Freedom of Choice - Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll 10

tribal general with a relatively mild glare while he addresses the U.S. veteran. He turns from his fellow tribesman and hands the tense heavy-set soldier a freshly rolled reefer, while Charmayne passes tall crystal flutes around the partying group. The tall feline feminist pours chilled Riesling into the elongated goblets, lingering around the mustachioed lord and his guest when the uniformed Negro passes her the loosely rolled smoke.

“The background noise?” Kha-Aan smiles. “It’s just the kids having fun,” he explains. “It keeps them off the streets.” Thumping sounds and strident cries from the floor above penetrate the loud music pouring into the squat from the next door neighbour’s house, which completely drowns out the afternoon traffic.

“That’s some fun they’re havin’. Thanks, babe.” Joe’s huge smile beams at Charmayne as he gratefully accepts a refill of white wine from the long haired hippy woman, staring into her eyes while the percussive bumping sounds and uninhibited shrieking moans continue. Lewd impassioned endearments are easily discernible over the psychedelic music and Joe’s expression betrays his ardent interest in the tall slim student as he eyes her over his Riesling. “To good clean fun,” his voice booms across the longhall and the squatters echo his toast with ragged enthusiasm.

Pierre accepts a bong from Jean-Claude as he rises from his cross-legged position. “Thees is excellent!” He passes the water-pipe back to Freedom, who packs another cone “And almost fresh!” The Frenchman leans toward the American. “Far superior to the stale low quality hasheesh one usually finds in thees country.”

“Usually full of camel sheet, you know.” Jean-Claude concurs with his traveling companion’s summation. “Or worse.”

“It’s a very free market, friend,” Joe observes as Charmayne sits on the broad upholstered arm of his throne-like chair. “Freedom of choice means that most everthing is always crap. Only the cream and the scum have real class - real quality.” He drains half the cool wine and lights up another huge reefer while the first joint circulates away into the throng.

“Any seeds in that?” Charmayne asks as she tops up the American’s drink. Joe’s eyes traverse the curvaceous length of her form-fitting polo neck jumper and he grins when he encounters her sagacious smirk. His deep voice rumbles through the chair; “A few.” The comely young student smiles at the uniformed veteran, apparently unconcerned by the way his gaze drops to linger on the obviously distended nipples poking through her skivvy, before his eyes rise to the faintly seductive expression on her carefully enhanced features. The young hippy woman’s makeup is barely discernible and serves only to accentuate her high cheekbones, pouting lips and large brown eyes. “Must be strong stuff then,” Charmayne opines.

In the earlier days of the psychedelic revolution very little is known about the growth cycles of the mind-altering plant that’s smoked by millions every day. Many tokers have noticed that when the green matter contains seeds the strength of the smoke is extraordinarily enhanced. Only world travelers like Jean-Claude and Pierre, and rare drug gourmets and cognoscenti among the local population of Oz are aware that female plants are stronger than males, or that the flowering heads are the most potent part of the plant. Very few have yet heard of sinsemilla heads, or know that the dried female flower buds achieve their highest potency when they’re seedless.

Joe smiles at the young woman’s comment and forestalls Pierre’s incipient chuckle with a booming declaration. “I only deal in the best,” the G.I. announces as his eyes rove Charmayne’s attractive features. A break in the music allows the ardent sounds of frenzied lovemaking to fill the momentary void in the conversation. “Sounds like a real live love-in,” Joe drawls to the long-haired hippy girl over his flute of chill Riesling. “You hippies sure know how to party.”

“Oh God!” Crystal cries, rising to kiss the Lady Racheal’s succulent mouth as she stares into the Centraxian priestess’s eyes. Arne sits down on the flattened beanbag and settles his girlfriend onto his lap while the slender girls caress each other’s sweaty bodies.

The young redhead recovers her breath as she leans against the beautiful hippy priestess, who kneels before her on the edge of her low bed and presents her fine derriere to the ministrations off her long-haired young mate.

“Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I’m sixty-four?”

The volume rises on the Wiccan neighbour’s record player and The Beatles’ eternal question almost drowns out the breathless redhead teen’s request; “Can we do it again?” Crystal’s fingers trail down the Lady Racheal’s slim belly and she fondles the blonde’s curly fur lining while she asks her tremulous question; her other hand slides up the slippery pole that throbs between the older girl’s thighs. The Centraxian priestess is a commanding presence to Crystal’s blown open mind, and the younger girl acknowledges the elder teen as the pre-eminent will and dominant personality in the communal squatters’ weirdly artistic bedchamber.

“You’ll be older, too…”

The Lady Racheal sticks her pointed tongue into Crystal’s lipstick-smeared mouth while she considers her reply. She runs her painted fingers through the girl’s bright orange mane and leans back to memorise the expression on her freckly flushed face. “They do make good pets, don’t they?” She laughs, testing the weight of Crystal’s firm breast with one hand while she kneads the base of the stout fleshy pillar that’s deeply embedded in the redhead’s sticky pelt with the other. “Can they do it again?” Crystal repeats as the priestess rolls the girl’s hard little nipple between her fingers.

The Lady Racheal tilts her head to one side and pretends to consider the matter deeply, holding the younger teen’s enraptured attention while each girl holds the other’s hard young mount inside their stretching fuzz-veiled lips. “Mm…” Racheal moans. “I don’t know; can they? Both these fine horny manimals feel like they’re ready for more…”

“Sure do,” Crystal agrees as she fondles the slippery margin where Racheal’s membranes stretch around her pythonic Prince Ramses.

“And if you say the word I could stay with you…”

“And surely shall,” Ram’yana proclaims. “But first…” he reaches for a tray of goblets, “a toast.” The youthful tribal shaman stretches his arm to snag a flattened green-tinted bottle of Rosé while his bony hips move with slowly undulating grace; the Centraxian prince is careful to avoid uncorking his kneeling Lady Racheal while he uncorks the archaically designed ovaloid glass bottle. Arne passes around a quartet of ceramic goblets that lay clustered on a tray by the bed and their host pours out the sweet red wine, moving more deeply inside his crouching young woman while Crystal squirms in Arne’s broad lap.

“To more love!” Crystal raises the goblet in her free hand, pre-empting Ram’s intended toast with a suggestion both couples can easily agree with. “To more love!” the other lovers agree while their clinking vessels spray blood-red drops of wine across pale perspiration-slicked skins.

The shaman prince sidles forward on the low bed and plants his bare feet on the floor, settling Racheal more firmly onto his erection as he squeezes her cheeks apart with the gentle pressure of his long musician’s fingers. She leans back against his smooth chest and her blonde mane sparkles against his pale freckled skin. He spreads her smooth thighs with his knees to allow Crystal fuller access to his bride-to-be – and to the fuzzy roots of his rearing manhood. Each girl continues fondling the other’s virile young male while they drink the sweet red wine, their limber fingers squeezing round their inspired horny hardnesses like a third set of labia.

“But this time…” Arne lifts Crystal upward and he licks his lips as Racheal’s tightly clenched hand slides upward in the redhead’s slippery wake. His eyes flicker over his goblet, shifting between his tribal priestess and his girlfriend as the stoned teens swallow the alcoholic nectar. He delivers a long strong thrust in an attempt to command more of Crystal’s distracted attention. “Uh… seeing as you Ladies are, uh enjoying yourselves so much… uh…” The youth is reluctant to interrupt the gorgeous girls’ mutual fascination while the red, red wine pours between their interlocking mouths and they caress each other’s distended loins and firm young breasts. “Um…”

He swallows a sip of courage before plunging on. “I, uh, don’t want to interrupt the flow or anything…” Arne takes another gulp and his gaze meets the prince’s over their girls’ pale angular shoulders. “…but while we’re all enjoying this so much, let’s celebrate some more with another smoke or two. Then we can fu… make love for as long as we like without having to, uh, interrupt...” He leans forward on the crushed bean bag and winks at the other youth over the girls’ intertwining manes.

Arne reaches into a pocket of his cargo pants – a difficult task, as the teenage martial artist’s trousers are stretched halfway down the massive musculature of his legs – to reveal a plastic bag of yellow-green Vietnamese heads and a reasonable chunk of Himalayan hash wrapped up in a sheet of aluminium foil. He chucks the stash onto the bed beside the blonde priestess’s slender calf and notes the surprised looks on the other Centraxians’ faces while he fishes more deeply into his capacious pocket.

“Come on, let’s party!” he insists, flipping a flask of bourbon onto the bed. Arne leers at the prince while his sperm-slimed staff pistons through Crystal’s torn hotpants. He finally summons the courage to say what’s on his mind; “And then - let’s swap.” He sees the girls undulating forms freeze into stillness while Ram’s eyes glaze and his smile drifts slightly askew before rapidly righting itself. The bouncing rhythms and multileveled lyrics of the Beatles tracks fill the void left in the wake of the huge boy’s bold suggestion.

“Give me your answer, fill in a form – mine forever more

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m sixty four?”

Arne can see they’re not quite won over yet by his words or manifold largesse. “Jealousy’s a sin,” he reminds them all while he stares into Ram’s inscrutable emerald eyes. “And hey, man – I want to watch you screw Crystal senseless.” The young monk grins his chip-toothed winning smile at the Centraxian prince; he obviously believes Ram’s musing expression betrays his lust for the miniature perfection of Crystal’s virtually untried little body. Ram’yana is actually analyzing his own strangely outraged and inappropriately proprietary reactions, as he visualises the younger lad mating with his beloved Lady Racheal.

His Lady refills Ram’s goblet as she twists around and grips him with a clenching internal embrace. Her prince recognises the familiar kneading of her naturally talented muscles as an invisibly secret signal of her ready assent to Arne’s challenging proposal.

My love… His mind spins in turmoil while Crystal stares up into his eyes with an unguarded expression of frank curiosity. Despite his avowed belief in free love, Ram’yana can’t easily bring himself to agree to share his Lady’s fertile womb with another male – even though the fey nude redhead’s dazzlingly arousing beauty tempts him to agree to the young monk’s suggestion.

Arne watches his long haired friend’s eyes meet his new girlfriend’s lusty smile. He plunges Crystal’s elfin body down round his erection and grips her jaw with his rough fingers, turning her face toward him to kiss the girl’s freckly cheek with incongruous tenderness. “You’re so hot,” he assures the younger teenager. “I want to watch you come, baby – watch while you come all over him.”

Crystal looks up into her new boyfriend’s eyes with wide-eyed wonder while she kneads Ram’s hard sticky manhood between her fingers; the tipsy teen breaks into giggles when Racheal tickles her armpits. “I’ve just been coming all over you,” she observes to her beau. “So you guys are swingers, right? Like in the movies? Is this a commune, or what?” Arne nods and kisses her smeared lips. “You’re so big,” Crystal sighs, stroking the prince’s cock and balls and limning Racheal’s fuzzy nether lips with her lightly lingering touch while the priestess fills her jiggling cup. “You’re both still so big and hard…”

“Only because our Ladies are so inspiringly beauteous,” the prince declares in a mellow intoned attempt at disarming charm. He reaches across his mate’s milk-white back and slim square shoulders to fondle the stranger’s firm conical breasts and stroke her sleek throat. “This is a free squat,” he tells the wee pixie across the roiling musculature of Racheal’s slender back, “part of the Realm of Centraxis.” He watches his statement go over the girl’s flaming red head and the prince refills her already empty goblet while Racheal spreads herself more completely round his resurgent manhood. “You’re both so gorgeous,” he tells them.

“…nothing can come between us,

When it gets dark I tow your heart away…”

“Engorging,” the young monk agrees as he opens his stash on the bed. Arne packs unmulled chunky heads into the shaman prince’s hand-carved Indonesian teak chillum as swiftly as he can. He settles into the entryway of his elfin girl’s tautly gripping heat, unwilling to allow his concentration to lapse or his proud erection to falter as his priestess squeezes his girth in her hot little hand and stokes the fires of his ardour.

“…may I enquire discretely,

When are you free to take some tea with me?”

The prince caresses the girls’ addictively silky breasts and explores their sleek bodies while Arne’s cargo pants slide down around his ankles. The younger lad lights the conical pipe without ceremony and quickly puffs it into a small crackling pyre. He inverts the chillum and carefully holds the smoldering ember-filled cone in his chipped teeth as he blows the rich resin directly into Crystal’s upturned mouth and down her wide open arching throat, filling her lungs with an intoxicating stream of well-cured mull.

When Crystal begins to cough and her loins constrict even more tightly around his swollen girth, Arne diverts the funnel of smoke into the Lady Racheal’s enticingly open mouth. Crystal’s rhythmically clamping graspings around his mushrooming summit are mirrored by the interrupted puffs which pour from her coughing mouth, as the living vice of her virginal vagina squeezes Arne with surprising strength. He feels the burning beginnings of another orgasm swelling in his roots and passes the chillum to Ram’yana, who puffs the smoldering hash back to billowing heat.

“Sitting on a sofa with a sister or two…”

“Oh God, oh fuck, this is so groovy,” Crystal announces when she regains her breath, unaware of Arne’s internal struggle. While Ram’yana considers the audio omens Racheal shrugs off the girl’s outpouring of outdated argot. “You cats are all so cool… and hot…” She strokes the exposed portion of Ram’s rigid rod with her tiny hand, and a cloud of smoke escapes his lungs when his erection rears in response, eliciting a moan from Racheal’s contracting diaphragm as her loins clench around him.

Crystal’s stream of words continues unabated. “I mean, oh yeah… wow, this is… mm, oh yeah, oh Arnie, oh God, mmm…” Her lips settle against Racheal’s shoulder when her newly met boyfriend begins rocking his hips beneath her. “Oh, wow sister, mm… thanks for sharing everything…”

“…give us a wink and make me think of you…”

Her lover grimaces as he holds himself back, not daring to move within the girls’ inflaming grips. Crystal rambles on while Arne sucks on the teat of the chillum and his log throbs inside her vulva. “I mean, wow… I never dreamed it could be so… uhh, I mean, when I met Arnie at the station…” The tiny teen wraps her arms around Racheal and cuddles the older girl’s sweaty body in the summery mid-afternoon heat.

The Lady’s stoned blue eyes fix on Arne’s through Crystal’s red curls; when the priestess licks her lips the electricity sparking between her and the muscular monk almost pushes the lad over the brink as both girls run squeezing rings around him. “Oh God, mmm…” Crystal purrs. Oh yeah, that feels so good… uhh… mmm… um… what’s that in the pipe, huh?”

“Chillum,” Arne corrects her with an ungentle thrust.

“Grass and hash,” Racheal informs the girl, taking the chillum from Arne. “It’s called a ‘chillum’ – in India. But this one’s actually the tailpipe of that Garuda Bird over…”

“Lov-el-y to meet a maid…” Arne sings mismatched out of tune lyrics while he kneads Crystal’s soft white flesh in his coarse fingers, overriding the girls’ incipient conversation. “You have to hold it upright or you’ll burn to death in your sleep,” he warns the inexperienced girl. “Embers on the mattress…”

“It’s really strong,” the younger girl declares. “Or is it just me?”

“You’re strong all right,” Arne agrees as he slips forward on the beanbag and moves deeper inside her. “Oh, Chrissie… you’re tighter than a nun and twice as fresh – fresh off the boat, just like the weed.”

“Oh, God…” Crystal falls back against the distending muscles of his belly and chest. “Oh man… you’re the one who’s fresh. Mmm… what boat?” She lifts a wooden puzzle box from a low table and fiddles with the geometrically precise cube, distracting herself from his slightly disparaging tone and forestalling the wave of wounded embarrassment that swells in her bosom. The puzzle’s parts are interlocked as tightly and seemingly inextricably as the pneumatic loins of the teenage lovers; Arne throbs motionless inside her, momentarily absorbed in repacking the chillum.

The younger teen crumbles hashish into a wooden bowl while Racheal cracks open the bottle of brown spirit he dropped beside her thigh. She takes a swig before passing the whiskey to Crystal. “You know what I mean,” Arne says as he refills the wooden cone. “The weed came from the Yanks on those warships parked in the harbour.”

“I don’t know ‘bout that,” Crystal replies. “I’m from out west.” The Centraxians watch in surprise while the girl guzzles a quarter of the bourbon in a single long gulp.

“…Everyone you see is half asleep

And you’re on your own, you’re in the street…”

“Where out west? Ohh!” Racheal probes the runaway girl while her prince probes her cervix.

“After a while you start to smile now, then you feel cool

Then you decide to take a walk by the old school

Nothing has changed, it’s still the same.

I’ve got nothing to say but it’s okay…”

“Way out west,” Crystal replies noncommittally while Ram’yana reads the omens and divines the synchronous transpositions of the evercoming moment. “No boats back there.” The redhead returns to the subject that’s foremost in her mind, staring into Racheal’s eyes as she strokes the priestess’s slender flanks and flaring hipbones. “The only way I’ll make love with your man is if it’s okay with you.”

She seems unaware of Arne’s barely withheld orgasm as he grabs her tightly by her waist and swallows a dose of spirit. Crystal’s smoke-laden native fragrance wafts through the older girl’s senses while the insinuative words sink into Racheal’s squirming mind. “Um…” Crystal tilts her flaming head and her eyelids flutter when the effects of the bourbon hit her. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Racheal.” The priestess is glad to be able to answer a different question than the one implied by Crystal’s challenging words. The Lady Racheal knows she should be glad for her man, and for the girl – and she certainly wants to feel Arne’s massive frame pressing her down into the mattress while he… but…

“And I’m Ram’yana.” The prince takes Crystal’s dainty hand in his beringed fingers and kisses her elongated nails, rolling his long middle finger around the soft hot centre of her inverted palm. “My pleasure.” All three look to Racheal. “Well, priestess?” Arne prompts, while he begins moving inside the redhead again in time with Ram’s languid rhythm.

How can I watch him with another… what if he falls in love with her… she’s too beautiful to trust with my Ramses…He’s MINE, dammit! And… Racheal blinks through the jumble of her fears and realisations; I haven’t had him long… The High Priestess takes a long deep draw of strong heads and black hash before she passes the well-primed chillum to Crystal. Racheal closes her eyes, enjoying the psychedelic edge the smoke and alcohol are adding to the thrill of her beautiful satyr’s hard horniness as he pulses inside her - throbbing in that wordless way of his, saying “we’re here, we’re one, come closer,” with his deliberately tempting slow full-length tempo.

“Watching the skirt you start to flirt, now you’re in here

Go to a show, you hope she goes…”

“Only if we can all have you at the same time,” the High Priestess replies to Crystal with an incisively swift decision that surprises them all – including Racheal herself. She catches Arne’s eye over the girl’s slim shoulder while he swallows another dram and passes her the hip flask. And you, you beastly manimal...

The priestess wills Arne to hear her thoughts as her eyes drill into his soul. I’ll have your dangerous-looking cock, too... If she can take it, so can I. You’re such a monstrously huge boy – even bigger than Ramses. And if he gets to fuck your little redhead, I get you, to show him what I look like when I’m being screwed by a big stud who’s obviously horny for me… that’ll make him think… The priestess quivers with a mixture of lust, anticipation and self-admonishment and her prince responds to her deep drawn-out sigh with renewed zeal.

The loud amplified music is overlain by a whinnying, meowing, howling, roaring menagerie of barnyard animals, culminating with a chorus of frenzied barking, the loudly clumping percussive hoof beats of galloping horses and the strident blast of a hunter’s horn. Racheal’s imagination becomes filled with a flush of hot pink visions; …and I need to wrap myself around those huge hard muscles…

Ram’yana finds himself momentarily distracted from the glorious sensations of his witch-wife’s talented anatomy, absorbed with internal reverie as their bodies couple and disport; Are the songs programming us - or is this coincidence, or synchronicity? Are all these signals omens from the metaprogrammer - signs our higher selves use to ensure that we notice meaningful allusions in the fabric of space-time… or are we all creating this reality, together, here and now?

The rocking beat and twanging guitar of the psychedelic album’s penultimate track roars through the bedchamber while Racheal rocks back and forth in Ram’s lap; the shaman caresses Crystal’s smooth thighs while his momentarily absent mind wanders through mazes of probability.

“We’re Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band

We hope you have enjoyed the show…”

“Wow,” Crystal exclaims, “D’you do this all the time? Is this what it’s always like, livin’ in a commune?” Her big boyfriend reaches out and his hands envelop Racheal’s right breast and Crystal’s left; the priestess squats on her magician’s wand as he kneels behind her while Ram’s palms caress the remaining pair of smoothly undulating feminine aureoles, feeling the hard nubbins of pert pink nipples against his soft skin. “Ooh… mm… d’you hippies all have sex whenever you want to?” The curious redhead perseveres through an invigorating rush of overloading sensorial bombardment.

Arne’s eyes squeeze shut and he inhales a voluminous gust when Crystal’s muscles tauten around him. Half immersed in her glorious slippery interior, the precocious young teenager can barely stop himself from exploding inside her clenching seam once again. “Uh… I want it with you, right now,” he tells her, “…before someone else comes in.”

The massive martial artist freezes for a moment and manages to contain himself; he twists his little girlfriend around his erection while a blaze of heat subsides from the flesh of his face. “Oh, baby… mm… maybe… um… hey Chrissie,” he murmurs into her ear as he immobilises her perspiration-limned body in his intractable grasp. “Do you think you can handle two men at once?”

“We’re Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band,

We’d like to funk you once again…”

Crystal sighs as she twists in her young man’s grasp and the blonde girl’s hands begin to caress and tickle her soft underbelly, while the long haired hippy strokes her throat and breasts. “Uh… oh Arnie, I dunno...”

“And you could make love with our High Priestess at the same time,” Arne continues suggestively, watching Racheal’s expression from the corner of his eye as her hand slides down his shaft. Having recovered his composure, the impetuous lad is instantly ready for more action. “Turn around,” he says before either girl can react.

“What?” the half-stoned and thoroughly drunken teen asks as she flicks curly red coils from her flustered face. In answer her boyfriend holds her midriff with one hand as he sweeps his other arm under Crystal’s thighs to raise her slim legs. The muscular teen turns the inebriated girl to face him, enjoying the tight, well-oiled rings of her membranous embrace twisting around the locus of his pride. Arne grips the red-haired pixie gently by her miniscule waist and stands up without visible effort as his hands slide down into her torn cutoff denims to enfold her petite cheeks. Racheal’s hand slips from his manhood and trails down his bulging leg to grasp his iron-hard thigh as the music reverberates between the buildings.

Crystal throws her arms around Arne’s thick neck and wraps her legs around his broad torso, pulling herself up into his groin. She moans into the large lad’s chest when he steps forward to the bed and gently deposits the teen on the rainbow quilt beside Racheal and Ram’yana. Arne lowers his bulk onto the girl’s tiny frame as he levers himself between her spreading thighs.

“I heard the news today, oh boy,

About a lucky man who made the grade…”

Crystal gasps when the overwhelming wall of masculine muscle descends upon her, and her palms slip from Arne’s neck to slide against his chest. She turns her face toward Racheal’s skew-necked stare and an intimation of fear flits across the younger girl’s features as she catches the priestess’s eyes from beneath the boy’s armpit. Her eyes widen with a pleading expression as she gasps in time with her boyfriend’s grunting; her widespread legs appear like sticks beside Arne’s muscular limbs and her body is entirely concealed beneath his mass when he bears down upon her.

The Lady Racheal twists around her young man’s slow thrusts and cups Arne Stook’s hairy sack in her hand; one of his testicles flows from her grasp as she holds him firmly by the root and forestalls his deeply driving plunge into the panicky little teen. Then, squeezing her prince’s cock with rhythmic flexures of her vagina, the priestess pulls him along with her as she turns to maintain her grip on Arne’s tenderness. She grasps Ram’s hip as she twists around and falls onto the bed, still hanging onto Arne’s scrotum.

Racheal lands on her side next to the overwhelmed little teen and strokes flaming curls from the smaller girl’s flushed freckled face while her lover resumes reaming her from behind. The priestess drapes a thigh over her sister-rival’s slim widespread leg, ensuring her thigh squeezes up against Arne’s stunning muscles while she holds his cock at bay. He’s so big and hard… and she’s so soft, the priestess exults as both girls’ silken inner thighs meet beneath Arne’s bulging body.

“You’re young,” she whispers into Crystal’s tiny ear while her prince’s hands stroke their close-pressed feminine flesh and the girls rub their smooth thighs together beneath the suspended weight of Arne’s bulky frame.

“Not too young to fuck you,” Crystal replies, yelling over the music just loudly enough for the entire household to hear every strident besotted syllable. She shows them what she means by reaching between the blonde’s thighs, grasping Ram’s balls in her small hand and driving his thick slick phallus up into his Lady - ramming it between Racheal’s tender lips with an intensity that surprises them all.

The unexpected assault shocks the Lady Racheal into stunned immobility; her prince can barely keep up with the redhead’s flurry of thrusts, wincing in pain as Crystal gropes his testicles and impales his mate with his long rigid rod. He’s helpless to stop her even if he wants to - and he doesn’t want to; despite any and all discomfort, this is a dream come true for the eighteen year old immortal.

“…A crowd of people stood and stared

They’d seen his face before – nobody was really sure if he was from the House of Lords…”

Arne emerges from his stunned surprise, pumping in and out of the redhead pixie with a suddenly furious pounding. Crystal lies on her back with her heels on his hips, kissing Racheal as she tools the beautiful blonde with Ram’s sex-slicked rod. The priestess’s legs scissor apart and her soft firm thigh presses against Arne’s belly as she draws him back out of Crystal, holding him by one testicle while she lifts her other knee onto his back. She slows Crystal’s frenzied pace as the girl uses her mate’s hard length to full effect, by pushing Arne down into the girl with one of her long strong legs, while her other kneecap stops half his length from penetrating too deeply into the tiny wide-splayed teen.

Both girls moan as one and kiss each other with an intensity born of desperate mutual craving, loosing their men to do as they will as they wrap their slim arms around each other. Racheal squeezes her thighs around Arne’s belly and buttocks as he moves through his young mate and lifts the priestess up and down with his inexorably powerful movements, while Ram’yana glides through his undulating witch-wife, taking her from behind. The sight and feel of the beautiful girls locked together in emphatic empathy inspires their males to pleasure them with long deep plunges, and both take their time to savour the unsurpassable sensations of their quivering females.

The girls sink into each other’s scents and flavours while four electrifying pairs of palpating hands wander across their enflamed skins, and hot rushes of THC-infused alcohol race through their overheated bloodstreams and overloaded nervous systems. The glide back toward the heights of time-defeating transdimensional union that they’d earlier experienced, approaching the magnetic moment when they can feel every shared impassioned sensation and blown-away thought as they meld into each other’s bodies and souls.

An interval of rocking bliss mounts into pre-orgasmic intensity, until the half-drunk girls finally surface from the silky depths of their succulent mouths – incapable of achieving full telempathic melding as the alcohol blurs their concentration. They stare into each other’s bright blue stoned eyes through veils of streaming long hair, and Crystal stops moving in a pause of claustrophobic alarm when the hard flat panes of their males’ hairy bodies press in and surround their young women’s soft smoothly entwined flesh.

Racheal recovers from her swooning surrender to Crystal’s sweet charms and leans back into her prince’s embrace as she resumes fucking the other girl with Arne’s stupendous cock. She subdues the younger female with an almost furious flurry of unexpectedly forceful thrusts as she pushes Arne’s pole into her wide open loins; Spearing her with his mighty shaft, the witch-girl thinks with lascivious glee as she stabs the redhead into an ecstasy of groaning, grunting submission. If this cock was mine I’d know how to make her come…

The Centraxian youths witness their teenage priestess take complete charge of the younger girl while Racheal’s spinning mind swirls in a wicked frenzy of unbridled lust; Lucky horny manimals… watch me fuck the living daylights out of this precious young thing with Arne’s offering… “Oh Goddess!” Racheal gasps and reels within the strange new waves of sensation as Crystal gropes between her thighs to grasp her young man by his roots again; She knows how to fuck, how to fuck me… knows what a girl needs, what I crave…

Crystal continues to plunge Ram’s lance through the gasping blonde’s seam in counterpoint to Racheal’s simultaneous assault on the moaning young redhead. Racheal’s thoughts are broadcast to all who can receive them, but her words are directed to her newfound sister as she cries out into her flaming hair, while the young men press her against the girl’s elfin body and lave their intertwined nakedness with slithering tongues and sliding lips. “Oh yes, oh love, oh, ohhh, I’m coming, I’m coming, come with me!”

The Lady Racheal’s eyes slide back in their sockets as she screams a full-throated roar and Ram’yana redoubles his efforts as he rides his mount over the brink of another orgasm. The shaman’s hands roam both their slickly firm hot young feminine bodies, while the girls fuck each other into a screaming mind-blown explosion with their young men’s hard cocks. They use their males like oversized living dildos, and impale each other with the forceful zeal they’d both use if the rigidly aroused manmeat was their own.

“…I’d love to turn you on.”

The slappings of flesh, screaming moans, breathless gasps and the pounding tumult of racing blood rushing through his veins make the prince forget all about the background music and portentous lyrics that keep streaming through the open second storey window.

Racheal flies over the edge of shameless screaming oblivion, willing Crystal to soar to the searing heights of ongoing orgasm with her. She covers the redhead’s gasping mouth and squeezed-shut eyes with wet kisses while she groans through an interminable nirvana of blinding white light and blazing, flaming heat. Her eyes blink open and closed through a haze of mind-blurring ecstasy and she tries to focus on Arne’s rapturous eyes through a phantasmal mantle of fiery serpentine coils, while his tongue meets hers in Crystal’s moaning mouth.

The Lady Racheal pounds the huge boy between the living china doll’s wide-open thighs, using his rigid fleshy pole to pleasure the girl as she spurs him deeper, mercilessly driving him right up to her womb. “This is what I’d do if I was him,” she confides to Crystal between gasping kisses while she spreads the moaning girl’s slim leg wider with her free hand. She pins Crystal’s thigh to the bed beneath her body as she rises and falls with Arne’s thrusts and Crystal mirrors her efforts with Ram’s long staff. “Fuck me, love,” the priestess pleads, “slide that big cock right up into me, oh yes, oh love, oh ram it into me, oh yess!”

“…Found my way upstairs and somebody spoke and I went into a dream

Aaahhh…”

Crystal’s hot little hand brushes against Racheal’s wide-stretched lips and golden pelt and rubs up against her swollen clitoris, and the grazing caress pushes the older teen right over the top. She barely notices that neither Crystal nor her Prince are coming with her; he isn’t shooting his flagrant sperm into her convulsing vagina and the redhead isn’t exploding alongside her, despite the other girl’s cantata of loudly moaning cries. Crystal uses Ram’s young manhood to stoke the erupting flare of Racheal’s volcanic orgasm and her lubricious fluids flood the youngster’s pink-nailed manicured hands, astounding the girl with the copiousness of her liquid feminine heat.

“…And though the holes were rather small

They had to count them all

Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall

I’d love to turn you on.”

As her breathing begins to return to normal the Lady Racheal becomes aware that Ram – and Crystal - are still screwing her. She can sense her prince’s eyes wandering the length of the redhead’s bouncing body, feels his desire for the elfin stranger spurring his animated fucking. He’s showing her what he can do for her if she replaces Arne’s flesh with his... She sees her man’s mounting desire mirrored in Crystal’s innocent blue eyes as the girl watches his face.

He’s saving his sperm for her… he wants to fuck her – of course… and she wants his cock inside her, that’s for certain… The priestess spins toward the still core of a secret inner sanctuary, distancing herself from the other teens that are making loud wet love with her automatically responsive body. How can I… how can I let her have him… ohh, this is so fucking hard…

“Ohh! Ramses, my love…” Racheal’s overloaded mind surrenders and she spins into a drunken whirl, passing beyond the dreamy sensations of three hot young bodies stroking her, licking and sucking her, fucking her through the sunset and into the realm of night. The Lady Racheal’s awareness is lost to the world of her senses; she has a weirdly arousing dream of being passionately loved and self-indulgently used by an unending succession of unfamiliar bodies, rough hands, and totally different cocks that all meld into one...

A true story

Continues…

- R.A.

Lyrics – When I’m Sixty-Four, Lovely Rita Meter Maid, Good Morning & Across the Universe by The Beatles

images - author's

See Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 1 Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 2 -Free World

Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 3 -Stretching the Envelope Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 4 - Home to Roost

Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 5 - Could It Be Any Body? Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 6 - Free Lovers

Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 7 - Wild Widow's Son

Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 8 - Womanimals Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 9 - Incautious Wishes Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 10 - Freedom of Choice Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 11 - Smuggled Desires

Adder Ladies and the Dawn of Ra Part 1 - Doves and Serpents

The Shaman of Centraxis Part 1 - The Whole is Greater

Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 1

http://centraxis.blogspot.com/

http://newilluminati.blog-city.com/

http://hermetic.blog.com/

http://www.geocities.com/r_ayana

This material is published under Creative Commons Copyright – reproduction for non-profit use is permitted & encouraged, if you give attribution to the work & author - and please include a (preferably active) link to the original along with this notice - – if you really like what you see, please make a small donation or leave a comment.