The Candy’s Store Series (writing as Chastity Vicks)
The Candy’s Store series features five very short, very hot stories by Chastity Vicks. Each naughty treat comes in a different flavor, strong enough to tempt even the sweetest tooth.
What’s your darkest fantasy?
Under the watchful eye of a woman known as Candy, a place exists where all you have to do is ask for what you want. Welcome to Candy’s Store….
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Book Three: The Girls’ Room
Cover art: Emmy Ellis
Length: short fiction / 3900 words
Published by: Freya’s Bower (2009)
Gina and Serena work well together–perhaps too well. When one client requests a frontier threesome, Candy wonders just how divided her girls’ loyalties really are.
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Available in multiple digital editions from Freya’s Bower, Fictionwise, Omnilit, AllRomanceEbooks.com, and other good online retailers.
Excerpt:
This title contains explicit adult content.
© Chastity Vicks 2009
Come the morning, we prepared for Mr. Harcourt’s appointment in The Southern Room, which serves for most things from colonial epics, through slave scenarios and right up to the kind of bawdy Wild West anachronisms today’s client had requested. Gina had terrible trouble squeezing her bosom into the corset that went under her dress, a satin and crinoline affair that accentuated her curves but made it difficult to sit down. The red fabric oiled tautly across her belly and hips, rippling to a sequin-trimmed bustle in the back. Fishnet stockings, a complex updo complemented by a red silk rose, and a marabou boa in a violent shade of cerise completed the picture, along with strangely demure, short-heeled black button boots.
“I feel silly,” she remarked, adjusting the curved ivory expanse of her tits, barely contained by the low-cut neckline.
Serena’s hands came around her waist, adjusting the fit of the dress across her ribcage and making the tender flesh tremble. She reached up to pat Gina’s boobs affectionately and kissed her on the cheek.
“You look lovely.”
Gina wrinkled her nose and smiled.
Serena had on a similar outfit, though in a shade of sea-green permeated with tiny black polka dots all across the fabric. She looked stunning, and I could almost have felt a tiny bit jealous, consigned as I was to a more matronly skirt, high-necked blouse, and delicately embroidered jacket. Mr. Harcourt’s fantasy was to be a hired gun in an Old West town, paid in kind for his services by the local brothel’s grateful tarts. It amused me. A man paying to pretend he didn’t have to pay. While we were up here, playing dress-up and trying to curl Serena’s deathly straight hair into some semblance of waves, he’d been down in one of the guest lounges, being plied with whiskey and taking a couple of hands of poker.
The knock on the door jerked me out of my reverie, and I went to answer it, segueing neatly into character.
“Why, Mr. Harcourt,” I trilled, “I’m so glad you were able to make it!”
“Ma’am.”
The apparition in the hallway stuck his thumbs in the belt loops of his black pants and beamed at me, the light of lust growing in his eyes. His outfit had been purchased from a local costume rental place—we give them a lot of trade—and Danny, the maintenance man, had gone over it with sandpaper and grit for an authentic look. It’s one of his few creative outlets.
In any case, Mr. Harcourt looked every inch the gunslinger, from his black shoelace tie to his fawn leather coat and Stetson hat. I stretched my lips around a smile.
“Why don’t you come in? My girls are so anxious to…thank you.”
He strode into the room. The booze must have calmed his nerves, because I saw barely a flicker of a tremor as he looked at Gina and Serena, standing shyly by the window, hand in hand. A king-size bed dominated the space, an heirloom-style quilt across an ornate brass frame, the mismatched armoire and vanity table giving the sense of an old-fashioned house of negotiable virtue. The oval cheval glass that stood behind the girls—giving our guest a great view of their satin-bunched backsides and pinched-in waists—was a genuine antique, though that was probably lost on Mr. Harcourt. A frilly lace curtain shrouded the window, and a hidden speaker piped old-style piano music into the room, further embellishing the illusion.
I caught Serena’s gaze over Mr. H’s shoulder and inclined my head. She squeezed Gina’s fingers and looked up at him with wide, bright eyes.
“Oh! We’re so grateful to you, sir. Really we are. Won’t you sit down?”
She gestured to a large leather armchair by the armoire. From the way Harcourt walked over there, so eager he might as well have been panting, I could tell he was already harboring a hard-on.
“Make Mr. Harcourt comfortable while I fetch a drink, girls.”
“Of course, Madam,” Gina said with a little smile that reminded me why I really ought to think about giving her a raise.
Harcourt flopped into the chair with a grin wide enough to crack his face, and, when I turned from the bureau with two glasses of whiskey in my hands, he already had Gina in his lap, Serena hanging up his coat and hat. I put the glasses on the vanity table and sat on the edge of the bed to watch their little charade.
“Oh, sir!” Gina murmured, Harcourt pulling her closer by the waist, his mouth latching quickly onto the deep cleft of her cleavage.
Serena stood behind the chair, her fingers massaging Harcourt’s shoulders and the back of his neck. Her lips pressed into a tight line at the sound of him dribbling onto Gina’s tits but, when Gina giggled and threw her head back, looking up at Serena, something of that displeasure quietened.
“You must be tired, Mr. Harcourt,” Serena remarked, leaning down to the level of his ear, so that her breasts brushed his shoulder. “Why don’t you lie down for a spell?”
My cue. I cleared my throat.
“Take off the man’s boots, Serena. We must make him comfortable.”
She wafted around to the front of the chair, kneeling—awkwardly, I imagined, given the corset—to remove his footwear. She ran her hands up his legs in perfect time to Gina wriggling on his lap, then both girls maneuvered Harcourt to the bed. I swapped places, taking his seat in the chair, the leather already warmed by his body, the faint scent of whiskey, and the sweat of anticipation.
They worked so well together, four hands moving like one pair to divest him of shirt and belt. His pants and socks followed soon after, Gina purring away in character about gratitude and what a nice time they ought to show him. Harcourt’s eyes glazed over; Serena’s gaze kept dipping to the swell of Gina’s throat, lingering on her mouth.
Mr. Harcourt proved to be the sort of client everyone likes to entertain. Well-built and well-mannered, nothing off-putting about his long, lean legs and firm body, though the paleness of his skin and lack of tone to his belly spoke of a sedentary job and little playtime away from the office. I knew he was a junior partner in a law firm…long hours indeed. His short, fat cock stood to attention from a nest of tangled mousy curls very much like the hair on his head—unruly yet unremarkable—its tip an angry red. His abdomen tightened, semblance of his lust, when Serena and Gina leaned down to tongue his nipples in tandem, pretty mouths meeting above his chest in a kiss.
Harcourt put a hand to the back of each of their heads, his gaze meeting mine for a brief moment, his cheeks hollowed for a long breath in, and gratitude scrawled all over his face. I smiled.
“Girls? It’s only polite to ask your guest what he wants, remember.”
In a rustle of satin, Gina peeked over her shoulder at me. “Yes, Madam.”
I heard the suppressed giggle in her voice before she turned to her client.
“I-I…do it again,” Harcourt muttered, a strangled whisper tight behind his teeth. “K-kiss her.”
Serena needed no second encouragement. She leaned in, snatched Gina’s soft lips to hers in a slow, grinding kiss, opening her mouth so Harcourt could see her tongue tease Gina’s, first tickling the tip then sliding along its length. Her hand caught the back of Gina’s waist, holding her steady for a deep series of repeats, both display and promise. Gina moaned into the breath held between them, and I twitched my lip, reminded faintly of Marcus’s romantic transgressions. However, I needn’t have worried.
Serena broke away and gazed steadily at Mr. Harcourt.
“Would you like me to suck you like that?” she whispered, her hand sliding up and down Gina’s back, fingers probing the fastenings of her gown. “Suck your fat cock in my mouth? Or do you want to see me make her come?”
A breath of laughter escaped Gina’s lips; against the softly tinkling piano music and the satin dresses, it almost sounded coy. Harcourt’s gaze darted between the two girls, then he glanced at me. I looked back, realizing what he needed from me watching; not just the sense of being observed, but the feeling of approval. His thin cheeks flushed, and his eyes hardened. He cleared his throat.
“I, uh….” He dropped a hand to Serena’s ass and squeezed through the crumpling satin and crinoline. “I want to fuck you while you lick her.”
Already, all those carefully created characters started to drop away.
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Available in multiple digital editions from Freya’s Bower, Fictionwise, Omnilit, AllRomanceEbooks.com, and other good online retailers.
