I began to take more chances with Maddie. As she stood gazing at the sound one morning, I opened the windows and let her lean against the sill as I reached between her legs from behind. I pulled her into the pantry one evening, knowing Madison could arrive any minute to make dinner, then buried my head beneath her skirt as Maddie grasped at shelves to steady herself. I even tried whisking Maddie into the walk-in freezer for a quickie while Madison was out for lunch, but we both found it too cold.
I realize now that I subconsciously wanted Madison to catch us, to learn the truth. Not out of some moral imperative or gnawing sense of guilt, but because a part of me thought she would be flattered. Or that she might see how well I pleased Maddie and take me for herself. Or, perhaps most rewarding of all, that seeing her double, her identical self, bent over the grand piano might trigger some kind of kink. That the two of them—twins!—would corner me in the shower and take turns soaping my lust-forgiven cock.
I became so enamored with the promise of this fantasy that I may have pushed things too far.
One night, after a long day of work, I was returning to my room when I noticed, through a hallway window, an unusual light out on the sound, not far from shore. It was a boat, I realized, and while I couldn’t be sure, it looked like the professor’s sailboat. I fetched a pair of binoculars from the library and, sure enough, peering from my bedroom window, I could just make out Madison in the last light of day, sipping champagne on the bow as Harry carried a tray of cheeses up from the cabin.
When Maddie came up behind me, wrapping her arms around me and slipping her hands into my front pockets, I turned to her. I looked her over. Black cotton panties and a red sweater hanging off one shoulder. She looked very enticing, but I decided it wasn’t quite right.
Madison’s room wasn’t locked. It looked as I expected from the mirror, but opening the door I could also smell the scent of Madison’s perfume, a girlish mix of cinnamon and lavender. I led Maddie in by the hand and asked her to have a seat in one of the wingback chairs.
Her underwear was in the top drawer. A layer of simple white and tan options was on the surface, but resting beneath was a dense collection of more playful lingerie. Matching sets in various pastel shades. Silk nighties. Lace stockings. Bright red straps barely connected to any fabric at all. Much of it I’d seen, much of it I’d not. I chose an outfit, set it on the bed, and told Maddie I’d wait in the bathroom while she tried it on.
When I emerged, she was admiring herself in the mirror. She wore a gray university t-shirt with a deep v and the tight blue jeans Madison often wore to work which so meticulously hugged her backside. I approached Maddie and cupped my hand against her ass, the curving mound of denim feeling just as I’d always imagined. I spun Maddie around, pulled her against me, and slipped my hands into her back pockets, squeezing each cheek the way I’d wanted to so many times in the lab. I spanked her lightly and she pressed against me; I spanked her harder and she leapt.
I ran my fingers around the inside of her waistband. I kissed Maddie, then looked down between our bodies as I undid the button of her jeans. Unzipped them. The hint of her underwear peeked through. I yanked the jeans down over her hips, and underneath, the frilly white panties with cherries, the ones Madison had worn on the day of our arrival. I got down on my knees and gently kissed the fabric between Maddie’s legs. Gently licked against the fabric. Wet, the panties adhered to the lips beneath, and I kissed Maddie there to taste her through the frills.
I stood. Maddie panted faintly, leaning back against the dresser. I ran my hands along her sides, ruffling the t-shirt against her skin. My hands rose higher along her back. Over her shoulders. I took each side of the v-neck in my hands and, glancing at the design on the cotton, the same university logo that had been on my sweatshirt, I ripped it open.
Maddie gasped, her chest heaving beneath a pastel orange bra, the same bra that had reminded me of a creamsicle.
I slid the torn shirt down her arms until, reaching the wrists, I used the remnants to tie Maddie’s hands behind her back. I stepped back. I admired her eager body. Then, realizing she needed one last thing, I reached around to dig through Madison’s jewelry box. I found a long silver necklace with a spherical amulet on the end. I clasped it around her neck. I held the amulet to my mouth, gave it a single kiss. Then I let the amulet roll against and into her cleavage.
And then I undressed.
When Madison opened her door, we were on top of her bed. Maddie on her knees, leaning forward with one shoulder against a bedpost. Me behind, holding the shirt tied around her wrists. And the white frilly panties pushed to one side, my pelvis thumping against Maddie’s ass.
***
Madison’s reaction did not rise to the expectation of my fantasy. In the days that followed I overheard heated arguments between Madison and the professor in the study. She yelled at him about violations of trust, of her privacy. She said she understood a certain scientific impulse to push things as far as possible, to find new applications for technology, but said she could not understand the complete callousness displayed by the professor, that he could clone his lover —even his slut nymphet, she added—without asking her consent.
As for me, Madison threatened to call the police. She was deterred only by the professor’s pleas on my behalf, and by the sheer exhaustion at the idea of explaining the situation to the authorities. I tried claiming that I had not been trespassing, that I had thought Maddie was, in fact, Madison, but this only angered Maddie—a thing I didn’t think possible—and she told Madison that I knew damn well who was who.
“He goes or I go,” Madison told the professor, his true body, in his study, referring to me.
“You must blame me, dear. Not Charlie,” the professor said. “No man could have resisted.”
“I blame you both.”
“I understand your frustration, but truly I need you both,” the professor said. “Neither one of you can be replaced this late into the project.”
“What *is* the project?” Madison shouted.
The professor only bowed his head and held a finger to his lips.
***
She refused to acknowledge me as we worked. I kept to myself on my side of the lab, running hypothetical brain wave patterns from our new DNA sample, then passed my data off to Harry. Madison seemed to be giving him the cold shoulder, as well. She gave him her datasets at lunchtime without the usual brush of his bicep or lingering gaze at his back, then he’d go synthesize the numbers on his own computer.
Her mirror was obviously covered—indeed, there seemed to be an entire armoire moved in front of the glass—but even without sight I could tell she and Harry were no longer engaged in their raucous, bacchanalian nights. No euphoric cries came through our wall or echoed down the hallways.
Nor had Maddie returned to me. The professor’s doing, I suspected, though it was certainly possible she was as irate as Madison.
Eventually—towards the professor, at least—I began to notice signs of forgiveness. Madison began taking coffee into the professor’s bedroom again; I saw her leaving in the morning, though she was always dressed much more conservatively. The same clothes she now wore in the lab. Long skirts that went down to her shins. Long-sleeve blouses. Turtlenecks.
She began to smile politely at Harry whenever they interacted at work. She even laughed slightly when he flicked water against her from the new hibernation bath, a definite breach of typical lab protocol, and thus, highly flirtatious.
In the evening I saw the two of them sharing the library together, albeit from different couches. At dinner time, Harry always brought a glass of red wine to her as she sat alone on the back porch, then left her to enjoy in peace. One night I saw her ask him to stay.
It wasn’t long before Madison and Harry seemed past their first big fight. I saw them through my window one night. She led him across the lawn, unzipping the side of one of her long skirts, and leaned against the same dogwood tree where Maddie had taken me.
Maddie—how I missed her. As I watched Madison drop to her knees in front of Harry, I thought about how much I missed Maddie.
“How was she?” Madison mumbled one day. I didn’t realize at first that she was speaking to me, and anyway every answer seemed like a trap, so I pretended not to hear.
“How was she?” she repeated more loudly. “Was she as…determined as Harry? Before he was synced?”
I considered my words carefully. “Just as steadfast, I’d say.”
And Madison went back to her work without saying anything more.
And then one morning, as Madison, Harry, and I silently drank coffee in the kitchen, Madison blurted out “ I want to see her.”
Harry glanced at me warily. “Maybe best to let what’s past—”
“Bring her to me if you ever want to do what I let you do last night again,” and she dropped her mug in the sink and stormed off.
Harry shrugged at me; his hands were tied.
Madison was waiting in the sunroom. I joined her, carrying my third cup of coffee, and sat on the loveseat. She glanced at me, fairly unpleasantly, then back out the window.
Harry led Maddie by the hand. She was essentially dressed for an interview—a brown skirt with panty hose underneath and a white button up blouse—but her hair was damp, and it was clear the professor had just woken her from her hibernation bath.
Madison circled her double. She studied various parts of Maddie’s body—her legs, her shoulder, her hair— and compared them with her own.
“She’s my exact double?” Madison asked. “No tweaks?”
“No tweaks needed,” Harry said.
Madison glanced at him to show she was unmoved.
She stood in front of Maddie, glanced at her chest to compare it with her own, then looked Maddie in the eyes.
“Did you sleep with him?” Madison asked, nodding toward Harry. “Touch him, play with him, do anything with him?”
Maddie looked back at Harry then shook her head.
“No, never.”
“What about the old man upstairs?” Madison asked. “Did you ever sleep with him?”
“No,” Maddie said, and in fact seemed a little perplexed by the question, as if she’d never met the professor in his original body.
Madison looked her over again, then glanced in my direction.
“How was he?” she asked.
Maddie frowned at me, her erstwhile and future swain, and gave a middling shrug. “Fine,” was all she said, and she and Madison shared a knowing—some might say insensitive—little laugh.
I saw Madison lead Harry into the Turkish bath that night, one strap of her bikini top already hanging from her shoulder.
Returning to my room, Maddie was waiting for me in a pair of linen pajamas.
“Maddie,” I said, so happy to see her. I hugged her to me and was relieved when she hugged back. “I’m sorry,” I said.
I kissed her, and just as our bodies began to respond to one another, she pushed me away.
“Not tonight,” she said.
I told her “of course,” and we spent the unusually cold night huddled together beneath the duvet.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/10x8hrw/forever_hung_part_10_scifi_slow_burn_all