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Message-ID: <39607asstr$1038921003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Ms. Which" <mswhich@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} (MsWhich) Three Men (M+F, reluc, lac)
Date: Tue,  3 Dec 2002 08:10:03 -0500
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This story is a bit outside my regular milieu, if indeed I can be said to 
have a regular milieu, but recent changes in my own life have suggested new 
possibilities to me.  I will say nothing more, but simply leave it at that.

As always, if you are a minor according to the laws of your country, or if 
the laws of your country prevent you from legally reading a work of erotica, 
then please go somewhere else.  I hear they're stocking Anne Rice's "erotic" 
novels at Barnes & Noble these days; you might try there first.

Feedback to mswhich@hotmail.com.  I try to keep my inbox cleared of spam, 
but with only middling success, so if your message bounces back, just try 
again later.

--------
Three Men

The woman and her husband have made plans to drop the baby off at the 
sitter's for the evening, to have a night out on their own.  Her breasts are 
already beginning to fill before they leave, and she wants to delay their 
departure a bit so that she may feed the baby, but he gently persuades her 
that they need to go now, in order to make it to the show on time, and he 
points out that they're taking more than enough bottled milk, the baby will 
be fine, etc...  And he finally manages to coax her out the door.

After the baby has been deposited at the sitter's and they're on their way, 
the woman complains a little at having been pressured into leaving without 
feeding the baby first, because she knows her breasts are full and soon will 
become uncomfortable.  She says she wants to stop at home first to use the 
breast pump.

The man has anticipated this request.

When they arrive at the house, the woman sees an unfamiliar car parked in 
front.  She assumes it is a neighbor's, but it is not.  Upon entering her 
home, she drops her handbag and shrieks in fright to see two men standing 
there already.  She then apologizes in confusion as she sees the men are 
familiar -- friends of her husband's.

Her husband holds her from behind as the two men, smiling, almost leering, 
advance on her and force a ball-shaped gag into her mouth.  She knows what a 
ball gag is; has seen pictures in the pornography her husband shares with 
her on occasion; but has never been restrained by one herself.  She is 
frightened.  She knows her husband has fantasies about sharing her with 
other men, but she has never agreed to actually go through with it.  Still, 
her disbelief that this is really happening causes her to allow herself to 
be led to the bedroom, her husband leading the way and each of his friends 
holding her tightly by an elbow.

In the bedroom, her husband unbuttons her blouse and slips it from her 
shoulders, displaying her breasts, now barely restrained by her lacy nursing 
bra.  He unhooks the straps and allows her breasts to fall free and loose.  
The two men take hold of her elbows again, their eyes never leaving her 
breasts, full and taut, the blue veins shimmering underneath the pale, 
almost translucent skin.  She blushes deeply and shifts a bit, trying to 
escape their grasp, but they hold her tightly.

Her husband then ties her wrists behind her back, forcing her to push her 
chest out prominently.  Her embarrassment and fear is tempered only by the 
near-painful sensations coming from her breasts.  It has been several hours 
since they were last emptied, and they are engorged.  They feel heavy, 
solid, warm to the touch.  The nipples are nearly flattened due to the 
swollen tissue around them.

The man on her left begins tracing a light circle around her nipple with his 
forefinger.  She draws a sharp breath, then grunts, shocked at how muffled 
her voice is from behind the gag.  The man on her right follows suit.  Both 
men are now toying with her nipples, playing with them, fondling and 
flicking at them.  The woman is groaning.  Her nipples are so painfully 
sensitive that every touch is like a lightning bolt straight to her center.  
Ashamed, she feels a familiar erotic heaviness between her legs.

Her husband, aware of what his wife is feeling, knowing how sensitive her 
breasts are, knowing how close she must be to orgasm already, slips her 
skirt off and pushes her onto the bed, on her knees.  He lies beneath her, 
positioning his head directly between her legs. She feels his tongue moving 
over her clitoris, and gasps.  The two men on either side have not stopped 
their gentle ministrations on her breasts, and she feels only seconds away 
from orgasm, but her husband's tongue dances away from her clit, teasing at 
her labia, pushing into her vagina, giving her attention everywhere but 
where she needs it most badly.

He knows that often when she has an orgasm, milk spouts fountain-like from 
her breasts, and he does not yet want to give her relief in any way.

She finally gives in to her desire, ignoring her shame that two other men 
are watching and fondling her, and squirms and thrusts her hips, trying to 
stimulate herself to orgasm without her husband's help.  She cannot quite 
manage it.  He continues to tease at her with his tongue, occasionally 
playing over her clit and garnering a gasping moan before moving on to less 
sensitive areas.

The man on her left has begun flicking at her nipple with his tongue.  It is 
maddeningly pleasurable, so frustrating coupled with her husband's 
tantalizing oral stimulation that she wants, needs, to scream.

When the man on her right begins flicking his tongue at her as well, she 
does not scream, but cries instead, hot tears sliding down her cheeks.  She 
no longer cares whether she has an orgasm or is milked, or both; she simply 
needs relief.  Her breasts are swinging heavily back and forth as she 
thrusts her hips fruitlessly over her husband's mouth, and she wishes 
desperately that she could just express the smallest bit of milk... just a 
little bit would feel so good, she can't stand to fill up with a single more 
drop...

Her eyes are closed and she is swaying to and fro on the bed when the man on 
her right switches places with her husband.  Suddenly her husband and his 
other friend are grabbing her, manhandling her, and before she realizes what 
they are doing, they have pushed her down onto the third man's erection.  
His cock slips into her easily.  She thrashes wildly for a moment or two, 
but stops, tears streaming down her cheeks, when she realizes the men will 
not let her go.

She rocks half-heartedly on the man's penis -- larger and thicker than her 
husband's, she thinks in a haze -- until her husband takes her nipple 
between thumb and forefinger, as though he is about to milk it.  She gazes 
at him imploringly, pleading with her eyes.  He whispers into her ear, tells 
her not yet, tells her that she knows what she must do first.

Her breasts are obscenely swollen, the slightest motion causing ripples of 
pain, but she pushes herself up and down on the man's cock anyway, feeling 
helpless, feeling impaled, needing relief so badly.  It takes her twenty 
minutes of swaying and bouncing and twisting her hips and squirming.  By the 
end, she too is moaning.  If she were not gagged, she would beg them to 
please stroke her clit, please help her come.  The man spurts into her, 
grasping her hips to hold her onto him and gasping in pleasure.

Her husband teasingly takes her nipple into his mouth and holds it there.  
She whimpers, a high keening sound, but instead of suckling, he nibbles at 
it with his teeth and releases it again.  He has never seen her breasts so 
large and swollen.

She fucks the second man in the same way she did the first, except that this 
time the other two men play with her nipples as she rides his cock, tugging 
and pulling and twisting, flicking at them, pinching them; she is on the 
verge of orgasm just from this.  She feels she may come even without a 
finger on her clit.  She is so close that if someone were simply to blow 
across her clitoris, she would have a violently powerful orgasm.

But nobody does, and she remains frustrated, pumping her hips up and down, 
moaning and sobbing.

After the second man spasms inside her, it is her husband's turn, and she is 
frightened, because first he rummages through an old knapsack in the closet, 
and she knows what the knapsack holds.  At her husband's direction, his 
friends make her to assume a position on all fours.  With her hands still 
tied behind her back, her face is pressed against the bed, and her hips and 
ass are thrust high into the air.

Her husband pushes a metal phallus into her vagina, the cold, smooth 
sensation a shock even though she knows it is coming.  He presses a button, 
and the thing comes to life inside her, buzzing and vibrating.  He then 
pushes a finger, slick and lubricated, into her ass.  She arches her back, 
twisting away from him, but his two friends hold her firmly.  He pushes a 
second finger inside and holds it there for a moment, enjoying the sensation 
as she flexes and squirms.  He withdraws, and the next thing she feels is 
his cock pressing into her.  She tries to fight it, but it slips in, 
well-lubricated, and she feels the stretching, painful, full sensation of 
his cock deep in her ass.

The vibrator inside her is distracting, and she does not fully notice when 
her husband begins to thrust, slowly and deliberately.  She does notice when 
his two friends position themselves beneath her and begin to suckle at her 
breasts.  She gasps in pleasure and relief as she feels the milk begin to 
flow at last.  It causes a warm sensation, a tingling electricity, that 
moves in waves, from their mouths on her nipples down to the incessant 
buzzing in her vagina.

One of the men suckling at her breasts slides a finger down to her clitoris 
and strokes it, lightly, nearly imperceptibly, but this, combined with the 
buzzing of the vibrator, her husband's increasingly persistent thrusting, 
the tongues working at her nipples, and the shamefully erotic sensation of 
the milk spurting from her breasts, is enough to finally send her deep into 
the throes of orgasm.  She bucks and shouts and moans for a good 
half-minute, and after a few seconds' respite, begins again.  Please, I need 
a break, I need to rest, she tries to say, but the gag stops her from 
voicing anything but a desperate whine.  The finger on her clit sends her 
over the edge a third time, just as her husband approaches climax, thrusting 
violently into her.

She is crying now, begging and pleading them to stop, please no more 
orgasms, please, but it all comes out a muffled sob.  One of the men, his 
prick hard again, turns her over and enters her from above.  She lifts her 
pelvis and rises to meet him, and soon has her fourth orgasm, avoiding her 
husband's knowing grin.

After the man finishes, gasping and pressing himself hard into her, she lies 
trembling and limp on the bed, soaked with their sweat and her own.  Her 
breasts are blessedly, thankfully, soft again.  One of the men lying next to 
her wipes a trickle of milk from his chin and winks at her; she flushes deep 
scarlet and looks away.

Her husband rests a familiar hand on her hair and says, "That wasn't so bad, 
now, was it?"  She shakes her head, a tiny movement, nearly imperceptible, 
but he smiles.  "Good girl; that's what I thought.  Now come and get 
dressed; it's time to go pick up the baby."


MsWhich, 2002.






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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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