Three Men For Me: 3 - Story Rough Raw MMMF Menage Bundle / Box Set Collection (4 page)

"I told you you'd like it," says Monica, as I moan more quickly, my breath getting caught in my throat as I experience sensations I've never felt before. I let the whole crowd watch as I'm violated in every way possible, and opening myself up to such vulnerability somehow fills me with a sense of power and strength. Monica’s right— surprisingly, I
do
like it. And I guess Mr. Morgan’s right too— great things happen when I let myself go. I bury my mouth in the pussy of the girl in front of me while I come all over the strap-on.

And only then does Mr. Morgan step in and say, "Okay, everyone, that's enough. I think she's gotten what she came for.

*              *              *

The next thing I know, I'm back in Mr. Morgan's room at the Morgan Mansion, staring back at my reflection through his mirror.

"What in the…" I hang my head, embarrassed at the things I'd done. I can't believe that Mr. Morgan witnessed it, let alone so many people, many of whom I know in real life.

"Don't worry," Mr. Morgan reassures me. "As I promised, you're back here where you started, and no one knows about what happened in the other world. That will stay in your imagination only."

"Thank goodness!" I sigh a huge sigh of relief. "I have no idea what I'd do if people knew that I…" I trail off, not sure how to put it.

"If they knew that you liked to let go and enjoy yourself?" Mr. Morgan finishes my train of thought for me. "But why not? What's so wrong with that?"

"Well…" I still don't know how to say it. "It's not as if it's acceptable to go around having sex with everyone in sight," I finally say.

"But it's also not good to keep your true self so hidden and repressed, and to go around acting like someone you're not."

"What do you mean?" I ask, offended. "I'm not faking anything. I really am a lawyer. I really do live in Boston."

"But you're also from Morgansboro, just like everyone else from Morgansboro."

"Hrmph." I have to admit he has a point.
Do I really come across like such a bitch?
I wonder.

"Look, Mandy, I want you to do something for me, " says Mr. Morgan, and I raise an eyebrow at him.
Haven’t I already done enough? I performed crazy sex acts on multiple people while he watched
. “When you get back to Boston, I want you to be yourself. Be true to yourself and see what happens. Oh, and one other thing–"

"Yes?" I ask, relieved that that’s all he wanted from me.

"Don’t worry about the associate lay-offs at your firm. I let the managing partner know that you’re indispensable on my cases. "

"Wow." I gulp back tears, incredulous that he would do such a nice thing for me. I was so worried about losing my job, and now I have that burden off my shoulders. "Thank you so much, Mr. Morgan. You have no idea how much this means to me. I’ll be forever grateful—"

"Now get back to the party before your friends realize you're missing," he says. "And you're welcome."

"Thank you, for
everything
," I say, and I mean it. I think about how good it felt to lick a pussy while being fucked with a dildo. To let myself go in front of a crowd of people who are also enjoying themselves. To neither judge nor be judged. I wouldn't have had these experiences were it not for Mr. Morgan and his mirror.

*              *              *

"There you are, Hot Stuff," says Mark, as I make my way back to the dance floor, and he hands me a drink. "I've been fending off all the people who wanted to steal your cocktail."

"Thanks for getting that," I say.

"Yeah that was messed up, that you left me alone at the bar ordering your drink, when
you're
the Beer Wench!" He brazenly smacks my ass, and I jump, mad at Mr. Morgan for telling me that no one would know what I did, when right here is Mark calling me out on it. Then my face reddens as I remember that this is a costume party and that I'm
dressed
as a beer wench. I giggle sheepishly, although I still think it's weird that he said "Beer Wench" the same way that he did back at Oktoberfest, and he slapped my ass like that too.

"Where have you been?" asks Monica, throwing her arms around me in a warm hug. I raise an eyebrow at her, because she
still
doesn't seem like the shy Monica I know.

"Sorry," I say, hugging her back, because I do appreciate her friendship, and it's about time I start acting like it. "I just had the strangest experience…"

I shake my head, wondering to what extent I should tell them about my crazy encounter with Mr. Morgan, but I see one of the tuxedo- clad vampire characters in the corner, putting his finger over his mouth as if to tell me to be quiet. I nod and am quite glad he's making me keep it all a secret— what exactly what I say, anyway? All of it so completely unbelievable, not to mention that I don't want Monica and Mark to know what a huge slut I was back in Bavaria.

"What happened?" asks Scott, raising his eyebrows in curiosity. I could swear that I see him wink at me, as if we were in on a private joke.

"Oh, nothing." I shrug my shoulders as if it's no big deal. "I just thought I saw someone I knew from school. But it turned out not to be them."

"Who?" asks Monica, all ears for juicy gossip.

"Oh, someone I knew from elementary school."

"Longer than you've known me!" she pouts.

"But no one knows me better," I say, laying my head on her shoulder briefly to show my affection. "I'm so glad I invited you to this costume party. There's no one else I'd rather go with."

"Awww!" She looks so grateful that it almost seems she'll start crying. "But what about…" she lowers her voice and whispers to me, "Chad?"

"I think he and I are done," I announce resolutely.

"Really?" I can't help but notice that she's barely concealing her happiness upon hearing this news.

"He's not the right guy for me. Too stuffy."

I down my drink, because I could sure use another one, and say, "Oh, looks like I'm out. Who needs a refill?"

"Me me me me me!" says Monica, hanging on my shoulders as if she's already a bit tipsy.

"Sure, Mon," I say, no longer feeling above bringing her a drink, although earlier I had been annoyed at her for wanting me to break up my time with Mark to go get her an ice-breaking drink. "How's it going with Scott?" I whisper, and she says, "It's going great!" Her cheeks are rosy and she looks genuinely happy for the first time that I can remember in a long time. "I'll tell you on the way to the bar."

"Another round, boys?" I ask, as Monica and I start heading to the bar.

"Yes, Beer Wench," says Mark, and reaches out to pinch my ass under my sexy beer maid costume skirt. Scott nods and winks at me once again.

"Don't you think they're being weird?" I ask Monica, as we walk away from them.

"They're just in a party spirit," she says. "You never know what can happen at a costume party!"

Indeed
, I think, and turn back to get another look at handsome Mark before he's out of my line of sight. I see his broad shoulders and I think about him fucking me with his huge cock. I think I'll go home with him tonight and see if he does it as well as he did in Germany. And I can't believe that just a few minutes ago Monica was sucking on one of my nipples while Mark sucked on the other, and here she is innocently holding my hand on the way to the bar. If only she knew what we had just done together, she'd never believe it.

But as we wait for the bartender to notice us, Monica's hand hits my ass, as if she was bumped into by someone from the side— or maybe it's on purpose. And she says, "This beer wench isn't nearly as good at serving beer as you would be, up there in your sexy costume."

"Thanks, Monica," I say, although it's not something she would normally say at all, and I wonder what
she's
been up to.

"The Morgansboro Ball is certainly very magical," I say, linking arms with her.

"Yes it most certainly is. Mandy."

~              ~              ~

This is the second story in the
Mr. Morgan’s Magic Mirror
Series. If you liked it, you might enjoy the other stories in the series:

Story # 1:
Becoming a Beer Wench

Story # 2:
Sharing the Beer Wench

Story # 3:
Punishing the Cheerleader Slut

Story # 4:
Banged by the Football Team

My fiancé Mark and I arrive right on time for our 6:45 dinner reservation. I had driven our SUV into Manhattan from our house in Westchester. He had just gotten off work and therefore had less of a commute, having taken the subway.

“Good evening, and Happy Valentine’s Day,” the hostess greets us. Her name tag says “Tina.” She is young, blonde, thin with big boobs, and looks like a Barbie.
The perfect employee for a posh new restaurant
, I think. I try to smile nicely at her, even though I want to tell her to order something off of the expensive menu so that she doesn’t look so stick thin.

Mark’s oxford shirt is still tucked into his dress pants, and he’s wearing a tie which I assume is a nod to the holiday and our dinner date, since his job as a low-level investment banker at Empire State Investments on Wall Street doesn’t require one. His beer belly threatens to spill over the top of his belt, nearly ruining his work- to- dinner- business- romance look, but I guess I can’t complain, because it’s not like I’ve kept myself in the best shape since we’ve gotten engaged.

The numbers that show up on the bathroom scale when Mark steps on it in the morning might be rising (although I wouldn’t know, because I haven’t seen him step on the scale since we met a few years ago and both hit the gym a lot), as mine are, but I still find him attractive. I just have to wonder if he can say the same about me. I’m still complimented on my looks— which I’m told are “voluptuous” and “curvy”— but I sure wish I could give a couple of my extra pounds to this extra thin hostess who is showing us to our table.

I take a seat and smooth the pleated skirt edge of my dress down, blushing as I catch my fiancé staring at my cleavage that is now right across the table from him. I guess it’s hard not to, as I wore a revealing shirt on purpose and my breasts are definitely “voluptuous.”

Rip this dress off of me
, I want to shout at him.
Strip me naked and make love to me right here on this table. Public sex, for all the world to see. Choke me, pull my hair, spank me, tie me up… just do
something
!

I also wore my sexiest pair of black and red lace panties, perfect for the occasion, but I wonder if my fiancé will even get to see them tonight. My eyes plead with him, aiming for a combination of a demanding yet seductive look, but he just smiles sweetly at me.

“I’m so glad they could get us in on Valentine’s Day,” he says, unraveling his fancy cloth napkin and placing it in his lap.

I’m sure it’s because he booked the reservation months in advance, but I just smile and nod. My fiancé is such a planner. Except, apparently, when it comes to planning a surprise. Maybe he just doesn’t do surprises at all. But he had
promised
me...

*              *              *

Last month I had broken down and finally told Mark that I was dissatisfied with our sex life— which consisted of missionary-style sex once or twice a month— and that I really needed us to work together to give it some spark. At first he had looked embarrassed, but then he thanked me for letting him know and told me that he was going to surprise me with something extraordinary.

Weeks passed, and I fear he has forgotten all about his “plan” to surprise me. He can definitely make things happen when he wants to— including a dinner reservation at the hottest new restaurant in New York City on Valentine’s Day— but apparently our sex life just isn’t that important to him.

*              *              *

“Good evening, Mr. Foster and Ms. Newton,” says our waiter in a distinct French accent, and I look up, surprised, to see someone who looks like an MMA fighter in a full tuxedo. He’s buff, and toned, and looks immaculately put together all at once. I quickly look down at my manicured hands, hoping that Mark didn’t notice my instant attraction to our waiter.

“Good evening,” Mark responds, winking at me jovially. I breathe a sigh of relief, glad that he either didn’t notice or didn’t care that I think our waiter belongs on the cover of
GQ
.

“My name is Gustav and I will be your waiter on this fine Valentine’s night. May I interest you in some wine?”

“Of course,” Mark responds immediately, and I’m taken aback, because he rarely drinks.

“Here is our wine menu, and here is our food menu,” says Gustav, placing the menus in front of me and then in front of Mark. “I will give them to the beautiful young lady to peruse first.”

Gustav raises his eyebrows seductively at me, and I feel like a schoolgirl.
Does he really think I’m beautiful?
I wonder.
I bet he just says that to all his customers, for a better tip. If only I had stuck to my New Year’s Resolution and gone to the gym more often, I’d be ten pounds lighter by now and maybe he really
would
think I’m beautiful…

“The specials of the day are…”Gustav begins, but Mark cuts his off.

“Sir, may I please order a bottle of your house red before we begin?”

I stare at my fiancé, surprised that he is taking the lead like this. Not only does he rarely drink, but he’s also rarely outspoken, preferring instead to let others talk while he listens.

“Of course, Sir,” says our waiter, and nods at him, and then me. He arches his eyebrows at me in such a way that I can actually feel the blood running through my veins. As he walks away, I can’t help but stare at his chiseled buttocks beneath his black tuxedo, and I imagine wrapping my legs around his waist and squeezing his ass with my hands as I do so.
He slides my panties to the side, and his fly is open, and his penis is large and throbbing as it enters my wet…

“Nice place, isn’t it?” I hear Mark say, and his voice snaps me back into reality. I remember the initiative he took in ordering the wine. Maybe there
will
be a surprise in store for me tonight. I try to focus my attention on the matter at hand, and return to a conversation with my fiancé, if not my fantasies of him making wild and crazy love to me.

“It’s lovely. Thank you so much for setting this up. And for ordering us some wine!”

“Of course, my love. Anything for you.”

Suddenly the attractive waiter is back, with a bottle of wine from which he pours a small amount for Mark to sample.

“It tastes delicious,” he says, although I know that neither he nor I would really know the difference. I’m just grateful for a chance to enjoy something out of the ordinary. My fiancé and I both grew up in strict religious environments and neither of us take many risks.
I’m sure we can always take the train home if we have a little to drink…

I notice that Mark is gulping down his glass of wine as if it’s a shot and he’s a frat boy at a college party. A knot forms in my stomach, as I worry that maybe
this
is the “surprise” he planned and is trying to execute. I hope I can find a nice way to inform him that getting tipsy and going home for slightly- more- adventurous- than- usual sex isn’t exactly the spice I had in mind when I said I needed to add some to our relationship.

“I assume you’d like another glass,” says the waiter, already pouring it, and Mark readily agrees. I start to hope that he actually does have some actually exciting plan in store to surprise me with tonight, for which he needs liquid courage. My entire body feels electrified with the thought.
Will he blindfold me? Handcuff me? Call me a slut?
My face reddens with the thought of it, but I need something— anything— out of the ordinary or I’m afraid I will absolutely die of boredom.

“And you, Lovely
Mademoiselle
?” asks the waiter. I think I will melt from feeling his whole attention on me, just like I wish I could feel his whole body naked on top of— or underneath— mine. He makes no effort to avert his eyes from my cleavage. “Would you like to hear our specials?”

“Sure,” I say, falling into another fantasy without being able to help myself.
He is chewing on my bottom lip. I’m touching his sculpted chest with my newly manicured nails while he grinds against my open and waiting...

“Our fish entree of the night is Chilean Sea Bass
Provencal
…” he begins, and then launches into a whole range of specials that are too complicated for me to follow. I’m usually a cheeseburger and fries type of girl. I settle back into my fantasies— triggered by the perfect way he pronounced the French word in the seafood special— of being taken by the hunky waiter and completely ignore what he’s saying.
They really hire authentic waiters at this place and cover all possible bases
, I think.
I never knew there was a place where one could eat fancy, expensive food at the same time one looks at a sexy waiter with a real French accent
.

But suddenly Gustav is finished rattling off the specials, and Mark is winking at me, asking, “Well Cassie, what do you think?”

“I… um… I’m torn between the steak special and the sea bass special,” I tell him, desperately trying to remember or guess what the waiter was just talking about.

“Why don’t you try them both for yourself?” Mark asks me.

“Umm, what?”

I look at the waiter, ready to apologize for my fiancé's strangeness and to explain that his one and a half glasses of wine have made him tipsy because he’s not used to drinking, but the waiter, as if automatically, says, “What a
bonne idee.
In fact, the chef was just asking me to bring a special patron back to sample the specials and let him know which she likes best. Won’t you please join me?”

He holds out his muscular arm, crooked as if waiting to escort me, but all I can manage to do is stare back and forth between my fiancé and the waiter, as if both of them have lost their minds.

“I’m sorry?”

“Come with me,
se il vous plait
Mademoiselle
,” Gustav insists, and Mark smiles as if there’s a joke I’m not in on, taps me on the elbow from across the table and says, “Go, Honey. It’ll be fine. Really.”

Wait a minute.
Mark
is having to encourage
me
to do something out of the ordinary?
I think.
This just can’t be.
Refusing to be out-funned by my normally quite boring fiancé, I stand up and take the arm of the handsome waiter.

“Okay,
Honey
,” I say, staring at Mark as if there were party drugs in all the wine he just downed. “I’ll be back in a few.”

“Have fun. See you in a bit.”

As if in a daze, I take the arm that Gustav is offering me— the bulky, muscular, perfect arm I never dreamed of being able to hold on to— and allow him to escort me to the kitchen. It’s larger and more spacious than I imagined, and there are two chefs cooking meals. Sneaking a glance at each of them— because I feel silly for being back here— I realize that they’re younger and more attractive than I would have assumed. One is a slim man who looks in shape despite his svelte physique. He has long dark brown hair and a goatee, and he winks at me as I walk by. The other is a burly black man, with thick lips and a handsome face that he keeps pointed towards the skillet as I pass.

“Come here, my darling,” says Gustav, with that sexy French accent. He leads me over to some sort of large cooking table/ counter that is empty except for a large block that holds cooking knives and other utensils, and then he signals to the black chef.

“Adrian.”

Adrian appears with two different dishes and sets them in front of us on the long table.

“As you know, Cassie is here to sample the two specials,” Gustav explains. “I do hope you give a taste of something good.”

I stare approvingly at Adrian’s bulky muscles as he nods at Gustav. “Sure can, Boss.”

Boss?
I think.
Why is the chef calling the waiter the boss? Maybe they split tips and so he flatters him in the hopes for a bigger share of the money…

“And now I must check in with the customers at my tables,” announces Gustav, stopping my train of thought. “I’ll bring your husband another bottle of wine, Miss.”

“Fiancé…” I correct him, but he continues.

“He ordered the house wine but I know one that is better and I’ll bring it to him on the house.”

“Okay…” I say, bewildered as to what Mark and I could have done to deserve a free bottle of undoubtedly expensive wine.
I suppose they really do want me to sample the specials and give my opinion.

Gustav leaves and Adrian pushes a fork in my direction. “So these are the specials you wanted to try.”

“I didn’t really want to…” I begin to protest.

But Adrian interrupts me. “I know. Mr. Deschamps was hellbent on bringing you back here.”

“Mr….?”

“Deschamps. Gustav? You do know him, right?” Adrian’s handsome dark brown eyes look at me in disbelief, as if I’ve been living under a rock. I can’t help but stare at his luscious lips, wondering what they would taste like, feel like…

I shake my head to bring myself back to reality and answer Adrian’s question.
What the heck has gotten into me tonight? All I want to do is fuck everyone, apparently.
“Well, I mean, he’s our waiter, but I just met him tonight…”