Monday, 30 June 2008
Friday, 27 June 2008
Free love isn’t an incidental fringe benefit of the New Aeon that arrives with the last decades of the old millennium – it’s the essential core feature of the alternative flower power ethos. The Youth Revolution isn’t another dim-witted uncivil war, but an overturning of all the ancient platitudes and certitudes regurgitated by superstitious hypocrites, violent predators and congenital liars.
A new generation of fresh-faced, open minded young people can find no more honourable course than to revolt against classical class-conscious cultures. They search for ways to change or escape their crazy death-dealing civilizations – societies that are suffocating in overweening nationalist pride and blatant self-blinding hypocrisy. Rebellious adolescents band together with non-conformist young adults, to cast off the pointless serpentine constrictions coiled around their generation. Loosely united in a new global consciousness, the emerging tribes of suddenly unleashed free-minded people sprout amid the rubble of their war-torn nations.
A common saying spreads throughout the clans and networks of rebels and outcasts – ‘Never trust anyone over thirty’. Seen through the eyes of the young, anyone that old is obviously part of the problem – not the solution. Merely growing older no longer generates respect. Older rebels have to prove their worth and good intent before they’re allowed to join the myriad tribes, gangs, action groups and communal dwellings of their younger brothers and sisters.
During the false dawn of the popularised Age of Aquarius, the real hippies share everything under the sun, moon and stars. The Counter-Culture Revolution begins and ends at home, where someone always has to do the dishes or pick up the baby. In the blatantly hidden alternative worlds-within-a-world, everything is sacred and nothing except violence and child abuse is forbidden between consenting adults. Just as the definition of ‘adult’ varies widely from jurisdiction to jurisdiction and state to state, differing groups have there own notions concerning ‘adulthood’ and other unexamined and adulterated concepts like adulation and adultery.
The various hippy groups look after each other and everyone’s children in teepees, caravans, nomadic townships, city squats, student households and rural communes. If not for Charlie Manson, the term ‘Family’ would describe the gregarious hippy tribes perfectly. It’s a description that fits their open-ended, free loving clans far more accurately than it does the shrinking, atomised nuclear families so many of the ‘Coke Adds Life’ generation have managed to escape from.
Coca Cola machines have spread everywhere across the globe, but the mass waves of crystalline drugs destined to materialise in the wake of this universally recognised slogan are yet to appear; cocaine is still extremely rare and Central Amerika is run by brutal right-wing generals and dictators, who happily harbour wealthy, slave-owning escaped Nazis.
The hippies don’t need either form of coke to have a good life and a great time – though many still enjoy sugary drinks almost as much as marijuana and rock ’n’ roll. The deeply committed core of the alternative movement avoids everything that comes from a pharmaceutical lab except L.S.D., and white powders are widely recognised among the rural hippy clans as a symbol of death – along with all white processed ‘food products’. They question everything that comes from toxic money-hungry factories and become as self sufficient amongst themselves as possible, growing their own food and making their own entertainment – and the best entertainments of all are the oldest kinds imaginable.
The flower power paradigm shift is rooted firmly in a new sexual revolution, fuelled by a desperate death-dealing and youth-worshipping society’s sudden coming of age. The newly acquired free access to contraceptives, education, work, and self-determination is unprecedented for lucky Western women. Not since the ancient revolutions at the world-spanning, mother-fucking beginning of the patriarchal era has the human species had a chance to heal its most primal schism.
No longer content to remain suffering Suffragettes, the sisters begin to assert their rights in the often patriarchal communes and ‘alternative’ settlements – which have been created, after all, by refugees from the same old mind-numbing mess that straights and rednecks have bred into themselves for millennia. To their horror, it isn’t long before the new generation discovers they’re inculcated with many of the same dreary old unexamined habits, prejudices and injustices as their forebears.
Women still stop speaking when men interrupt them, but many now object to the ubiquitous ‘you be quiet’-ous one-way mode of communication, which spoiled men and boys have been indoctrinated to maintain. Fortunately, many young men are green and unsullied enough to learn new tricks from their eager new feminist teachers. The older men are largely left out of the loop - strutting, preening themselves and fighting in the shadows beyond the periphery of the brightly lit psychedelic new age circles.
These first bold steps toward some kind of equality are only the beginning of true liberation for housebound women and workbound men. The ongoing Summer of Love heralds a future utopia that dreamers and visionaries foresee as an ‘inevitable’ age of leisure, when automation inexorably replaces all robotic and demeaning jobs and the common wealth is more fairly distributed.
Everyone who isn’t trapped with their nose to the grindstone tries to find a way out of the bottom of the deep, despair-filled, unclear nuclear pits of the Cold War. The more hopeful and optimistic believe they’re working toward a new, easily achievable era in which everyone is free to explore themselves and each other - and to create the Paradise Spaceship Earth that Humanity is more than capable of growing and nurturing through the long dark light years of our infrastellar trek.
‘What the world needs now is love, sweet love,’ the bard cried, and zealous legions of imaginative youngsters made glorious love wherever they found each other. Everyone searches for their one true soul mate, but as the minstrels sing, ‘if you can’t be with the one you love then love the one you’re with’. That’s the common credo and catch-cry in the lost liberated days of the Western World, in the decades before the lie of heterosexually-spread AIDS was foisted on a naïve world*; before the conspiratorial lies of the New World Disorder; before a married couple meant two full-time overtime wage slaves - before the world became flat again, and almost everyone forgot they ever had a dream, or what it might have been, or why.
For many, the New Age was – and is – more than a dream; it’s an evanescent, free-spirited daily and nightly reality. The sexual revolution is alive and well in every age, out of sight of easily panicked horses, curious kiddies and prying uncles. But in the dozen years after the Summer of Love and the muddy fields of Woodstock, free love is often a wide-open public theatrical happening, where uninhibited naturists and exhibitionists display every wonderful, bizarre, loving, fetishistic, passionate or absurd convolution of repressed domesticated primate sexuality.
Many young hippies are actually pretty straight in the psychedelic heyday – they’re mostly heterosexual or vaguely bi - a term deployed as commonly as ‘homo’, ‘fag’ or ‘camp’ in those days - and their minor deviations range from exhibitionism and voyeurism to occasional or regular alcohol and drug-fuelled impromptu orgies. In short, they’re little different from the average college kid or young straight swinger, sharing similar - yet even more artistic, creative, imaginative, fun and intoxicated - aspirations and lifestyles.
Everyone carries the invisible fetters of the amoral neo-feudal work ethic around in their skulls, like nasty little monkeys riding their spines. Many fetishes lurk in the dim recesses of minds trained for slavery on a prison planet – as most people’s families and ancestors have been.
Most everyone carries a strain of serfdom or bondage in their genetic inheritance, interwoven with genetic strands bequeathed by conquerors and rapists. Many have an overly familiar parent or uncle whose actions they’d be happier to forget, and carry invisible scars with perpetually recurring consequences all the days of their lives – or until they learn to succeed in the rigorous arts of self-examination, self-healing, compassion and forgiveness.
Inside the mental cage of everyone’s cranium, bound captives struggle with internal control freaks, working out their ages-old karmic debt to each other through the actions of their descendants – though us, you and me. Your thoughts and actions are not your own, but are a shared heritage – just like your habits or suppressed emotions, and the ‘automatic’ reactions that are set in train when some thing or some one triggers their sudden release or seemingly inexorable arousal. A human being is only their own master when engaged in an eternally ongoing process of relentless self-examination.
Like everyone else, the hippies carry a lot of baggage – but they share the load and swiftly learn to discard unnecessary and painful clutter from their nomadic backpacks, while everyone else hoards more and more crap inside the bulging walls of their private castles. From their perspective of involved separation the alternative movement can see the underlying faults and cloven foundations of the industrialised world, and avidly search for alternatives to save themselves and everyone else from a terrible future.
Almost every criticism they have of the ‘modern’ world falls on obdurately deaf ears – but by the end of the Millennium all that the hippies predict comes to pass and many of their solutions are part of the everyday fabric of the main stream.
The trans-incarnational tribe of Centraxians reforms and regroups during the hippy heyday in the Land of Oz, when the outrageous lifestyle they’re accustomed to becomes possible once more. The nomadic nation’s lords and ladies rediscover each other in the rock and roll, sex and drugs, make love not war boom times and their Court becomes notorious throughout the alternative circles and covens of the Emerald City. Their regular open-house parties become as well-known as their romantic quasi-medieval clothing, and their chivalric embellishments to the strained nasal accents of their straight cultural nemeses.
Though nominally monarchic and feudal in structure and style, the tribe is a democracy of peers and equals organised into three-person working groups called Tri-Aans. In the Realm of Centraxis all people are nobles and all choose their own role, but every hippy cooks and does the dishes – when more important things aren’t happening. And of course, the women clean the bathrooms, showers and toilets until they band together and demand justice.
Prince Ram’yana fills his lovely young Lady with long confident strokes, following the guiding rhythms of his witch-wife’s rocking body and her nostril-flaring locomotive panting. He rides his beloved bride just the way she wants him to, and Racheal opens herself to her young man so he can spread her thighs all the way up to her womb. “Ramses,” she gasps as her fingers disappear into the younger girl’s hotpants.
The soundtrack to their lovemaking changes when the witch next door decides to alter the regular order of Beatles tracks emanating from the turntable in her rooms across the lane. Strange sitar music sidles into their bedchamber, competing with ardent sighs and sucking flesh, fragmented giggles and long low moans. A barely audible voice penetrates the rising tide of orgiastic sounds.
“We were talking – about the space between us all
And the people – who hid themselves behind a wall of illusion
Never glimpse the truth – then it’s far too late – when they pass away…”
Ram’s shamanic mind circles the lyrics, witnessing the karmic interplay of flesh and ideas with a grin of recognition. The young priestess encourages him with short staccato cries and gasps as she plunges up and down with almost reckless abandon, riding and guiding her young man with self-impaling convulsions and vice-like contractions of her athletic, post-adolescent musculature.
His mind glimmers with his beloved’s fey presence and the prince suddenly remembers that his uninhibited mate is soon to be surprised by her formal initiation into the tribe; at least - in the face of the teenage priestess’s uncommon prescience - Ram’yana hopes it will be a surprise. While their moaning bodies intertwine in front of their distracted younger audience his mind drifts to the private moot of the previous week. The current primary male and female Tri-Aans of the tribe had arranged the details of the High Priestess’s induction into Centraxis - while Li Po and Freedom successfully occupied her with a trip into the concrete heart of the
The Lord Kha-Aan had grizzled over some details of protocol and suggested an altered timetable, which they’d all adopted after Ram’yana had checked his astronomical ephemerides. The Cold Wanderer drummed his fingers on the pine table and read Ursula Le Guin for most of the moot. The Lady L’Amore guffawed through the cloud of fragrant smoke that filled her witchy kitchen. “She’ll be surprised, that’s for certain.”
“Pleasantly surprised,” her tribal sister Stardew had giggled as she stirred a small cauldron of herbs brewing on the stove.
“And anyway, it’ll be loads of fun!” The Lady T’Ruth clapped her hands to accentuate her point and all three had bubbled over with glee.
“Oh darling… Oh my love…” Racheal’s sweet endearments draw him back from his distracting reverie as she grinds herself against him. The prince ploughs through his Lady while they watch the younger teens kiss and fondle each other beside their creaking bed. “Love…” he replies automatically while his eyes caress the other girl’s freckled white skin. Ram’yana is outrageously aroused by the unprecedented sight of his intended bride stroking the tiny redhead’s orange fuzz through her cutoff denims; her knuckles brush against Arne’s ham-fisted hand as the big lad pets his girlfriend’s pouting pudenda.
The precocious young martial artist holds his newfound redhead playmate above his wide lap; Crystal is blindfolded by her tube-top and her arms are pinned over her head by Arne’s huge hand, which completely surrounds both her wrists. Her breasts bounce as she trembles in his grasp and she moans with delight, enthralled by the different textures and caresses of the fingers stroking her inexperienced loins. “Ooh!” she squeaks. “Oh my God!”
“We were talking – about the love we all could share – when we find it
To try our best to hold it there – with our love
With our love – we could save the world – if they only knew…”
Tablas and tambura weave around singing sitar in a percussive backdrop to the magical lovers’ effortless efforts, while the younger teens struggle toward actually making love - locked in a weird, mutually reinforcing courtship dance. The older teenagers slip and slide together while Ram’yana watches Racheal’s limber fingers disappear inside the younger girl’s damp nest of bright orange curls. Crystal extends a long slim leg to balance her dangling body against the bouncing mattress and her toes wriggle against Ram’s hairy thigh.
The girl’s arms are like twigs against Arne Stook’s burgeoning limbs, and when the martial monk is certain the tribal priestess and priest are watching he twists Crystal around so they can see her pink-tipped conical breasts more clearly. He bends down and sucks her young titty right into his mouth while his calloused fingers slide around Racheal’s saliva-slicked ministrations, to caress the distending little button of the girl’s swelling pink clitty.
“Try to realise it’s all within yourself and no-one else can make you change
And to see you’re really very small,
And life flows on within you and without you…”
Crystal feels the strange hippy girl’s hair whipping at her bared breasts and belly, unable to see a thing until Arne decides to free her eyes. When her boyfriend finally slips the confining top over her head he keeps a firm grip on her wrists, and tongues her nipple while he fondles her clitoris with work-roughened digits. His mouth slips lower and lower, trailing a wet track of saliva down Crystal’s flat belly while he grabs Racheal’s hand and moves her softly feminine fingers through the younger teen’s pelt.
Arne’s tongue teasingly circles Crystal’s vulva without touching her moist membranes, and he licks Racheal’s hand before lapping his way along his girlfriend’s slim thigh, hoisting her higher in his astonishing grip. Crystal moans with the currents of bright electricity that crackle through her at the other girl’s astonishingly soft unfamiliar touch, while Arne dangles her above his lap. She overcomes her shy trepidation and strokes the sole of her dainty foot against the firm hairy leg of Racheal’s long haired lover, watching his entrancing erection spread the blonde priestess wider as his masculine heat flows into her.
“We were talking – about the love that’s gone so cold and the people,
Who gain the world and lose their soul – they don’t know –
They can’t see – are you one of them?”
Long pale strands of hair streak past Crystal’s face to flail and further arouse the young teen’s hardening pink nipples and puckering aureoles. She watches Racheal’s ample breasts bounce around above her young man’s hands while he lifts her up and down. Arne’s tongue meets his thick fingertips and he laves her quivering labia, tonguing his way around the older hippy girl’s gentle caresses. Crystal moans more loudly as her thighs slam shut in a rush of weak-kneed ecstasy and ingrained Catholic schoolgirl terror.
At first the shy girl can’t decide - but the redhead gradually becomes convinced that the blonde hippy chick is really, truly enjoying herself - enjoying being treated like a rag doll by her beautiful young man, riding him with enviably obvious ecstasy while he pistons in and out of her. “Oh, God, mmm, oh Arnie,” Crystal moans as her boy’s tongue pauses on the point of gliding into her hot pink seam while he suspends her in his bear-like grasp. “Ohh… they’re so beautiful!”
“You’re so hot,” he assures her “Hot as a bonfire!” Then his huge tongue enters the taut tender slit of her enflamed pussy. One huge hand wraps around her thigh while the other grips both her wrists and Arne stretches her straining little body in his overwhelming grasp. Crystal struggles, pressed up against the implacable youth for an indecisive moment - and then she relaxes and moans with pleasure, happily lost within the overwhelming power of the big teen’s insistently probing tongue. “So hot,” he grins into her bright orange fuzz as his eyes sidle to Racheal’s wide-eyed bouncing stare. “Hotter than hellfire.”
“Hot to trot”, the priestess agrees as she gallops on Ram’s lap. The redhead starts moaning more loudly as Arne’s thick middle finger replaces his tongue and slides into her well lubricated sex all the way up to his knuckle. Racheal sits back astride her energetic mate to enjoy the view of the other male’s blunt seduction of the younger teen. Her toes stretch to stroke the girl’s calf and thigh, while waves of ecstasy spiral through her from her pulsating, rotating loins. Crystal moans and shimmies around Arne’s cunning mouth as it glides up her torso while he stretches the girl’s slim body for his fellow Centraxians to admire; the girl surrenders to him completely, relaxing her will to the gravitic tug of destiny and her own unrequited, undeniable young lust.
“When you’ve seen beyond yourself – then you may find peace of mind is waiting there
And the time will come when you see we’re all one,
And life flows on within you and without you.”
The tiny teen leans her breast into the Centraxian monk’s mouth with a long drawn-out sigh, quietly assenting to the grasping and probing of his huge male paws as he lowers her into his lap. She squirms against the hot hard flesh pressing through his stained pants. Then her handsome, long haired horny beast-boy presses his cotton-sheathed hardness up against her ‘ginnie’ - As she endearingly calls it, Racheal recalls - and Crystal’s heart races beneath his palm. Arne’s rigid heat slips back to brand Crystal’s nude thigh with the burning fever of his teenage need; when she reaches for him the boy feels much harder and thicker than before. “Oh God!” she gasps.
“Goddess… Chrissie, honey,” Arne says to her nipple while he watches Racheal’s eyes roll back into her head.
The priestess’ latest shuddering orgasm is accompanied by a deep cry that pulses with the rhythm of her athletic coitus into a vibrant, heartfelt scream of ululating joy. “They’re so gorgeous,” Crystal confides to Arne while the blonde comes to the climax of her wild, spine-whipping ride atop her weirdly handsome long-haired mate.
Racheal’s toes curl against the girl’s trembling thigh while Arne works another finger inside her. Crystal can barely keep her eyes from the strange young hippy’s beautiful, perfect long cock and the furry lips stretching tautly around its girth. So different, she decides, so smooth and beautiful, not covered with ugly bulging veins like a turkey’s neck or… Her racing thoughts are interrupted by Arne’s not-so-gentle chipped teeth closing upon the tender flesh of her nipple.
The Lady Racheal pants to a grinding pause in her unexpectedly sudden explosion of rampant exhibitionism; her eyes snap open and Crystal squirms beneath the laser-like penetration of the older teen’s orgasmic stare while Arne works her into a lubricious lather. The naked girls are completely exposed to each other’s aroused appraisal, squaring off across the divide of half a handful of years - automatically assessing each other’s strengths, weaknesses and talents in an instantaneous psychic interplay of feminine wills.
Crystal is the first to break their stark staring contact; she nibbles Arne’s earlobe and tentatively wriggles her toes up against the prince’s hairy scrotum while the Centraxian priestess pants and heaves, squeezing her breasts with paint-stained hands. Crystal feels strangely aloof and remote from it all, as if she’s watching a zoo display of two caged mating animals or a movie in the cinema, or watching T.V. while her uncle... her brother… When the images overpower her mind the hippy girl gasps and stiffens astride her beau - and Crystal’s toes writhe up against the hippy’s long sex-slicked cock. His slippery hardness slides against her foot and makes her gasp as she contracts around Arne’s fingers - and the livid sensation of naked rigid man-flesh dispels the incipient fear-filled memories from her mind.
The instant Crystal’s skin makes contact with his flesh, Ram’yana feels an uncontrollable surge erupting from his roots. He groans and rams himself all the way up to his bride’s womb as he inseminates his beautiful young Lady’s fertile belly with thick gouting spurts of white-hot teenage cream.
Rachel’s eyelids slam shut as she screams and falls back against her lover, gasping like a beached mermaid while the slim dark-haired hippy continues pumping between her wide-spread thighs. His palms press her stained hands around her enlarged, blood-swollen breasts - and Crystal rubs her pink-nailed toes into the screaming blonde’s distended clitoris, pushing down against the hot, slippery place where her sticky sex meets her young man’s volcanic eruption. Two of Arne’s thick fingers slide in and out of his girl’s tight little ginnie, deeper and deeper - but the feeling of Ram’s slick hard length sliding against her naked toes and his hot spunk dripping down her foot is even more unbearably arousing for the swooning young girl.
Arne deftly buffs one of Crystal’s pert breasts with a surprisingly tender touch, while licking a wet circle around her other aureole in a spiraling motion that terminates at her wrinkling nipple. Crystal gasps as his rigid fingers slip out of her saturated slit to spread her furry lips apart, and his flexing wrist tears one leg of her shorts wide open, rending the last ersatz hymen of her modesty. Arne’s smiling smooth lips find her gaping mouth and two wet, thick calloused fingers slide down her chest and belly, to trawl around her swollen pink clitoris while the musclebound martial artist grasps her wrists again and raises them into the smoky air.
When the massive young martial artist twists her arms to turn her face to his, Crystal’s foot slips upward and her sole makes full-length contact with Ram’s long shaft. She moans into Arne’s mouth when her toes dig into Racheal’s soft flesh as the priestess slides up and down around her mate’s spouting hardness. The music stops with a loudly shocking scraping sound and suddenly resumes again when the gemstone fragment of the turntable’s needle lands on another spiraling track.
“I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in
And stops my mind from wandering where it will go”
“You’re gorgeous,” Arne tells his new girlfriend between flurries of kisses while Racheal and Ram’yana look on through the roseate lens of their ongoing lovemaking. The teenage prince usually remains hard after he’s come inside his arousing paramour the first couple of times, and the presence of the other lovers keeps his erection ardently rigid within his panting bride’s contracting belly.
Both pairs of lovers are incredibly aroused by the sight and feel of the other’s passions, as Crystal’s little toes tangle in Racheal’s pubic hair and her heel slips and slides against Ram’s rod. The prince can’t help wondering if the young redhead’s tiny foot is as long as her vagina – and holds his orgasm back as he finds himself yearning for her slim freckly flesh. But how could I… without hurting Racheal?
Arne licks the girl’s eyelids and dabs his tongue against her pink cheeks before dipping it playfully into her pouting Welsh smile. Crystal licks the fledgling hairs on his cheeks and then licks his eyeballs closed, probing their tightly sealed surfaces with a sharply pointed pink tongue while her body quivers above his cotton-sheathed cock. She dangles helplessly in one of Arne’s large hands while his other paw explores her steamy hinterland and his display of overbearing strength begins to arouse a vague disquiet in the magician and his witch-bride.
“I’m filling the cracks that ran through the door
And kept my mind from wandering where it will go”
Their minds are still almost as entwined as their flesh, and Ram’yana senses that his Lady is beginning to quietly flip out at the sight of Arne pinning the tiny stoned girl against his massive body, while he maneuvers her down towards his jutting erection. He’s manhandling her so roughly - she’s so small and he’s so much… more… Racheal attempts to dispel another sudden vision of that tree-trunk body holding her down, her straining flesh implacably pinned beneath its unstoppable horny male animal muscles as she writhes helplessly, with no choice but to be… No! The priestess concentrates on the feel of her real, flesh-filling mate in the here and now while Crystal’s wee big toe slides around her clitoris. Be here now, she orders herself, oh Goddess, my man, oh yes my love, like that… “Oh yess… oh yess… harder,” she urges. “Ram it into me.”
“And it really doesn’t matter, if I’m wrong I’m right,
Where I belong I’m right where I belong…”
Ram’yana almost laughs at the lyrical double entendre while he ploughs into his girl with confident strokes that make her grunt and moan with increasingly loud abandon. Their cries must be echoing through the manifold chambers of the Centraxian squat and into the houses of their neighbours, but none of the lovers is remotely concerned about the reactions of their friends, or of the Wiccan witches who are drowning out their lovemaking with loud music that blares across the lane.
“Silly people stand there and disagree and never win
And wonder why they don’t get in my door”
Ram’s endlessly wandering mind can’t help but notice the strange confluence of psychedelic lyrics and intoxicating flesh, even as he ploughs through Racheal’s extending orgasm. He presses his shaft against Crystal’s sole and drags his beloved mate up and down with an ease born of life’s unending longing for itself - and his unquenchable love-lust for his bride’s engorging beauty and talented quim. Crystal curls the arch of her foot partway around his rod, stopping Racheal half-way down her next moaning plunge.
“I’m painting a room in a colourful way
And when my mind is wandering
There I will go…”
The priestess’s slippery fingers meet Crystal’s big toe as it rolls against her steaming clitoris and she rotates the girl’s little digit around rapidly while the streetwise ball of the girl’s foot rubs against Ram’s slick sliding shaft. The lithe lightning of Crystal’s touch drives the young man wild as Racheal screams and floods them with her orgasmic fluids, clamping around her young man with a visceral grip that threatens to suck the jism from his balls again.
“…Where I belong
I’m right where I belong…”
The moaning, flailing priestess proudly flexes her fine haunches to help her male lift her to his crown before she rams herself back down, a little more slowly this time so all present can savour each neuron-soaked millimeter of her radiant womanhood as it strains around his thick slick rigidity. Racheal’s fading orgasm resurrects itself as her fingers press Crystal’s foot against Ram’s cock, and she uses the younger girl’s big toe to rekindle her smouldering furnace. She redoubles her efforts and her climax continues as she comes and comes. Crystal groans and twists around in Arne’s grasp as two of her boy’s fingers squeeze all the way up inside her narrow cleft and her foot slides away from the lovers’ fluid-sheathed loins. “Oh, God!” she cries while the priestess’s screams and moans are succeeded by a flurry of panting gasps.
Arne’s fingers slip into the breathless teenager as her knees rise and her thighs part, trapping his hand in the torn leg of her cutoff hotpants. Racheal tries to keep her eyes on the young couple through a haze of blinking ecstasy and the long pale veil of her hair, but the rearing staff of her longhorn male brings blinding tears of elation pouring down the windowpanes of her entranced soul. Her limber fingers whirl around her swollen love button while Crystal’s eyes widen. “My God!” she exclaims when she sees Racheal’s distending clitoris. It looks just like a hardening little penis… and she’s not ashamed at all…
The teenage priestess is unutterably aroused each time Arne and Crystal flicker their lusting eyes toward her, even as they kiss each other’s faces, throats and nipples. Maybe I am beautiful after all. Racheal fingers herself while she reaches with her unoccupied hand to touch the younger girl’s fine slim knee, sliding her palm down along the teen’s unshaven smooth calf to her upraised foot. She senses that her lover is on the verge of spilling over inside her again – can feel him swelling within the taut tube of her muscular vagina. Racheal’s beringed fingers entwine with Crystal’s strangely long, lean toes, gripping her in sisterly welcome as their young men redouble their rival efforts to pleasure their females - and themselves.
Arne’s thick fingers move through Crystal’s barely penetrable vulva in time with the prince’s cock, as it glides through the tribal priestess; effortlessly suspended in his other hand, the red-haired girl falls against her boy’s smiling mouth and moans around his tongue. Her uptilting breasts mash against his smooth chest through his unbuttoned shirt and his cloth-bound erection presses up into the gap in her torn denims.
“I’m taking the time for a number of things
That weren’t important yesterday
And I still come…”
The expression on Arne’s face is more than a little disconcerting to Racheal’s supersensitised orgasmic eye, as he holds the little redhead in the air and plays her helpless but willing wee body like a highly strung instrument. The priestess sees utterly self-absorbed unreflecting arousal twisting the lad’s features into a rictus of wickedly gleeful amusement. Thrilled at the power and control he has over the beautiful young teen, he proudly delights in displaying and pleasuring her helpless body for his mating dream-priestess and his tribal sponsor and mentor.
“I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in
That stops my mind from wandering where it will go…”
It’s not quite the type of orgy Racheal had in mind – yet - and as she watches the overgrown boy tease Crystal’s little body, she hopes to hold that overheating little redhead against her own breasts, belly and loins soon... very soon. She knows her Ramses feels exactly the same way.
Despite the immaturity and callous disregard evident in Arne’s posing posture and provocative actions, the explicit sight of the physically mismatched lovers is disconcertingly arousing for the Centraxian High Priest and his soon to be initiated High Priestess. The Lady Racheal clenches her prince’s rod within her newly practiced inward muscles, holding the object of her desire tightly inside her sphincter-like grip as he climbs to his knees and holds onto her hair, ponying up to the cleft of her clenching cheeks while she presents her raised flanks for his delectation.
“…Silently closing her bedroom door
Leaving the note that she hoped would say more…”
“You’re beautiful animals,” Crystal sighs while Arne tears the hole in her denims a little wider. When Racheal’s stare locks with the redhead’s she’s sure she knows what the girl is thinking; her hand slips up Crystal’s skinny silken leg to meet Arne’s knuckles and the young teen gasps with unconcealed wide-eyed innocence - staring right back into Racheal’s soul with a faint undertone of tremulous pleading fear beating within her post-pubescent curiosity.
“Quietly turning the back door key
Stepping outside she is free…”
Racheal slips her fingers up to the girl’s tight little clitoris and feels Arne’s fingers squeezing through the teen’s tautly stretched vagina. The priestess stares into an ivory statue of living, breathing Crystal and bucks against her prince with wildly grunting feral intensity, her desire feeding off the image of the pale pixie’s body being suspended and invaded by Arne’s oversized hands.
We gave her most of our lives
- Is leaving –
Sacrificed most of our lives
We gave her everything money could buy.
She’s leaving home after living alone for so many years…”
Without pausing to think, Racheal squeezes a finger into the girl’s astoundingly hot tight wetness alongside Arne’s thick digits, holding the unfamiliar female’s blinking eyes amidst the mutual tumult of their respective ecstasies. The girl’s ginnie is incredibly tight and soft, a stark contrast to the thick masculine digits reaming her succulent loins alongside Racheal’s gently probing finger. I’ve only felt another girl once before, she recalls, marveling at Crystal’s inexpressibly smooth vagina as her fingers twine with Arne’s inside the younger girl’s sweet loins. And not like this! “Oh, honey…” the priestess sighs. I can see what the guys get off on… Arne plunges in and out of Crystal’s vulva, taking Racheal’s finger with him. She feels even better than she looks… so smooth and soft and tight…
“Daddy, our baby’s gone”
The Lady Racheal has a sudden urge to kiss the sweet little teen while her lover pumps her from an arousingly fresh angle, but Arne’s tongue already fills the redhead’s mouth and her face is a little too far away. As Ram’yana parts his beloved’s fur-lined seam with his staff she almost forgets the girl whose vulva she’s stoking with a hand clasped inside Arne’s sticky enveloping palm. When Ram’s pole suddenly drives deep between her reflexively spreading cheeks and waves of pleasure overwhelm her mind, the only thing Racheal can think of is raw, stark, primal sensation as the lovers thrust toward ultimate flaming union, and her hand moves of its own volition beside Arne’s huge paw.
“She’s leaving home after living alone for so many years”
Crystal responds to the turn of the tide, slipping her wrists free when Arne becomes distracted by his priestess’s increasingly strident moans and cries. She scrunches down against the hardness in his lap and Racheal’s fingers are pinned between the surprisingly thick head of the boy’s cock and the girl’s hairy heat as Crystal pulls Arne’s wet hand to her breast. She presses his palm to her nipple and guides her boy’s exploration of her suddenly perspiring body while his zipper slides easily in the dainty fingers of her other hand. She carefully touches Arne’s impressive uncircumcised erection and pulls it from his pants. The Centraxians see an expression of hesitant trepidation crease Crystal’s unlined blushing face when her fingers enfold his red-hot mass.
Racheal’s eyes blur and slip in and out of focus, trying to fix on Arne’s utterly unfamiliar phallus while her Ramses reams her with the rod she knows and loves so well. Then the priestess sees what the redhead holds in her limber little fingers and as Arne’s velvet cap makes contact with Racheal’s hand a tight contraction of sheer lust runs through the length of her straining body.
Crystal mumbles with shock and pleasure; “Uh… mm… oh fuck… Wow,” she moans into Arne’s mouth in a strangely apologetic tone while his fingers prepare her for his improbable bulk. “Oh, God… umm… I’m stoned, but fuck, oh man!” She tries to squeeze her fingers around his girth but the task is hopeless. “Oh Arnie,” Crystal moans. She squirms down when Racheal begins to pull her finger from its tryst with Arne’s inside the girl’s tightly stretched ginnie, to make room for his prodding baton. “Don’t stop...” She pulls back from Arne’s kiss for a clearer look at the pillar of hot meat throbbing in her tiny hand and both girls gasp in harmony.
“…Fun is the one thing that money can’t buy…”
“My God!” Crystal cries in her repetitive prayer as Racheal and Arne entwine their fingers inside her. “Ohh… how… what...” The massive cock lolls to one side as she fumbles with it, unable to fully grasp it in her small hand. She gasps again as Arne suddenly pulls Racheal’s finger out of her tight moistness and lifts her entire flailing body with an easy one-handed grip. He holds her a single trembling inch above his purpling glans with an arm bent around her waist, while he wraps Racheal’s fingers around his cock with his other hand and grins into her orgasm-blurred eyes as her juices surge from her loins.
“…Something inside that was always denied for so many years”...
Arne holds his priestess’s unresisting hand halfway around his steamy cylinder and Racheal tingles all over at the incredibly surreal cock-filled reality she finds herself in - gripping the extraordinary phallus of the boy she’s been quietly observing for weeks, while she brings herself off with her other hand as her true love rides her through another breathtaking orgasm. “Oh, ohh, oh God oh man!” she echoes the younger teen, “oh fuck me! Don’t stop! Come! Oh, ohh OOH COME!” She tries to suck the seed from Ram’s balls, gripping him with all her inner strength as he rides her from behind and caresses her throat and flanks – and he moans and roars and calls her name, but doesn’t come inside her.
The third cock I’ve ever touched, the young priestess realises when her mind begins to function again and she finds her hand gripping Arne’s throbbing flesh. So incredibly thick and hot and swollen… and too big for her little bod... The priestess longs to wrap herself around this foreign-feeling slab of young manhood. Later, she tells herself as she quickens her self-impaling pace and squeezes the boy’s pillar between her fingers. I’ll get to have him later…
“…there will be a show tonight on trampoline…”
Ram’yana fucks his priestess faster and faster while she allows the young monk to stroke his cock with her sticky hand. She moans as she balances on one elbow, her face bobbing back and forth only a foot from Arne’s purple crown. She grasps his slippery skin as tightly as she can around the rigid core of his gristly flesh and pumps him with a wanton strength, pulling him up between the inexperienced red-haired girl’s widespread thighs. His salty aroma almost overpowers the fresh apricot fragrance emanating from Crystal’s juicy interior - the little teen smells so good Racheal can’t decide who she wants to lick and suck the most.
Sensing her indecision, her prince lifts her hips and propels her forward with a long, deep plunge, forcing her into an open-mouthed choice as she dives toward Arne’s cock; she pushes herself upward and Crystal’s curly ginger fur envelopes her mouth as Racheal’s tongue slithers along the girl’s silken lips. Ram’yana spurs her on with driving plunges, pounding all the way up into his mate’s belly. He’s overwhelmed by the sight of Arne masturbating with Racheal’s hand while his bride’s lips kiss the beautiful little redhead’s perfect pussy.
“…through a hogshead of real fire
In this way Mister K will challenge the world…”
Even as the young prince glories in his girl’s tightly grasping, hungrily clenching vagina he wants to feel the little redhead wrapped around his cock, wants to make her come in waves of unforgettable ecstasy. He berates himself for feeling jealous when he sees Racheal jerk Arne’s big pole up towards the unresisting teen’s mesmerising red bush - and her own lapping mouth.
Time slows around their interlocking bodies. The psychedelic music pours though them all and Ram’yana watches Crystal’s face as she moans and cries out while Racheal tongues her. The girl feels the heat rising from Arne’s engorged horn, flowing up into her moist little loins and filling her body with the undeniable presence of his overwhelming lust. Arne’s arm completely surrounds her tiny waist and the shaman watches her expression of sweet surrender once more become tinged with a shade of apprehension.
Her sapphire eyes glint at Ram’yana across Racheal’s long curving back as the priestess slides her tongue between the girl’s deliciously sweet, delightfully soft furry lips and grunts as her lover drives up against her cervix. The prince sees a look of helplessness verging on panic appear on Crystal’s gorgeous elfin face. The young girl begins to stray across the straining edge of fear when the masculine reality of Arne’s intractable strength becomes apparent, when he bears her towards his oversized lance with an irresistibly forceful grip. Racheal reluctantly pulls back out of the way, her legs quivering and trembling with Ram’s every thrust - but she doesn’t want to come again until she sees Crystal’s virgin-tight lips wrapped around Arne’s hypnotically masculine pillar of flesh.
Racheal and Ram’yana are aware that their fellow Centraxian is possibly about to deflower an inexperienced young girl who’s swimming out of her depth, held tightly in the insistent embrace of an unfamiliar and overpowering male animal. They watch her body tense in preparation for struggle and flight - but the boy doesn’t notice her mounting terror. Arne is swollen rigid with lust, ripely ready to sample Crystal’s barely mature and possibly untried body. He can barely believe he’s stroking his cock with the Lady Racheal’s soft sensitive palm as she squeezes her fingers around him; the boy keeps his eyes on her face as she stares at his manhood and moans while her prince pleasures her mercilessly.
Ram’yana watches as Arne uses his priestess’ hand to steer his cock toward the tremulous girl’s pink seam. He holds her immobile in his grasp, and she begins to struggle and try to close her legs as he prepares to lower her onto his rampant erection. The lad seems immune to Crystal’s mounting unease, ready to split her petite cleft and demonstrate his prowess to his longed-for blonde priestess - a star attraction of his nightly erotic fantasies – without another thought.
“…a splendid time is guaranteed for all…”
The sight and feel of Arne’s young cock makes Racheal screw her mate even more avidly as he attempts to summon the will to speak up on the girl’s behalf. Her prince is still adamantly hard inside her squelching loins as his creamy seed slides down her thighs while he fucks her just the way she needs it. “Uhh… uhh... oh, ohh… Arne, uh…” She finds her free hand is helping his massive knee spread Crystal’s legs open. Her fingers slide along the other girl’s silken inner thigh to settle in the heat of her orange muff - and she spreads the redhead’s lips for the big boy and strokes his attractive cock, ardently imagining herself in the younger teen’s place even as she moans with the splendid pleasure of being ridden by her true love.
Crystal freezes in their combined caresses. “Oh God!” she cries in a repetitive litany - and Arne brashly takes her yell for assent, meeting his priestess’ open-mouthed expression of unadorned lust with a Bacchanalian leer. Crystal realises his intent as her boyfriend grips her more tightly; it all seems to happen incredibly slowly and there’s plenty of time for her to object, but the girl is powerless to do anything but fulfill the urgent unsated needs of her ripe young flesh – and Arne’s overpowering lust. Her wrists stop writhing in his grasp at the instant his heat makes contact with hers.
Crystal’s senses expand and the vivid moment is forever engraved on her soul - all the extraordinary sensations, thoughts and sights are entangled in a single slow motion stream of unforgettable, mind-shatteringly genuine sex. She quivers as she watches the beautiful hippy couple make love while the psychedelic music dances through her fevered mind. Reflected afternoon sunshine bathes their pale pink bodies - and they watch Crystal watching them, as the strange witchy blonde rears up against her long haired mate and slips her hands up between the girl’s slim freckled thighs.
Racheal grasps Arne’s thick, vein-distended cock, holding it firmly in position while she spreads Crystal’s labia for his entry. Her neck strains forward as her tongue extends toward the girl’s little clitty, but the distance is too great. I want to lick and suck them to frothing wetness… prepare this tasty little freckle-faced redhead for his oversized cock... Goddess, it feels so good… I want it… Ram’yana ensures his priestess keeps moaning as her breasts sway and bounce against each other. The extinct joint falls from his lips as he notices what his witch-bride is doing when her head drops toward Arne’s lap.
“Ohh!” Crystal cries, her eyes firmly fixed on the virile long-haired young man who’s impaling the pretty blonde stranger, and she summons the will to slow Arne’s brash advance. She begins to open her perfect pink mouth to stutter an objection just as Racheal pulls the strangely soft outsized head of Arne’s rigid member right up through the torn leg of the girl’s jean pants and jams it between her furry lips - and the huge boy abruptly drops her onto his broad man-meat and pushes her down, down, down.
Crystal screams - a single short burst that stills the room and freezes Arne half-way into her terrifically taut vagina, suddenly afraid he’s torn the fragile flower of her femininity. She is a virgin, the Centraxians all conclude at once. The thought thrills through all three of them, unbidden and furtive, as their eyes meet in a glance across Crystal’s almost completely exposed nubile body.
“Ohh, Arnie!” Crystal cries. “Make love to me, oh! Oh! Ooh aah OOH! Love me oh my god, oh man, ohh! OHH! Oh love me oh you fuckin’ ohh animal beast oh fuck me, please oh yess… oh yesss…” Before the fifth syllable erupts from her lips, Arne jams Crystal down slowly and deliberately, spreading her wider and pushing up inside her until he’s jammed further into the little teen than Racheal believes possible. The priestess suddenly finds Arne’s cock slipping along her tongue when he leans against her face, and she laps at his sliding, acid-tinged manhood and Crystal’s molten little apricot flavoured button, in an ecstatic primal idyll where all objections are forgotten.
Now that his erection is firmly embedded inside the small teen, Arne can’t resist hoisting Crystal’s arms up over her radiant crown and holding her body up above him again. She hangs suspended atop his cock - unable to take more than a few inches - so Arne lifts her and drops her repeatedly around half his length, exulting in the tiny red-haired pixie’s gasping cries as he reaches down and tangles his hair in Racheal’s blonde mane. He pulls the priestess up by her hair and bends down to kiss his good friend’s long lusted-for bride, tasting Crystal’s sweet juices on her eagerly extended tongue.
“Mm, M’Lady…” he mumbles as he fucks Crystal’s flesh and gazes into his priestess’ eyes, while her hand squeezes halfway around his pillar and her fingers outline Crystal’s pouting lips as they stretch tightly around him. “Mmm!” He’s dimly aware of Ram’yana’s gaze playing over him as he kisses the shaman’s mate full on the mouth and feels her fingers clench around his shaft almost as tightly as the redhead’s elastic ring of slippery muscle.
Crystal is rendered speechless by the almost brutally rough pounding invasion of massive maleness and the amazingly soft contrast of Racheal’s gentle fingers - stroking the place where her inner lips stretch to breaking point around her newly met boyfriend’s blood-swollen hot meat. She was terrified as Arne’s cock speared up into her, expecting something slower - and a little gentler – from the long-haired hippy; but now the young runaway is blown away by the unexpected waves of unbelievable ecstasy pulsing through her young flesh as the hands, mouths and loins of these well-met strangers love her, suck her and fuck her.
She swoons and sways in the boy’s immobilising grasp while the older teens caress her body - and feels a twinge of jealousy at the sight of Arne kissing the beautiful older blonde. Then Racheal strokes Arne’s cock with Crystal’s distended membranes, pleasuring him and her newfound little friend at the same time, preparing the tiny girl for more while Arne’s tongue rotates inside her moaning mouth.
Oh, Goddess, Racheal gasps inwardly as her young admirer sucks on her tongue. Her mind is filled with images of that huge cock filling her as she hangs suspended in Arne’s unbreakable grasp, or tied to his low Japanese bed and fucked by him for days and nights - fucked in helpless hog-tied surrender to his overbearing handsome maleness - and his overweening but attractively confident ego. The priestess rebels at the visions of bondage and submission to a male’s self-serving will, but the way Arne carelessly uses Crystal’s entire body to pleasure half his mighty cock is disarmingly, unexpectedly, degradingly arousing.
The young priestess feels an electric crackle sparkling through her loins at the unprecedented contact with this muscular man’s hot, thick rod while Ram’yana reams her overheated sex. She wraps her tongue around Arne’s as she masturbates him with the redhead’s tautly constraining labia. She tries to imagine what the inexperienced girl must be feeling, tries to put herself in the girls place as she feels Arne’s manhood move within her for the first time, held helpless and gasping in his unbreakable grasp.
The lewd bondage fantasies continue parading though Racheal’s mind – she sees her naked body tied up and hanging from the ceiling, used by three strange masked men at once. They fill all her entryways as she struggles to breathe, attempting to squirm away from the incredible animal ecstasy that’s tied up inextricably with her complete terror, as she’s used like a piece of strung-up meat - and the thought occurs to her; These deviant images could be Crystal’s… or Arne’s… or even Ram’s… they could even be memories, or…
The priestess has never imagined having such things done to her – never with such a livid feeling of arousal or such a variety of disturbing milieus - and she futilely attempts to dispel the shameful vivid visions that turn her on so unexpectedly. She focuses on the feel of Arne’s tongue in her mouth, her prince stretching her drenched vagina and the young redhead squirming in her hand instead - and starts to stroke the girl’s wee clitoris as she realises she’s really, actually making love with the nubile young creature.
She’s not shocked by the sudden urge to kiss a pair of soft, sensuous lips that have no fringe of stubble. The wish to watch and feel Crystal coming in her arms, their soft breasts pressed closely together as she makes the inexperienced girl scream with pleasure, is surprising enough – but the seamy visions of being tied up and fucked mindlessly by Arne and a succession of other unknown grasping hands and sperm-jetting cocks are tantalisingly arousing and thoroughly disquieting all at once.
Racheal fails to fully banish the lurid fantasies while her fingers stroke Crystal’s clitoris and Arne’s bulging penis presses her love button out into her hand - and the beginning of another orgasm sneaks up the priestess’s arching spine as her lover moves deeper inside her and finds the spot. Arne breaks contact with her lips and she finds Crystal’s succulent mouth taking his place as the big boy dangles her forward - to Racheal’s inexpressible delight.
The teenage priestess closes her eyes and the girls suckle on each other’s lips and tongues, losing themselves completely in the press of warm rocking bodies and crammed orifices, and the fragrant cloud of sex-smells that rises around the coupling couples. “Womanimals,” Racheal murmurs into Crystal’s mouth, “We’re womanimals fucking our manimals together.” Their tongues entwine and speech becomes impossible as Racheal caresses the stranger’s swelling clitoris. Mmm… kissing a girl is… mm… so fucking good… Oh Goddess, she chants inwardly, oh thank you… mmm, Crystal… oh Ramses, oh fuck ohh my God…
Racheal comes in overwhelming waves of blinding bliss as she witnesses fleeting images of her quivering body tied down and trembling on a creaking bedframe, unable to scream through a mouth-filling gag as Arne rams that huge thick log between her trussed-wide thighs… No, she screams internally, don’t let that crap into you! She attempts to reorder her straying mind while she suckles on Crystal, and Ram’yana’s ever-present plunging horn makes her groan around the girl’s dancing tongue. Unless… it’s coming from Arne… his sick horny fantasy…
Ram’yana reaches forward and cups the redhead’s firm conical breasts in his hands as Racheal oscillates around his levering fulcrum. Crystal’s eyes roam aimlessly round the eerie posters, paintings and hangings that coat the chamber’s walls as she feels three pairs of hands caress her breasts, her thighs, her flanks and spine, enflaming her to a delirious rapture while Arne – big beautiful fuckin’ Arnie - fucks her stoned young brains out.
Then the blonde girl – Racheal, she remembers – slips her tongue out of Crystal’s mouth and murmurs “Don’t worry – it’s my first time, too,” while she strokes her clitty with sensitive and experienced hands. Not at all like Tommy... Crystal decides. Her first time? She stares into the blonde girl’s bright blue eyes and sees genuine warmth shining in the hippy’s open heart as the beautiful stranger fucks her man and strokes Crystal’s electric buzzer.
The witchy blonde masturbates half of Arne’s slippery cock – the half that’s not gliding in and out of what Crystal had hitherto believed was her virtually impenetrable quim. “Oh God!” the younger teen cries, thanking the Lord she’s not an unlovable and unfuckable freak of nature after all. She can’t tell whose hands are squeezing and stroking which parts of her body as she surrenders to the excruciatingly undeniable pleasures of her flesh.
“With a girl, I mean,” Racheal clarifies as she moans. The girls’ lips seem to naturally drift back together and meet in a supersensitive interplay of naked lust and finally fulfilled forbidden longings while Arne dangles and dandles the redhead on his stout cock. The elder girl strokes the redhead’s clitty and breasts while her tongue outlines her painted lips and the young males manhandle her all at once. Crystal gently squeezes Racheal’s breasts and her hand wanders down to the young woman’s sticky blonde pelt.
Arne’s tongue follows his priestess into Crystal’s painted mouth and three tongues wriggle inside her cheeks. The girl’s understandable fears and her embarrassed sense of immaturity dissolve as the Centraxians’ encouraging voices, hands, loins and mouths bolster the naked exposed flower of the freckled redhead’s translucently naïve self esteem. They kiss and caress her most intimate secret skin as the powerful blonde hippie witch and her tribal consorts pulverise the last shreds of the runaway teen’s post-pubescent inhibitions.
A true story
- Lyrics by George Harrison, John Lennon & Paul McCartney
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