Dirty Daddies Page 19

  “Fuck,” he says. “This is fucking insane.”

  I spread my pussy lips for him. Jack fucks me hard. Really fucking hard.

  I love the way it aches.

  I love the way my pussy wants to take him, even though I’m sore inside.

  “It’s not so bad, Mike,” Jack growls. “Just do it, man.”

  “Fuck,” Michael says again, and drops to his knees.

  I take his hair in my hands before he can change his mind. Guide him to my clit before he can think himself out of it.

  And it’s perfect. His mouth is perfect.

  “We’re gonna make you take whatever we want after this,” Jack growls and I smile. “You fucking owe us.”

  I sure hope so. I hope they make me take everything.

  Michael doesn’t stay down there long. Just a quick suck and he gets back to his feet.

  I take his dick in my hand and rub him, moaning under the water as Jack fucks me hard.

  And then Jack stops. I groan as he pulls from my pussy, taken aback as he manhandles me onto my knees.

  “Open that dirty little mouth nice and wide for us,” he barks, and I do, I open nice and wide.

  They stand under the water, both of them side by side, working their huge fucking dicks as I stare up through wet lashes.

  “We love you, you filthy little minx,” Jack says and spurts thick cum right onto my tongue. I let it dribble to the back of my mouth, angling my face to Mike as he groans.

  Mike comes hard, splattering my whole face as his dick spurts. It goes up my nose and in my eye and it stings like fuck but I don’t fucking care.

  I wipe my eye and lick my lips, giggling like the dirty little whore I feel.

  A loved, spent, dirty little whore.

  Their little whore.

  And this little whore is just about ready for bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Michael

  I don’t know who I am anymore as I wake up in bed with my best friend and the girl whose pussy we both pounded last night.

  My dick is already at half mast, even though my stomach is churning at the thought of it all.

  Carrie is still asleep between us, her face resting on my arm and her ankle over mine. She looks peaceful in the warm morning light, nothing like the dirty girl who begged for dick last night.

  Sleeping next to her was beautiful. Her limbs tangled in mine after so long sleeping alone was exquisite.

  Having Jack on the other side of her really shouldn’t seem like such a big deal after what went down in the shower, but it still has me reeling.

  Fuck, the shower.

  My cock twitches at the thought and I grimace, not sure whether to jerk myself to hardness or jump right on back in to hose myself down cold.

  I don’t know how this happened, and I don’t know why I can’t stop.

  I don’t know why I’m tumbling down the rabbit hole without so much as an attempt to slow my fall.

  That’s a lie. As soon as Carrie yawns in her sleep and her nose wrinkles I know exactly why I’ve fallen so willingly.

  Jack props himself up on an elbow and stares over. The guy’s hair is too short for bed hair and I’m jealous because mine feels like a nest on my head.

  I flash him a look, conveying just how many variations of fucked-up I’m feeling right now.

  He gestures to the bedroom door and I nod, freeing myself so gently from Carrie’s grip as I slip out of the covers and follow him.

  My fucking clothes are nowhere to be seen, just a pair of boxers that I scoop up from the bathroom floor.

  I have to traipse downstairs in my underwear after my naked best friend like this isn’t the weirdest fucking setup we’ve ever been in. He pulls on his t-shirt in the living room and I step into my discarded trousers with a sigh of relief.

  “Let’s get a coffee before we say anything,” Jack says, and that’s probably for the best.

  He sticks the kettle on and I take a seat at the island, amazed at the fact that it’s tiredness, not a hangover, that has me feeling like a bag of shit. I can’t even say I was drunk. I wasn’t even close.

  And neither was he.

  “Thanks,” I say as Jack puts a hot mug of black in front of me.

  “The Carrie Wells effect,” he laughs. “You weren’t fucking joking.”

  “Glad you’re finding this hilarious.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

  “We did filthy things to an eighteen year old girl with serious behavioural and emotional challenges last night. A girl who was on my books until a matter of weeks ago.”

  He shrugs. “I think you’ll find her behavioural challenges are improving. Her emotional ones, too. Our therapy has been far more successful that anything you did with her on the books, if you don’t mine me saying.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “I think it is,” he says. “She’s happy. We’re happy.”

  “Are we?” I ask, shaking my head about the whole thing before I take a swig of coffee. It goes down like a dream.

  “I’m fucking happy,” he tells me. “You seemed pretty damn happy too last night. We hardly dragged you up there kicking and screaming, you were the one who gave me the nod before we even touched the girl.” He pauses. “Is this about your job?”

  My eyes burn his. “Of course it’s not about my job. This goes way beyond my job.”

  “Then what’s it about? Being too close to another man’s dick? Because truth be told, I’m not too stoked on that bit myself, but I’m getting over it.”

  “It’s not about your dick,” I tell him, even though the memory makes my heart pound.

  “Then what? Wasn’t it as good as you thought it would be?”

  I shake my head. “It’s got nothing to do with how good I thought it would be.” The memories pile in and I’m embarrassed at how much I enjoyed it. All of it.

  “So enlighten me, because I’m missing a puzzle piece here. She wants us, we want her, she’s perfectly legal and perfectly willing, so we took her, we came a lot, she came a lot. The end.” He glugs back his coffee. “Now we need to work out what happens from here on in.”

  “I can’t do this,” I say, even though my dick hates me for it. “This isn’t who I am.”

  “You don’t know who you are,” he laughs, as though I’m the one who’s fucking crazy here. “Ever since you holed up with Molly you’ve been going through the motions of some cardboard cut-out ideal of normality. You think being nice has to make you a fucking saint, man. And it doesn’t.”

  “Just as well, isn’t it? Because I wasn’t exactly on my best behaviour when I was balls deep inside a girl I’m supposed to be taking care of.”

  “You are taking care of her. She’s more loved than she’s ever been.” He sighs and I realise he’s as churned up as I am. “You have to tell me what you want to do here, Mike, because I’m drawing a fucking blank.”

  And so am I.

  I stare into the coffee like it holds the answer to this whole fucked-up scenario.

  “I love her,” I tell him.

  “I know,” he says. “So do I. And you’re my best friend, so I love you too. Not in a gay way, before you think this is a come on. It’s not a fucking come on. I’ve no intention of putting my face any closer to your dick than it’s already been, regardless of what that dirty little minx upstairs has to say about it.”

  His stupid smile makes me smile back, and I remember again that this is Jack. My Jack. The Jack who’s always been on my team, no matter what.

  “My balls were on your chin,” I tell him, and he laughs.

  “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure mine were on yours too. Who’s fucking counting?” His expression turns serious. “Tell me honestly that you don’t want to do it again, and we’ll draw a line under it. We’ll never do it again. She can choose one of us, or live with both of us entirely platonically. Whatever. If you’re really serious about this not being for you, then it’s not viable for any of us.”

>   I stare at him.

  I think about it.

  Contemplate the reality of calling time on all this.

  And I don’t say another word.

  Carrie

  They aren’t there when I wake, and it cripples me. My heart races as I pull my knees to my chest, all alone in way too much bed.

  I scared them away. This whole crazy thing scared them away.

  I have to take a breath before I force myself out of bed. My hands are trembling as I grab a spare t-shirt from Jack’s open drawer. I tug it on and prepare myself to face the news.

  Prepare myself for the crushing blow of having them both change their minds and throw me away.

  It wouldn’t be the first time.

  I head downstairs slowly, being so quiet on the stairs. I peek around the corner at the bottom, listening out for any sign of them.

  The kitchen door is open at the far end. I hear low voices and wonder what they’re saying about me.

  If they’re working out how best to let me go.

  I could cry as I head closer, teeth gritted tight so they don’t see me break, but when I reach the open doorway it’s not a load of thanks but no thanks excuses waiting for me, but smiles and open arms and a fresh pot of coffee.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” Jack greets. He pulls me in tight and I take a deep breath against his chest. “We thought we’d let you rest.”

  “I thought you’d left me,” I admit, and he grabs my shoulders.

  His eyes are fierce. “Never,” he says. “You’re too under our skin to get away from us that easily.”

  It’s all I can do to smile, anything more and the relief would come out in stupid tears.

  Michael kisses my cheek on his way past to pour me a coffee. “You look cute in your sleep,” he says, and my words come back.

  “I look cute all the time, even when I’m being a bratty little cow.”

  “Keep on telling yourself that,” Jack says and pinches my nose.

  I hitch myself up onto the stool between them and take my coffee gratefully. I don’t know what to talk about so I don’t say anything, for once in my life trusting my fate to other people.

  I’m tired of guarding myself so hard all the time.

  “What do you want to do today?” Michael asks.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that question before.

  My answer is surprisingly easy to find. “I want to show you my fences,” I tell them. “I want you to see how great it is out there.”

  Jack raises an eyebrow. “The great outdoors. It’s been a while since I went out trekking.”

  “It’s hardly a trek,” Michael says. “You have a few fields, not a national park.”

  “It’s quite a few fields,” I tell him. “Plenty enough for a load of sheep and some goats, and maybe some ponies too.”

  “Or plenty enough to let the grass grow just fine without them,” Jack says. “I’m hardly much of a farmer.”

  But I am, at least I want to be. I really want goats and sheep and maybe some chickens. And ponies. Dogs, too.

  I’m getting carried away but I don’t care. Anything feels possible here.

  “Maybe Carrie can be a farmer,” Michael says and I smile to remember how well he’s gotten to know me over the months.

  “Maybe I can,” I grin.

  “Forget it,” Jack says. “One crow was enough.” But his eyes linger on mine, and I wonder.

  I daren’t even hope.

  “Right,” he says and finishes up his coffee. “You’d better get dressed, missy. I can’t wait to see your handiwork.”

  That’s good, because I can’t wait to show it to him either.

  Jack

  Sheep and goats and ponies.

  Fuck that.

  I can only imagine the chaos if our sweet little Carrie had a whole menagerie to take care of. And yet the thought makes me smile to myself as we leap across the brook after her.

  She’s so alive out here, our gypsy girl. Her wind-whipped hair flies wild and her cheeks are rosy pink. She’s nimble on the banks and quick over the fences, putting us to shame as she scrambles up and over in a flash.

  She belongs out here. This land is more hers than mine, even though it’s my name on the deeds.

  I make her wait for the praise, eyes like saucers as she watches me examine her new fence panels.

  “Well?” she asks finally. “Are they good or what?”

  I take a breath as though I’m about to deliver bad news, but Michael blows my ruse.

  “He’s dicking about with you,” he says. “He’s impressed.”

  “I’m impressed,” I admit. “You did great.”

  My heart flutters like a fucking sap as her chest puffs up proud. “I told you,” she says. “It’s in my blood. It’s all in my blood.”

  “Goats and sheep and chickens, too?” Michael adds.

  She nods. “And ponies. And dogs.”

  I tip my head. “Maybe a couple of chickens, for the eggs. You can clean the fuckers out though, they’re vicious.”

  Her shock is intoxicating. Almost enough to tell her she can have the whole bastard farm if she wants it.

  “Really?! I can have chickens?”

  “A couple,” I say. “Enough for the three of us to have eggs in the mornings.”

  I don’t realise what I’m saying until it’s out there in the air. Michael stares at me and I stare back, and Carrie stares between us with her pretty mouth open.

  “I mean, when you stay over,” I add, but it’s too late for that.

  I curse my big mouth when he doesn’t say a word, convinced that this may be the straw that breaks his sensible back and sends him running back to normality.

  But it doesn’t. Credit where it’s due, the guy is adapting much more readily to all this than I thought he would.

  “I like eggs,” he says. “I could be persuaded to muck in with the shit-shovelling if there was a hot breakfast on the other side of it.”

  “Deal,” Carrie says.

  I start walking before I can say anything else dumb, skirting the edge of the field as they follow behind, checking out Carrie’s hard work until I come to the spot on the bank that she must have taken her slutty selfie from. I recognise the tree down below, the line of hedge running off to the right.

  “You took it here, didn’t you?” I ask. “The dirty photo.”

  Her eyes are full of devilment. She marches up to me and plants her boot in the mud about a foot away. “Here,” she says. “I stood right here and I thought of you.”

  “What did you think about?” Michael asks, and I’m sure there’s a thickness to his voice.

  Carrie laughs before she answers. “I thought about showing you the selfie. I thought about how angry you might be if you knew I was flashing my tits around the countryside.”

  “There’s nobody about to see them,” I counter.

  But she grins.

  “There is today,” Michael says, and she nods.

  I think I’m beyond surprises at this point, but I’m not. The way he closes the distance between them and unzips her coat is nothing short of ferocious. She gasps as he tugs down her nice clean cami and her bra with it, offering up her pretty tits without hesitation.

  “I want you out here,” she says. “I want you both out here. It’s where I belong.”

  Mike takes her jeans down to her knees. He drops her onto the mud and guides her onto all fours like a man possessed.

  I don’t understand it until I hear him speak.

  “This is how I dreamt of you,” he tells her. “With your knees in the mud and the wind in your face.”

  I can’t help but grin as he takes out his dick and he’s rock hard.

  Carrie flattens her tits to the floor, the ground against her cheek. “Take me,” she hisses and he drops down behind her.

  I dig my dick out of my jeans and gawp like a fucking idiot, but this is their time. Their moment.

  She lets out a moan as he pushes inside her, and he gru
nts like a starving man over dinner. He drops his weight onto her, crushing her flat to the ground as her thighs struggle to open wide enough.

  “You’re so tight like this,” he says, and his movements are slow and deep as he savours it. Savours every fucking second.

  “Never stop loving me,” she hisses, like there’s any fucking chance of either of us giving this up.

  The girl’s pussy is the Holy Grail.

  She stares up at me as he fucks her, smiling as I work my dick in my hand.

  She stares up at me like she can see inside my soul, and I remember what a little mind-reader she is.

  And in that moment, I know that she sees how much I like watching him fuck her.

  This is way beyond sharing for me.

  This is way beyond a needs must situation.

  This is about the three of us now.

  Michael fucks her, blissfully unaware of my changing emotions. He fucks her until she squirms underneath him, whimpering and mewling as he slams into the right spot.

  She comes loud, and she’s filthy when she’s finished, her cheek smeared with mud, her cami top green with grass stains.

  And Michael’s fresh cum dribbling down her thighs when she gets up.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Carrie

  It’s warm in the middle, wedged tight between two hot bodies in Jack’s bed. I love it here.

  I try not to remember it’s Sunday night and they’ll be back at work again in the morning.

  Jack’s hand is on my stomach, Michael’s is in mine. One of my legs hooks Jack’s, the other hooks his.

  I should be exhausted but I’m not. I should be ready for sleep after an afternoon trekking through fields, my pussy sore from taking Michael again earlier.

  But I’m not.

  I want them both again and I want them now. I can’t get enough of them.

  I can’t get enough of them loving me. Wanting me. Taking care of me.

  I can’t get enough of the way I know they’ll pull me back in line whenever I get too much, either.

  Rough. That’s what I want.