CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tyler
I let myself in the front door. Unlike my usual self, I was inordinately excited. I think both my twin and I had been having the same thoughts. Krissy was special to us, the first girl that we’d taken seriously, the first one we’d entered into a committed three-way relationship with. And it’s been an amazing experience. She’s sweet, sassy, and smart, all rolled into one beautiful package. I knew we wanted to keep her.
She’s only eighteen, it’s true, but she fit into our lives perfectly. She’s been helpful at the club, working coat check night after night, and given how little she’s paid, we appreciated her unfailing loyalty.
And after work finishes … god, in bed she’s amazing. She takes one of us, then the other, then both at once, and never says no. I mean, I don’t think she’s ever said no to sex when we ask, her body always willing, supple and nubile, ready to accommodate one cock or two.
The only problem is that she’s our sister. I’m not sure how we’re going to bring this up with our parents, much less the wider world, but first things first. If she’s pregnant, then all the more reason to make it legit and public.
But first, I wanted to confirm the good news. I strode into our bedroom, to see our little girl pale and motionless under the covers. She was gorgeous, her chestnut hair fanning out behind her, the sheets unable to hide the lusciousness of those curves.
“Shh,” said Troy, coming up behind me. “She was suffering from morning sickness, she’s gotta be pregnant bro,” he continued.
“Did she take a pregnancy test?” I asked.
“No, not yet, but what else could it be?” he asked. “She hasn’t gotten her period in two months.”
My brother was a dumb fuck. He wanted her to be pregnant so badly that he was ignoring the fact that her period may have been delayed due to stress, a change in diet, who knows? But honestly, I was just as elated and willing to engage in some magical thinking. If our little girl was pregnant … god, it made me so happy, the thought of being a father to her child.
Despite our hushed whisperings, Krissy woke up and caught us in the doorway, gazing at her as we spoke. Instead of smiling with welcome, she started crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks, her muffled sobbing heart-wrenching and miserable.
“What is it baby?” I murmured, stroking her head, sitting next to her on the bed. Troy sat on other side, holding her hand. “Is it the morning sickness? It’s bad, but it should get better,” I promised.
She cried for a bit, hopefully out of joy, but it didn’t seem like it. I’ve never cared much about a woman’s emotions, and this why being with Krissy is so amazing. She’s the first woman that I want to be attuned to, want to know what’s going on in her pretty little head.
But the crying continued for a few minutes, wrenching and sorrowful, and Troy and I looked on, puzzled. These definitely weren’t tears of joy.
“What is it baby?” Troy tried again. “What’s got you so unhappy?” he asked.
It came pouring out then.
“I went to your office,” Krissy choked. “You’re not the bouncer and bartender at Club Luxe … you’re the owners!” she accused.
“Yes, that’s true,” I said with a warning glance at Troy. Okay, so she’d broken into our office, which was bad, but never assume the worst without confirmation. “We’re the owners of Club Luxe,” I agreed, “and we also own a couple other businesses in the city,” I soothed.
“That’s not all,” she said, glaring at us. “I saw the files. I saw the videotape,” she said flatly. “You’re pimps. I saw that girl dance around naked, sucking you off, and then asking for a job as an escort,” she screeched, her voice growing in volume with each accusation. “You’re using women! You use women’s bodies to support your lifestyle! You’re criminals!” she screamed this time, waves of anger rolling from her small body.
I sat stock still for a minute, motionless, the air humming with tension. The things she was saying were technically true. We made money from women who had sex, taking a cut of their earnings. But explaining the complexities are tough – the way we protected our charges, that they were smart and hard-working women, appreciative of the job in most cases. And most weren’t lifelong hookers. Instead, they were women who needed some fast cash, and this was an easy route, with us as their middlemen, their protectors in some sense, as they tried to make a living.
Unfortunately, it sounded like the moral aspect meant a lot to our little sister, and she couldn’t absorb the nuances of our job just now.
“Shh,” I soothed. “Just sleep. You’re tired and sick, and when you wake up, we’ll explain,” I continued.
“Just rest, sister,” added Troy. “It’ll all make sense, I promise.”
But our assurances fell flat.
“How can I sleep?” she asked plaintively, her eyes filling with tears. “Especially if I’m pregnant. How can I go on knowing that the fathers of my baby are criminals?” she reiterated, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Hush, baby,” I said, leaning in for a kiss. “Don’t think about it right now. We’re going to do something to help you sleep,” I said, slowly pulling the sheet from her body.
And as if on cue, Troy got out the vibrator that he’d hidden in the bedside table. We’d been waiting for a special occasion to introduce her to a new mechanical friend, but it seemed that the toy could be put to good use now.
He flicked it onto the lowest setting, and the hot pink shaft began trembling, vibrating with a soothing, buzzing noise. Ever so slowly, he placed it against her cunny, letting her feel the shivers through her thin cotton panties.
“Oh brothers,” cried Krissy, tears in her eyes. She knew what we were trying to do, distract her, make her come, and then fall into an exhausted post-coital slumber. But her body knew what it needed, and she began to respond, tossing her head, squeezing her breasts through the tiny tank top as Troy pressed the vibrator insistently against her panties.
“Brothers,” she moaned, writhing and tossing in the bed. I helped her out of her tank top, while Troy pulled the panties off her legs, and there was our beautiful girl, nude and beautiful, her pink bits gleaming and moist already. I suckled one of her teats, that deep rose areola impossible to resist, and Troy joined me on her other breast, even as he tilted his wrist to drive the vibrator into her twat.
“Aieee!” Krissy moaned. She’s had plenty of dick in her, and there is no substitute for a thick, hot, live pole, but a good dildo can serve its purpose. Troy held still for a moment before cranking it up to its maximum setting and fucking her deep, letting the toy do its job.
The pink dildo slid in and out obscenely, penetrating those lush folds, the shaft slick and glossy with her female juices. Unable to resist, Troy pulled it out in the middle of fucking and sucked it for a moment, running his tongue along the plastic, lapping up that sweet female nectar, before slipping it back into her cunt for a deep, solid fuck.
And our little girl came hard, her cunny spasming on the toy, a gush of cream drenching my brother’s hand as her pussy clenched down on the shaft within. We held her as she rode the wave, moaning and panting in our arms, breathing in her soft femininity, savoring that beautiful, womanly lushness that was uniquely hers.
As her climax subsided, Troy pulled the toy from her body and handed it to me. Guiding the pole into my mouth, I too sampled her sweet cream, my turn to drink up that female ambrosia. And fuck, she tasted good, that twat tangy and delicious, the juice clear and glossy on my lips.
Krissy slowly sank into a deep sleep as my brother and I soothed her, cleaning off the dampness between her thighs before pulling up the sheet around her naked body. I admit that we lightly grazed our fingers over her tummy, adoringly stroking that still-flat plain, amazed that it would soon swell with our child.
And with a kiss, we left our beautiful, pregnant step-sister.