Friday, 26 December 2014

Lust Daze of Ancient Sunlight: Psychedelic Water 30

Lust Daze of Ancient Sunlight

Psychedelic Water 30

“Every hill is a personality – every tree, every bush and flower and frog and fly, all conscious, all people…” He’s absorbed into refractions of liquid crystal, rippling rings extending in all directions and dimensions from the river’s small pool, expanding spheres of pressure and pleasure that ripple in waves all the way through him and though Her - the tantric priestess who melts and melds with him.

“They may say the same of us.” Her voice thrums through his breastbone. Sweat-slippery thighs squeeze round his waist, clearly designed to slot betwixt his ribs and hipbone as surely as their loins join with such seamless surety. Her heat burns undiminished all around him. Her scent has transformed into a buttery spice, redolent of patchouli with a highlights of musk and nutmeg.

He can feel a knowing presence bearing down through the treetops, a gently sardonic awareness focused upon their jigsaw primate bodies and soaring, searing souls – an immensely, intimately present being, as large as the slab of the horizon that rears skyward across the creek. Because that’s what I was expecting? a corner of his monkey mind inquires. The presence seems to smile with a stony humour tinged with wry warmth of recognition.

He senses a kaleidoscopic mix of curiosity, resignation, presentiment, acceptance, judgement, paternalistic parental regard, an eternal adamantine strength of conviction and unyielding will and, above all a compassionate, loving intimacy; a scent of powdered stone and eucalypt, flavours of lichen, dittany and dust garnished with a jangled tangle of static electricity. He senses an eldritch presence so large and ancient that they and their lives are tiny as insects – yet it appears to observe them with a respect approaching love, seemingly viewing them as close relations; or perhaps as personable pets.

And, he realises, it views them as intriguing vessels to explore, filled with a nectar of wishes, dreams, mysteries and conundrums.

An electric blue dragonfly appears as if from nowhere and hovers directly in his line of sight, black stalky eyes staring straight into his brain along the tunnel of his vision. When he feels a certain contact has been made the brilliant insect zips aside and levitates above its warped reflection for a few moments before it changes tack. His eyes track the impressive little flyer as it surfs a ripple rising from the surface and rides it through the infinite sea of the sky. It pauses directly above the mystery woman’s liquid black hair as her lips unpeel from his collarbone.

Her flame-shot irises rise to meet his. Those eyes… An electric jolt flares through the base of his balls to rear up his spine as his cock flexes deep inside the overheated furnace of the sleek woman’s elfin belly. He watches tiger-stripe patterns play across her face as she sighs and grips him in response, with a grasp that stills his breath. He flexes inside her again, swelling and jolting up against the limits of the fey Asiatic woman’s silken interior. Half a smile curves half her mouth as she grinds down even closer. “Where on Earth did you learn that?”

His voice seems to issue from a source somewhere other than his own mind. “The Earth is a great teacher.” Amber’s fingers extend around his shoulder blades and her palms flatten onto his skin. He feels the torrid heat of her handprints burning though his breeze-cooled flesh, almost as hotly as her interior twines about his motionless manhood when she shifts in his lap. “Thou art Djinn, not Tantricka,” the voice that issues from his mouth observes as his hands spontaneously caress her flanks. Her golden thighs are as slim as his biceps yet her grip is unshakeably firm.

“Do you dream of genies?” She leans back to focus on his face and her hands slide onto his shoulders while the slippery rings of her blazing marrow draw up along his shaft.

Speech is impossible for a few ecstatic moments before his lips move again.  “I know I’ve dreamed of you – of this…” He strokes her sides with his fingertips, feels a delicious shiver sliver through her. “If you’re a genie, what happens when I rub you?”

“You have to rub me up the right way.”

“Catlike… so feline… let’s see…” Like a growing tree root he swells up into Her slowly, gradually growing deeper into the magmatic loam of Her flesh. She moves from buttock to buttock in his cross-legged lap, squeezing him from side to side inside the lusty sensorium of her delicious body. Her eyes burn straight through his affectations, his pretences, his personality, to bore directly into the source of his awareness.

A light ignites inside his brain, a spark that flares at the core of his mind, in the centre of his head – and at that self-same centre within the Amber goddess who shares Her skin – her entire being - with his. He feels what it’s like to ride astride a human male, the harder planes, the rougher textures, hair and sinew, muscle and bone, larger, stronger, less flexible, less sensitised, more impermeable, solid as a tree trunk for femaleness to wrap and warp around with a made-to-measure fit.

He feels the fulcrum of a lingam standing hard and fast in the core of his belly, a lever around which his/Her body moves and ripples and grasps and soars. And he feels Her will, Her perspective inside him, feels Her moving his body into a position more suited to Her wishes as that supple flesh grapples with his, melds around his, meeting, greeting, sucking and fucking until he’s riding inside Her, inside him, inside both bodies at once, both of them the drivers of their marionette bodies and simultaneously just along for the ride as their flesh enacts the steps of an ageless dance.


And all, in all, ineffably slow, barely moving, gently probing, gradually stretching, slowly melding, squeezing, tasting and yielding in an ongoing entry into the source of deeper mysteries. Riding each other, as we are ridden… He thinks the thought is his, yet it’s delivered in Amber’s tenor. And she, he, they are filled by waves of energy emanating from the adamantine entity that’s gently exploring their conjoined souls.

Better… The mind of the mountain rears up inside them as sunlight pours down through the canopy. Just as he begins to savour the alien flavour of Amber’s thoughts, everything shifts and dissolves into sparkling whiteness in a hiss of white noise that rises through their bodies as an unstoppable fountain and envelopes, surpasses, blows away their private primate minds.

 You bring another female… Not heard in words, but the sense is plain, delivered as an unforgiving statement, a judgement tinged with patient sternness yet somehow tempered with knowing complicity; an image of he and Amber joined in a molten mass of gently fucking flesh as he feels the heat rise within her in seeming response to the other, more powerful presence.

And another image that flashes even more brightly to plague his awareness – the splendid, terrible, unforgettable memory of his previous paramour spreadeagled nakedly atop the altar of the sacred rocks.

As the vision arises Amber seems to lose all control, thrashing around his cock, ramming herself down and up, up and down, screaming in an utterly uncharacteristic display of wanton, mindless animalistic fucking that perfectly mimics the style of the erstwhile lover he suddenly recalls - and brings him all the way back into his manimal body, tempting him to pick her lithe little body up and fuck her with identical abandon.

You bring another… another lover, from afar… different, changing, changeling,, nearby the waters of daughters, away from the spines… spires… sires… inspires… Meanings meander and warp through his mind as the rolling Voice pierces the rising veil of their lust.

She comes of her own will…

We come… Her agreement is plain in the melded three-way converse – and, as if in exclamation, his/Her body convulses and spasms around his/Hers, and the shaman’s mind is burned away in a blinding, roaring, ecstatic rushing tsunami of flaming, flaring, exploding light as he comes with Her, as Her, unmoving while Her body thrusts and fucks all around him - roaring her name as he jets liquid flame deep inside the core of Her famished womb.


“Hey man, is that a joint?” In this state of heightened awareness it’s obvious that the bearded man who reclines amid the long tall grasses (observing all with a watchful eye) has sent his delightful girlfriend to make this inquiry. She seems utterly unfazed by her nudity or theirs as she stares at the glowing source of a smoky tendril that rises, serpentine, into the riverine canopy.

For quite a few moments he can’t respond. Holding the wondrous goddess close and tight while colours swirl and scents combine with synchronous bird calls, a corner of his mind merely wonders at the girl’s unfazed effrontery. His face tilts upward to meet hers and Amber shifts round him once more as Her lips leave a moist trail along his neck.

Ram’s eyes rove the engaging form that rears statuesque above their entwined bodies. The dreadlocked teen’s deeply tanned skin is freckled with even darker spots, arrayed in constellations that illustrate her fine nubile form in bold attestation of sun-loving naturism. “Aye,” he says as he passes the smoke into her outstretched hand. “With a twist of baccie.” Her fingers linger by his for a moment before she raises the tube to cherubic lips.

“Great!” she says by way of thanks and starts to suck greedily, closing her eyes. Amber shifts around in his lap and watches the deep inhalation make the feral girl’s ribcage distend as her pointy teats rise skyward. “Damien won’t want any then,” the teen says through a vortex of smoke. “He only has his straight.” She takes another draw and squats beside them before passing it to Amber, holding her breath and enveloping them in unmistakeable olfactory traces of her recent lovemaking. The familiar funk of sex hangs over her, a sweaty, piquant, almost acrid seminal scent that’s utterly different to Amber’s creamy spiciness.

“Any for sale?” the girl sputters, trying to hold in the smoke. Ram shakes his head and she turns to her beau and shakes hers, making dreads swirl, Medusa-like, about her plump-cheeked oval face. The bearded man turns away, instantly disinterested, while a flock of topknot pigeons alights in the treetops above them. Amber tokes gingerly, watching his face as he watches the newcomer.

He watches his mind watching the girl; is aware of his renewed arousal as he observes his primate thoughts assemble possible sentences from the building blocks of habit, design and desire; Beautiful day… great festival… interesting tatt… as his eyes rove the pattern that’s etched on her belly, just below a glittering golden navel ring. “The Flower of Life,” Amber says as she passes the last of the joint to her lover. The thrum of her voice travels right through her body, and his, as she shifts round his resurgent erection. Somehow he senses the wondrous Asian woman isn’t even faintly jealous of his distracted regard.

The girl glances down to the monochrome tattoo, barely visible against the deep brown of her skin. Her sleek mammalian form shimmies and shimmers in the heat of the day. “Is that what it’s called?”

“Aye,” he replies, “and from the Flower grows the Tree.” As he mentions the glyph, the actual Tree of Life appears through and around his body; colourful spheres of etheric light that grow from tiny crystalline seeds implanted in his aura by dint of longstanding magical training. His spine straightens automatically while the foreshortened form of the Tree takes shape in his seated body, interpenetrating the planet from the base of his spine and rising to the brilliant Crown that surmounts his head with an infinite bloom of illumined petals. As he slowly inhales, the inner amber Sun dawns in his solar plexus and swells through his aura with a warm golden glow and his shaft swells to full hardness inside Amber’s belly.

The stranger’s mouth quirks as her hazel eyes meld to his. “Trees grow from seeds, not flowers,” she says, reaching for the joint that smoulders forgotten in his fingers.

“What comes first, the chicken or the egg?” asks Amber.

“I always come first,” the girl says with a grin. A brown hand sweeps hanging tendrils of dreads from her face and her dazzling grin broadens while her eyes remain locked on Ram’s. He’s aware of the equally sun-browned man’s attention returning to them as a vague sense of suspicion and proprietorial edginess that creeps into the margins of his perception.

Yet Amber seems utterly unfazed by the girl’s flip reply or her fixated regard. “They both come together,” she says, twisting around the spar of Ram’s lingam to face the girl more directly. He barely restrains a gasp and sees those hazel eyes drop to the place where they’re joined, watches those bright white teeth bite into her lower lip, notices the way those lambent nipples begin to harden and grow from the puckered brown soil of her aureoles; feels his animal response rear inside Amber’s gripping steaminess.

The feral girl looks down into Amber’s fiery eyes, places the rest of the joint between her lips and, with a deep needy draw, sucks it all the way down to the roach. “Why don’t you give her some?” Amber suggests, staring into the other female while gripping him inwardly and brushing a wavy lock from his brow. He examines her expressionless features, unsure he’s heard her challenge correctly and thoroughly aware of his sudden arousal. The girl’s entire body stiffens as the Asiatic woman rises halfway up his mast when she reaches for the pile of their belongings, partly revealing his slick white thickness and eliciting a low moan from her mate. “Mmm,” she echoes as she twists back with his pouch in her hand. “So her man can have some, too.”

He takes the stash and opens it, pulls a handful from the bag within and offers it to the girl with a wry smile. Her eyes dart to the mull and her lips form an O. “Wow!” she exclaims, staring at the herb as though he was offering her a handful of gems. “You’re sure? Thanks!”

“Come have some more with us – when you’re finished,” Amber suggests. She turns away from the girl, scrunches back down into Ram’s lap and wraps all her limbs about his trunk, gripping him tightly inside and out as she leans upward to kiss his surprised lips. Her eyes burn into his as she leans even closer until they’re locked brow to brow, and those orange irises morph into a single bright eye burning all the way to the core of his being.

Silken breasts mash into his hairy chest as her delicately smooth face rubs into his beard. Her loins, as always, are torrid lava that grasp and twist with a will of their own as she sits, apparently unmoving astride him. The singleton Eye burns a path through his soul until their vision and they are one. The rest of the universe dissolves.

He doesn’t notice that the feral girl hasn’t departed for quite some time, and a Vision Splendid enfolds his mind....


All human civilisation is a vast Ponzi scam, a pyramid scheme operated by blind functionaries who finger the Braille of the world and convince themselves they can define reality by tangible things they can touch - imagining they may own the world, or at least a portioned parcel of it, tied up with fences and paper lines on partial maps of an impartial territory.

The Great God-Goddess, the Mother, Gaia, smiles on while multifarious children pursue dreams and passions, hopes and fears, nightmares and attachments of delicate devising; dreams of truth and honour, duty, belief, desire - clinging to trappings adhered to Her skirts by sincerely striving  generations of similar seekers, driven devotees and alliterate authors of intractable tracts and prescriptive proscriptive cultish religions.

The sins of the mothers and fathers are writ larger and smaller, revised through each ongoing regeneration.

The great holographic union of the cosmos is neither male nor female, rational nor emotional, neither here nor there but everywhere, everyone and everywhen at once. There is no progress, regress or egress, for time is just another dented, demented dimension, infinitely malleable and actually non-existent. A dream.

Every child knows the nature of mortal immortality in the instant of birth. We are each of us infinite clouds of stardust shaped by temporal intemperate fantasy – impossible hopes made manifest daily in cloying clay suits of meandering flesh, cloaking and stoking the inner fires of soul and spirit with every emotional motion.

From the very first moment the fears and hopes of parents and families and schools and governments mould each growing mind to fit a role befitting the greater good, the larger tribe, the notional nation of hidebound hives and pretty, shitty, suck-titty cites which can’t survive without endless slavery and unequal sharing in the age old feuds of feudalism.

“Be yourself!” slave masters exhort as they bind each being to arbitrary plans; “Find your niche” and “do your part” - “work, consume, reproduce and die” so the comfort of victors can be maintained by  hordes of victimised naïfs and knaves who imaging themselves as something other than facile vassals and brainwashed slaves.

The Mother is greater than Planet Earth; oft ascribed as Her body and soul it is but a symbol of infinite glory. She is no anthropomorphic vision of self, projected into greater inchoate realms - neither god nor goddess in some greater reality, but the true love of self in everyone’s child, for love is merely recognition in a mirrored maze of reflected emission. Neither woman nor even man, not goddess or god, the divine being is really a dancing dragon – the worm Orouboros devouring itself with ongoing creation of forms and substances, round and rounder, over and over for ever and ever.

And within her womb many creatures are formed, discarded or ultimately birthed as experiments, experiencing all they themselves create of the living, breathing, mutable world. Free willed and fluxing as the greater being who brought them forth, we enter worlds of evolving creation and enact passion plays on the stages of ages for the distracted amusement of infinite consciousness.

You are divine and the world is you, projected order in seas of chaos. Freedom is free, but not free of consequence. When you crave direction from god or guide or father or mother or teacher or guru beware what you wish for; you’ll get it. Get it?

That’s how we got here, encased in a gemstone of civilisation whose impossible task is creation of permanence in an ever shifting sea of timespace – forever and ever one step behind the heels of reality, forever trapped on the wheel of duality, just one step ahead of the needs of today.

Seize the day, for there is no other, sister and brother. Just you and me, being here now, bending the odds to our will.

Yet some crave greater, wider, wilder glories and deeper, longer amortal perspectives. In the vast field of timespace are manifold beings, and some are far older and bolder than humans. Some see themselves as fractals of All, old wyrms that mimic god-goddess Orouboros in form and nature – and supernature – and think they know what’s best for all.

The Serpent People - Reptilians who echo the arcane survivalist Archons that inhabit and inhibit collective consciousness, feeding on their formless prerogatives and reforming these ancient drives and drivers with a will of their own. In here, within, there be dragons who dwell beyond mortal time, adhering to plans of their own.

One of these dragons lived on Earth for a time, at the behest of Mother Gaia Herself, an immortal being  who came equipped with powers she needed to ensure the survival of all her children in a time of great tumult and cosmic catastrophe.

The Dragon holds one ideal above all others – a changeless path through eternity – and is suitably equipped with means and methods to ensure its preservation. Unforseen, unplanned change is anathema to one who would live – and see – forever; to one who can chart a track through the futures, a navigator who steers a course past all obstacles on its flight toward infinity.

The Old Wyrm shaped and cut the clay of women and men into what they’ve become today; tribal apes with pack mentalities transformed into pupae in a vast throbbing hive, a pyramid scam devised to bind time and fix traits for purposes way and beyond those of any individual hominid’s needs or desires.

Dynasties chart the Dragon’s path, reiterating similar shapes through time – an ongoing succession of bodies to inhabit in a realm of finite lives, to ensure the pyramid structures of insectile civilisations remain intact and essentially unchanging.

And he created human dynasties based on male succession, for in the sexless Dragon’s world reproduction means precisely that – unchanging reiteration and a profusion of vessels at the top of the social heap, lest some or many be destroyed or altered beyond resonance with his – its – will. A succession of bodies to inhabit was required, always at or near the summit of power, ready to be possessed when the host of the old emperor’s body gave up the ghost.

The Old Wyrm is the father of all patriarchy, discrimination – for better and worse - and social hierarchy. He designed a net to hold the Earth preserved in perpetuity, a structured gridwork of geometries designed to provide safety – and power - in time of unprecedented troubles. Enthroned upon the seats of power arrayed around the spinning globe, he set a stable path for primates to follow – but primates are notoriously wilful, curious and changeable beasts, dreamers with dreams impossible to control and suppress ad infinitum. They are, by nature, neither dragon nor insect, but bonded packs of likeminded beings; ultimately malleable, bent on loyalty, ever striving for improbable dreams.

The Dragon had wilful sons, and even more wilful daughters.

The best laid plans of mice, men and dragons are doomed and blessed to go awry. Even the changeless must someday change, when faced with the reality of Gaia. The Dragon’s idea of truth was changelessness, but Her view of truth is diversity. Her parting gift to the Dragon was change.

And so here we are, naked in the new dawn, and our daddy dragon has gone away; god isn’t dead, but sleeping – elsewhere – far from our Mother’s breast, as we dream new dreams with a melded new mind, changed by our brush with changelessness. It’s all up to us. We are Her preservers now.

That’s what we had – and have – to learn.


A True Story


- R.A.

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From The Prince of Centraxis -

Thursday, 27 November 2014

All the Perfumes of Araby: Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 30

All the Perfumes of Araby
Adder Ladies & the Dawn of Ra 30


“A shark?” Kerri asked, gazing past the breakers that were scrolling beyond the young shaman’s bare shoulder. Lady Racheal’s eyes twinkled; “A dolphin,” she revealed with a crooked smile.

“So that’s why you’re still here in the land of the loving,” observed Cardinal Fang. A grey eye twinkled beneath half-sealed lashes as he surveyed the lay of Racheal’s recumbent nakedness. Kerri worked the backs of his legs, slicking his pale skin with coconut oil; blissfully ignorant of his roving eye. “How did you make it back to shore?” She asked. “On the back of the dolphin?”

“I wish,” Ram’yana replied in Racheal’s stead. “The fin kept circling and we were both thoroughly panicky before we ken what it was. We were still drifting further apart and Racheal was starting to run out of steam. The motor still wouldn’t work, so I decided to see if it was possible to row the dinghy with one oar. I slipped it through an oarlock and stood in the boat, swinging it backward and forward - but just kept going around in circles of course.”

“And while the dolphin kept circling round me he almost fell out of the boat. It would have been comical if I wasn’t about to drown,” remarked Racheal. “All he could do was swing round in circles and…”

“…And that’s all it took,” Ram’yana declared. “I stopped drifting away and managed to stay in the same place – was even able to move a little way towards her when I got the hang of it. Like one of those sweeps you see on small vessels in Asia.”

“All Asians have small vessels,” jibed Fang. He shifted on the crumpled towel so that Kerri might massage his side while he conversed with his fellow Centraxians. “Surely thou knowest that ere now!”

Kerri returned to the subject; “So you survived after all.” Racheal smiled. “Barely,” she said. “When I reached the boat I had not the strength to reach up and pull myself aboard. Fortunately,” she said, stroking her lover’s bicep, “thou didst.” She leant back against his hairless chest and tilted her face for a long, lush kiss. “And the dolphin stayed with me until I was safely aboard.”

Fang’s eyes locked with Racheal’s. “ ’Tis true what they say about them, then.”

“Aye – they’re concerned for humans in trouble at sea,” she said, returning his stare with slightly narrowed eyelids. Fang’s eyes theatrically roved the meatier points of her anatomy. “Not that – they’re attracted to nubile human females. I hear it’s even possible to fuck them if thou wish.” Racheal turned on her side to face him squarely, frankly returning his stare in her nakedness. Her derriere squirmed against Ram’s semihardness. “I hear they’re hung like horses, too.”

“Just like The Magus,” Kerri chimed in. Racheal reached behind her hips and gave her lover a squeeze. “I already have one of those,” she said through a wicked smile. “Both, in fact.”

Ram’yana reached around and cupped half a fulsome breast in his hand. “And I already have my delphinine oracle.” Their kiss started innocently enough but soon grew more heated. Neither was accustomed to these long days of sexual fasting. Within moments the naked bodies of both long haired teens were pressed closely together full length on Racheal’s towel.

“None of that!” The order was delivered in a loud female voice that cut through their clinch like a rasp. All four turned to watch Fifi L’Amour approaching, her generous curves partly enfolded in colourful towelling. The Lady Ringell was accompanied by the poetess, T. Ruth and her sister Princess Stardew. “I hear kissing can lead to pregnancy,” Stardew opined. Before the trio of initiates had finished spreading a large blanket beside the teens Fang snagged their attention; ”No neophytes allowed at the rite tonight, so I hear.”

Stardew glared at him. “Thou art not even a neophyte – yet,” she observed with imperious disdain. “Hast made up thy mind to join The Group, then?”

“Answering a question with a question?” he rejoined, braving Stardew’s withering expression.

“I believed thy comment an observation, not a query,” she replied. “Only initiates and adepts tonight, indeed.”

Kerri assumed her Beau’s defence; “I can assure thee he’s not a query.”

“A queer fish though,” Fifi laughed as she stretched her belly against the blanket. “Ye certainly drink like one, and canst take it as godspell – not a critique, but an observation from a fellow Piscean, forsooth!”

“A shark or a dolphin?” Fang inquired.

“Careful where thou casteth thy net, lad,” T. Ruth advised. “Ye may take on more than ye canst chew.”

“That’s right,” agreed Stardew. “Beware - our Feef is more of an octopus!”

“And to answer thy question,” Fifi concluded as she spread herself into a star beneath the Sun, “this night all ye neophytes must find ways to amuse thyselves. Tonight ’tis time for the big girls and boys to play.”

“Chakra work?” the Fang inquired, innocent as a pit bull with its jaws locked onto a bear. Stardew’s grin split her face from ear to ear; “Tantra,” she said with eyes atwinkle. “I like to watch,” said he.

T. Ruth glared at him. “The Dawn of Ra brooks no observers – only participants.”

“So as new chums we won’t be allowed to be part of the participating parties involved? What of thy fast? Surely Tantric union qualifies as sex?”” he asked. Ram’yana watched Racheal’s eyes narrow beneath him as they both waited, skin to skin, for an initiate’s reply. His rigid cock lay hard and hot against the trim length of her belly, concealed by the press of their bodies

“Tonight we practice abstaining from orgasm,” Fifi rejoined. “Sacred Tantra, not sex.” T. Ruth’s gaze was fixed on Ram’s body as he shifted his weight atop his sighing girlfriend’s. Her attention turned to the horizon. “Who’s ‘we’, white woman?”

“Some of us, at least,” said Stardew. “ ’Tis an optional rite.”

Fang grinned through long strands of lank, dark hair while Kerri massaged his clodhopper feet. “How can a right be optional? Surely that makes it a privilege? So…” He abruptly turned on the twisting towel and sat up to pull Kerri atop him, wrapping both hands around her tight little bum cheeks as she wriggled astride his groin. “…So, ’tis aright for us to fuck if we don’t come?” the girl asked, working her hips in gentle circles. Ram’yana pressed close against Racheal’s slim buxom frame and her body sank into sand. His hand still enfolded the side of her breast and further abstinence began to seem utterly intolerable.

“Give her an inch…” Stardew sneered. “…And she’ll take a dozen,” completed the young Lady Racheal as she reached down to caress her boyfriend’s flank. Ram’s erection was hard as a rock against her belly and its base was starting to slide against her clitoris and downward between her labia, still out of sight between sleek well-oiled thighs. He watched a stray glance pass between her and Fang, saw Kerri stop moving in his lap and hunker against his chest with her eyes affixed to Racheal’s.

Fifi sighed and shook her head at the glorious vista of rolling ocean. “’Tis up to you,” she said. “Or up you, as the case may be,” observed Stardew. “Hold fast and stay true to thy fast,” T. Ruth intoned. “Observe the spirit of thy compact.”

“In fact,” Stardew said to the Lady Racheal, “we must ask thy males to leave us now; time for a moot of the primary female Tri-Aan. And thee, too, miliday,” she spake to Kerri.

“I’ll show thee the headland,” T. Ruth suggested, gathering up her wicker basket and wrapping a towel round her paleness. “Mayhap we’ll see a dolphin – they were surfing here earlier, at dawn.” Racheal kissed her beau and dislodged his shaft from between her thighs while Kerri and Fang acted with similar, if more reluctant constraint. Ram’s mate slid from beneath him and he lay on the towel, unsuccessfully willing his erection to subside while she sat on the sand and brushed grains from her white oil-sheathed skin.

“One more sleep, children,” Stardew promised as Ram’yana turned away and endeavoured to conceal his thoroughly distended manhood beneath a translucent sarong, “and ye can all fuck like rabbits, to thy hearts’ content.”


“Is she still coming – if you know what I mean?” The question draws Ram’yana back through fragrant clouds of hashish and olibanum. As Squid’s stylishly comfortable abode in the Emerald City materialises from the fumes the young shaman is dumbstruck by multiplex meanings embedded within the initiate’s inquiry.

The fact of his Lady’s absence; the likelihood that chiropractor Squid refers to a proclivity he’s personally noted during one or more of their therapy sessions together, alone, on his massage table; the sudden cessation of the intrusive sounds of lively lovemaking from the floor above. “Uh… I think not…”

“That’s a real pity. Is she still going to be initiated with you? I haven’t seen her at the last few rituals.”

“So she intends – so she says.”

“Racheal’s a natural, man. She’s obviously clairvoyant, really good with the Tarot. And so strong willed. When she’s in the circle you can really feel her energy… already a great magician…”

“She’d aver she’s more Wiccan than Magi,” Ram’yana informs him. “But I think she still wants to initiate next Tiphareth.”

“Be a real waste not to, after all that work.” Ram’s mind roves across the last year and a half of their neophyte training, of skyclad ritual magic freely based on the methods of the Golden Dawn, performed in The Group’s carefully built and maintained temple (concealed in a building on Sydney’s blue harbour); of moots and lessons with a series of initiates who’d already undergone training borrowed from cults and cultures all over the globe; of his first experience of real meditation, when the initiate Chris had successfully communicated absolute stillness of mind to their neophyte circle, using a benign form of mass auric hypnosis for positive ends; of alchemic experiments in the underground laboratory beneath the stone manse on the foreshore, learning the rudiments of distillation, separation, coagulation, calcination, beginning to chart a route to the Philosopher’s Stone; of Tantric rites performed in the temple with nubile newer neophytes who eagerly requested his tutelage as a well-known and popular preinitiate...

“Hey dudes…” a voice from above cut through his reverie. “…I think I could use some help up here.” Squid and Ram’yana both turned surprised expressions towards Doc’s perspiring face when the intent young man leaned over the rail of the staircase. “The Princess requests your pleasure – literally.” His uncertain smile widened into a broader grin. “She’s a real handful, guys. Anyone want to give me a hand?”

“Both of us?” Squidly asks, already gaining his feet.

“All three of us, she reckons.” Doc winks at Ram’yana. “You too, man. You really don’t want to miss this – and she asked for you specifically” The teenage mage feels a thrill rush throughout his body at the thought of experiencing the wonder of that dusky skin and firm slender flesh pressed close against his. Without another thought he rapidly rises and follows Squid to the stairs as Doc retreats from view.

“It’s our lucky night,” Squid observes as he takes the stairs two at a time ahead of the shaman. “Doc sure can pick ’em.” He leads the way along an empty hallway to the rear of the house where candles light their path through an open doorway. Amber incense fills the room, all but smothering riper scents of alcohol and sex. Doc’s silhouette looms over a low queen sized bed, concealing its occupant as he draws the covers from her body. “Came on the sheet,” he explains, dropping the bundle onto the richly carpeted floor. He turns to usher them into the bedchamber and steps aside, revealing the splendid sight of the naked, wide-eyed young princess.

Her face is so attractive it’s the first aspect of her beauty that Ram’s eyes latch upon. Her expression is an inscrutable mix, revealing glee, anticipation, trepidation and invitation in equal measure, along with a frisson of embarrassment at being so thoroughly exposed to view by Doc’s unexpected action. She reclines stark naked against a pod of pillows - a pair of white-rimmed eyes and twin rows of flashing teeth set like jewels in a pool of shadowy skin. A jet-black cascade frames her beautiful features and falls well past her shoulders. Gold bangles and pallid pearls gleam in the candlelight, adorning a form that requires no embellishment.

Her slim arms are folded over her chest and graceful hands barely conceal a surprisingly bounteous pair of breasts bulging between widely spread fingers adorned by gem-studded rings. A well-trimmed thatch of darker darkness arises between her girlish thighs, so slender they fail to touch together even with her legs demurely held closed.

She seems much younger naked – though surely not too young; though the difference in race makes surety difficult, she must be eighteen or nineteen in Ram’s experienced estimation. Around my age, certens – or certainly not much younger…

Squid is already dropping his daks, so Ram hastily follows suit as a husky voice emerges from those wine-dark lips; “Tell them,” she commands.

“Of course,” Doc agrees and turns to his friends, who pause in a state of semi-undress. “The princess wishes to inform you that she’s never been able to get out alone before - and she wants to experience everything she can while she has the chance…”

“One night in Paradise,” the wide-eyed girl tells the young men, “just one… then I am returned to my cage.”

“A shank, a jug and a hank of hair?” Ram’yana misquotes.

The girl’s smile splits the darkness. “And thee beside me in wilderness!” She reaches out to the newcomers, extending a hand to each. Her nipples and aureoles are so dark they’re almost invisible when her breasts bob and bounce in the flickering light. “ ’T’would be Paradise enough,” Ram says as he takes her hand.

Squid unbuttons his shirt and nods with a wide grin as the younger man steps from the pool of his clothing. The girl’s eyes widen and she gasps faintly at the sight of their erections. She pulls Ram forward with grasping fingers while Squid accepts a joint from Doc. “After you, dude.”

“Yeah,” Doc agrees. “Take it easy, man.” Ram attempts to alight beside her as gently as he can. When his thigh brushes against hers she jumps with a start. Her skin burns hotly and the air is redolent with a glaze of tequila that cuts through her scented oils as she draws her knees up to cover her breasts. “She’s never had one of those before.”

Squid emits a short laugh with a waft of smoke. “Before yours, you mean.”

“Nah,” Doc says. “We only sixty-nined – so far.” Ram’s eyes burn into the intoxicated girl’s as he faces her more directly, kneeling by her feet on the bed. “There’s a first time for everything,” Doc avers. Her beauty is mesmerising; the Centraxian prince is awed by the promise thus revealed to him. Her fingers squeeze his hand and he watches a succession of emotions quickly transform her beautiful features, sees her easy-going demeanour evaporate with Doc’s words. She bestows a tenuous smile upon him and opens her mouth to speak.

“Here.” Doc thrusts a joint between their interlocked gazes. “Wrap your laughing gear around that.” He holds the spliff to her lips and Ram’yana watches her face as it flares and burns down rapidly while she inhales deeply. Her hand grips his even more tightly.

Goddess… Ram’yana belatedly realises. She’s a virgin

“Please,” she entreats in a lowered voice, “treat me as any another woman.” He raises her fingers to his lips, stroking the interior of her hand and holding her eyes with his while he kisses her slender digits. Doc passes the joint back to Squid. “You want us to stay, babe?” She finally breaks eye contact with the prince to beseech Squidly; “Please…”

“Says she feels safer that way,” Doc explains as he opens a drawer in a bedside cabinet. “Never been alone with a strange man before, eh. But happy with three. Go figure.” It’s obvious the princess feels utterly exposed before the three unusual strangers; her knees are pressed tight to her bosom and her free hand descends to cover her groin. But her smile is an obvious invitation, so Ram’yana presses forward.

His kisses progress along her wrist, her forearm, the inconsequential bulge of her bicep, across to her knee and onto the swelling upland of a bulging breast. She gasps when his tongue slithers between knee and aureole to tickle the edge of a soft little nipple. Her forehead falls into his hair and he turns his head, rising to meet her lips directly.

Her kiss starts as soft as a butterfly’s wing, the mere brush of membrane on membrane. As he leans down before her the girl’s kneecaps slide apart against his smooth chest. The amount of alcohol on her breath is surprising. She doesn’t seem that drunk… Their lips gently seal and her fingers entwine with his, pulling his knuckles against her midriff. When the tip of her tongue tentatively reaches forth Ram’s awareness of the other men immediately fades. Her other hand falls onto his leg and slides along the length of his thigh. She leans forward until the tips of her teats brush against his torso.

He keeps his eyes open, as does she. Be gentle with this one… an inner voice instructs as he samples the silken texture of her lips and snares the tongue that wriggles like a separate creature inside their mouths.  He’s happy to take his time, kissing the maiden with genuine relish, lingering at the threshold of ecstasy while her hand slides across his thigh, onto his hip, then strokes his waist and falls against belly. Her wrist brushes against the side of his hardness and her body freezes as a gasp sucks the breath from his mouth.

“Can I… may I touch it?” she whispers, eyes flashing from side to side in attempts to focus on his inside the cage of their hair. He needs no further invitation; in answer he pulls her hand up and onto the summit of his erection. Limber little fingertips carefully squeeze and relax, explore and contract around his glans in a way that reveals her complete inexperience. He holds her gaze while he encloses her hand inside his and wraps her fingers as far about his shaft as they’ll go; they reach around halfway. Her eyes drop downward and he straightens his spine, gazing down upon her extraordinary beauty as his cock pushes forward through the crescent of her fingers.

Perfect breasts… his unendingly loquacious mind observes; a perfect little Arabian princess… “Fuck man, pass me that bottle.” Squidly’s voice is as distant as a disembodied spirit, a hundred leagues away. “She’s not used to drinking, either,” Doc’s voice rejoinders from an equal distance. “Muslim,” he explains.

How drunk is she? Ram’yana leans down to kiss the tip of a lobeless little ear that protrudes from her raven hair. “What’s your name?” he whispers while her fingers explore the length of his manhood. “What should I call you?”

“Call me…” She pants, utterly breathless; her entire body is trembling. “…my name to you means, uh, Blessed, and Mercy…”

“Mercy…” His hand alights on the top of her breast, just over her heart. “Beautiful Mercy.” Her heartbeat races against his palm as he resists the urge to cup those alluring breasts; Go slow…

A crackle erupts from the room’s stereo system, followed by the first introductory bars of In the Court of the Crimson King. “And you are called Ram? A Hindu name?”

“Egyptian.” He watches her eyes snap up to meet his. “Old Egyptian. From Khem.” He watches her puzzled expression suddenly relax as her free hand rises into his hair to draw him down for another kiss.

Swelling music drowns out the sounds of rustling and tinkling in the bedchamber’s outer realm. “And you are curcumscribed,” she whispers into the concealing veil of their conjoined hair.

“Circumcised,” he explains.

“Please take me now,” the princess entreats. “I wish to wait no longer.”

So he does.


He carefully reaches around the girl and gathers her up into his arms, pressing her naked body full length against his as they kneel on the springy bed. Her breasts are firm against his torso, wilfully pressing into his ribs. That slim little hand stays firmly glued to his penis and her other becomes lost in his wild tangled mane while they enter a blindingly intense kiss.

His hands explore the slender length of her fine young body while she presses his crown into her belly button. Her skin is finer than satin, prompting him to wonder how delicious her interior will feel.

But he doesn’t wonder for long. His wandering fingers discern that she’s already thoroughly wet. Doc said they already sixty-nined, he’s reminded. And Goddess, she’s definitely ready… wonder if she came… Her breath races more quickly and her body grows decidedly hotter against his.  …wonder if she can come… with me… in front of these others…

He cups both her buttocks – firm girlish cheeks that barely fill his pianist’s hand-spans – and raises her from the bed, pulling her legs around his waist. Her cable-taut limbs clamp round him firmly while she gasps something in a language he can’t discern, much less understand. Firm young calves bulge tightly about him while her breasts smear along his chest. “So big,” she translates. She drags his shaft down along her belly until he feels soft silky fuzz touch its sensitive crown, then slips its length down between her widely spread thighs.

The girl seems virtually weightless against him, a slender, tender childlike form only slightly relieved by her obvious maturity. She grasps him closely, rocking above his shaft; its length slides backward and forward against her slit, protruding between her parted cheeks while she holds it in place. Her entire body trembles against him. She’s thoroughly absorbing, utterly intoxicating, sexually inspiring, every boy’s wet dream come true. And, quite drunk and stoned himself, Ram’yana is thoroughly ready to take her.

“Make love to me,” she instructs inside the privacy of their hair while the music caresses their souls.

With you, my princess,” he automatically demurs. “With Mercy.”

“Oh, yes… and when those others take me…” she murmurs in a moan, “promise you’ll stay here too.”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” he tells her, slowly lowering her onto the bed until his forehead is gently pressed against hers and their eyes are locked together, unfocused yet intent in the near-complete darkness of their tented hair. She trembles more violently, quaking beneath him as he holds himself back from squashing her.

The gorgeous girl arches her neck in invitation and he kisses her nipples, her breastbone, the lean pillar of her throat, intoxicated with the flavour of her sweat, fascinated with the exotic colours and textures of her skin. She sighs and wriggles beneath him, then ambiguously whispers; “Make me…” Her thighs lock around his shaft and her fingers tweak his nipples as she rubs her flaming labia along his length, swinging her hips back and forth. How drunk is she? When his kisses reach her jawline her mouth slips to his and a slippery tongue slithers along his teeth and delves inside his mouth. She moans and quivers while he caresses her fabulous body. It doesn’t matter… She twitches and jerks slightly when he strokes her flanks, ribs and the undersides of her breasts, obviously unused to being touched or pleasured.

Yet he feels the bulb of her clitoris grow against his cock as her pelvis-rocking rubbing becomes more focused. Their mouths seal in a long, deep kiss while his cock slides up and down against her whetted heat, and when she rolls her hips back to draw his crown between her inner lips he knows the moment has come.

Without conscious volition his body acts on its own; his hips pull back until his bulging knob slips directly into place between her inner labia, then begin to press forward slowly, deliberately, inexorably, while Mercy’s eyelids flutter and the breath rasps through her flaring nostrils.

“Now,” he tells her, pulling away to watch her face while he takes her virginity. The princess opens her mouth, but as he presses down into the torrid tightness of her sex a gasp is her only reply. Though slick and readied, she’s even tighter than he’d imagined. When his crown presses forward and lodges inside the gripping ring of her inner lips Mercy’s hands fly into his hair and pull his mouth back to hers. Then, with a jolt of surprise that races up his spine and explodes from the top of his head, he encounters her hymen. Her body judders and shudders beneath his, at once holding him close and at bay while his rigid cock protrudes against the unbroken membrane. Goddess – you really have sent me a virgin princess…

Now,” she moans, “yes now my prince – make me a women…”

“As you wish…” And her wish, though misspoke, is his command. He finally stops holding his weight from her littler frame and allows his cock to descend with the full mass of his body, watching her intently as he enters the girl a hair’s breadth at a time. Slowly… She moans more loudly, wriggling beneath his heavier frame to accommodate him, and he barely restrains himself from taking the full plunge all at once.

Slowly… He watches the white ringed near-black pools of her eyes and her wide open glistening lips and feels her maidenhead stretch, distending around the globe of his crown. Her hips work around and her legs part more widely, soft firm inner thighs rubbing against his belly, hips and flanks. Her sparkling eyes endeavour to stay locked to his but start to roll in their sockets. Her lips seem swollen, her cheeks and brow enflamed.

Now… a Voice tells him, and with a sudden release of pressure and an almost audible snap of skin a blazing hot tube of incredibly tight wetness closes tightly around his first two inches. Her scream is startlingly shrill in the close confines of their hair. Her head rocks from side to side and he pauses in place, pulling his face further back to regard her. “Don’t…” she slurs, “Stop!” He pauses, befuddled. “Don’t stop!” she clarifies, “Don’t stop!” and her pelvis begins rocking and bucking beneath him, so he presses her down into the mattress with his rigid manhood and sinks another inch into glorious Paradise.

Only now can he truly tell how slender the teenage princess really is, inside and out. Though he wants to take her as slowly as possible, the wanton little creature keeps bucking and fucking beneath and around him. Her quim is tighter and slicker than any he’s known and he struggles to hold himself back, vaguely aware that some of that lubricious flow is blood. But it’s obvious the princess wishes to wait no longer.

“Slow,” he whispers into her mouth while the girl’s long-lashed lids blink over eyes that roll from side to side. She mutters something incomprehensible and grasps his buttocks. Her native scent begins to rise beneath the smothering cloud of perfume and incense, a buttery, creamy, sexy suggestion of freshness infused with a spice of passion. Sharp little fingernails dig into his flesh and she directs his movements with unsullied lust.

After a few brief moments he responds to her rhythm and follows the metronome tempo of moans and gasps, almost fucking the untried slender whippet of a girl as he would a far more experienced mate – except he holds back, seeming to fill her with little more than half his length. She responds with unbridled enthusiasm, gasping words he assumes must be Arabic, driving him on with hands and heels, hips and loins, and all the while quaking and shaking, inside and out, while they rock the bed to the tune of King Crimson.

“Told you she was hot to trot.” The other men’s words barely obtrude from the outer world, almost lost in the hubbub of sex and music.

“Fuck me dead, Doc, and a virgin! How’d you do it? What a gorgeous little babe - just look at that hot fucking bod.” The shaman prince plunges inside the dusky girl, over and again, impelled by pleasure and pride, revelling in the gratifying way she responds to his every thrust with gripping loins and rhythmic moans that evince her obvious pleasure.

“I’m gonna do more than look, dude.” A large white hand wraps around Mercy’s breast and gently squeezes while Ram’yana holds his weight from her body and nails her into the mattress. He watches her face for signs of distress or refusal but sees only a mask of wanton enjoyment.

“When do we have to get her back to wherever?”

“Who knows?” Doc replies as his hand explores her breasts and belly. “Who cares? We can keep her as long as we like, dude. She sure is into it..”

“Save some for us, man…”

Go easy… the prince tells himself. His newfound mate’s inner grasp is breathtaking - tightly enveloping, silkily sensuous and seriously inescapable. Every part of her body seems coiled like a spring-loaded serpent around the fucking fulcrum of Ram’s rigid young cock, whose full length he barely holds at bay lest he damage the unwitting teen. Doc’s hands rove her limber little body, teasing and probing, manhandling her nubile flesh and helping to work the teen into a lathering frenzy.

Mercy’s sudden string of words is a slather of inarticulate syllables, but it’s impossible to tell whether that’s due to inebriation or the language barrier. Yet she goads him on and grips his hardness with breathtaking native skill while her body writhes in Doc’s wandering, grasping, squeezing fingers. Squidly takes her hands in his, interlocking them together above flailing jet hair that whips all their faces. He kisses her brow, her ears, her throat and lips, with his face inverted above hers.

Ram’yana matches his thrusts to the girl’s heaving breaths, following teachings gleaned from tantric lessons and the wisdom of his body’s own tutelage, slowly accelerating in an ongoing feedback loop until he’s riding the teen like a cowboy atop a petite bucking bronco – one now held down on the bed by the other two men.

It’s her first time… he reminds himself, desperately trying to restrain the impulse to simply fuck her brains out while she twists and writhes, naked, horny and utterly exposed before and beneath them all. She pulls from Squid’s grasp and hugs her chosen lover closer, caging him inside all her grasping limbs as her sprightly young body bounces up and down on the springy mattress, a steaming, heaving, horny little animal, wilfully lost and far, far gone in the throes of primordial passion. And all the while he withholds his last inches, unwilling to sully the virgin’s first time by hurting the most sensitive parts of her splendid little body. She’s drunk, he reminds himself afresh, and has no idea how much we all want her…

Even so, there’s no thought now of going easy – he fucks her like there’s no tomorrow, lost in the thrall of the wild girl’s commanding and insistent embrace, rolling her pussy around his cock with both hands clamped round her buttocks while she screams and judders with wordless moans, giving her as much as he judges she can take – and maybe a little more.

And then, all at once, while Squidly and Doc roar their approval, he knows that she’s coming, and so is he. The princess’ cries swell and rise into a long shrill shriek, punctuated by the beat of their fucking as her body bounces and rebounds around his cock, demanding every last inch he’ll give her. She shudders and screams so loudly that he wonders if she’s really in pain instead of lost in sheer ecstasy. He kisses her cheeks, plants his lips over hers and presses her down into the yielding mattress.

Her vagina convulses around his cock and her buttocks clench in his palms and deep inside her, gripping his shaft with tumultuous zeal. She moans into his mouth and sucks on his tongue as her sex rhythmically squeezes and clamps around him. Sweat pours from her skin as their bodies glide and slide together; her legs grip his waist with muscular fury and lock about his bucking frame. The little virgin fucks like a courtesan – like a natural – and when he feels his own orgasm begin to rip through him he tries to withdraw, but the princess will have none of it; she grips him more tightly, inside and out.

Amidst an incomprehensible tumult she screams one familiar word; “FUCK!” as her body demands all he can give. When spurting jets of white-hot semen finally cream the walls of her womb he can’t help but accede to her body’s command. He thrusts all the way home inside her, buried to the balls in her trim teenage belly while two more pairs of hands recommence stroking her helplessly orgasmic nakedness.

Mercy’s scream could wake the dead. It certainly arouses the other males in the chamber, impelling them into action. Ram’yana kisses her eyelids, cheeks, her jaw and throat and strokes her sides and clenching buttocks while the other men fondle her breasts and flanks. When their fingers find her soaking labia and bulging clitoris her body flinches and tightens around him. Two more mouths begin kissing every inch of her fine little body while six large hands intimately explore the panting, moaning, writhing teen’s inspiring anatomy.

Ram’s still as hard as a wooden branch and begins to move inside her again, holding his frame above hers while each of the other men sucks on a hard brown nipple and strokes her belly, breasts and thighs. She sighs and groans while her body keeps fucking, more slowly now, with an automatic surety. Squid produces a bottle of scented oil and the little brown princess squirms beneath the men as they commence anointing her body from head to foot. The prince keeps fucking her slowly with long, deep thrusts while all three stroke her writhing flesh into a simmering, slippery, buxom pool of sliding, fucking, moaning, wriggling, jiggling, squealing young femaleness.

Somewhere in the distance, behind the tumult of the bedchamber and the strains of King Crimson, a doorbell rings. Everyone ignores it completely.

Mercy’s hips rise and fall in their hands, her pelvis rocking about Ram’s cock as the other men raise her up and force him in deeper, harder, by thrusting the girl around his enduringly obdurate tumescence. He rises to his knees between her parted thighs while Squid and the Doc raise her hips from the bed. Each takes charge of a long brown leg and a bunching cheek and starts rocking the teen back and forth, thrusting her loins around Ram’s shaft while their tongues share her mouth.

“Yess…” she hisses through clenched white teeth while Ram rubs her breasts and nibbles her nipples. “Yess…” as the other men fuck her tight, firm, trim little body even harder – much harder than he would have dared -  thrusting her almost all the way up along Ram’s rigid young manhood, back and forth, over and over while she quivers and moans in their indomitable grasp.

The sensation of being fucked by the princess’s slick little frame in this way is indescribably arousing. He grasps a breast more firmly in each hand and gazes down between them into Mercy’s huge, barely focused eyes, feeling her inside and out in more ways than one - feeling them both assent to the older men fucking her with his body, and he with hers. No-one responds when the doorbell is twisted again, a little more loudly.

“Yesss…” The princess lies back in their collective grasp, content to be used and fused into mindless ecstasy. Squid’s fingers slide around the tight ring of lips that enwraps Ram’s thick length to dandle her clit. He and Doc take turns kissing her into a breathless heap of squirming, gasping, moaning femininity, then both kiss her at once, sharing her mouth with their tongues again while they keep fucking her body with Ram’s hard cock, not letting up for a moment. He feels her heartbeat begins to race again, feels the heat welling up inside her body, and despite her utter inexperience it’s obvious from the way her interior convulses that against all likelihood, the virginal girl is going to come again.

Ram’yana rears up on his knees and thrusts inside the breathless teen in time with the beat the other drunken men impart to her suspended, rocking, spasming body. It’s much easier to restrain his own orgasm a second time, and he revels in the glorious sensations and sight of the nubile maiden as she loses it completely, hair whipping, mouth gibbering and gasping, moaning and squealing, breasts rolling wildly and eyes squeezing shut as tight as her pussy while three pairs of hands pick the brown girl up and thoroughly fuck her entire body. The action progressively grows more rampant until Mercy’s limbs are flailing about, rocked and thrust and fucked by all three of them while she screams into the older men’s mouths.

Ram’s rod grows even harder at the sight of her perfect young body being used without compunction – and the girl’s willing participation in her drunken deflowering. All three males hoist her up and down, back and forth, to and fro, with she sputters and comes, groaning and panting, writhing and shuddering around her impalement. The teenage mage’s fingers glide across her oiled skin alongside four other hands, and he tries not to think that in other circumstances their actions could be interpreted as pack rape, instead of as a relatively innocent gang bang.

Besides - her cries and motions bespeak the princess’ obvious pleasure at losing her virginity to three men at once.

“Yess…” she hisses as thunder begins to rumble in the distance, “give me everything…”

So he does, and they do, all at once.


A true story


- R.A.

Images – author’s

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From The Prince of Centraxis -