Triple Team: A Military Reverse Harem Romance, page 16
“I’m ready. Fuck my ass.”
Michael leaned over me and grabbed my ass, fingers digging into the flesh of my rump, spreading it for his Marine comrade. Spreading me wide.
“Come on,” Michael said. “You can do better than that.”
“It’s her first time.”
Michael glanced down at me. “She can handle it.”
“I can,” I said. Begged. Pleaded. “I can take it. Please let me show you.”
His cock pushed deeper. Not just the head anymore but a few millimeters of the shaft. The indirect pressure against my inner pussy walls was different. Intense in a fun and exciting way.
“Yes,” I moaned, stroking Michael faster. He rumbled with more laughter.
“Her ass practically swallows that cock. Don’t be shy.”
Egged on by his teammate, Donovan grabbed my waist for leverage and gave me another two inches. I moaned with simultaneous pleasure and shock. Shock at how good it felt. I was being filled in a completely new way. A way that Donovan wanted.
“I think she likes it,” Donovan said.
“Yes.”
“What do you like?” he asked. “Tell me.”
“I don’t like it. I love it.”
“Love what?”
“Your dick in my ass,” I breathed, new heights of pleasure striking me as the words poured out of my mouth. “Your thick cock deep inside my ass, I love it, I need it, give it to me, please…”
Donovan was breathing hard now as he pushed deeper, and deeper, and just when I thought I couldn’t handle any more he pulled back.
“More,” I begged.
“Come on,” Michael laughed. “Give her what she wants. She can take it.”
“Ohh, I can.”
The intensity was incredible. Previously unknown pleasure centers firing in exciting new ways. It awakened a hunger in me that had always been there just beneath the surface, waiting for the door to be opened. I could be dirty with them in a way I never had with anyone else.
Michael grabbed my head with both of his hands and pushed it back down on his throbbing rod. I didn’t have to move: he steadily moved his hips back and forth, fucking my face like it was his play toy.
I’m being filled from both ends.
The thought was as pleasurable as the act itself. I relaxed and savored the naughtiness of it while they fucked me from both sides, moving faster and faster.
“I’m going to come so hard,” Donovan said in a throaty voice. It was a tease, not a warning of what was about to happen.
I pulled Michael’s dick out of my mouth so I could say, “Tell me where you’re going to come.”
“Deep in your ass.”
The thought was tempting. New. Exciting in a way that gave me pause. But it wasn’t what I wanted most. “That wasn’t the deal,” I said, turning the last word into a moan as his shaft pushed deeper than it had before. “You have to come on me.”
Donovan grabbed my hips possessively. The way he controlled my body made me shiver with delight. “What if I want to come in here, filling your ass to the brim?”
“Then you would make me a very unhappy girl.”
Michael leaned back on his haunches, stroking himself while watching Donovan take me from behind. “A deal is a deal. You got what you wanted from her, and she has been a good girl.”
“So good,” I said.
“We’ll see if you can be good a little longer.” And with that Donovan crashed deeper into me, one hard stroke that made his boulder-like thighs crash into my hips and ass. I yelped with surprise and pleasure, and he pulled back and fucked me hard again, each time harder than before.
“Fuck me,” I moaned. “Right there. Just like that…”
I was surprised to feel my own climax building out of nowhere, whipped into a frenzy by his demanding dick. I didn’t think I was going to make it. He was going to come before I did, winning that race men and women ran when in the throes of passion. But then Michael fell to his side on the bed and reached up underneath, finding my throbbing clitoris with two fingers. The intensity was like being launched into space, bright and blurry and fast, faster than I could have ever expected, and while being simultaneously stimulated in my ass and clitoris I screamed until all the air was gone from my lungs and I saw sparks fly across my vision.
I barely felt Donovan pull out. Michael moved over and I fell onto my back. The two of them appeared on either side of me, stroking themselves to completion. Two giants of glistening muscle, their throbbing members ready to unload all over me.
“You ready for it?” Donovan purred.
“I think she is,” Michael said. “Squeeze those breasts together for us. Give us a target.”
I bit my lips and obeyed, pressing the flesh of my chest together. Donovan moaned at the sight which drove me wild. Seeing these two men driven to orgasm by the mere sight of me was hotter than any porn. Pre-come glistened on the tip of Michael’s massive head. I leaned up and licked it off with my tongue, leaving a silky strand connecting my tongue to his penis.
“Oh Juliana,” he said in that exotic accent. His head tilted back and his hand moved faster on his shaft. “Juliana!”
“Yeah?”
“I’m coming!”
“Give me your come!” I demanded. “Come all over me!”
A firehose of milky seed shot from his cock, splashing down across my breasts. I moaned and drank in the sight of rope after rope shooting onto me, covering me, bathing me in the evidence of his lust. It trickled in between my breasts and ran down my belly, a road of manly spunk.
Donovan’s cry of pleasure was even louder as he joined his teammate in covering me with love. His seed was thicker but more plentiful as it landed on my skin, hot little bursts like fireworks going off. I shuddered and trembled with each one as I shared in their mutual lust.
It made me feel powerful. A muse of love and ecstasy.
Like a goddess.
24
Juliana
Some guys were total dicks after sex. All that mattered was that they’d finished, and it was snooze time after that. But Michael and Donovan were perfect gentlemen. The former went to the bathroom to get a towel while the latter caressed his fingers up and down my legs and nuzzled at my ear. They helped clean me up from the mess they’d made, and then we crowded into my bed in a pile of exhausted flesh.
“I wasn’t…” Donovan said. “You didn’t think that was too…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Extreme?”
I laughed and put a hand on his chest. “I’m glad you shared your fetish with me. It made me feel less weird about telling you guys my desire.”
Michael kissed me gently on the cheek and pulled me onto his boulder of a body. “Why would you feel weird?”
“Women aren’t supposed to have kinks,” I said. “Nobody wants a slutty girl, remember?”
Donovan continued tracing his finger along the curve of my hip. Along the pelvis, criss-crossing my soft mound. “Like we said before. That whole double standard is bullshit. It’s refreshing being with a woman who can let go of her inhibitions without embarrassment.”
I smiled to myself as sleep took us.
They were gone when I woke the next morning. I never even felt them leave the bed. But I was more sore than I’d been in a long time, enough that I winced when I swung my legs out over the side of the bed. But it was a good kind of sore. A reminder of how much fun we’d had.
All three of us.
I found Donovan humming to himself while making bacon and eggs. Michael was sipping coffee and reading the Richmond Times Dispatch in the corner. Each of them gave me a knowing smile.
“Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day,” I said.
Donovan nodded. “Positively gorgeous, I hear.”
We ate breakfast and then I finished packing—something I had only half done last night before getting interrupted. Michael drove Gregor and me to the airport, and I hugged him extra-long when we said our goodbyes.
Gregor didn’t say anything, but it seemed like he noticed.
“You know, now that I’ve been in First Class I don’t think I can go back to being a normal peasant,” I said as we boarded our plane. Gregor twisted to look back at me.
“I don’t need as many fancy frills as Michael. Get used to coach, kiddo.”
I let out a dramatic sigh. “If I must.”
The flight was calm and uneventful. Gregor snored loudly while I tried to read a book on my Kindle. We filled out our customs forms, landed in Caracas, and grabbed our bags.
“Customs should be a breeze,” Gregor said as we got in line. “Just stick to the tourist story we discussed.”
My mind drifted to the events of last night. It was rare that I told a guy about my particular fetish so soon after meeting them, let alone two of them. It felt good to be forward with them, and it made them forward in response. That’s how it should be. No awkward wondering if the other person would like what you did.
And sweet Jesus it was good. The kind of carefree, last-day-on-earth sex that left you replaying everything the next day. I couldn’t wait to get home and do it some more.
I wasn’t sure which of them I liked better. Both were sexy and appealing in their own unique way.
And Gregor…
I eyed my partner ahead of me in line. He wore jeans and a plain white tank top, with that same olive colored conductor hat he’d worn the night I met them in Boston. The tribal tattoos on his arms were the same bullshit design every eager-to-prove grunt got as soon as they passed out of Basic, but on Gregor they seemed more natural. They accentuated his muscle and grit rather than looking out of place. Gregor was sexy in a totally different way than the others. More earthy and real. I could still feel his body vibrating against mine as we hugged the turns on his motorcycle, racing home to tell the others about the plan. What kind of lover was he?
“Ven conmigo.”
Two armed airport guards were standing next to me. Talking to me.
“I’m… I’m sorry?” I said. “I don’t speak Spanish.”
“Come with me,” the guard repeated.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of line. Gregor opened his mouth but then closed it again and watched me disappear. The last thing I saw was him mouthing the word, “Relax,” to me.
How the hell can I relax when I’m being taken away by armed guards?
They put me in a room that might have once been an office but had now been cleared of furniture. A moment later another man entered. The yellow-blue-red flag of Venezuela was stitched onto his sleeve. He wore a burgundy beret tilted to one side, and a matching kerchief covered his neck and throat.
Relax, I told myself.
“English?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m American. What is this about?”
He took my shoulder bag and pulled out my laptop. “What is on this?” he asked in halting English.
“Nothing special. Photographs. A couple of games.”
He opened it and shoved it at me. “Unlock.”
It was awkward holding the laptop and entering my password at the same time while standing, but there was nowhere to sit so I made do. As soon as the laptop was unlocked he snatched it from me.
It was clear he didn’t know what he was doing, or what he was looking at. It wouldn’t have mattered even if he did since I kept everything important on a hidden partition on a separate boot volume. Still, he made a show of looking around, clicking folders, launching MSPaint and Adobe Reader.
“Purpose in Caracas?”
“I’m a tourist,” I said, pulling up the rehearsed line from my memory. “My friend and I are visiting museums today.”
“Name these museums.”
I ticked them off on my fingers. “First we’re going to Hacienda La Trinidad Parque Cultural. Getting it out of the way first, you know? Then Museo Bolívar, Museo de Bellas Artes, and Museo de Arte Contemporaneo, if we have time. Tomorrow we’re going to start with Museo de Ciencias Naturales…”
Before I could finish, the officer opened the door and pushed me through. I breathed a sigh of relief when we appeared outside the customs line and he waved me on.
Gregor was waiting for me on the other side. “Glad to see you again.”
“I thought you said they’re kinder to tourists.”
He laughed. “This is why they have a tourism problem in the first place.”
Gregor stopped in a tobacco shop to buy a box of Cuban cigars, and then we transferred to a puddle jumper for the flight to Ciudad Guayana. “It’s less conspicuous to fly there and drive an hour to Ciudad Bolívar,” Gregor explained as the plane took off. “Plus we have a stop to make on the way.”
Even though our seats were in the last row, the plane was so small I could have spit and hit the cockpit door. The other passengers were all locals. The propellers sputtered a few times in mid-air, which made me listen carefully to the engine sound for any sign of trouble. I tried not to think about how robust the Venezuelan equivalent of the FAA was.
Ciudad Guayana was nestled on the Orinoco River 100 kilometers east of Ciudad Bolívar. I was shocked to learn it had a population just under a million; it was surrounded by the northern edge of the Amazon rainforest, a deep green color that seemed endless from the air. The airport had only a single runway and was packed with people on the inside. The air was humid and the smell of body odor was thick.
The truck Gregor had rented was a beat up Ford F150 with bullet holes along the back. He paid the guy at the counter with American cash, which he hastily hid away so nobody could see.
The city itself was immensely poor. Hastily constructed shack neighborhoods lined the main road, with corrugated metal roofs in varying shades of grey, red, and brown. Trash was everywhere—piled against fences, blowing across the road, collecting in the stream that ran alongside the road. I was glad when we finally reached the edge of the city and trees began replacing huts.
Gregor drove along a road toward what looked like another runway. We passed a sign that said Aeropuerto de Macagua.
“We getting on another plane?”
“Nope.”
Waiting for us on the runway was a man in cargo pants standing next to a prop plane even smaller than the one we came in on. I waited in the truck while Gregor approached him, shook his hand, and then helped him unload a wooden crate onto the dirt runway. They used a crowbar to open the top and then Gregor began pulling out equipment, placing it in a black duffel bag on the ground. The moment he was done the pilot put the crate back on the plane, hopped in the cockpit, and took off down the runway without another word.
“What’s this?” I asked when Gregor came back to the truck.
“Supplies for the mission.”
I unzipped the bag and shifted items around. Some walkie-talkies. An M4A1 carbine rifle. Four handguns, including two M9 Berettas. A box of electronics I didn’t recognize.
I flinched when I touched a brick of putty-like substance. “Is this C-4?”
“Of course not.”
I relaxed, but only for a second.
“C-4 is too easily detectable. That’s Semtex. The Israeli equivalent.”
“Fuck!” I said. “Warn a girl before you hand her a bag of munitions.”
“Chill out. Plastic explosives are as stable as can be.”
“Why do you even have this stuff?”
He grinned over at me. “Never know when you’ll need to blow something up.”
We drove west for the next hour. Much of our drive followed the muddy Orinoco River, but occasionally the road curved into the surrounding terrain. It wasn’t as green as the jungles by Ciudad Guayana. We saw more straight trees and low bushes, and there was no canopy to block our view of the blue sky.
We had extra time built in to our schedule in case there were problems, which was good because it wasn’t a smooth drive. A recent storm had knocked over trees and branches all along our route. Most of the time we were able to slow down and drive over the branches, but halfway to Ciudad Bolívar we came to a stop at a section of the road blocked by a maintenance crew. We waited close to an hour for them to lift a huge tree out of the road with a crane before traffic moved again.
“It’s going to be close,” I said, checking our location on my phone. “If the transfers happen between 1400 and 1500…”
“I’m driving as fast as I can,” Gregor said.
We reached Ciudad Bolívar at 2:18 pm. It was much smaller than Ciudad Guayana, but in a quaint, historic way. The ruins of a Spanish fort sat on a hill, overlooking the city. I wondered how long ago it had been built.
We made a drive-by of the Banco Nacional de Credito. It was on a dirt street next to a small electronics shop selling radio and car parts, and the bank sign was significantly cleaner—and newer—than the other businesses nearby. Gregor pulled into an alley across the street and parked.
“Do your thing, kiddo.”
I had my laptop up and ready to go. A local network scan revealed only one active Wi-Fi network—the bank’s. It was completely open, no security at all.
“This is just sad,” I said. “A nosy teenager could access this network if they wanted. And this place is a bank!”
“IT security is pretty low on Venezuela’s list of concerns these days,” Gregor said. “Have they made the deposit yet or not?”
I back-doored into one of the local machines and ran a quick Powershell command to see what software was running. A Point of Sale program called Interbank immediately caught my eye. I downloaded and installed it on my laptop, connected using the local network properties, and it immediately synced up with a server. Now my laptop was essentially the same as a teller’s computer inside the bank.
I scanned the list of recent transactions. “I don’t see anything to Accola’s account.”
Gregor breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. We’re not too late.” He reversed the truck and drove back to the entrance to the alley, pulling up until our truck was almost poking out into the main road. From this vantage we could see the front door of the bank.
Gregor turned off the engine. “Now we wait.”
*
