Multiplicity<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is<\/em> a tribute\u2014the ultimate tribute to decadence,\u201d said he, the man named Stephen Orrok, standing on the second-story balcony and staring out at a coterie of media vans cluttered beyond the steel gates bordering his estate. Four aerial cams hovered two feet over his head, their flickering lenses trained down on him. Static droned inside his ear, and then through the buds, he heard the rapid-fire questions of journalists\u2014out there.<\/p>\n \u201cYou think yourself God?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPray to me in any name you wish.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou certainly consider yourself above the law.\u201d<\/p>\n He tapped a fingertip over his pursed lips. \u201cI abide by the ones I agree with.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve violated hundreds of international cloning edicts. Special agents from three different global agencies are on their way to shut down your operation.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey arrived ten minutes ago.\u201d He grinned, turning on his heels and walking inside. He crossed his hands behind his back, pacing slowly with the cameras always floating above him. \u201cI offered them a deal. They accepted\u2014every last one, man and woman. They leave my little party alone, and in exchange, they get one free night.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTo do what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTo do her.\u201d<\/p>\n He felt the awe, the excitement take hold of their bodies, as profoundly as he felt it overflow his own; felt it, more than heard any indication, no gasps or tight frenzied murmurs. The farther he moved, the more he felt the heaviness in his balls, and thousands of moans and sighs bleeding together, reaching out to him from beyond.<\/p>\n \u201cHow do you respond to critics who claim you\u2019re only a bitter, vengeful cuckold, hell-bent on soiling the image of the world\u2019s most beautiful woman?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not dealing with androids. These are not machines designed to act, or sound, or to resemble her. Those fools fail to understand\u2014they are her, every single one; her heart, body, and all-consuming passion. Albeit, minus certain inhibitions. Well, they don\u2019t hold their silly reputations sacred.\u201d The moaning grew louder, bouncing off the walls in the corridor, as he neared the corner. \u201cRest easy, the world will still have its most beautiful woman . . . just multiplied infinitely.\u201d He reached the iron-cast railing overlooking the grand ballroom, so the cameras could survey his kingdom. His voice dropped to a whisper impossible to hear over the cacophony of sex, \u201cHow special will she be then?\u201d<\/p>\n The buzzing set off again, the hacks riling up for another barrage of questions; he tapped his earlobe severing the feed. Interview ended.<\/p>\n He gazed at the ocean of bodies\u2014naked dozens tumbling over naked dozens more, here, there, everywhere two dozen more arms, legs, breasts, tongues moist and slavering. A chorus of hers, a choir of orgasms with which he was intimately familiar. Each her was more than a mere replica of her\u2014they were fantasies. Fantasies come to life, scalding flesh and blood, with the hunger for pleasure emanating from every pore. Every man and woman had paid to attend and realize a dream by owning her for the evening. Roaming eyes be damned! The fantasy came true the moment they took her, any which way they chose.<\/p>\n That\u2019s when he saw that one, knowing immediately she belonged to him.<\/p>\n The desire was so clearly, frustratingly, evident on her face\u2014the hammering ache of lust that is unstated, and worse yet, unsated. Clad in just a silk, purple robe, she weaved amid the orgy, like a queen over her subjects, gazing steadily, unwaveringly at him.<\/p>\n He walked along the rail, undoing his belt, unbuttoning his pants, and started down the grand staircase as she reached the first step. She rose out of the sea of coitus like Venus herself, slowly removing her robe, revealing her stunning perfection. She was a goddess\u2014fit for a god.<\/p>\n He snatched her wrist, wrenching her forward and hauling her into his arms. \u201cWelcome home, lover,\u201d said she, and it didn\u2019t matter that he knew; it always shook him when they first spoke. In that instant when the words first reached his ears, he felt all alone with Dianna\u2014with the only her.<\/p>\n He steered them backwards, and she had her hands full of him before his bottom touched the steps, and climbing onto his lap, thrusting her breasts over his mouth, positioning. He seized her ass and she dug her nails into his back, her thighs tightly embracing his hips, her elbows carving into his shoulders as his cock slipped lower between them, between shaven lips. He doused her chest with kisses just as he entered her; <\/strong>tracing the tiny, scattered birthmarks on the underside of each breast with his tongue while his prick explored within.<\/p>\n She moaned into his face. Hot, hurried breaths\u2014a tiny squeal, as he rolled them over laying her on her back. She rolled them around again, and on and on they went, restlessly, eager, oily and pliant as seals when they came together. It was bestial; it was greedy, each voracious and unforgiving. He never relented on her nipples, his licks and bites measured and meticulous. Precise.<\/p>\n She always said he had a talented mouth.<\/p>\n The real Dianna said.<\/p>\n Let others write lies, but the love they\u2019d shared was nothing if not a lesson in hedonism.<\/p>\n The one thing they both prayed never to see was the one inevitability. And when they reached that end, they did so together\u2014collapsed forward on all fours, breathless. Tangled.<\/p>\n Shit.<\/p>\n Only a man who\u2019d once possessed the real thing could tell the difference\u2014and such was his hell, for he knew\u2014unlike the others\u2014he knew in his heart, festering inside, that the woman now beneath him, squirming, pleading in whispers for his prick wasn\u2019t, as they say, the real McCoy.<\/p>\n A suitable alternative, surely, but he would never taste or feel or touch the real her again. If ever that chance existed, he\u2019d spoiled it tonight.<\/p>\n A small sacrifice to pay for revenge.<\/p>\n Bitter? Perhaps\u2014<\/p>\n Multiplied infinitely.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Multiplicity \u201cIt is a tribute\u2014the ultimate tribute to decadence,\u201d said he, the man named Stephen Orrok, standing on the second-story balcony and staring out at a coterie of media vans cluttered beyond the steel gates bordering his estate. Four aerial cams hovered two feet over his head, their flickering lenses trained down on him. Static … Continue reading Microfiction: Multiplicity by C\u00e8sar Sanchez Zapata<\/span>