”

  “We all have needs, Marcy. Anyway, you asked me to bring you the dirty bits, so there you are, the dirty bits.”

  “If they even knew”, Marcy says.

  “Hey”, I say, “this stays between me and you. Got it? I don’t show anyone this, ever. I’m only showing you because you’re my best friend and it doesn’t matter now anyway, because what tiny slither of hope I had of this happening with Donkey is now never going to happen at all, ever, no matter how much I want it to.”

  “Alright, keep your panties on E.L James, I won’t share your dirty secret double life obsession with anyone, I promise”, Marcy swears.

  “Thank you”, I say.

  “I might ask you to read it to me again, though.”

  “Marcy!”

  “Come on”, she says excitedly. “You’ve got me all horny and neither of us have got dates. This fucking sucks. This is prom night and we should be getting laid.”

  I take the bottle from here and dare myself another sip of the sweet but sickly syrup. I already feel a little drunk, but fuck it. I can let myself go for one night, can’t I?

  “At least he bought us the booze”, I say.

  Marcy doesn’t look like she agrees with me.

  “Come on, there are tonnes of great looking guys that are way better for you than Matt Briers”, I say. “At least you had a date lined up, I didn’t even have that.”

  “You should have asked them”, Marcy says, taking the bottle back from me.

  “They should have asked me”, I grumble, still sore that they didn’t.

  “Well”, Marcy muses, “at least they’re not with anyone else instead, and you’ll see them at the afterparty won’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  “Exactly. Maybe you guys can find a room and you know, be all like, uh yeah, fuck me hard, I’m coming, yeah, oh yeah right there that’s it, harder, harder-.”

  Marcy can’t finish her sentence for laughing, that and the fact that I push her to shut her up.

  “I shouldn’t have read it to you”, I giggle. “And anyway, it was romantic, it wasn’t pornographic.”

  “You have got a dangerous imagination, you know that?” Marcy says.

  “Three point nine GPA”, I remind her.

  “You might have got a four-point-O if you’d handed in something as sexy.�
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  “I might have got expelled”, I suggest.

  “I can’t wait to read how it turns out”, Marcy says, nodding towards my notebook.

  “That’s it”, I say. “I couldn’t write anymore because-”, I pause, thinking how best to lie myself out of a sentence I’ve accidentally found myself halfway through. “-Mom had dinner on the table”, I choose as the most plausible option.

  I don’t know if Marcy believes me but she doesn’t push it. I certainly don’t tell her that I couldn’t write anymore because I was too busy coming hard at my own imagination. If the fantasy itself wasn’t embarrassing enough already, the fact I couldn’t exercise enough willpower to stop myself from masturbating definitely is.

  “You’ll have to find another set of twins at college to perv over”, Marcy suggests.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone like Donkey”, I say, “And perv, is way stronger than what I’ve been doing.”

  “Binoculars at race practise”, Marcy reminds me.

  “Your idea”, I counter. “And besides which, you found that spot. Don’t deny you enjoyed those Wednesdays as much as me.”

  “You’re right”, Marcy confesses. “Donkey is a very special animal indeed. It’s going to take a lot to tame that one.”

  I feel suddenly worried and a whole lot jealous. “I bet it doesn’t take long”, I say. “LSU football team and potential professional careers in any one of a number of sports is quite appealing if you ask me.”

  “No-one managed to catch their eye at Walter Willis high for too long”, Marcy suggests.

  “Come on, Marcy, our high school and this community is tiny compared to what awaits them”, I say. “I’ve lost them, that’s it. At the end of the summer, Donkey are going to be out of my life forever.”

  “Come on, don’t be so morose.”

  She passes me the bottle and then offers me a cigarette but I don’t take it. “You’re still next door neighbours, that’s not going to change any time soon is it?”

  “Yeah, a constant reminder of what could have been”, I muse.

  “You’ll get to college in the fall and men will be falling over themselves to be with you”, Marcy says. “I know you don’t believe it Jenny, but you are a beautiful girl.”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “Seriously”, she confirms.

  “You don’t just have to say that because we’re best friends, you know?” I say.

  “I’m not saying it because we’re best friends, I’m saying it because it’s true. Honestly. I mean, look at me compared to you. I’ve got red hair that won’t go straight no matter how hard I force it to, I’ve got buck teeth, freckles, fat arms and worse tits.”

  “You have not got fat arms”, I say. “Or worse tits.”

  “The point is”, Marcy continues. “We get what we get and the sooner you make peace with that, the better. There’ll be someone for you, Jenny, and you’ll find them soon enough, whether it’s Donkey or not.”

  “Thanks”, I say.

  “Sure”, Marcy says. “And by the way, let anyone read that notebook of yours and you’ll have men buzzing around you like flies.”

  I put the notebook into my bag and shut the clasp. “No one is reading that but me”, I say.

  “Spoilsport”, Marcy jokes.

  Less than a mile away from here, hundreds of men and women on the cusp of adulthood are dancing around a school hall, flirting outrageously and experiencing a number of things I’m not, both good and bad. I’m dressed up, but if I’m honest, I’m happier here with Marcy, getting drunk on cheap alcohol, than I would be down there, alone or with anyone else but Donkey. I’m not missing out if the thing I want isn’t a viable option.

  Perhaps Jack and Zach were right, one girl taking two guys probably would be weird. I guess my parents are probably relieved too. Me not going has definitely saved them a hell of a lot of money.

  We’ll go to the after party, chillout, show our faces, say goodbye to the people we’ll never see again, and that will be more than enough, without the formality of an over-hyped ballroom dance to enable us to do so. I can do without that pressure anyway, and to be honest, I’ve never liked being the center of attention after all. I’m much better as the girl that blends into the crowd, the one that’s never meant to take the limelight, the person whose name nobody even remembers. I’m a cameo role in other people’s lives, a bit part that, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t matter at all.

  Fuck it. I guess I just need to accept the truth and move on. I’m never going to be the fucking protagonist because I’m just not cast for that role.

  “You okay?” Marcy asks me, and I realize I’m staring blankly out of the windshield vaguely at the lights of our town beyond.

  “Sure”, I say and shrug.

  “Good”, Marcy says, “because there is no way I can drink the rest of this alone and then drive back down that hill in a straight line.”

  “Done”, I say, taking the bottle from her.

  “And, by the way, coming on your tits, nice touch.”

  I nearly spit out the drink all over the dash.

  “Breasts, Marcy”, I say, when I’ve recomposed myself. “Keep it classy.”

  Marcy snatches the bottle back in a fit of giggles, and I pretend for a while I won’t let her have it.

  “Read it to me again”, she says, when I’ve finally given in.

  “Once upon a time”, I begin, trying my best not to laugh, “there were two guys with these massive cocks, both called Donkey-”, and even before we open the second small bottle of rum, and I’ve fantasized again about my next door neighbors, I know I’m way drunker than I’ve ever been before.

  I have the feeling that this is going to be a night to remember, I won’t be able to remember.

  Chapter Eight

  Alex’s after party. I have no idea what time it is when Marcy and I eventually make our way down from monument hill - sensibly choosing to leave her car up there and stumble-walk the mile or so into town - but when we rock up at Alex’s house, uninvited, of course, it’s as if the party here has been going on for half the day and night already.

  There are people sprawled out on the expansive front and back lawns in various states of intoxication, a beer pong tournament arena where the dining room used to be, a stepladder on the diving board to the swimming pool held in place by a frayed length of tow rope, and mess and chaos everywhere.

  Marcy and I make our way through the huge house before settling on the kitchen, where I dive greedily into a bowl of cheetos.

  “They’re not here”, I shout to Marcy over the loud music.

  “It’s probably still early”, she shouts back. “Give it time.”

  I watch her bypass the extensive offering of finger food out on the floating island in front of us and head straight for the huge double fridge. Marcy has the strongest constitution of anyone I know. I don’t drink often, but Marcy makes it look like second nature. With her red hair tied up lazily at the back of her head, held in place by a broken pencil, that plaid shirt rolled up beyond the elbows and her kick-ass denim shorts, she could pass as the Sailor Jerry girl. No wonder she likes rum too much. All she needs is a tattoo of an anchor on her arm and she’d be perfect.

  “We might as well enjoy ourselves while we wait for them”, she says, the glow of the fridge light bathing her face in what could be mistaken for a biblical hue.

  The last thing I need is another drink right now, but I reason that one more won’t hurt, especially if I dance it off later.

  I expertly catch the beer that Marcy throws to me, more surprised than anyone I haven’t let it slip through my fingers.

  There is a DJ in the corner of the living room playing music so loudly the windows are humming in their frames, and speakers next to him bigger than he is. I suggest to Marcy that we either make our way upstairs to one of the bedrooms, or outside, where most people seem to be, to avoid permanent ear damage.

  With a cigarette in her mouth, her s
hirt sleeves rolled up over the packet itself and a determined look in her eye, she nods towards the back door and valiantly we make our way to the throng of people in wet clothes or bathing costumes who are gathered around the pool outside.

  I’m not good at parties, I’m putting that out there right now so you know. Marcy, on the other hand, is a consummate expert. Marcy has been going to parties since parties began to become a thing. She was conceived at a party, born at a party, raised at home to a continuous party and partying runs in her blood as much as worrying about going to them does in mine.

  I make sure I stick close to her because the last thing I want to do is find myself alone, like an animal that’s just realized it doesn’t know where it is or how on earth to get home.

  Whereas Marcy fully integrates herself into whichever environment she finds herself in, I’m more inclined to treat parties as sort of art galleries or museums in which there is little interaction between subject and object or even between myself and fellow attendees. In the same way I would those places, I wander around parties quietly, try not to cause too much of a fuss, look at extraordinary things with a sometimes bemused eye and then disappear again without leaving a mark.

  Marcy, however, likes to pick things up to see what they feel like. I mean, I would do too, I just don’t have the confidence she has to do so.

  Outside, we edge towards what looks like the biggest group.

  “Why the fuck is there a stepladder tied to the diving board?” Marcy asks the person who happens to be the closest to us when we choose a spot to stop.

  “That”, he says, pointing at it lazily with his beer can, and without taking his eyes of it. We watch someone crawl tentatively along the diving board, which is already a good couple of metres above the water, before climbing up the stepladder and standing on the platform at the top.

  “That’s kind of stupid”, I say, unable to take my eyes off what’s unfolding.

  “Yeah”, the guy says, “but it’s great fun to watch.”