TRIPLE PRINCES: An MFMM Menage Romance Read online

  TRIPLE PRINCES:

  An MFMM Ménage Royal Romance

  (Erotic Romance, Massive Size, MFMM Ménage)

  © 2016

  By Cassandra Dee

  Want to hear about my newest ménage romance? Addicted to sizzling twins, triplets and more? Join my mailing list at http://eepurl.com/cgt2DD and get a FREE BOOK unavailable elsewhere!

  A SNEAK PEEK

  As I worked her cunny with my mouth, my right hand crept up so that it circled her rusty star, brushing lightly against that little pucker.

  “Umm,” Tina moaned beneath me, her face buried in the grass. God, how good she looked, eyes closed, humping her butt slightly as I tongued her from behind, her cheek pressed against the floor, boobs so huge and pendulous that they dragged on the ground. I almost spurted right then from how dirty she looked, bent over and moaning like that but I wasn’t done yet, not quite.

  As I massaged her pleats with my fingers, I dragged my mouth upwards, tracing over her perineum, that sensitive part between her pussy and anus, and lightly, oh so lightly kissed her rosebud, testing the little hole.

  “Aiee!” she squealed, her eyes flying open. “Did you …?” she gasped, craning her head to stare over her shoulder at me.

  “I did,” I confirmed, chuckling deep in my throat. “And I’m going to again,” I continued before thrusting my tongue into her pucker this time, savoring her anus, burying myself in her dry back wall. “Because baby … I want you to come with my tongue in your ass, hard and fast, creaming while you give it up.”

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  BONUS BOOK: Billionaire Strip Club

  RELATED BOOKS

  CHAPTER ONE

  Christina

  “Come on Tina,” said my friend Maggie. “Let’s roll!”

  I groaned a little but hauled myself up. Maggie was right – it was time to head out, seeing that this was going to be our last night on the town together. Tomorrow we were being packed off to different finishing schools, or what my friend and I privately refer to as “princess training school.” Our parents want us to find husbands at these places, and rich men were known to come by and pick off a girl or two regularly, making her mom swoon, her dad beam, and the girl? Well, who knows what she thought, because she was an afterthought in the process.

  But for tonight, Maggie and I had one last chance at freedom. We’d just graduated from Castilleja Prep in the center of town, and excitement ran through our veins, our freedom, however brief, making me giddy.

  “Where are we headed?” I asked.

  “Grantley, Lucy, and Aggie are meeting us at the Old Dog,” chattered Maggie excitedly. “It’s going to be so fun.”

  I internally groaned. The Old Dog was a dive joint, the kind that served 20 ounce tall boys with whisky chasers. Not exactly the type of place wannabe princesses hung out at. But okay, I shrugged. It’d be good to see my girls one last time before we spread out all over the Continent.

  Because my friends and I, we’re not your average girls. We’re minor nobility in Andorra, our families distant relatives of the King, and we’ve been living the high life since birth. In fact, Maggie wasn’t actually Margaret. Hell no, nothing so plebian. Maggie was Magdalene, Lucy was Lucinda and Aggie was Agatha. Me? I’m Tina aka Christina, but just like everyone else, my parents are hoping that I can score a prince, or at least someone really, really rich.

  So I shrugged. Heck, once I arrived at the finishing school in St. Venetia, I’d probably be attending balls and fancy-attire parties non-stop. So hanging at the Old Dog one last time, a last hurrah, was a chance to get our hands dirty before they were shoved into elbow-length white gloves.

  “You think this looks good?” I asked Maggie, skeptically looking at myself in the mirror.

  My friend rolled her eyes.

  “Oh Tina, you always look good, you never even have to try. It’s so not fair,” she huffed, her bangs blowing off her forehead. “Why can’t we all be gorgeous and curvy?”

  But I rolled my eyes because it’s not true. I’m curvy yeah, but no one thinks I’m gorgeous, that’s wishful thinking. The descriptors I got most often are “pleasant,” “nice-looking,” or the one I hate most, “not ugly.” Uck. Why “not ugly”? Why use a negative to describe a woman’s looks?

  But I try to do my best most days, dressing in clothes that flatter my figure, emphasizing the good while deemphasizing the bad. And tonight, our last night out, I pulled out all the stops. I’m not usually like this, I’m usually more of a bookish type, complete with good-girl librarian outfits, comfy turtlenecks and long skirts, but tonight I decided to go for it. So I struggled into thigh-high boots, long leather shafts with a skinny heel that caressed my legs snugly, the material velvety and soft. Plus, the bustier I had on was so tight that my boobs were pushed up and out, creamy ivory pillows, soft and beckoning, all complemented by a mini-skirt hugging my generous hips. The total effect was electric. Actually, probably a little too electric, kind of a hooker get-up.

  “You think this is ok?” I asked my friend doubtfully, looking one last time in the mirror.

  “Oh yeah,” said Mags without even looking, reapplying fire engine red lipstick. “Live free or die boring,” she sang, and I giggled, grabbing my purse before we headed downtown.

  The Old Dog was exactly as I remembered. The bouncer, some grizzled dude with a bunch of tattoos, took one look at us and snarled, “IDs.”

  Damnit, it was going to be one of those nights.

  But Maggie had it covered. Without missing a beat, she pulled open the vee to her sweater, flashing the dude, letting him get a momentary look at her big boobs.

  “Hey big guy,” she purred, shimmying a bit so that the orbs jiggled and shook. “It’s so hot tonight, let us in?”

  No matter that her words didn’t make sense. Mr. Bouncer was transfixed, looking at all that wobbly flesh and wordlessly, he backed off, motioning us inside. As we swept in breathlessly, I whispered, “Mags, oh my god, what were you thinking? You’ve never done anything like that before.”

  And my friend giggled, adjusting herself so that her cleavage hung just right.

  “I know, but it feels so good to let go. We’ve been so repressed Tina, I swear, our parents put so many expectations on us, how to look, what to wear, even who we marry. I have to let go once in a while, blow off steam, you know? And this might be my last chance before I get shipped off to France,” she pouted.

  Ah yes, my friend was headed to the South of France, to the newest type of finishing school – École au Bateau, or finishing school on a yacht. Evidently,
this new type of institution would sail around the Mediterranean for a year, stopping at major cities so that their girls could participate in various balls where they’d be introduced to eligible men. It sounded dumb if you asked me, but heck for two hundred thousand dollars a pop, I’d put together a school on a yacht as well.

  Anyways, my friend had already skipped ahead, and I could see our girls waiting for us, clustered at a small table.

  “Hey Tina,” gestured Aggie, waving for me to come over. “Here, I’ll make some room.” She scooted over and I joined them in the booth, looking around. Oh yeah, we’d all gone all the way. Every single one of us was wearing some hoochie get-up, complete with brassieres that pushed you out to there, high heels, short skirts, and faces full of make-up. At least I’d gone easy on the contouring, some of my friends looked a little witchy, with visible stripes running along their noses and cheeks.

  But hey, at eighteen, you can still look alluring even with make-up caked on. What the hell. Maggie raised a glass of beer and shrieked, “Cheers!”

  And we giggled in return, clinking our glasses before sipping our drinks, pink cosmos and fizzy glasses of champagne, chattering, wiggling. We were a fun bunch, attractive, sexy, all bouncy female flesh and big smiles.

  And it didn’t take two minutes before a guy sauntered over to us.

  “Heya,” he whined, his voice high-pitched. The guy was nothing to look at. In fact, I was surprised he’d made it past the bouncer since he didn’t look a day over sixteen. Pimply and oily, with a terrible haircut, the only thing that made it worse was that he was dressed like an IT guy in khakis and a blue button-down. Oh god.

  I held my breath. Usually guys like this are attracted to me like a moth to flame, I sometimes wonder if there’s a sign over my head with bright lights and an arrow pointing, “Here! Here!” But this time my luck held out. The pimply guy, trying to seem casual, sat himself down … next to Lucy. I breathed a sigh of relief. I really didn’t want to spend the next fifteen minutes being kind to someone I had absolutely zero interest in.

  “Hiya,” he breathed. Even from across the table, I could feel the gust of warm wind, damp, rank, and gross. My nose scrunched up involuntarily before I remembered my manners and smoothed my features out, trying to look impassive, polite.

  But Lucy was on another wave length. Instead of giving the guy the cold shoulder, the pretty blonde turned to face him with a big smile on her face, eyes gleaming, throwing a lock of hair over her shoulder flirtatiously.

  “Hi, I’m Lucy,” she chirped, “what’s your name?”

  This time I couldn’t control my facial expression and my mouth hung open in disbelief. What in the world was happening? My friend was a looker with a sparkly personality, why was she giving this guy the time of day? She could do way better, she was a ten.

  But the IT dude was eating it up.

  “I’m Ken,” he simpered, all the while staring at Lucy’s cleavage, then her waist, then her legs, his eyes crawling over every inch of her figure. “How’re you doing?”

  “I’m good,” purred Lucy in return. “How are you?”

  “Good, good,” he chuckled in return, as if not believing his luck. “I’m doing good.” And before my shocked eyes, his hand crept over so that it was cupping Lucy’s knee, a soft, effeminate hand that was probably used to stroking computer mice and refilling printer trays.

  At this point, I tried to intervene, to throw my friend a lifeline.

  “Um, Luce, you wanna go to the bathroom with me?” I asked, staring at her meaningfully. It was a tried and true tactic – ladies always take off for the washroom together to powder their noses, reapply lipstick, just get away if need be.

  But Lucy wasn’t having it.

  “Oh no,” she said airily, not even looking at me. “I’m good, thanks. I want to get to know … um, Ken, was it?” she said, purring again while gazing deeply into his eyes.

  I was dumbstruck but Maggie elbowed me in the ribs.

  “Leave them alone,” she hissed. “Remember? The pact we made, she’s doing the pact.”

  And I groaned internally. Oh right, that. I’d thought it was more of a joke than anything, but I guess some of my friends were taking it seriously. The five of us girls had talked about getting laid one last time before leaving our little country for the big, wide world. It was ridiculous, really. I mean, we had what … twelve hours to make good on the promise? I knew for a fact that Lucy was on a plane at six a.m. tomorrow morning, departing for Luxembourg.

  But maybe that’s why she was working it so hard. With less than twelve hours, she had to take whatever came first, and evidently, she’d decided Ken was enough.

  Besides, Maggie was elbowing me again.

  “Check it out,” she whispered, sliding her eyes to the left, speaking out of the side of her mouth. “That’s why Lucy wants him.”

  I glanced where she pointed and gasped, my eyes bugging out. Because Ken had a massive boner, one that he wasn’t even trying to hide. The dude must have had a ten incher going strong, poking out vertically, the crotch of his khakis a massive tent that no one could miss. Either that, or he had the biggest cell phone ever in his pocket … one that came with an antenna that was sticking straight up.

  “Holy,” I gasped, “Oh my god.”

  The two continued to chatter away, Ken’s hand making its way up Lucy’s thigh as she leaned towards him, their lips almost touching. But I could also see the blonde’s hand inching towards his crotch, as if drawn by magic to that giant disturbance in the universe’s energy field.

  “Yeah,” smirked Maggie. “So leave them alone, Lucy’s going to have a good time tonight. Besides, what about us?” she asked, swiveling her head to survey the rest of the bar. “We’ve gotta get hopping, tempus fiat, you know?”

  I laughed.

  “Mags, I think it’s tempus fugit, not tempus fiat,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Time flies, right?”

  “Oh whatever,” replied Maggie, making a silly face. “You get what I …”

  And she never finished the sentence, her voice trailing off, because her attention had been captivated by something across room.

  I followed her gaze. What could have made my flighty friend stop mid-sentence, her thoughts on pause? Mags wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, sure, but she wasn’t ADD either. But then I saw what she saw and inhaled sharply.

  Because he was gorgeous. Tall, dominating, athletic, with wide shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, thighs as thick as tree trunks, and the blackest hair this side of the Ural Mountains.

  And best of all, there were two of them. Two gorgeous, powerful alpha males, identical twins, and they were looking right back at us, blue eyes penetrating, magnetic even across the crowded room.

  “Oh my god,” gushed Maggie. “Let’s go talk to them!”

  Usually I wasn’t so forward, I need some time to summon my courage, but this tempus fugit thing was evidently lighting a fire under our asses, and Mags had already jumped up and was making her way across the room.

  “Um, excuse me,” she said, shoving one small guy with drinks in his hands out of the way.

  “Hey!” he protested as his drinks sloshed.

  “Sorry, sorry!” she called. ““Coming by, coming by,” she called out, stepping on people’s toes in her haste to cross the room.

  And what could I do but follow? I trailed along in my friend’s wake, slightly embarrassed but trying to hold my head up, and in a few seconds, we were standing in front of the two men.

  Up close, they were even more gorgeous than before. Chiseled features accented square, masculine jaws, with deep, dark blue eyes that I could drown in. Plus, they were tall, really imposing close up, at least six four with muscular, athletic physiques.

  “Um, hi,” I managed, my mouth dry. Was that really all I could say?

  But Maggie took over like a pro.

  “Hi, I’m Maggie, this is my friend Tina,” she said sweetly, winking at the two men, “and you are?”
r />   The guys looked at each other before answering.

  “I’m Karl, this is my brother Kato,” said one. Oh god, his voice was as smooth as honey, I could almost feel it running over my body, oozing like golden goo.

  But Maggie was on the ball.

  “Oh good, you guys new to the Old Dog? We haven’t seen you around before,” she said, cocking out a hip flirtatiously, emphasizing her perfect figure with a hand on one hip.

  The guys looked at each other again before answering.

  “Yeah, we’ve never been to this port before. We’re merchant marines in the service of our country. Karl here is a fleet technician and I’m a gunner, we’re aboard the USS Tompkins, docked in Andorra Harbor.”

  I nodded, looking at the men. Our country is a city state, consisting of no more than four million people. As a deep water port, Andorra has a long naval history, and merchant mariners often took leave here, or at least deboarded for a day or two of rest and relaxation. So we were used to seeing Americans around town, brawny, muscular guys looking for some R&R before heading out to sea.

  Plus, the two guys looked like sailors. Out of uniform they wore casual clothes, jeans and t-shirts that emphasized the width of their shoulders, the hardness of their chests, the power and dominance unmistakable. And they carried themselves well, standing tall and proud, heads held high. More than likely, these guys were good with their hands and could fix stuff around the house, unlike the male courtiers I usually met, who were wispy and soft, useless when it came to anything practical.

  But I brushed all that out of my head. It was my destiny to marry some dude of noble birth, even if he was four feet tall with a lisp. There was no point in complaining about it or even thinking about it on my last day at home. Instead, I suddenly knew what I wanted.

  “Hey,” I said softly.

  The two men turned to look at me, those blue eyes penetrating, taking me in for the first time. And my body tingled as I thrust my breasts out unconsciously, leaning forward on my toes, my chest heaving.