I want to say that I lasted for hours, but the dry, tight friction was too much and I could feel the pressure building in my balls, the unmistakable crescendo of release.
“Get ready, brother,” I panted, hissing slightly. “I’m about to …”
With a massive roar, I unleashed, the cream spurting forcefully up the little girl’s butt, spraying her insides with hot male jism. My brother found his end as well and his groans joined mine as he orgasmed, his sperm filling Callie’s mouth with white, choking her, the goo seeping from the corners of her mouth as she gasped futilely.
But this was exactly how we liked to see our girl. Filled with life force from both sides, branding her a Hanson girl. Because Callie would be ours … to keep.
21
Callie
The last few weeks have been an unbelievable whirlwind. Despite the fact that Blake and Brian busted a major San Francisco drug ring, life continued as usual on the outside. There were no newspaper stories, no TV spots, not even an article in Canterdale High’s school paper. Like true undercovers, their work was best done out of the spotlight and there would be no recognition for their brilliance.
But I was determined to reward them in my own way. I was in love with these two men, these hotly bisexual twins who rang my every bell and whistle. Our lovemaking had reached new heights after the bust at the Adams house, and the little trailer shook each night with our moans, the scent of sex so strong that it was a permanent musk in our home.
And I took comfort in the arms of my two lovers. Because the Walsh family had truly fallen apart, and I’d given up trying to explain my situation to my mom.
“Ma, I’m getting married,” I said abruptly one day at brunch. “And I’m not going to college.” Might as well drop both bombs at once.
“What do you mean?” she said, an ugly expression on her face. “Don’t tell me it’s to that twin … or one of the twins. How can they provide for you? They’re high school boys,” she said, her face twisted in scorn.
“Ma, you don’t need to worry about us,” I said shortly. “Not that you do,” I added under my breath.
But my mom went on like nothing had changed.
“Don’t you want to be a part of the Mannings’ world?” she asked plaintively. “You’ll never fit in with a blue collar husband,” she said.
I sighed. She hadn’t even asked which twin I was getting married to, it mattered so little. All that mattered was social standing and making sure that her upcoming wedding to Harold Manning was the talk of the town. If I showed up on the arm of a police officer, she was sure the world would blow up, that people would talk about her “lowly connections.”
I shook my head again, exasperated.
“We’ll be fine, okay Ma?” I said tiredly. “We won’t ask for money, I promise.”
“Money!” she screeched. “Who said anything about money? I never offered you any financial help.”
“Right,” I said slowly.
“What about the Gordons?” she said. “I know you’re close with their daughter Chrissy. What do they think about your upcoming nuptials?”
This was going to be hard to break. The Gordons had been like a second set of parents to me, surrogates in light of my own dysfunctional clan. My eyes filled with tears because they were nothing like I’d imagined – they’d been running a drug ring in the city, with Canterdale High as a drop-off and distribution point.
And their daughter Chrissy, my best friend. She’d been in on it all along, acting as a courier for her parents, getting rich on the backs of high school junkies.
“Chrissy, why?” I’d asked plaintively, visiting her in jail. She was to be tried as a juvenile, her case bifurcated from her parents. “Why did you guys do this?”
She’d shrugged, her blonde hair glossy even in the dim light of the county jail. Her expression was haughty but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Why else?” she sniffed. “Money. We needed it, we couldn’t keep up with everyone else in St. Francis Wood, so Mom and Dad decided to go for it,” she shrugged. “I can’t help that Brian Adams and Tyler Needham got addicted. It was their own fault,” she snapped.
“But you didn’t have to work for your parents,” I said slowly. “You didn’t have to make drug dealing a family business.”
“I know,” she tossed off nonchalantly. “But Valerie didn’t join and look what happened to her? A junkie in rehab without a penny to her name.”
That was true. Valerie had been in bad shape since her rescue, entering a live-in addiction center in Southern California, her health precarious. But at least there were no charges pending against Valerie, even the DA recognized that she’d caught a bad break.