Chapter One

Thomas Winters III opened the door of his oceanfront condo, the one his parents had bought him as a refuge from the family mansion inland in Charred River. He already knew who was knocking. She’d called three times in the last hour and each time he’d told her not to come.

“Hello, Tom.”

Winters gripped the knob more tightly, tried to set his features into stone. On any other woman, a non-descript beige raincoat would leave him cold. On Andrea, however, it was just one more aphrodisiac. He swallowed hard. This little fling had gotten dangerously out of hand, and he meant to stare her down once and for all. “I’m not letting you in, Andrea. No matter what you say. It’s over. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Andrea Daniels smiled, green eyes flashing over a challenge. Brushing back her long, rain soaked hair—auburn with streaks of amber—she pouted her full red lips. “But it’s started raining,” she reminded him, her voice a sexy hum. “There’s a storm coming.”

Tom tried to look past her to the gray, water sopped Central Florida sky, but the eyes held him fast. So different from Ashley’s, though the two were identical twins. Ashley’s were a placid, moist sea green. Andrea’s were like jade, sharp and deadly. “For God’s sake,” Tom told Andrea, “Ash is in town tonight and the wedding is just three weeks away. She could easily come here.”

“Please, Tom? I need you.”

Something deep grabbed at him now, a combination of fear, desire and a growing sense of damnation. “She could come here tonight,” he heard himself repeat, his voice wooden and hollow. “You know she could.”

Andrea threw herself into his arms, burying her head to his chest. “To hell with Ashley,” she said fiercely, the scent of her wet hair and perfume filling his nostrils. “You’ll have your whole life to be with her, but you’ll only have me for a little while longer.”

Tom cursed as he saw the lights of the passing car. Seizing her shoulders, he pulled her inside and slammed the door behind them. Ostensibly it was an action designed to shield them from possible detection, but they both knew better than that.

“Wise choice, Baby.” Andrea snaked her arms round his neck, purring as she spoke. “You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

Tom felt the perspiration beading on his forehead. “I’ll let you stay till it stops raining,” he declared, pushing her away. “You’ll wait in the guest room till the storm passes.”

Andrea licked her lips. Her eyes were glazing over as her fingers moved to the buttons of her trench coat. “Are you sure you want to put me in another room?”

“Stop it, Andrea. Stop it right now.”

Her fingers were working the buttons, opening them, but revealing nothing as yet. “Make me.”

“I’m warning you, girl, that’s enough!” He took a step forward, menacingly, but then he froze. It occurred to him now that she wanted him angry, that this was part of her game. In a calmer voice, he said instead, “Be reasonable, Andrea, we’ve had our fun the last few weeks and now we need to think of your sister.”

“I am thinking of her,” Andrea insisted, her voice a husky whisper as she parted the halves of the coat, letting it slide off her back to reveal her perfectly sculpted, tanned body. “And I want you to think of her, too, while you’re fucking me. I am her body double, after all.”

Tom’s mouth went dry as he looked Ashley’s twin sister up and down. The luscious creature was utterly naked except for a harness and collar, high heels and a pair of black stockings held up by garters. The leather harness was black, metal studded, and it held her tight, wrapping round her ample breasts and cinching her narrow waist. From her belt a small whip dangled enticingly. He watched it sway as she approached him.

“Take me,” she whispered, breathless, inches from his face. “Do to me all the things you want to do to my virginal, stuck up sister. Show me, Tom. Use me, fuck me, make me pay for how hard she makes you, and how she leaves you like that over and over again.” Her fingers were at his crotch, massaging his swollen cock. “I’m Ashley,” she prodded him, taking his hand and putting it on top of her head. “Put me in my place.”

“Damn you,” he muttered through clenched teeth, as Andrea slipped to her knees, doing the one thing she knew he couldn’t resist. “Damn you to hell.”

“I’ll go wherever you tell me,” she vowed, opening the zipper of his khaki slacks. “I’m your slave, Tom. I’m your little doll. Your wicked Ashley doll.”

Tom sucked in a ragged breath, half pleasure, half shock as she pulled out his stiff cock, the cock that had been rock hard since her first call an hour ago. Oh, how she knew his weaknesses—using her tongue to lick the underside of his cock, teasing him to a frenzy, saying dirty things.

“Make me suck it,” she murmured, rubbing her face over his throbbing member. “Make me swallow you whole. Use the whip and make me.”

“Fucking bitch,” he growled, bending to seize her wet, lustrous hair in his hands.

Andrea smiled triumphantly as a line of drool ran enticingly from her mouth down to the cavern of her breasts. He bent her head back cruelly, wanting her to take all the blame—her, Andrea Elizabeth Daniels, Ashley’s wicked doppelganger, the opposite of everything sweet and pure that his fiancée represented. It was a role that suited Andrea well—the villainess, the sultry slut. In all honesty, he’d pushed it on her, just a bit, crying on her shoulder about Ash’s puritan ways and how lonely he was, but who could blame a man for losing his head around a woman like this?

“I am a bitch,” Andrea agreed, reading his thoughts, those green eyes of hers flashing again. “And I can prove it. The whole way here, you know what I was doing? I had my fingers in my cunt, thinking what you’d do to me—what you really want to do to her, things she’ll never let you do, ever.”

Using her hands, Andrea pushed up the underside of her breasts, displaying the coral tipped nipples to best advantage. “Take my tits, Tom. Squeeze my little nips. I see you looking at Ashley’s whenever they pop up under her blouse. You think she doesn’t know what she’s doing, teasing you all the time? You think she doesn’t get off, subconsciously, knowing what she can do to you?”

Tom moved his hands from Andrea’s hair. Her breasts were soft and warm, and so very helpless in his grip. Kneading, pinching, he could do whatever he wanted to them. How would he ever get enough of this? The woman was like a drug. How could it be he’d known her such a short time? Who was she, really, and why had she shown up in town out of the blue? Ashley hadn’t even known she’d had a twin till Andrea arrived six weeks ago. Apparently, she’d been raised by their father, Malcolm Daniels, her very existence having been kept secret by their mother, Libby.

The timing of Andrea’s homecoming probably had to do with the twins upcoming twenty second birthday, the magic date for the turnover of the trust fund from their mother Libby’s grandparents, a fortune in excess of twenty million dollars. Tom had counted on sharing the whole shooting match with Ashley, but now they were down to ten million, with Andrea getting the other ten.

“Oh, Tom, baby, that hurts so much,” Andrea sing singed, doing her best Ashley imitation. “Why oh why are you doing this to my poor titties?”

“Because I own them,” he said hoarsely, feeling himself getting sucked once more into her fantasy world. “And if you’re going to flaunt them, Ashley, you have to pay the price. As for your complaining mouth, you know where that belongs.”

Tom tightened his hold, compelling the moaning Andrea to take his cock deep in her mouth. In a nice, erotic touch, Andrea put her hands behind her back, symbolizing his total power over her and hers over him. It was a mysterious thing, this charge between them, and it had been evident from the first time they’d met. It was at a pricey Orlando restaurant, a get acquainted party, so the long lost Andrea could meet Ashley’s friends. How well he remembered the car ride back to her hotel, just the two of them. It was Ashley who’d insisted he drive her.

“Darling, do take her,” Ashley had said, touching his arm lightly. “I feel so light-headed, I need to sit down awhile. And take good care of her. She’s my new sister, half of my heart and I love her so much already.”

He’d been intrigued by Andrea, and so he complied, blabbing the whole way to her about how much she and her sister looked alike, even down to hair styles. Andrea kept teasing about exactly how much he knew of her sister’s body to make that assessment. He finally confessed—whined, actually—that he’d never even seen Ashley’s breasts let alone played with them, nor had he ever done more than brush her lips with one or two chaste kisses.

“Poor baby,” Andrea had said, sidling up to him as he drove. “You can see mine if you like.”

They’d laughed about it, chalking it up to a bad joke, but then, without cracking a smile, her eyes glowing, she’d said, “Of course, you could make me do it if you wanted to.”

He nearly ran off the road. One look at her in her silk blouse, half unbuttoned, hair tousled, wearing that tight skirt was all he needed. By the time he’d found a deserted street and pulled over, she was ready, sitting bolt upright, bra opened, blouse open to the waist. Hands in her lap, she leaned forward, giving him full access. She was so passive, so submissive, he nearly exploded in his pants. Oh, she felt good. And the whole time he was possessing her glorious mounds with his hands and sucking with his mouth, she kept telling him how Ashley should be doing this, giving pleasure with her body, making him happy, and that if she didn’t, she was liable to lose him.

“If I were Ashley,” she’d said hotly, throwing her head back, filling the windows with steam, “I would bare my breasts for you whenever you commanded. And my nipples would have to be hard for you, too, or else—”

“Or else what?” he’d croaked, coming up for air.

“Or else you’d have to punish me.”

That had been the beginning of the end. The words were like fire, like molten lava pouring down into his crotch. Clawing feverishly at his pants, he’d released his stiff cock so Andrea could take it deep down her throat. She did, working it as good as any whore he’d ever known. Better, in fact. After he’d finished, exploding down her throat, they’d held hands in silence all the way back to the hotel. Before she got out, Andrea slipped off her panties and handed them to him.

“If I were Ashley,” she’d said, “you could make me do this too, whenever you wanted.”

Wide eyed, he’d let her deliver a stinging soul kiss, in full view of the doorman. When Tom protested, she’d winked at him, pointing out that as far as anyone knew, she was Ashley Van Voorst, his lawful fiancée. She was right, he’d thought, watching her ass wiggle as she went to the door, it was the perfect affair. And every day since—up until he’d tried to break it off yesterday—they’d taken advantage, using every spare minute to be together.

Back in the present, Tom was at the brink of orgasm in Andrea’s mouth and she knew it. Smiling triumphantly, she pulled her soft lips off of him. Wrapping thumb and forefinger round the base of his penis, she held him at an exquisite impasse.

“Do you want to come?” she asked.

“Yes!” he cried, forgetting all his resolve. “Yes! Yes!”

“Then say it!” she demanded.

“I want to come!”

“You want to come on my tits—say it!”

“Oh, yes, I do,” he nodded wildly. “I want to come on your gorgeous tits.”

Andrea smirked in diabolic satisfaction. Trailing a nail over his scrotum, she made one final correction to his confession. “Say, ‘I want to come on your gorgeous tits, Ashley’.”

Tom thrashed his head. Through clenched teeth he said what she wanted, augmenting it with a string of profanities. In the end, she directed his pulsing spray to her chest, moaning in ecstasy as the milky substance splashed her mounds, dotting the surface and dripping down her belly.

Utterly spent, Tom staggered to the couch, nearly tripping over his pants, which were still gathered around his ankles. Meanwhile, Andrea thrust her hand between her legs bringing herself to a massive orgasm, as large as it was instantaneous.

“I have to be punished,” she said afterwards, crawling to him on her knees, putting her palms on his thighs, thrusting her semen covered tits in his face. “Do you hear me? I’ve been very bad.”

Half asleep, he asked her what she’d done.

Andrea dug in with her nails, to get his attention. “I’ve been fucking other men, behind your back.”

Tom pushed her down to the floor, blood pounding, though he knew it was all just another game. “Tell me what you did. Tell me now.”

Andrea fell on her behind, spreading her legs as she fell. Dipping a finger in her pussy she gasped as Tom reached to pull his belt from the loops of his discarded pants. He’d never used it on her, but the mere implication could often make her come.

“The last time was this morning,” she said, rubbing her fingers over her swollen sex. “In the hotel elevator. I let a bellhop have me.”

Tom felt himself hardening again, only moments after the last orgasm. “Take your hand out of your pussy and tell me.”

Andrea put her hands seductively over her head, palms up as though tied there. “I was on the way to breakfast,” she began, spreading her gaping legs even wider, showing off her glistening center. “When this handsome red coated young man got on, at the twelfth floor, I could see him checking me out right from the start. Such a naughty boy, with his dimples, and that shock of gold spun hair! I should have slapped him.”

“What did you do instead?” Tom was standing over her, straddling her, dangling the belt in front of her eyes.

Andrea sucked on her lower lip. She was beginning to writhe on the floor. “I just glared at him. I wanted to tell him off, but the way he kept looking at me, like he had a right to, it just made me so hot.”

“What were you wearing?” Tom croaked, taking his resurgent prick in hand. “Tell me every detail.”

Andrea squirmed her bare ass on the rug. It was killing her not to touch herself, but at the same time he could see she was turned on by being controlled this way, pinned down, helpless under his will. Like one of the speared butterflies in his father’s collection, the ones Ashley couldn’t even bear to look at because she thought it too cruel.

“I had on Scimitar perfume,” she began, her eyes smoldering green heat, “the kind you like, and very sheer underwear, lavender panties and a demi-bra. My dress was red, something new, mid thigh and cut low on my breasts. The shoulder straps were thin as string. And I had on my red pumps.”

Tom let loose a low, satisfied grunt. He’d seen her in something similar on the night of their second encounter. It was at another restaurant, a half hour’s drive from Charred River. The servers were tall and good looking as male models and Andrea was flirting like crazy, whispering to him what she wished they would do with her. Midway through the oyster appetizer, Andrea took off her panties, wadded them into a ball and deposited them in Tom’s trembling hand. They’d been sheer as gossamer, very damp and fragrant as hell.

She’d delighted at his look of shock, knowing how horny he was and how he couldn’t do a thing about it. The rest of the meal, she was a perfect lady, dainty, delicate and maddeningly innocent. It was Ashley all over, down to the little hair flips, the helpless doe eyes, the chaste veneer that screamed sexual repression. It was amazing, really, that Andrea had perfected Ashley’s style in such a short time, having just met her. Then again, they were twins.

Later, over the hood of his car, the scent of those panties still flaring in his nostrils, Andrea took her ‘punishment’: a dozen smacks of his hand to her bare ass. And then there’d been intercourse. Wild, sweet, as raw as you could get with a condom on.

“The bellhop,” he stammered, gripping his cock, trying to keep from coming too soon. “What happened next?”

“A standoff,” she told him, raising her hips toward his heavily hanging balls. “The floors clicked by. He kept looking at me and I had to lower my eyes to my feet. He hadn’t flinched, and I was afraid if he saw any more deeply into them, he would know that I was already his for the taking. He was just an inexperienced, sweet boy, barely eighteen, but he was still a man. It was misery. I would have given anything to be out of that elevator. At the same time, I needed him to come after me, to brush aside my foolish defenses and put me to his pleasure. Would he dare? I grasped the handrail, my knees buckling. How would it end? Would he get my attention, tell me he was going to stop the elevator and fuck me, right now? Would he just walk over and say, with a grin, ‘Excuse me Miss, I saw you looking at my cock. Want to see it close up?’”

“He was too young, too scared. So I pushed the emergency stop button myself. I silenced his shocked objections with a hot kiss, wet and open. Starting at the sides of his mouth, I ran my hands down his body. His prick was at attention, and I moved against him, conveying without words what was about to happen.

“His eyes were overflowing with both need and panic, so I put him at ease with a shy smile. Delicately, fluidly and so sensuously, I showed him what to do, letting him pull up my dress and slide down my panties so he could explore me. He looked so sweet, like Christmas morning, like he couldn’t believe his luck. Not wanting him to explode in his own pants, I knelt to unzip him so I could sheathe him in one of the condoms I always carry. Once the delicious latex glove was in place, I guided him into me from behind. I held onto the rail, spread my legs, and let my hair fall over my face. I invited him to spank me if he liked, but he came almost at once, with a powerful shudder.

“Afterwards, the alarm bells still blaring, I knelt at his feet. Holding my hair out of the way, I kissed each of his shoes. He was hard again as he finished rearranging his uniform, but I knew he had to go.”

Tom pressed his ankles on either side of Andrea’s ribcage, just hard enough to get her attention. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” he asked, as if it made any difference.

Andrea smiled wickedly as if she’d been waiting for the question. “In my purse in the car,” she said, “I saved the condom. Go check. If I’m lying, you can punish me.”

“I’ll do that anyway.”

Andrea rubbed her legs together provocatively. “I’m counting on that.”

Tom backed away, readying himself for ecstasy. “Get up, Andrea. Assume the position.”

They both knew what he wanted, and Andrea obeyed without hesitation, laying herself face down over the coffee table, making her body into a bridge. It was made of slate and very cold to the touch. Andrea was used to coming all over it, breasts and belly pressed down, face and hands on the carpet as he spanked her with the little rubber paddle she’d bought him for one of their infamous “dates”. Andrea loved to come this way, exposed, cool air titillating her private parts. Afterwards, she would have Tom tell her to lick the surface clean with her tongue. She’d assured him this was precisely the kind of thing he should make the proud Ashley do after they were married.

“Use the whip,” Andrea begged now, when she’d wriggled into place.

Tom considered the matter. He’d never done that before, on anyone. “Andrea, I don’t—”

“Come on, you bastard!” she demanded, her sultry mood shattered by his sudden whininess. “I’m laying on this table for you, the same table you and I had tea on, with her, remember? Remember how scared you were Ashley would find out I was nude under my skirt just for you, and how much you wanted me. But when you tried to show her a little affection, resting your hand on her thigh, she removed it, not even bothering to stop her conversation with me, like you were some kind of annoying fly—and all the while your cock was ready to explode?”

Tom clenched his fists. Yes, he did remember. And there was more to the story, too. What Andrea hadn’t said was that she had approached him before they all sat down. She told him privately that if he didn’t act frisky enough with Ashley in front of her, she was going to pull up her skirt and show Ashley just how naked she was underneath and for whom. It had been a sheer nightmare, drooling over Andrea, fearing her at the same time, all the while pushing Ashley to the edge of her stony limits under force of blackmail.

“All right,” he hissed. “I will whip you. God knows you deserve it!”

“Yes,” she moaned, “oh, yes. But tell me, who am I? Are you whipping me or her? Make it both of us—her for teasing you, me for being such a whore, fucking strange men in elevators, and then coming over here, without your permission.”

“Yes, both of you,” he agreed, running the tip of the black leather whip over her tingling, utterly vulnerable ass, wondering for the zillionth time who was calling the shots, him or her. Wondering why, for God’s sake, he was doing this to Andrea when he had a girl who loved him completely, a saintly, virginal, trusting rich girl like Ashley?

Rich girl. The phrase cut like a knife. Andrea sometimes alluded to his being attracted to Ashley’s money—half of which would be hers—but he resented the implication. He was no gold digger; he just wanted to assure his future, and his bride’s.

“Mmm, that’s sweet, baby,” she said in response to the leather caresses. “Now hit me hard.”

He let the whip descend, landing it with a cracking sound. He hadn’t the foggiest idea how to do this, and he wasn’t sure she did either. A welt rose immediately, broad and red, and it scared him silly. She wasn’t balking, though; she wanted more. From her moans and shudders, it seemed like she’d orgasmed, too.

“Again,” she told him. “Hit me again.”

He did, letting the whip find its own speed and trajectory. It wasn’t breaking skin, though she was certainly getting off on it. He wondered what it would feel like on his own body: his buttocks, not hers, flaming red, violated.

“I’m so hard,” he cried. “It’s incredible.” Tossing down the whip and lowering himself to her puckered, twitching sex lips, he said, “Do you have any idea how hard I’m going to fuck you, Andrea?”

Andrea thrust her tormented ass up into the air. “Ashley,” she said. “I’m Ashley, and I won’t let you have me. Look, but don’t touch! I won’t let you be a man, Tommy.”

Tom held her fast by her hips, sank his cock in deep. It was true. Ashley didn’t want him to be a man. A man needs to take his woman in his arms, to make love to her, and yes, fuck her silly. How he wanted to do that to Ashley! And here was the very image of her fine body, the one he couldn’t have, laid out for him, whipped and ready for his cock. Oh, the times he’d had to masturbate, excusing himself from Ashley. Ashley, in her long silk gowns, her hair swept up, Ashley in the hot tub, her nipples poking through the fabric of her skimpy powder blue bikini. Ashley, in a million sexy ways and places. Ashley, right here in front of him, under him.

Tom took a deep breath. He didn’t want to come just yet, not this way. There was something else he wanted first, something he knew Ashley would never let him have, even after marriage.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he commanded, abandoning Andrea’s gaping, needful cunt.

“What are you going to make me do?” she asked in dreadful fascination, her voice a fierce whisper as she put herself in position.

Tom let her wait a moment, anticipating his response before running the tip of the whip down her spine. “I want you to crawl to my bed,” he instructed, resting the whip at the crack of her ass. “And then I want you get on it, on all fours, head down, facing the wall.”

“Then what?” she panted, digging her nails into the carpet in response to his words, to the touch of the whip.

“Then you wait, Ashley.” He snapped the leather on her raw buttocks just as he said her sister’s name. “Now go!”

Andrea drew in a sharp breath, raising her head in a look of faraway ecstasy. His words had brought her to another climax. A moment later, gathering herself, she began to crawl, precisely as he had ordered. In an act of sheer self indulgence, he watched her the whole way, the perfect sex crazed clone of his fiancée in self imposed slave gear, on her way to be used, the perfect masturbatory vessel for her virtuous sister’s image.

Go figure a woman like that, Tom mused, pausing for a drink of orange juice at the fridge, enjoying a long swig straight from the carton. Life was good. He had his virgin bride-to-be waiting for him, while in the meantime, in his bed, primed and ready for his pleasure, her literal body double, and in a collar no less. Yea, life was real good. Tom deliberately took his time, knowing it would drive Andrea even wilder. She wouldn’t dare touch herself, so all that frustration would build and build. In a stroke of genius, it occurred to him to fish for some recent photos they could use in their game.

He smiled when he found what he needed. Photos of Ashley in her cock teasing little tennis outfit, the pleated skirt and sleeveless white top, which bared most of her thighs and tented her breasts perfectly. They were taken that day at Ashley’s mother, Libby’s, mansion, the old Van Voorst estate in the orange groves, just after Ash had beaten him in three straight sets, her jiggling tits distracting his every shot.

Andrea had watched the game and known full well why he’d lost. Afterward, as a consolation, she’d dragged him off to one of the countless bathrooms in the house where she let him take revenge on her willing body. The tightly strung catgut racket had been just the thing to tame Andrea’s ass. As for the aluminum handle, he put it to double use, first in her mouth and then in her pussy. It had been an intense, animalistic session, barely fifteen minutes in length, with not a word spoken between them from the moment Andrea locked the door and stripped off her swimsuit till after she’d left, her tiny bikini bottom barely concealing the waffle shaped imprints on her ass.

It had been a close call when midway through Ashley had knocked on the door to see if Tom was all right. Fortunately, she’d thought Andrea was in the hot tub.

“I’m fine,” he’d told her, his cock deep inside her sister as he bent her over the sink, her hands bound by a twisted sweatband. “Just give me a minute.” He’d had to put his hand over Andrea’s mouth to silence her moans as she came, the thrill of near discovery pushing her over the top.

“Remember these?” Tom scattered the pictures on the bed under Andrea’s nose.

She shivered visibly seeing the images of her sister, smiling happily, hair in a ponytail, terminally wholesome. It was always this way when Andrea saw her sister; like she was looking in some kind of other worldly mirror.

“This is what I’ll be looking at when I fuck you,” Tom explained, deciding to play another game. “I’ll be imagining her, when I’m in your ass.”

Andrea swooned at the mention of anal penetration. It was a profound aphrodisiac for her, not only for the sensation, but also for what it represented to her: humiliation and possession of the deepest kind.

“Do it,” she challenged, her voice an unearthly feminine growl. “Make me your whore. Spit on me, tell me I mean nothing to you.”

He smacked her tender, welt-covered bottom. “It’s true. You’re a convenient lay. Like a blowup doll, only more cooperative.” Another smack on her ass and then he forced her head down to the bedspread. “Now reach behind you and spread your cheeks with your hands. Show me what you’re good for.”

Andrea moaned in sweet peril, squirming to position her arms and hands. “Oh, Tom,” she cried, her face buried in the bed. “You don’t know how much I need this.”

Tom reared up from behind, shoved the head of his cock into the tight opening an inch or so then stopped. Andrea stiffened in response to the sudden invasion, but she cried out in pleasure nonetheless. He pushed another half inch. To brace herself, Andrea had to get back on all fours. Her back was slick with sweat now, and her hair was hanging limply.

“Take my cock,” he groaned. “Take it all you stupid little bitch!”

“Ooh, it’s so big,” she complained, mocking her sister. “Are you sure it’s supposed to go there, Tommy?”

“It goes where ever I say!” he exclaimed, thrusting deeper still, till the veins on his neck began to pop and Andrea was crying out his name. Suddenly Tom wanted Andrea to be herself. “Isn’t that right, Andrea? Go on say it! You’re not Ashley, you’re Andrea again, my little fucking whore. Whenever I snap my fingers, you’ll come running. Whenever I tell you to, you’ll be there, and when I’m fucking you, you’ll play Ashley, or the Queen of Sheba or whoever else I want you to be. Hey, I may even go for a quickie with you at the reception. I’ve seen those little bride’s maid dresses, you know.”

Using two fingers, sliding them up underneath his turgidly swollen member, Tom went to work on Andrea’s open sex, even as he continued to possess her ass. The response was hot and rapid.

“Yes, Tom,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ll do whatever you fucking say: crawl, betray my sister and let you fuck me at your own wedding, even. Just tell me you own me. Grab my hair, pull it till I beg, hump my ass till I whimper; just be a man, Tom. Show me you’re stronger than me.”

Tom’s eyes were rolling to the top of his head. He was in orbit. The game was coming to its end, he wasn’t going to hold back anymore. Congratulating himself on getting one last, really hot session out of Ashley’s psycho sister, he let himself go. Out and out came his semen, an amazing amount considering he’d just come a half hour ago, and before that on the phone, masturbating during Andrea’s last call, listening to her sultry voice! Nirvana. That’s what it was. Sheer ingenious pleasure. Guilt free—or as close as it came. And no end in sight; hell, with the right fantasies he could enjoy both women for years to come.

“Come on, Sluu—uut!” he roared, stretching the syllable into an essay. “Show me who’s your Daddy!”

“Tom? Andrea?”

Tom’s every muscle froze. That voice over his shoulder; it wasn’t Andrea talking. Nor was it Andrea who was gasping in horror.

“Ash!” he croaked. And just like that, with that one sound, Thomas Winters III’s world came to a sudden crash. Before he even looked behind him, he knew. That cry of pain, the confusion, mingled with shock and disbelief and wonder, like a butterfly with its wings pulled off: such a sound could only belong to her.

“Ashley! Let me explain!” he grunted, trying to pull his still hard cock from Andrea’s hole. “There’s a simple explanation, really!”

Ashley just stood there, her face blank, expressionless. For a split second, he held out hope. It was the eyes, though, that gave away her true feelings. From moist sea green, they had darkened into a tempest.

“Don’t touch me,” she warned, as Tom tried to come for her, the sheet hastily wrapped round his loins. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

Tom was still blubbering explanations, following her to the front door. Meanwhile, from the bed, her head buried in her hands, her body still positioned for Tom’s penetration, Andrea was softly weeping. She continued to weep even as the front door slammed shut, signaling Ashley’s departure.