The best he's ever had.

While Crimson Fox and Office Lady exchanged what he assumed were snooty pleasantries, Brandon took in the rest of the room. This wasn’t an “office”, this was an Office, capital O, in bold, perhaps with sparkles. It might have been bigger than his apartment, with a U-shaped desk area, a table-and-chairs area, and a fancy-chairs-and-sofa area, all with enough space between them to park a compact car. With natural wood tones and black fabric throughout, the majority of the color came from a bevy of framed posters, magazine covers, and newspaper articles scattered tastefully around the walls and other flat surfaces. Two walls were glass: one, frosted, facing a hallway flanked by cubicles dimly outlined in the sparse light of after-hours fluorescents; and one, clear, looking over the streets and buildings of a city he didn’t recognize…probably because it was in France. One door led out, one led elsewhere—a private bathroom, he discovered—and he checked both to make sure he wasn’t expecting any immediate questionable guests.

During his exploration, the women kept up a lively conversation he largely ignored. Only after he’d finished securing the area and locking the office did he consider them again, and by then they were each halfway out of their clothes. Office Lady—Constance D'Aramis, according to her nameplate—had neatly folded her blouse and skirt and laid them on an unused portion of her desk, and Brandon had the opportunity to admire how little the shape of her breasts changed when they were freed from the grip of black lace. Halfway across the room, Crimson Fox had laid her helmet/mask/tail-thing on a glass table and was just finishing with the rest of her collarbone-to-toe costume, giving him ample time to admire straight red hair down to her shoulders around a face gorgeous enough to…

Brandon did a double-take. They were the same woman! Aside from very minor differences like slightly mussed snake-helmet-hair, they were completely identical, down to their shade of lipstick. The erection he had lost going through the portal returned with a vengeance. He followed Crimson Fox expecting to lay one superhero and maybe, if he was lucky, an accountant or two as he snuck around. Instead, he was locked in an office with a set of ravishing French redhead twins (or clones, or alternate-universe counterparts, but he found twin sisters the hottest so it was the explanation he chose to believe) and nowhere to be for at least an hour, maybe two. He tore off his uniform at a record pace and dropped his final spare amulet on Constance’s neat clothing tower so he wouldn’t forget to leave it behind. For once, nothing was getting between him and as much satisfaction as he could handle.

He didn’t wait for Crimson Fox to finish undressing. The moment her costume fell off her toes he pounced, dragging her hips to the edge of her seat and pushing her knees as far apart as her muscles would allow. She stuck her legs straight out for him, perhaps thinking she was simply getting in a good stretch rather than giving him space to tug her panties away from her manicured pussy. Her fingers dug into the arms of her chair, securing her while his cock jabbed at her entrance. When he found the hole and jammed the top half of his dick into her mildly-lubricated sheath, the hitch in her voice rose to an ethereal moan and her chest heaved so hard it nearly burst her bra. Bit by bit he worked himself farther, until his tight balls rested against her lips, and by then her body had surrendered more than enough fluids to allow him to fuck her at speed.

Constance finished with her clothes and propped her bare feet on her desk, not quite as far apart as her twin’s but far enough to air out her glistening core. She leaned back in her giant chair, an island of tanned redhead against a sea of opulent black, and rubbed her pussy while she stared out the window at late-evening streets. Brandon only knew a few words in French, mostly swears and food, and he heard a few of the former interspersed through her side of the inscrutable conversation with her sister. Crimson Fox probably responded appropriately, or appropriately enough for sentences teeming with innuendo and smoky sighs. Her every breath drew him closer, every twitch compounded her beauty, every little bit of her reactions fostered the craving he had for her faultless body. Something about her commanded his attention, setting his nerves alight and keeping his eyes locked on her with rapt fascination. She tilted her head forward, glaring in his general direction as concentration strained her perfect face, and a sudden compulsion overwhelmed him. He leaned forward before he knew he wanted to, pressing his lips against her and swallowing her moans.

He couldn’t describe her taste, her texture, her warmth, her pressure. He didn’t try. It was simply right, everything he wanted and nothing he would change. She kissed back, just as hungry for him, and their tongues danced as he grabbed her hair and pounded her so hard the chair slid along the carpet. She broke away first, murmuring something inscrutable into his ear while he licked along her jawline toward the delicate flesh below her ear. The amulet separated them, a hard barrier of cold metal between their chests, and he longed to tear it away so she could hold him tight and trace her long nails across his back. One hand wrenched itself from her skin, creeping toward the amulet, the source of his power and his frustration. Fingers closed around its chain, ready to tug it free, and as he began to apply pressure she loosed a guttural scream of unbridled pleasure. Her body stiffened and her pussy clamped even tighter, an intimate grip pleading for his seed, and he could never refuse such a perfect woman. With a roar of his own he let loose, filling her with his seed, envisioning his sperm and her egg joining in a perfect, permanent symbol of their union.

A glimmer of awareness broke free from the mist of adoration, and mere moments before he doffed the amulet a background thought surged to the forefront of his mind: “Crimson Fox has pheromone powers, you idiot.”