Mistaken Identity (A Taboo First Time MMF Menage)

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogue, and everything else are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to people or events, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Mistaken Identity

A taboo menage MMF romance

Janey White

Excerpt

Dad grabs the back of my head, takes a handful of hair. It stings, and feels wonderful.

Tommy kneels down beside me, runs one hand over Daddy’s stomach, while running the other over mine and kissing my neck.

My hands reach up, under the edges of Daddy’s briefs—I can’t wait—and take hold of his hard cock. I stroke it under, while continuing to suck over.

Tommy wasn’t lying about liking my tits, and is now focused solely on me, his head separating Daddy’s thighs and my chest, mouth on one tit while his hands knead my ass, spreading me.

Daddy moans with pleasure, and is breathing heavy. “Oh Emma,” he cries.

My name. Not hers. Daddy is saying
my
name.

Unable to control myself, unable to delay any longer, I do something I’ve wanted to for years, something so wrong and sexy that the mere thought of it has been enough to get me off before. I slide my hands further up, grip the fabric, and pull down, exposing his beautiful manhood. My daddy’s manhood, that will soon be mine.

When my friends ask me if I think my stepdad’s hot, I always make a disgusted face.

This is to mask my true emotions.

I don’t want them to know that I agree. That yes, I think he’s hot. Because then that would lead to admitting just
how
hot I think he is. Just how often I think of him.

Especially when I’m naked.

It doesn’t matter if I’m in the shower, or in bed, or changing in the girls’ locker room. I always think of Dad. Of that one magic moment, when I caught a glimpse of what it might be like to be happy. What it might be like to be loved.

It was the night Dad mistook me for Mom.

You see, my Dad has a boyfriend. That’s something else I don’t tell my friends. He and Tommy have never had sex, not like that, but they love each other, and they touch, and kiss, and do other things with their mouths. I think both of them have trouble with the fact that they are in love with another man, and somehow not having “sex” makes them feel less gay. Or maybe it has something to do with their wives, who both know about them.

Or maybe they just don’t like anal.

What do I know? I’m not even twenty yet.

Dad and his boyfriend were together on that night, taking mushrooms for the first time. Tommy is a neurologist, and it was his idea because it is supposed to help people accept things in life. Maybe by doing it together, they were trying to accept each other, and themselves.

I live in an apartment above the garage, and had been on a school trip to France. After a fight with my now ex-boyfriend, I came home early.

What happened with my boyfriend? He tried to get me to sleep with him.

And I would have, wanted to, had been planning on losing my virginity to him, but I wasn’t feeling well, and when I said “later, please,” he called me a whore and went out drinking with some of the other guys on the trip.

I hope he drinks himself into a drunken stupor and gets mugged.

He’s probably not going to get mugged in Paris, with a bunch of other guys with him, but a girl can dream, and dammit I’m going to.

So I left. I went home, leaving him to do whatever he wanted. Except for me.

He wasn’t expecting this.

Neither was Dad.

I hand the cab driver the ridiculous fare. “Thanks,” I say.

“Anytime sweetie,” the woman says. Her voice is so hoarse, you might mistake it for a man’s. I’m sure the cigar she’s puffing on isn’t doing her vocal chords any favors.

I get out in a cloud of cigar smoke—regretting my answer of “Sure, go ahead,” to her question of, “Mind if I smoke? I haven’t had one all day and am getting shaky and tired.”

Of course, had I said no, the cab might now be wrapped around a telephone pole after she crashed from withdrawals and I might be stuck in the back while the Jaws of Life tried to cut us out.

I love being an optimist.

She pops the trunk for me and I take out my bag, set it beside me, and extend the handle. I shut the trunk, then, for some reason, I stand there and wave to her as she drives off. Maybe it’s my emotions, but I feel like everyone is leaving me.

The sense of nostalgia I feel is overwhelming.

I walk up the drive, glancing at Tommy’s red Alfa Romeo parked there.

He must be inside already.

I want to say hi, but I have a much-needed shower to attend to first.

I drag my suitcase up the stairs that wind around the side of the garage, and find my apartment unlocked.

When I turn on the light, I see why. It’s been cleaned.

I sigh. It’s hard to complain when someone does something nice for you, but dammit, I was perfectly happy with the state and layout of my apartment. So what if I had clothes outside the closet? It makes things easier to find when they’re spread across my living room floor. And okay, maybe they’d need a wash before being warn again, but, duh, I have a washer and dryer up here, nestled away in the kitchen, right next to the dishwasher.

Which is now filled with clean dishes, I discover, when I go to grab a glass of orange juice and find my sink empty.

I briefly wonder if I can just leave them in their, or whether I’ll be forced to put them away in the cabinets, which were designed for a six-foot man, not a five-foot-four college girl.

I open the fridge, and discover my juice is gone. In fact, most of my food is gone. There’s a six pack of coke, and I sigh and take one out. I’m a bit sensitive to caffeine, and so maybe it’s not a good idea to have some so late, but screw it. Screw reason, I’m pissed and an emotional wreck from my shitty boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend.

When I close the fridge, I see a note stuck to the front. “Emma, food was bad, threw out. Coming by with more tonight when you get back. Love, Carmen.”

Carmen is our “assistant”. She is more like a housekeeper, babysitter (my parents insisted on treating me like a child all the way up to eighteen, when I was like, all right bitches, I’m calling donesies on this nonsense), and manager rolled into one. But even a superhero like her couldn’t predict that I would be coming home early because of my boyfriend—though come to think of it, she never did like him—and so by “tonight” she means in three days from now, when I am actually supposed to get back.

I take a seat on my now empty couch, and pop the top on the Coke as I turn on the TV.

I flip through the channels until I come on an old movie. The only thing I remember about it is that it’s NC-17. I down the remainder of my Coke, and go to the fridge for another.

As I pop it open, I realize how giddy I am. I take a drink. Wow, it’s so good. I take another drink, then grab a second—or third, but who’s counting?—and take both back with me to the couch.

The scene playing now is of the three main characters in a bathroom, and I remember that two of them are supposed to be brother and sister. Then I remember that they’re supposed to be French—I think.

They’re fighting about something, and now the brother holds the other guy while his sister kneels down and— Holy shit, this just got hot.

On screen and in my pants.

I take them off.

The guy’s cock pops out. God it’s a nice cock. There’s a picture of the sister under it. She lifts his cock to take the picture.

My top comes off, quickly followed by my bra and panties.

I’m already soaking. I rub furiously with one hand, drinking coke with the other, sometimes pressing the cold can to my tits or my hot pussy.

I wonder if it would fit inside me? I shake my head. I’ve seen too many horror stories on the internet about things getting lost.

I moan as the characters kiss, all of them naked now, the brother locking the guys arms while the sister kisses him.

I imagine what it would be like to have my arms held like that. To be restrained and naked.

Then the scene changes.

“Goddammit!” I shout, rubbing harder. But it’s gone, now it just feels good, but I can tell no orgasm is imminent.

I curse, pop the second—third?—can of Coke open and take a gulp, set it down on the floor next to the couch, then get up to pee.

When I get back, they’re still not naked again, and I swear in disgust and turn off the TV, the arousal I had felt now gone.

Oh well, I should probably say hi to Dad, let him know I’m home.

And Tommy is always fun, if a little crazy.

As I walk down the stairs, I briefly wonder if maybe they’re doing mushrooms tonight. I know they were planning to some time while I was on my trip and Mom was off unearthing mummies for the university.

My thoughts are interrupted as I step on something sharp on the steps to our front door and cry out, lifting my foot to examine it. Which is when I realize that I’m still naked.

And outside.

I look back at my apartment. It looks so far away. Voices make me turn back to the front door. Through the window a few feet to the side, I see Dad and Tommy, dancing. They don’t look sober.

The idea that comes to me instantly brings a heat to my stomach. They’re high. Would they even realize I’m naked?

The heat intensifies as the image of standing naked in front of both of them fills my mind, and my earlier arousal and the scene of the guy and brother and sister come back.

I don’t have a brother, but I do have a
Dad
. And though it feels wrong in my mind, it feels so right everywhere else.

I brush the rock from my foot, set it down.

I try the handle. It turns.

Trembling—though whether from caffeine or fear I don’t know—I push open the door, step inside, and quietly shut it behind me.

Dad and Tommy don’t notice, just keep dancing. I realize they aren’t wearing any pants, which I couldn’t see through the window since we have those bottom-up blinds and they are halfway up.

To my disappointment, they are not totally bottomless, briefs covering the good bits. But I do catch a glimpse of the outline of Dad’s cock as he spins with Tommy.

Then he spots me, and I realize it’s too late to back out now, he’s seen me naked.

“Hey?” he says questioningly, stopping to stare at me.

“Hi Daddy,” I say.

“You’re back early,” he says.

“Yep,” I agree, raising my hands and letting them slap down against my bare hips. I don’t feel like telling him why. And with my heart in my throat right now I don’t think I could.

“Susan?” Tommy asks.

“What?” I ask, confused. Susan is my Mom’s name.

Tommy comes over to me and gives me a hug. “Hey!” he says, slapping my bare back. “I’m glad you decided to join us Suze!”

Dad squints at me. “Susan?”

“What?” I say again, unsure what else to do. Being naked is making my mind go blank. And the insistent heat in my crotch isn’t helping, nor did Tommy’s package noticeably pressing into my stomach.

“Are you naked?” Dad asks.

“Yes?” I say, as though I’m not sure.

“I told you man,” Tommy says, releasing me and turning to Dad. He turns all the way around rather than just turning his head, “that’s the best way to experience shrooms!”

“She’s not on shrooms,” Dad says, then walks over to me, gives me a quick peck like he’s done so many times before. Except this time, it’s on the lips, and it’s not so quick.

Because he thinks I’m Mom? I wonder, baffled.

He pulls back. “Are you?”

“What?”

“On shrooms.”

I shake my head quickly. “No.”

He backs up a step, stands a foot in front of me, looking me up and down. “I told you to eat more on your trips, you’ve lost weight again.”

I shrug. “Sorry.”

He smiles. “It’s fine. You look good.” He blinks several times, then stares off into space.

“Dad?” I say before I can stop myself. Dammit. This could have been amazing, but now he’s going to realize it’s his daughter and not his wife.

He looks back at me. “Dad? Are we role-playing again?” He squints at me once more. “You know Sue, you do look a lot like your daughter.”

“Thanks, I think.”

He reaches around and slaps my ass.

I jump and let out a little cry. And I almost melt to the floor. That single touch, in a place where Daddy isn’t supposed to, is the best single touch I’ve ever felt. It sends more pleasure through me than my earlier attempt at masturbating combined. And then I feel the guilt. I’m not supposed to be doing this. He thinks I’m his wife, not his daughter. This is wrong. I see the brother and sister and friend again, all of them naked and happy, enjoying themselves. The guy having his arms pinned, his underwear pulled down, his cock exposed.