Chapter 2: Morning After the Claim 

Michael woke up sore, wrists still faintly marked from the ropes even though they’d been removed hours ago. Sunlight poured into Mirabel’s bedroom. He was sandwiched between the two women..Mirabel’s curvy body pressed against his back, one arm draped possessively over his waist, and Mitchelle curled into his chest, her leg thrown over his thigh. His cock was already half-hard against Mitchelle’s stomach.

Last night replayed in flashes: the ropes biting his skin, Mirabel smothering him with her pussy while Mitchelle rode him raw, the way they’d laughed and taunted him as he begged. The helplessness. The overwhelming pleasure. The moment he’d surrendered and called himself their toy. Mitchelle stirred first. Her sharp eyes opened, a wicked smile spreading across her face. “Morning, pet.”

The word sent a jolt straight to his groin. “Morning,” he rasped, voice still hoarse.

Mirabel’s hand slid down his abs and wrapped around his thickening cock. “Already hard for us? Greedy boy.” She stroked him slowly, teasing. “How does it feel knowing you don’t get to decide anymore?”

Michael swallowed. Part of him wanted to protest, to reclaim some control but the memory of their bodies using him, the ropes holding him open, made his resistance melt. “It feels… right.”

Mitchelle kissed him hard, biting his lower lip. “Good answer.”

They didn’t let him touch them at first. Mirabel fetched fresh rope, red this time, softer but still strong. They bound his wrists together in front of him, then looped another length around his chest and arms, creating a simple harness that pinned his arms close to his body. Mitchelle pushed him onto his back again.

“Today we set the rules,” Mirabel said, straddling his chest. Her heavy breasts swayed above him. “You belong to us now. Both of us. Whenever we want. Wherever we want. You will address us as Mistress Mirabel and Mistress Mitchelle when we’re in scene. Outside, you’ll still be our sweet neighbor… until we decide otherwise.”

Michael nodded, breathing faster as Mitchelle knelt between his spread legs and took his cock into her mouth. She sucked him deep, hollowing her cheeks, while Mirabel lowered her pussy onto his face again.

“Eat,” Mirabel commanded.

He obeyed instantly, tongue working her clit and folds with desperate hunger. The ropes restricted his movement, making him feel even more owned. Mitchelle bobbed her head faster, taking him to the back of her throat, then pulled off with a wet pop.

“No cumming until we both have,” she warned, slapping his thigh hard enough to sting.

They used him for the next hour in a slow, deliberate morning fuck. Mirabel rode his face to two orgasms, grinding and smothering him until her juices ran down his chin and neck. Mitchelle rode his cock in long, deep strokes, controlling the pace completely, sometimes fast and punishing, sometimes agonizingly slow so he felt every inch of her tight heat.

When Mirabel finally climbed off his face, she kissed Mitchelle deeply above him, their tongues visible, bodies moving together. Then they switched. Mitchelle sat on his mouth while Mirabel took his cock, bouncing hard, her ass slapping loudly against him.

“Fuck, he’s so deep like this,” Mirabel moaned. “Our neighbor has such a good cock.”

Michael groaned into Mitchelle’s dripping pussy, the vibrations making her grind harder. The ropes dug into his skin with every thrust. He was completely at their mercy, bound, used, edged repeatedly.

“Please…” he begged when they slowed again. “I need to cum.”

Mirabel laughed. “Beg better.”

“Please, Mistress Mirabel… Mistress Mitchelle… let your toy cum inside you.”

Mitchelle came first, shuddering on his tongue, flooding his mouth. Only then did Mirabel ride him mercilessly, slamming down until she clenched around him in orgasm. Finally, they gave permission.

“Cum for us,” Mitchelle ordered.

Michael exploded with a broken moan, pumping thick, heavy ropes deep into Mirabel’s spasming pussy. The orgasm was so intense his vision whited out for a moment. They kept him inside her until he softened, then untied him carefully. The aftercare was tender. They massaged his wrists, kissed the rope marks, brought him water, and held him between them.

“This is our dynamic now,” Mirabel whispered, stroking his hair. “You can say no anytime. But we think you don’t want to.”

“I don’t,” Michael admitted quietly. “I want more.”

By midday they were at it again, this time in the living room. They bent him over the couch, wrists tied behind his back, and took turns fucking him with a thick strap-on while the other used his mouth. The rough double-teaming left him shaking and hoarse.

By evening, new rules were established: he would sleep at their place most nights. He had to ask permission to cum when alone and they had plans to gradually push boundaries with light public teasing, more intense bondage, perhaps inviting him to submit in front of others one day.

As night fell, they tied him spread-eagle once more. The hard fucking resumed: deeper, rougher, with slaps, hair-pulling, and possessive growls.

“You’re ours, Michael,” Mitchelle said as she rode him. “Say it every time you cum.”

“I’m yours,” he gasped, lost in the rhythm of their bodies claiming him again and again.