Penelope
FIVE YEARS LATER
“Are you ready?”
I blow out a breath that’s been constricting my chest all night during our Christmas Eve festivities. Am I ready?
Yes? No?
I try to remember what life was like when I thought I would never understand relationships or people or sex. Now I don’t think it—I know it. People make absolutely no sense at all. We’re not a very logical species. We can’t seem to ask for what we need or say what we mean. We talk in circles. Relationships are unfathomable too. They are always changing, and if you don’t grow, if you’re too rigid, then the relationship breaks. It’s hard for me to always remember to allow growth and change. I prefer things like gravity and quadratic equations—things that have rules that don’t bend.
And sex—well I know for sure I’ll never understand that. How each time it’s different. How different moods and tones and feelings change the intensity and duration of an orgasm. How sometimes it seems to take me an hour to get there and sometimes just a mouth on my boob sends me into orbit in thirty seconds.
Shane opens the door to our bedroom and gestures us inside, “After you, Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” Fletch answers.
Yeah. We all changed our last name to Smith. We can’t get married legally, but we can all share a name. We chose Smith on a lark. Shane insists he wasn’t high when he suggested it. It’s solid and ordinary.
We are solid and very unordinary.
Case in point, we are wearing matching red thermal pajamas. We just took Christmas portraits of ourselves next to our tree. The cat appears in half of them because cats do what they want, even at Christmas, and she refused to pose.
Tomorrow, we drive two hours to our hometown, well, the hometown of Fletcher and me. We will have dinner with both sets of our parents. I will spend too much time giggling with Jenna rather than acting like adults, and everyone will pretend it’s not so weird that we are a triad instead of a couple.
But tonight is our night. Shane goes all out every year, managing to surprise us with his productions. He always tells me that I was the last puzzle piece, that I’m the reason we are together. I think it’s him. He’s the glue of our family. The one who didn’t have one growing up is the one who knows how to make ours real.
But tonight, tonight we are taking a new step.
“Mrs. Smith, are you ready to get inseminated?” Shane asks.
I shoot him a look.
Fletch is trying not to laugh. “Real romantic, dude.”
Shane rolls his eyes in mock frustration. “Fine. I’ll try it your way.” He leans down and looks into my eyes, deeply, fully. “Mrs. Smith, my love, and I say that knowing it sounds cheesy but with all the earnestness in my heart, are you ready to make a baby with us?”
We’ve talked about it a lot. I mean a lot a lot. We’ve calculated and timed and gone over scenario after scenario and I know this is the best time. We’re young, yes, but we want to be young parents. There are three of us, which I think will make it easier because six hands has to be better than four. And we’ve been married for two years. The glue is working well.
But it’s scary anyway, right? I mean, yikes. Me a parent?
But looking into Shane’s eyes, knowing he’s ready and he’s the one who had the most doubts about ever having kids, knowing how much love he has, I can’t help but smile. Fletch wraps his arms around my waist from behind and I feel his solid strength seep into my bones.
Fletch kisses my neck. “Are you still sure about how you want to do this?”
“It was my idea.”
“Yeah, but little bit,” Shane says, “we all know what it’s like to be penetrated by one dick in this house. That’s already a lot. Two is...”
“Probably going to hurt,” Fletch says.
“And be really messy,” Shane adds.
Judging from the bulge pressing into my back and the way Shane’s thermal pants are stretching in front of me, they are both excited about the possible mess.
“I want to try it at least once. And when better than when we are trying to conceive?”
“Say breed,” Shane says. “It’s hot when you say you want us to breed you.”
“That’s kind of gross yet oddly hot,” I tell him. And it is. Two gorgeous, muscled cavemen are going to breed me tonight like we’re animals.
I move to the end of the bed and turn around. They are standing shoulder to shoulder, watching me—probably watching my face to make sure I’m not freaking out—but watching me just the same. So I make slithering out of thermal Christmas pajamas as sexy as I can and stand in front of them naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. And trusting. I trust them, I trust love, and more importantly, after all these years, I finally trust myself.
They both start stripping and I can’t imagine a better Christmas gift. They are still chiseled even though they’re done with college sports. I’m spoiled by the masculine display and everywhere my eyes settle makes me wetter. I scoot onto the bed and they follow me on all fours, stalking me like I’m prey.
I sit up and they get on their knees, their cocks jutting out like they are trying to impress me. I am indeed impressed. I always am. My freshman year obsession with dicks didn’t exactly go away. I just focused a lot more of my attention on the two I currently reach for. They are solid, heavy—Fletcher’s has more pronounced veins and Shane’s is darker. I love the way they hiss in unison on my upstroke. Shane hooks Fletch around the neck and brings him closer so they can share a kiss, bringing them hip to hip. I bring them together even more and wrap my hands around the two cocks.
Fletcher groans. I know how much they like the feeling of their cocks rubbing together, so I smile and treat the two like they are one.
“My, my...you are both lubricating yourselves very much.”
“Like you’re not so wet it’s probably dripping down your leg.”
I smile and savor the texture of the hot flesh in my hands. The smooth skin that gives way to ridges. The grunts of my cavemen as they thrust into my hands. Their hands move to my upper body, teasing and squeezing my breasts until I’m certain I really am running moisture down my legs.
A wordless conversation between the two has me suddenly being pushed backward.
“Get on your back, naughty girl.”
I comply happily, and I’m covered in man. Four hands stroking my flesh, two hot mouths feasting on my skin. They tug on my nipples with their hands and mouths and I’m lost to sensation. I don’t know which man is doing what, but I know that I am being cared for.
Hairy, heavy legs spread my own legs wide, and I feel the pre-cum from two cocks marking the skin of my hips.
“Look at that tasty pussy, Fletch. She’s all ours, man.” His fingers spread my lips open and I can feel the weight of their stares on my clitoris. “So juicy. Damn, she’s always so wet for us, bro.”
“Fuck her with your tongue, Shane.”
Echoes of our first night rattle around my brain until Shane starts slurping, and Fletch squeezes my nipples rough and hard, and then I can’t think anymore. Just feel.
Shane pumps his fingers into me and I know he’s stretching me there, getting me ready, and I buck against his mouth and stubbly chin. Fletch gives me a smack on my breast with a heavy hand, and I start coming from the sting that always gets me so high.
“That’s it. Such a good girl,” he murmurs in my ear as I ride the wave. “Such a good, hot wife.”
Shane doesn’t stop moving his hand, bringing me there one more time as he sucks my clit. I writhe until I’m spent, until he lifts his head and smiles at me, his face so wet with me. Fletch swears and grabs him. “Give me that mouth.”
They kiss, a masculine display as they grip and squeeze and moan, sharing the taste of me from Shane’s mouth. When they stop, they stare into each other’s eyes a moment longer and Fletch says, “Let’s fill her up, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Shane agrees, getting on his back and rolling me onto him. I straddle his cock reverse cowgirl style and sink down. We both moan at the pleasure and Fletch pushes me so I’m lying against Shane’s chest, his arms securing me tightly against him.
“Are you sure about this?” Fletch gets in position and thumps his heavy dick against my pussy where we’re joined. “We are fine taking turns. We both like sloppy seconds, after all. And it doesn’t matter who donates the sperm for this baby. He or she will be all of ours.”
“I know. I want this. Fill me up.”
“Bossy, bossy.” He pushes very slowly, his cock edging into the tight little space between Shane’s cock and my stretched lips. So slowly, it’s like time stops. There is only the inching of Fletch into me, the breath of the three of us while we allow me to stretch my pussy for them the way they stretched my heart.
The sensation stings and hurts, but I know from experience I often like a little pain. I try to hide my grimace, but Fletch is watching me closely. “Please, I want this.”
Finally, he is all the way in. Fletch pulls out a little and then pushes back in. I start to loosen up a little bit, but it is still the tightest fuck we’ve ever had. My pussy is glutted and stuffed.
“Fuck,” Shane moans. “You’re chockfull of cock now, nerd girl.”
“We’re going to fuck our baby into you tonight, Penelope,” Fletcher says, his voice raw and filthy as his muscles quake from trying so hard not to lose control and drive into me the way I know he wants to.
Shane’s hand rubs my stomach like he’s already imagining me pregnant. The sound oh his sigh in my ear makes me clamp tighter around both of them. Shane bucks his hips beneath me and we have to all pause to keep them inside. I’m so full. Pinned between my husbands and stuffed so full. We fuck so dirty, filthy, and raw it’s probably illegal. Their balls slap together on every thrust.
Shane starts tightening under me. “Christ. Penelope Smith, you are every fantasy I’ve ever had. Your men are going to fill you with so much cum tonight. God damn. You’re pussy is a fucking miracle.”
Fletch starts humping us faster, losing some of that control. He’s probably bruising both their dicks, and I know I’m going to be sore later. Nobody can talk now. We’re a writhing mass of flesh created for one primal purpose right now. Grunt and groans and the slap of flesh bounce off the walls. The air tastes like salt. There is only fucking and we fuck to come. To create life.
To breed.
I think I start it. I fall over the edge, tightening around them and contracting until labored breaths become moans and shouts. It’s brutal, feral, and primitive the way we grasp at whatever flesh we can hold onto as we all come. The sloppy mess below makes obscene, wet noises as all the cum mixes together.
“Are you okay?” Fletch finally asks me. He will never admit to it, but his eyes are wet.
I nod, but Shane answers beneath me. “Actually, I’m kind of being suffocated right now.”
We laugh and untangle carefully. The men tip me up and put pillows beneath my hips and we rest and breathe and hope and plan.
Maybe I don’t have a baby planted deep inside just yet. But it’s going to be a lot of fun making one.
A lot of fun I would have missed if I’d have never let myself be brave and allow them to teach me. To love me.
Fun we would have missed if Fletcher hadn’t been able to stop caring about how people thought he should be and let himself become who he wanted.
Fun we would have missed if Shane couldn’t take a chance and let himself be loved.
The courage to love and to allow yourself to be loved is the hardest part about being human, if you ask me. Then bringing another small human into it...well, luckily there are lots of books about parenting. And Shane, of all people, has purchased every single one of them.
When I go back to work after my maternity leave, Shane is going to stay home and be a full-time dad. He’s more excited about that job than I’ve ever seen him get excited about anything. No career path ever lit up his eyes the way planning our future family has.
Fletcher is graduating from law school this spring and is already working as a paralegal for the human rights firm he’ll be practicing law with. I’m working as a lab tech in a teaching hospital where I’m making not much—but already have benefits. I could probably move up faster if I were better at peopling, but that continues to be a struggle.
My eyelids are getting heavy as I listen to the guys talk about some sport team. I think it’s football, but I can never be sure. Periodically, I feel one of them trying to put their jizz back into me with his finger as it trickles out. He’s being ridiculous, but if he thinks that will better our chances, I won’t tell him so.
I already know I won’t be walking tomorrow. I’m still pleasantly sore, but if this is anything like the few times I’ve done anal, tomorrow is going to suck.
I don’t even bother trying to open my eyes again. I’ll just drift into dreamland, listening to my husbands’ deep voices, knowing when I wake up, the dream has just begun.