The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes

by Linda Alvarez

  They’re using me, she thought. I’m just a fuckdoll, a sex machine, I don’t even know their real names and they probably don’t know mine, but fuck, it feels so fucking good!

  After that, the rest of the night, and the next day, and the next night, were something of an erotic blur. She did have a clear memory of jerking two of the men off so she could watch them come on her breasts, and then licking as much of their jizz as her tongue could reach before the other women finished the job of cleaning her up . . . and of Shorty returning for a second go at her tits, this time facing her feet while she licked his ass as avidly as she’d rimmed the Indian woman’s, or Ting’s, or Abigail’s . . . and of being blindfolded and ordered to guess whose cock was in her mouth, with the “threat” of a spanking if she guessed wrong, and of coming as the “threat” was carried out . . . and of being fucked and sodomized by all of the men, and by Ting with a strap-on, though she couldn’t remember in what order . . . but as she woke up Sunday morning, her body still glazed with come and other juices and covered with lipsticky kisses in four colours, the most important thing she remembered was how much pleasure her body, too long ignored, had given her and seven other people.

  She lay there in what Abigail had called the “recovery room”, still slightly dazed, and wondered whether she should ask the chauffeur to stop at a church so she could go to confession on the way home – at a church where no one knew her, of course. She’d gotten less than halfway through listing her encounters of the weekend before reaching for one of the vibrators Abigail had thoughtfully left on the nightstand.

  Linsey kept her expression neutral as she listened to the secretary of the PTA drone on reprovingly about the teacher who some parents thought was being too frank about sex in biology classes. The woman was only a few years her senior, and as Linsey looked at her prim, even severe, appearance, she realized that she was what she might have become without Brianna’s gift.

  Maybe I’m judging her too harshly, she thought. Maybe she has a girlfriend as well as a husband. Maybe she has an impressive collection of piercings and tattoos under that Dior suit. Maybe her ass isn’t really so tight that it doesn’t regularly accommodate a nice hard cock, or so hard that it doesn’t jiggle a little when it gets spanked. Maybe she likes to go to sex shop movie booths in some other town and suck cocks through a glory hole. Maybe—

  “. . . do the girls even need to learn biology at all?” the woman asked, bringing Linsey out of her reverie. “Unless they decide to go into medicine, what use will it be to them later in life?”

  Linsey stared at her for a moment, and seemed to hear Brianna’s voice in her head. You can choose when to be submissive, it said, and that means you’re choosing when not to be.

  “The course stays on the curriculum,” said Linsey, firmly. “Biology is not some shameful little secret; there’s a reason they call it a life science. And I am not going to fire a teacher for doing her job, answering questions and encouraging curiosity. Yes, we will tell the girls that abstinence is safest – but if they ask about alternatives, any alternatives, I expect the teachers to answer the questions as honestly as they are able and let the girls make informed decisions about their own lives. How do you put it? ‘Teach the controversy?’”

  The woman turned red, and stood. “I hope you’re ready to defend this position at the next meeting, when I suggest to the other parents that we pull our daughters out of this school.”

  Linsey resisted the urge to make a joke about withdrawal not being a particularly effective alternative. “You’re free to do that,” she said, “but I’m not apologising for the position I’ve taken. Is there anything else you wish to say?”

  Clearly there wasn’t, as the woman stood up and stormed towards the door. Linsey looked at her ass for a moment, fantasized about having it bent over her desk ready for a thorough spanking, then reached for her cell phone. “Brianna? It’s Lin. What’re you doing this weekend?”

  Wish Girls

  Matthew Addison

  Max opened his bedroom door, and there they were, his wish girls, sitting primly on the bed with their legs crossed, looking up at him through lowered lashes. Allison (the blonde) and Stephanie (the brunette), wearing the modified cheerleader outfits that made him cringe with inward embarrassment now whenever he saw them. The wish girls were fresh and perky and eager as always. “Hi girls,” he said, tossing his coat on to the chair and dropping his bag. He’d had a hard day at the bookstore, and more than anything he wanted someone to listen to his troubles and make him dinner, but those were two things his wish girls wouldn’t do, couldn’t do, hadn’t been made to do, so he’d have to be satisfied with the services they did offer.

  Stephanie and Allison were seventeen years old, and had been for the past fifteen years, never changing. They wore yellow-and-red uniforms, which resembled the ones worn by cheerleaders at Max’s old high school, but altered to titillate the perpetually aroused fourteen-year-old he’d been when he wished them into existence. The tops of the outfits were tight and thin and clinging, and Allison and Stephanie’s ever-erect nipples stuck through visibly. There was a round keyhole cut out in each bodice, revealing the full side swells of their firm high breasts, and the skirts were so short they hardly qualified as garments. The wish girls wore no panties, and even with their legs demurely crossed he could see the curling of their pubic hairs, blonde and black. They wore knee socks over their smooth, lithe legs, and Max felt a bit like a dirty old man for admiring them. The wish girls had been older than him when they first appeared, but they hadn’t aged as he did.

  “Strip,” he said. “Then go into the bathroom and shave.” He lingered to watch them undress one another, with many shy glances and coquettish looks at him, peeling off one another’s tops, shimmying out of their skirts. Their bodies were perfect, fine tits, taut bellies, round firm asses, the fantasy amalgamation of all the girls he’d lusted after as an eighth-grade loser. Their bodies were identical, both the same height, both with pink nipples, breasts the same ample size, and he wished for the thousandth time that he’d given one of them brown nipples, at least, or made one of them 5´9´´ and the other 5´2´´(they were both 5´7´´, done something to differentiate them, but he’d only wished for one blonde and one brunette, and that was the full extent of the variation. Even their faces were identical, Seventeen model faces, with full lips, big blue eyes, high cheekbones.

  The wish girls were undoubtedly lovely, but they’d been lovely in exactly the same way for a long time.

  They finished undressing, and he stepped aside to let them into the living room. His apartment was too small for three people, but the wish girls didn’t live with him, exactly -sometimes he fell asleep with them in his bed, but they always disappeared by morning, and they didn’t use the bathroom or cook meals or do anything to take up space. There was a time, even a few years ago, when watching them undress one another would have aroused him enough to make one of them kneel and suck him off, but he found that more elaborate steps were required to excite him now.

  Max made a microwave pizza while the girls shaved one another in the bathroom, and sat eating on the couch when they emerged, arm in arm, cunts freshly shorn. “Position sixteen,” he said, and the girls knelt before him, facing one another. Each put a hand on the other’s hip, and each slipped a hand into the other’s always wet cunt, fingering one another, and they tilted their faces together, eyes closed, and kissed, lips parted, pink tongues moving gently. Max slipped off his pants and his boxers and sat back down, tugging his cock while they made out. “Pinch her nipple, Allison,” he said, and the blonde reached out and tweaked, bringing a moan to Stephanie’s throat. “Harder,” he said, and she twisted, but Stephanie didn’t make any sounds of pain. As far as Max could tell, they didn’t feel pain, which made his forays into S&M less satisfying than they might have been, and made him wonder if they truly felt anything. “Gasp like it hurts you,” he said, and Stephanie did, making high sounds of distress. “Slap her tits, Allison,”
he ordered, and watched for a while, but even this wasn’t doing much for him.

  “Position thirty-nine, variation b,” he said, and the girls turned, facing away from him, first getting on all fours, then lowering their heads to the carpet, leaving their asses in the air. They crossed their arms behind their backs at the wrists – that was the “variation b” part – and Max took two silk scarves from the table by the couch and used them to bind their wrists together. He went to the tall red tool chest in the corner, which contained years of accumulated sex toys and supplies, and took out lube and a pair of clear acrylic butt plugs. Returning to the girls, he squirted lube on to their pink rosebud assholes and rubbed with his fingers. They moaned and moved against his touch – he’d taught them to do that – and gasped as he slipped the plugs into them. Once he’d filled their asses, he wiped his lube-slicked hand on a towel and began spanking the girls, alternating between Stephanie and Allison, full-palm swats that made their beautiful asses bounce. Their skin never bruised or reddened, no matter how hard he hit, and he’d never broken their skin. The wish girls were the product of adolescent fantasies that hadn’t gone much beyond groping, blow jobs and vague misconceptions about fucking, and they weren’t well equipped for some of the kinks he’d developed since then. Still, they gasped and cried out and begged for mercy, as he’d instructed them to do, until he was suffi ciently turned on to slip his cock into Stephanie’s tight, welcoming cunt, while fingering Allison with one hand. When he was close to orgasm, he pulled out. “Position eight,” he said, and pulled them into upright kneeling positions. They put their faces close together and looked up at him worshipfully, licking their lips, and he tugged his cock until he shot come on to their smiling faces.

  Once spent, he sat back on the couch, feeling empty. He liked coming on their faces, visually, but didn’t find it as physically satisfying as coming in their mouths, cunts or asses. They kept kneeling, attentive, waiting for any further orders, but Max shook his head. “I’m done. I’ll call if I need anything.” The wish girls unbound their own hands, removed the butt plugs gracefully, and slipped back into the bedroom. They would disappear now into whatever place they went when he wasn’t using them.

  Max sat on the couch, flipping channels, until he got lonely. He called “Stephanie!” The brunette stepped out of the bedroom, clad in her cheerleader costume and with her full complement of pubic hair again, reset to her default state. “Put on the nightgown,” he said. She stripped off her uniform, dropping the garments to the floor, where they would remain for as long as Max looked at them, though they would vanish the moment he looked elsewhere. She went to the toolbox and took out a sheer silk nightgown, which was, relatively speaking, modest. “Position 115,” he said, and she sat beside him, one hand resting on his leg, her head leaning against his shoulder, a warm and intimate nuzzle. Sometimes having her act like a girlfriend – like he imagined a girlfriend would act -made him happier, but tonight it just made him sad and even lonelier. “Position forty-three,” he said, sliding down a little in his seat, and she lay sideways on the couch, head resting on his belly, and she sucked slowly, almost meditatively, on the head of his cock, until he built towards orgasm again. He grasped her head in his hands and thrust his hips, his cock hitting the back of her throat again and again, until he came in her mouth, and all the while she made moans of exquisite pleasure.

  Letting go of her head, he said “OK,” and she sat up, swallowing and licking her lips. “Kiss me goodnight,” he said, and she did, sweetly, softly, and then he sent her away for the night.

  Max worked in the genre fiction section at a big chain bookstore, shelving mysteries, romances, sci-fi and fantasy. That morning he held a purple trade paperback with a golden Aladdin’s lamp on the cover, the second book in some series about a wisecracking genie, and he tried to remember what, exactly, the circumstances of his wish had been. He knew he’d been in the woods behind his childhood home, and found . . . something, a ring, a bottle, a coloured stone, and he’d been given a wish, though now he couldn’t remember if some spirit or being had spoken to him, or if the knowledge of the wish had simply appeared in his mind. That was part of the wish’s defence, he understood, to make the memory of its genesis vague, because then it would be harder for Max to tell other people about it. Whatever the specific circumstances had been, Max had held the wishing object in his hand, or he’d buried it in the dirt, or he’d broken it open, and he’d made his wish, voicing one of the many elaborate fantasies he concocted in his narrow bed each night, and then Allison and Stephanie came to him. He’d spent the next three years slipping away to the woods every chance he got, on weekends and afternoons, even some days when he cut school, going to a secluded clearing beyond earshot of his house and waiting for Allison and Stephanie to step out of the trees. They’d done everything he wanted, and in those years he did everything a young man could think to do with two girls, and watched as they did everything two young girls could do to one another – at least, without the help of props and accessories and costumes. Max’s grades fell, he stopped seeing his friends, he didn’t take part in sports or theatre or band, and he didn’t ask girls out – why should he, with two lithe nude eager wish girls waiting for him in the woods? They’d been like a drug, he understood now, like heroin, and everything in his life became secondary to the pursuit of the pleasure they gave.

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder, startling him. He turned to see a woman, about his age, with short copper-coloured hair and round-rimmed glasses, and he automatically compared her to Stephanie and Allison, as he did with every woman he saw – her face was round, her eyes startlingly green, she had a pimple above one of her eyebrows, and her expression seemed amused even at rest. “I’m the new girl,” she said. “Just transferred from the downtown branch. What’s your name?”

  “Uh, Max,” he mumbled, looking down at the book in his hand, uncomfortable standing so close to her.

  “Nice to meet you, Max, I’m Kira. I used to work in genre at my old bookstore, but they stuck me with photography and art books here. Let me know if you ever want to trade.”

  “Uh,” he said. “No, I, uh—”

  “Just kidding, Max, I’m not going to poach your section.” She patted his shoulder and said, “See you around.”

  He turned and watched as she walked away, and he noticed her curves, her hips. She probably weighed fi fty pounds more than Allison or Stephanie, and was four inches shorter than them, but it looked right and proportional on her – Kira didn’t have their willowy waists. Max turned back to his shelving. Why had she made him so nervous? Spending fifteen years with Allison and Stephanie had rendered him incapable of interacting with women normally. He’d never been on a real date, and didn’t have any close friends, didn’t go out to bars -and why would he? The other guys at the bookstore went out, drank and tried to pick up women, but Max didn’t need to pick up women. He had the holy grail at home, two hot girls who couldn’t get enough of him. His life was perfect. He’d blundered into magic, and his life was magical as a result.

  So why didn’t he look forward to going home any more?

  Max had expected things to change with the wish girls when he got his own apartment. Once he’d moved in, out on his own for the first time, he’d called the girls, and they’d emerged from the bedroom, seeming happy, as always, to be summoned. “This is our place now,” he said. “You never have to leave or disappear, no more going to the woods, you can just stay here.” Their smiles didn’t falter, but they didn’t seem to absorb what he said, either. They could talk, and they understood the often-complicated tasks he set for them, but they never truly conversed with him. Beyond a certain basic repertoire of phrases – “Yes, please, God” – he’d had to teach them whatever he wanted them to say.

  “Allison, position one,” he said, and she knelt before him, unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock, stroking it to erectness and then licking the shaft slowly, from bottom to top. “What do you think of the apartment, St
ephanie?” he said, while Allison tongued the vein beneath the head of his dick.

  “It’s so big,” she said. “It feels so good inside.”

  Max frowned. The words made superficial sense, though they weren’t exactly accurate, and they were, of course, things he’d taught her to say under other circumstances. He wondered how intelligent they were, really, these wish girls of his, and it was something he would come to wonder again and again in the coming years.

  Over the next weeks he tried to make them understand that his home was theirs, but they kept disappearing when he was done with them each night. He kept running up against the limits of their capabilities. Once he tried to teach Allison to wash dishes – after all, if they were his willing slaves, why shouldn’t he use them for something other than fucking? He’d explained everything required to wash dishes, and told Allison the chore was her responsibility from now on. The first night, she’d emerged from the bedroom and changed into a frilly white apron, four-inch spike heels, and nothing else. She’d filled the sink with soapy water, then leaned over the counter on her elbows, breasts in the suds, ass lifted invitingly, and Max had been so turned on he’d come up behind her and pounded her hard, pulling her hair and squeezing her soapy tits while he thrust into her. It was only later that he realized she hadn’t done the dishes at all, even when he was done fucking her, and all his later attempts to get them to do anything non-sexual ended that way – he’d fucked Stephanie from behind while her head hung in the toilet after he tried to teach her to clean the bathroom, and while they were more than willing to let him eat off their bodies, they never prepared food for him. They were happy to dress up in maid’s uniforms – that was one of the first mildly kinky things he’d done with them once he had his own apartment – but not to act like maids.