The Harem

Christina stopped thinking of it as recruiting.

She started thinking of it as collecting.

By the end of the second group party she had six signed couples and a waiting list. By the end of the third she had something better: volunteers. Wives who didn’t want to go home to their soft, denied husbands. Husbands who had watched Josh work and quietly asked if the chair could fix them too. Single women who showed up uninvited and dropped to their knees the second they saw Christina’s heavy tits and Josh’s thick, collar-wrapped cock.

Warren was only too happy to help.

He sent over a mobile adjustment unit—a sleek black case with two portable chairs, a full set of patches, and a remote that synced to Christina’s phone. “Consider it a satellite office,” he told her over a video call while she sat on Josh’s face. “You keep fifty percent of every new unit you produce. And of course… I expect full access whenever I visit.”

Christina came on Josh’s tongue, smiled at the camera, and said, “Bring a change of clothes. You’re going to get filthy.”

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The first new bimbo was Melissa.

She showed up alone on a Tuesday afternoon, eyes already glassy with need, and asked if the patch could make her “more like you.” Christina sat her in the portable chair in the spare bedroom, pressed the glowing patch to the inside of her wrist, and watched the transformation with pure proprietary heat. Melissa’s tits ballooned into heavy, sensitive globes. Her waist cinched. Her ass bloated into a perfect heart shape. Her lips plumped. Her cunt grew visibly puffy and wet. When the process finished she looked up at Christina with vacant, worshipful eyes and whispered, “Thank you for making me better.”

Christina fucked her face for twenty minutes while Josh watched and stroked his cock without permission (he still needed the words). Then she gave the words and let him fill Melissa’s brand-new bimbo cunt while she sat on the other woman’s face and came twice.

The second bimbo was Sierra, the personal trainer. Same chair. Same patch. Same filthy thank-yous afterward.

The first new himbo was Brad.

He cried when he asked for it. Christina only smiled, strapped him in, and let Warren walk her through the male settings over video. Brad’s body thickened—shoulders, chest, arms, thighs. His cock grew heavy and long. His eyes emptied out. When he stood up he was a slightly smaller, slightly less perfect version of Josh, already hard, already smiling that same vacant smile.

“Who do you belong to?” Christina asked him.

“Christina,” Brad said softly. “Cock is for fucking who she says. Brain is for nothing.”

She made him and Josh spit-roast Melissa on the living-room floor while she recorded it for Warren.

After that it was easy.

Within three weeks the house was full.

Four bimbos: Melissa, Sierra, Lauren (the professor’s wife), and a bubbly real-estate agent named Tiff who had simply never left after the second party.

Three himbos: Josh (still the prized original), Brad, and a former accountant named Craig who now spoke in single syllables and leaked precum whenever Christina snapped her fingers.

They slept in a tangle of limbs and tits and cocks in the master bedroom. They ate when Christina told them to. They fucked when she gave permission. They cleaned each other with their tongues afterward and said thank you in soft, empty voices. Christina walked through her house naked, heavy tits swaying, puffy cunt permanently shiny, and felt like a queen.

Warren came to visit on a Friday evening with a bottle of expensive champagne and a bag of new toys.

“Show me what you’ve built,” he said.

Christina snapped her fingers.

The harem assembled in the living room on their knees—four sets of massive, naked tits, three thick, hard cocks, seven pairs of vacant, adoring eyes. Christina walked the line like a general inspecting troops, stroking a cock here, pinching a nipple there, feeding her fingers into eager mouths.

“They’re perfect,” Warren murmured. “May I?”

Christina’s smile was pure filth. “You’re the reason they exist. Use them however you want. Just remember who owns them when you’re done.”

Warren started with the bimbos.

He bent Melissa over the arm of the couch and fucked her slow and deep while Sierra and Tiff licked his balls and Christina sat on Lauren’s face. The wet, grateful sounds of four empty-headed women filled the room. When he pulled out of Melissa he immediately sank into Sierra, then Tiff, then Lauren, rotating through them like he was sampling wine. Christina directed the himbos with soft commands:

“Josh, feed Tiff your cock while she’s getting fucked.

Brad, get under Sierra and let her sit on your face.

Craig, stroke your cock and don’t cum until I say. You’re the cleanup crew tonight.”

Warren’s control frayed fast. He ended up on his back on the thick rug while all four bimbos took turns riding him—bouncing their heavy new tits, moaning thank-yous, switching out every time Christina clapped her hands. Josh stood over Warren’s head and fucked Tiff’s mouth so she was stuffed at both ends. Brad and Craig knelt on either side, thick cocks hard and dripping, waiting for orders like good dogs.

Christina finally swung a leg over Warren’s face and lowered her puffy, dripping cunt onto his mouth.

“Lick the woman who built your new product line,” she ordered. “And don’t stop until I’ve squirted at least twice.”

Warren licked like his life depended on it. Christina rode his face while she watched her bimbos bounce on his cock and her himbos wait their turn. She came the first time with a loud, shameless cry, squirting across Warren’s chin and chest. She came the second time while Josh was balls-deep in Tiff’s throat and Brad was quietly whimpering for permission that hadn’t come yet.

When she finally lifted off, Warren’s face was a shiny ruin. She looked down at him and smiled.

“Your turn to be used,” she said. “Himbos. Permission granted. Fuck him. Make it thorough. He doesn’t get to cum until every one of you has had a turn.”

What followed was pure, sweaty, orgasmic excess.

Josh went first—bending Warren in half and railing him with the same mindless power he used on every cunt he was given. Brad went second, thicker and a little clumsier, moaning thank-yous to Christina the entire time. Craig went third, shorter but desperate, and emptied a massive load inside Warren while the four bimbos licked and sucked every male nipple and drop of precum they could reach. Christina sat on the couch with her legs spread and made Lauren eat her cunt the entire time, heavy tits heaving, eyes glassy with power and pleasure.

When the himbos were done, Christina called the bimbos in to clean Warren with their tongues—four soft, vacant women licking cum out of his ass and off his cock while he shook and whimpered. Only then did she give him permission to cum, and only into Tiff’s open, waiting mouth while the other three bimbos kissed and shared it.

Afterward the living room smelled like sex and sweat and expensive champagne that had been forgotten hours ago. Bodies lay tangled across the furniture and floor—tits and cocks and shiny skin, soft empty smiles, slow lazy licking. Christina sat in the center of her harem like the heart of a filthy flower, Josh’s head in her lap, one of Melissa’s heavy tits in her hand, Warren still catching his breath at her feet.

“I’m going to need a bigger house,” she said idly, stroking Josh’s hair. “And more chairs. And probably a second mobile unit.”

Warren looked up at her, thoroughly used and thoroughly impressed, and laughed a hoarse, satisfied laugh.

“I’ll have everything delivered Monday,” he said. “In exchange I want a standing invitation… and the right to borrow any two of them overnight whenever I’m in town.”

Christina considered it for three seconds while Sierra absently suckled one of her nipples and Brad nuzzled against her calf like a grateful dog.

“Deal,” she said. “But they come home in the morning, and they come home sticky. I like tasting what you’ve done to my property.”

Warren raised an imaginary glass. “To the harem.”

Christina smiled, spread her legs wider, and guided Josh’s mouth back to her still-dripping cunt.

“To the harem,” she agreed. “Now everyone who still has a tongue—get over here. Your owner isn’t done cumming yet.”

They came in a soft, eager, mindless wave of tits and cocks and empty devotion.

Christina lay back, heavy tits rising and falling, and let her perfect, growing collection worship her until the sun came up.

She was going to need so many more chairs.