Harem: An MFMM Romance

by Abby Angel

  Arsen and I eventually make our way to his office, where he closes the door as I pull myself into him and kiss him.

  I can feel my breasts mash against his hard body. I can feel his hands squeeze my ass and I gasp as a finger travels lightly over the opening to my pussy.

  Unfortunately, I’m going to have to leave you here. Don’t worry, I’m not kicking you out. You haven’t seen enough yet. There’s plenty more to come. Don’t you ever worry about that.

  There’s always more to cum.

  Arsen and Ashley in Rio

  On the night we arrived at Rio de Janeiro, the air was heavy and warm, and a gentle breeze blew in from the Atlantic, stirring the large leaves hanging atop the palm trees lining the waterfront.

  Just like I always dreamed of.

  When I was a little girl I used to dream of, one day, moving to Brazil. In these dreams, I hung by the beach all day, and drank caipirinhas all night. Of course, these were the kind of dreams I knew would never become true – in fact, I never expected I’d visit Brazil.

  Sure, Arsen and I aren’t exactly moving to Brazil, but we’ve already bought a large flat here, in Rio. You see, we’re already dominating the English-speaking market so firmly that we’ve started looking into the foreign marketplace. Adult entertainment is needed even where people don’t speak English, right? Sex is, after all, the universal language.

  And to think that this all started as a game, one where both our hearts were at stake. It’s been what, two years? God, it feels like it was a long time ago that my heart was torn between the voice on my phone and the man I knew as Arsen. But then God smile upon me, and both men turned out to be only one.

  Every woman deserves an happy ending, and that was mine.

  Of course, our story didn’t end there. More than just a couple, we turned into a team - one as efficient as profitable. Our company has grown so large that we’ve brought adult entertainment to the mainstream. I mean, we’ve already been on the cover of Times magazine (and a gazillion other magazines)! No wonder, though: we’re the biggest players in the industry when it comes to the States and Europe. And now we’re looking to expand.

  After cutting a deal with China so that we could enter their marketplace, we then did the same with India, and now we’re looking for a foothold in the Portuguese speaking market. Of course, it also helps that Brazil is one of the most beautiful countries on Earth. And that’s why we decided to buy an apartment here. I mean, who doesn’t want to call Rio de Janeiro their second home?

  I know this might sound crazy (and precocious), but even though I’ve never visited before I’m already in love with everything Brazilian. The samba and bossa nova, the people, the easy going attitude and their lack of embarrassment when it comes to all things sex. I mean, all you have to do is take a walk by the beach and you’ll easily realize that, here in Brazil, people aren’t ashamed of their bodies.

  “You were right,” Arsen says, taking my hand in his and offering me one of his wide smiles. “This place really is amazing.”

  “I told you. I spent enough time hiking through Google Images to know that we had to come here,” I laugh, squeezing back his hand as I let my gaze wander out to the beach, the soft sound of the waves like a sensual whisper. We’re walking through the waterfront, hand in hand, and unwinding from a long day of meetings. And when I say long, I really mean it – life moves at a real slow pace in Brazil, and that extends to the way business works in here. From what I’ve seen, being late is expected in such a way that it almost becomes mandatory.

  After more than twelve hours of meetings (or twelve hours of waiting for meetings) we had dinner at L’Etoile, one of the best restaurants in the city, and then decided to go for a stroll at the waterfront. It’s December now, and I’m wearing a summery blue dress – for someone used to the unforgiving weather of New York City, it almost feels like I’ve travelled to Heaven itself. Even Arsen himself seems to have bought into the whole carefree mindset that seems to make this city come alive.

  He’s wearing shorts, a black shirt that makes him look like the second coming of Apollo, and flip-flops. And, let me tell you, even dressed this casually… Arsen looks like the most handsome man on Earth. Yeah, I know you’re rolling your eyes right now. But don’t think that I’m saying all this about Arsen because he’s my man. I’m saying it because he’s my man and because it’s the truth.

  “God, I love this place,” I say, taking a deep breath and allowing the salty freshness of the sea to make my brain dance inside my skull. “It’s even better than what I imagined when I was a little kid.”

  “That’s because you’re here with me,” he says and, even though he’s teasing me right now, I can’t help but turn to him and smile. He stops walking and smiles back at me; I go on tiptoes and brush my lips against his, closing my eyes and allowing this moment to be engraved on my mind for all of eternity. Even though Arsen was joking, it doesn’t make it any less true: being here with him turns a beautiful moment into a perfect one.

  To our left, tall apartment buildings rise toward the skies, their majestic silhouette towering over us; to our right, a large stripe of sand that leads to the endless ocean. Despite the late hour, there are still people in the street – shirtless men wearing flip-flops and women wearing nothing but an almost transparent dress over a skimpy bikini. It seems that, here in Rio, life is an endless stroll toward the beach.

  Sitting on one of the stones benches in the waterfront, a young man with a velvety voice plucks at his guitar, his eyes closed as he allows his voice to shape up a quiet but beautiful bossa nova ballad. Forget about Paris – there’s nothing quite like the subtle and down-to-earth loving ways of Brazil.

  “Wait,” I tell Arsen, holding him by his arm as I fish for the wallet inside my purse. Grabbing it, I take a one-hundred-dollar bill and lay it inside the guitar case laying at the feet of the young guitarist. I know that one hundred dollars is a lot to give for a few seconds of good music, but sometimes it’s worth it – besides, it helps that me and Arsen have more than few million sitting idly in our bank accounts.

  “Obrigado, senhora,” the young man breathes out, thanking me in his singing voice, and I can’t tell if he’s still singing or just speaking. Brazilians talk in such a way that they always seem like they’re singing.

  “De nada,” I manage to reply, narrowing my eyes as I try to remember the little Portuguese I know. I’m placing my wallet back inside my purse when the loud roar of an engine drowns out the bossa nova chords coming from the guitar. I spin around, trying to see where that loud sound comes from, and I do it just in time to see a motorbike jumping onto the sidewalk, two men riding on it. They’re just a few feet away from me now, and the guy riding on the back reaches for me with one hand.

  I’m so stunned I don’t even move.

  Grabbing my purse as they ride past me, the man gives it a tug and I feel the strap from the purse burning down my arm. I fall onto the floor as the purse is yanked from me, and I let out a cry of pain as my knees grazes the floor.

  “Fuck!” Arsen cries out, looking from the guys in the bike to me. Going down on one knee, he then grabs me by the hand and picks me up from the floor. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah… I am… But… My purse! It’s a Lana Marks purse!” I tell him, running one hand through my hair. If there’s something thing that I hate, is when something comes between me, my shoes, and my purses. And if there’s something Arsen hates, is when something between me and whatever I want.

  “I got this,” Arsen merely whispers with a smirk and, before I can grab him and stop him, he starts running down the waterfront. The muggers steer the bike back onto the road (and straight into oncoming traffic), but Arsen has already anticipated their movements.

  By the time they start swerving between the cars, Arsen’s already dashing between a row of cars lining up behind a red light. He’s running fast and, for a moment, I almost believe he isn’t Arsen but some super athlete out of the Olympics or the Super Bow
l. Even though he’s wearing flip-flops, that doesn’t stop him from closing the distance between the bike as it swerves right and left between cars; extending his right arm, he grabs the guy riding in the back of the bike just as they try to speed up.

  It happens in a fraction of a second.

  Arsen hooks his fingers on the man’s shirt and yanks on it as the bikes jumps forward. Unable to resist Arsen’s hold, the mugger falls back while still clutching the guy riding in the front. Both men crash onto the road like bricks while, at the same time, the bikes keep riding itself for a few seconds before finally being stopped by an unsuspecting trash can.

  “Arsen!” I cry out as I run toward him, afraid of what might happen, but he doesn’t seem to be listening to me. His smart eyes are narrowed into slits, and I can tell that he’s appraising the muggers as they go up to their feet. They’re both wiry and tanned, their eyes holding the promise of violence. Faithful to that promise, one of the men reaches for the pocket on his shorts and brings out a switchblade knife. “Arsen!” I call after him once more, completely forgetting about my stolen purse. All I care about right now is Arsen.

  “Stay back,” he says as I finally reach him, holding his arm to the side and blocking me. He says it so casually that he almost seems to be commenting on the weather. There are a few moments of silence, and then the man holding the knife lurches forward, the blade aiming straight toward Arsen’s chest. Sidestepping him easily, Arsen then brings his fist up in an arch, connecting it with the man’s nose. I hear the sound of bones breaking, and then the man simply falls back, the knife forgotten as he takes both hands to his face and wails, covering his broken nose. His accomplice simply stares at the scene with wide eyes, almost as if he didn’t believe that a foreigner could have balls that big (oh, he has no idea); when he finally comes back to himself, he rushes toward the other man and, after pulling him to his feet, they both scramble toward their bike. Turning the engine on, they disappear into the road as fast as they’ve appeared, scared for their lives.

  “There ya go,” Arsen says with a grin, picking my purse up from the floor and patting it with one hand, almost as if he’s trying to brush off the dust. “Safe and sound.”

  “You’re crazy!” I whisper, one hand over my chest as I feel my heart punching against my ribcage. “They could’ve hurt you!”

  “No, they couldn’t. I wouldn’t have gone after them if I didn’t know I couldn’t take them both. And I didn’t even need to kick both their asses.”

  “What if they had a gun?”

  “They wore shorts a thin shirt… As soon as they raced past us, I knew they weren’t packing.” He replies, trying to calm me down, and then takes one step toward me. Handing me the purse, he rests both his hands on my hips and leans down, bringing his lips down to my forehead. “Now, don’t worry. That’s done.”

  “Don’t do that again,” I whisper, locking eyes with him and managing a weak smile. Gallons of adrenaline are still rushing in my bloodstream, and my heart is beating so loudly that I can barely hear my own thoughts.

  “Don’t worry,” he tells me again, and then he tucks a stray lock of hair over my ear. “Come,” he continues, his hand once again on mine, our fingers tangled on each other. Taking me back to the sidewalk, he then keeps going and jumps straight onto the sand, kicking off his flip-flops. I follow after him, taking my shoes off as well, and then start walking down the beach hand-in-hand with him.

  Each step we take guides us deeper into the lonely darkness of the beach, the moon’s reflection floating on top of faraway waves. We walk closer to the ocean and then sit down on the sand, the sound of the waves crashing on the shore creating a kind of loud but impenetrable silence, the bustling nightlife of the city somewhere behind us.

  “I got scared back there,” I finally say, the breeze of the ocean somehow carrying my words toward Arsen, that despite the loud sound of the waves. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t lose me. Not now, not ever,” he replies with a smile, turning to me and placing his hand on top of mine. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

  “Idiot,” I laugh, my smile no longer pale and weak. Around Arsen, it seems that I can’t be worried for too long. He just makes me feel safe, even when the whole world is collapsing around me. I think I wouldn’t even worry if I knew the world would end in just a few seconds, as long as he remained by my side. The only thing I fear in this world is losing him.

  “Your idiot,” he corrects, softly caressing my face with the back of his right hand. Then, laying me down on the sand, he follows after me and makes me turn to him. Our gazes meet, and then the same happens with our lips. Just like the first time we were together, I find that deep magnetism drawing me toward him, a kind of animalistic urge that makes me forget myself anytime I’m close to him.

  “I love you,” I whisper as we pull back from each other, my right hand resting on his chest and feeling the steady beat of his heart.

  “I love you too, you know it.” No more words are needed as our mouths meet again, our tongues softly dancing around one another. My hands slide down his chest until I meet the thin patch of skin between his shirt and shorts, and then I finish the climb down by flattening the palm of my hand against the hard shape pushing back against the fabric of his clothes. Curling my fingers around it, I give it one hard squeeze and allow one grin to take my lips, desire making my heart flutter.

  All the adrenaline that boiled inside my veins has now faded away completely and, in its place, lust has taken over.

  “Let’s do it,” Arsen tells me, his voice heavy and laden with anticipation. I open my mouth to ask him what exactly does he want to do, but then I close it again – after all, do I really need to question him when the answer is as obvious as it could be?

  “Let’s do it,” I repeat, letting go of his cock and allowing my fingers to slide under his shirt, the hard contour of his eight-pack under my fingertips. Smiling, Arsen reaches for me and places one hand over my right breast, squeezing it and making my nipples harden so much that they feel as if they’re on fire.

  Resting his other hand on top of my naked knee, he then spreads his fingers and takes them up toward the hemline of my dress. Sliding them under the fabric, I hold my breath as his fingers move over my inner thighs, brushing against the wet fabric of my thong.

  God, I’m so wet right now. I don’t know if it’s because of the adrenaline that coursed through my veins, or if it’s because I’m sitting on a paradisiac beach, completely alone with the man I love.

  “I need… that cock… I need it bad,” I find myself saying as he brushes his fingertips over my thong, gently pressing down before he cups my pussy with the open palm of his hand.

  “As much as I need that pussy of yours, I bet,” he answers me in a single breath, pressing harder against my pussy. Then, moving fast, he pinches the fabric of my thumb between his index finger and thumb and flicks it to the side. Bringing his thumb back to my pussy, he runs it along the length of my pussy and only stops when he meets my clit, applying that maddening pressure once more.

  Rubbing my clit at a steady but growing rhythm, he makes me arch my back in anticipation; then, when I least expect it, he turns his wrist around and parts my inner lips with his index finger. He curls it upward and slides inside of me in a single flowing movement, pushing it all the way and only stopping when it’s firmly pressed against my G-spot. He holds it there for a few seconds, pressing hard against that pleasure center, and then slides one more finger deep into me, stretching my pussy and preparing it for the main event.

  “I can’t get enough of your pussy,” he growls as he starts to finger me, flicking his wrist in a crescendo. “It’s just… so… fucking… tight,” he continues, pushing the words out between the flicks of his wrist.

  “Tight and ready for this,” I say, squeezing his cock again, except this time I do it hard enough to make him groan. He starts fingering me harder and I feel my eyes rolling in their orbits as I imagin
e his cock inside me, stretching me so wide all that tightness simply becomes meaningless.

  It’s funny but, even though we’ve been together for quite some time now, every time we’re together feels like the first time. Which, if you think of it, is completely insane – I mean, we fuck every single day! And I still lust after him as much as I did in the beginning, back when my heart was torn between the Arsen I knew and the voice on my phone.

  Thinking back to these moments is enough to send fire down my spine, and that just makes me start stroking him over the fabric of shirts. I move my hand up and down the length of his cock with the same intensity with which he’s fingering me, but that doesn’t last for long.

  Soon enough I feel my muscles start to tense up, the winds of pleasure dancing inside my belly, and I stop stroking him altogether. Still keeping my fingers tightly curled around his pulsing cock, I arch my back and grit my teeth, hissing loudly as my pussy closes around his two fingers.

  Feeling me close to the edge, Arsen kicks it up a notch and starts rubbing my clit harder while he keeps that maddening rhythm with his fingers. A few seconds later I feel my heart tightening up inside my chest, and it happens so fast that I see black spots in my field of vision. The yellow moon overhead fades away as that darkness takes over my sight, and then even the sound of the ocean seems to vanish – pleasure explodes inside my body, and it’s so fierce and intense that it demands all of my brain’s attention.

  “Oh, God, I need that cock now,” I moan, forcing my hand to start moving again. I stroke him fast but with erratic movements, my brain still trying to work through the ecstasy it’s drowning in.

  A violent eagerness takes over me and I let go of his cock, both my hands grabbing at his shirt. He raises his arms as I pull his shirt up and over his head, and then I run all of my fingers down his chest, once more going over his perfect walls of abs. Grabbing at his shorts, I then pull them down his legs with vicious tugs, and then just abandon them on the sand.