Death By Fucking Ch. 16

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
thebullet
thebullet
372 Followers

Andrew was looking at me with concern. “Sweetheart, you look to be a million miles away. What’s wrong?”

I smiled. I was so happy! All of my fears, real or imagined, conscious and subconscious had been laid to rest today.

“Nothing’s wrong, Andrew. Everything is so right! Make love to us now. Later we’ll talk. The world is going to be wonderful, not just for us, but for everyone!”

The Year Seven

Andrew’s Story

My buddy Jake called. I figured he wanted to change our tennis date or something. But no! He had some news and he wanted to torture me with it.

“Drew, you are my hero! What a man! Here I thought you were this pussy-whipped little dweeb who could occasionally hit a tennis ball. Now I find out you are God’s gift to women.”

Now what? Don’t I have enough trouble as it is? I asked him. “Okay, Jake. Tell me the bad news. What’s going on?”

He sounded smug. “So Drew, have you perused the latest copy ofPlayboy yet?”

Playboy? Now what the hell! “You know perfectly well that my wives would have a shit-fit if I brought that magazine into the house. Iam pussy-whipped for crying out loud. Tell me, damn you. What’s inPlayboy that’s going to make my life even more miserable than it already is?”

Jake said, “I think your wives may want to take a look at this one. The playmates of the month are on the cover.”

Uh oh, I could see a disaster about to happen. “Playmates, as in plural?”

Jake knew he had me now. “Playmates as in twins. Oh, yeah, and such lovely young things, you lucky son of a bitch. The story inside is titled “Death by Fucking: Getting knocked up by the Progenitor”.

I started in with “ahubada, ahubada, ahubada.” What do you say to news like that? I asked him “Are we still on for tennis this afternoon?”

He said, “Sure, if you have time between girls. You slut!”

“Don’t start with me, Jake! Bring the fucking magazine with you, will you? My wives had better hear it from me. I don’t want them to hear this from some fucking biddy at a club meeting. So who are these twins, anyhow? Do they look good?”

He laughed. “What are you, sick? If I fucked these chicks, their faces would be permanently embedded on my brain. And you don’t even know which ones they are? What the hell am I doing wrong? Tell me, oh great one. How do I get a gig like yours?”

I was serious. “Jake, you knock up just one of these damn IAM twins and I swear to you I’ll give you all the bootie you can handle. Take them all! Just don’t take my wives. Please.”

Donnie’s Story

Jake Randolph, the county prosecutor, was coming over this afternoon for his weekly tennis match. Jake had played for UNC and is quite good. Andrew was a state champion in high school and starred at Youngstown State in Ohio. They are evenly matched and are quite entertaining to watch, especially in light of the insulting banter that flies across the net almost as quickly as the tennis balls.

Dee Dee and I make a habit of sitting in the back yard with glasses of iced tea, watching the match and chatting. Jake is a very attractive man. We quite enjoy watching two tennis studs plying their talents under the hot Georgia sun, sweating and looking sexy.

By the time the match is over, we are both ready for anything Andrew has to offer, if you know what I mean. My life is good.

But today was going to be different. We received a phone call the other day from a writer forCosmopolitan magazine. She was eager to interview Deirdre and me of all people. We were reluctant to agree, but she pressured us, saying that she had some news that would be of great interest to us, and wanted to get our reaction to it.

We finally agreed to see her. She arranged to fly down to visit us this afternoon. She came by a little after 4 o’clock. I knew that Andrew was scheduled to play his match with Jake at 4:30. We were sitting in our living room getting acquainted when Andrew passed through on his way up to get ready for his match.

This woman, Helen Gammon was her name, was lovely in a thin, fashion-model kind of way. She looked to us to be competing with the covers of her own magazine.

When Andrew saw her sitting there his face fell. He said “Uh, Donnie, did we have an appointment scheduled this afternoon? I thought not. I’m playing Jake in twenty minutes, you know.” He turned to this Gammon woman. “How are you? I’m Drew Adkins. And you are…”

I jumped in. “This is Helen Gammon. She’s come to talk with Deirdre and me, Andrew. Go play your game and don’t bother us.”

The relief on his face was palpable. “Oh, Okay. Sorry to interrupt.” And he was off.

Ms. Gammon said, “He seemed sorry to see me.”

I wasn’t sure how to put it. “Well Deirdre and I schedule several women a week to visit with Andrew. It’s part of his work with the Institute for the Advancement of Mankind. He thought you were one of those women.”

The lady said, “I suppose I should feel insulted. I know what ‘his work’ is. Am I that ugly that the Progenitor would rather play tennis than make love to me?”

Dee Dee demurred. “It has nothing to do with you, Ms. Gammon, and it has nothing to do with making love. Andrew performs ‘his work’ out of duty, not out of desire. His would prefer to stop altogether. He doesn’t ‘make love’ to these women. He only makes love to us. The women he impregnates. Because of the needs of IAM, we haven’t been able to allow him to stop.”

She said, “Wow, that’s news if I ever heard it. Andrew Adkins prefers his wives.”

I was a bit miffed with this New York bitch. I said, “Perhaps we should get to the point of this interview. You said you had news for us and wanted our comments.”

She looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. She said, “There is an article inPlayboy magazine. The current issue hits the stands today. The title of the story is “Death by Fucking: Getting knocked up by the Progenitor.”

Helen’s Story

I expected any of a number of reactions from these two women who were the wives of this ‘Progenitor’: hurt feelings, anger, panic, tears, at the least embarrassment. I was looking forward to it. My story would be the female angle: what it is like to be cuckolded in front of the nation by two gorgeous playmates.

Instead these two clones that looked surprisingly like Joanne Woodward began to laugh. It reached the point that they were leaning on each other’s shoulders with tears streaming down their cheeks.

When they regained control, one of them (I have no idea which one, they are as alike as two peas in a pod) asked, “Did you bring a copy for us to see?”

I could have kicked myself. “No, I’m sorry. It totally slipped my mind. I do know that the story is told by the Playmates of the Month: twins.”

The two women smiled and I suddenly realized that they are incredibly beautiful. Their eyes lit up as if a switch had been turned on. I must admit that I suddenly wondered if they had ever considered going both ways. I’m bi myself. I prefer men, but if the right woman comes along, I’m game. I’ve never had two women at once before, though. I was getting wet just being around these lovely things.

The doorbell rang and one of the twins got up to answer. I heard her say “Jake! So good to see you. What’s that you’ve got under your arm?”

I couldn’t see the man in question, but I heard him say, “Uh, it’s nothing, really. Just something I promised Drew I’d let him look at. I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested.”

The twin was dragging this very attractive man into the living room. He was tall and slender, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was very similar, in fact, to the Progenitor, though not nearly as handsome. It was obvious to me that the man was very uncomfortable about something.

The other twin stood up as the man entered the living room. “Helen Gammon, meet Jake Randolph. Jake is our local county prosecutor. He visits us once a week to try to determine the tennis champion of Bullock County. No definitive winner has emerged yet.”

The man, Jake, eyed me with interest. “Uh, Dee Dee, would you like me to come back later? Does Drew have time to play tennis?”

I was wondering if everyone in this town knows about Andrew Adkins’ ‘work’ for IAM. It was obvious that this lawyer thought I was here for Andrew. I said, “I’m a writer forCosmopolitan, here to interview Deirdre and Donna. Feel free to play your tennis match.”

One of the twins looked to be ready to laugh again. “Yes, Jake, she’s here forus, would you believe. Now what is that you’ve got tucked under your arm?”

Before he could respond, the twin reached in and grabbed it. It was obviously a magazine discretely wrapped in brown paper. The twin slipped the magazine out of the wrapping. Of course it was the current issue ofPlayboy, with two very beautiful, very naked twins on the cover. The headline on the cover was “Making Andrew Adkins”.

One of the twins said, “Check it out, Dee Dee. Do you remember them?”

The other, Deirdre I suppose, said “Oh my God! What were their names? Debby and Delilah, something like that.”

The other, I guess she was Donna, said, “Delia. Her name was Delia. They were good looking, but not this good looking. The air brushers must have worked overtime to make them look this good.”

Deirdre laughed. “Don’t be a bitch, Donnie. They have the bodies, the boobs, and the faces. I thought they were Playboy material when they came to visit Andrew last year. It’s only been a little over a year. Give them credit for getting their bodies back in shape so soon after having their babies.”

Donnie (I thought her name was Donna, but her sister called her Donnie) said to the man, “Go on and play your tennis match, Jake. I know you’re dying to screw Andrew into the ground about this. Don’t hesitate. When you’re done, we’ll take over. This is going to be a fun night!”

I sat down and took out my notepad, starting to jot down some comments about the little scene I had just witnessed. This was not going the way I had envisioned. I had imagined this Andrew Adkins to be a dictatorial jerk, intimidating his meek and mild wives into living with his perverted lifestyle. Now I’m not so sure who runs this household after all.

I said, “You don’t seem very upset about all this.”

They had sat back down and I had no idea which was which. One said, “Upset? Why should we be? We knew what we were getting in to when we decided to go public about things. The government was after our children. Once that came out, how could we hide the rest?”

“But aren’t you upset about your husband being with all of these other women? He must have been with hundreds of women, am I right.”

One responded, “No it’s closer to a thousand. He does it because we’ve asked him to do it. The IAM women find it extremely difficult to become pregnant. Many are desperate for children. Andrew has the gift of being able to impregnate them with no difficulty. It must be a genetic thing. Andrew gives himself to these women to please us. The day we tell him to stop, he will never look at another woman.”

I found that hard to believe but let it ride. “And how do you feel about him being with these women? How do you feel about information like thisPlayboy article? The whole nation knows that your husband cheats on you regularly!”

One seemed angry with me. Good. She said “Andrewnever cheats on us. There has never been a man with more fidelity in his heart than our Andrew. He does what we ask him to do and no more.”

I tried to follow up. “But doesn’t it affect your love lives? How do you feel, giving up your own love lives so that your husband can be wildly promiscuous?”

The other twin, the calm one, laughed again. “You’re trying to bait us. I’m afraid it won’t work. We haven’t given up our love lives at all. How often do you get it, Ms. Gammon? We both get laid every day of our lives. Sometimes we get it twice a day. Andrew gives us all the loving we can handle and still has enough left over to be as you so archly put it, ‘wildly promiscuous’. Andrew’s work in service of IAM has not affected our love lives a little bit.”

I was having a difficult time maintaining my journalistic detachment. Perhaps my mouth was hanging open. “You get laid every day of your lives; both of you? How is that possible?”

One looked smug. I suppose she had every right to be. “Andrew finds us irresistible. He can’t keep his hands off of us, not that we want him to. We feel the same way about him, by the way. I’ve never met a woman who wouldn’t give her eye teeth for a chance to get Andrew Adkins in the sack. We don’t mind that women feel that way. We feel that way ourselves.”

I said, “Yes, well, he is quite attractive. But he finds you irresistible? Yes, I can see why. Well this isn’t going exactly as I had planned, to be honest. You two aren’t what I expected.”

One smiled and said, “I assure you, Andrew isn’t what you expected either. He is the sweetest kindest man alive. If you are looking for some aggressive overbearing stud that uses women and then casts them aside, you are looking in the wrong place. Yes, Andrew is extremely sexy. He likes sex. It’s his hobby. But it’s our hobby too. Everyone needs to have a hobby.”

“And although he is all man, we, Donnie and I, run the family businesses. You see, we both have our PhD’s in Business Management from Duke University. Andrew always defers to us when making financial decisions.”

“But outside of that, and outside of the fact that he is beautiful (you noticed that he is beautiful, I suppose), he is also loving and kind, affectionate and warm. And he is a dedicated husband and father.”

I said, “Oh, yes. You have six children, don’t you?”

One responded, “What I don’t understand is why you media people are so interested in Andrew. The real story is the children, you know. Andrew is the first to admit that. Our Andrew is a sweet, stodgy, set-in-his-ways man who looks great and is probably the world’s greatest lover, but otherwise is just a man. Our children are the smartest people on the face of the earth, and no one is the least bit interested.”

I was surprised. “What do you mean, ‘the smartest people on the face of the earth’?”

The blonde on the right asked “What could we mean? Einstein, Edison, Plato, Leonardo, pall next to these kids. They are a different species thanh. sapiens. We aren’t making this up. Our children, all of the IAM children fathered by Andrew, are super-geniuses. Why do you think the government wanted them?”

I said, “It never occurred to me. I knew they were smart. But how could they be as smart as you say they are?”

The one on the left said, “We aren’t saying how smart they are. We are incapable of knowing how smart they are. We only know that they are smarter than anyh. sapien that ever lived. Mozart was writing symphonies when he was a child, so perhaps he was close. But one of our daughters made her first million when she was four.”

I laughed. I’ve heard bullshit before, but these women were in a class by themselves. “You’ve got a daughter who is a millionaire. And she earned it herself? How does she do it, print it on a computer?” Come on girls, stop treating me like an idiot, I was trying to say.

The one on the right said, “She’s a day trader. We gave her ten thousand dollars when she was three so she could learn the markets. Then we threw in another hundred thousand when she was four. By the time she was five she had built it up to a million and a half. Andrew thinks that that information set off alarms at the IRS, who then informed the Attorney General. We don’t know, but it’s a theory he’s working on.”

I was still in denial. “So you’ve got a daughter that has earned a million and a half dollars on the stock market?”

Lefty said, “No, she also plays the commodities markets. And she’s earned closer to a hundred million dollars by now. If you noticed the construction going on a few hundred yards from our property, that’s New Man University. Its total endowment is coming from the money Elle earned playing the market.”

I asked “How about your other children. You have four daughters and two sons, right?”

Righty said, “Yes. Well, Edie and Eddie, two of our daughters, are interested in scientific things. Andrew claims they are the two best computer programmers on earth, though we have nothing to base a comparison on and must take his word for it. He says that when they were four, they were so dissatisfied with Windows and Unix that they wrote their own operating system, one that was far more stable and secure.”

“They are planning programs that are too complex for available hardware, given the current state of technology; something about available RAM, internal speeds, multi-parallel processes. I don’t know. They are therefore designing their own hardware to accommodate their own programming. That’s what Andrew tells us. Edie and Eddie don’t talk much about their work.” I heard the other one mumble, “They don’t talk much, period.”

I said, “That leaves your sons and one daughter, right? What about them.”

Lefty said, “Eric and Ethan are younger and are in the learning stages. Eric wants to be a baseball player. He can really hit, by the way. His t-ball coach says so. Both of them help Edie and Eddie with programming. They build things as well. Ethan talks of being an architect. He wants to integrate structures with nature and remove the man-made look of the world. Of course, he’s five and can have such dreams. They may even come true someday if New Man takes over.”

I asked, “And what of your last daughter. What’s her name?”

Righty said, “Emma. Emma is a bit different. She does her own thing and we leave her alone with it. We’re not quite sure what she does, but whatever it is, I’m sure it is brilliant. We’ve learned that everyone is more comfortable if we don’t ask Emma what she is up to.”

Well that was a distinctly odd answer. The children did sound fascinating, and perhaps at another time I could follow up on their story. But I write forCosmo, notScientific American. I was here for the juicy parts, the sex lives of the Progenitor and his harem. I wanted to learn more.

Righty asked, “Would you like some lemonade? Why don’t we go out on the patio and watch the boys play tennis. Our children are working right now. The eGirls are in the computer room. The eBoys are having their Russian lesson in the library. If you’d like to meet them I’d be glad to bring them out.”

I had to ask, I guess. “Why do you call them the eGirls?”

Lefty smiled and said, “That’s Andrew for you. If you noticed, all of their names begin with the letter “E”. They are members of the “E” generation from IAM’s point of view, just as Donnie and I are members of the “D” generation. You’ll remember that the Playmates are named Debbie and Delilah. They are also part of the “D” generation. But Andrew took the “E” generation and added the whole modern feel to it, like eBusiness and email. They are the eGirls.”

Righty said, “The woman’s name is Delia, Dee Dee. Are you getting senile?”

Lefty said, “I was too busy looking at her breasts to notice her name. From Andrew’s point of view they were far more than a mouthful. I wonder if they are real.”

We retreated to the back yard. They have a world-class tennis court, and Andrew and his tennis partner, Jake, I think, were going at it. It was obvious that both of them are excellent. They were hitting powerful strokes, then making obscene and unlikely comments to each other. It seemed that the purpose of the comments were to make their opponent laugh and miss the ball. I realized that as good looking as this Jake was, Andrew Adkins, the Progenitor, was a hunk!

I was watching the tennis, but my eyes kept straying to Andrew. Damn, he’s gorgeous! One of the twins obviously caught me. She asked “How are you enjoying the game, dear?”

thebullet
thebullet
372 Followers