Intermezzi
Tomoe Exposition walks into the sterile white plane. The click-clacking of her heels echoes. Soon she finds a worn, maroon leather recliner chair next to a counterfeit Tiffany floor lamp. "Wow. A Matrix reference. Why am I not surprised."
She sits in the lounger, taking care to cross her legs and smooth her black miniskirt. The chair faces the frame. She looks out at you, her dark eyes merry, her smile inscrutable. "Oh, hey! Long time no see." She scoots back into the chair, the leather scrunching. "Sorry for this hokey Fourth Wall routine, but Oblimo asked me to say a few words. Me, I don't think they need to be said." She folds her arms across her blouse. "He's a bit of a wuss when it comes to new things. Besides, if you've read this far, you probably know what's coming. Oblimo lets me read the roughs, so I definitely know what's coming, at least as much as he does, which—granted—isn't always that much. Sometimes, the inspiration fairy takes its time when taking a dump."
Tomoe plops her hands onto the armrests, and sighs. "Okay. Here's the deal: Yves' getting some in this chapter. More than some. If you ask me, it's about damn time. Yaoi is my second favorite thing to watch while I whack off, next to futa of course. That's 'homoerotica' and 'dickgirl' porn, respectively, in case there are any noobs out there." She reaches her right hand down and pulls a wooden handle. The back of the chair reclines and the footrest pops up.
She props herself up on her elbows to look out at you again. "This chapter features a ton of hardcore yaoi-futa fucking. Me, I'm in hog heaven. For some reason, Oblimo wanted you to know ahead of time. I'm sure there's more he wanted me to say." Tomoe bends forward and wrestles with the zipper on the back of her miniskirt for a while. "But I don’t give a damn. If watching SB and Yves doesn't turn you on, that's your business." She wriggles her lithe, olive-skinned legs and kicks off the skirt. It drops to the nominal floor. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gunna get down to business."
The frantic fingers of her right hand squirm into the crotch of her rosy silk panties just as her left hand reaches up and switches off the lamp.
"Get writing, big guy."
Yellow and black warning stripes marked a hairpin left turn few hundred yards up the road. Yves downshifted. The Aston Martin decelerated to a more comfortable speed, the speedometer dipping below the 100 MPH mark. The engine's revving modulated into a throaty feminine voice, "Trust the tranny, Yves."
"Just testing the clutch," Yves said, applying enough gas to keep the car humming at eighty miles per hour. He eyeballed the upcoming left-hand turn. The thick backwoods tree line afforded little room for error. About one hundred sixty degrees at the steepest, he judged. "You're tail happy, SB."
The muffler snorted. "You accusing me of skirt-chasing, or oversteer? I deny neither." The turn hurtled closer. "You want me to handle this one, yaoi-boy? Remember what happened last time."
"Nah." Yves kicked the clutch, spinning the steering wheel hand-over-hand to the right, shocking the powertrain. The Aston Martin lost its balance, rear wheels slipping wide, threatening to fishtail. Yves pumped the clutch pedal, teasing the flywheel, his foot angled to punch the gas and brake. The rose supercar's spin-out became a tight, controlled drift. Yves floated through the hairpin, accelerating out of the turn in a smooth upshift and an earsplitting squeal of rubber burning against asphalt. "I've got it."
The Aston Martin zoomed up the straightway, engine purring but nonverbal. Yves waggled the gearbox stick. "I thought you had a dry clutch, SB." He arched a brow. "Now it feels all wet."
"Wuh," the engine gulped. "Wow. So, uh, does this make us even? You know, for last time?"
"You mean when you reprofiled your camshaft without telling me?"
"Not my fault. You, ah, really know your way around a stick." SB's embarrassed mumbling barely rose above random engine noise. "So the VTEC just kicked in, yo."
Yves glimpsed a gray shimmer dancing behind the dense line of evergreens. "Looks like we found the reservoir."
"Oh. Cool. Um. Hey, Yves?" The stick shift shivered under Yves' fingers. "Can we take that turn again?"
Unyx's sex was candied gossamer against Jo's tongue. The onyx glossing Unyx's cleft thinned and nestled until her labia flowered black and her clitoral hood gleamed as a black pearl. Unyx tasted of sex and licorice with an undercurrent of sweet liquor so potent it cut through the red rhythm fogging Jo's mind. Jo pulled away from her feast. "Ouzo?"
"of – course – what – else? but – please." Unyx's tail, still entwined about Jo's leg, tugged, gentle but insistent. Her gloved hands urged Jo back down. "please – finish." Jo flittered her tongue over Unyx's clit, a bud of black silk. "god – three – Ursula – Nyx – me – we – all – feel..." Unyx thrashed and pushed Jo prone onto the green bed, bundling Jo head-to-toe under her serpentine trunk.
Jo reveled. Muscular, python power surrounded her, quivering against her legs, her arms, her everywhere. The taste of ouzo and sex flooded her mouth. The random spasms soon settled into a slow, steady pulsation, beginning with Unyx pressing her pussy into Jo's mouth. The pressure traveled down Jo's neck, over her breasts, tummy, thighs—pausing to prolong the tender squeeze over Jo's sex—and legs in undulating waves. Jo felt as if she would melt.
Then the tip of Unyx's tail glided between Jo's labia majora, moving to the same pulsing beat, and Jo felt as if she would fly. Jo stretched up, hugging as hard as she could. Her arms barely reached halfway around the sleek snake swaddling her. The thick tail-tip nudged and nuzzled but would not penetrate. A greedy, empty need yawned between her legs. Jo arched her neck, the back of her head crushing into the flowerbed, her chin burrowing into Unyx's sex. She screamed. She begged, "Fuck me. Oh, God, fuck m—" The tail-tip slid into her, in perfect time with the beat. "My-fucking-God!"
The beat pulsed within her, without her, around her. Unyx's tail-tip filled Jo up, so thick it throbbed against her clit, only to withdraw again. Jo ran mad. "Stop teasing and fuck me—Jesus oh God so deep. More, dammit, more." Then, unthinking: "Cum. Cum in me."
Unyx's punishing rhythm began to falter, her steady rocking started to seize. Jo felt a giddy rush of triumph. "Yes, yes, cum in me!" Jo heard Unyx's wordless, helpless yelp. A single spasm shot through the bulk above her. The tail-tip thrummed once, twice. A sizzling, fluid warmth gushed inside her. Jo climaxed, laughing in lazy delirium. The tail-tip shuddered and withdrew, leaving Jo's womb awash.
Jo came down far enough to think about it. "Wait. What the fuck just happened?"
Unyx flopped down beside her on the flowerbed hard enough for Jo to feel the shockwave. "So," Unyx gulped, her milk-white skin slick with sweat, her eye-mask retreating into contact lenses. "So that's what it feels like."
Jo felt positively oozy. "That's what what feels like?"
"I think..." Unyx mopped her brow. "I think I finally reached the end of Galatea's lesson number five."
Unyx's tail twitched in the jasmine flowers between Jo's knees, shiny-slick, almost greased. Jo daubed her hand over her sex, more curious than trepid. Her fingers shone with her own wetness—she'd been in near constant meltdown for ages now, or so it seemed—but little else. Her sinuses twinged. "Ow." She rubbed her nose, smearing her nostrils with her own musk. "Ew. Stupid, stupid." The pinching twinge spread out in a spiky ring around her head. "Christ, what's happening now?"
Unyx held up her hands, her right with every finger outspread, her left gesturing thumb's up. "Lesson number six."
"Say what?"
"I'm closing ion channels."
Jo's headache faded, leaving nonplus in its wake. "What?"
"Un-mindfucking you."
Jo growled and squeezed her knees together, squashing jasmine and Unyx-tail between them. The obsidian, ophidian goth girl yipped like a puppy, her tail recoiling. "Gah, careful! It's really, really sensitive." Unyx giggled. "We're Unyx. We've got afterglow." She closed her eyes and settled into the flowerbed. "We've gotta take a nap."
"I liked you better when you over-explained everything." Jo sat up and grabbed for Unyx's tail. She overshot, amazed at her newly-grown reach and frustrated with how much her newly-huge-and-bouncy boobs still managed to get in the way. Jasmine petals flew as Jo and Unyx played a giggly game of keep-away with the tip of her tail. "Start expounding or Mr. Happy gets it."
"All right," Unyx laughed, squirming. "All right! But, listen: do you hear her? Do you hear Black Cherry's blood music any more?"
Jo froze. "No." It was true; the party-next-door-but-between-the-ears sensation that had plagued her for hours had fallen silent. "Wow, no! Did you do that? Oh, thank you! But how?"
Unyx shrugged, eyes closing again. "How did Black Cherry mindfuck you in the first place? Get the blood music inside you, we mean."
"I'd crawled into bed." Jo blushed. "With my jelly-egg vibrator. I was friggin my way past Pluto when that cherry-chocolate tramp strutted into my room like she owned the place and sat on my face." Jo relaxed and lay back. "I was too far gone, and she tasted too good, and the whole thing was too damn kinky…so I ate her out. She came like crazy and the music started up."
"Black Cherry's cum was full of nanomek—what she calls 'novilunium'," Unyx explained, and then she blushed, silvery blood flushing milk-white skin. "So was ours. The binding we ate was very strong, you see, so we couldn't give you any nanomek until we got really excited. Stopping a mindfuck costs more nanomek than starting one up, so we had to get really, really excited." She grinned, shook her head. "And the spooge shall set you free."
Jo lay awhile in thought. She felt sated and stuffed enough to ignore the gurgling, orgiastic noises from across the flowerbed, at least for the moment. "So you cured me of blood music."
Unyx bobbed her head. "Yep."
"By fucking my brains out until you came like a sperm whale."
Another head-bob. "Yep. Had to burn all the nanomek in our cum to do it, too. So you're truly free from all headfuckery now."
"I wasn't even thinking about that," Jo said. "When Black Cherry did it—did me—it felt like she was being selfish, taking something from me. But you," she laughed through her blush, "you gave and gave until I almost blacked out."
Unyx, her eyes still closed, waved a silent Aw, shucks, at Jo. "So what were you thinking about, then?"
Jo rolled onto her side. "I was thinking about my sorority sisters."
"What about them?"
"Can you cure them, too?" Jo asked.
Head-bob. "Yep."
"The same way?"
Head-bob. "Yep." Unyx sighed, resigned. "In fact, it's the only way."
"Um." Jo paused. "I'm not sure how to tell you this. There's lots of girls in the Ep-Zed House this weekend—we're throwing a big party tonight—and I think Black Cherry got to them all. I mean lots of girls. Like, over a hundred."
Unyx rolled over and leered. Her eyes sparkled like black ore, her tail toying with the petals of countless flowers. She bobbed her head. "Yep."
The rose-colored Aston Martin supercar growled down an abandoned road, little more than a narrow strip of potholed hardpan dusted with gravel. The engine groused at being kept in such a low gear. Yves shot a sour look into the rearview mirror and the engine's grumbling grew self-conscious. "I want to go fast," the engine said. "Can't help it. Not when you're behind my wheel, driving me like that."
Yves maneuvered the supercar through a rusted-open chain-link fence. "Like what?"
"Like 'wow'," the engine chuckled, a strange bubbling sound. "Like I want to scream, 'Floor it! Floor it!'"
Yves shook his head, bemused. "You are every red-blooded American male's wet dream, SB."
The engine mumbled, "I seriously doubt every." They drove down the old gravel road in silence and second gear before the engine affected an overblown fake orgasm. "Ooh! Ah! Floor it! Floor it!"
Yves laughed hard enough to bring his headache pounding back to life. "I can't. If I did, we'd drive right into the reservoir." The road curled into a dead end behind a wide grassy bank. A fallen, weatherworn sign insisted upon no fishing without a county permit. "We're here. And you still haven't told me why you wanted to come in the first place."
"You need to relax." The supercar's engine noise dropped into a subsonic purr. The driver's seat thrummed against Yves' neck and the small of his back. Yves yawned, headache gone. "This place is pretty relaxing, isn't it?" the engine asked.
A thick wall of pine trees circled the bank. The reservoir stretched out ahead of them in a great, flat bowl. The early-afternoon sun reflected off the dark water in flashing triangles. The grass grew wild and tall, cutting off sight of the road, completing the illusion. "It's amazing," Yves confessed. "A mountain loch in the middle of Middle America."
"Reminds me of a bend in the Durance River," the engine whispered, "a long time ago."
Yves left the stick in neutral and engaged the emergency brake. "So what do we do now?"
The engine cut out and the driver's side door clicked open on its own accord. "We get the fuck out."
Yves hopped out and ambled down the sloping bank. He heard a metallic sigh behind him. He bent at the water's edge, hunting without success for a good skipping stone, hearing SB's swaggering walk rustle the grass behind him. When he stood up, a strong hand slipped around his shoulder, fingers firm and cool. A breeze carried the scent of wild strawberries and cotton candy. "How do you feel, Yves?"
Yves stretched. "Deliciously sleepy."
Those slim fingers patted him on the back. "C'mere, Yves."
SB wore her signature one-piece dress, sunlight painting her in fiery shades of red and gold. She knelt onto a wide tartan picnic blanket, patted the spot in front of her. "Come on down."
Yves tapped the blanket with a sneaker. "Is this you?" He hoped he sounded more curious than nervous.
"It's of me," SB explained, "but it's not me. I've locked it, it's just a thing." She smoothed out the blanket. "Well?"
Yves sat cross-legged before her, inspecting the tartan textile. "Soft. Feels familiar, somehow."
"You'd be surprised, the kinds of things you can spin from sugary carbohydrates. If you're working on the sub-molecular level, that is." SB read Yves' expression and added, "Okay, maybe you in particular wouldn't be surprised." She shifted, her cheeks darkening to a true crimson. "What're you looking at?"
"Your eyes," Yves answered. "It was recently pointed out to me that I do not pay close attention to a woman's eyes."
"Dude." SB gestured at her lap, where her manhood folded between her knees like a bendy third leg. "Do I look like a woman?"
"Do appearances matter?" Yves asked in return, still scrutinizing SB's face. "I thought they were rock candy or some other sugar crystal. Your eyes, I mean. But they're not, are they? They're real diamond."
"So?"
Yves nodded. "'So,' indeed. Diamond's just carbon, after all, less complicated than sugar in some ways." SB's wry smile set her eyes twinkling. Yves nodded again, downcast. "Yeah, I'm stalling. I don't even know what's going to happen, and I'm stalling. Wow, listen to me…"
SB tipped her head. "Yves?"
"…I'm talking as much as Ursula…"
SB coughed politely. "Hey, Yves?"
"…No worse: Dee."
SB plucked Yves' head up by the chin. "Yves. You really, really need to unwind." She held up the mason jar of strawberry colored jam in her other hand. "How's 'bout a rub down?"
Every bit of Yves ached, from his brain to his balls down through the soles of his feet. He wondered if any part of him, body or spirit, had escaped torture in the past twelve hours. He doubted it. "My arms are a little sore, yeah."
SB rolled her eyes, goosed Yves' cheek, and popped the jar open before setting it beside them on the picnic blanket. "Hold out your arm, then," she said.
Yves offered up his arm. SB gently rotated Yves' hand palm-upward. The improvised bandage on the pad of his thumb had frayed and curled up around the edges. SB picked off the tape and unwound the blood-spotted gauze, revealing a small but deep crescent-shaped puncture in Yves' flesh. "The cloister bell," SB murmured.
"Hm? Oh," Yves nodded, "the exploding doorbell, yeah. That sucker really took a bite out of me." SB gingerly inspected the wound. The sudden flare of pain took Yves' breath away. "Still stings a bit."
SB scooped a small dollop of jam onto one finger. "This will help." The jam's vibrant red contrasted the soft rose hues of her translucent flesh. "But you'll always bear the mark." Yves wanted to ask her what she was talking about but she smeared the stuff across the pad of his thumb without another word. He readied himself for another sharp stab of pain. It only tingled instead. A droplet of strawberry red nectar streaked down into the cup of his palm. Yves frowned.
"Your skin is warm enough to cook it into oil," SB said as more tingling syrup pooled in his hand. She held him by the wrist, and rubbed her thumb over the strawberry smear on his hand, tracing the flexor tendon anchoring his thumb and working the red salve into his skin. The puncture wound itched, felt tender when the skin around it flexed, but the pain had fled. Her gaze fixed on his hand, SB added, "You okay?"
Yves was not sure how to answer. I'm amazed. I'm relieved. I'm a little scared. "What do you mean?"
"The color." She gathered Yves' hand to her chest, soothing the stuff over his palm, then sliding her thumbs around and between his fingers. "Before it cooks into oil, it kinda looks like blood."
"You mean, do you remind me of Black Cherry?"
SB looked up from her ministrations, squeezing each of Yves' fingers in turn. "Well?"
"You're nothing like Black Cherry," Yves insisted. SB pressed the flat of his oiled hand against her cheek. Yves smiled, "You want details?"
SB dipped a finger into the jar and massaged more jam into Yves' wrist. "Just a couple."
"You'll have to give me a minute."
"Why?" SB slid her fingers up his forearm.
Yves sighed, eyes closed. "I just want to...feel this, for a while." The tingle stretched from Yves' fingertips down to his elbow. The muscles of his hand and forearm were as butter, all tension gone. SB found a potent pressure-point and a clarifying calm stole over Yves. "Black Cherry's dark currents give her that horrible, arterial red look," Yves heard himself say. "Yours is the red of rosé wine. Black Cherry felt like clay, wet cement, really. Raz and Eurydice felt like living, standing waves. You feel, well, real." He opened his eyes. SB paused, her hands encircling his upper arm. "With my eyes closed," Yves explained, "I can't tell that you’re meliae. Just someone who wears a summery cologne. Uh, I mean perfume."
SB stroked the length of Yves' oiled arm. Yves resisted the urge to purr. "I'm not built like other goo girls," SB said. "I'm organized."
Yves eyed the crowded crotch of her dress. "That's apparent." A breeze blew across the grass and rippled SB's dress, defining the angles of her lap. Good God, Yves thought, how big can that thing really get?
"Stop," SB breathed. She gave him a playful push, planting a strawberry-red stain over Yves' undershirt. "Or you really will start sounding like Dee. Anyway, that's not my only organ. I've got internal structures. Check this out." SB flexed her right arm. Her toned, oval muscles bulged. "This bicep ain't just for show. Striated pectin. Go on, check it out."
Yves reached out, prodding cautiously at first, but growing bold when his fingers only dimpled SB's upper arm. "Wow. Do you work out?" Oh, Jesus. Yves winced. What am I, twelve? What's gotten into me?
"My nanomek do it for me." SB rolled her shoulders and inhaled. Her round breasts jutted against her fiery dress, nipples erect and obvious and inches away from Yves' fondling fingers. "Wanna feel my pecs?"
I haven't been this close to second base with a girl since high school. Yves flustered and flushed. SB studied his face, winked, nabbed his other arm, and slathered it with a healthy gob of tingly jam. The delectable massage drove away memories of youthful, fruitless denial. "You're sure generous with that stuff," Yves said, sighing. "Thank you, thank you."
SB laughed. "I've come into possession of a dumpster full of it." She swallowed a bark of laughter and oiled Yves' arm. The creaking of pine branches and the gentle lapping of lake water against the bank filled the bashful silence until SB added, "Thanks to you."
Pain and stress vanished under SB's touch. Yves allowed himself to purr. "Mrr. Just what is it, anyway?"
"Have you ever heard of woad, Yves?" SB asked, swirling her thumbs around his elbow.
"Only as the past tense of the Keanu Reeves verb, 'to whoa'." SB smirked but said nothing. "It's a dye, blue, or something, right?"
"Or something, yeah," SB said. She leaned close to massage his upper arm. Her breath tickled Yves' his neck. "Anyway," SB began, "the ancient Britons painted themselves before every battle. They needed no other armor."
A memory of kilts and blue paint clicked into place. "Like Braveheart," Yves said.
SB froze, then snorted, "Nothing like Braveheart." She went to work on his shoulder. "I'm talking aboriginal Albion, Yves. And it wasn't blue, either. Julius Caesar called it vitrum." She shook her head in reverie. "Julius. Now there's a guy who knew how to spend five denarii."
"Vitrum," Yves repeated. He knew his Latin roots from years of applied science. "Glass." He raised his free arm. The glaze of massage oil blazed in the sun. "Vitreous armor." His skin glittered as the oil dried, mellowing into a healthy glow. He twisted his arm one way and the other. Sunlight played over whipcord muscle, his wrist, his palm.
Yves stared. The puncture wound on his hand had healed. "Glass armor." Only a faded, comma-shaped scar remained, as if Yves had born it for years. From birth, Yves realized, like I've born it since birth. It's a mark, not a scar. That's what SB said. But now what?
SB's eyes danced, her voice edgy with urgency. "Take off your shirt, Yves."
Yves tugged his undershirt up over his head, his arms smooth and sure but his back panged hotly, forcing him into a hunch. SB had a big, three-finger scoop of jam ready and aimed for his chest. She hesitated, watching his spiky blonde hair droop over his eyes as his undershirt fell away. She flashed a crooked smile, brushed his hair back with her free hand, and splattered the scoop of goop atop Yves' head.
"Hey," Yves startled, laughing, but SB ignored him and combed the stuff through his hair with her fingers.
"The soldiers of Sparta and Macedon," SB said, knee-walking behind Yves' back, "would groom one another with it, with the vitrum."
Yves felt SB's knee nudge up against his butt. He suspected it was her knee, at least. "I thought that was just olive oil."
"No." SB's aquiline chin pressed into the hollow of Yves shoulder. The slinky material of her dress whisked against his back. Her lips scraped against his ear as she spoke, "They used olive oil to fuck." Yves swam in the scent of her summer cologne. SB reached up and scrubbed the jam into his scalp without mercy until Yves protested that his brain was marinating in strawberry marmalade.
"Better marinade than migraine," SB said, oiling Yves neck and knuckling the ridges of his shoulder blades. "Wouldn't you say?"
"Just keep doing what you're doing," Yves said. The twanging pain in his back evaporated under SB's care. "And I'd say any little thing you asked me to."
Rose crystal arms snaked around Yves' chest and slapped a big blob of jam onto his stomach. "Do you know what's going on, Yves?" The arms slithered up his chest, spreading the melting jam in two tingling swaths of oil from his abs to his pecs. Her firm breasts squashed against his back.
"You're," Yves shivered as SB's fingertip skated across his nipple, "you're seducing me."
"Mm," SB agreed, squeezing oil into Yves' ribs, "but do I have to?"
"No," Yves said, realizing it himself for the first time. He turned to smirk at her. Shining blonde blades of hair bowed to occlude his eyes. "You had me at, 'Ride me, Yves.'"
SB scooted around to Yves's side and kissed him. This time, Yves returned the kiss and took her in his arms. The giving flesh of her lips and toned expanse of her back felt as firm as any man or woman's, but her silken touch, her summery smell, her salty-sweet taste were beyond exotic, almost unearthly. SB broke their kiss and Yves, breathless, rested his forehead against hers. "I think I understand Dee a bit better now," he said.
"So," SB said, sitting up and daubing strawberry balm on the tip of Yves' nose. "If I'm not seducing you…" The balm melted into oil and she spread it across the bridge of his nose and around the orbits of his eyes. "Then what am I doing?" She swabbed his temples and forehead and Yves breathed easy; he had never felt more clear-headed in his life.
Yves thought about it as SB rouged his cheeks. "You're anointing me."
SB grinned and glanced aside, as if remembering some private joke. "I'm a-knighting you."
"I thought you knighted someone with a sword."
SB's introspective grin turned downright wicked. "That comes later." She finished her handiwork on his face and sat back to admire it.
The balm tingled as it dried. "Glass armor," Yves remembered. "You're armoring me. Outfitting me? No." He found the right word and it both thrilled and chilled him. "You're girding me."
SB leaped close, her third kiss hungrier than the last two combined. "Lie down, Yves," she said, voice low. "Lose the pants."
Yves settled into the picnic blanket, scrunching the wild grass beneath. His hair fanned over his face, shading his eyes from the cloudless sky and the sun high above the pines. He twirled a finger through a sheaf of his suddenly salon-perfect coiffure. "I've never been vain about my hair." He bunched his legs up. His knees still creaked and his thighs cramped but he ignored the pain as best he could and shucked off his slacks. The cuffs caught on his sneakers.
SB's arch smile hovered into view. "Silk boxers?"
"I'm vain about other things," Yves readily confessed. SB padded down to his feet, giving Yves a slow-pan eyeful of her copper-clad, powerhouse ass. "Uh." SB's rear swayed from the heavy counterweight tucked between her legs and hidden by her flowing dress. "Oh, boy," Yves swallowed. "Anyways, I always just let my hair do whatever it wanted." Yves propped himself up to watch SB undo his laces and a blonde tussock fell neatly across half of his face with an almost audible foop! noise. "I never expected a hairdo would take me literally."
Sneakers and socks sailed into the surrounding grass. SB administered the strawberry balm to Yves' feet. Yves yelped when she kneaded between his toes. "Quit squirming," SB said, smothering his heels and ankles in extra helpings of the stuff. "Achilles was ticklish, too, so I missed a spot and I bet you know the rest."
"Oh, ha, ha," Yves said. SB glanced up, her expression blank, and Yves added, "Um. Ha?" SB held his worried stare a moment longer, then thrust her tongue out between her teeth, dug her fingers into his calves and tickled him until Yves' howling laughter echoed across the placid reservoir. When Yves caught his breath, SB was smoothing salve over his knee. His lower legs wore greaves of glassy grease. "Okay, so you're girding me in vitrum—Ah!" A pressure point in Yves' knee popped and relief flooded through his leg. "God, that feels fucking fantastic. A minute ago I was nearly crippled. Now I want to run a marathon."
SB moved on to Yves' other knee but her eyes were fixed on the crotch of Yves' boxers. "Save your strength."
Yves heard the meaning behind the innuendo. "So vitrum is not going to make me strong like Dee."
"Nope," SB said. She popped another pressure point. Her hand crept up Yves' thigh.
"Good," Yves sighed, closing his eyes, letting the last of his pain and weariness wash away. "I'd be worse off with it. If I were suddenly Superman, I'd have to unlearn years of fighting with limited resources." SB oiled Yves' inner thighs, hands squeezing in a lazy rhythm. Blood rushed into Yves' face and his crotch. His slowly engorging dick slid against the silk of his boxers. "I guess virtum doesn't make me bullet-proof, either?"
"No," SB said, her oiled fingers working under the left leg of his boxers. "You'll never be bullet-proof, but fight well and you won't have to be." Her fingertips brushed against his pubic hair and she turned her attention to his other leg.
One of Dee's interminable comic book lectures rose unbidden in Yves mind. "Superman versus Batman," Yves heard himself say.
SB's sensual fingers froze. "Say what?"
"Superman's power comes from who he is. Batman's power comes from what he does." Yves had heard this bit from Dee so many times he could not help but plunge ahead. "Superman stands his ground and bullets bounce right off him. He doesn’t even have to think about it. Batman can dodge bullets because he's careful and brave, clever and quick." Yves sat bolt upright. "Plot armor. That's what Dee calls it. That's what vitrum is." Yves rubbed his stomach. The oil had soaked into his skin, but he could still feel the energizing tingle. "You're covering me in plot armor."
SB had not moved since Yves started blabbing. "Are you trying to turn me off?"
"Hey, now. You, Tomoe, Nyx and Galatea are the gals running around empowering nerds." Yves lay back, hands behind his head. "What did you four expect?"
SB blinked at him, then whipped off his boxers. She dug deep with both hands into the mason jar, leaving nothing but dregs of jam at the bottom of the glass. "Really hot and freaky sex sprinkled with the occasional Monty Python reference," she said, fingers dripping.
"It's a fair cop," Yves admitted.
"Quiet, you," SB said, and brought her hands down.
Her left hand traced circles about his balls while her right slid straight down his scrotum. The jam melted immediately into oil. SB did not lose a single drop to the blanket beneath. She massaged rolls of oil into Yves' sensitive skin, running his taint between her ring and middle fingers.
SB's expert hands and the tingling oil electrified Yves and his pelvis pivoted up to meet them. SB wasted no time and dove her fingers into the crack of his ass. She teased the rim of his anus and he barked in surprised pleasure, bent his knees and pushed his butt off the blanket. "Perfect," she said, grabbing a cheek, "stay just like that." She cooed as she oiled him up, one hand squeezing his ass, the other curling around his balls and teasing the root of his cock. "Ooh, is this fun." Yves erection surged, the glistening red head of his dick peeking out from his foreskin. "Gotta get me some of that," SB said, bringing her right hand up and spiraling down his shaft, peeling his foreskin back with each pump, determined to paint every ridge and wrinkle of him in oil.
Yves groaned and collapsed onto the blanket, his twitching dick pointing skyward. SB's eyes unfocused, her lips puckered into a hazy smile. She coddled Yves' balls in her left hand, milked his cock in her right. "C'mon," she hummed. "Come on." Tension gathered in Yves' crotch and released in a full-body twitch, again and again. SB burst, "Oh! God," and "Oh! Yeah," with each shudder Yves gave her. She rocked up high on her knees and her own hardening prick flopped onto the blanket between Yves legs and pressed up against his inner thigh.
Yves felt some switch thrown deep within him and the maddening tension became a tide of building pressure. He moaned and muttered, inarticulate with encroaching orgasm.
SB bent forward. "God." Her lips hovered inches from the head of Yves cock. "Oh, God." She wrapped both hands around Yves' throbbing shaft, pushed its head between her lips. Yves whimpered and seized. SB sobbed—"Oh, God,"—around the head of his cock. He came.
And SB wept and nursed on his cum as if their lives depended on it.
"Holy shit," said Yves when SB finally rocked backward. "The only other time I've cum that fast and hard before, I was alone. And seventeen." SB tried to laugh but only gasped for air. Yves asked, "Nanogasms?" SB nodded, eyes crossed, and Yves added, "You just gave me a massive macrogasm, SB. You deserve more than a little blood music." Yves sat up, bare chest filmed in sweat, and eyed the mammoth bulge in SB's dress. "Why aren't you naked?"
He reached out, one hand following the distending curve of SB's dress. SB's hard-on grew and throbbed, as wide as Yves' hand, beneath his touch. I only caught a glimpse of her at the store, he thought, taking the hem of SB's dress in both hands. SB bit her lip as Yves sat close, drawing her dress upward. I know she's big, Dee said she was humungous, but how big could she possibly—"Ow," Yves said, as the head of SB's dick bopped him on the nose.
Yves gawked at a candy-red, fist-sized cock-head, polished in maraschino-cherry pre-cum and crowning about three feet of rose-red shaft. The whole package looked crystalline and fleshy at the same time. Veins like chiseled rose quartz somehow pulsed with life. SB worried her lip and searched his face with anxious eyes. Her childlike pout put Yves over the edge, and he laughed so hard he had to hold on to the sides of his head.
"No one," SB muttered, then shifted and raised her voice over Yves' delighted cackling. "No one has ever laughed at my dick before. Ever."
"Why not?" Yves wiped tears from his eyes. "It's amazing. You're amazing, SB. I mean, look at you. You've got the biggest penis on the planet and you're still insecure. If a three foot cock can't make a dickgirl confident, mortal men are doomed."
SB threw her head back and cracked up, her dress cinched around her belly. Her glans bobbed and weaved as she shook with laughter. Yves tracked the red cock-head's perambulations with his eyes, more amused and amazed than mesmerized. "You've got to tell me, how on Earth do you and Tomoe…relate?"
"She's lost a little weight since we first met," SB snickered.
Yves knew he would not get any better answer than that, and his mind was elsewhere anyway. "Well." He cracked his knuckles. "In for a penny…" He reached out again, with both hands this time.
SB shied to the side. "Wait."
Yves' fingertips hovered, poised to grasp. "Why?" His eyebrows waggled. "I'm really good at this bit."
"I know. Wow, do I know." She sighed. "That's the point. But cumming costs me nanomek, and, Yves, you turn me into a walking fire hose."
Dropping a gentle hand to SB's knee, Yves said, "I feel wonderful, SB. Better than I've felt in years. Awake, alive." He gave SB's knee an eager squeeze. "Horny. Hell, you probably saved my life. I want to share, SB. I need to." His hand inched up SB's thigh. "Sex is something that happens between two people, SB, and I want it to happen to you so good you'll see stars. Why are you so nervous?"
"Not nervous." SB leaned in for a sweet kiss but pushed Yves' hand away. "I'm not done sharing with you yet, that's all."
Or you're still too nervous to let me take the lead. "Very well." Yves swooned onto the blanket, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead. "Have your way with me, you cad." SB goosed Yves on the big toe, stood up, and walked straight past him. Her shadow fell across his face, soon followed by her dress. "Hey." He rolled over and looked up, the fiery dress dangling from his hair like a unwound turban.
SB stood naked at the water's edge. Her broad, sinewy back tapered down to a trim waist and a thick, traffic-stopping ass. Yves asked, "Are we skinny dipping?" SB turned and presented Yves with her profile, adding the high curves of her bust and impossible scimitar of her cock to the mix. Her substance possessed a milky translucence and the sun lit her up. She glowed from within, radiating a buttery aura, and Yves could only breathe, "My God."
"Actually, you need to stay onshore." SB stepped into the reservoir. Waves lapped at her ankles. "No matter what happens, no matter what you see, you can't touch the water. Understand?"
Some small part of Yves wanted to quip at the corny, fairytale instruction, but it was overruled by his awe of her beauty and the certainty in her voice. He nodded.
"Good." She strode deeper, proud and confident, until the she dipped low enough to dunk her balls in the water. She jumped back with a high pitched, piping squeak. "Eee! Cold!" Yves bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep from laughing as he watched SB shiver and crouch. "Well," SB said, "I'll fix that soon enough." She gave Yves one last, admonishing look. "I'm not Tomoe; I mean exactly what I say."
"And I'm not Dee," Yves said. "I don't touch my plate just because the waiter warns me that it's hot."
SB dazzled Yves with her smile, then gazed out over the dark water. "I haven't done this in a long, long time," she said, waded in deeper, and vanished below the surface.
Yves sat up, crossed his legs, draped SB's dress across his lap, and waited for something to happen. He watched the clear sky, half-expecting dramatic, stormy clouds to scud in over the horizon. None came. The sun climbed closer to the zenith of noon, warming the still air.
"Is this when I say 'It's quiet, too quiet'?" Yves shaded his eyes, scanned the tree line, then peered over the reservoir. "Hello? Ah, well. Thinking cap time, I guess." Okay, there's no denying that I'm caught up in Dee's story, or whatever fairytale he started when he bought his nanomek, then derailed by making Galatea first. "Is that all this is? Just part of Dee's story? SB?" After all, I didn't buy anything from SRU. I didn't start anything. Did I?
["…It's not my fault. I was perfectly happy being alone and miserable back at the bar. You were the one who decided to drop by and try and cheer me up, if you care to recall…"]
Yves stood up. The dress fell. He cupped his mouth and hallooed over the reservoir, ire rising with every word. "So all this happened because I chose to cheer a friend up? That's all it takes get stuck in my own fairytale? And why the fuck did it have to start with some psycho-bitch fucking me in the ass?"
A wave of sultry heat rolled over the shore. The whispery woodland sounds died. Whitecap waves chopped up in the heart of the reservoir many yards away. Yves folded his arms. "That's more like it." The heat grew oppressive. The whitecaps churned into a growing circle of froth. "Wait a minute." The fizzing whitewater expanded, raced closer. The air turned savanna-hot. "Uh, SB?" At the water's edge, steam rose and wildgrass wilted. "The, uh, lake's starting to boil." Columns of steam wafted skyward and the roiling waters boiled like a sign of the Apocalypse.
Yves backpedaled away from the shoreline as the ambient temperature rose from sizzling savanna to roasting sauna, hot enough to scald his throat or even burn his lungs if he risked breathing in through his mouth. Yves' hair frizzed out and fountained around his head in a cross between a bowl cut and an overgrown spider plant. His voice cracked and croaked.
"Is it too late to say, 'Pygmalion'?"
The columns of steam condensed into billowing walls of mist, carried to the lakeshore by waves of heat. Yves' thumb prickled. Water, he thought, as the thick trails of mist moved in. She didn't say 'Don't go in the lake.' She said, 'Don't touch the water.' The temperature continued to climb and Yves felt faint. The water's coming to me but I doubt that makes any difference. What do I do? Do I run? He cast about, made his decision—No—and dove for the picnic blanket, throwing it over himself just as the first tendrils of mist coiled onto the shore.
Yves lay in darkness and cool grass. No wonder this fabric felt familiar. The terrible heat buffeted the blanket above him. It's spun lace insulant, just like Ursula's high-tech potholders.
The hissing from the lake stopped. Yves counted slowly to two hundred before testing the air: sultry as a New Orleans summer, but safe. He crawled out from under the blanket, the shore soupy and slippery beneath his hands and knees. The wild grass now resembled boiled cabbage, browned and overcooked. The reservoir was becalmed. Mist licked across the smoothed water. The hush heightened Yves' awareness of his own nudity and exposure. He adopted a ready stance.
A silvered blade rose from the reservoir, piercing the surface without a ripple. SB soon followed, striving in a weary swagger toward the shore, holding a sword aloft above her head. Dark water swirled around her bare legs, her flaccid but still massive dick slapping against her inner thighs. Her eyes were dim and unfocused, her frown severe. Her muscles trembled, as did her voice. "Yves Valiancourt!"
"I am here," Yves said, surprised at his own formality.
An exhausted smile lit up SB's face. She stepped onto the shore, seemed to see Yves clearly. "Yves Valiancourt."
"I am he." His heart in his throat, his blood signing, he added in whisper, "'SB' doesn't really stand for 'Strawberry Banana,' does it?"
SB at last lowered her arm, resting the flat of the blade across both her palms. "No," she whispered back. "It does not." She fell to one knee before Yves, head bowed. She sighed, raising her arms to present Yves with a long, curved blade the color of frozen moonlight.
"I have borne you a sword, Yves Valiancourt."
Yves hefted the sword. The grip, wrapped in a braided weave of rose silk cord, could accommodate two hands but felt equally comfortable in one. The round guard had been forged from a midnight purple alloy Yves could not identify. The sharpened, single edge ran along the outside of the blade, longer and more curved than the samurai swords seen in the movies. It took a moment for Yves to find his voice. "How did you know?"
SB glanced up, grinning. "The tanto you have in your shirt—neat trick, by the way, can't believe I didn't notice it until I was feeling you up. You've got the tanto slung the wrong way 'round for typical katana work. And you weren't exactly subtle back in the SRU parking lot." Kalidescope eyes sparkled. "I could tell you were a tachi man."
Yves smoothed his thumb over the flat of the pearlescent blade; slick but not sticky. "What is it?" He held it up. It refused to reflect the sunlight. This is what's left when you take away the metal but leave the edge, the lethality, behind, Yves thought. This is the ghost of a sword. "SB, what did you do?"
SB stood. "I told you you'd be surprised," she said, chest heaving as she caught her breath. "The things you can spin from carbohydrates and the trace elements found in freshwater. But the process gives off so much waste heat I have to jump in a lake or spontaneously combust. Anyway, it's a metallofullerene core edged in aggregated nanorods folded into a fractal lattice serration…What's with that face? Constipated?"
"This is my 'processing technobabble face'," Yves said, stepping back, testing the feel of the deadly thing. "Metallofullerene core: more ductile than steel." SB nodded, so Yves struggled on with his translation. "Aggregated nanorods: harder than diamond." SB nodded again, her grin growing wide. "Fractal lattice…" He squinted at the edge. It remained out-of-focus. "What's its effective cutting surface?" he asked. SB scratched her head. "If you straightened out all those microscopic serrations but kept the same surface area," Yves continued, "how long would the blade be?"
"Ten," SB shrugged. "Maybe up to eleven." Her grin returned, positively shit-eating, and she added, "Kilometers."
"So," Yves said, trying a two hand grip. "Fractal lattice serration: sharp enough to cut through, what, solid rock?"
"Honey," SB sighed, "you could cut a diamond Sherman tank in half with that thing. And diamond is one of the hardest, if not the hardest, metals known to man." Yves just stood there, brow furrowed, so SB grumped, "Dee would've laughed that joke."
"That's my point," Yves said, turning away from SB to gaze over the tree line. "I mean, shouldn't Dee be here, not me? Doesn't Arthur get Excalibur?"
"Aw, don't be an idiot." SB gave Yves a dismissive but playful shove on the back. "Arthur's just a myth. Never existed."
"Oh, ha, ha."
"I'm serious. Arthur and Lancelot: both total bullshit."
"But, still," Yves muttered, "shouldn't Dee…?"
"Not everything's about Dee," SB insisted behind him. "Besides, Gawain got the green girdle. Yvain got the sword."
Yves would only stare down at the ghosted blade. "I don't know who those two guys were." Except one killed the other, according to Eurydice. "Unyx would know. She's a superhero. Like Dee. Like the rest of them." Yves' thumb prickled.
SB clucked deep in her throat. "Fine."
Yves whirled around, arms whipping up. Pale sword met pink scimitar a few inches away from his face. The two blades rang together in a crystalline tone as pure as two matched tuning forks. Yves boggled at the anger simmering in SB's eyes. "What did I…"
"Have it your way, then," SB growled and kicked Yves' left knee out from under him. Yves toppled backward. SB brought her blade whistling down at Yves' exposed neck.
Yves rode his collapse into a controlled tumble. SB's pink scimitar sank into the sodden earth. "You're quick," SB said, wresting the scimitar from the ground, whisking it high and behind her head. "Damn quick for someone who says he's not a superhero."
Yves sprang to his feet, pale sword ready in a two-handed grip. "Victory is not getting cut." He found his center and sought a Kamae, a kendo fencing ready stance. "That's not superheroic," he said, thinking, This is no kendo match and she isn't holding a practice staff. "That's just smart." He tipped his blade up, and entered a textbook perfect Water Kamae, reciting, "If you've thought of cutting, it's too late to cut." Her grip is tight. She's not ready. Don't move until you see it. "You must have already cut when you think of cutting."
SB's fingers relaxed. The scimitar's haft slipped a hairsbreadth downward. There. Yves angled his blade a few degrees, its tip pointed at SB's eyes. Now.
SB swung her scimitar down in a blurred arc. Yves was already moving, closing the distance to level the advantage of an overhead strike. The scimitar accelerated downward. He rotated his own sword. The scimitar rebounded and SB dropped back. Sport-drink red sweat beaded her bare breasts. Yves rotated back to his Water stance and waited.
"Your banter is pretty pithy," SB snarled, this time bringing her blade low and back, "for someone who says he's not a superhero."
Yeah, why the Hell am I bantering? "That's just my inner Dee talking," Yves said, and, feeling as uncertain as he sounded, he shifted his stance and lost his center.
"I know you're a superhero, Yves, and I know that you know." The pink scimitar swept up and out. Anticipating a feint designed to push him further off-center, Yves risked a sidestep—but SB swiveled her hips and double-feinted, her huge blade whirring faster than Yves thought possible. He walked right into an upswing about to crack open his chest like a book.
His thumb prickled. There was a screech of glass grinding against glass. Without thinking, Yves had leaned into the fatal swing. The scimitar grated over the flat of his blade until the guards of both swords clicked together. Yves and SB stood nose-to-nose, their swords locked together between them.
"I know you're a superhero, Yves," SB said, straining to break the lock and earn the riposte, "because despite all your training, all that muscle memory telling you to strike after each defense, you haven’t even tried to cut me yet." SB narrowed her eyes, her face slick with sport-drink sweat. "Only the good guys are dumb enough to do that."
Yves hissed, every ounce of his strength channeled into his effort to hold the lock. "That's not it." SB arched a brow and Yves conceded, "Alright, that's not just it."
The swords squealed in protest as their wielders forced them a fraction of an inch one way and then the other. SB gritted her teeth. "What else, then?"
Yves began, "This is…" SB yanked the scimitar's guard away and Yves dredged up reserves of stamina he did not know he had to clamp the pale sword's guard down hard, locking the blades again. "This is so fucking hot," he gushed.
SB gasped and relaxed her grapple. "Oh, Jesus, Yves, you should see." She pressed her leg into his groin; his growing erection crawled up her thigh, became spotted with sport-drink sweat. "You should see how fucking amazing you look." She let her sword fall to her side, one hand squeezing its ruby pommel, the other winding around Yves' neck to pull him into a summer-sweet lip-lock. "Ride me, Yves," she said, and kissed him again. "Fuck me." And again. "Fuck me, now."
Yves dropped his sword. It sunk into the ground up to the hilt. He squeezed the rose-colored thigh rubbing against him, relishing the feel of SB's lithe but steely frame. He urgently reached for SB's groin, yearning to squeeze something else—and poked SB in the pussy.
The bishi and the dickgirl yelped in shock and surprise, and glared at each other before spluttering embarrassed giggles and snickers. "Sorry, I'm so sorry." Yves blushed beet red. "Totally forgot."
SB waggled the pommel of her sword. "It's over here, Sherlock." She plucked it up, and proffered the pink scimitar to Yves. She pouted and rocked her hips. The longing look she gave him could have raised the dead. "Would you make a man out of me?"
Yves took up the oversized scimitar, heard SB's gasp as he gripped the polished quartz handle. He marveled at the sense of power in potentia it possessed, remembering the feeling from when he had held it before, back in the SRU parking lot: an almost drunken empowerment. "How do I?"
SB whimpered her need and drove two shaky fingers into her sex, her burning eyes never leaving his.
Yves was awestruck. Mother of God. "Lie down, sword bearer." SB stumbled and sprawled supine onto the picnic blanket. Yves fell to his knees beside her, clutching her sword. He goggled at the plum-sized ruby in the pommel, glanced down at SB's cleft. No way. No way can this thing fit.
Head lolling, SB spread her legs and parted her flush labia with trembling hands. "Please," she said, unabashed.
I can't believe this. Yves' head swam. I can't believe this is happening, that I'm doing this. He brought the sword-pommel close to SB's cleft. I can't believe this is making me so God-damned, mother-fucking horny. "Tomoe," Yves said, his breath haggard. "Tomoe made you like this?"
SB bit her lip and nodded. "She taught me. She taught me how to take it off. Now, please, put it back on." The pommel nudged against SB's mons. She thrashed and sobbed. "Oh, God, put it back in."
Sweat stung Yves' eyes. "Tomoe's okay with this?" Yves swabbed the sweat with his forearm. "With us?"
SB's laughter was faint and dazed. "I hope not. I hope she's jealous as Hell, of you as much as she is me." Her fingers fell away from her sex. "She's watching us, you know. Right now. A hundred years ago. A thousand years from now. So she'd better be jealous."
She brushed a golden lock of Yves' hair behind his ear, then tipped her head back and shouted at the sky loud enough to make Yves flinch and pull the sword back. "You hear me, out there? You see me, Tomoe?" Her cry was triumphant, not angry. "It's me. I'm the one! Not Ursula, not Galatea, not Raspberry, and it sure as shit ain't gunna be you! I'm the one," she said again, her tone softening. She pressed a palm against Yves' cheek, her smile as rapt as it was wicked.
"I'm the one who gets to fuck Yves." Her fingers dropped away from his face and wrapped around Yves' hand. She guided him down until the scimitar's bulging pommel nestled into her sex. "Do it, Yves." She luxuriated beneath him, hips pumping as her nether lips flowered to accommodate the pommel-stone. "It's time.
"It's finally our time."
Yves applied pressure to the pommel, felt the resistance of SB's most tender flesh. SB's fingers trembled over his. She spread the petals of her sex with her other hand. "Yves," she breathed, and opened herself to him.
His heart slamming in his chest, Yves pushed down on the rubicund pommel. SB clawed his chest, kicked against the blanket. "Yves!" Her labia enfolded the pommel. Pungent nectar drizzled around the hilt, the blade towering above the both of them. She led him to angle the scimitar down.
"Deeper, Yves."
Balancing the weight of the scimitar delicately in his hands, he eased the hilt in. Yves realized he wasn't breathing. SB screamed his name and threw her arms around his neck. She curled and huddled beneath his chin. The sword slipped further into SB's core and Yves felt a subtle shift in the contours of the rose girl's body. She felt more sleek, angular, and hard against him. Between his fingers, the scimitar began to burn.
Even though Yves hovered only inches away, even though Yves watched agog as it happened, even though Yves' hands were wrapped around the scimitar as it coarsened and thickened, the exact moment of transition—the moment where Yves could say, before it was her sword, and now it was her cock—escaped him, or maybe never truly occurred. One minute Yves was fucking an Amazon with the hilt of her own sword, the next he was jacking off a dickgirl with the biggest prick on the planet.
The potential power locked in SB's scimitar was a flickering candle compared to the flamethrower of her cock. Yves adapted to her size quickly, using the hollows of his palms more than his fingers to tease and squeeze her shaft. SB convulsed and groaned with each stroke. "Yes. God. Yes. God! Ye—No. Wait. Wait!" Yves threw his hands in the air, dragging one last shuddery cry from SB.
"Jesus Christ," Yves growled, standing with fists clenched. "I want to make you cum." He bared his teeth in a mirthless, horny leer. "Is that so much to ask?"
"I need you," SB said in an alto voice so deep it bordered on baritone. She rolled over onto her stomach, the pillar of her erection forcing her up on all fours. "I need you inside me." She scooted backward, pressed her ass against his groin until their balls touched. "And you know what they say, Yves." She threw him a shameless smile over her shoulder. "Ladies first."
Yves squat down behind her, his knees locked tight about SB's thighs. He loomed over her, bending down to kiss the sweet-and-salty, sports-drink sweat droplets off her brawny back, making her shiver. "What about lube?" he asked between kisses.
SB arched her back and rocked her hips in silent response. Her skin was satin against his chest, giving him another serious case of gooseflesh. His dick slid across the crack of her ass. Her cheeks were solid muscle but his shaft glided between them. Yves moaned and pressed his face into the sheaves of cotton-candy dreadlocks trailing the nape of her neck.
"No need," SB said, grinding her ass over his groin and her back across Yves' chest. She felt pillowed in luscious oil. "Not with the vitrum. Not with a goo girl, or even a goo dickgirl. Now fuck me." She bent up and back at an inhuman angle to plant an open-mouthed kiss on Yves' forehead. "Fuck me."
After almost three hours of non-stop flirting and foreplay, banter and battle, Yves needed no such encouragement. He was already reaching back, aiming the head of his cock at the bud of SB's anus. "Yes," SB whispered, relaxing. She reclined her head on her folded arms, her ass bobbing between Yves' thighs. "Yes."
"Yes," Yves hissed, and penetrated. SB's passage was tight but supple, forcing Yves' foreskin back but accepting the sensitive, exposed head of his prick, bathing it in a snug, delicious heat. "My God," Yves said, pressing his chin into her shoulder, feeling her whole body quake beneath him. "You're incredible." Yves slithered into her.
A single, hiccupping sob burst from SB's lips before she bit down on her fist. Yves started a slow rhythm, pumping the first few inches of his cock in and out of her in time with the low waves lapping the nearby shore. SB moaned after each stroke. "Mm. Mm. Mm—more!" Her fist popped out of her mouth. "More, dammit!" She rocked back on her elbows and knees in time with Yves' next forward thrust. Yves' dick sank into her ass until her balls slapped against his.
"Whoa-fuck," Yves said. SB's innermost nectar clutched his shaft. He withdrew, then drove forward. "Oh, wow." He built up a strong, lunging rhythm. "Oh, hot damn."
"Oh, thank fucking God," SB said, an obscene smile blooming across her face as she readied herself for some serious reaming.
Yves hugged himself tight to SB's back, stretching his neck to mutter in her ear, "Nuh uh. No rest for you." The sensuous, torrid friction of her core around his cock threatened to drive him mad. He bucked and reamed and bit her shoulder. SB slammed her fist between her teeth in and screamed. The juice of wild strawberries, so tart it was almost bitter, trickled around Yves tongue. He pulled away long enough to growl at SB, his teeth stained maraschino-red. "You are gunna cum so fucking hard."
SB craned her neck—"Wha'?"—but Yves' pounded into her as strong and steady as the crashing surf and she flopped onto the picnic blanket, cross-eyed and keening.
Her helpless pleas of pleasure triggered a rising pressure within Yves' groin. The urge to pump his pelvis became an imperative. Yves bit down again, wrapped his arms around SB, and hauled the two of them up together onto their haunches with his next thrust, his deepest yet. SB threw her arms wide. "OhmyfuckingGod—Yves!"
Yves' slipped his arms down and around SB's waist and pinioned her prick. "So hard," he promised her, his dick buried in her ass, his hands stroking the length of SB's massive member. "So fucking hard."
SB tried to protest, "B-but…" Yves stroked down on her cock while plunging into her ass and she could only wail his name, again and again.
"I know," Yves soothed, but would not relent. "Nanomek, I know. But don't worry." He stroked and plunged. "You feel so good, SB, I can't hold back." The pressure and tension focusing in Yves' groin began to crest. "And if I am going to cum…" He swirled one hand around the base of her shaft while pushing two fingertips into the wide slit atop the head of SB's dick. "Then so are you."
They came together in a torrent of release. Yves lurched and spurted deep within SB. The rose dickgirl sobbed and spewed a geyser of seminal fluid high over their heads. She fell backward against him, he collapsed into her. They kissed and panted and held each other close.
The intimate and glorious afterglow lasted about ten seconds before they were both spattered head-to-toe in a downpour of piping hot strawberry jam as SB's meliae jism fell to Earth.
The paperboy pelted down the narrow steps to the Epsilon Sorority House basement, satchel of soggy newspapers bouncing off his flat, newsprint-smudged ass. The pizza guy and Eddie followed close behind on the single-file stairway. The cable guy, his work-clothes little more than strips of cloth stuck to his sticky skin, hesitated at the top of the stair, set his jaw, turned and stood his ground.
Eddie poked his head back up the wood-paneled stairway, his face a blotchy patchwork of lipstick, bites, bruises, and vaginal juices. "C'mon, man! We don't have time."
"You guys go on," the cable guy said, his voice flat. The hordes of horny E-Z sorority sisters searching for them in other parts of the house sounded muffled but were getting closer. "It's too late for me." He adjusted himself. "And I can buy you a couple of minutes."
Eddie squinted up. The cable guy stood rigid, but Eddie could not read his body-language on his butt. "What the Hell, man?"
"I have erectile dysfunction," the cable guy answered in that same flat tone.
The pizza guy and the paperboy crowded Eddie at the stairwell's bottom. "Could've fooled me," the pizza guy said as the paperboy looked up, puzzled.
The cable guy sagged. "No, it's true. It's just not something I talk about. Even got a prescription for it. Never thought I'd need it, but I put one in my wallet, just in case." The rampaging Easies were close enough to pick out individual voices. The cable guy called over the rising noise, "Remember when I fell back on stairs, when we were headed for the second floor?"
"Oh my God," Eddie whispered.
The paperboy shrugged. "What?"
"I took it," called the cable guy. He adjusted himself again and stepped into the upper hall. "So get going."
The paperboy shouted from the bottom of the stairwell. "Took one what?"
"Viagra," Eddie said, his face ashen. "He took a Viagra pill. His hard-on'll last another three hours, or until his heart stops, whichever comes—uh, happens—first."
The pizza guy blinked back tears. "I'll never forget you, man."
The paperboy choked back rage. "You selfish bastard."
Eddie ran back up the stairs, grabbed the stairwell door. The cable guy took a few more steps into the hallway. Somewhere down the upper hall, a girl cried, "There he is!" Eddie and the cable guy exchanged a knowing glance. "Look at that, he's still hard," gloated another girl, "and just standing there." The cable guy nodded.
Eddie slammed the door to the stairwell shut, trapping the cable guy in the upper hall. He battered the doorknob until it he heard the mechanism inside crack. He hobbled back down the stairway, cradling his throbbing fist, where the pizza guy and delivery boy looked on in horror under a single, bare light-bulb. "Keep moving," Eddie ordered.
"What are we looking for?" the paperboy asked, casting about. An unfinished cement corridor and assorted basement clutter stretched in either direction.
"Storm cellar door," Eddie answered. "A huge-ass building like this has got to have a storm shelter. Right?"
The pizza guy nodded his agreement, then glanced up. Something thumped against the door at the top of the stair. "Did they get the extinguisher again?" The thump developed a steady rhythm and the pizza guy paled. "Oh, shit. That's his ass. C'mon kid." He clapped the paperboy on the shoulder. "Let's not waste the time he bought us." He led the paperboy down the left-hand side.
Eddie picked his way over steamer trunks and boxes of bric-a-brac to the nearest doorway: laundry room. Frilly under-things hung everywhere, a panty-raid mother load. Eddie shuddered and moved on, the hallway growing darker as he moved away from the stairwell. "You guys find anything?"
"Storage closet," called the paperboy.
"World's largest collection of old Cosmo mags," said the pizza guy.
Eddie found the next door. He rattled the rusty knob. "Please, God," he muttered, testing the door with his shoulder, "don't tell me we got all this way and the storm cellar's locked."
The paperboy's voice drifted down the corridor. "What the fuck is that?"
Eddie spun. The paperboy and the pizza guy stood at an open door at the far end of the corridor. They were bathed in a pale green light. "What's going on?" Eddie asked, hustling over as fast as he could.
"Is it," the pizza guy wondered, staring into the doorway. "Is it even real?"
Oh, no, Eddie thought. He heard the flickering buzz of florescent lighting as he approached. Light shone from the doorway ahead, casting scintillating motes of lime-colored light over every surface in the hallway. Please, no. He reached his two companions as the paperboy took his first step into the room. Eddie peeked around him. One look was all he needed.
The paperboy started, "Maybe it's just a sta—" but Eddie yanked him back.
"It's not," Eddie hissed. "Don't touch it. Don't go near it. And whatever you do, don't point your dick at it."
"All right, all right." The paperboy massaged his shoulder, then narrowed his eyes at Eddie. "But you know something. Something you're not telling us."
Eddie blocked the doorway and the contents of the room beyond. "It doesn't matter. Either way, we've got to get out of here, right?"
The pizza guy moved to the paperboy's side. "You've been here the longest, and I just realized you never told us how you got here." He folded his arms, making them dance with flecks of green light. "So what's your story, Eddie?"
"I don't have a story," Eddie insisted. His eyes grew accustomed to the eldritch illumination. "I'm just Eddie. And trust me, I have no fucking idea what's—the storm door."
The pizza guy blinked. "Say what?"
"Behind you," Eddie said, pointing. Now that his vision had adjusted, he could see the short stairway leading to a canted metal door. "It's right there. Guys, we're getting out of here."
The pizza guy turned. "Holy shit. You're right. We made it!" He marched up the stairs.
"I'm still a virgin," the paperboy insisted.
Eddie rolled his eyes. "Only in the strictest sense."
"Yeah," the pizza guy said, pushing on the door, "you've done things today that'd make Bill Clinton blush. Or give you a medal." The door creaked and moaned as metal strained against cement. "Eddie, give me a hand with this."
Eddie hopped up the stairs. The pizza guy shoved one side of the storm door. A sliver of light zigzagged down the stairs as the heavy metal door shifted half an inch before falling back. "It was just held by a sliding bolt," the pizza guy laughed, "but it's heavy as Hell."
Eddie shouldered up against the other side of the door. He turned to the pizza guy. "On the count of three?"
"Sure," the pizza guy answered, "but we're, you know, buck naked."
"So?" said Eddie. He gave the pizza guy a celebratory punch on the shoulder. "We're outta here!"
The paperboy mounted the foot of the stair. "Hurry up, guys, that thing in there's giving me the creeps and, well, a boner."
"One," Eddie said, shifting his weight. He grinned like an idiot.
"Two." The pizza guy tested his handhold on the door.
Eddie breathed deep. "Three!" He pushed.
Both sides of the door flew open, hinges squealing and sparks flying. Eddie and the pizza guy belly-flopped onto the grass. Eddie squinted in the sudden flare of sunlight until a long shadow fell over him, coasting wide to cover a huge swath of the lawn, as if cast by an encroaching alien starship.
"Oh, hello, Eddie. You've made a friend, I see. That's good."
Eddie punched the ground. "No, no, no." He turned his head. "I was so close."
Red Mary Jane jelly clogs skipped through the grass, stopping inches away from his eyes. "Aw, I'm sorry, Eddie. Was your friend close, too?" Eddie looked up at a pair of legs the color of a cherry creamsicle. "Don't you two worry. I'll help you finish."
Black Cherry swooped in. Eddie's stomach dropped. She flipped him over onto his back with one wing claw, pinned the pizza guy's arms to the ground with the other.
The pizza guy glared, murder in his eyes. "What did you do, Eddie?"
Black Cherry clucked, poking and prodding the pizza guy as if inspecting ripening fruit. A pair of long, black, braided hair extensions dangled from one of her hands.
The pizza guy hissed, "What. Did. You. Do?"
"Nothing." Eddie choked back tears. "I did nothing. I…I showed up for work."
"And I'm so glad you did, Eddie," Black Cherry said. She stood up, hands on hips, chest outthrust. "Because I'm starved."
"What the Hell's goin' on?" The paperboy tromped up the storm cellar stairs and into the sun before his eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Oh, fuck me."
Black Cherry tipped her head, the miniature pair of wings above her ears pricking up. "Okay!"
"So," SB said, wringing the last of the strawberry spooge from her hair, "all that high-minded talk about 'existential monogamy' is really just a rationalization of your fetish for—"
"For mutual, simultaneous orgasm," Yves said, nodding, "yes." He shimmied the picnic blanket over his butt, hoping it would serve as an impromptu towel. Instead, Yves got the strangest impression that he was polishing his own ass with a chamois. "Although I prefer to think that my fetish partakes in my philosophy, rather than one being the reason for the other. I don't buy into the idea of the whole…" He made chopping motions with his hand. "Separating the mind from the body thing. Is that bad?"
"I can think of more selfish fetishes than wanting to cum together," SB leered, ogling Yves' derriere.
Yves returned a smirk. "Unless you can shrink that thing between your legs down a few—dozen—notches, you ain't getting any of this." He dropped the blanket and slapped his ass.
"But it’s sooo shiny!"
"The palm sisters and their ten lovely assistants are itching for another go," Yves said, gesturing lewdly with both hands.
SB pouted, "Today's been a parade of ass, each juicier than the last, and it's all hands-off."
"I never said anything about hands off," Yves laughed.
SB hummed thoughtfully, furled the fingers of her right hand, and a knurled, pink dildo sprouted to fill them.
Yves' cock twitched. "Can you feel with that thing?"
"If I leave it unlocked," SB answered, "yeah." She sighed and the dildo zipped out of existence. "But it isn't the same."
Yves bent over to retrieve his sword, taking care not to flaunt his rear end in SB's face. The pale sword had struck a flat rock where he had dropped it, slicing through the stone and into the earth beneath. Yves pulled the sword from the ground and the stone crumbled to powder. He inspected the bare blade. "How do I clean this thing?"
"Liminal zero friction coefficient," was all SB said.
"I don't clean this thing," Yves translated. "Would you make me a scabbard?" He turned to her. "Do you have enough nanomek?"
"Normally, no," SB said, and pressed her palms together in a dreamy-genie gesture. "With most guys, the nanomek-sperm exchange rate is strictly two-for-one. But with guys like you and Dee?" Her hands parted. A curving, coral-colored scabbard grew in the space between them.
She tossed Yves the scabbard. He caught it and sheathed the pale sword in a single, lightning-quick motion. SB gaped at him like a crushing schoolboy, then licked her tongue across her teeth. "Mm. For men like you and Dee, meliae offer ten-for-one sales." SB bent to retrieve her dress, making sure Yves got an eyeful of strawberry-banana flavored ass. "Need anything else?" She feigned fumbling with the dress, her rump wobbling in the air.
"A new car."
SB pushed her cock to one side so she could gaze up at him upside-down through her legs. "Do you have any idea," she said slowly, "how many more times you'd have to cum inside me to create enough nanomek to make a car? Especially considering your cum-together fetish?"
"My weekends are free for the next few months," Yves confessed. "If I can save the world from Cherry Cupcake, that is. Tomoe would have to stick to her voyeurism, though."
SB's upside-down smile upturned into a frown. "Yves, there's something we need to talk about."
"Yeah, I figured." He took up the picnic blanket. "It's not even wet. SB, can you reshape something after you've made it?"
"Sure. But, Yves…"
"Too bad it's plaid."
"Color's not a problem." SB moved close and took his hand. "Quit stalling. How much do you know already?"
["…Gawain killed Yvain, and Dee will kill you…"]
"I know the punch line." Yves bundled the sword and scabbard in the blanket, did not like the way it looked, and started unwrapping it. "But I also know that Dee changed the joke. Cherry's supposed to be the spurned, older woman, like a fairytale witch-queen or something." Yves tried wrapping the sword again but gave up halfway. "Hell, Cherry wants to be the spurned, older woman, but she can't do that, not without a time machine." He blinked in alarm. "I don't have to worry about time travel, do I?"
"Not unless Mata Hari shows up," SB glowered.
Yves heard the edge in SB's voice and dropped the subject. "Cherry wants to be something she's not, and it's driven her batshit insane. Out of her gourd." Where had he heard that before? He shook off the reverie. "She wasn't her master's first," he continued. "She…" The blanket unraveled. The pale sword and coral scabbard clattered to the ground. "No."
SB moved closer, embracing him, trapping his arms. "I think you've got the full picture now."
["…No wonder that Black Cherry twat is out of her gourd…"]
"No." His mouth soured with the taste of copper. He tried to pull away but SB held him fast. "Let go."
"This is one time you need to separate your mind from your body, Yves," she said, refusing to budge. "You have to think it and remember it, without reliving or becoming it."
["…'Master' is gay…"]
Yves lost all control. He flailed and howled, kicked and swore. SB took all the abuse and would not let go. "What are you feeling, Yves?" she demanded, "What are you feeling right now?"
The word welled up and he spat it out. "Rage." Once named, it did not feel as deadly and wrong. "This is rage."
"'Rage,'" SB whispered, dropping back. "'Sing, O Muse, of the rage of Achilles'."
Yves rediscovered his center. He slung his sword over one shoulder, the spun-lace insulate blanket over the other. "What would you have me do?"
Relief washed over SB's face. "Someone needs to die today, Yves."
I don't ask for much,
I only want your trust,
And you know it don't come easy.
—Ringo Starr (with George Harrison),
It Don't Come Easy
"…Well, Dee?" Eurydice was asking, punctuating each word with a surreptitious, molten kiss on the tip of his dick, sparking jolts of afterglow. His hips twitched, trying to turn aside out of instinct, but Eurydice clamped her thighs around his knees and held fast. "Is it time?"
Raspberry slathered Dee's chest with sex. Her ass slid over his nipples as she craned her neck to leer at him, her elfin ears wiggling in an expression both girlish and incredibly lewd. He could see Eurydice through Raspberry's lavender, translucent tummy. The green girl was gazing cross-eyed at his cock, coaxing his erection skyward with little kisses and burning exhalations.
He glanced up, his head pivoting in Tomoe's lap. Her face, framed in a mane of raven hair long enough to tickle Dee's nose, loomed high above honey-brown breasts. She winked, gave his neck a little squeeze with her legs, and his head was trapped in a tree-trunk vise.
CeeCee stood beside her, contemplating a plucked sunflower, its saucer-sized head filled with thousands of sticky seeds. Her mouth yawned and she popped the entire flower in her mouth, seeds, petals, three-foot stalk and all. She munched, looked about as if searching for something else to eat until her eyes fell on Dee's crotch, and she mimed an expression of dawning discovery.
Eurydice gave a polite cough. "I said, 'Is it time?'"
Tomoe, CeeCee, and Raspberry stared at Dee. A gentle breeze stirred the flowerbed. Dee gulped, "Um. Maybe?"
Dee felt Eurydice stiffen, then relax. "Raz," she commanded, "shut that man up," and sword-swallowed his cock.
"Yes, ma'am!" Raspberry saluted and slipped her slick ass up Dee's neck, over his chin, and onto his face.
Raspberry's orchid-petal pussy touched Dee's lips and he saw stars. The honey of Raspberry's sex was tarter and sweeter than the finest rhubarb pie. He was helpless not to eat. Raspberry shifted her plastic-perfect ass against Dee's face until she rode him cheek-to-cheek.
"So that's what a solid tongue feels like," she said. "Not bad, but CeeCee is bet…Oh." Dee found her clitoris "Oh, h-holy shit." She gaped down at Dee through her own gelled flesh. "Oh, where the fuck have you been all my life you fucking bastard!" She ground down, swearing a blue streak while her pussy painted a purple swath across Dee's chin. "I ain't never," she panted, "ever standing up again, swear to fucking God." She threw her head back, studding Tomoe's chest with amethysts. "Nng—fuck—cumming—again." She kicked and gnashed her teeth, falling backward between Tomoe's breasts. "Bastard. Motherfucker. More."
Eurydice's throat pulsed and thrummed around his cock—always swallowing, swallowing, swallowing—while Raspberry's succulent nectar and acid tongue rained down upon him. Eurydice raked her fingers over Dee's ribs, squashed her breasts around his thighs. The barrage of sex sent Dee over the edge and into a screaming orgasm.
Dee's cries bubbled through her inner gel and Raspberry bolted upright. "Whoa!" She eyed Eurydice. "Hey, did you just make him cum?" Eurydice only grinned and giggled around Dee's shaft as she suckled the dregs of his climax down. "That's two for you. In a row. And nuffin' for me."
"I'm the one just standing here," CeeCee said.
Tomoe cleared her throat. "I've got jelly all over my boobs. Hell of a show, though, girl. Damn."
"I'm not done yet," Raspberry pouted, rocking slowly. She folded her arms. "And the lime's bogarting all the baby-gravy."
The seal imprisoning Dee's dick in Eurydice's throat gurgled and she pulled her mouth free, tonguing the tip of his cock, catching the last gob of cum as his glans escaped her lips. Dee shocked and shuddered. "Pfft," Eurydice dismissed, "he's got plenty. Don't you, baby?"
Dee, his face still buried in raspberry heaven, tried to protest but only managed, "Bff."
"'Course ya do. Besides…" Eurydice shrugged, her syrupy lips descending toward Dee's captive prick, her gaze rolling up to stay locked with Raspberry's. "I'm better at this than you are."
Raspberry froze, then purpled. She rocked forward, peeling away from Dee's jam-plastered face, until she and the green girl were nose to nose. "What did you just say?"
Dee said, "Oh, shit."
"You heard me," Eurydice purred before treating herself to a mouthful of half-hard cock. "'Oo canth handle the dich. Wah'ch dis…" She deep-throated Dee with a greedy hum.
Raspberry wrenched Dee's dick from Eurydice's mouth. "Dee," she said as Dee writhed and gasped. "Have you ever noticed Miss Cum-Chugger here has only one blowjob Technique?" Her lavender fingers wormed around his lime-lubed root.
"There's more than one?" Dee panted, dick responding to Raspberry's ministrations. Two fingers, he thought, she's just using two fingers. Raspberry pushed and pinched. Exhausted, still in afterglow, Dee found himself growing hard. I think I'm in trouble.
"Thousands," Raspberry hissed, wrapping her hand around his reborn erection. She went cockeyed as her lids slid shut. "Jesus fuck that's solid." Her thumb stroked his shaft, never touching the crown of his glans. "This is no dick, this is an honest-to-shit, solid fucking rock."
"Nothing tops the Bowling Ball Through Eight Feet of Garden Hose Technique," muttered Eurydice. Dee thought he heard an undercurrent of triumph in her petulance and knew he was in trouble.
Raspberry sighed, chewed her lip, and rolled her palm over the head of Dee's dick like she were polishing a doorknob. "I know limes've got the greatest cunts, but nobody, nowhere has a mouth like mine."
Deep trouble.
Eurydice tipped her head, meeting Dee's anxious gaze. He had never seen a more wicked smile in his life. "Go through them all, Raz," she said, "I'm sure Dee'll tell us whose Technique is best."
Deep, deeeep trouble. "She's kidding, Raz," Dee said. Eurydice cocked her brow and angled Dee's dick up toward Raspberry's mouth with a fingertip. "Eurydice, please" he said, "tell Raz that you're kid—" The lavender girl eased her ass back and Dee was smothered in steamy, creamy raspberry pie. "Dnf."
"Quiet, kid," Raspberry growled at him, "I'm getting ready for work." Her hand slipped down his shaft, her thumb shivering across the very tip of his dick, toying with the extremely sensitive slit. "Gotta prime the pump with some yummy nummy pre-cummy, then I'm gunna milk Mine like we're goin' down to cow town."
Dee jerked under Raspberry's electric touch. Tomoe squeezed her legs and reached down to massage Dee's shoulders, a tenderness reinforced by an iron grip. In his weakened state, her touch proved immobilizing. "Aw, poor baby," Tomoe said. "So tense. Your life sure must suck."
"Actually," Eurydice said, fist against her cheek, watching enrapt. Raspberry flexed her jaw and brought her mouth down around her thumb, scraping her teeth across the ridge of Dee's glans and slurping up the strings of sticky pre-ejaculate she teased from his cock with her fingers. "I think it's about to blow."
A fluttering tongue replaced Raspberry's teasing thumb as she screwed her mouth onto Dee's knob, her hand swiveling around his shaft. Her jaw was muscular, her teeth sharp. Dee felt the sweet sting of flowing precum grow stronger. Raspberry groaned in depraved delight. She pressed her ass atop the bridge of his nose and humped his chin, coating his face and neck with runnels of purple honey. She slobbered up his cock in earnest, her hand slick around its root.
Dee lanced his tongue into her sex. A muffled, guttural chuckle rose in her lavender throat. She gyrated in furious little circles, grinding her clit against his chin. Her lips latched around Dee's glands, her fist blurred around his shaft, pumping faster and sucking harder until Dee's orgasm crested and crashed through him.
Raspberry cackled as Dee came, her face split into a jack-o'-lantern grin. She aimed his prick at her gaping mouth and painted her tongue and lips with spurts of silver. Her thighs clenched and relaxed around his head, aftershocks of her own orgasm. She smeared his spunk around her lips with her fingers, ran her tongue over her teeth, and laughed with a mouth full of cum. "Ha! Now I can get started."
Dee's unbelieving outcry—"Wff?"—was swallowed by her pussy and his deflating dick vanished down her throat.
A few years ago, one of Dee's ex-girlfriends got curious about something she had read on the Internet and chewed on a couple of curiously strong breath-mints before giving him a blowjob. After a surprisingly pleasant first thirty seconds or so, Dee spent the next fifteen minutes hopping around her apartment with a wet washcloth in his crotch. Galatea's seltzer-blowjob had been as intense but ticklish and sparkling.
None of it had prepared him for the full onslaught of a Raspberry deep-throating. Dee's dick could not have felt more stimulated if Raspberry had chewed an entire tin of breath-mints, chased them down with a few pouches of Pop Rocks and a liter of cola, and then hooked herself up to a car battery for good measure.
Dee lurched, breaking free of Tomoe's leggy headlock, arms windmilling, his erection resurging just as fast. Raspberry whooped like a cowgirl and rode him like a mechanical bull, legs wrapped around Dee's head, hands clinched around the base of his cock. Dee sat upright, Raspberry dangling from his neck, the world's most fuckable albatross. Her tits squashed against his abdomen and her face dug into his crotch. She released his dick from her throat and crowed, "Yippie-kay-yay! How'd you like that, motherfucker?"
"Wow." Dee teetered, thunderstruck, between shock and awe. "Wuh…Wow."
"What the Hell did you do to him?" Eurydice demanded, still glued to Dee's legs but quivering, her gel-flesh rocked by Dee's twitches and kicks.
Raspberry shuddered. "My mouth ain't even halfway done nanogasming, thanks to Dee's super-spooge." She pushed up with her hands and cinched her legs tight around Dee's head, ramming her streaming sex back into his mouth, and prostrating him back onto the ground and into Tomoe's lap. "That was just a few thousand nanogasms," she said, massaging Dee's hard dick with both hands. "Let's see what Mine thinks of a million of 'em."
Her lips curled into a salacious snarl. Raspberry scarfed up Dee's entire cock, drenching it in a tempest of nanogasmic gel. She encircled his root with her fingers. She disgorged slowly, pumping down with her hands while pulling up with her mouth, lips and tongue lazing over every inch of his dick as she withdrew. She sucked on the head, a demented Lolita with a well-loved lollipop, before gobbling his cock down for another slow pump-and-pull.
"Holy shit," Tomoe said as Raspberry's pump-and-pulls grew faster and sloppier, "I ought to be taking notes."
"Jesus wept," Eurydice said, head bobbing as she followed the action like a spectator at a professional ping pong ball championship. "Raz, you'd stop if Dee said the safeword, right?" Raspberry's slavering filled the field with syrupy slurch noises. "Right?"
Dee gurgled, lost in the sensorial storm of Raspberry's cosmic sixty-nine. He wrapped his arms around the lavender ass astride his face, kissed her clitoris into his mouth, and clung for dear life. Raspberry's eyes rolled back into her head. She went berserk, pump-and-pulling in double time, then treble.
Dee's onrushing orgasm nearly smashed his brain to bits. He arced in a grand mal seizure ellipse and he came, hard and wild, hips bucking. Raspberry neither slowed nor skipped a beat. She pump-and-pulled, milking Dee through spurt after uncontrollable spurt.
"And that," Raspberry gasped when she finally allowed Dee's dick to flop free of her throat, "is the 'Sucking the Chrome off a Caddy' Technique." She wiped her oozy mouth with the back of her hand, trembling and giddy with nanogasm. "Well, that's one down."
"That counts as two," Eurydice scolded, "and that makes us even. So it's time for Dee to fess up." She peered around Raspberry's tummy. Raspberry threw Dee a harrowing glance over her shoulder and bore her full weight onto his face.
"Dee," Eurydice said, ignoring the squishy sounds rising up from Raspberry's crotch as she rode him. "What kind of man are you, Chrome or Bowling Ball?"
Dee slowly raised one hand, fingers splayed. "Ffth."
Raspberry frowned. "Wuzzat mean?" she asked. Dee's arm drooped down into a nearby flower patch.
"Dee pled the Fifth Amendment," Eurydice sighed, shaking her head. "He's not going to tell us."
Raspberry threw her hands in the air. "Hasn't he seen any porn before?"
"Yeah," Eurydice said, propping herself up by the elbows. "Sure. Lots."
"Oh." Raspberry perked up, bouncing atop Dee's forehead. "So he knows what happens when the guy says he can't decide." Emerald eyes met amethyst.
"Tag team," the green and lavender girls sang.
"Come on down, Raz," Eurydice said, sitting up on her knees, straddling Dee's thighs. "Dee's gunna want to see this."
"Okay." Raspberry scooted around and knelt by Dee's side, then glanced at the surrounding girls. "But no one better call dibs on his face. I've got squatter's rights."
Dee blinked, eyelashes sticky with essence of raspberry. "Guys, wait." Eurydice and Raspberry shared shy smiles, bent toward one another. "I wasn't really thinking…" The two girls kissed, a tentative brushing of parted lips. "That is, I didn't really mean…" Eurydice pulled away, eyes heavy lidded and downcast, but her smile was sly and her mouth met Raspberry's again. Green fingers wound through orchid hair. "Um, at least, I don't think I really meant…"
"Dude," said Tomoe, staring, as Raspberry and Eurydice's delicate kisses lingered and emboldened. "Shut up."
Dee swallowed. "I'm trying." The green and lavender girls sighed and cooed and kissed open-mouthed. "But it's like I don't know how." Purple and jade tongues danced. The translucency of their gelled cheeks heightened Dee's impression of bearing witness to something remarkably tender and intimate. His manhood rose to the occasion.
"Wow," Dee said. Raspberry slid her arms around Eurydice's shoulders. Their deep soul kiss stretched longer and longer without pause for breath. "Oh, wow." Together, kiss unbroken, the green and lavender girls slowly bowed their heads down toward Dee's rising dick. "Uh. Wait." They nuzzled Dee's glans between their chins, their mouths working against each other in languorous, drawn-out smooches, chewing on each other's tongues. "Wait a minute."
The stealthy caresses of their necks against Dee's cock set his pulse pounding. Their elastic gel-flesh gave against his dick. His glans slid upward and was trapped between their lower jaws, a tight but oh-so-soft fit. Dee fell dead quiet.
Eurydice shivered and moaned in the sudden silence. Raspberry squirmed, as if infected by the thrill in Eurydice's flesh. Without unlocking their lips, they inched downward, and Dee's dick was in their kiss.
At first, the opposing suction of Eurydice and Raspberry's lips and the liquid lashing of their tongues was so gentle and luscious it drove Dee mad. He trembled with the impulse to feel more but was too overcome by the sensation to move. The green and lavender girl's eyes flew open at Dee's first spasm within their mouths, but their startled gazes soon dimmed, eyes hazing over. They mashed their mouths together, kissing harder.
Dee groaned and tipped his hips up, desperate for the double-suckle. Eurydice keened, her jellied dreadlocks flowed down her back like green icing from a cake left out in the rain. Beaded sweat, sparkling like precious amethyst, streaked Raspberry's flesh. The two girls' suckling became ravenous and their faces lost focus.
The tension of yet another approaching orgasm welled up within him. The pressure building in his abdomen and groin was so strong, the sensations surrounding his dick so strange, it made Dee dizzy, his thoughts swimmy and unsure. Raspberry and Eurydice devoured one another in the ferocity of their kiss. As if in a dream, Dee felt their mouths melt and merge into a vortex of need and greed and velvet and lightning and—cumming, cumming, cumming—He gushed in a shattering climax, his body jolting as he came, over and over and out of control.
The green and lavender girls slithered apart, tongues and mouths ungluing, their runny-honey faces trailing sticky tendrils. They splat down on either side of him, gulping and crooning as they reformed. "We," Raspberry wheezed, "we just—woo—we just invented a new Technique." A cascade of nanogasm transported her into giggling, helpless pleasure. " Chrome—ha—Chrome Bowling—Ha!—Chrome Bowling Ball—hahaha..."
"So much," Eurydice murmured, planting kisses on Dee's ribs and bellybutton. "You came so fucking much."
A shadow fell over the three of them. They glanced up.
CeeCee's eyes were nothing like the Sun. "And there'd better be plenty left."
Dee draped the crook of his arm over his eyes but did not bother hiding his smile. "Lord all-mighty."
"Yeah," Raspberry said, pulling herself together, arms high and chest outthrust in a glorious, rise-and-shine stretch. "I've got more nanomek in me than ever." She relaxed, one hand falling close to Dee's groin. "But I'm still a virgin."
"Oh, come on," Dee protested.
"I'm serious!" Raspberry cupped his balls. "I need good, hard cherry popping. Real bad." Her fingers stole up his shaft, working their revitalizing magic. "Real soon."
Eurydice sat up and swatted Raspberry's hand away. "Nuh-uh. That's Mine." Her nose twitched. "There's only so much I'm willing to share." She leered up at CeeCee. "Unless you've got a better idea."
Raspberry turned to Dee, her mouth puckered into childlike moue and her eyes wide and innocent. "There's a party in my cunt," she baby-talked, "and everyone's invited."
CeeCee swaggered over behind Eurydice. She placed two big, buttery yellow hands on Eurydice's shoulders of polished jade. Dee was amazed how petite Eurydice appeared beside CeeCee's towering, brick house figure. Combined with the hungry, mischievous glint in the amber woman's eyes, CeeCee reminded Dee more of Galatea at that moment than Eurydice did herself. Seeing the two of them together aroused but disquieted him in a way he could not put his finger on.
Raspberry had taken advantage of Eurydice's distraction and snuck her fingers around Dee's prick again. She sniggered, ears waggling, when she found him halfway hard already. "Attaboy. Just make sure you don't blow your wad over what's about to happen next."
Eurydice reached up and caressed CeeCee's cheek. CeeCee turned her head and kissed the green girl's palm.
"What's going to happen next?" Dee asked.
CeeCee's wet kiss broadened and Eurydice's hand vanished into her mouth. Raspberry's forefinger and thumb clapped around the root of Dee's dick like a cockring. "Don't you dare cum," Raspberry hissed into his ear as Eurydice stretched her other arm up to CeeCee's face. "We want you good to the last drop. And after this, you are not going to want to piss us off."
CeeCee's mouth yawned and Eurydice slid her other hand into it. CeeCee quivered and bent forward, her hands creeping down from Eurydice's shoulders to cosset her breasts. Purls of champagne cream traced over Eurydice's chest and arms. The two meliae presented a phantasmagoric tableau—CeeCee, her head bowed, standing behind Eurydice, sitting with both arms rising straight above her head until they disappeared into CeeCee's mouth—some carnal grotesquery of Hieronymus Bosch or sensual vision of William Blake. Dee felt no fear, only an anxious wonder that, over the past week, he had learned to love. And lust for, Dee admitted to himself as blood rushed into his face and groin. Damn me if Raspberry isn't right. The weirder things get, the hornier I get. What if this is as weird as it gets?
"After what?" Dee asked Raspberry, although he suspected he knew. As weird as it gets? Hardly. Eurydice's arms became sleeved in gold gossamer, her chest wreathed in spirals of Indian yellow gel. I've only just skimmed the surface of the weird. I'm not ready to dive deep, but that's exactly why I want to do it.
"It's time," Eurydice said, standing up into CeeCee's waiting maw, "for you to get a huge helping of Key Lime pie."
Jade arms, inlaid with gold, proceeded down CeeCee's throat as Eurydice rose to her feet. CeeCee's wide neck bulged only a bit. The amber woman rumbled her pleasure. A pale mint green flush bloomed in her chest.
"How does it feel?" Dee asked when Eurydice's elbows melted into CeeCee's mouth.
Eurydice swayed, her eyes dreamy. "Wow." She stood with knees bent and ass pushing against CeeCee's crotch, grinding to some slow inner beat. "So gentle." Gold filigree twisted about her thighs. "Oh, Dee, it's like the slowest, softest orgasm you could ever imagine." CeeCee loomed over Eurydice and the green girl's upper arms dissolved between CeeCee's jaws. "Is this how you felt?" CeeCee wolfed down Eurydice's hair one blade at a time, and Eurydice had to fight giggling and gasping with each chomp. "When I ate you…Ah! I mean, tried to eat you?"
Raspberry's cock-ringing fingers started an idle stroking. "Can't help it," she muttered. "Jeebus, I love this dick."
Dee's heart hammered. "N-no," he answered Eurydice, "not like that."
"Like this?" Raspberry smirked, and enfolded Dee's dick with both hands.
Dee juddered as she jacked him. "Yeah-it-was-a-lot-more-like-that."
Eurydice started to admonish her: "Raz, be goo—Ooh, God." But CeeCee latched onto her head. Eurydice spun around, squashed her curves against CeeCee's marshmallowy substance, her face upturned for a fierce, moaning kiss. Dee heard Eurydice's muffled squeals of delight as she scissor-kicked off the ground, launching the last of herself into CeeCee's absorbing flesh. CeeCee staggered backward, stunned by a meal so eager to be eaten. Her belly bloated. The mint flush plumed her breasts and neck.
Raspberry wrenched her hands away an instant before Dee reached the point of no return. "Nah," she said, cracking her knuckles in pantomime. Dee twinged with denied release. "From now on, you're cumming in our cunts or not at all, got it?"
"You know," Tomoe sighed, relaxing her legs around Dee's head. "I'm starting to feel fifth wheelie." Something snaked through a clump of salmon chrysanthemum to her left. "Hm?" A pointed, opalescent tendril bumped against her knee. "Oh. Hey."
Dee propped himself up, fascinated by the spectacle before him. The mint tint spread across CeeCee's body, transmogrifying all that it touched. Her spongy, cream-flesh jellified, developing a shimmering surface tension of milky green gel. Her belly flattened as internal fluxions redistributed the mass of her meal. Her waist tapered and legs lengthened. Her chest swelled, breasts riding higher and firmer as her shoulders climbed higher. She's ripening, Dee decided, as her hourglass figure ballooned up and out, growing ever taller and more pronounced. The two curviest girls on the planet decided that they weren't curvy enough. Her neck smoothed into an elegant pillar, her regal visage dimpled into a heart-shaped face with a cherubic leer. Loose curls of tea-green hair tumbled down her back. Her canary yellow gemstone eyes darkled into heliodor, the rarest green and golden beryl.
Dee gaped, "Holy shit." The mint girl's smile smoldered. She sauntered up and stood astraddle his hips. Dee bolted, sitting upright. His chin bumped against her knee. "Holy shit." She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and blotted out the Sun. Dee goggled upward from the darkness of a total mammary eclipse. "Hole. Lee. Shit."
"Why, hi," drawled Key Lime Pie.
She knelt over him, sandwiching his legs between her thighs. She bent forward, lips parted, and practically bowled him over with her tits. "Whoops. Glad we're outside." She edged back, caressing the rise of her left breast. Ripples raced ahead of her fingertips. "I'm not exactly door friendly at the moment."
Dee sat up again, squeezed her knee and found his voice. "I want to taste that kiss." Key Lime clucked and blushed the color of a Granny Smith apple. She bowed her head, leaning in. Dee pressed himself into her flesh—cool, firm, scrumptious—and met her lips with his, as gently as he could.
It was the most exquisitely sweet kiss of his life. Key Lime's apple blush flashed down her throat. She whimpered into his mouth, then scrabbled backward. "I came." Her thighs slicked down Dee's legs with nectarous sweat. "I came. Just one kiss and I came."
Dee smiled despite his escalating passion. "Welcome to Eurydice's world, CeeCee."
"She loves you, Dee," Key Lime said. She reached out, hand shaking, and brushed a few ringlets of hair off his forehead. "So much." Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, his neck. "Too much." She pawed at his chest, eyes roving. "I'm frightened."
Raspberry shoved her face between them. "If you hurt CeeCee, Dee, I'll kill you." She did a double take at his rampant erection. "Um. Eventually."
Tomoe twined the black tendril through her fingers. "Hey, Raz." The other end of the tendril trailed off through the flowerbed. "Look-it."
Raspberry's frown flip-flopped before she disappeared behind Dee. "Ooh. Whuzzat?"
Kneeling around his legs, Key Lime glanced down at Dee's dick. "That's…Mine?"
Dee nodded, "It's yours."
She skated up to sit on his thighs, planted her palm over his heart. "Mine."
Dee thought he still heard a slight hesitancy in her voice. He knew how to fix that. "Always," he said.
Key Lime's gel-flesh flushed iridescent hues of green and gold. She rocked forward on her knees, pushed him supine onto the soft green bed. She towered above him, one hand flat against his chest, the other aiming Dee's dick at her dewed sex. "This is Mine," she said, dropped down, and thrust him into her.
Dee arched, every instinct urging him to reciprocate the rhythm of the girl riding him. Key Lime dipped forward, spread her hand over his chest—the span of her fingers as wide as his ribcage—and held him flat. She mewled, gyring in wide circles above him. "Mine, mine, mine." She hunkered downward and enveloped his mouth with a kiss, her breasts overflowing his shoulders, trapping him up to his elbows in plush flesh, and rode faster.
Dee drowned in sex, a full-body fuck. Key Lime scraped her lips over his ear. "Cum," she said, "cum quickly." She sprawled like a leopard above him and he was smothered from his neck to his ankles. "Cum quickly so I can make you cum again." Dee was wreathed with her perfumed breath and intoxicated by her words. "And again." She cradled his head in the hollow of her neck as he trembled and seized. "And again."
His climax was so savage, Dee sobbed with each searing release. Key Lime exulted. "So much! Oh, Dee, you give us so much." She rolled upward to look him in the eye. "You gave Galatea love, you gave Eurydice life, you…" She blinked. "You're still hard."
Dee nodded, chest heaving. "I ask a lot in return."
Green-and-gold gem fire winkled in her eyes. "You're gunna get it." She looked past him. "Raz, come here."
"Mm?" Raspberry popped the black tendril out of her mouth. It shuddered and swooned in her grip.
Key Lime waved one hand in little circles. "Share Dee with me."
Raspberry tossed the tip of the tendril way. Tomoe giggled and sprung after it. "You mean," Raspberry marveled, "I'm finally gettin' laid?" Dee smiled but Key Lime canted her hips, making him groan.
"Uh-huh," Key Lime said, arms outstretched.
"About fuckin' time," Raspberry snarled, leapfrogging over Dee's face and squatting on his chest. "Yves says we're living in an X-rated fairy tale, but I've shoved my cooze at every cock I've come across and didn't get dick." She craned her neck to glare at Key Lime. "If this is porn, it sucks."
"Turn around," said Key Lime, her finger revolving in a little circle.
Raspberry shrugged and hopped about-face, winking at Dee. "Hiya, stud-muffin." The nectar of her sex burned his bellybutton. "Have we fucked you senseless yet?"
"Yes," Dee confessed, "Yes. God, yes." What had Tomoe said? "Going 'demiurgic' totally wiped me out." Raspberry nodded, frowning in mock sympathy, fingertips kissing across his sternum and nipples. His head spun. "But..."
Key Lime bucked against him once, swaddled his cock in the silk furnace of her pussy and bundled his legs in her heavy but giving thighs. "But your nanomek," she said, bucking again. Blood sang in Dee's ears and his erection rose anew. "Won't let you stop cumming. We've got you for as long as we want." Key Lime wrapped an arm around Raspberry and squished the lavender girl against her tall tummy. "Too bad the world's ending tonight," Key Lime purred, "or we'd make you cum for weeks."
Key Lime rocked her body behind Raspberry's. "Instead," Key Lime sighed, "we gotta pump it out." Raspberry swayed in time. "All of it out." The two girls lap-danced above Dee's cock, teasing it to bursting. "All of your cum out in one. Big. Blow."
Note to self. Some corner of Dee's mind was still capable of rational thought. Don't let CeeCee eat Eurydice again.
Raspberry wriggled her shoulders. Key Lime nestled her closer. "Someone's gotta move so I can get laid," Raspberry said, "and no eating or merging or any of that crap. I want," she declared, pointing at Dee's face, "that man's dick." She pointed to her pubis. "In this here cunt, right now, or someone's gunna pay."
Key Lime reached down, wrapped one hand around each of Raspberry's thighs. "I have an idea," she said. She began to ride Dee again, slow and rolling. "Well, CeeCee had the idea first."
Raspberry tipped her head back to look up at the mint goddess. "Whut?"
"It will be just like the Chrome Bowling Ball kiss," Key Lime promised, drawing Raspberry back until the lavender girl's ass slid over Dee's groin and pressed against the delta of Key Lime's crotch. "But with a different pair of lips."
Raspberry's mouth puckered into a haunting smile. "That is so wicked." She wiggled her butt backward. Key Lime's gel-flesh dimpled deeper and deeper around the lavender girl until she seemed to sink sideways. "CeeCee, you've got to eat Lime more often."
Key Lime's surface tension crested and broke around Raspberry in a gentle wave. From her thighs to her midriff, Raspberry slipped behind a curtain of green and gold. Key Lime never stopped her tidal ride but Dee felt a delicious change in pressure around his shaft. Raspberry startled. "Whoa, is that his dick?"
Key Lime sighed, "Mm-hm."
Raspberry's mouth worked in silence while something rounded and firm bumped and rubbed against Dee's dick. Her ass. Her ass inside Key Lime. "It's so hard," Raspberry whimpered. "So fucking hard." She clawed his ribs, dry humping him between the globes of her butt even as Key Lime fucked him. It felt too strange, too much, too good for him to process and he came in a torrent all over Raspberry's ass and into Key Lime's pussy.
Raspberry screeched, "No!" She tore at her hair, head whipping. "In me! He has to cum in me." She thrust herself backward as Dee came. The rushing, gushing around his dick soared. Dee was still in mid-spasm when Raspberry impaled her pussy upon him.
"Again," Raspberry sobbed, and she and Key Lime moved in tandem. "Again-again-again-again."
Dee's dick hardened almost at once. His heart raced, his breath and body burned. Every muscle quaked and although each orgasm felt like his very last, felt like a final, delectable release of the last dregs of his vitality, he knew Key Lime was right; he could do this for weeks, wanted to do this forever. Some athletes lived for the Runner's High. Dee thought he had discovered the Cummer's.
Another orgasm sizzled through him and Raspberry howled, gnashed her teeth and raked his belly. Her rhythm jerked and slowed while Key Lime continued her gentle, endless undulation, a perpetual-motion fucking. Raspberry crashed backward against Key Lime and her body disappeared into the mint wall of gel-flesh with nary a ripple.
Key Lime whickered, orgiastic, and two lavender arms shot out from above her hips. Their grip was iron, their strength irresistible. They hauled Dee up to a sitting position, gathered him into a clinch, and pulled him in.
He knew he was safe. He closed his eyes and let it happen.
The mint gel-flesh pressed around him in a familiar, traveling smooch that spread from his belly up his chest and neck, then over his face and shoulders and around his ribs—but this time it did not end. The body-kiss went on and on, covering every part of him, even behind his ears and up the crack of his butt. When he was immersed in Key Lime's voluptuousness, when the traveling smooch had no place else to go, it just kept kissing and kissing. Not just hungry, but happy. Equal parts love and greed, content and need. A true soul kiss.
Amidst the creamy maelstrom came Raspberry's hot and lithe form. Her chest welded against his, her legs locked behind his back. They were both awash in the deluge of Key Lime's eternal kiss. Her lips met his, her tart tongue darting, and he heard her.
I said I was going to make you cum harder than you ever felt in your life, and I meant it. You ready, solid boy?
Dee nodded, and whispered into her mouth, "Always."
Raspberry took up an opposing beat, moving in counterpoint to the current of Key Lime's kiss and to the rhythm of her sex around him. When Key Lime pumped down on Dee's dick, Raspberry ambled up. When Key Lime rocked up, Raspberry dragged herself down and drove his cock deep into her. Dee thought he would last forever, but the truth was, in the face of a simultaneous, three-meliae, full-body fuck, he lasted about thirty seconds.
Just like a man, all three meliae chorused as Dee came and came until he toppled backward and into the cool air and bright sunlight, insensate.
"Lookin' good, Jo."
Jo Echo woke from her doze in the flowerbed. "Tomoe, right? Unyx said to call you Tomoe."
Tomoe smiled down at her, nodding. Rivers of black hair flowed over her shoulders, spilling down and piling atop Jo's chest. The exotic fabric of Jo's coppery dress, stretched to its limits over what Jo resignedly considered her "newly huge boobs," conducted the tactile sensation of Tomoe's hair kissing across its surface, perhaps even amplified it. The newly huge boobs' newly monstrous nipples stiffened, tenting the material of the dress in a way Jo would find uproarious if she were watching it in a porn flick instead of experiencing it on her own chest. The fiery tingle made her feel powerful yet haywire.
Jo still moped. "I'll never play volleyball again."
Unyx snoozed beside her, her ebony serpentine trunk trailing away through the flowers. She treated Jo to a radiant, close-eyed, sleepy smile. "Mm, look in a mirror before you quit the team for good, 'kay?"
Jo moved to brush Tomoe's hair away but found herself stroking it instead. Totally haywire. So why don't I hear any blood music? Jo murmured, "Where'd you come from?" Christ, did I just say a pick-up line?
"Here and there." Tomoe shrugged one shoulder. "But just now?" She raised one hand. Unyx's tail-tip was woven between her fingers and wagging like a puppy's. "I believe I was invited."
Unyx stretched, her mouth forming a little O in a yawn so adorable it made Jo’s mouth water. She smacked her lips and sat up, arms lazing over her ophidian thighs. “Hello, Tomoe. What are you grinning at?”
“Your face. I know that face.”
Unyx arched a brow and her liquid black latex raccoon mask flowed out to fill it.
"That’s a meliae-jism O-face." Tomoe’s teeth flashed. "SB gets it all the time." She turned back to Jo. "So I guess those are for me," she said, gazing down at Jo’s nipples pointing up at her face. "But from you, not Black Cherry." She leaned down until her lips were inches away from Jo’s own. "How do you like them apples? Or should I say cantaloupes?"
Oh, God, maybe she’s right. I’m so confused. What do I do, what do I? Jo blurted, “I have fifteen dollars.” I solicit her like a hooker? Where the fuck did that come from?
Tomoe sat back, her smile unreadable. "Really?"
Jo blushed and stammered so it was Unyx who nodded and said, "Three five dollar, even."
"Well, now," Tomoe said, and glanced over to the tree where her purse still hung, "I just so happen to have a few things you might be interested—"
"Unyx," Raspberry interrupted, swaggering across the bed toward them, her face plastered with the smile of someone serenely satiated. "I think the phrase is: 'It's time.'"
"Dammit," Tomoe huffed. "What does a girl have to do to earn five dollar around here?"
Jo had not seen Raspberry up close before and was mesmerized by her beauty: skin of amethyst, lavender hair in gentle curls like thousands of orchid petals, a face of classic perfection. "Well, fuck," said the mouth in that face, glaring down at Jo and Tomoe, "did the Titty Fairy hand out extra cup sizes when I wasn't looking?"
Tomoe sat up and stuck out her chest. "Yep." Her boobs bobbled. "Jealous?"
"Nah." Raspberry knelt by Jo's side, opposite Unyx. "I love the feel of being held in one hand." Jo felt very crowded and her blush deepened. Without ceremony, Raspberry reached down, plucked up Jo's hand and plopped it atop one ample, amethyst breast. "What do you think, solid girl?"
"I…I…" Jo fumbled but Raspberry encouraged her to squeeze, pressing her hand over Jo's. Gel-flesh dimpled and flowed, surface firm but substance softer than any living thing Jo had ever felt. "Wow."
"Ha!" Raspberry let her hand fall. Jo lingered, fingers questing, until Raspberry's nipple hardened into a glassy pebble, snapping Jo out of her fascination and back into embarrassment. "Eurydice's gunna like you," Raspberry said, and Jo could not tell if her tone was threatening or promising. "A lot."
"Where is the Titty Fairy anyway?" Unyx asked, twisting on her trunk. "The yang-bath's long gone."
"You mean Eurydice?" Raspberry asked.
"No. Dee." Unyx's raccoon mask flowed wide and she laughed in a fast, breathy voice. "Dee – the – Titty – Fairy – hee!"
Raspberry hooked her thumb behind her. "Green Man's taking a little nap. Well deserved, for once. The man said he'd spew a bucket of spunk, and, by God, he delivered." Jo felt a little flurry of panic when she followed Raspberry's pointing thumb to the other side of the flowerbed and glimpsed a strapping, Junoesque woman the color of mint cream swaying toward them. "I mean," Raspberry continued as the mint woman came near, "he totally crashed his yoghurt truck. I am absolutely stuffed."
As an Epsilon Zeta sorority sister, Jo had lived in a house crammed with gaggles of girls for three years now, but even when she was a freshman and they slept two-to-a-bed, it had been routine. There had never been any real tension, no moments worthy of writing up in a letter to Penthouse Forum. Surrounded on all sides by women possessed of a confidence and sexuality so intense it was almost comical, Jo felt ready to write a Forum special exposé. Jell-O girls, snake-women, and amazons. It should be downright laughable…but not when it's happening to me.
Unyx peered up, way up, at the newcomer. "CeeCee?"
"And Eurydice," said the mint woman. "We're 'Key Lime' for the moment. With CeeCee's help, Eurydice can stay glued together for what's coming next."
"What's next?" Jo asked, butterflies boiling in her stomach.
Raccoon mask vanishing, Unyx unfurled in another scrumptious yawn, rising into the air on her gleaming, ophidian trunk until she drew eye-to-eye with Key Lime. "Fucking my brains out," Unyx smirked.
Jo could not decide if she were relieved or disappointed to find herself outside the center of attention. "More fucking?" she asked. "For God's sake, why?"
"We—Unyx—are going to need a lot more nanomek," Unyx answered, "if we're going to cure the Easies and stop the Frenzy."
Raspberry, who had been contemplating the rise and fall of Jo's newly huge boobs as she breathed, glanced up. "Cure the who and stop the what?"
"We've got to save the world, remember?" Key Lime reminded her. Eyes the color of golden delicious apples never left Unyx's.
"Oh, right," Raspberry said, "that." She gave Jo a wink and went back to ogling. "I've been kinda distracted lately. Jeez, solid girl, you've got legs all the way up to your head."
"Don't worry," Unyx said, "We've got a plan. Kinda complicated, though."
"But there's fucking," Raspberry insisted.
Key Lime and Unyx smoldered at one another. "Oh, yeah," said Unyx.
Raspberry shrugged, "Then don’t bother me with details. Just aim me at a cock or a twat and say 'Fire'."
"Bad choice of words," Unyx sighed. Key Lime brought her lips close. Unyx hesitated a microsecond away from a green-gold kiss. "You're not going to snowball us, right?"
"Ooh, wicked," said Raspberry. She set her jaw and her throat flushed the creamy color of a raspberry Italian soda. "I would," she added, her mouth sounding suspiciously full. "You wan' shome? Tashte's great. Dee'sh filling. Ha!"
"Not that way, honey." Key Lime bussed her lips against Unyx's left cheek and the obsidian Goth shivered her shoulders. "Ursula and Nyx are refined girls." Key Lime tipped her head and blew sweetly citrus perfumed air over Unyx's neck. The shiver shot down from her shoulders and through her tail, the tip curling into a trembling ball in the palm of Tomoe's hand.
Unyx whimpered. "What. What was that?"
"Refined Vitamin Dee," Key Lime breathed, "pure yang, courtesy of Dee and me." And she kissed Unyx full on the lips.
Unyx lost herself in Key Lime's kiss and the flood of nanogasm that followed. Key Lime nudged Unyx's lips apart with her tongue and breathed new life into her mouth. Unyx pressed close until their noses nuzzled. The air passing between them was sultry and pregnant with energy. Unyx inspired.
A rarified fluid, lighter and smoother than smoke, ghosted down Unyx's throat. The part of her that was Nyx recognized the substance viscerally, knew it by its taste—this was nourishment and power of a dizzying potency—and craved to feed. The part of her that was Ursula identified it intellectually—this was quintessence, what the alchemists of the West called the fifth element and the doctors of the East called yang—and became fascinated. Together, Unyx named it in the language of poetry—this was firmament, the material of Heaven, this was love—and grew as horny as Hell.
She kissed Key Lime back, open mouthed and greedy, onyx fingers gooshing in Key Lime's spongy mane as she inhaled more and more. Nanogasm rioted as nanomek replicated in exponentially bigger bursts. Blood music screamed as the novilunium waxed. A billion wires burned within her, superstrings of sexual tension, signaling the imminence of the hardest, most amazing orgasm of her life.
Then Key Lime broke the kiss and pushed her back by the shoulders. "Don't cum," she said.
Unyx swayed on her serpentine trunk as her nanogasm-mad mind tried to process these two words. All those shining wires, more and more and burning brighter with each passing moment, made orgasm an imperative. Unyx started to speak, "Wha—?" but Key Lime kissed her again and Unyx could only croon. "Nn. Mm!" A single pre-orgasmic tremor, a bodyquake, shattered across both her human and gelled flesh. Then another.
Key Lime pushed her away again. "Don't cum. You mustn't."
"She shan't, she shan't," Raspberry crowed in a nasal, affected sing-song. She searched for understanding in Unyx's crossing eyes but found none. "She's gunna shit bricks when she figures it out."
At last, the concept registered. "What?!"
Tomoe whistled through her teeth and returned Unyx's tail-tip to the flowerbed. "C'mon, Jo." Tomoe stood, flipped her hair out of her face. "We gotta go." She blinked and added, "Me oh my oh."
Unyx yanked hard on her own braids. "What do you mean we can't cum? We're so horny we'd have a screaming orgasm if that girl in Starbucks just looked at us funny."
"Get used to it," Raspberry smirked.
"Orgasm burns nanomek," Key Lime said as if that explained everything.
"Big fucking deal," Unyx hissed, scraping her bottom lip with her teeth. "We've got plenty." She had never felt so ripe with novilunium.
Raspberry cackled and fell to her knees beside Unyx. "You ain't got squat." She wormed her way between Unyx and Key Lime, aiming for the cleft where Unyx's thighs melded into a single ophidian trunk. "Yet." She kissed Unyx's glistening, ebony labia into her mouth, and exhaled with exquisite tenderness.
Jo reached for Tomoe's proffered hand. A few feet away, Unyx gasped and rolled her eyes over white. Jo asked, "What's going on?" Then she stood for the first time since she had entered the flowerbed. The hem of the coppery dress, which had first hung loose around her ankles, now draped just below her knees. She teetered on her newly statuesque legs. "Whoa."
"'Whoa' later," Tomoe insisted, taking Jo by the arm. "We need to reach minimum safe distance. Like, right now." She paused. "But don't forget your fifteen dollar, okay?"
"Nyx is used to running on empty," Key Lime said as Raspberry's nether kiss lingered and Unyx whined and babbled. "You have only begun…" Key Lime said, stepping over Raspberry to bump noses with Unyx again. "…to feel half of the way we feel." She palmed Unyx's alabaster cheeks. "All the time."
"Please," Unyx said. Raspberry's nether kiss went on and on, suffusing Unyx with that same quintessential-but-chained power, and those billion shining wires coiled into springs of sexual tension bordering on agony. "Please."
"Don't cum," whispered Key Lime, and filled Unyx's mouth with her breathy kiss.
Unyx reeled and rode an inner, rising wave. Within their shared body-mind, Ursula fought the urge to ride the ecstasy into an astral trance. Then Raspberry trapped the bud of Unyx's clitoris beneath a rolling tongue, and Unyx was beside herself with pleasure.
That's not fair, Ursula wailed. The purple tart is cheating!
Nyx was smug as a bug snug in a rug. you - wore - me - for - hours. Nyx's inner voice held none of the panic of Ursula's. fucked - me - for - hours. All the anxiety over threatened boundaries seemed to stem from the Ursula side of Unyx. you - wore - me - out - over - and - over - hours - hours - hours!
Key Lime cupped Unyx's breast, now dappled with inky sweat, and Ursula was sure she would break apart. Nyx, she marveled, I really made you feel this good, this bad? The thrill of panic gave way to the thrill of power.
yes.
Unyx's tail lashed. She tried to anchor herself to a rosebush but the spasms from pent-up orgasm ripped it out of the flowerbed, roots and all. Did, Ursula asked as clumps of Earth sprayed down, Did you like it?
yes - yes - Hell - yes. The thrill of power was pittance compared to the soaring happiness Ursula felt with these words. you - wanted - lifetime - nonstop - sex? you - got - it - little - sister - you - are - all - mine.
Ursula rejoiced, I am yours! Key Lime and Raspberry kissed and kissed and Unyx kissed back. Past and future melted into an eternal now. Every iota of Unyx itched for release. I'm freakier than Dee, aren't I? Ursula said at last. The frustration had plateaued into a cosmic high better than any bong hit. I must be. I'm loving this.
ha - ha - yes - my - love - yes.
Unyx stilled. Oh, God, Nyx, I love you. Her arms and trunk went slack. I love you.
Raspberry paused in her merry munching and glanced up, her chin streaked in sw