I wake up, surrounded by warmth and softness.
“You’re pinching me,” Emma whispers in my ear.
My eyes blink open, remembering where I fell asleep. My best friend’s bed. Her freckled face is right in front of mine, her green gaze barely an inch away.
The squishy feeling in my hand is her right breast, which I’ve been unconsciously mauling.
“Sorry,” I say, not meaning it in the least.
She smiles, so do I. I ease up, but don’t let go.
This is the life. Her body is pressed to mine, bare and plush, her hand drawing shapes down my back. It makes me shiver. Not sure if it’s arousal or just how soft she is.
I lean in for a kiss. Emma welcomes me, we’re so past caring about morning breath.
I try to reach up, fingers itching to bury themselves in her messy red hair. But my left arm jerks to a stop.
“What the…” I start looking up.
My wrist is wrapped in a fluffy pink cuff, the kind you’d find in a bachelorette party gift bag. It loops through the headboard, connected to another cuff holding Emma’s right hand in place.
The shock finally clears my head. The events of the previous day, leading up to my waking up in bed with my longtime crush, percolate in my mind.
The fucking clone stuff.
“Where is she?” I ask, resigned, finding Emma’s sorry expression.
“She tied us up and took off when we were still sleeping,” she explains. “I didn’t have it in me to wake you up. We really drained you last night.”
“Right,” I mutter, the memories of the crazy threesome coming back. I hesitate for a second before working up the courage to ask. “And which Emma would that be?”
The Emma in bed with me frowns.
“Seriously? After everything we did, you still can’t tell?”
I risk a glance at her chest. If I had to guess, she’s on the more compact end of the Emma bosom distribution.
“Of course I know you’re the original,” I say quickly, giving her a reassuring peck.
That seems to do the trick. She softens under me, lips curling into a pleased smile.
Focusing back on the problem at hand. Heh. I give a sharp tug with my left arm, but the flimsy kink-cuffs stubbornly resist.
“Stronger than they look,” Emma observes, entirely unhelpful.
“We should snoop around,” I say. “She probably left the key somewhere. What if there were a fire? We’d need a way to escape.”
I scan the room. The mattress is bare, the covers still on the floor from last night’s heroics. There aren’t many places to hide things.
“Right,” Emma says, her sarcasm just grating enough. “Maybe she gave us a safeword too…”
===
“This is the last one,” I pant, between two thrusts. “We need to find a way to escape.”
Emma nods under me as her tits bounce from my efforts.
“Yes,” she moans, before managing a complete sentence. “God knows what she could be up to.”
Somehow, during our clumsy attempt to find the key, what with our hands being tied together, Emma ended up splayed right below me.
Somehow, my cock slid inside her pussy. Her legs closed around my ass.
That was three fucks ago. We’re not doing great on the escape front, but we’re really sexually compatible.
Small victories.
“No, I mean it,” I grunt, over the obscene wet slap of our bodies colliding and the squelching sounds of her well-used pussy.
Emma reaches up with her free hand and lovingly wipes the sweat off my brow.
“I know you do, baby,” she purrs, all sweetness and condescension. “I just don’t believe you can outplay her. She’s really smart.”
My mind flashes back to the clone. How fast she had me wrapped around her fingers. And other parts of her.
I collapse onto Emma, spent. She locks around me like a carnivorous plant, pulling me in and milking every last drop.
“There you go,” she coos in my ear, one hand stroking along my wet spine. “Don’t try to think too hard, baby. You’re just our dumb, sexy, Tom.”
Her words get a weak moan out of me. Don’t judge me, okay? This is pretty tender, by Emma standards.
For the first time this morning, I feel myself soften inside her.
“I wondered which would come first,” she muses, letting me melt on her chest. “Dehydration or your refractory period.”
Emma hums, satisfied. “Guess I have my answer.”
She presses her lips to my scalp, then squirms under me and digs around between the mattress and the bedframe.
“Look what I found,” she exclaims proudly, holding up the crappy plastic key.
I groan. She’s a terrible actress.
===
“Hold it right there!” I bark as we barge into the lab.
Emma 1 is at my side, determined. We’re freshly showered, which was only somewhat derailed by handstuff under the water.
Emma 2 doesn’t even flinch at our interruption. She’s standing in front of the Thought-O-Copier, wearing sober black lingerie, thick rubber gloves up to her elbows, and rounded welding goggles. Damn, the mad scientist look shouldn’t work this hard on me.
She turns slowly, her high ponytail swooshing around her, to reveal a big I’m-five-moves-ahead grin.
“Took you long enough,” the clone says in a friendly voice. “Almost thought I’d misjudged how long this one would keep humping you.”
I glance at Emma 1, who withers, flushing madly.
“Sorry,” she mouths.
“You guys were working together?” I ask, incredulous.
“Not really,” they both say in unison.
“She was just jealous we got to spend so much time together,” Emma 2 explains. “And I needed some time to improve this thing.”
Even with how careful she is when proudly tapping the side of the Thought-O-Copier, the whole thing rattles dangerously.
“It’s called aligning incentives,” Emma 1 adds with a huff.
I do not like this new dynamic one bit. The Emmas were nicer to me when they were fighting each other.
Only then does the vat of the Thought-O-Copier catch my attention. It’s opaque and glowing electric pink rather than the spooky green of last night. The cooling system is a lot messier, and Emma’s poor robotic arm has been drafted into the contraption.
“I can see you’ve noticed the changes I’ve implemented to the device,” Emma 2 says in an arrogant tone.
“You’ve done all of that this morning?”
“Of course,” she confirms, looking at me, waiting for me to praise her. Good luck with that.
“Emma is twenty percent more intelligent than me,” Emma 1 says, rubbing my back like I’m a child struggling with my math homework. “You can’t be surprised by her genius.”
I sigh, and my overwhelmed brain finally processes what the robotic arm holds limply. The dildo-probe, used to transfer memories through the Thought-O-Copier. It’s shiny and slick.
Fuck. What has she been up to?
“Why, thank you, Emma.” Emma 2 tilts her head and smiles sweetly at the original.
Then her entire demeanor changes. Her back straightens, she lowers the goggles over her eyes.
“Behold!” the clone exclaims, before lifting a small glass panel and flipping the oversized metallic switch labelled ‘DANGER’ within it. She’s clearly inherited her progenitor’s propensity for theatrics.
Just like that, without a sound, the side of the vat clears up.
“Polarized glass?” Emma 1 gushes. “Very cool.”
“I know, right?” her clone agrees.
How can they be focusing on such a minor detail?
Because all I can think about right now is the two forms floating peacefully in the pink liquid.
Two more naked Emmas.
It could almost be a touching scene, the two peaceful sleepers curled against one another in the cramped space. But that would require ignoring basically everything else in the room.
“Why?” I air out all of my frustration, drawing out the word for an eternity.
Emma 2 doesn’t flinch. She arches an eyebrow.
“Are you done with your tantrum?” she asks, stern.
Emma 1 tuts, clearly having picked a side. She beelines to the console, parsing the indicators, muttering “Brilliant!” or “Oh that’s so clever!” every few seconds like some nerdy groupie.
“I’m just not sure we need more of you guys,” I say, dangerously close to pouting.
The clone closes the space between us, and wraps an arm around my waist, laying her head on my shoulder. She probably expects me to be swayed by just how much of her body she has on display, and the lovely smell of her hair.
It only mostly works. Three hurrahs for willpower.
“I think you have some idea what you could do with two more of us,” she purrs in my ear. Every single hair on my body stands up.
Emma 2 giggles at my reaction, pleased with herself. She puts a peck on my cheek.
“You’re so predictable. But seriously, you shouldn’t let your weird moral hangups stand in the way of Humanity’s betterment.”
“Yeah, Tom,” Emma 1 agrees from the console, munching on a random energy bar she found between two folders. “Besides, she stayed behind the forty percent intellect boost. These guys are only going to be twenty percent smarter than her, we’re all good.”
“You see, baby,” Emma 2 whispers. “We’re all good.”
The stupid, arbitrary Mogwai rule the original Emma explained comes back to my mind. I guess Emma 2 is being careful.
That is until I remember basic math.
“Wait, that’s not how any of this works,” I call. The distress in my voice gets the two Emmas to listen to me. I point to Emma 1. “Let’s say your brain is the baseline at one hundred. We bump you twenty percent, this gets us to one hundred and twenty.”
“That’s right,” Emma 2 says, ruffling my hair. I’m so irritated of how proud she sounds that I’m able to do that.
“I’m not finished,” I cut her off. “If we bump you by twenty percent, this gets us to one hundred and forty four percent. That’s over the danger line!”
The two Emmas freeze and share a panicked glance. Did she just create two ginger Gremlins?
But as usual, the clone goes back to her constant air of superiority. She unclamps herself from me and walks to a cupboard.
“Doesn’t matter,” she concludes, and pulls out an absurdly large syringe from a drawer.
The liquid inside is pink, just like the vat, but it has a strange, menacing quality.
“This,” Emma 2 says, brandishing the medical device, “is going to keep us all safe, no matter what. Pants down, baby.”
I exhale, and the relief is so strong that I turn and expose my bare ass to the two Emmas without really thinking.
Nothing happens.
I peer over my shoulder. Both of them are transfixed by my exposed rear end. Emma 1 is blushing furiously, Emma 2 just wolfish enough not to be too creepy. I clear my throat.
“Oh, right,” she says, before stabbing my glute with the needle. I barely feel it even as she pushes the contents of the giant needle in.
“So, what is it?” I ask, eager. “Super strength? Precognition? Ooh, laser-eyes?”
Emma 2 peers up at me, crouching behind my butt. “What? No. Don’t be childish.”
She withdraws the needle and kisses the tiny wound. “There, you go, all better.” She springs to her feet before putting an even more caring peck on the corner of my jaw.
“It’s an aphrodisiac, obviously,” she says casually. “You’re already falling behind with just two of us. We’ll need a lot more Tomfuckery to keep the new Emmas pacified.”
I just sigh and pull my pants up.
“And while we’re on this topic,” the manic clone continues, “I was thinking things are bound to get a tad confusing around here if we just call each other Emma all the time.”
“Think so?” I snort. “Personally, I’m already labelling you in my head. Emma one and two.”
Both Emmas look at me like I’ve just kicked a puppy.
“Tom,” Emma 1 lets out, sounding genuinely offended.
“That’s so dehumanizing,” Emma 2 agrees. “Still, that proves my case. I was thinking of calling myself Emmalpha. For obvious reasons.”
The original Emma blushes at that. Doesn’t mean much. She blushes at everything these days. Well, since last night, really.
“What about you?” I ask her, unable to contain my curiosity.
“How about… Vanilla?”
“Cute,” I nod.
Emma 2. I mean Emmalpha doesn’t share my opinion.
“Really? You don’t want to include ‘Emma’ in your new name?”
“Vanemma,” I try. “Emmanilla? Vemmilla? Doesn’t really work. Vanilla, for the original Emma. It fits.”
This earns me a chaste little kiss from Vanilla, while Emmalpha looks at us, bewildered. Clearly, the puns are essential to her thinking process.
I’m about to make fun of her when the entire lighting of the lab switches to blaring red lights. A countdown appears on every screen, starting at thirty.
“They’re almost ready,” Emmalpha perks up. She picks a pair of oven mitts and starts climbing up the Thought-O-Copier’s massive cooling system. “Quick.” She glances back at me, nodding toward a second pair. “I’ll need your help!”
She definitely stole the glove from my place. My mom bought me those when I left for college. Whatever.
I follow behind her, and we barely reach the top before the loudspeaker system calls ‘ZERO’ in Emma’s voice, while Vanilla cheers us on from the ground.
Remembering what happened yesterday, I dread what the goo will do to my clothes.
But this time, when the vat opens, the pink liquid turns into a strawberry-scented mist upon contact with the air. It wafts over Emmalpha and me, so hot it almost burns.
“Quick.” Emmalpha coughs over the fruity steam. “Help me hoist them down.”
I find out that when she says ‘Help me’, she actually means ‘do most of the work.’ Carefully, one after the other, I carry the unconscious Emmas over my shoulder while Emmalpha barks orders at me.
Even with the oven mittens, I can feel just how hot the two new clones’ skin is.
“Try to give them as much contact as possible with tiles. It will cool them down,” Emmalpha yaps, perilously climbing down the Thought-O-Copier.
Vanilla crouches beside me, gently spreading the limbs of the sleeping women to help cool them off. I tumble on my ass, out of breath, while Emmalpha assesses the process, arms crossed over her chest.
Despite just how much of Emma I’ve seen in the past twenty four hours, I can’t help but stare again.
“Oh come on,” I lament. “Are you guys correlating boob size with intellect?”
Indeed, one the slumbering clone’s chest looks even bigger than Emmalpha. Doesn’t really explain why the second one is built like a surfboard.
“Use your brain, baby,” Emmalpha chides tenderly, rubbing her thumbs into my shoulder, relieving some phantom cramp. “Both of the clones are supremely intelligent.”
She sits behind me, wrapping her arms around my chest before continuing her explanation.
“I originally wanted to match the increase in I.Q. with an increase in assertiveness. But I hit a biological limit with the first version of the process.” She snakes a hand down my pants.
Is she getting turned on by her own intellect? Vanilla just looks at us, blushing, furiously biting her lip.
“Then it hit me,” she continues, her voice warm and wet in my ear. “What if instead of trying to augment parts of the subject’s personality, I redirected it to a second clone?”
Vanilla gasps audibly. To me this all sounds like made up nonsense. Even more than usual.
“So,” the original Emma perks up, pointing at the busty clone snoring on the tiled floor. “This one is going to be really assertive. And this one,” she points at the poor flatchested one. “Is going to be a total pushover.”
Emmalpha is now gently biting my neck. Her hand rubs slow circles over my pubes and the base of my shaft. “Exactly,” she exhales, barely able to focus.
“Also, both of them are going to be horndogs.” She unzips my fly and pulls out my hard cock. Probably because of the aphrodisiac. Probably.
“This,” she brandishes my cock at an engrossed Vanilla. “This is how we keep them under control.”
=== About A Week Later ===
Climbing up the stairs to my apartment feels like relief.
Two hours stuck at the Island’s tiny airport, a three-hour flight, then one hour in the sweltering taxi as it made its way through the city’s traffic.
So yeah, you can say I’m happy I’m finally able to stretch my legs. My tanned legs at that. Who knew I could tan like that? Certainly not me. Or Tom. He made fun of me when I told him I was taking two weeks off from work to laze around a beach resort in the Caribbean.
I missed Tom. Should’ve taken him with me on the trip.
Anyway, there’s a spring in my step as I reach my floor. My clone is growing in the vat in my lab, and my new tan certainly means that Tom is finally going to make a move on me. I’ve definitely outgrown masturbating with the robot arm at work.
Life is looking up for Dr Emma.
That is until I open the door to my apartment. The first thing that hits me is the scent… It’s either that of my high school locker room or what I imagine a brothel would smell after a busy shift.
Then the mess on the floor. White lab coats strewn everywhere, the entire content of my underwear drawer exploded all over every surface.
Was I robbed? No, Tom was supposed to water my plants regularly. He would have noticed.
Haphazardly, I make my way through the apartment. It does look like someone’s been living here. Then I notice the… calendar? Pinned to the bedroom door.
It lays out blocks of time during the week. Vanilla? Emmalpha? Queen E? The Hemmar… What the hell does that mean?
Whatever I found in the apartment, it did not prepare me for the scene inside the room.
Tom, naked, reclining on the headboard, legs crossed, a book open on his lap and my reading glasses perched on his nose. Next to him is a passed out pasty woman on her front, just as naked, spread eagle, offered lewdly to my view.
The rest of the bedroom is a carnage, the epicenter of all the underwear tracked around the apartment, as well as the strong smell of sex.
Bare-assed Tom offers me a strange look.
“Are you next? You can go wait in the living room.” He points at the naked sleeper. “This is still her time-slot.”
The casual tone of his voice takes the wind out of my sails. I just stare at him.
He must notice something’s wrong, because he lets out a tired sigh and puts his book and my glasses away. He gets up, starts walking toward me, completely undisturbed by the fact his cock is out.
By the time he stands in front of me I remember I shouldn’t look straight at his crotch, and manage to bring my eyes back to his face.
“You’re new right? Crap, I keep telling Emmalpha she needs to brief the new ones. I think my next slot is open, so why don’t you go watch some TV, get yourself ready while I finish with this one.”
He lowers his voice, then talks in a conspiratorial tone. “She always wakes up in time for seconds, if you know what I mean.”
Tom, without waiting for any form of input on my end, patiently herds me out of the room. I’m about to blow up at him, when he gives me the killer line.
“Love your tan by the way. Really cute innovation. Can’t wait to see more of you.”
My mouth still hangs low when he closes the door on me. Sheepishly, I pick up the pencil dangling from the calendar, and look for the next free slot. Wait… What am I doing?
I kick the door.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
It’s Tom’s turn to freeze, I can see his behind tighten before he twists on his heels to look at me. He opens his mouth but I cut him off.
“Why are you naked? Why is this skank naked? Don’t tell me you were having sex. In my bedroom?”
Said skank seems to finally wake up from the commotion. She extends her pale, skinny body.
“Oh come on…” Tom doesn’t sound anything close to sorry. More… annoyed? His arms are crossed over his chest, and an erection starts building. Oh, gosh. “I thought the others had fixed the Thought-O-Copier. Onboarding new Emmas shouldn’t be this difficult.”
“New Emmas?” I ask, before my eyes focus on the woman.
She’s now on her back, happily stretching. Her face is full of sleep, but still it’s impossible not to recognize my own features.
“Clone…” I have to pinch myself. “What the fuck did you do, Tom? She was not supposed to be released from her vat for another two days!”
For all his qualities, Tom has never been good at science. Chalk it up, to his engineering background, or his intrinsic himbo nature.
The clone says nothing as I pounce on the bed and begin anxiously examining her. She looks sound enough, although she reeks of sex.
“God, you couldn’t wait for me to come home? You had to release her early and stick your cock in her?” I shout over my shoulder. “Poor thing missed out on some prime vat growth. No wonder she’s flat as a washboard.”
I don’t want to say it out loud, but I’m sure her brain didn’t fully develop either. She just lets me molest her sorry excuse for a chest with a gentle smile. At least her nipples are reactive.
Ready to tear Tom a new one, I turn back to him. But he’s too busy rifling through a thick binder. He settles on a page with a resigned sigh.
“Hello, Emma,” he says in a robotic tone. He’s done this before. “I know this whole situation must be really confusing for you. But don’t worry, the council of Emmas devised this safe and unproblematic program for you to adapt to your new environment.”
Right as he says that, the room’s light dims and a projector lowers from the ceiling, broadcasting what looks like an incredibly corporate PowerPoint on the wall. A string of Alegria art redhead women are holding hands under the title We’re all Emma.
“As you know, my name is Tom, my role is to be both a soothing and arousing presence as you transition into your new life! You might think your name is Emma and that’s okay…”
“You should listen,” the clone whispers in my ear, making me recoil.
It can’t be.
“Oh fuck, I’m a clone?”
“Jesus.” Tom finally sounds like himself again. “Took you long enough.”
The lights turns back on. I sit on the bed, deflated. The naked and sticky Emma rubs my back, her other hand clamped over her pussy. To avoid making a mess? Okay that’s really gross.
He comes stand in front of me, hands on his hips. “I’m sorry, whoever set up your Thought-O-Copier parameters really messed up. What’s the last thing you can remember? Might be a little foggy.”
How can he be at full mast in this situation? I shake my head, but there’s no cobwebs there.
“I just had a really shitty day flying back home…”
Tom and the clone exchange a weird look.
“What?” I croak.
“Uh… that’s pretty new.” Tom hesitates.
“Do you remember the entire trip?” she asks, ever helpful.
“Yeah.”
“That makes no sense.” He’s downright panicking now. “Vanilla never went on the trip.”
“Vanilla is the original Emma,” the clone explains like it should make any sense. “But if you actually remember going on the trip…”
“Then I’m the original,” I conclude for her.
===
After proving to the two idiots that I actually did spend two weeks on a tropical beach, we decide it’s safer to leave my place. It’s not like Tom’s apartment makes for a convincing bunker, but at least it is clean.
The clone, called Fluffer for some reason, is busy cooking us something while Tom and I sit on his couch. He’s wearing clothes now at least.
“So that’s pretty much it,” he says, done retelling me the events since I left for my vacation.
I still can’t believe that first clone didn’t figure out she wasn’t the original. Also I’m a little embarrassed that I messed up the timing of the automatic release, but clearly the experience is a huge success overall.
“And this entire time they’ve kept you as a sex slave?” I ask, reaching for his hand to give it a gentle squeeze.
Tom puts on a brave face, but it must have been so traumatizing, forced to have sex with someone usurping my identity.
“I mean…” He doesn’t sound too worked up about it. Probably still in denial. “It’s more like I’m in charge of R&R. Although I’m not one hundred percent sure I’m not a prisoner.”
I nod toward the kitchen. “I suppose Fluffer would have tried to keep you from going if you were…”
“Uh, not really. She’s a massive pushover. That’s why she’s flat.”
The way he says it makes it clear I’m missing something.
“I’m still not sure how I feel about the idea you’ve been having non-stop sex with my clones.”
“Given that every single one of them confessed to having a huge crush on me for years, I think I have a pretty good idea,” he chuckles, evidently dealing with some sort of Stockholm Syndrome.
Poor, sexy, dumb Tom.
“Don’t worry, I won’t force you to do anything.” I take a deep breath and run my hand over his cheek. “Once I get the situation back under control, we can figure things out between us.”
I hope I won’t take too long to come up with a plan, because it stings a little that I’m apparently the only Emma in existence that didn’t get to sleep with him.
“Are you sure you’re not just jealous you didn’t get to sleep with me?”
There’s no way the other Emmas figured out telepathy in that short a time span, so I just laugh at his obvious joke. “Please, I’m not jealous.”
“I would be!” Fluffer declares, emerging from the kitchen with a steaming tray of food.
“Nobody asked you,” I shoot her down, then grab a quesadilla.
“I’m just saying, you guys could just go to the bedroom and get it over with,” she says with a patronizing voice. “Technically we’re still on my time, but I don’t really mind sharing.”
She clearly doesn’t know Tom at all. He’s a pure, sensitive soul.
“We’re not animals.” I swallow my bite before continuing, not spraying food everywhere. “This is a serious situation; sex should be the last thing on our minds.”
The silence that follows hangs just a little too long. Tom stares down at the table, avoiding my eyes.
“What?” I ask.
He clears his throat.
“Uh, I could actually go for another round. The other Emmas injected me with a pretty strong aphrodisiac.”
Well that’s a bummer.
“Seriously?”
He just winces, gets up and grabs Fluffer’s hand. “Sorry.”
“You should totally join though,” she offers meekly.
“You two take care of your urges,” I sigh. “I need to figure out what to do about all these clones roaming around.”
She’s about to add something, but Tom drags her into the bedroom. I shake my head. It’s not easy being the only adult in the room, but someone needs to be.
I secure a notebook and pen, and begin drafting a plan. But pretty soon I can hear moans coming through the door. Not gonna lie, it hurts a little. Also a bit of a turn on. Weird.
Even with great effort, it’s impossible not to get distracted. I can feel heat building in my stomach. Maybe I should just take a peek? Rub one out real quick and discreetly, then back to work.
Yes, that feels like a fair compromise.
On my tiptoes, I sneak to the door. It’s unlocked, that slut must have expected me to do something like that. She’s an Emma too after all.
As carefully as I can, I push it open. Tom is lying on his back, and Fluffer is riding him, facing away from me. She lifts and lowers herself on his cock with loud squelching noises. Poor Tom has no breasts to hold onto, so he grips her tiny waist.
The way her lower lips spread for his shaft is not a sight I ever expected to see. I should have taken my phone to record.
No I shouldn’t have. That’s crazy. Maybe if it was for research. A paper on clone sexuality.
Defeated, I slip my hands inside my pants to meet the hot wetness between my legs. If I can get a few minutes of flicking myself off like that, a quick orgasm should be no issue at all.
Unfortunately I let out a moan before I’m able to clamp my palm over my mouth.
Fluffer looks at me over her shoulder. She doesn’t seem surprised at all. A little smug if anything.
“I won the bet,” she lets out between two breaths.
Tom only answers with a groan.
She climbs off him, with no mind to how much she’s exposing to me. I look away, but she pulls me to the bed.
“Come on, I got him all ready for you.”
I look at Tom’s face while she undoes my pants, then unbuttons my shirt. His eyes roam over my skin as she reveals it, then move up to meet mine. I’m rewarded with his most handsome smile yet.
With ten years of pent up lust and frustration, I straddle him, bending over to share a hungry kiss. I pull his hands to my chest, grab his cock under me and line myself up. I’m so turned on I manage to ignore why he is already so well lubricated.
Right as I’m about to descend, I feel a strong arm circle my ribcage.
I’m lifted up in the air with my soaking pussy dreadfully empty, only to face my kidnapper. A seven-foot-tall Emma?
“You shouldn’t have tried to steal our Tom,” she growls.
“That’s The Hemmar,” Fluffer explains, scurrying around the room to keep up with me. “She’s actually pretty nice when she’s not pissed off.”
Without much ceremony, I’m thrown over The Hemmar’s rock-hard shoulder.
“Hey, careful,” Tom protests heroically.
But about a second later, he joins me on the giantess’s back and shares a sorry look with me across her shoulderblades.
“Let’s go, Fluffer,” The Hemmar says. “The others are waiting for us in the van.”
