Atlantea Ch. 11

"So it's, like, a cum funnel?" Ruby asked.

"I was thinking of it more as an insemination mechanism," Rosie countered. "But, well, yes."

"It's not the sexiest way to have a baby, but I guess that'll work." Alicia added.

"Would Not be sexy for me either way," Phoebe said. By this point, her left breast was empty too. "You may have created a monster, buddy," Phoebe added, with a big grin, hefting her substantial, but also now much lighter boob. "I'm gonna be visitin' ya a lot."

"Speaking of monsters," Natasha added eagerly, gingerly brushing her hands over her own tits, "these gals here are killing me. Mind if I slide in there, Auntie?"

Phoebe got up, replaced seconds later by Natasha. I was still feeling hungry, even after drinking from the most productive breasts I had yet encountered, and was therefore pleased to have this opportunity to consume more. As I latched on, I heard an appreciative moan of relief from the young blonde.

There had been a tent in my pants for the better part of an hour, which had not gone unnoticed by the other occupants of the room. Once the planning session wrapped up, Rosalind decided to help me out. "Phee," she said, "poor Jason there has been looking so uncomfortable for a while now. Would you mind helping him out?"

The tent grew ever larger when I heard these words.

"Sure," her wife replied.

"Just gimme a chance to get outta here first," Rosalind added, "that thing is so nasty looking! I can barely stand the sight of it even when it's got a condom on."

"Mrph," I vocalized. Natasha held me tightly to her bosom, so that was the most I was able to communicate.

"Sorry, Jason, it's nothing personal," Rosalind explained. "Just think how much you like seeing other men's' dicks."

"Norgh," I conceded.

Once I heard Rosie exit the room, Phoebe knelt in front of the window seat, near my midsection, and pulled my pants down to mid-thigh level. Within moments, my shaft was pleasantly engulfed by her mouth and throat.

"Fuck, Auntie, I'd heard you could do that, but seeing it in person is a whole 'nother thing!" Natasha exclaimed. "Where does it even go?"

I was in no particular rush to cum, so maintained control for the better part of fifteen minutes, working my way onto Natasha's other boob before finally ejaculating. Phoebe made a gagging noise as the sperm shot directly into her esophagus.

"Oh my God, there's, like, nothing coming out of your mouth!" Natasha said. Phoebe, possibly feeling like showing off, made a point of defying the law of gravity and vacuuming up the sperm without letting any dribble past her lips. "You've gotta teach me how to do that," Natasha added.

* * *

Phoebe made good on her warning; I had created a monster by finally nursing with her. Now that she had experienced this alternative to using an electric breast pump, she sought me out whenever her boobs became too full, usually once or twice a day. Tonight we were watching the Washington Capitals, who were playing an away game in Boston. Since giving birth, she had become too busy, not to mention tired, to make it to the Caps bar much. Instead, she'd subscribed to an Internet service that showed all their games, and we made a point of watching together on an enormous, large-screen TV in the Victorian's cavernous living room.

After some experimentation, we had figured out how I could breastfeed comfortably in such a way that we could both watch the game. "It's like that joke about Montreal fans doin' it doggy-style durin' the hockey game," Phoebe quipped. She was sitting on the shorter part of the sectional couch, with her head turned to the left, towards the TV screen. I found that, while I was nursing, I could just see the game if I tilted my head back, pulling slightly, but not uncomfortably, on Phoebe's nipple and areola, as long as I kept my eyes rolled back. As her rich breast milk streamed into my mouth, she kept up a near-monologue about recent events within our households, punctuated only by shouts of joy or frustration at the action going on in the game. "I don't know what you've been doing to our gal Tasha there, but she is in seventh heaven right now."

"Mrph," I agreed.

"She's submissive, like me, y'know," Phoebe said. Moments later, Ovechkin scored on an odd-man rush, and she shouted, raising her arms up. Her nipple popped out of my mouth, and milk sprayed all over my face. "Sorry!" she said.

"Don't worry about it," I said, grinning, "there are far worse things in life."

She fed her areola back into my mouth and continued talking. "You know, you'll find it's actually harder being in your position. On top. I know it seems like Rosie is the one in charge in my relationship, but she has to be the creative one, otherwise I get kinda bored and moody."

"Mrngh."

"I know, right?" Phoebe said, seemingly able to parse my muffled grunts. "Speaking of Rosie, and moodiness... I probably should not be telling you this, but she's been kinda obsessin' on your 'toy'. She's bought a couple hundred more dollars worth of rubber dicks, and we keep trying to find some decent semen replica. She's getting frustrated, though."

"Urngh?" I asked.

"Just don't be surprised if you get an unusual request from her. I'd suggest just rollin' with it. I know you think she's hot, so it probably won't be much of a struggle for ya," Phoebe said. Just then Ovechkin scored again, and I got another face full of her breast milk. "Shit! Sorry!"

Later that day, Rosalind found me in my cabin. She was wearing, uncharacteristically, loose-fitting gray sweatpants and a loose, red t-shirt. In her left hand was the handle of a medium-sized black duffel bag.

Looking down, Rosie asked me, "Jason, would you mind giving me a massage? I'm insanely tense." She had never asked this of me before.

"You got it," I agreed, readily. "Anywhere in particular?"

"Oh gosh: everywhere? Except no touching anywhere a bikini would go."

I nodded in assent and left the room, returning a few minutes later to find the beautiful woman lying on the massage table, face down. Her posterior was covered in a large beach towel, preventing me from seeing any private parts. I noticed that the zipper of the duffel bag was open, although I could not see inside it. I also noticed a new addition to the table: polished wooden handles mounted to either side of Rosie's hips. Mounted atop each handle was a brass ring, each a little over an inch in diameter.

"Whoa!" I said, "what are those?"

"You've been spending so much time with the Twins, ya must not have noticed. Phoebe went ahead and made a modification; hope ya don't mind?"

"Hey, she built the thing, she can change it however she wants!" I said. "So, how long of a massage d'you want?"

"Whatever you think, can you hit everything?"

"It'll be about two hours if you want me to be thorough."

"Thorough sounds good; I have time."

A short time later she was making happy noises of appreciation. "I should have taken advantage of you a long time ago," she said, as I massaged her tense Achilles tendon. By the time I had wrapped up, two hours later, she was as relaxed as I'd ever seen her. On the other hand, the massage had been one of the most sexually stimulating ones I'd ever performed, and I had the raging erection to prove it. Despite Rosalind's cool attitude toward me, and toward men in general, her beauty was such that even touching her with all due professionalism was like gripping a live wire. Her skin was smooth, and she had a perfect hourglass figure, evident even when her midsection, and later breasts, were covered up by towels.

"Jason, I have a request for you," Rosalind said after I wrapped up with a foot rub. "But it's complicated; feel free to say 'no'."

"I'm your man!" I said. "Er, well, not man, but you know what I mean."

Rosalind laughed. "I was wondering... how much of that 'shash' stuff do you have left?"

"You mean the xhash?" I asked.

"How are you even making that noise? That's not a sound that humans can make!"

I shrugged. "Search me," I said, "that kinda thing's never been my strong suit."

"Would you be able to spare an hour's worth of the stuff that I can't pronounce?" she asked.

"Yup; there's plenty left in the tube."

"Oh good! I, um, well... you know how we stopped doing the whole Doctor Thorn thing after my darling wife got too far along?"

"Yeah?"

"I was hoping we could maybe do a... modified version of that."

"You know I'm game, when d'you wanna set this up for?"

"Would now work?"

"Sure!" I said, seeing the mysterious duffel bag and the new handles on the massage table in a whole new light.

Rosalind fetched her phone and sent a text. A few minutes later, Phoebe entered the room, clad in a bathrobe.

"You're wearing the outfit under there?" Rosalind asked.

"Yes," said the furiously blushing Phoebe.

"Well then, don't be shy, honey!"

Phoebe let the bathrobe slide over her shoulders and onto the floor. Underneath, she had on a lavender purple leather body harness. Inch-wide straps crisscrossed her body, framing her bushy vagina and massive breasts. The crotch area featured a number of rings, to which differently-sized strap-ons could be attached, although none were in use at present. Her whole body was the color of a lobster, such was her level of embarrassment.

"Time for the first blindfold," Rosie said. I was expecting this to mean Phoebe would be blindfolded, but instead Phoebe went over to the duffel bag, took out one of the padded, brown leather blindfolds I recognized from before, and strapped it around Rosalind's head.

"I can't handle seeing any of this next part," she explained.

"Can you take off your clothes now?" Phoebe asked me. As I was undressing, she got out a pair of black latex pants that was looked like the bottom half of the bodysuit I had last used at one of the mass breeding sessions. It had a grommet for the shaft of my cock to fit through, keeping my scrotum on the other side of the black material. The garment was tight-fitting, and Phoebe had to help me pull it on. "Are these okay?" she asked, holding up a pair of padded, black wrist cuffs in one hand, and a familiar, large ball-gag in the other. I nodded, and she attached all three devices to me, then put the twin of Rosie's blindfold over my face. She went over to the massage table, where her wife was lying, face up. I heard the towel fall to the floor.

"Spread me wider," Rosie said, "it'll keep contact with my skin to a minimum." I heard the movable leg supports that Rosie had built into the table slide apart on well-oiled hinges. "Wider," Rosie said.

"You sure?" Phoebe asked worriedly.

"Positive!"

Once again, I heard the sliding sound, then another noise that turned out to be Phoebe wedging pieces of wood into the mechanism of the table, so that the leg supports could not move back inwards. Rosie's ankles were held in place by the stirrups. Phoebe led me forward, holding my cock in one hand, then took each wrist cuff and clipped each one onto its respective brass ring on the handles to either side of Rosie's hips.

"Grab onto these," Phoebe said, wrapping my fingers around the polished, cylindrical wood.

Next I heard a squelching sound as Phoebe probed her wife's pussy with her fingers. "Guess you're all ready to go," she said, wryly. "No help needed!" With that, she grabbed my cock again and placed the tip against the bald lips of Rosie's pussy. If my mouth had not already been forced open by the enormous red ball gag, my jaw would have dropped. Leading up to this moment, I had been sure that Phoebe would first put on one of the colorful, intentionally-sabotaged condoms Rosie had always used in the past.

"The Twins convinced her it would feel better raw," Phoebe whispered in my ear.

I pushed forward, into the spongy warmth of Rosalind's vagina, experiencing the feeling of direct contact with her flesh for the first time. She was spread so wide that my latex-clad legs barely made contact with her inner thighs. Although nothing could quite compare to Calista's unique pussy, Rosalind's fit my cock better than any of the other women I was having regular sex with. She was wet already, and I slid the tip of my cock, with ease, up to her cervix. She tried, and failed, to stifle a moan of pleasure. "Those two were right," she mumbled, between gasps. Using the handles for leverage, I was able to thrust forward with all my strength, and once I was sure she had loosened up enough, established a firm, swift rhythm of pushing forward and withdrawing almost all the way.

There was a shuffling sound beneath me as Phoebe positioned herself under us. I felt light pressure from the underside of Rosie's vaginal canal, and realized that her wife had inserted something in her anus, most likely a small butt plug. Rosie tried to resist cumming, as the plug stimulated her sensitive nerve clusters, but gave up before a minute had gone by. I felt her pussy convulse around me, and decided to stop holding back. I gripped the handles tighter, pushed forward with my hips, and then let my cock disgorge its hot, sticky load, deep inside her.

"Oh, fuck fuck fuck!" Rosie said, involuntarily, as she felt the warm fluid fill up her pussy. Some was already oozing out around where our bodies met, dripping onto Phoebe's stomach.

From experience, I knew that I would get hard again in around a minute, so left my penis inside her. Phoebe got up to whisper in my ear again. "How fast can you get hard and then cum again?" she asked.

"Maybe three, four minutes?" I whispered back.

Phoebe did some mental arithmetic. "Arright, at least ten times before the super Viagra runs out? Can you try to cum inside her as much as possible? She really, really, really likes the feeling, as you might have noticed, but isn't gonna admit it."

"I'll do my best. But she'll probably stop feeling it as much if there are too many loads in there."

"Good point," Phoebe whispered. "How often d'you think?"

"Hey, can you start moving and stop conspiring over there?" Rosie interjected, annoyed.

"Just one more thing, my love," Phoebe said in a sing-song voice.

"Maybe clear her out every fourth time?" I whispered.

Phoebe lowered herself back down. My dick was rock hard already, in no small part due to the conversation we'd just had, and I resumed my thrusts into Rosalind's now sticky canal. Once again, I felt delicious pressure from below, only this time more intense; Phoebe had started using a larger toy, possibly a small dildo. I let loose another torrent of sperm, and as it exploded inside her, Rosie's legs began to quiver. She shouted a number of swear words that would make a sailor blush, as an intense orgasm overcame her. We repeated this twice more, at which point her pussy was overflowing with my sperm.

Her wife got up and maneuvered me back. My hands were still attached to the handles, so I had to scoot backwards, awkwardly, looming over Phoebe, who knelt in front of me. I heard her noisily sucking sperm from her wife's vagina. She also continued to move the dildo in and out of her ass, while Rosie moaned and writhed. Once enough fluid had drained from her pussy, Phoebe rotated around and swallowed my cock, cleaning off the substantial accumulation of cum there, as well. Then she maneuvered me back inside her wife, and I began to thrust and ejaculate once more. This time, however, Phoebe stuck a small vibrator into Rosie's ass, which neither Rosie nor I was any good at resisting. Moments after it turned on, we both lost it simultaneously.

An hour later, the three of us were lounging on the couch in my living room. Rosie was sitting on Phoebe's lap, and they had their arms around each other.

"Let's do that again sometime, sailor," Rosie quipped.

"Living sex toy, at your service!" I replied.

* * *

Cavuto's was in the suburbs of the city, situated along on a narrow, windy road. Every table had a great view of the city lights far below. I pulled up, in Alicia's BMW, and handed a valet the key. Meanwhile, a doorman helped the sisters out of the car. I could sense a palpable pause, in the air, as the well-trained professionals around us tried to maintain their decorum. Ruby, Alicia and Natasha were as identical as a pale blond woman and two Latinas could be. They had all subtle brown eyeliner, and faint rouge and lipstick. Their hair was styled identically, behind the shoulder on one side, and over the shoulder on the other, and of course the purple streaks were all precisely located in the same area of their coiffures.

Each outfit comprised three, identical components: half-length black leather jackets, crop-top black shirts, and pleated black mini-skirts. I found out later that some of the brands included Versace, Lapointe and Valentino, making the cheapest of the pieces around 600 dollars. Their garments were accented with fishnet stockings with Chinese dragons embroidered along the sides, and black Manolo Blahnik pumps. The heels on Natasha's shoes were slightly lower than her sisters', making them all appear to be precisely the same height.

Even wearing my best clothes, I looked like a bum next to the three women. Fortunately, nobody paid me the slightest attention. As I walked up the wide staircase to the maître d's podium, a number of heads turned, following our progression. I had Alicia and Natasha on either arm. Ruby was on Natasha's other side, locking elbows with her.

"Mr. Walker?" the maître d' asked, straining to maintain composure in the face of our unusual and alluring quartet. "Please follow me."

We trailed after the well-maintained, tuxedo-clad older man, through the maze-like, dark interior of the restaurant, ultimately arriving at a private balcony with a round table set for four. The restaurant was perched on the side of a cliff, and this particular table had the best view in the house. Half of the transportation money from Atlantea had gone just to reserving it.

Dinner went by in a delightful blur. There was no need to order, as I had pre-arranged the eight-course chef's choice tasting menu, prepared by Amir Cavuto himself. He had trained as a chef in a some region of Spain, which I'd never heard of, then apprenticed at a number of Michelin-starred restaurants around Europe before coming to our city and establishing, easily, the top gourmet restaurant in town. In Natasha's presence, Ruby and Alicia were acting less and less like their old selves, and the four of us had a fun, boisterous time all night. Conversation jumped between a number of diverse topics. I was grilled relentlessly about past girlfriends, then we talked about politics, religion, careers, school, babies, travel, and so forth. Between the seventh and eighth courses, the waiter, a tall, distinguished-looking fellow, whom, of course, the ladies insisted on calling "Jeeves", brought out three dainty, porcelain cups, each holding a quail's egg.

"How come you don't get one?" Ruby asked.

The waiter cleared his throat. "This, ma'am, is a special, ladies-only, amuse buche, courtesy of chef Cavuto, who assembled them personally."

"Ooh!" Natasha said, clapping her hands excitedly. Having never been to a restaurant even remotely this fancy before, she had enjoyed the extravagant meal even more than her sisters.

The waiter stepped back. The three women simultaneously picked up the small silver spoons that were laid next to the porcelain cups, and were about to break the shells, when I jerked my hand spasmodically and knocked one of my knives to the ground. It fell onto the ground to side of Alicia's left knee.

"Sorry!" I said, walking over and kneeling down to pick up the errant cutlery. "Go ahead and eat, I don't want it to get cold."

"I think it already is cold," Alicia said, but the trio of women each began to delicately tap the side of their speckled eggs.

"Oh. My. God!" Natasha squealed, as she broke hers open. Inside was a small diamond engagement ring. It was not an expensive one, but it had cost nearly one fourth of what had been in my bank account. Ruby and Alicia soon followed suit, revealing identical jewelry.