“Hell yeah!” cried one of my brothers’ teammates, pumping his fist. A roar of excitement built in the living room, and the tang of testosterone was suddenly strong and overwhelming.

  “Get out of here,” said Roman to me, jerking his head upstairs. With haste, I scampered away, retreating to the safety of my room.

  4

  Kyleigh

  I could hear the heavy pound of music downstairs, the catcalls, the clack of the strippers’ heels, and the unmistakable sounds of male grunts. I was too shy to actually peek over the bannister, but I was sure it would be a den of sin. Fifteen teenage boys with two luscious, blonde twins. I bet all the guys were masturbating as the girls danced. It’s not like these lacrosse guys were known for them gentlemanly behavior.

  The music hadn’t stopped when someone put on a porn film, and the rehearsed cries and grunts just added to the din below. What? Why weren’t my parents around? I realize that they had to work to provide for us, but letting your twin sons host strippers in your home? Seriously, George and Teresa were out of their minds.

  Plus, what about the neighbors? It wasn’t even dark yet, and our quiet cul-de-sac was populated by families with kids and retired folks. Surely someone had seen the two Barbies walk up, clad in nothing but pasties and g-strings, wiggling their asses in broad daylight. Surely someone would report us to the police.

  But the thing is, nothing happened. It was really weird. This wasn’t the first time my brothers had gotten away with murder. The community saw the twins as star athletes and were more than willing to overlook some “rowdy behavior,” as I’m sure they’d call it. And on paper, my brothers were perfect. They got good grades, had already been accepted to Princeton, and had recently led the lacrosse team to the state championships. So our neighbors were probably under pressure from the boosters to look the other way.

  But it pissed me off. Here I was, trying to do my homework upstairs, with muffled pounding and loud music penetrating even through my ear plugs. I was too mortified to go downstairs for fear of what I’d see, and also because it wouldn’t make a difference. What was I going to do, order the strippers out? Ask them to turn down the music? God. Life was so frustrating.

  But after two hours of trying to study, I slammed my book shut. I couldn’t take it anymore, and with a biology exam coming up, there was just too much at stake. I needed to study, and that was that.

  I crept down the stairs. The pocket doors to the living area were pulled shut, but the raucous yells behind them were unmistakable.

  “Go go go!” I could hear men chanting. “Fuck her, fuck her!”

  Wow, these guys were so crude. “Fuck her, fuck her”? Like one of the girls had done something bad, and they were saying, “Fuck that bitch”?

  I pressed my ear to the door, and could hear unmistakable grunting noises, as well as female squeals and dudes laughing and cackling, plus the pop of a beer can. God, they must have had the porn on really loud because the grunts and shrieks were overpowering.

  But as I pulled open the sliding door, I got the shock of my life. The lacrosse team hadn’t flicked on some x-rated film. Instead, these two girls were prostitutes, not strippers, and my twin stepbrothers were in the middle of pounding both girls. The two whores on the other hand, were total cumsluts.

  I say this because it was true. This wasn’t sweet loving, or even a quick, satisfying fuck. My brothers were using the two Barbies so hard that one girl looked like she had tears in her eyes even as she moaned her pleasure, her breasts swaying and trembling through the ordeal.

  Porsche, I think her name was, had a net over her head, with a special hole for her lips. She was crouched in front of Roman, her head pulled right up to his groin as my brother fucked her mouth, ramming his dick in with no mercy, desperate choking, gurgling noises emanating from her throat.

  Mercedes too had a net over her head, but she was bent over and gripping her ankles so that her ass was exposed. At the moment, Ryder was finger fucking her, or maybe fist-fucking her would be a better description because as I watched, his entire hand disappeared into her female folds. Incredibly, the girl was crying out in lust and pleasure, rocking her hips ever so slightly.

  “Look at this,” Ryder said to his teammates. “She’s so fucking wet, look at this shit on the floor.”

  And sure enough, the hardwood floor between the girl’s legs was covered in droplets of creamy white female juice, her pussy making desperate sucking noises as my brother pumped his hand in and out.

  But Ryder knows what he wants. He pulled his fist out and stood up behind the prostitute, pushing her to her knees so that she was almost in a ball, her ass perched in the air. Without any hesitation, he thrust his dick into her anus, thrusting deep into that dry, tiny hole.

  It must have hurt because Mercedes screamed. Not a yip, or a yelp, or a short squeal, but a full-on scream of pain and pleasure.

  “Oh yes!” she mewled. “Just like that!”

  The guys watching loved it. They laughed and moaned, stroking their dicks as Ryder and Roman fucked the strippers, their male bodies hard and glistening, pecs and abs tight in the dim living room light.

  But that’s when everything came apart. My pussy had been creaming heavily because this was the first time I’d seen sex. Or more accurately, it’s the first time I’d seen real-live men having sex with women. Sure, it was my brothers, but they were fine specimens with their thighs thick, the cocks meaty and long, and the looks on their faces … god, if you could describe alpha male, it’d be my brothers with their dicks buried in twat.

  I’d been touching myself unconsciously, watching as Roman and Ryder’s hard bodies dominated the soft female ones, their poles hot, thick and heavy. My clit was throbbing, engorged and full, my pussy slick and wet, when it all went haywire.

  I’d gotten so into the scene that I lost my balance and crashed onto the floor into the living room. The pocket doors had given way, and I lay on the carpet, my fingers deep into my twat as I gaped and stuttered, my eyes wide, surrounded by the stares of the lacrosse team.

  The men were silent for a moment before bursting into chants and slurs.

  “Your sister is a whore! Come here slut, come ride my dick little girl!”

  “Hey slut, like what you see? There’s more man meat for you here!”

  And worst of all:

  “That cunt got off watching her brothers fuck? Fucking disgusting, she and her mom are absolute nasties.”

  I scrambled to my feet, snatching my hand from my pussy and bolting from the room. But it was too late. My brothers had seen me, and there was no way I could survive the humiliation.

  5

  Kyleigh

  Five years later …

  I helped Mrs. Crane put on her jacket, the old lady tottering and cute.

  “Kyleigh, you are just so sweet. You’re the nicest nurse I’ve ever had,” she said while struggling to get one arm into a sleeve.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Crane, that really means a lot to me,” I said genuinely. I work as a nurse practitioner in a doctor’s office, specializing in ob/gyn consultations. You’re probably wondering what an older lady is doing at the office, but believe it or not, gynecology isn’t restricted to maternal health. We see a range of women, and Mrs. Crane has been a patient for thirty years.

  Plus, I’ve really hit my stride as a nurse. After graduating from Evergreen, I went on to get a master’s, and was picked up immediately by an elite medical practice in Manhattan. It’s my job to serve as a first-stop for patients. I’m the person who takes medical histories and screens for any obvious red flags before passing them onto the doctor.

  And I love my work. Nursing is the right profession for me, and it’s kept me busy to the point where I haven’t seen my brothers since high school. After what happened that fateful day in the living room, I couldn’t go back to our local New Jersey high school. Instead, I’d finished the semester on independent study, holing myself up in my room and refusing to come out except for the most basic needs.

  Of course, my mom had been flabbergasted on the phone.

  “But honey, you’re a good student! Why do you need independent study for your last semester of high school? Don’t you want to finish and graduate with your friends?”

  I couldn’t tell her it was because my brothers had been banging prostitutes in the living room, and I’d been caught masturbating in front of their friends.

  “Ma, please,” I begged. “Just try to understand okay?” I pleaded. “Just for a few months and then I leave for California.”

  “Fine honey, fine, but if there’s something wrong, call me immediately okay? I know I’ve been traveling a lot with George, but you’re still my number one priority,” my mom replied.

  “Sure Mom, of course I will,” I sighed, relieved. Of course I wouldn’t be calling her. My mom was so clueless when it came to my brothers’ debauchery, but what can you do? I was a teenage girl with limited means and influence.

  And of course, I hadn’t been able to avoid Ryder and Roman completely. We still lived in the same house, and even though I was a virtual hermit in my room, it was impossible to ignore them altogether.

  One morning, after I’d heard them leave for school, I crept downstairs to pour myself some cereal.

  Unexpectedly, Roman and Ryder were there, casually leaning against the breakfast bar, cocky and assured, as if they’d been waiting for me to come down.

  “Hey Kyleigh,” remarked Roman. “Long time no see.”

  “Yeah, you’ve made yourself scarce recently,” said Ryder, “with good reason I guess.”

  Oh god. My face flushed with shame. I could feel the red heat creeping up my chest, no doubt making me look like a tomato. But oddly, my steps weren’t smirking or laughing at me for once. The look on their faces was actually empathetic, as if they understood what I was going through.

  Roman cleared his throat.

  “Listen Ky, what happened was … bad, I admit,” he said. “You caught us at a bad time, and we caught you at a bad time too.”

  “Bad time?” I said, my voice going almost an octave higher. “You call that a ‘bad time’? It was more like you were in the midst of making love to two whores and I got caught masturbating myself!” I cried.

  “Yeah, it was pretty depraved,” said Ryder. “Plus, the fact that it happened in front of our friends … not great,” he concluded.

  “You think?” I sputtered. I was reliving the embarrassment, not even able to look into my brothers’ eyes without cringing. Plus, I was fully aware that I was dressed in nothing but a short nightie which barely covered my ass, my legs long and bare. Was it my imagination, or had my brothers’ eyes widened when I appeared in the kitchen? Well, whatever it was, the moment was gone and I was burning with humiliation again.

  “Kyleigh, we understand if you’re on independent study now,” said Ryder. “Heck, I would be too if I were a girl,” he added. “But seriously, it’s not so bad.”

  “Not so bad?” I almost shrieked. “What isn’t so bad about what happened? Really, what?” I asked. I was on the verge of hysteria now.

  “Well,” said Roman slowly. “It helps a lot that you’re cute. I mean, guys always like to see a cute girl touch herself.”

  That made me shut up. I was cute? They’d only ever made fun of my body, never praising or complimenting my clothes nor the fact that I tried to work out.

  “Yeah, you’re cute,” said Ryder, nodding slowly, “and trust me, pretty girls get away with everything. You won’t even remember this a year from now,” he winked.

  By now, I was breathless. My brothers had humiliated me in front of their friends, forcing me to drop out of high school, and now they were telling me that I was attractive? No way was I believing a word they were saying.

  “Listen,” I said slowly. “I know you never wanted me to move in. Trust me, I know that. But I’ll be gone in a couple months and so will you. So let’s just try to stay out of each other’s hair until then, okay?”

  There was silence while my brothers gave me a long look.

  “Sure, whatever you say,” said Roman.

  “Yeah, absolutely no problem,” said Ryder.

  “Thanks,” I huffed before marching back upstairs with as much dignity as I could muster. I could have sworn there were male eyes glued to my ass and legs as I made my retreat, but maybe it was my imagination.

  But that’s how our relationship ended. I went off to California and they stayed in New Jersey, our paths rarely to cross again. I avoided coming home because their house had never really been my home. Instead, I stayed at school for vacations and breaks, burying myself in my studies.

  But I’m twenty-three now and ready to face my past. You see, it’s our five-year high school reunion, and I’m looking forward to it. The invitation’s been burning up in my mailbox, and I have a new dress picked out that highlights my curves, skimming over my new womanly shape. Plus, I hear Ryder and Roman are going to be there, and I can’t wait to see my gorgeous, lustworthy stepbrothers again as the new Kyleigh. I want to stun them with my elegance and grace, and show them that the awkward gangly girl of my past is long gone. Hopefully, everything will go off without a hitch … so long as I keep my cool.

  6

  Kyleigh

  I was really nervous. Tonight was our fifth high school reunion, and the dress I’d picked out suddenly seemed too revealing.

  “You think it’s okay?” I twirled in the mirror, looking at myself doubtfully. “It seems a little tight suddenly.”

  “You look fine,” soothed my friend Gemma. “Heck, if I had your body I’d be wearing stuff like that every day!”

  Gemma was the one friend from high school I’d kept in touch with. Call it the Losers Club, but Gemma and I had been equally clutzy at sports, not to mention gawky and awkward. We’d preferred to hang out at the library, studying and chatting.

  The dress in question was ridiculous, and there was no way I was letting Gemma tell me otherwise. Pink and tight, it hugged my curves, showing off my tiny waist and ample backside. Plus, the strapless neckline displayed my décolletage to the fullest, like two scoops of creamy vanilla pudding ready to taste.

  I shook my head.

  “No way, I can’t,” I said, stepping out of the dress. “It’s way too flirty, and I have a career. Serious professionals don’t wear stuff like this.”

  “Oh lighten up,” scoffed Gemma. “One, you’re not at work, and two, don’t you want to make an impression? I guarantee that a lot of folks are going to look old and washed out. Don’t you want to make them look bad by comparison?”

  The sad thing is, she was probably right. Since arriving back in Farmingdale two days ago, I’d seen a couple people I thought I knew. I say “I thought I knew” because they were so transformed as to be downright unrecognizable. Lizzie Smith, the resident queen bee, was haggard-looking, while her best friend, Kacey Manken, had frizzy hair and a generally dowdy air. What had happened to the popular girls? I guess the shine had rubbed off.

  Meanwhile, the Losers Club, meaning me and Gemma, had seen some real improvement. Before, I used to be a beanpole. I was literally five foot ten and weighed something like a hundred pounds. People used to think I was sick because I was so skinny. But at college, I’d put on weight in all the right places and was now curvy and fun, with real boobs and an ass that wiggled.

  Gemma had changed for the better too. Her skin had cleared up, and she had an interesting, edgy style that was all her own. She worked as a stylist in New York, serving some A-list celebrities. It’s funny … you would think that a stylist wears cute and funky outfits, but instead Gemma dresses in all black. She says it’s so that she doesn’t offend the sensibilities of the “artistes” she clothes.

  But back to the pink dress. Gemma was a professional in the fashion industry, so maybe she was right. Maybe the revealing outfit was just what I needed to make a good impression. Because there were two people that I especially wanted to see tonight … Roman and Ryder, my twin stepbrothers.

  7

  Roman

  Ah, fuck it. It was just a high school reunion. Sure, my brother and I were about to make a triumphant appearance, but the truth is that we really didn’t care. High school seemed so long ago, and frankly, a little lame in retrospect.

  We’ve moved onto bigger and better things now. My brother and I are reality stars with our own show. It’s called House Emergency, and we work with couples to buy the fixer upper of their dreams and then renovate on a sensible budget. I’m the broker, taking buyers around to potential homes, and Ryder is the builder, overseeing construction.

  It was kind of a circuitous path to reality TV stardom. I dropped out of Princeton, deciding to focus on acting and modeling. I did okay, but not great. I mean, I’m a good-looking guy, but in Hollywood everyone’s good-looking.

  Ryder, meanwhile, stayed in school and renovated houses in his spare time. He got to be really good at it, and was known around town as Mr. Fixer-Upper, the dude who could turn a dump into a castle. One day I mentioned that I had an identical twin to an agent, and her jaw dropped open. When I added that he was a rugged, do-it-yourself type of guy, she ran and got her boss and they were ready to book us immediately.

  So that’s how Ryder and I got our own TV show. With our combined talent and a stroke of luck, we’re now a hit show on the Home Starz channel. I love it. I love being a real estate broker, but I also love being on TV.

  Because that’s the thing. We get so much attention now. We’ve been dubbed the “Building Brothers,” and women follow our every move, their devotion astounding. At first, our fans were older, middle-aged women, the type who watch the Home Starz channel non-stop. But now it’s cute, younger women too, ones we’d actually want to make love to.

 

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