We both kept our hands off of her, but we were lying too close to keep our cocks from pressing against her sides.
Clara turned toward Harry and pushed him onto his back. What did this mean? Was he the one? She straddled him. She took his face in her hands and leaned down to kiss him. A goodbye kiss? Was it me after all?
She reached down between her legs and guided his cock inside of her.
I watched from the side as Clara began to ride her husband. She smiled down at him, hands on his chest, grinding her hips in slow circles against his lap. He smiled back at her, then let his eyes wander along her body. She did a little dance with her arms, snaking them above her head, and giggled when it had the intended effect, instantly luring his palms to her round and risen breasts.
Clara glanced at me as he fondled her. She grinned, bit her lip, then nodded back over her shoulder. I rose and stood over Harry’s shins. She looked up at me and I bent over to kiss her.
“Like old times,” she said.
I felt my face flush, an electric tingle crisscrossing my body—the hopeful joy of requited affection. Was it me, then? Had I won? Or was I a fool for expecting so?
I knelt down. I let my cock drag between Clara’s shoulder blades, then down the small of her back. She bent over, kissing Harry deeply again as he thrusted up into her.
I teased my shaft along her bottom. I gently spread her supple cheeks, pressed my thumb against her tiny hollow. Then I forced my throbbing, hungry cock into her ass.
Could it be that I was a perfectly snug fit? That for whatever improvements Harry had made to his imposing package, he was simply too round for Clara’s backside?
Clara buried her face against Harry’s neck as she moaned. As I eased inside of her, Harry began to thrust deeper. She squeezed his shoulders, squeezed his arms. I eased further. Harry rose and fell beneath her. I struggled to control myself, desperate to take her, to have her. She reached back blindly, her fingertips grazing my thigh, urging me on, and eventually I groaned, feeling myself within her body completely. She moaned my name against her husband’s chest, and I waited a moment, then began to sway my hips back and forth, back and forth, as Harry surged from beneath.
Clara sighed deeply, even broke into an excited giggle. She pawed absently at Harry’s chest with one hand and reached back to grasp my wrist with the other. She was close. She told us she wanted it harder. Harder. Begged us not to stop. Harry pinned Clara’s arms behind her back and held to her to his chest. I clutched her thighs and spanked her once, then again.
And at last her body began to stiffen. Clara quivered, a rolling wave that I felt against my pelvis before I saw the tremble in her shoulders. She went completely silent, submerged suddenly in the mute vibrations of a weightless swell. Then she at last erupted in a great fit of contented laughter. She stretched, pushed back long and slow against my cock, down along Harry’s, then tossed her hair to one side, closed her eyes, and rested her head against Harry’s chest with a long, fathomless breath.
“Fuck,” Clara said.
She purred and smiled at me, a few strands of hair falling back across her face, as I pulled myself from her body, and she purred again as she slid her hips up and away from Harry. She kissed him and rolled onto her back on the rug. She held a hand to her forehead, draped an arm across her stomach.
Once she regained her composure, Clara asked if we both came. A perfunctory question, she thought; she was stunned when Harry and I both said we had not. I, for one, said I was eager, but more desperate to hear her decision.
Harry, on the other hand, stood, balancing his hard shaft quietly in his palm.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” he said.
Clara looked up at him, then at me, then away. She didn’t respond.
“He reminds you more of the me that you remember,” Harry added.
Clara sighed and sat up on her knees. She rubbed her hands across Harry’s thighs and looked up at him with an apologetic smile as she kissed across his hip bone.
“My Harry,” she said softly. She held his cock, kissed the tip. “Will you cum for me?” she asked, staring up at him as she cradled his shaft between her breasts.
I stood to the side, trying to be respectful of their moment, but still so manically aroused that I couldn’t help but ogle her cleavage, Harry’s swollen head emerging, then submerging. Emerging, then submerging.
But as Harry’s momentum began to build, he suddenly stopped. He moved around behind Clara and bent her forward against the rug.
“Harry,” she began to protest.
He dropped to his knees, spread her cheeks, and began to lick furiously.
“Harry,” she said. “You’re too big for me there.”
But, satisfied that she was wet enough, Harry rose to one knee. “I can’t—” Clara began. He held her waist with one hand, his cock with the other, and then took what she’d given to me, her tight and delicate rear.
She didn’t stop him. Indeed, she curled her fingers against the rug.
It didn’t take him long, sprung with tension as he was, as we both were. He pushed deep to the hilt once, then a second time, and after the third he pulled away with a wild groan. He grabbed his cock, the vein of his forearm bulging, and a thick torrent of white poured across her bottom, her waist, and pooled into a narrow stream which ran slowly down the slope of her back.
He gave himself a few final pumps, wiped the sweat from his brow, and let his shaft rest against Clara’s ass. Her fingers relaxed and she glanced back at her lumbering beau, Paul Bunyan having just birthed a river.
“Charlie,” she said, glancing up at me as cum dripped over her shoulder and onto the rug. She scrunched her nose and flashed a slight, if telling, smile. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Author: Arthur_Brash
Forever Hung (Part 24) [sci-fi] [slow burn] [all characters over 21] [MMF] [consensual non consent] [oral]
Clara braced her palms against Harry’s abs, and I took a languid pace compared with Harry’s muscled pounding. I also considered my advantage. My cock, longer than his. I pushed into her slowly, letting her appreciate my length. She kissed Harry, but began to bend more the deeper I went. She kissed his nipple, held her lips against his stomach, but she stopped shy of a blowjob, too distracted as I gave her my final inch.
I saw Harry’s disappointment, his jealousy, and wondered if I was winning.
Harry looked at me as his wife began to grind against my hips, her nails digging against his chest. He took her hands, placed them carefully along the hearth, and stepped aside. He touched himself as he watched, walking back and forth around the two of us. Clara kept her eyes on him, turning her head to watch his sweating, hulking body.
He moved closer to us with each pass. He touched his shoulder to my shoulder; he ran one hand along Clara’s back; his cock brushed across my ass.
At last he crouched beneath Clara, his back to the fire. He kissed between her bobbing breasts, squeezed them against his face. He licked a line of sweat from her stomach. He grabbed one of her ass cheeks and I grabbed the other, claiming it for myself. Then—I could feel the reaction of her body, the tonal shift of her moans—he began to lick Clara’s clit.
She reached down with one hand, holding him there as I began to thrust harder. I felt the occasional flick of his tongue along my cock.
“Harry don’t you dare make me cum,” she said, and I spanked her because she’d said his name instead of mine. She smiled back over her shoulder and told me to fuck her. “Don’t stop fucking me, Charlie,” she said.
I struggled to control myself. I held Clara’s hair. She arched her neck. I spanked her. I groped her breasts. I pounded against her, her bottom rippling. In short, I lost my slow-and-steady advantage, until she suddenly pulled herself from my cock, stepped back from Harry, and threw herself against the hearth. She brushed her hair back, sweat sliding down her heaving chest as we stood before her, touching ourselves.
She looked at each of us as she caught her breath, as if trying to make up her mind. “I need a moment,” she said, blowing air through her lips. “I’m not ready to cum yet.”
She let her arms drape across the mantel. She glanced over Harry and I, likely expecting us to resume playing amongst ourselves, to offer a little show. And I nearly did. I nearly took Harry’s hand to grope between my legs, considered upping the ante with a kiss.
But he and I seemed to share a realization at the same moment. That as Clara stood there, wet and waiting, trying to bring her desires back from the brink, we each had an opportunity, a chance to push her over the edge and into orgasm with only a bare touch. She held her thighs tightly together as she stood, as if she could lose control if even the faintest warm gust from the fireplace found its way between her legs. Harry and I both seemed to realize at once, for we began to advance at the same time.
Harry grabbed Clara first, taking her right arm and pulling her against him. She gasped. Not to be outdone again, I seized her left arm and pulled her against me. She gasped again. Harry pulled her back to him and immediately slipped his hand between her legs. He fluttered his middle finger against her clit. I snapped her back against me, grabbing her bottom with both hands to hold her tight against the flat of my cock. I had time to see the flash of her scrunched-nose smile again before Harry scooped her up in both arms, laying her down on the rug.
He laid to one side of her. He kissed and fingered her as she moaned and struggled to tear his hand away. I laid to her other side and rotated her body toward Harry, sliding the head of my cock into her cunt from behind. She reached back to stop me as well.
“Wait,” she said between kisses as her body quivered.
I pushed deeper, felt Harry’s fingers pass across my shaft in their frenzy.
“Wait,” Clara managed again, pushing a hand against my hip.
I felt my pelvis against her ass, saw Harry’s tongue glide across hers.
“I’ve decided!” She shouted suddenly. Harry and I both stopped, the three of us panting. “I know who I want to be with.”
Harry and I looked at her expectantly, a little stunned that she could know at such an odd moment.
“But this isn’t how I want to finish,” she added.
She swatted Harry’s hand away, slapped at my waist, then laid back against the rug. She stretched, held her arms up over her head, arched her back, leaving Harry and I to gape at her body, and when I timidly reached for her breast, she swatted away that hand, as well.
“You both have to be good,” she said.
“Anything you want,” Harry said,
“Agreed,” I said lamely.
Forever Hung (Part 23) [sci-fi] [slow burn] [all characters over 21] [MMF] [oral]
I found her that night in the ballroom. The grand, bare expanse, the light of the fireplace reflecting against the towering windows along the far wall, and before the hearth, her back to me, stood Clara atop a large fur rug. She wore a short, silken black robe decorated with a white floral print. I approached, wearing only a short robe myself, a simple white cotton one, as she’d requested. My bare feet were so quiet against the parquet floor that I wasn’t certain she even knew I was there.
But as I came near, she turned to face me, her robe cinched tight. She smiled. Beautiful, radiant—it goes without saying—but also shy. Too shy considering how well-acquainted we were.
She reached out to unknot my belt, pulled it free through the loops, and studied my naked body through the open robe. She nodded to me and I removed it entirely. I balled the robe in my hands— a chance to flex my arms—and tossed it next to the fireplace.
She looked me over again and held her hands behind her back.
A door burst open from the opposite side of the ballroom. A beam of light spilled across the wide floor and in walked Harry. He wore a white cotton robe, same as mine, but he removed it upon entering the room, tossing it aside like some brutish divo. Clara looked down as if respecting the privacy he’d so quickly shirked, but I watched her sneak furtive glances at his body. The muscles of his thighs in the firelight, the sway of his soft cock as he walked toward us.
He stood across from me, mere feet away. He looked over my body and I at his.
“Don’t be shy,” Clara said.
Harry and I sighed and took a step toward each other.
Seeing us this way, Clara tried to maintain her composer, but she involuntarily scrunched her nose into a cute little smile.
She reached down and undid her belt. She let the robe hang open. The bra and panties beneath were the inverse of her robe; an innocent shade of white, the delicate lace decorated with a pattern of black flowers. She looked down at her body, sliding her right hand across her stomach, then higher, over her bra, such that her fingers grazed each breast from within the glow of her cleavage.
She looked up only slightly, just enough to watch us stiffen. She watched Harry’s, then mine, all while holding the fingers of her left hand against her abdomen, just north of her panties.
She smiled, and after only a moment, the tips of our cocks nearly touched. Mine, I was pleased to see, was slightly longer, but Harry’s, being thicker and by no means short, gave the impression of being bigger, likely built, calibrated by the professor, to be Clara’s ideal size.
She knelt between us, entranced by our combined length. Her lips touched Harry’s first, puckered against the side of his shaft, but she looked up at me as she kissed toward his head. Then—my turn; she kissed along the side of my cock, all while looking at Harry.
She took her lips from my cock and looked up at each of us. “A little closer?” She asked sweetly.
Harry and I hesitated, then stepped closer, the tips of our cocks brushing against each other ever so slightly.
Clara swallowed deeply, then took turns glancing up at each of us as she kissed against both of us at once. She moaned, sliding her tongue between the two, then wrapped her lips around us from the side; I felt the warmth of Clara’s mouth just as Harry must have, as the heads of our cocks billowed against one another.
Harry grabbed Clara and pulled her up and against him. She gasped. She caught herself with a hand against his abs, and the sudden movement made the robe fall from her shoulders. It draped midway across her back. She glanced back at me as Harry kissed her neck.
“You have to share me, Harry,” she said.
He ignored her, kissing across her collar bone as he pulled the back of her robe above her waist, revealing the thong beneath. His hand, the size of her entire cheek, squeezed.
“Harry,” she breathed, raising onto her tiptoes.
He pulled the robe down along her arms, then spun her around to face me, holding her hands behind her back with the fabric of the robe held tightly around her wrists.
She panted, looking at me, and feeling I was already losing some kind of competition, I pressed myself against her. As Harry slid his cock along the fabric of her thong, I took her face in my hands and kissed her deeply. She moaned against my mouth, moved her tongue against mine. I pressed my own cock against the damp front of her panties.
Harry spun her back around to face him, still holding Clara’s arms behind her back with the robe. He kissed her in his own deep way as I kissed along her shoulder blades, along a bra strap. I got down on my knees, squeezed her bottom with both hands, and began to lick between her cheeks. She pressed back against my face.
As I moved my tongue lower, a mistake. A purposeful ploy on Harry’s part to throw me off, no doubt, but with his cock tucked horizontally between Clara’s legs, against her panties, I accidentally ran my tongue across his tip, still wet from Clara’s saliva. He didn’t flinch, so neither did I; I slipped my tongue back up along the strap of her thong.
Harry let the robe fall from her wrists onto the floor. I stood and slid one bra strap along her arm as I nibbled her shoulder blade. Harry pulled down the second bra strap, burying his face within her cleavage.
I took my cock in my hand and guided it between Clara’s thighs, vying with Harry’s for space against her wet panties.
Clara reached back to unhook her bra, letting it fall, then slid her fingers through my hair, glancing over her shoulder and pulling me in for a kiss. I peered down, her exposed breasts, Harry’s mouth around one nipple, then the other.
“One of you has to fuck me,” she said breathlessly, and despite my inclination to delay, to keep her wanting, keep her anticipating, Harry ripped the thong from her body, as he was wont to do. He lifted beneath her ass, wrapped her legs around his waist, and brought her down onto his cock with a shudder.
I couldn’t find a place for myself as he lifted her slowly up and down, up and down, her hands rubbing his biceps with each flex. With few options, I gave her ass a spank and she reached back to take my cock in her hand. She tried to stroke, but found it too difficult as Harry began to bounce her faster. So instead she let go of Harry’s neck and trusted me to catch her as she fell back slightly toward me. My arm fell between her breasts as she kissed me over her shoulder.
As Harry held her gyrating waist, I let her torso sink lower, leaning over to kiss her upside down stomach. She held Harry’s arms for support, and he in turn begrudgingly held her horizontally between us as I pushed my cock between her lips. Her mouth felt warm and familiar, but more than the tightening of her lips, I felt myself deeper than she’d ever taken me before, borne forth with each of Harry’s thrusts.
Harry eventually rolled her midair, then set her knees down on the fur rug. He needed a break, the first signs of sweat emerging across his chest. Clara, too, pulled her lips from my cock, taking a deep, satisfied breath as she sat on her knees, staring up at us. She smiled at Harry, gave his cock a quick suck, then brushed the hair back from her face.
Again I felt that I was losing. The way the firelight flickered across his abs. The way she looked at him as she leaned back against her arms, swaying her legs. He brushed his own hair behind his ears, and I could see that he was about to crawl on top of her, leave me on the sidelines while he fucked her on the floor.
I considered my options and decided that, rather than gracefully flinging myself between the two of them, rather than risk seeming a sore sport, that I would catch him by surprise just as he’d done to me. As he prepared to drop to the floor before Clara, I reached over and took his cock in my hand.
He froze as I slowly stroked him. I did a proper job, squeezing my grip toward his head, loosening it toward the base—I knew I could make him cum, end his chances completely, if I really wanted. He stared at me, furious, but Clara seemed turned on by the sight. She bit her lip, her gaze transfixed, so Harry had no choice but to tolerate it for the moment. He straightened up and held his arms behind his back as I cupped his balls in my palm.
“Harry’s always been a bit bashful about this sort of thing,” Clara smiled.
“Really?” I said. “I can’t imagine you being bashful about anything, professor.”
Harry exhaled a deep sigh. He brought one hand from behind his back, spit into the palm, then spun toward me to grab my cock. He looked me dead in the eyes, squeezed tighter than I would have liked, clearly had no interest in my pleasure, but I know how we must have looked to Clara—her masculine lovers, arms pumping, biceps tight, our pecs contracting.
How long would we do this? Locked into a contest of wills, we likely would have continued until one of us came across the other. And by the look of his face, Harry would have been the first to go.
Clara, perhaps sensing this danger, stood. She moved between us and kissed me on the cheek as she took our cocks in each hand. She led us closer to the fireplace. She rubbed us slowly, let us settle down a bit. She angled her body first toward me, then toward Harry to give us each a full view. I felt myself sweating from the heat of the fire. She kissed Harry’s chest, kissed my neck. I watched Harry take deep, calming breaths.
When she decided we were sufficiently composed, Clara leaned her chest against Harry’s. She kissed him. Then she touched the tip of my cock to her soft pussy. I held her waist and pushed into her from behind.
Forever Hung (Part 22) [sci-fi] [slow burn] [all characters over 21] [MF] [teasing]
With my time at the professor’s estate drawing to a close, I wondered if Harry would ever finish his portico. It stood half-finished, untouched since he’d won the affections of his wife. A pile of cut-and-ready boards nearby, already worn from weather.
Until one morning I heard the familiar sound of his hammer. I was watching him through the kitchen window with my coffee when Clara gave me a big hug from behind.
“Everything all right with him?” I asked.
“Sure, as far as I know,” she shrugged.
“You didn’t confront him about Madison?”
She shrugged again and shook her head.
But every time I saw them together there was an unspoken tension. They avoided eye contact and seemed to only speak the occasional, perfunctory “excuse me” or “pass the tartar sauce, please.” Clara spent more time in the library and I even saw Harry take the boat out alone.
With me, meanwhile, she was more affectionate than ever. If we passed each other, she took and squeezed my hand. She pulled me into secret nooks around the house for a quick kiss. “Will you visit after you go?” she’d ask. She came to me at night and wouldn’t return to Harry until the early hours of the morning.
On Thursday I needed to check her vitals before I left for good. She sat in the chair by my desk in a paper-thin white sundress. Harry worked at his station a few desks away.
“One final physical,” she smiled. “Make it a good one.”
I overheard their arguments through the vents. He’d accuse her of hanging wet towels over the doors, she’d call him fat, but they never directly addressed what was bothering them.
And then I opened the door one morning to find an invitation to a farewell shooting party, a double-barrel shotgun leaning against the wall.
Forever Hung (Part 21) [sci-fi] [slow burn] [all characters over 21]
At Clara’s request, the five of us met for dinner on the back porch. Shrimp linguine alongside fresh, steamed oysters. The Bordeaux was delicious, but the company—only Clara was content. She sucked down oysters and kept trying to make conversation with Madison’s double—who she still thought to be a self-possessed Maddie—about gastropod mollusks. Madison, meanwhile, was busy sneaking furtive glances at Harry, who responded by busily twirling pasta around his fork. I frankly couldn’t look anyone in the eye.
“They’re left by predatory snails,” Clara said. “Isn’t that interesting?”
To which Madison’s double responded with an oddly breathy “incredible,” likely owing to the fact that Madison was too focused on Harry to concentrate on her delivery.
“Harry showed me one,” Clara said cheerfully.
“Yes, dear,” Harry said. He flashed a broad smile at her, but his response had seemed so divorced from the conversation that it clearly struck Clara as the second strange comment in as many minutes.
“Snails!” I shouted, trying to break the ice. But Clara took this as me mocking her topic of conversation, which, I suppose in some way I was.
We all hurried through our meal and left hungry.
Forever Hung (Part 20) [sci-fi] [slow burn] [all characters over 21] [MFF] [voyeur]
I closed my book and carried it with me into the hallway. I walked toward the east wing. I listened carefully outside a door, and hearing no one inside, I turned the knob and crept into the professor’s study.
The door to his bedroom was closed. Glancing about, my eyes fell on the statue of Clara, the body I now knew.
I drew the blinds as tightly as possible, then sat in the professor’s desk chair and wheeled myself into a discreet corner behind a ficus. Too dark to see, I illuminated my book with my cellphone light. And I sat, and I read, and I waited.
I read close to fifty pages. Essays about the electrification of the Chicago River. About century-old litter left on the peak of Mount Everest. About an abandoned hotel on the outskirts of the Uyuni Salt Flat. And I began to suspect my hunch was wrong.
But at last the hallway door creaked open. I killed my light, closed the book. I saw a figure tiptoe into the study. Two figures. The door closed behind them and there was only darkness. Silence, the creaking of floorboards, then a knock.
“Professor?” Madison said softly.
A befuddled “yes?” through the door.
One half of the door slid open, as if by itself, and through it I could see the professor standing in a smoking jacket and pajamas by a wash basin with a toothbrush in his mouth. I could see his bed, the lit fireplace, and thanks to a standing mirror on the far wall I could see his window, his seaside watercolor, and even the doorway through which I sat. Indeed, I could make out the entire bedroom.
So I saw from two angles as Madison appeared in the doorway. Her underwear was simple, but effective—a pair of cotton hipsters and matching balconette, both the pastel orange of a summer cantaloupe. Her hair was pinned up and delicately braided around the back, a few strands hanging purposely loose in front, and she wore a pair of pure white socks pulled up over her knees. Madison was, of course, a decade younger than the professor’s wife, and the outfit seemed specifically chosen to emphasize her youth.
She slipped one leg into the bedroom, caressing her thigh as she straddled the doorframe.
“Madison,” the professor said wearily.
The door’s other half slid open, also as if by magic, and her double emerged into the light. She wore a honeydew-colored version of the same outfit, but her hair was cut to shoulder length and hung, parted to one side, in loose ringlets. I expected her to straddle the opposite doorframe, but she instead pressed herself against Madison’s backside, looking at the professor as she gently kissed the back of Madison’s neck.
I had no way of knowing what effect this had on the professor, but I certainly felt the effect it had on me.
But his first thought was scientific. “You built a transistor?” The professor asked.
“All by myself,” Madison said. The double looked down. She made some slight adjustments to Madison’s bra straps, straightened her panties.
“You’re so good at moving independently, aren’t you professor?” she said. “I’m still struggling. It’s easy to do the same action with both bodies.” Madison turned to face her double. They wrapped their arms around each other. They kissed, tilting their heads one way, then the other, offering quick glimpses of their swirling tongues.
“But if I try to do two different things…”Madison continued. Her double walked over to the professor’s bed and laid back flat, sliding her hands inside her honeydew panties, the fabric rising and falling in time with the fingers beneath. From my seat I stared straight down her spread legs; in the mirror I saw her resting cleavage. All this as Madison sauntered toward the professor. She pressed herself against his hesitant body. She slipped a cantaloupe strap from her shoulder. She circled a toe, the soft cotton of the sock, across the professor’s bare foot.
“If I try to do different things,” Madison cupped her hand against the professor’s groin, “it gets harder.”
I saw him swallow.
“Can you help me practice?”
“Miss Lounds, please,” he said. “I’m with my wife.”
“That’s just what I mean! Multi-tasking.” She leaned in. She tilted his head to watch her double as she kissed the side of his neck. “Are you fucking her right now?”
“That’s not…”
“Is she going down on you?” She took him by the hands and walked backwards toward the bed. “Are you going to cum in her mouth if we go down on you?”
Madison sat the professor on the edge of the bed. She climbed behind him on her knees, removing his jacket, as her double straddled his lap. Her cleavage hovered beneath his chin. She leaned forward, but instead of kissing the professor, she kissed Madison over his shoulder, grinding gently against him as they moaned into each other’s mouths.
“I can’t…”
Madison pulled him back down onto the bed and threw her leg over his face. She unbuttoned his shirt as she kissed her double.
“This is easy,” she said, opening his shirt. “Both bodies kissing. Both of *my* bodies grinding different parts of *your* body. Both bodies unhooking the other’s bra.” They let each fall to the bed. From where I sat, their perfect triangle, I saw the girls’ nipples grow hard as they brushed against their mirror pair.
“But this…” Madison’s double reached down and tugged his pants below his waist. He was only semi-erect, a fact I attribute, even at his age, to an incredible resistance, a miraculous mental devotion to his wife. The double stroked him with both hands, breaking lips with Madison only long enough to let an orb of their shared spit drip onto his growing cock. When, despite his best efforts, he inevitably rose, Madison’s double held her panties to one side and eased herself down, the tight cunt I knew so well.
“This is harder,” Madison said. She leaned back on her arms, sliding her pelvis back and forth across the professor’s mouth as her double began riding him up and down.
From here the professor began to surrender to his good fortune. His hands started to explore their bodies. Madison’s abdomen, her double’s ass. Madison’s breasts, her double’s thigh. He slipped a finger inside each of their mouths. He arched his neck and rolled his pelvis. Then he rolled onto his side, both girls giggling as they fell against the mattress. He tugged at the cantaloupe panties, buried his face against the honeydew, they soon became a tangle of bodies punctuated only by four tall, white socks, and it was clear they wouldn’t be done before dark.
At which point I realized my own precarious situation. With the sliding doors open, I was trapped. If I tried to leave the darkened safety of my corner, I’d step into the light cast by the bedroom. Worse still: if ,when they finished at last, they reclined on the bed to catch their breath, they’d all be facing the open doorway, where any movement on my part, no matter how slight, might be noticed in the placid, post-coital lull.
I waited for an opportunity to sneak away, but there was rarely a moment when at least one of them wasn’t facing the doorway. Madison’s double, sitting on the headboard, the professor’s head between her legs. The professor, thrusting against one of the girls—I’ve no idea which—as they made out, one atop the other. Madison, her head dangling over the bed, squeezing her breasts as she went down on herself.
At last, the girls laid the professor on his back, his feet toward the doorway. They shuffled toward him on their knees across the mattress, their backs to me. Madison’s double took his cock in her hand, sliding it against her palm.
“This is what I really wanted to practice,” Madison said.
She leaned down and took him into her mouth, her lovely braid bobbing up and down. Then she sat up, held his cock upright, and her double bent over. Her blonde curls draped and swayed.
They stopped taking turns. Madison leaned over and her two mouths shared him in ways I could only imagine, for all I could see was the occasional crest of a head over the shapely ridge of their fair, abutting bottoms.
I emerged from my corner, hastened through the firelight beam, and returned to my room.
Forever Hung (Part 19) [sci-fi] [slow burn] [all characters over 21]
Harry and Clara were in the kitchen the next morning. She sat at the table, one hand on her chin, sucking a slice of grapefruit. Her eyes were locked on Harry, who smiled at her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear as he cut into a new citrus. Clara noticed me eyeing them and gave me a sympathetic smile. She touched her foot to my leg beneath the table, but her eyes drifted back to Harry, his arms bulging beneath his undershirt.
“Has anyone seen Madison this goddamn morning?” I said.
They both looked at me, a bit taken aback.
“I saw her and Maddie walking toward the woods earlier,” Harry said. “But would you mind stopping by my study first?” He added as I started for the door.
“Yeah yeah yeah,” I said, and flashed Clara a curt grin on my way out.
The professor was making coffee with an old, jury-rigged espresso machine when I entered. I felt like I hadn’t seen him in ages, my old mentor, but he didn’t even say hello since he had just seen me downstairs.
“I just wanted to say job well done,” he said, carrying his cup to his desk. “I think it’s safe to assume, at this point, that our little project was a success.”
“Is that right?” I said.
He read over a collection of papers. “All of Clara’s vitals are in order. She hasn’t resisted the memory implants. Her personality is…” he glanced at me with a winking, boyish grin. “…well. For all intents and purposes she is Clara.” The professor clasped his hands together excitedly. “The end of death!”
“Why don’t I feel like we’ve changed the world?”
“We’ll there’s still a paper to write, to review. Data to pour over. But the hard part is done,” he said. “I think we can wrap things up here as soon as this weekend.”
He reached out to shake my hand, then thought better of it and walked around his desk. He embraced me and patted my back.
Forever Hung (Part 18) [sci-fi] [slow burn] [all characters over 21] [oral] [anal play]
Harry was hard at work on his carpentry project in the morning, though he was in a less dour mood than usual. As I walked out with my coffee, he whistled in time with his hammer.
“Slept well?” I asked.
“Not especially, why?”
“Was that ‘Hot Cross Buns?’ “
“A good night, I guess,” he said. “I saw flickers of the old Clara.”
“Oh.” I felt a surprising pang. “It’s consummated, then?” I asked, trying to keep a jovial tone.
“I wouldn’t say that, but…” and he trailed off, balancing a board with his knee as he nailed it in place.
That night, for the first time since Clara’s arrival, I was woken by the faint sound of moaning through the vents. I recognized it, of course, and again found myself so consumed with jealous thoughts—had he finally just pinned her against the wall? Thrown her onto the mattress? Torn open her nightie?—that I was unable to sleep.
I turned to Maddie, asleep with her back to me. I glanced over her naked back, down to where the sheet draped so soundly across her bum, a hint of cleavage there. I gave my finger a lick, touched it to her lower back, then began to slip it lower, glacially into the crevasse of her cheeks.
Maddie jumped a bit when I found it—the small circle, the gentle give—but I felt her ever so slightly begin to accept the soft tip of my finger. But as I pushed, she leapt again at the first sign of depth. She turned to me, kissed my cheek, then fell back asleep.
Forever Hung (Part 17) [sci-fi] [slow burn] [all characters over 21]
Clara insisted it was a one time thing. She spent her evening with Harry in their room, where he undoubtedly proffered himself before her with chocolates and oil massages, while I had dinner with Maddie and Madison on the back porch—shrimp gumbo with bread and white wine.
But if, as the others busied themselves throughout the following days, I ever gave her a knowing look before wandering down the old horse trail, she’d always meet me in the stable. We found an abandoned service road and we’d take the motorcycle to explore the far, hidden perimeters of the estate. She always drove—I had no idea how—while I held onto her waist. I unzipped her pants as we rode. I’d reach between her legs and let the engine rattle my fingers against her panties. Until we found a secluded field where we could lean the bike against a tree and undress each other in the tall grass. “Last time,” she said, presenting her bottom, the most captivating of a thousand wildflowers.
Stumbling upon an old barn one day, Clara spanked me as I climbed through the stoop-less doorway. I helped her up, then threw her over my shoulder as she swatted my back. When I set her down, she sat on a rickety staircase leading to the loft. She smiled at me and said I could only watch as she began to touch herself beneath her dress. When it was my turn, she stood with her thigh against my thigh, squeezing my bicep, until I came across the floor. “Truly the last time,” she said, twirling her finger across my wet tip.
Soon our desires became too urgent to bother leaving the house. In the lab one morning, as she sat for my tests, I kept an eye on Harry. When I was sure he was preoccupied with his microscope three desks away, I moved a hand beneath Clara’s dress. I planned to slip a small note—“garage now”—into the band of her panties, but finding none, I had to wait for a second opportunity to tuck the note inside her cleavage.
It took longer to sneak away than I’d thought and I was worried Clara had grown impatient. Indeed, I didn’t see anyone when I glanced around the professor’s garage, a space the size of a small hangar lined with antique cars. But after a moment I heard a whistle from the far wall. I walked toward it, my boots echoing against the concrete. A cherry red speedster, a half-built hot rod, a late-century coupe—I was certain the whistle had come from that direction, but I saw no one.
Then I heard it again. Louder, closer. A two-tone sedan from the 1950s. I approached the driver side door, and peering through the window I saw Clara, topless, her dress pushed down around her waist, lying back across the bench seat, sliding one finger back and forth between her bare, forbidden lips.
She smiled and glanced up toward the opposite window. I walked slowly around the hood, her body hidden from sight for a few inexorable moments, then opened the passenger side door to the scent of her perfume.
She let her head hang back over the side of the seat and took my cock in her mouth. I braced myself against the roof of the car, surprised by the sudden warmth. Then, desperate to take part, I ducked into the cabin. I ran my hands down the underside of her breasts, across the rise and fall of her abdomen. With both of her hands occupied with my body, she held her knees tightly together, a reminder of where I was not allowed to go.
“Fingers don’t count,” I said, squeezing my hand between her thighs near her knees.
Clara moaned. She shook her head and squeezed my ass as a warning.
I began to slide my hand lower. She swatted it away.
I gave up. I respected her wishes. I ran my hands along the outside of her thighs as she pulled me back and forth into her mouth. But then she moaned, began to rub her thighs together, and in a spark of agreement she grabbed my hand and plunged it between her legs, two of my fingers awash in her rosy spring.
Bolder still, Clara came to me one night after dinner, when I should have been with Maddie and she with Harry, and said she needed to show me something on her husband’s boat.
“Show me something?”
“Yes,” she said, hands behind her back.
“Show me what?”
“A compass.”
“I see,” I said. “I love compasses.”
We met in the boathouse. I backed her against the raised hull as we kissed, ran my hands along her black panty hose. She gently pushed me away, then turned and began to climb.
As she held herself on the edge of the boat, her bottom pressed against my face, I caught the faint aroma of her scent, the moist nylon, and I became so besotted that I grabbed her waist before she could haul herself any further aboard.
She looked back at me.
“Is it really all for Harry?” I asked. I kissed the back of her left thigh, just below her bum.
She tried to pull herself into the boat, but I held her firmly.
I kissed closer to her right leg. “Just a taste,” I said, then I pressed my tongue against her damp panty hose.
She still tried to squirm away, but at the same time I felt her press back against my mouth.
“That’s your taste,” Clara said.
I found a slight tear in the hosiery. I slipped my finger through, widening the tear slightly. I slipped a second finger through, widening the tear slightly more. I took the hosiery in both hands and ripped them open. Her bottom, the underside of her wet lips. I dove forward and kissed hungrily, pressing my tongue inside her sopping pussy. I licked. I licked, breathing Clara in as I tasted her, and this is when I became convinced that, despite his claims, the professor surely must have made some genetic tweaks to his wife, for she tasted not only like the delicate delight of a woman, but also of sweet Grecian honey with the slightest hint of cardamom.
We never made it into the boat. I laid her back in a hammock and she held my head between her legs until she came. Then I licked her until she came again.
She took my cock in both hands. She looked me in the eyes. Her arms shook faster. She smiled as my mouth parted. She didn’t look away until I shot across her stomach. My cum ran between her legs, against her sapid lips.
Clara left the boathouse first, crossing the darkened lawn with her tattered tights shoved inside the pocket of her dress. I waited in case anyone was watching. When I at last started toward the house, I noticed that the laboratory light was on, odd at such an hour.
Forever Hung (Part 15) [sci-fi] [slow burn] [all characters over 21] [MF] [anal]
In the morning I heard a splash through the window. Maddie and Madison were swimming in the sound. Harry was again shirtless, sawing a large hunk of wood, having evidently decided to turn the tree he’d chopped down into a portico. Then, a new sound, a loud engine, from the front of the house. I hurried across the hall and looked through the window of the billiard room to see Clara speed away down the long country driveway on a motorcycle.
“Are you aware that our experiment just left the property?” I asked Harry as he held a tape measurer against the wood.
“My wife,” he insisted, “just needed a little air. Said she’d be back before lunch. Hopefully before I start driving these foundation rods into the ground.”
“Sir, everything seems to be going fine, but this early in a new lifecycle, anything could happen.”
“Quoting my own book at me?”
“What if she has a neurochemical overload, god knows where, with no identification—or even worse while she’s driving?”
“Relax.”
“To say nothing of the fact that she’s considered legally dead.”
Harry stopped measuring. He looked at me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“She never lived here. No one will recognize her. Hand me that wood planer.”
Even if the professor was too disenchanted with our project to worry, my career was still on the line. My reputation as a scientist. I stood by the broken billiard table, watching through the window for Clara’s return. When I at last saw the motorcycle approach around 11:00, I hurried downstairs. She drove past me as I opened the front door, so I followed the sound of her engine to some far side of the estate.
I found her parked in an old stable. The motorcycle still hummed between her legs, and Clara was just shaking her hair free of the helmet when she saw me.
“Charlie!” she said. She was dressed in head-to-toe riding gear. Black knee-high boots over a tight pair of khakis, a white button-up shirt primly tucked, and a blue blazer.
“Didn’t know you could ride one of those,” I said.
Clara shrugged. She cut the engine and pulled her right leg over the seat to stand. “I was looking for a horse. Found this in the corner, instead.”
“Well do me a favor,” I said. “Next time you want to take that for a spin, could you do it on the estate?”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a mocking pout.
“It’s important that you stay close by. Just for a couple of weeks.”
“You too?” Clara slipped the gloves from her hands and set them on the motorcycle seat. “What exactly are you and Harry worried about? Should I be concerned?”
I laughed. “No. Harry and I are worried about very different things. I’m just trying to follow standard protocols, really.”
“And Harry?”
I hesitated but Clara crossed her arms over her chest.
“He thinks you’re slightly different than you were before,” I said.
“How so?”
“It’s really none of my business.”
For effect, Clara repeated the motion of crossing her arms.
“I think he used the words ‘voracious appetite,’” I sighed. “Sexually speaking.”
Clara laughed. “Voracious?’ That’s what he said?”
“He feels that’s how you used to be, yes.”
Clara shook her head. “Agree to play out a handful of fantasies,” she mumbled to herself, draping the helmet strap over a handlebar. “So he’s frustrated that we’re not…sleeping together?”
“He’s building a portico,” I nodded.
Clara leaned back against the bike. She crossed her ankles and stared absently at the stable wall.
“He’s just been so focused on, I don’t know…wooing me. Like we’re in high school. Those boat rides, breakfast in bed.”
I stayed silent, feeling I was intruding again.
“It’s all very sweet, very romantic,” she said. “But…” She fiddled with one of the side mirrors. “What’s the point of all those muscles if he’s not just going to grab me?”
I was ready to turn and leave when all of sudden the kickstand gave out, rusted from years of rainwater. The motorcycle crashed to one side and Clara, who had been using it for support, leapt toward me with a sharp cry. I caught her in my arms, one hand on the small of her back, as she braced herself against my chest. She looked at me, then away, and I, desperate for something to say but being so terrible with words, decided to keep talking about the professor.
“He said your disposition is suddenly very…” I paused feeling her palms rub ever so slightly against me. “…nun-like.”
She looked at my mouth. Her knee brushed between mine.
“Well,” she began. “I guess I am technically a virgin.”
We looked at each other for a moment, but then she pulled away. She bent down to try and lift the motorcycle and I stepped forward to help. We managed to set it upright, my arms entangled with hers as we each scrambled about for the best grip. We rolled it across the floor, struggling to navigate the shattered crates, the water pails, all the old baggage which might crowd a derelict stable. I lifted the back wheel to help it into a stall, Clara jerked the handlebars, and eventually we managed to shove the bike against a side wall. Both a little out of breath, but with our task complete, we gradually realized our compromising position: Clara, bent forward slightly, her hands on the bike, and me pressed innocently against her backside, my hands on hers.
She looked at me over her shoulder, still panting.
“Thank you,” she said. She looked away, but made no effort to move.
I put my hands on her waist beneath her blazer. She pressed back against my pelvis, subtly enough that she could claim it was an accident. I tried to slip my fingers into each side of her khakis, thinking again about her turtleneck, but her pants were impossibly tight. I reached around and unbuttoned them. We looked at each other. She bent lower, resting her elbows on the seat.
I got down on my knees against the dust of the floor. I grasped both sides of her pants, and, even undone, they were difficult to remove. I peeled them from her skin, an inch at a time, and quickly realized she wore nothing underneath. Clara breathed harder the lower her pants became, until at last, with one final tug—the full curve of her bottom, supple and fair.
I stood. Clara began to shake. I unbuckled my jeans. She glanced back to watch as I lowered my pants and I saw her bite her lip as I took my cock in my hand.
But as I began to raise myself between her legs, hovering just below and against her lips such that I felt her wetness against the length of my cock, she reached back and took my hand.
“Not here,” she said breathlessly . “I’m saving myself for Harry.”
She ran her palm along my cock, examining its stature. Then she wrapped her fingers around and slowly guided me higher, squeezing my tip between her soft cheeks.
“Here,” she said, flashing a girlish pout as she wiggled her bum. Shyly, quietly, as if requesting a secret, she said “will you fuck me in the ass, Charlie?”
I bunched the back of her blazer into my hand as she let my cock slowly disappear within her milky vale, and we spent the next half-hour gently rocking the bike against the stall.