Harem: An MFMM Romance

by Abby Angel

  But enough about this shit. I actually came here today because sure, I’m a bit curious as to the quality of these girls that we’re casting.

  “We were just going through some exercises to classify the girls, Ethan,” Joel tells me. I nod and sit down.

  ‘Going through exercises’ means that Joel is looking for ways to separate out the wheat from the chaff.

  I sit down on a folding chair in the room across from five couches with fifty girls in various degrees of scantily clad attire. Some girls are sitting there in sweat pants and others are sitting in just a bra and panties. A few are topless, thinking it helps their chances.

  Not likely.

  “Alright, ladies,” Joel says going through his clipboard. “Let’s give us all sexy faces.”

  It’s fucking hilarious how the mood seems to change as fifty girls go from various stages of being bored but trying to look excited, to trying to look smoldering hot. They scrunch their noses, wrinkle their eyes, leave their mouths open, bat their eyelashes, and start breathing heavily.

  I scan the girls. Yeah, you heard me; I’m enjoying the fucking view.

  I mean, who knows, I could end up fucking one of them.

  Fuck, I wouldn’t mind taking my turn through all of them. In fact, a part of me wants to hire them all and bring them over for one night and fuck all of them.

  But that would probably end the casting call in disaster. We’d fall behind in our product launch. All for what? Pussy?

  It’s not worth it.

  Or is it?

  My eyes set upon a girl in the middle. She’s wearing a tight black dress that hugs her legs and ass like a second fucking skin.

  Oh, fuck. Yes, I definitely would love to tap that fucking ass. She’s got a slender fucking body with curves in all the right places. Her blonde hair is shoulder length and her eyes are bright and intelligent.

  She’s wearing a sticker on her chest—similar to the other girls. Her sticker says #26.

  And she couldn't look more bored if her life depended on it.

  “Numbers 3, 4, 6, 9, 12, 24, 34, 38, 43, 45, 49, 50, thank you,” Joel says looking at his clipboard. “You can go now.”

  So that’s it. After dragging themselves all the way down to our Times Square studios, they sit around on couches for a while, and then they’re told they can go. Which is a polite way of saying fuck off.

  Normally, this would be my fucking cue as the girls with the numbers mentioned get up and proceed to the door. I’d be up and following them out, looking to fuck one of these sluts and take her home with me for the night.

  But right now, I’m fucking entranced just look at #26 sitting there, even though she’s completely bored out of her fucking mind.

  I look down at my casting sheet and try to find a name that matches #26. There it is. Brittney Roman.

  “Alright, ladies, let’s get up and bend over,” Joel says. “Show me that ass.”

  Jesus, is he for real? This is what he fucking does for work?

  As if on cue, each of the girls gets up. They turn around and bend over. Some look back at Joel. Several look toward me. They may not know who I am, but they can tell the tone of fucking deference that Joel used when he addressed me.

  The girls are either bending over and slowly shaking their ass, or running their hands over their ass cheeks as they look back. A few are just bent over with their hands against the couch. One woman has fiery red hair and five-inch stilettos. She's wearing nothing else. She saunters over, running the palms of her hands up and down her naked thighs. She's holding her gaze on us—she has her eyes on the prize—and she slowly bends her knees, squatting down to the floor.

  As she does this, she intentionally spreads her knees open, giving us an unobstructed view of her pussy. She's puckering her mouth—with those full, glossy lips—and parts them just enough to let the tip of her tongue come out and seductively drag across her upper lip.

  Joel is fucking loving this. He's entranced.

  She realizes that she's got Joel hooked, so she walks over and rakes her red fingernails through his hair. In her other hand, she's holding a silicon dildo, which she hands to Joel. "Wanna play?" she purrs.

  She sits back and spreads her legs open, exposing her pussy.

  The whole scene seems almost too contrived for my taste. I fucking swear, if whoever #26 is wasn’t here, this would be the strangest fucking thing I would have ever seen.

  I understand what Joel’s trying to do. But it just seems kind of fucking wrong.

  But not wrong enough that I don’t take a moment to scan all those delectable asses in front of me before really settling on the one I want to feast on—the blonde haired girl with the #26 tag.

  She throws her head back and looks up, and both Joel and I are a bit started, and I can see him shift his attention from the redhead to #26. He's shifting in his seat too.

  With a slow and graceful movement, she looks backwards.

  And that’s when her eyes catch mine.

  I swear to God, there is a reason this girl looks fucking bored. Because if she showed even an ounce of fucking interest, this entire session would be over. We would be all over her.

  She gives the barest of effort and passes her smoldering eyes over me. Her hands travel up her legs and gently brush her ass.

  My cock was already twitching. Now that 12 inches sitting in my trousers has a fucking heart beat.

  “28 and up, thank you for coming today,” Joes says looking at his clipboard. “23 and below, you can leave as well.”

  He just excused more than half the fucking remaining girls. There’s only three at this point and they maintain their poses. I swear to God this is the hottest casting session I’ve ever been to. Ever.

  “25, 26, 27, please have a seat,” Joel instructs and each of the girls sits down.

  “Okay, then,” Joel says shifting himself in his seat. “This is where we get to have some fun.”

  He glances at me, but I don't fucking care about him at all. Not when I can keep staring at this blonde beauty sitting as one of three finalists now for Illicit Escape. If she gets selected, then most likely I’m never going to fuck her.

  It’s not that I’m judgmental, babe.

  It’s because…well, this is a casting session. For a pornographic content company. Whoever gets the spot is going to be someone I don’t really want to fuck. That’s why I always went after the losers.

  What? You don’t get what I’m talking about?

  “Well, ladies,” Joel says and unbuttons his jeans. “This is where you get to show us how much hands on experience you have, and how much you’re able to put it to use,” he’s got a shit-eating smile on his fucking face and for some reason I want to punch the guy. But we don’t pay our directors that much—namely we give them a lot of fringe benefits…like being able to fuck the girls who try out.

  “I’m waiting,” he says, and the girls get the message. Two of them, #25 and #27 look at each other and get off the couch, walking toward him, giggling.

  They get down on their hands and knees when they’re a foot away and begin to crawl.

  “Very good, girls,” Joel coos, excited as to what’s coming. “You too, #26, if you still want the job.”

  I watch as #25 and #27 begin to unzip Joel’s jeans and pull out his cock. He’s tiny. Maybe about 6 inches, but he leans his head back and sighs contentedly as one girl wraps her lips around his head and the other uses her tongue to begin licking his shaft.

  “#26, we’re waiting,” Joel says, but the girls are doing enough of a job that he doesn’t care. “Show me your most valuable … ability.”

  Fuck. I could've left and not had to see this. How did I know she would fucking wow him and make it to the finals.

  And that’s when I notice that #26 has gotten off the couch and is walking toward us.

  Her eyes are full of passion and desire. Lust seems to be the only thing propelling her.

  Joel closes his eyes and groans at the pleasurable feeling
two mouths are bringing his cock.

  And that’s when I fucking notice that she’s not going toward Joel.

  She’s walking to me.

  With a luscious smile on her face.

  Fuck.

  Brittney

  This is going to be easier than I thought.

  Instead of focusing on what really matters, all the other women went for the crude and easy approach. They don’t seem to realize that sex isn’t about ... sex. There’s more to it than that. It isn’t about showing off your naked body, or moaning as loudly as possible. Do you want to know what the real secret is? The one thing that turns a hot woman into a Goddess, and that drives men into madness? I’ll tell you for free: it’s seduction ... The art of seduction is the key, and I’m an artist.

  “Brittney … #26,” the casting director reads my name from a sheet of a paper, and I go up to my feet, a subtle smile on my face. Unlike the others, I’m not wearing a raunchy outfit; instead of going for the stripper shorts and dancer bra, I’m wearing a black tight fitting dress. It hugs my curves perfectly, and as I get up from my seat and everyone looks at me, I know I’ve made the right choice.

  Both Ethan and the casting director—I believe his name is Joel?—lean back in their seats, their eyes roaming over my body. Walking with a slow but sure step, I walk past Ethan. I do my best to ignore him and head straight for the director. I tuck one lock of hair behind my ear, and then lean into him, my lips brushing against his ear as I speak. He listens attentively, his eyes lost on my cleavage, and then nods.

  “Thank you,” I whisper as he gets up from his seat and dims the lights. He says something to the intern on the corner, and after he taps the keyboard on his laptop twice, the speakers mounted on the walls start to fill the whole room with a steady beat. Lights, music, action—here I go.

  I walk straight to the center of the room, my back turned to Ethan, and I place my hands on my hips. Swaying my hips to the mellow rhythm of the music, I slide my hands down my legs as I bend over. I can almost feel Ethan’s eyes going over the curve of my ass as my dress hikes slightly up my legs.

  I turn on my heels, and as if I was walking along a thin rope, I go straight toward him. I don’t care about the casting director or anyone else; Ethan is the one who matters here, and I only have one shot to impress him. You can rest assured that I’m not going to waste my only shot. Oh, no, I play for keeps—always.

  Ethan leans back against his chair, his eyes locked on mine. I have his attention, but I know it’s not enough; a man like him is used to having whoever he wants, and I’m more than sure that women throw themselves at his feet every waking hour of the day. If I am to succeed, I have to be better than that.

  Running my tongue over my lips, I place my hands on his knees and I lean in. Our mouths are so close that I can almost feel the air crackling around us as electricity builds up. I pull back then, arching my back and running my hands up his legs; my fingers are dangerously close to his groin, but I don’t dare to go any further. Good seduction isn’t about what you do; it’s about what happens inside the other person’s head. The trick is controlling what happens there.

  “Brittney, right?” he asks me, his smart eyes widening with hunger. This is a good start.

  “Brittney,” I tell him, leaning into him again. I look down at his lips, and then up. “Don’t worry, I have a feeling you’ll remember my name well enough.”

  “We’ll see about that.” His tone is a calm one, but I can feel all the anxiety coiled underneath it. He can try and act aloof, but the grin on his face tells me all that I need to know. I’ve thrown my bait and he is already nibbling at it. Once he bites, all that’s left is for me to reel him onto shore.

  My hands move over his crotch, and I hook my fingers on his belt. Biting on my bottom lip, I start to unbuckle it, swaying my hips at a slow tempo. Once the buckle is free, I pull the whole belt out from its loops; in one fluid movement, I place it behind his head, and grabbing both ends with my hands, I force him to lock eyes with me. Moving as if he were in a trance, he places his hands on my legs, his fingertips brushing against the hemline of my dress. As he motions to hike up my dress, I pull the belt from around his neck and snap it against his arm.

  “No,” I say firmly, his eyes widening in surprise. He’s not used to having anyone take control, let alone a woman. Slowly, he takes his hands off of me, a grin of defiance on his face. Show me what you got, his eyes seem to dare me. Grinning back at him, I go around his chair, and once I’m behind him, I lean in and place both my hands on his chest. “You’ve never met a woman like me, Ethan,” I whisper into his ear, my fingertips tracing the contour of his hard pecs. Christ, what is he hiding under his shirt—marble and steel?

  “What makes you think that?” he says, that defiant grin still on his face.

  “Trust me,” I whisper into his ear again, my fingers sliding over to the collar of his shirt. One by one, I undo the buttons on his shirt, his chiseled chest coming into view. Yanking on the shirt, I bare his chest and let my fingers brush over his skin; his muscles seem like hard ropes of manliness, and something inside of me tells me to get a better view. “I’m not like the others.”

  I walk around the chair again, and stopping right in front of him, I let my eyes wander over his naked torso. Not that I have a choice, as his hard pectorals and chiseled abs demand all of my attention. I mean, he has an 8-pack, for God’s sake. It seems that he’s part of that very special breed of men; money and pussy simply isn’t enough for them, and they want perfection in everything they are and do. I can’t wait to see if the rest of his body matches what I’m seeing right now…

  Focus, I need to focus. Taking one deep breath, I turn on my heels and show him my back. I sway my hips gently and bring my hands up to my shoulders; slowly, I push down the straps of my dress, and they fall over my arms.

  “Go on, I know you want to,” I whisper at Ethan, looking at him over my shoulder. As if my words were binding, he raises his hands and places them right below my neck, his fingers grabbing at my zipper. Carefully, he starts pulling it down my back, his knuckles brushing against my naked skin as he goes. A shiver goes up my spine as I feel his touch, and I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath to regain my focus. I can’t fuck this up.

  When he has pulled the zipper all the way down to my lower back, he finally takes his hands off of me, and I push the drooping fabric of my dress down to my waist. I keep on softly swaying my hips to the sensuous tune, my back turned to him. I know how eager he must be to see me in my bra, the curve of my breasts peering over the cups… So I just make him wait; I’m the one in control here, after all.

  My eyes are closed, but I feel the whole room fading away around me. As far as I’m concerned, only Ethan and I are here right now. The other women, the casting director, the interns… As far as I’m concerned, they don’t even exist in the same universe as Ethan and I.

  I throw my head back, my hair cascading down my shoulders as I move, and then I slide my hands up the side of my body. Hooking my fingers on the clasp of my bra, I pull it free and let the straps fall down my arms. As the cups start to droop, I throw the whole thing to the floor and place both my hands over my breasts, squeezing gently with my fingers. Everyone can see what I’m doing, except for Ethan, and that’s exactly how I want it. He’s the one I want to tease and torture, and I’m putting up this show for him only.

  When I turn to face him, I keep my hands covering my breasts, hiding my hard nipples from him. One by one, I peel my fingers off, and I can’t help but grin as my eyes find something bulging between his legs. It seems that my curiosity was well founded; what he’s hiding underneath his pants seems to be at least as impressive as what he had under his shirt… If this wasn’t work, I’d want nothing more than go down on my knees, unbutton his pants and… God, my mind is wandering off again. Fuck, I have a job to do here.

  “You want me, don’t you?” I purr, allowing my fingers to go down my stomach; when my fingertips meet
my waistline, I move my hands to my hips and then hook my fingers on the fabric of the dress. Moving my hips, I pull it down and let it fall at my feet in a heap. “Cat got your tongue?” I ask him, taking one step toward him. His eyes are wide, and his lips slightly parted, almost as if he couldn’t hide how much he wants to fit them around my nipples. Well, I might just let him do it.

  “You sure are a confident one,” he tells me, slowly pronouncing each word. I guess it must be hard for him to think straight when I’m half naked in front of him.

  “You have no idea.” Wearing only my black lace thong and high heels, I saunter over to him and turn on my heels once more. Facing away from him, I bend over and wrap my fingers around my ankles. He has a good view of my ass, and that’s enough for him to drop down all resistance; unable to restrain himself, he places both his hands on my ass cheeks, squeezing them eagerly.

  He’s falling for it; a few more minutes and he won’t remember any of the other girls. But that doesn’t leave me satisfied… More than beating the field, I want to leave a lasting mark on him. One that he won’t forget anytime soon.

  Moving as slowly as I can, I straighten my back and go up to my feet; then, without even bothering to look over my shoulder, I ease myself down. As I sit on his lap, I place both my hands on his knees and start to sway my hips from side to side. Oh, God—I have to close my eyes and exhale sharply as I feel his hard cock pressing against me. Even though there’s still a barrier of fabric between him and I, I can already feel something very thick and very long pulsing for me… I have to be honest; I don’t know what would happen if we were alone right now. I don’t think I’d be able to control myself. No way; as professional as I am, a woman can only endure so much.

  As I grind against his hard cock, he places his hands on my hips and pulls me in. I can’t help but gasp as I feel his thickness nestled between my ass cheeks; my heart is beating furiously, and I don’t even know if I’m the one seducing him right now, of if he’s the one ensaring me. As I expected, I’m doing way better than the others, but I can’t risk showing him my hand. I have to keep him interested.