Dirty Daddies(69)

“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.”