Two Old Flames (MMF Menage Erotica) Read online

  "I have never had this with anyone,” Stephen groaned into her back as Brian stroked her hair.

  She sighed. Stephen slowly withdrew from her butthole, the removal almost painful as her anus spasmed from the withdrawal. The three cuddled on the couch.

  Dawn replied, “Sure you did. Two years ago.”

  Both men sat up and looked at her intently. “We aren't going to let you out of our lives this time,” Stephen said.

  “Hey! You guys left me!”

  Brian jokingly punched Steve on the shoulder. “Idiot.”

  “You idiot!” Steve replied.

  “You're both idiots!” Dawn declared, laughing. “Idiots who had better be ready for more in a few hours,” she purred. Maybe the day wasn't so bad after all.

  The End

  Ready for More?

  Double Entry at the Office

  Want more hot MMF menage? Experienced "Penthouse Forum" and "Hustler" writer Meghan Boehners turns her attention to Big Jim, Little Jim, and Alicia -- a threesome working on Father's Day at a trucking company where some loads are so big they need to be packed in nice and tight...

  Alicia is looking for a new job and gets lucky -- very lucky -- when she's hired as an analyst with ex-college-football player Big Jim's trucking company.

  Her double entry skills come in handy in this office, especially when Little Jim -- misnamed, of course -- finds her and Big Jim working late, with files -- and bodies -- spread out on the desk.

  This menage a trois makes accounting hot, and Alicia has a chance at being Head Analyst -- a promotion you won't soon forget!

  *Warning*: contains graphic sexual content for readers 18 and older. Topics include: male-male-female threesome, anal sex, oral sex and raunchy fun!

  Here's a sample:

  I knew the day I started working at the trucking company that I would end up fucking my boss.

  What I never would have guessed was that I'd fuck his son at the office, too.

  And both at the same time. On Father's Day.

  Being hired as a Rate Analyst wasn't exactly my idea of a great career move, but the pay was decent, I got extra for working midnights, and where else can you learn the shipping code for "bull semen"? I mean -- seriously? People ship bull semen on a truck? Yep. Human semen, too. I'd hate to confuse those two and deal with the angry woman at the fertility clinic who discovered she'd just been metaphorically fucked by Ferdinand the Bull.

  But anyway. Speaking of fucking bulls -- my boss was built like one. Jim was an ex-football player, but not the type who let himself go to seed five years out of high school, you know? He'd played in college until he got injured, and then lost his football scholarship. Got his CDL and drove long haul for a few years while finishing his degree. Then he was made a vice president in the trucking industry and built his own little empire, starting Full Freight Trucking, Inc. before he was 40.

  The day I walked in for the interview, I knew I was done for.

  And wanted him to do me. Junior, however, was a bonus. A nice, healthy, strapping ten inch bonus.

  "So, Ms. Jaymes, I see you have database experience. Why would I want to hire you?" Jim Michaels took off his glasses and ran a muscled hand through his thick, brown hair. Blue eyes with mature laugh lines narrowed, his intelligence obvious. His interest was obvious, too, as he leaned back in his chair, arms behind his neck, khakis stretched across thick athlete's thighs and a crotch that bulged.

  A small mirror behind his desk showed my reflection. At 21 I still looked good. Busting my ass for three years to finish college early hadn't done me any good in the skin department, but I'd just spent the last eight weeks picking up some nude modeling work on the beach in southern California. The sun-washed hair and light tan made me look younger than I am, and as my eyes flitted across that bulge I licked my lips, my voice coming out a little huskier than I'd planned. "Because I'm very good with figures. Like you," I replied, nodding.

  He raised his eyebrows. I hadn't meant the double entendre, but now that it was out there and he reacted like that, I pushed it further. "I know how to handle a spread, I mean. I'm a great analyst," I explained, stressing the “anal” in the word.

  "I'll bet you are." His eyes had darkened and his voice turned to gravel, tight and choked. Those thick hands smoothed along the desktop as if caressing my skin and I felt myself get wet instantly. I've always been stacked, but now my nipples tightened and I felt like my breasts were balloons, and Jim's gaze was helium.

  He looked at the swell of my chest and nodded. "I'll bet you do. So what's the shipping code for bull semen?" Merry eyes twinkled.

  "I wouldn't know," I said as casually as possible, running a finger along my bottom lip as he tracked it. "I'm more familiar with human semen."

  He sighed. I knew that sigh. It's the sigh of a man desperately hoping that by letting the air out of his lungs he can let some of the blood out of his humongous erection, so he doesn't embarrass himself when he stands up.

  But it never works.

  Yet they always try.

  I stood and leaned over his desk. My red, flushed breasts showed in the mirror. My cheeks matched my boobs. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Michaels. An absolute pleasure."

  "Wait," he said, struggling to stand. He winced. Damn -- how big was that thing?

  "I haven't given you any details about the job," he continued. "It's yours if you want it. $25,000 a year plus benefits."

  "What kind of -- " my eyes shifted to his crotch, then back to his eyes, "-- benefits?"

  "Fringe, honey. Fringe benefits." He stifled a smile and looked like George Clooney.

  I widened my eyes, trying to look all innocent and shit. "Oh, I've never had fringe benefits before. That sounds like fun."

  He grinned and nodded. “So you accept?”

  “Well,” I drawled, stretching the word out. Time to negotiate. “Twenty-five seems kind of low. You know – for someone with my anal—er, accounting skills. I'm particularly good at double entry, you know.” No stranger to finding ways to squeeze a man out of more money, I knew how this worked. He would try to dicker me down, and I'd appeal to his dick to raise me up.

  A new respect flickered through his eyes. “You know more about business than I'd have imagined,” he said, nodding. The crisp shirt and khakis reminded me of my high school math teachers, all football coaches. I'd gone back and fucked most of them, and they'd all been amazing in bed. Most loved the cheerleader fantasy, too. I wondered if Big Jim liked a pom-pom handle up his ass like the middle school football coach had – while I wore pasties and saddle shoes and cheered for him.

  He pressed his lips together in a pensive expression, considering his bid. “What figure are you looking at, Alicia?” he asked.

  Giving him the onceover made him blush. Oooo, I liked that. “My ideal figure.” I sighed. “Thirty-five would be better.”

  “Let's split the difference. Thirty? Plus ample room for bonuses.” He stressed the word “ample” while hungry eyes nearly ate my breasts from across the desk.

  I reached for his hand to shake it. His firm grasp made me nearly come right there. Sheer force of will kept me from pulling a Meg Ryan right there. "I'll have what she's having" -- indeed. Except that what I needed right then was a double-headed dildo that would stretch from pussy to ass, with Mr. Michaels licking my clit until I exploded.

  "I'll administer them personally," he assured me, handing me his card. "So you'll start Monday?"

  "I'll start Monday, Mr. Michaels."

  "Call me Jim, Alicia."

  "OK, Jim. See you Monday."

  And I had started that Monday and a month later I found myself with that double-headed dildo after all. And Big Jim and Little Jim. Only "Little" Jim was a very, very unfair nickname for the company's second in command.

  It was Father's Day, and Jim had been coming on to me for weeks. Most of the guys were fathers and asked for the day off ,so I was covering the entire shift alone, doing the work of four people. Saturday midnigh
ts were quiet anyhow, so it was no big deal, but at 2 a.m. Jim showed up, looking half asleep and upset. Even rumpled and sleepy he was gorgeous and made my nipples tingle.

  "What's up?" I asked, one hand on the 10-key pad, mindlessly coding and looking at rate bills, wiggling slightly to scratch my clit's new eager itch. We got a bonus for faster processing, and I'd turned out to be the fastest rate analyst on third shift. I needed the extra money, and that 10 percent would mean the difference between making rent or eating protein this month.

  "We had a computer malfunction. A bunch of product went to Pittsburgh when it should have gone to Cleveland." He wasn't angry, just frazzled and stressed. This was a different Jim. Normally, he was a jock's jock, a 40-something guy who knew himself and who flirted with a two-by four. Sexual harassment wasn't something you reported at this company. It was something you expected.

  A fringe benefit.

  With his delicious looks, I didn't mind at all. In fact, I wished he'd asked for more. Especially at night, alone in my studio apartment, just me and my rabbit vibrator. Thoughts of Jim kept me going, the hum of my rabbit stroking my clit, my fingers moving to my tight ass, lubing up and giving myself some pleasure, imagining Jim's face there, Jim's lips there, his big cock pushing gently against my ass, gliding in through the muscle clench and sending me into a frenzy. The rabbit was great, filling me and driving my clit into spasms that stretched through my pussy and anus, but it wasn't the same as Jim.

  Big Jim.

  Now he was here, and we were almost alone. A few guys and one woman were at the loading docks, smoking and playing cards, waiting for a new shipment. One more hour 'til the new line of trucks came in with some overnight deliveries.

  This was my only chance.

  I wasn't going to fuck it up.

  Well...I was, actually. Going to fuck it, that is.

  "You seem tense," I said, walking up to him and caressing his shoulders. "Let me give you a massage." His neck was like granite under silk, the skin so smooth I almost cried with the sheer luxury of being allowed to touch it. Tight cords of muscle slid under the tan skin, and as I kneaded and stroked, he relaxed visibly, then audibly as he exhaled. One [art of him tightened, though. His sweat pants were leaving nothing to the imagination, and as his cock rose I gasped involuntarily. It was that big.

  Oh, God, my pussy ached for that in me. A small moan escaped through my parted lips, and then I noticed Jim's eyes were watching me as I stared at his crotch....

  Want more? Read the rest at Double Entry at the Office.

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  Traffic was a bitch on I-95, and I knew I'd be late. Some dark-haired asshole who looked like an FBI-type in a Beemer and Oakley mirror sunglasses tried to cut me off when I was three cars away from the tollbooth as I eased off the turnpike onto the interstate. Came within an inch of my bumper. White hot rage shot through me, along with a flushed, hyper-alert sense. No way. I sat in this fucking line for 20 minutes and now Mr. Entitlement USA thinks he can cut me off?

  He waved and shrugged, like he was oh-so-innocently asking for a small favor. I shook my head slowly, glad I was wearing sunglasses, too, because the red-hot death ray would have shot out my eyes and burned him to a gristled little crisp.

  He smirked and shot forward, tapping my bumper. Fuck you, buddy. My car is crappier than yours and I am insured. You hit me, you're slumming.

  I eased up and turned the wheel slightly to the left. No way I was hitting him. Ever vigilant, I made it so that in this game of chicken, I would win. Move an inch, take an inch. Like sex, I was doing to get what I wanted.

  Right now.

  He backed off and I moved forward, victorious. BAM! Take that. Someone with less determination than me right behind me let him in. I looked in my rearview mirror and realized he was flipping me off.

  So I shot him the bird back. Fuuuuuuuuck you, dude.

  And then he proceeded to follow me. Fine. Whatever. We were trapped in gridlock for the cloverleaf onto I-95, so I pulled out my makeup case. I always ran out the door a few minutes late, so I'd learned to prioritize. Powder, blush, mascara, lipstick. Done. I'm sure in a few years I'll need a hell of a lot more makeup, but at 21 the worst I need is a little undereye concealer if I party all night and come into work a little hung over.

  Not true today, though. I got what I needed last night. My boyfriend, Darren, finally put out. That man has a tongue that could lick the moon if he really tried. Damn. Too bad he has to drink a six pack before he's willing to go down. My clit appreciated the effort, and it was a nice change from our boring, vanilla sex. I mean, missionary position is nice once in a while – what woman doesn't like to have a broad man's back to grab onto and scratch when she's screaming and coming like a freight train with a full load – but every single time?

  If I climbed on top of him and rode his pole he practically yawned. Getting that tongue to flick my pussy took a ton of alcohol. And when I suggested using a strap-on last night, that had, apparently, been the last straw for poor old Darren. His baby blue eyes had bugged out of his head.

  “Lindsay, you're nuts!” I'd never seen a person actually spring out of bed, but Darren managed it, naked and loopy from the beer. We hadn't even had intercourse yet; he'd finally gone down on me and I'd been moaning with pleasure just a few seconds ago.

  “No – it's just a thought. I figured we could be adventurous.”

  “By shoving a plastic dick up my ass?” Now he was scrambling into his jeans. He yelped – catching some pubes in his zipper as he rushed. I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.

  Ah, damn, I wasn't going to get his cock in me now, was I? “Well,” I crooned, climbing across the bed on all fours, letting my breasts dangle and rub against the sheets, sending tendrils of lust down to my increasingly-wet pussy, “everyone has fantasies, you know? I just thought I'd – ”

  “No fucking way, Lindsay. I'm done. It's bad enough you want me to – ” he waved vaguely at my crotch – “put my mouth on, on that. But now you want to be the man and fuck me with a dildo you wear around your waist? You need to see a shrink.”

  Now I was pissed. “If anyone needs a shrink, Darren, it's you. If you have to liquor up in order to, well, lick her up, then you might be gay. Go find a nice bar with men and explore a little. Have a nice life.” I'd been screaming the words as he walked down my apartment hallway and slammed the door just as I said the word “life.”

  And that had been my night. The end of a weird 6 weeks with Darren.

  So no undereye concealer today. I'd gotten off and ended a relationship. Today was about being reborn, cleansing myself, and just breathing. It was Friday and I had decided at the last minute, before running out the door, that I would go on a little trip, alone, to my parent's cabin in Vermont. Packed up some good erotic romance novels, my sex toy collection, and some Junior Mints, all neatly crammed into my laptop bag. Sitting in a cabin, watching porn and reading some good, raunchy shape-shifter crap was my idea of a cleanse.

  This asshole in the Beemer kept following me as I pulled off the interstate and went down the back roads to the office.

  And then pulled into my parking lot at work.

  He parked in a spot right by the main door. The spot that said “Reserved for the Vice President of Marketing.”

  I was the new marketing assistant.

  Oh, shit.

  The asshole in the Beemer was my boss. Mark.

  All I was trying to do was get to work on time. The damn turnpike is always crowded, but there's always someone at the front of the line who will let me in. A $50,000 contract at work was at stake; if I was late and lost the client, I'd lose my job.

  I drove up past the 40 or so cars in line and figured I'd edge in. And then I saw Lindsay, the new marketing assistant, in her little red compact car. Damn. It's like the universe read my mind. Just this morning the alarm clock had woken m
e out of a hot dream, with Lindsay the leading lady. She was only six years younger than me, and that auburn hair drove me wild. Were the silky curls leading to her womanhood auburn, too? Could my tongue blaze a trail through that blazing hair? My cock pushed against the zipper of my pants and I shifted in my seat.

  Surely she'd let me in – she knew how important this client meeting was. I eased my dad's Beemer into place and tried to get ahead of her.

  No dice. So I stared at her, hoping she'd recognize me. When she finally looked at me, her cool gaze turned me on even more. Rich hair the color of copper pipes, with painted lips so full they could take on my erect cock – and more. Her pert nose rested perfectly under a pair of sunglasses, skin the color of new milk. And I could see a hint of breast in her cleavage under the suit jacket she wore, unbuttoned and hanging under her seat belt. And beneath the steering wheel I knew those long, lean legs were pushing pedals, while my hand wanted to reach down, slide up her calf, over her thigh, and stroke her off.

  My hand actually reached for my own damn thigh and nearly unzipped my pants and stroked off right then and there. Instead, I clamped down on my own steering wheel and smiled at her, then shrugged.

  She shook her head “no.” Ah, come on! I shot her a nasty look and beeped my horn, a friendly tap. She turned away and grabbed her steering wheel.

  So it was going to be like that, huh?

  Winning games of “chicken” was my specialty. I tightened up and pushed forward, inches at a time, trying to get her to let me in. She fought back, though, and I tapped her with the BMW's bumper. My parents would kill me if I cracked it, though. I'd have to let Lindsay win.