Chapter 17: The Threesome Crown
The throne room dissolved around them like smoke, the obsidian walls and silent, smiling guests bleeding away into a familiar warmth. The scent of ozone was replaced by the faint, floral hint of lavender, the hard glass floor softening into the plush pile of their bedroom carpet.
They were back in the master bedroom. Their sanctuary. It was exactly as Mark remembered it—the king-sized bed with its grey linen duvet, the faint hum of the ceiling fan, the soft glow of Lisa’s bedside lamp. But it was a museum exhibit of a life that had been incinerated. The three of them stood beside the bed, no longer fused, but separate and vibrantly, terrifyingly real.
Lisa stood between the two Deloreses, who were once again perfect duplicates, their red hair loose and tumbling over the shoulders of matching black silk robes. Lisa wore one of Mark’s old t-shirts, the cotton soft and thin from years of washing. The mundane familiarity of it was a punch to his gut.
“Home sweet home,” the Delores on the right said, running a hand over the duvet.
“It needs breaking in again,” the other Delores replied, her voice a mirror image, low and hungry.
Lisa’s gaze was distant, her fingers absently tracing the band of the ring. “He should watch,” she said, her tone not cruel, but matter-of-fact, as if stating that the sky was blue. “He wanted to see. Now he can see everything.”
Mark found he could move, but only to sit on the low, padded bench at the foot of the bed. It was a command, not a permission. His body obeyed while his mind screamed.
The two Deloreses turned to Lisa, their movements synchronized. They didn’t speak. They simply reached for her, their hands sliding the silk robes from their own shoulders, letting the fabric pool on the floor. Their bodies were identical, lush and powerful, the vibrant red curls between their legs a bold declaration. Then their hands went to Lisa, pulling the old t-shirt up and over her head. She stood naked between them, her plain, pretty form a stark contrast to their mature voluptuousness.
“My turn,” one Delores murmured, and as she stepped closer to Lisa, her body… shifted. The air around her groin shimmered, and from the neat thatch of red hair, a cock emerged, full and erect, thickening and lengthening until it hung heavy and real between her thighs. It was a perfect, terrifying appendage, the skin smooth and flushed with blood.
Lisa moaned at the sight of it, a low, wanting sound. She dropped to her knees without being asked, her hands reaching for it, stroking the length with a reverence that made Mark feel sick.
“You like that, don’t you, baby?” the other Delores said, moving behind Lisa. She pressed her naked body against Lisa’s back, her hands cupping Lisa’s breasts, pinching the nipples until Lisa gasped against the cock in her face. “You love having a wife with a perfect fucking cock.”
Lisa opened her mouth, her tongue darting out to lick the broad head, tasting the single bead of moisture that had gathered there. “Yes,” she breathed, the word muffled by flesh.
“Then take it,” the standing Delores commanded, her voice husky. She fisted her hand in Lisa’s hair, not gently, and guided the head of her cock to Lisa’s lips. “All of it.”
Lisa opened wider, and the Delores thrust forward, burying her length deep into Lisa’s throat. Lisa gagged, her body jerking, but the Delores behind her held her firm, whispering filthy encouragements into her ear. “That’s it, take it all the way. Such a good girl for us. Such a good, filthy wife.”
Mark watched, paralyzed, as his wife was used. The slurping, gagging sounds filled the room, a brutal music. Lisa’s eyes streamed tears, but she didn’t pull away. Her hands gripped the Delores’s hips, pulling her deeper, urging her on.
The Delores behind her slid a hand down Lisa’s stomach, her fingers delving into the wetness between Lisa’s legs. “She’s soaked,” she announced, her fingers working in a circular, pressing motion that made Lisa buck against her. “She’s fucking dripping for you. For me. For us.”
The fucking of Lisa’s mouth became a relentless, piston-like rhythm. The Delores holding her hair grunted with each thrust, her hips snapping forward. “Gonna come in this pretty little throat,” she panted. “You want that? You want to swallow your wife’s come?”
Lisa managed a choked, affirmative groan, her body trembling between them.
And then, Mark saw her. In the reflection of the dark television screen across the room, another Lisa. She was sitting in the reading chair in the corner, naked, her legs spread wide. She was watching the scene on the bed, her own hand a blur between her thighs, furiously rubbing her clit. Her expression was one of intense, selfish concentration, as if she were studying a fascinating specimen. This was the clone, the observer, pleasuring herself to the degradation of her original self.
The sight broke something in him. The voyeurism, the narcissism, it was a deeper violation than anything he had yet witnessed.
On the bed, the Delores fucking Lisa’s mouth let out a sharp cry. Her body stiffened, and she held Lisa’s head deep, her thrusts becoming shallow, frantic jerks as she emptied herself down Lisa’s throat. Lisa swallowed convulsively, her throat working, a thin trickle of white escaping her lips.
As soon as she pulled out, gasping, the other Delores maneuvered Lisa onto the bed on her hands and knees. “My turn,” she said, her voice thick with need. She positioned herself behind Lisa, her own, identical cock pressing against Lisa’s slick, exposed folds.
“Please,” Lisa begged, her voice hoarse from the abuse, her face flushed and streaked with tears. “Please, fuck me. I need it.”
The Delores didn’t hesitate. She drove into Lisa with a single, brutal thrust that slammed Lisa forward on the mattress. Lisa screamed, a raw, shattered sound of pure ecstasy. The Delores set a punishing pace, her hips slapping against Lisa’s ass with a wet, meaty sound. Each thrust drove a gasp from Lisa’s lips.
The other Delores, now recovered, crawled onto the bed in front of Lisa. She lay on her back, guiding Lisa’s mouth back onto her softening cock, which began to stiffen again under the attention. Lisa was now being fucked from both ends, a trembling, moaning bridge between her two wives.
The room stank of sex and sweat. The sounds were animalistic—grunts, slaps, choked cries, and the slick, rhythmic noise of penetration. The clone in the chair was moaning too, her own climax approaching as she watched the brutal symmetry of the act.
The Delores behind Lisa reached around, her fingers finding Lisa’s clit, rubbing it in hard, frantic circles. “You gonna come for us, Lisa?” she grunted, her thrusts becoming erratic. “You gonna come all over your wife’s cock?”
Lisa’s body went rigid. A guttural, broken wail was torn from her throat, muffled by the flesh filling her mouth. Her back arched violently, and she shuddered through a climax that seemed to shake the very bed. The feeling of her convulsing around the cock inside her triggered the Delores’s own release; she cried out, pumping into Lisa, her own body seizing up.
For a moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing. The clone in the chair had gone still, a satisfied, distant look on her face.
The two Deloreses pulled away from Lisa, who collapsed onto the damp sheets, boneless and spent. They looked at each other, then at the ring on Lisa’s finger, which glowed with a soft, sated light.
Mark sat on the bench, the taste of bile in his mouth. He was hollowed out, a spectator in the ruins of his own life.
Lisa slowly pushed herself up onto her elbows. She looked at Mark, her eyes clear and focused, no trace of the submissive wreck she had been moments before. The power had settled back into her, cold and absolute.
She smiled, a tiny, private thing.
“You’re right, my love,” she said, her voice soft but carrying perfectly in the silent room. “Watching is a start. But it’s not enough anymore, is it?”
She held his gaze, and the ring began to pulse again, a slow, deliberate rhythm like a heartbeat picking up pace.
“It’s your turn to participate.”