Harem: An MFMM Romance

by Abby Angel

  Brittney wastes no time as cum starts dribbling out of my cock, bringing her lips back onto the head and sucking out whatever wasn’t shot out.

  Fuck, let me just tell you, after an explosive fucking orgasm like that, feeling her lips on my sensitive tip, feeling her tongue on my slit, oh my fucking God.

  This woman is a fucking goddess.

  I shiver uncontrollably as she gives one final goodbye suck, and then takes her mouth off. But she doesn’t stop there.

  With all the meticulousness of a cat cleaning herself, she begins to scoop up my cum off of her body.

  First her tits. What she doesn’t smear on her chest, neck or tits, she scoops up with one finger. And brings to her mouth.

  Keeping her eyes fixed on mine, she slowly brings her fingers toward her opening mouth.

  I watch, transfixed as her tongue darts out and licks her finger clean.

  She closes her mouth and swallows.

  I swear to fucking God I’ve never been this fucking turned on by the moments after sex before.

  This is fucking unreal. Like I can feel my cock start to twitch again.

  Which Brittney sees.

  She gives me a lascivious smile.

  “You’re already for Round Two?” she asks me. “That was pretty fast.”

  “I could fuck you all night, babe,” I tell her, sneering down with undisguised lust at her. But there’s something more. Something in her eyes. Something inside of her. She’s not telling me everything.

  I mean, I’ve fucked chicks in porn before; whoever thinks I’m playing the chaste CEO of a pornography company is seriously fucking delusional, but this girl is something else.

  A blowjob is just a blowjob, but she’s made it something that I can’t really forget. I don’t actually know how Brittney made it about more than sex.

  But whatever she’s doing, whether it's the slow and languid way she’s got her hand wrapped around my cock again, gently massaging me back to life, or the way she’s looking up at me with those wide, large doe-like eyes in a totally submissive look.

  “Why don’t you start by fucking me all afternoon?” she asks me, giving me a leer that makes my knees fucking buckle it's sizzling with so much lust.

  “I guess you’re not wanting to wait,” I tell her with a grin. “But don't worry. After I’m done with my cock, you’ll barely be able to walk—let alone think.”

  Brittney gives me a quick kiss on my tip, and my cock starts flaring back to life.

  “Oh please,” she tells me with a sexy pout. “Once you’ve tasted my pussy, you won’t care where you are, you’ll want it again.”

  “I want to fuck it now,” I tell her flatly. I’m not looking to play games. I’m open and upfront about who I want to fuck.

  “You think your cock can handle it?” she asks me. “You ever seen my videos? I leave guys broken…”

  I laugh. She’s never met me then.

  And if you’re wondering, which I know you are because your mind's just as filthy as mine—yes, I’ve watched all her videos. The moment she gave me the lap dance I had Cheryl pull everything Brittney has ever worked on.

  All the stepmom shit. The neighbor next door scenes. The getting picked up by two guys in a van scene that went viral on the Internet back in the day. I watched it all.

  But I didn’t jerk off to it.

  Because why waste all that cum?

  No, I saved it. To spray it onto her face just now.

  “Babe,” I tell her and bend over to pick her up, and bring her to her feet. “I’m just going to fucking defile you like you’ve never been before. I’m going to do ungodly fucking things to your body and you’re going to cry out for more.”

  I think this gets her attention, and I run my hands over her body as I continue. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be lucky if you remember your name,” I tell her, looking her directly in the eyes. “But I guarantee you, you’ll be screaming mine.”

  She’s excited.

  I can tell. I see the spark in her eyes. It’s a mixture of fear, excitement, apprehension, and lust. Lots and lots of fucking lust.

  I bare my teeth and reach over, cupping her ass cheek and bringing her closer.

  She comes willingly.

  And that’s when the fucking intercom goes off.

  “Ethan, are you there?” the speakerphone blares. It’s Cheryl.

  God fucking dammit.

  Not now.

  Not now, of all times.

  “Ethan, we need you in the product launch timeline signoff. We’ve been planning this meeting for months and the bankers are here,” Cheryl says, a touch of urgency in her voice.

  Cheryl is never fucking urgent. She’s always got everything so fucking organized and so on point that if I hear urgency in Cheryl’s voice—and I think I’ve only heard it five times—I know it’s fucking important.

  But even then, Brittney is right fucking here. Her fucking luscious ass. Those big, giant titties. That beautiful face. Those fucking eyes.

  “Ethan? Ethan are you there?” Cheryl asks again.

  She must know I’m in here. She must know what I’m doing. That’s why she hasn’t gotten off the phone.

  Fuck.

  Fucking fuck.

  “It’s okay,” Brittney says, looking into my eyes and placing a hand on my chest. “We can do this later, maybe?” she asks smiling at me. Not just with wanton lust anymore.

  But with warmth.

  Fuck, and with compassion?

  “Go, do your job, Ethan,” she tells me. “I’m just going to freshen up and tidy up a bit in here before I head out.”

  I let out a long fucking sigh and my body literally quivers in disappointment, but I know she's right.

  I nod to her, and pull up my boxer briefs and pants as I walk to my desk.

  I clean my cock with a towel nearby as I push the speakerphone button on my phone.

  “On my way, Cheryl,” I tell her and hang up as I zip up my trousers.

  Brittney turns and smiles to me as she walks over to where she threw her bra.

  “You’re going to be okay?” I ask her.

  She nods and smiles. “I’m just going to clean up a little bit,” she says with a smile. “Get less sticky before I go out into the world, you know?”

  She laughs a small laugh and I smile before I walk to the door.

  Five minutes later I’m sitting next to Cheryl in the conference room still thinking of Brittney.

  Fuck.

  That’s five minutes longer that I’ve ever thought of a girl after sex.

  There’s something going on with her here.

  Brittney

  "Brittney, can you hear me?"

  I hear Walter's voice coming in through my tiny earpiece, which is hidden underneath my long hair. The sound is low, but the quality is good.

  "Loud and clear," I say.

  "Are you at Ethan’s computer?"

  "Yes, but now what? I don't have the password for this machine, you know. It's locked."

  "Okay, I'm going to walk you through this," Walter says. "Are you ready?"

  "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess. I don't hear anyone coming, so it's now or never," I say, looking tensely over my shoulder.

  "The first thing you need to do is shut the computer down."

  "What? Why? Doesn't that seem counterproductive to be turning this thing off?"

  "Just trust me, okay?" Walter says. "I know what I'm talking about."

  "Okay, it's off."

  "Good, now reboot it in Safe Mode," Walter instructs. "You need to do this so that you can effectively login as an administrator to the machine."

  "You're speaking another language … but sure," I say. "Okay, done. Now what?"

  "Now, you'll need to reset the password."

  "The password for which account?"

  "For the account that's locked," Walter says. "If we're going to gain access to the Illicit Escape software and plans, we'll need to change the administrator password so th
at we can unlock it all."

  "Since when did you get so high-tech on me Walter?" I joke.

  "Just here to help, darling. We've got to move quickly."

  "Okay, that's done; now what?" I ask. I'm acutely aware of noise now coming from down the hall and I wait a few extra seconds before making any noise in case anyone walks in. After those moments are up, it seems like the coast is clear, so we resume.

  "And for the record," I say, "I've given this account a password that no one is ever going to fucking crack. I think there's enough letters, numbers, and symbols for it to be its own equation."

  "Nice work," Walter laughs. "Okay, now we'll need to shut this machine off."

  "Again?" I ask.

  "Yes, shut it off and reboot," Walter says. "When you're turning it back on, you need to immediately hold the F8 key."

  "Why is that?" I ask. "Is something about to melt down on me? You'd at least warn me if that was the case, right?"

  "Very funny," Walter says. "No, you need to do this so that you can be taken to an advanced menu."

  "And what exactly am I looking for on that menu?" I ask.

  "You're looking for the advanced boot options."

  "Got it!" I say. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins. It already feels like an eternity to just get to this point, and all I want to do is get the hell out of here.

  "Okay, now insert the USB stick and start downloading all of the data from the I.E. folders."

  "It's downloading," I say, clicking them all and pressing the download option. "But it's taking forever Walter! You'd think the connection speeds would be faster in a high-tech company like this. You even said this was one of the most high-tech buildings you'd ever been in." I'm tapping my feet against the floor with nervous energy. I can practically feel the minutes going by, and with every passing minute, the likelihood of someone finding me increases.

  My thoughts go back to what Walter and Simon have both told me separately.

  There’s no stealing bits of data. It’s either steal the physical prototype or steal all the files.

  Because overtime they upgrade the software to fix bugs or whatever, all of the old data becomes useless. They rewrite a whole new operating system. It’s a failsafe to make sure that old data doesn’t get lost or misplaced and a new product reverse engineered.

  It also means I have at most 24 hours to get this to Simon once it finishes downloading.

  If it finishes downloading that is.

  50 percent—75 percent—92 percent—shit, it's stalled on 92 percent.

  "Walter, it's frozen on 92 percent!"

  "Calm down. Give it a minute."

  "We don't have any extra fucking minutes!" Now I'm really stressed. If this data doesn't load—and soon—I'm fucked. I check back at the status bar.

  "Oh good—Walter it's done; it's at 100 percent! I'm ejecting the USB stick; we did it."

  I pop out the USB drive, and it slips out of my fingers and onto the floor. Shit. I look around, trying to find it. Just great. Where the hell is it? I get down on my knees and search for it, and I finally find it, nestled behind the leg of a chair. As soon as I have it in my hands, I hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

  "What are you doing in here?"

  It's Cheryl. Shit.

  "I—uh—I just—"

  Then I hear Walter in my ear. "Tell her you were looking for an earring that you lost; she'll believe that," he says.

  "I was just looking for an earring that I must've dropped," I say.

  Cheryl raises one skeptical eyebrow. "You dropped an earring? Here, in Ethan’s office?”

  "That's right," I say. "Well, I'm not sure if it was in here, per say. It could be somewhere else, but I just wanted to make sure."

  "And why would it be in here?" Cheryl asks. "Or maybe the better question is, why would you have ever needed to be in here? To say the earring might be here is to imply you've spent time here. Only our developers come in here."

  "Oh I—uh—I was taking a tour of the place the other day," I say.

  "In here?"

  “Well, Ethan and I…” I trail off.

  Cheryl looks at me. “Ethan and you, what?”

  I roll my eyes as if asking her if she really needs me to spell out the fact that we were fucking.

  “Right,” Cheryl says after a minute. “You fucked him.”

  “Or he fucked me, you know?” I say, giving her some sass. “It was kind of mutual.”

  “Do you always sleep with your clients?” Cheryl asks me.

  “It’s been my philosophy to get to know someone since high school,” I tell her sweetly as she raises her eyebrows at me. Fuck her. Interrogating me and shit.

  "Did you just so happen to develop that philosophy at … say … Man Chasers LLC?" she asks.

  When she says this I'm floored. How did she know that? And I'm sure that shock is written all over my face.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Oh come on Brittney," she says. "Do you think I don't know? I know all about your business."

  "This has nothing to do with my business," I say. There's no use lying and trying to tell her that Man Chaser's LLC doesn't exist. She obviously knows all about it. I have to just go with it.

  "I hope not," she says.

  "Being an actress for Illicit Entertainment has nothing to do with my previous work," I say, confirming my stance.

  "For your sake, I hope you're right," Cheryl says. Her gaze has intensified. "Because if you try to pull something here, you'll regret it. That much I can promise."

  I've honestly never heard this tone from Cheryl before and it catches me off guard. Our encounters, up till this point, have been cordial.

  I mean, I'm now in a hard place. I'm standing here—just moments from being caught, and I have stolen data on a USB drive hidden inside of my thong. I hid it there right when Cheryl came in. This is an act that can land me in jail.

  "This has gotten blown way out of proportion," I say. "I was just searching for an earring. I promise."

  Cheryl doesn't say anything further, and instead gives me one last icy stare before turning on her heels and walking back out the door. I also leave. My heart is pounding, and I need to get as far away from this place as possible.

  "Well that was close," I hear Walter say in my earpiece. He heard that entire conversation, but I nearly forgot he was there.

  I whisper back, in a tone that's barely audible so that no one else can hear me, "Yeah, too fucking close for comfort."

  I find my things—my change of clothes, and my purse. I pull my cell phone from my purse to check and see if I have any messages, and as I'm scrolling through, a new text message chimes in.

  It's from Simon and reads, "DO U HAVE IT YET?"

  First off, I hate it when people type in all caps. Do you know what I mean? It's literally one of my biggest pet peeves—in texts, emails, you name it. It's like they're yelling. I'm not a fucking kid; calm down.

  So reading Simon's text instantly irritates me on one hand, and on the other hand, it reminds of the stakes. If I don't get this data to Simon quickly, I'm jeopardizing my life.

  Just as I'm about to reply, a second text message chimes in. This time, it's from Ethan. It reads: "I'd like to finish what we started in my office. Want to meet up again?"

  I'm instantly torn. If I'm honest, I'd love for nothing more than to be back in Ethan's arms, slowly peeling our clothes off and fucking each other until we can't fuck any more. The minute his text chimed in, my pulse quickened in excitement. It was like getting an extra dose of endorphins.

  Shit. What am I even saying? And what am I going to do? Am I falling for Ethan?

  I've never had these feelings with other men—it was only when Ethan came into my life …

  I look at both texts. Do I tell Simon I have the data he's been looking for? If I tell him, he'll demand the USB right now. And if I hand that data to him, it's over.

  But if I don’t hand this data over now, then the assignment continu
es.

  This data becomes obsolete in the next few days as they update the software. Whats in my hand becomes junk.

  I’ll never be able to look Ethan in the face again… I think for a moment and click on Simon's text, and I begin typing:

  "I'm still working on it."

  I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell Simon the truth. Not yet.

  I need more time to figure out what's happening. My heart's telling me one thing, and my head's telling me another.

  Ethan

  You ever had those moments when you just look back on shit and know that you’re fucking happy?

  Like you can feel that yes, you are in fact really happy.

  Well, as I leave work, that’s the kind of feeling I'm having. As in even navigating from the heart of Times Square isn’t enough to sour my fucking mood. I mean, you’re talking to the guy who usually has his car come and pick him up so he doesn’t have to walk past the teeming throngs of idiots who think this is some sort of holy fucking shrine to come visit and stand in the middle of the sidewalk as they take pictures of overpriced fucking food carts.

  Yeah, that wasn’t me tonight.

  Tonight I waved to the security guy outside of Illicit Entertainment and walked with a brisk step uptown up 7th Avenue.

  Want to know the really best part about One57? The corner gourmet grocery store that sits right as you walk into the lobby. Seriously, I mean I’m talking fucking grocery store right underneath my apartment.

  I pause and pick up some vegetables and a few steaks.

  What?

  Don’t give me that look. I can cook. Did you really think there was nothing I couldn’t do? I went to fucking UCLA and made myself a billionaire fucking smut lord. I can do any fucking thing I set my mind to.

  It’s true, I usually eat out. Or I have my chef prepare my meals. But given the opportunity to, you’d be surprised what I can whip together.

  Like today. I’m going to grill some steak and then slice them real thin, and maybe sauté some vegetables and some couscous on the side. I ordered a cake for dessert, but it should be a perfect dinner for two.