Triple Chance #4 (Three erotic short stories) (Luke Chance Triples) Page 5

  Can Chance rise to the challenge, keeping Harrow's guests satisfied the whole weekend, or will the twin sisters be too much to handle?

  Twin Chance is a 6000-word Luke Chance story. Suitable for adults only (18+)

  Chance #12 - Twin Chance

  The phone rang, and Chance picked it up. "Chance speaking."

  "I have Mr Harrow on the line for you," said a male voice, speaking formally. "Please hold."

  Chance grinned. Old Harrow hated the telephone, regarding it as an instrument of the devil, and he only used it on rare occasions. The old boy had once spent ten minutes shouting down the phone to a confused young lady at a sex hotline, insisting he had the right number, and ever since he'd handed the dialling duties to his butler.

  There was a click, and Harrow came on. "Hello? Chance?"

  "Yes sir."

  "Excellent. Glad to catch you." Harrow hesitated. "Got a few friends coming down this weekend. Are you up for it, man?"

  Chance swallowed. The last time he'd visited Harrow's estate he'd been 'up for it' several times a night, with Harrow's amorous guests practically lining up outside his room. In the end he was forced to flee in the darkness, his reputation - and clothes - somewhat the worse for wear. "These friends …" he left the sentence hanging.

  "I think you've met the parents. Wills and his wife, Anne. They brought Sam and Tony down with them - their youngsters, don't you know - and they've been getting bored. Good eggs, the pair of them, but an old fogey like me can't keep these high-spirited chappies amused. Said you'd show 'em shooting, maybe some fishing. There's my old golf clubs, too."

  Chance smiled to himself. He could imagine a couple of teenage boys driving Harrow up the wall, charging around full of energy. A weekend of good food, country air and fine sherries sounded like a fair exchange for keeping the pair of them amused. "That's fine sir. When would you like me there?"

  "As soon as possible, Chance. If not sooner."

  Chance drove down in the morning, after loading one or two items into the boot of his car. His golf clubs would be useful, and there was also a pair of old tennis rackets, a dusty set of fencing gear and an overnight bag with his clothes. Harrow hadn't mentioned how old the kids were, but he had mentioned shooting so that narrowed their ages down a little.

  Chance drove between the wrought iron gates, negotiated the gravel drive and drew up outside the Hall. It was a Georgian mansion, tastefully modernised, and as he took the steps to the front door he realised he was really looking forward to the weekend. There were acres of parklands and woods to explore, some good fishing in the local stream, and Harrow always laid on a fantastic dinner.

  After Chance freshened up, the family's elderly butler showed him into Harrow's study. Harrow was standing near the mantlepiece, his craggy face thrown into sharp relief by a blazing log fire. He was in his eighties, but still spritely despite his advancing years. "Chance! Damn fine to see you. Are you well?"

  "Yes, sir. And yourself?"

  "I've been better," admitted Harrow. "Doctor told me to give up booze altogether, but I'm ignoring the fool. What would he know anyway?"

  "It is his job," Chance pointed out.

  Harrow gestured impatiently, waving away his doctor's seven years of medical training and countless years of private practice. "Fools, the lot of 'em. Can't let me be."

  "But apart from that?"

  "Fair to middling, Chance."

  "How's Lottie?"

  "Ha-hmm. She's in the South of France with that sister of hers. Shaking up the locals, no doubt. Ha-hmm."

  Chance breathed a sigh of relief. The last time Harrow invited him down, Chance had been the one getting a shake-up from the sisters. This time, it seemed, things would be different. "So, are these lads are running you ragged, sir?"

  "Er, yes."

  "How old are the boys? Only you mentioned shooting, and —" Chance broke off as the door opened without warning, admitting a pair of young women. They were in their early twenties, one with blonde hair, wearing a lemon yellow jumper over a white miniskirt, while the other had dark hair, with a pale green summer dress. They looked Chance up and down, glanced meaningfully at each other, then turned the full force of their personalities on him, all in the blink of an eye.

  "These are the twins, Antonia and Samantha," said Harrow. "Ladies, this is Luke Chance."

  Chance stepped forward to greet them, his head in a whirl. Visions of a leisurely weekend of hunting and fishing with a pair of active boys disappeared with a pop. Then, as he recognised the girls' appraising looks, he realised there would be hunting after all. And he was the prey.

  "Very pleased to meet you, Mr Chance," said the blonde, taking his hand and locking eyes with him. Hers were incredibly blue, framed with pale lashes, and Chance was mesmerised. "I'm Toni," she said, with a smile.

  The second girl was next. "I'm Sam, Mr Chance. It's so good of you to come down. Toni and I are desperate for company."

  Harrow snorted good-naturedly. "Damned cheek."

  Sam smiled at him, and Chance could only stare as she pinched Harrow's cheek, making the old man redden. "I'm sorry Uncle, but you know what I mean."

  "Ha-hmm! Ha-hmm!" went Harrow, and he busied himself at the sideboard. "Sam? Toni? Drinks?"

  "G & T, thanks."

  "Same for me, Uncle," said Toni.

  "Of course, my dear. Chance?"

  "Whisky, sir. Neat."

  "I'd better make that a double," said Harrow, chuckling to himself.

  Toni smiled at Chance. "I notice you didn't ask."

  "Ask?"

  "People usually do."

  "Except him," said Sam. "Maybe he's different."

  Chance looked confused, and Toni explained. "We're twins, and everyone wants to know why we're not identical."

  "It's simple, really," said Sam. "It's because we're not identical twins."

  "I'm glad you cleared that up," said Chance.

  They sat down, crossing their legs with a fetching display of bare thighs, before leaning forward eagerly with an even more fetching display of cleavage. "Mr Chance," began Toni. "Uncle says you play golf. Will you show me how to handle a club?"

  "I'd be delighted." Chance felt relieved. It wasn't that he didn't find the women attractive - hell, they were gorgeous - it was just that every time Harrow invited him down he felt like the chief subject in a mating experiment. Then Chance turned to Toni, who was running a lock of hair between her lips. "What about you, Toni. Do you want to learn too?"

  Slowly, she ran the wet hair between her lips, holding it up with the tip of her tongue. She held his gaze the whole time, her eyes intent on his. "Oh, yes. Definitely."

  Chance swallowed. "M-maybe I could teach you both at once?"

  The women exhanged a glance, a signal passing between them. "To be honest, we'd prefer private lessons," said Toni. "More … one-on-one time that way."

  "We don't like to share," said Sam.

  "I brought my clubs down," said Chance. "One of you can always take a few practice swings while I'm showing the other how to hold it."

  "Warm ourselves up, you mean?"

  "Y-yes."

  "I just hope you brought plenty of balls," remarked Toni.

  "I'll never get the hang of this stupid thing." Toni looked at him beseechingly. "Please, won't you show me how to hold it?"

  Chance tried to show her, standing in front with another club. She still couldn't get the hang of it, so he stood behind her, placing his hands on hers, both gripping the club together. He kept the tiniest distance between himself and her delectable buttocks, but she wasn't having that. She eased herself back until she was pressing against him.

  "Now," said Chance. "When you're addressing the ball, you need to give a little wiggle."

  She did, moving her buttocks against him.

  "I meant the club."

  "Sorry, Mr Chance. Let me try again." Toni wiggled her buttocks and the club, knocking the ball off the tee in the process. "Whoops," she said, bending at the
waist to replace it. Her skirt rode up her buttocks, revealing white lace panties, and she pushed back against him, seemingly taking an age as she fumbled with the ball. Then she stood up, leaning back into him, her back warm against his chest. "Should I grip the club hard, or cradle it with my hands?"

  "Just cradle it," said Chance, his voice husky.

  "Will you show me how to swing it?"

  He took her hands and guided her arms back, bringing the club level with her shoulder. His arm caressed her breasts, and he felt her soft body pressing against his.

  "Is it high enough yet?" asked Toni innocently.

  "Way, way high enough," breathed Chance.

  She moved against him, gently teasing him with her buttocks. "How do we bring it down again? With a rush, or very, very slowly?"

  "Quite quickly," said Chance, in a strangled voice. He guided her arms and hands, bringing the club down with a whoosh. There was a crack as the head connected with the ball, which flew straight into the bushes between the trees.

  "Come on, let's see if we can find it," said Toni.

  "I have more in the bag."

  "No, I want that one." Toni dropped the club and took his hand, almost dragging him into the undergrowth. When they got there she abandoned all pretence, grabbing him, backing him against a tree and kissing him fiercely.

  "I … am … so … hot … for … you," she whispered, in between kisses, as her hands went to his belt. He felt a tug as she undid it, then cool air as she hauled his pants down. Her hands returned to his hips and she removed his jocks, and then he felt them on his stiff member, exploring him. "Mmm. That's my kind of club." Her hands moved lower, cupping him, and she chuckled throatily. "Stick and balls raring to go. Want to try your luck with a hole in one?"

  "I— I—"

  "Good. Me too." She released him, reached under her skirt and slipped her panties down, stepping out of them before tucking one end into her waistband. Then she put her arms around his neck. "Pick me up," she commanded.

  Chance reached down, putting his hands on the back of her thighs. They were soft and warm to the touch, and she got a lot softer as he moved his hands higher, until he was holding her buttocks. Her arms tightened around him, and as he eased her up she wrapped her legs around his hips. Her face was level with his, her lips eager, her eyes filled with desire. She reached down with one hand, guiding him, her movements urgent. He felt the soft warmth of her on the tip of his shaft, and slowly he lowered her down onto him, inch by inch.

  She clung to him, her breath hot against his ear, little cries escaping her lips as he slipped inside her. She was tight with her legs drawn up, and as he filled her she moaned with sheer pleasure.

  "Ahh … yes! That's good!"

  He raised her up, sliding out of her, and held her there with his crown just inside her. He let her down half an inch then raised her again, and he gazed into her eyes, smiling as he teased her. She tried to push herself down, tried to get him inside her, but he only allowed her half an inch before raising her once more.

  "Stop torturing me," she whispered. "Please!"

  He relented … a little. This time he lowered her halfway, but lifted her up again just as she started to groan.

  "You bastard!" she groaned.

  "That was for wriggling your bum," murmured Chance. He let her down halfway, let her think he was continuing, before raising her up again, teasing her with the tip. "That was for messing around while you were pretending to pick up the ball."

  He did it again. "That was for losing the ball."

  She grabbed his face, her thumbs on his cheek, her fingers around the base of his skull, her nails hard on his scalp. "If you don't fuck me properly you'll be losing more balls," she hissed.

  He raised her up again, holding her firm. "Say please."

  "Please! Ahhh!"

  She cried out as he brought her down hard, driving himself deep inside. He let her rest there, enjoying the fullness, the pressure, for several seconds, and then he turned around, putting her back to the tree, pressing against her. Slowly he bent his knees, letting himself slide out of her hot wetness. "Say please!"

  "Ahh … please … please! … ahhh!"

  He gripped her hips harder and straighened his legs, driving hard into her.

  "Ahh … please! Oh God!"

  He did it again, sliding out of her almost all the way before powering back inside her with his full strength. She cried out again and again with every glorious thrust, her arms tight around his neck, her legs crossed behind his back.

  Chance's movements became more frantic, and he felt her tightening on his shaft, gripping him powerfully as her climax neared.

  "I'm coming … I'm coming … I'm coming," she groaned. "I can't … I can't … I can't hold on!"

  One more thrust, two, and she clung to him fiercely, jerking violently, her face pressed against his, her passionate cries ringing in his ears. Her spasms triggered his own orgasm, and he came inside her with powerful thrust after powerful thrust, driving himself deep as he emptied himself in a long, shuddering climax.

  "Oh my God," murmured Toni, breathing hard. "Oh my God. Oh, my."

  "That was amazing," whispered Chance, nuzzling her neck, his heart thudding in his chest. "Unbelievable."

  She hugged him, grinning with pleasure, his shaft still hard inside her. "Just wait 'til I tell Sam. She's not going to know what hit her."

  Chance carried the golf bag back to the house, while Toni walked alongside him. Her face was flushed, her hair was untidy and there were marks from the tree up the back of her dress. When they met Sam, she took one look at her sister and smiled broadly. "You look like you were dragged through a hedge backwards."

  "Backwards, forwards … you name it."

  "You didn't wear Mr Chance out, did you? I want him to take me fishing."

  "You don't need much energy for that," said Toni.

  "You haven't seen me with a rod."

  Sam followed them back to the house, and Chance realised she was keeping an eye on him. "It's all right. I'm not running away."

  Toni left them, murmuring something about a shower, and Sam stood on tiptoes to whisper in Chance's ears. "Do you mind having one too? It's a bit … odd, otherwise."

  Chance understood. He still had Toni's scent on him, and the two of them were sisters. "I won't be long."

  Sam glanced up and down the deserted hallway. "You know what?" she muttered. "I'll come and scrub your back."

  "What about fishing?"

  She made a rude noise. "There's only one rod I want to get my hands on, and it doesn't come with a reel."

  "I promised Harrow. It's expected of me."

  "All right, we'll go fishing after."

  Chance leaned the golf bag against the wall and took the stairs to his suite. Sam waited on the first landing until he beckoned her, and then they both slipped inside. Sam's eyes were bright, and she grabbed Chance to whisper in his ear. "This reminds me of boarding school."

  "Co-ed, was it?"

  "No, just a lot of healthy young women."

  Chance locked the bathroom door, and Sam undressed without any false modesty. She had a beautiful body, curvy in all the right places, and Chance felt himself hardening at the sight.

  "Do you like what you see?" she asked him.

  "It's like Christmas came early," said Chance.

  She put her arms around his neck. "Have you been a good boy, Luke Chance?"

  "Not very."

  Sam laughed, and then her eyes widened "Hey, what do you mean Christmas. Are you comparing me to fat old santa?"

  "More like a saucy imp," murmured Chance, as he took her by the hips.

  She smacked his hands away. "No touching."

  "But —"

  "No! Shower first."

  Chance obeyed, stepping under the hot water. She got in after him, took the soap and lathered him all over, massaging him under the hot spray. Her hands explored his arms and legs, rubbing them hard, and after kneading his buttocks she smiled
impishly at him as she took his member in her hands, soaping it thoroughly.

  Then she pushed him under the spray, rinsing him off, before shifting him out of the shower and washing herself down. She put on a show, soaping her breasts, running her fingers around her nipples, cupping her buttocks and sliding her hands up and down her inner thighs, leaving a film of suds. When she saw the effect it was having on him, she lingered under the spray, letting the water cascade over her shoulders, run over her breasts and down her legs.

  Then Sam stepped out, accepting a fresh towel with thanks. She dried herself thoroughly before wrapping the towel above her breasts, letting it hang straight down to the mid-point of her shapely thighs.

  "That's much better," she said, with a sigh. She picked up her dress and shrugged it on, leaving the bra and panties on the towel rail. "What about you? Don't you need clothes for fishing?" Then she looked down and snorted. "Clothes maybe. You won't need a rod."

  Once Chance was dressed they slipped out of the house, taking a quick detour to pick up the rods and tackle. Chance was still uncomfortably warm after the shower, especially with images of Sam's soap-flecked breasts and thighs filling his mind.

  The cool air helped to clear his head, and they found their way to a secluded spot on the bank of the river. Sam watched closely as Chance set up the rods, and she cast hers out with a minimum of fuss. Then they sat on the folding stools, the rods held lightly in their hands.

  "Have you done this before?" Chance asked her.

  "Sure. Dad's a keen angler."

  "So what am I showing you exactly?"

  "I'm glad you asked." Sam laid the rod down and got up. Then she took Chance's rod and laid it on the ground beside hers.

  "What about the fish?" he asked her.

  "That's okay, they can watch all they like." She sat down in his lap, facing him, and took his hands. "I was picturing this in the shower."

  "So was I," said Chance.

  She reached down to undo his belt and pants. When they were loose, she stood up briefly, allowing him to ease them off. Then she sat down again, her buttocks warm and soft on his bare thighs. His member stood between them, and she ran her fingers lightly up and down the thick shaft.