Working in Frank’s is okay. Frank himself is a bit of a pain in the ass, but I’m friendly enough with the other girls. Back when Frank still had ideas of starting a franchise, the diner-come-bar was decked out in the usual family friendly reds and yellows. Some time before I started, he realised the customers he could count on weren’t mom, pop and their 2.4s but the working joes who needed to stop in before they went home.

Accordingly, he adjusted his staffing policy. Michael, who’d been tending bar since he was old enough, got tossed out on his ear. Frank made sure that every single member of staff, from the guys in the back to those waiting tables, were exactly the kind of person to being in his new target audience: we’re all relatively young - late-teens to early twenties (except for Amanda, but she still looks like she could pass for my sister) - with easy smiles. The outfits Frank makes us wear are two sizes too small and have deep v-necks, which gives the guys an eyeful whenever we bend over. The shorts are barely more than hot pants and hug snuggly around the curves. They’re the same shade of black as the knee-high socks and sneakers.

Frank enjoys the show, too, but he’s constantly bitching that we should “be friendly, but don’t be a slut”. Now, what that means or how he decides is something known only to Frank and it changes day to day. So far, I’ve managed to walk the line and have gotten my fair share of tips (I’ve also had my backside pinched in the stupid shorts we wear, but that comes with the job, I guess).

I’ve been doing this long enough that I’ve gotten to know the regulars, even those that don’t live in our small town. So when the door opened last week and two handsome strangers walked in, my attention was piqued.

They were both older, in their thirties. Their comely features and blonde hair, together with their trim bodies, were similar enough to make me think “brothers” not “boyfriends”. The more attention I paid, the more differences I spotted: whilst they were both older than me, one was clearly younger than the other. His hair was spiked in a deliberately unruly mess and his checked shirt had a designer logo on it. His brother had taken more care over his appearance, dressed as he was in a sharp black suit and haircut to match.

I glanced around and realised none of the other girls had noticed them. Fine, I didn’t mind finding out if these strangers were great tippers or not. If nothing else, they weren’t hard on the eyes, unlike the majority of the men littering the bar. I grabbed a couple of menus and sauntered over, shaking my hips and smiling broadly.

“Hi,” I said warmly, “Welcome to Frank’s. I’m Lynn, and I’ll be your waitress today.” I batted my eyelashes at the younger one and, as I was handing over the menus, I let my fingers lightly touch the older one’s hand.

He caught my eye and flashed me a smile that almost stopped my heart. “I’m Jackson,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice. “This is Mitchell.” He nodded to his companion, who raised an eyebrow. Unperturbed, Jackson continued: “It’s our birthdays: I was 36 on Tuesday and Mitchell’s turning the big 3-0 on Sunday.”

I managed to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth long enough to say “Happy birthday!” I walked them through the menu and the specials. The normal routine knocked me from under whatever spell Jackson had cast. I feel into old faithful habits, such as bending low when delivering their drinks to give them a long look at my cleavage and laughing playfully at their jokes.

The afternoon turned to night. Jackson and Mitchell stayed where they were, eating and drinking. The regulars started to gravitate to Frank’s and more than once, I noticed the odd looks the brothers were getting. As the bar became busier, I didn’t spend as much time waiting on them as I would have liked, but I made sure to drop by every ten or fifteen minutes to top up their drinks.

It was getting late and Frank’s was filling up when Jackson waved me over. I weaved my way through the crowd and stopped at the table. There were more than a few empty glasses, including several shot glasses, sitting in front of the brothers, but they were both nursing nearly full beers. “What can I get for you guys?” I shouted over the music now blaring from the speakers.

“We’ve got a question for you,” Jackson said, his words a little slurred.

“Yeah?”

With a finger, he beckoned for me to lean down. His breath was warm on my neck. Goosebumps ran down my spine. “Do most women feel the same about a threesome with two brothers as most guys do with two sisters?”

I stood back and studied them both. Thinking of the tip I hoped they’d be leaving for me, I shrugged. “I can’t speak for most women, but the thought’s crossed my mind once or twice.”

Mitchell sat up straighter and grinned at his brother. “Told you,” he jeered.

I grinned. “It’s a good fantasy to have,” I said with a wink. “Now, can I get you boys anything else?”

Jackson met Mitchell’s eye for just a moment. They seemed to come to some decision then as Mitchell grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Just the bill,” Jackson answered me.

I grabbed the tab and brought it over as Jackson was slipping into his jacket. I left him to leave his money and drifted off to deal with some other customers. When I looked back, he was gone. I picked up the money and realised they’d left me a 50% tip. Excellent!

But even better was the handwritten note Jackson had left on the other side of the bill: It’s a good fantasy. If you want to make it a reality, call me. Under it was his number.

I took a deep breath. Sure, guys leave me their numbers all the time; it’s one of the things about doing this job in this place. I’ve gotten used to it. But the way those brothers had looked at me, the connection I’d felt with them, especially Jackson.

With trembling fingers, I stuffed the tip and bill into the pockets of my tight shorts and went back to work. My thoughts kept running to the number pressed against the curve of my ass. Was I actually going to call him? Was I seriously considering doing this?

On my break, I ducked outside into the cool carpark. I keyed Jackson’s number but didn’t hit dial. I stared at it for a long moment. Seriously? Sex with two strangers who chose Frank’s of all places to celebrate their birthdays? Seriously?

I dialled.

Ring.

Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

My knees went weak at the sound of Jackson’s voice. “Hi, it’s Lynn. Y’know...from Frank’s.”

“I was hoping it would be,” he purred in my ear. “Hang on, Mitchell wants to ask you something.”

My heart pounded against my ribs. The phone crackled as Mitchell placed it against his stubbly cheek. “Fantasy or reality?” he asked without preamble.

That was the question, wasn’t it? Fantasy or… “Reality,” I said, stunned at my willingness.

“Reality,” he repeated softly. Where his brother’s voice was wonderfully sonorous, Mitchell’s was confident, yet light. “Okay, Lynn, we’re staying at the Imperial Hotel. You know it?”

“Yes.”

“Room 318.”

My nerves kicked into overdrive. Suddenly, when faced with this unreal experience, I railed against it. If Frank found out I had gone to these guys, I’m fairly certain that is crossing the line between friendliness and slutiness. “I...I don’t get off work for another hour,” I stammered, saying the first excuse that came to mind.

“We’ll wait,” Mitchell promised. “See you soon.” The phone went dead.

I stood alone in the car park, shivering. But the shivering wasn’t due to the cool night. The rest of my shift passed in a complete blur. Before I knew it, I was sitting in my car, heading through town towards the Imperial. The entire journey, I questioned what I was doing. What if these guys were psychos? What if they were a pair of conmen?

My anxiety didn’t leave as I pushed into the hotel lobby. The receptionist frowned at me, clearly unhappy with the way I was dressed. I hadn’t had time to change, so I can imagine what I must have looked like to her. “I’m meeting some friends,” I said to her as I crossed to the elevator. She watched me the entire way. I could feel her eyes on me as I waited for the doors to open.

The elevator arrived. I stepped inside and turned around and winked at the receptionist as the doors closed. Sealed in the elevator, I let my breath out. Okay, it was fine. They seemed liked good guys in the bar. Jackson had seemed quite nervous asking me about the threesome thing...I didn’t think they’d done this before. They were just normal guys, I assured myself, nothing wrong with them.

Normal guys that ask a random waitress to have a threesome in a hotel.

Yeah.

Next thing I knew, I was outside Room 318. My hand hovered, ready to knock if I chose to. What’s the worst that could happen?

They could kill me and eat me…

Yeah, but what’s the best that could happen?

I knocked the door before I lost what little nerve I’ve built.

Jackson opened the door, glass of something amber in his hand. He’d taken off his suit jacket and even his plain white shirt could do nothing to hide his muscled body. The top button of his white shirt was open, his tie long discarded. “Lynn!” He beamed. A wave of nervous pleasure ran through me. “Come on in.”

He stepped aside to let me past. The room had two single beds, a writing desk and a balcony. From outside, Mitchell waved to me, pointing at the glass in his hand. “Want a drink?” The wind played with his unkempt hair.

I nodded, glancing back anxiously as Jackson closed the door. “Whatever’s going,” I said. Mitchell poured me a tall measure of whiskey and beckoned me out onto the balcony.

There was a small table with four chairs. I leant against the cold steel rail, drink in hand, gazing out at the lights of my small town. Mitchell sat in one of the chairs, sipping his drink. I loved the feeling of him watching my ass, mentally stripping me. I took a long swig of the whiskey, loving the way it settled my fears. Now that I was here, in this room with them, things didn’t seem too bad.

Jackson joined us on the balcony and drained his glass. Having set it on the table, he came to stand beside me. “Having second thoughts, Lynn?” he asked companionably.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. I turned to face them both, the whiskey giving me a little boost of confidence. “Are you?”

Jackson smiled and cupped my cheek. Mitchell raised an eyebrow at him, but I didn’t care. The older brother tilted my head upwards as he leant down and kissed me. My lips parted, letting his tongue dart between them. I could taste the whiskey on his breath.

I gasped as his free hand squeezed my breasts. He kissed his way from my lips, along my jawline and buried his face in my neck, gently nibbling my collarbone. I closed my eyes, relishing the attention, moaning softly as my nipples stiffened . A soft moan escaped my lips.

Jackson stepped back. He grabbed the bottle from the table and topped my glass up. His bulge was evident in the straight lines of his suit trousers. Mitchell shifted in his seat, a smile brightening his face. His hand had slipped beneath the table.

“Okay,” I said with a sigh. “So, how do we want to do this? Who’s going first?”

Jackson glanced at Mitchell. “Uh…” the younger one said. “We were kind of hoping for something a little more...adventurous.”

I frowned. Jackson leant against the rail. “Would you have a problem with both of us? Y’know, at the same time?”

My eyes widened at the image of the brothers pinioning me between them. “And you’re both okay with that?” I said, trying to ignore the sudden heat between my legs.

The brothers shared another meaningful look. Mitchell nodded, meeting my eye. “It’s been a fantasy since we were young. A stunning girl looking after the pair of us.”

I let out a low whistle and drained my drink. “I think I should get freshened up. I’ve come straight from work…”

Jackson pointed back into the room. “The shower’s through there. Take as long as you need.”

Mitchell grinned fiendishly. “Put the socks back on,” he said with a wink.

Laughing, I made my way to the small bathroom. I slipped out of my work clothes, throwing everything except the long black socks into a pile in the corner. Those, I hung over the towel rail. I wasn’t surprised to see my thong stained with the telltale signs of excitement. I put my hand between my legs and almost instantly my fingers were soaking.

I climbed into the shower and let the water carry all my worries away. Outside, in the room, echoed the sounds of hasty furniture rearrangement. The brothers were pushing the beds together.

Together. The word sent delicious shivers down my spine. They’d be together. The warm water drummed against me as I leaned back on the wall and let my fingers explore my folds. They found wetness of an entirely different kind. I worked frantically, not wanting to take too long. I couldn’t get the image of Mitchell and Jackson high-fiving above me out of my head...imagine licking one rock-hard rod whilst another pistons into me...imagine...

My orgasm crashed over me. I shuddered and bit down against the scream welling in my throat. I gripped the shower rail as my knees threatened to buckle. My breath came in long, hot gasps. Had the brothers heard me? Honestly, I didn’t care. I’m sure if they knew what I’d been doing, what I’d been thinking about, they’d have been more than happy.

I staggered out the shower and dried off. My hair was as unruly as Mitchell’s, but nowhere near as intentionally done. Blonde locks fell about my head in long, wet strands. Nothing I could do about it: the brothers hadn’t left me a comb or a brush. They’d need to take me as they found me...take me...I bit my lip and fought the urge to let my fingers wander again.

I put on my socks and pulled them up as far as they could go. They stopped just below my knees. Now came the real question: did I get dressed again only to have the brothers strip me, or did I go marching into their room wearing nothing but a pair of knee-high socks?

In my experience, men enjoy unwrapping their presents. And it’s not like I wasn’t going to savour having the two of them tear my clothes from me.

I stepped into my shorts, leaving my thong where it was. Likewise, I pulled my tight t-shirt over my head but left my bra sitting on the floor. I wiped the condensation from the mirror and looked appraisingly at my reflection.

Tousled hair, nipples clearly visible through my shirt and no make up. Maybe it was the orgasm or maybe it was all the whiskey, but honestly, I don’t think I’ve looked better. I opened the door.

Mitchell was sitting on the edge of the bed directly opposite the bathroom. He smiled widely as I stepped out. Jackson was watching from the balcony. He’d taken his shirt off, his hard body covered only by a thin vest. The room stank of their desire.