Just One More

But with an audible pop, he was in. Bryan chuckled and paused for a moment, letting the instrument hang obscenely from my anus, my pussy lube dripping down to coat the instrument.

“You’re a dream come true,” he breathed, looking me in the eye. “Everything Blake and I ever wanted.”

And that’s how I came to play doctor with the twins. Every orifice I had was violated in the space of an hour, the twins’ inventiveness unending and deliciously, delightfully titillating. In the middle of the anal sex, Blake paused for a moment and whipped out a camera, the pincers still dangling from my clit.

“What?” I gasped. “No!”

I knew I looked a mess, nude, my pink bits red and inflamed with all sorts of clamps squeezing and pulling, obscene and sexual at once.

But he merely shushed me.

“You’ve never looked so beautiful,” he soothed, clicking away as the flash popped. “Seriously, we might never get this chance again,” he admonished as the shutter whirred.

And I couldn’t help but pose and preen a bit, loving the attention, the delicious wrongness of what was happening.

“You’re not in any of these,” I’d whined when we were back home, looking over the developed pictures. “I barely see any cock.”

“Baby, you’re a thousand times more beautiful, who would want to see Bryan and I posing naked with medical instruments jammed in our behinds?” asked Blake.

But I knew there were gay mags that would pay a lot of money for that stuff … and all sorts of men and women who would die to see identical twins stuffing each other, lovingly fucking each other’s asses.

“You never know,” I said with a sly smile, a twinkle in my eye. “You never know.”

13

Blake

“So what’s up?” asked our sergeant as we walked into his office. The sarge was a great guy, in his fifties but still buff, a devotee of the gym.

Bryan and I had taken some time off to come by on the precinct on the pretense that we were investigating potential career options. Callie had given us the perfect opening.

“But do you know anything about police work?” she’d asked quizzically. “I mean, walking a beat can be so tiring, so different from school. Is there anyone you could talk to about what it’s like to actually be an officer?”

My twin and I had barely kept a straight face because we were full-fledged police officers, stationed undercover at Canterdale High to ferret out a drug ring. Posing as mid-semester transfers had been pretty easy so far, but it also felt silly to fake anxiety about SATs and college applications when none of that applied to us whatsoever.

“Honey, we’ll stop by the local precinct next week,” I’d promised. “Maybe there’s some cop on a coffee break who could talk to us about his experience on the force.”

And so we had the perfect in. We’d swung by the precinct after classes let out, our backpacks slung casually over our shoulders, nothing more than two high school boys exploring career options.

Thankfully the front desk knew exactly how to treat undercover cops. Our receptionist gave no indication of knowing us despite the fact that she’d seen our mugs every day for the last three years.

“Can I help you?” she’d asked impersonally.

“Sergeant Collins, please,” I said.

“Of course,” she said, dialing upstairs. “Just one moment.”

And we were whisked upstairs, none of our colleagues giving any indication that they knew us as we strode past their desks. I did feel something hit the back of my shoulder and turned quickly to see what it was.

“Psst!” cracked Jack, one of our friends. “You like being in an episode of Grease?” he asked.

I figured he was referring to the movie with John Travolta, when Travolta was way too old to be in high school. But hey, people can suspend disbelief at least temporarily.

“Shut the fuck up,” I growled under my breath. This was so unprofessional, anyone could be watching the exchange.

But at that moment the Sarge appeared at the door to his office and gestured to us. “Come in boys, I’m happy to talk to you about what it’s like to be a police officer,” he said with a believably straight face.

“Come on,” said my brother, shooting Jack a dirty look before disappearing inside the office. And so it was with a relieved sigh that Bryan and I settled into the comfy chairs in front of the desk, letting go of pretense for a change.

“So how’s it going?” asked the Sarge, one eyebrow raised. “How’s that trailer working out for you?”

Oh right. The city budget being what it was, the precinct couldn’t afford to put us up in a rented house or apartment. So they’d installed us in a ramshackle trailer on the edge of the school zone with Sergeant Collins as our supposed “guardian,” our long-lost uncle.

“It’s fine,” I said nonchalantly.