Shaman of Centraxis 19
Lucid… The young shaman lies rigidly motionless within a swaddling cocoon of bedclothes. His somnolent form is an insectile husk languishing in a gumdrop of crystalline treacle. He stills mind and body, bridging disparate yet parallel worlds with intricate tapestries of vaguely meaningful random threads, interwoven into tangles far more knotted and inextricable than the twisted-up sleeping bag and the pile of borrowed blankets that enwrap his slender frame.
Just a dream? Ram’yana wonders. He gauges the vividly visceral nature of the arousing vision, whose images, words and vibes threaten to swiftly recede from his waking awareness. Yet the landscape and architecture of that other world remain with him; vibrantly alive, irresistibly present, unfolding an addictively irresistible tale just beyond the insubstantial glimmer of a veiling gossamer membrane.
The teenage mage hesitates to breathe too deeply, and risk dislodging his tenuous link with that otherworldly reality. He sinks back into the undertow which flows betwixt this cosm and the next, relaxing his grip on sensation and thought, allowing his inner self to drift back through the interpenetrative field of collective consciousness. He strives to regain a foothold in the magical sunken grotto, where the magnetically attractive face and form of the beautiful dream girl still beckon from across the precipitous void of sleep’s indefinite boundary.
So real… Thoughts stray through the net of his concentration. Too three dimensional and vivid to be a normal dream… even a wet dream. Natasha has become the focus of all my wishes… He finds the notion gladdening and is filled with presentiments of the girl’s warm glowing presence. Or can it be an old, old memory?
He shrugs off useless clinging strands of cogitation and struggles to relax enough to find his way back to the green-eyed dream girl. He can soon feel her watching him through the tenuous veil and is stricken by a palpable sense of yearning. He’s unable to discern whether he feels an empathic echo of Natasha’s longing or his own wilful desire, whether a shared current of mutual absorption wells in his breast, loins and brain in a sympathetic resonance of love or mere loving. Her eyes glow brightly, beaming from somewhere just beyond a translucent membrane which thins to transparency each time a pulse throbs in Ram’s core and beats within his sleep-sealed eyelids.
Are we really so truly in love… Acknowledging the depth of his feeling paralyses Ram’s mind, and thought only continues after a handful of withheld breaths; …that we’re sharing sacred sex on the Astral Plane? Will she remember this when we meet in the flesh? An inward shimmer of solar warmth floods him with the apparent confirmation of uplifting grace and confident empowerment. Is she waiting for me even now, just beyond the borderland of Dreaming?
The Centraxian shaman lays unmoving and relaxed, only allowing his breathing to shift his body as slightly as possible while he quietens his reactive mind and attempts to regain complete connexion and immersion in that other continuum - a cosmos of dreams and symbolic communion that lies behind the several nested veils of his terrestrial senses. He relaxes, surrendering to receptive acceptance while a swirling torrent of deepening darkness rises and settles about him with an insubstantial glove-like embrace.
His immortal coil stretches along stygian currents through winding tributaries of the River Leith, drawing his awareness into a tenuous whit of semi-witless surrender. A tenebrous tide of wilful unwakefulness submerges his soul in the depths of a slumberous desire.
Ram’yana relives a deeply incised portion of his fourteenth year, slim body coiling atop a rumpled cotton sleeping bag beside the electrifying presence of Natasha’s nude pubescence. Her skin is a torridly slippery sheath stretched round a blistering core of flame as they entwine in a miasma of summery heat and cloying humidity. They kiss and cuddle beneath capacious sheets of canvas in the feminine-scented darkness of a large army surplus bivouac tent. A breach in the door flap admits a dappled sway of moonbeams in a glimmering which only vaguely illumines the cramped camp beds, cluttered clotheslines, stacked backpacks, sparse grasses and crushed dandelions of the dirt-floored interior.
The smoky, eucalyptus-infused atmosphere, sweltering nocturnal temperature and a noisesome chattering of marsupial conversation indicate the moonlit wilds of the
The young teenager sighs as slim female limbs grasp at his body. He emits a self-consciously quiet moan when a precociously heated and diminutive form rolls onto his slender chest and sensitive belly. A cascading sheet of limpid darkness erases his fleet glimpse of the waxing moon when the tickling tide of a night-black mane engulfs his vision.
Twin apple-sized mounds press into the slim hairless ridges of Ram’s pectorals; exquisitely firm globes, their ripening shapes barely alter as an inconsequential weight and feverish sweaty heat bears down upon his ribcage. Hard fleshy buttons align with his nipples and splay across his chest while soft slippery legs sear tracks along his lightly furred thighs. A slick lithe tongue twines with his for a succulent eternity - and then the limber girl climbs fully astride him, knees slipping past his hipbones as her toes grip the lumpen horsehair mattress, awkwardly slung across a narrow creaking metal cot. He gasps out her name; “Natasha!”
A moonbeam alights on a glistening grin that widens into blatantly joyous and lascivious enthusiasm when her name snickers through the night. Pinpoint glimmers of lustrous eyes and a wickedly uninhibited smile surmount the girl’s indistinct yet vividly livid nude form. A silent pact and paeon to further immersion in deathless pleasures, the set of her features portends the promise of mutual mind-shattering satiation. Her nakedly lusty leer is framed by a jet-dark waterfall of shimmering waves and as she hovers above him the young shaman has a second or two in which to register his surprisingly good fortune.
Here at this remote remove from the travails of a mundane scholarly life and the torments and tortures of his usual childhood associates, he can be whoever and whatever he wants. He can present a new and untried facet of his maturing personality to this precocious younger girl, whose eyes dance upon him with eager anticipation while their slim untried bodies slide together in rusticated darkness.
A torrid blast of silken heat spreads through Ram’s boyish belly as the incredibly smooth soft cheeks of Natasha’s firm athletic derriere press into his unclothed flesh. She sits proudly erect upon her marginally elder playmate, carefully arranging her posture so his rigidly curving stave rears up along the declivity of her parting cheeks and strains against the rungs of her lower spine.
A small silvery star swings to and fro on a fragile glittering chain before Ram’s rapt gaze, flashing between the poles of Natasha’s fine pointed breasts when the tent flap is pried open by a wandering zephyr. Complementary curves of sine wave moonlight swell in his vision to frame the foreshortened planes of her heart-shaped features. He reaches up to gently cup the perspiration-wetted mounds of the lithe young Venus.
Smooth schoolboy palms brush against hard little nipples and the puckering girdles of silky aureoles. His daring girlfriend’s amazingly soft yet pneumatically firm breasts are only slightly less burningly hot than the fuzz-lined furnace that presses down against his navel. An undeniable heat rages through his simmering bloodstream and his erection hardens to a painful rigidity as he strokes the ripening fruits of her unsuckled mammaries. Their heat-swollen surfaces are sheathed in sweet beads of sweat that lubricate his caresses and embolden him to squeeze Natasha’s sensitive nerve-charged flesh, moulding her breasts with artistic hands and dextrous tickling fingers.
In mute reply she strokes wavy lines with sharp little fingernails that skitter along his belly, chest, shoulders and throat. Whispering sibilances rise around them, masking nocturnal sounds of scampering wildlife and softly soughing branches. Barely perceivable gasps and scarcely suppressed giggles punctuate the accelerating bellows of the young lovers’ racing breaths, the soft sounds of skin sliding on skin and the liquid suction of closely pressed mouths; ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s and ‘mm’s, a quietly voiced ‘fuck’ and hasty exchanges of wordless voyeuristic acknowledgements arise from the teenaged bevy of Natasha’s tent-mates, blatantly observing the action from the creaky shadows of surrounding bunks.
When the lovers’ bodies are fleetingly spotlighted in glimmering moonlight, dizzying waves of midsummer heat limn silvered skins with a slathering liquid sheen. They moan and kiss, slithering like serpents on the darkened stage of Natasha’s bunk in the cramped spaciousness of the communal tent. Questing fingers explore firm, smooth, nubile flesh before the urgent gazes of insatiate teenage desire, a promissory oasis of enticing sensuality amidst the desert tedium of acculturated isolation; normally, the young teenage girls’ strung out pubescence is thoroughly constrained by separated single-sex schooldays and overly protective refugee families.
Spurred by the unsubtle acclamation of Natasha’s appreciative peers, they explore the virgin terrain of hitherto concealed secret skins while their unseen audience squints at their inexperienced strivings and indulges in a flurry of pernickety whispering comments: “She looks so skinny”; “So does he…”: “’Cept where it counts!”; “Oh!”; “Fuck, yeah…”; “Ooh!”; “Too dark to see…”; “Uh”; “Are they gonna do it?”; “Shh - the guys might hear!”; “Hope they do…”; “Mmm…”
The young lovers stare into each other’s ready, matched and horny soul, as if waiting for some silent starting gun to sound before they race toward a breathless brave conjunction of far-flung separated destinies. I’ve lived this before, a distant portion of Ram’s mind decides in a flash as Nasher’s tongue outlines the edges of his lips. Many times...
Their shameless lovemaking is obviously the zenith of manifold shared expectations. They stroke and pet each others’ naked bodies in the breathlessly stuffy tent, filled to overflowing with the aroused gasps and streaming pheromones of the holidaying teenage schoolgirls. The well-matched couple meets in Nasher’s tent most every night and an audience of usual suspects adds an unavoidable seasoning of arousing exhibitionism to the unconsummated and – until now - fully clothed wrestling of their post-pubescent trysts.
Even as he immerses himself in the steamy bath of Natasha’s desire, some tenacious part of Ram’s consciousness observes their effusive lovemaking from an inviolable yet implicitly connected remove. This is a memory… the young shaman assures himself while he swallows the sweet juice of Nasher’s saliva. The most pleasant memory of childhood’s end, utterly vivid, etched into stark relief by continual fond recollection... Incredibly lucid, yet no proof I’m actually alive… not the vision I thought I was seeking…
Natasha’s tongue slides round his mouth, jamming between his teeth and gums while her fingers brush past his balls. Her loins scrunch down until her lightly furred outer lips part upon the taut muscles of his lower belly, and when Ram’s shaft flexes between her bunching buns his inner ramblings dissolve in blinding sensation. Yet even as he kisses the gorgeous girl of his dreams made flesh and his focus narrows on searing signals from his overblown senses, Ram’yana tries to scan the dim periphery of his occluded sight.
Moonlit eyeshine glimmers and blinks from hooded shadows within cloaking cowls of several sleeping bags while the other girls coil and squirm with slowly circumspect feminine sinuousness. Seven socialising sisters are arrayed all round the lovers’ nude perspiration-slicked bodies, glistening eyes widely open to the blistering tableau spread before their inexperienced and avid gazes. All chatter has ceased in a wordless conspiracy to keep the bounty of their nocturnal entertainment a closely held secret. Some of the figures judder and shake as they recline, eyes blinking and rocking above the blurred pallets of creaking bunks as the pupal mounds of sleeping bags jostle and jerk with their hidden self-servicing.
While Natasha’s silky seam slides along the topside of her chosen boy’s shaft her girlfriends begin a muffled, almost inaudible droning chant inside the khaki cotton cocoons of their girly-scented sleeping bags, mildly surprising a distant onlooking facet of Ram’s entranced mind. As Nasher mouths him with endless tongue lashings that serve to confirm her eponymous phonetic nickname, he struggles to hear what the other girls are saying.
First one, then two, then each and all combine in a humming semicircle of slowly emerging syllables. The teenage mage is surprised and distracted when the murmurs resolve into Names which have become far more familiar to his magically trained ears since first he heard them; “Isis, Astarte, Hecate, Demeter, Diana, Kali, Inana…” Huh? He wonders dumbly. I don’t recall… He and his boyish kreis-mates had sometimes wondered at the sounds which occasionally emanated from some of the other tents in the dead of night. So this was what they chanted… Leo thought it might be a witch’s chant, but we were never sure…
Nasher’s murmur joins the throng when the rhymeless rhyme comes round for the third time, and a melodious vibration is transmitted downward from her pubic bone and secret sacrum, a vibrant rumble in the cloudbase of Ram’s thunderous arousal. The lovers entwine amidst the mumbling chanters, pressing and caressing their untried young bodies in a proudly shameless display while the muffled invocation is interspersed with soft gasps and quiet moans.
Was this what they chanted? The young shaman experiences every nuance of the unforgettable night with a freshness and intensity that belies the passage of years. The taste and scent and feel of Natasha’s close-pressed body and her breathless yearning, the ineluctable thrill of being bedded by her - the undeniable sensation of feeling Nasher’s naked innocence all over again for the very first time - deny the dissolution of these loving lusty experiences amidst the inchoate bellowing and billowing of time’s endless ocean. Yet some portion of him still exists on a plane removed, observing all that occurs from a distant coign of vantage. I probably wasn’t paying enough attention… at the time…
Torrid waves of entrancing heat span the narrowing gulf betwixt the jigsaw fit of their sex and sexes. Nasher’s chant doesn’t falter when her pubic bone grinds down into the pit of Ram’s groin; not even when an astounding sultriness spreads athwart and against the upcurving base of his rigidity and the moist hard bulb of her love button slides hotly through the dark curly sward that rings the towering pole of his superheated flesh.
A shadowing echo of midrange voices becomes barely audible, issuing from nearby tents filled with teenage males and younger boys - a murmur whose syllables seem to echo the hum of the girls’ wily cant with a drum-like resonant beat. The pulsing deep sounds resolve into a series of matching masculine Names which flare inside the shaman’s magically entrained mind; “Osiris, Mithra, Adonis, Dionysus, Pan, Shiva, Dummuzi…” The God Names combine into a rhythmic melange, girls’ voices blending into boys’, male into female into male as a mantle of fey magic descends upon one and all, combining bodies, souls and spirits into the living theatre of an age-old saga. But… this can’t have happened… not like this… The chanting resolves and dissolves with inchoate tenacity.
The masculine voices blur into echoes of distant conversations and the voice of Bing Crosby, crooning from a scratchy-sounding radio somewhere in the outer darkness of the campground. That’s more like it, Ram’yana affirms as Nasher’s tongue mascaras his eyelashes and beads of perspiration drip into his eyes from her unfurrowed brow. That’s how it was… is… he reassures himself. Keep it real and unalloyed…
Yet a feminine chant continues within the cloaking bags as the lovers’ mouths seal together in wet hermetic closure, enunciating familiar syllables of a different spell entirely; Kadoish kadoish kadoish Elohim T’svaoth, kadoish kadoish kadoish Elohim T’svaoth… The singsong Hebrew incantation is vaguely familiar, but his attention is diverted by a far more urgent reality. Slippery tongues fence inside their lip-sealed cavern of shared hidden delight as nimble hands slide down Ram’s belly, gliding toward the base of his rampant shaft. Nasher groans into his mouth when she spreads her labia lengthwise around the tubular thickness that slips along her volcanic seam, in brazenly clear (if dimly lit) view of her chanting tent-mates.
‘Going to go all the way…’ He can’t tell whether the words are his or another’s; actual vocalisations or a fleeting string of mental commentary gleaned from the tribalistic chorus of connected minds and shared needful instincts. Ram’s heart races like a rat running round a racheting wheel in the cage of his chest, and Nasher’s heartbeat races apace through the tautly stretched sheath of her flesh-padded femininity. He drowns in dark waves of cascading hair as perspiration blends and juices mingle. His sweaty palms rove her athletic little body and her ensorcelling fingers encircle the base of his sex. Nasher’s tongue slips from his mouth and a cool breeze washes his face when she rises astride him, balancing on her knees while his erection slips back along the fuzzy moist furnace of her cleft to throb against the sheer inner surface of her shifting thigh.
‘Kadoish kadoish kadoish Elohim T’vaoth…’
The besotted youth senses the alert attentiveness of all the supposedly sleeping minds at the sultry summer youth camp. All the teenagers and younger kids are split into groups of eight and segregated into huge single-sex tents, arrayed in rows all around the plexal place where the inexperienced star-matched lovers prepare, at last, to mate. Ram’s mind hovers at the brink of ecstatic bliss, clutching at the straw of a jutting incongruity even as he slips toward the hungry maw of blindingly bestial and heavenly lust; What are they chanting?
‘Kadoish kadoish kadoish Elohim T’vaoth…’
He begins to whisper the chant aloud, but before he can complete it his voice is hushed into a gasp by the livid bliss of Natasha’s most intimate touch on his untested genitals. The world begins spinning into streaks which curve into a twisting vortex, unravelling Ram’s radiant being into a refulgent field of enraptured bliss.
The beautiful young priestess’ chant becomes a melodic moan as she reaches down and grasps her prize, ready at long last to bestow her penultimate gift upon her chosen male devotee. Her coiling fingers guide his pythonic serpent staff through the fragrant underbrush of her promised land, bearing down on his maleness to engulf the tip of his crown within an unbearably satisfying fiery ring of taut stretching membranes; a cannibalistic snake swallowing its prey as she draws her playmate into the superheated threshold of her unsundered young sex.
“Goddess… oh, Nasher…” Ram’yana groans and shivers between the burning juncture of her silken girlish thighs. He surrenders to her wilful ministrations and is filled with a sense of sublime acceptance when the delicious slick smoothness of her summer tanned razor-shaved limbs brush against the fine hairs sprouting from his slim young legs. He moans when elastic rings of untried muscle slip down a fraction further round the bulging cap of his crown.
“Unicorn manimal,” the delightful nymph moans as the muffled chant melds into a verbal drumbeat, pounding and resounding through Ram’s straining senses to prime the charge of his rampantly cantering passions.
“Oh, love,” she sighs between ritual stanzas. “Kadoish kadoish…” His hands automatically enfold curvaceous yet slimly boyish hipbones and his thumbs dip down into the girl’s groin as her sex slides up and away, halting at the last instant of yawning separation, only to bear down and lead him partway back into the tight molten vent of her magmatic moisture. “…kadoish Elohim T’svaoth…” The tide of her suction withdraws in a wave and returns on the instant to anoint his crown anew, an inexorable circadian cycle of onrushing intensity.
He can barely restrain himself from rearing up inside her, from pulling her down around him as his fingertips grasp her immature hips. The brazen girl never plunges deeper, only balancing on his rearing pole as primordial undying Goddess and Consort unite through the young lovers’ hearts, minds, souls, screaming bloodstreams and the insuppressible wanting of their fresh eager flesh.
The shaman’s hands dig more deeply, gripping his girlfriend’s hips and pressing into her tiny midriff as he wrestles with the natural instinct to ram upward inside her virginal tightness. The last time they’d come so close to mating the lovers had lain side by side beneath sheltering scrub and Nasher quivered with the shock of electric contact when his naked cock slid against her vagina. Her trepidation had swelled into palpable terror, and when her teary eyes glimmered and pled for more time he’d shifted away to calm her, despite the intensity of his longing. Much change can occur in a teenage week. She’s so different now…
‘Kadoish kadoish kadoish Elohim T’vaoth…’
Allowing her to control the pace and extent of their longed-for consummation requires every dram of Ram’s restraint. He lies back and releases his grip, caressing the preponderant mounts of his paramour’s breasts with soft questing fingers while the long painted nails of a delicate hand glide down his throat, shoulders, chest and belly. Nasher’s limber fingers begin dancing round her clitoris while her taut little body shimmies atop his straining manhood and a sudden rush of flaming energy rises in the pit of his belly.
Twin serpents coil within Ram’s relaxing torso and twine around his spine in a redoubled helix. Transubstantial cobra’s heads rise upward from his chest and appear to scan outward beside his throbbing temples, focusing on the centralised locus of Natasha’s irresistible will, their unblinking eyes staring into the brilliant core of her mind. A fluid surge of flame rushes upward inside his spine with a white-light-white-heat eruption that seems to blow the skullcap of his bony crown from the top of his blown-away head. A duet of moans erupts from the lovers’ throats as they ride the wild tide, combining into a monstrous roar that drowns out the ongoing chant which suffuses their screaming, merging, two-headed flesh with an incitingly insistent rhythm.
“Ohh! OOHH!” Natasha cries as she clutches at her loins and squeezes Ram’s right hand around the fast-pounding drumbeat within and beneath her unripe left breast – “Ahh! Oh, ooh,OH, uhh… uh… o MAN o GOD!” - and, without actually spurting his seed inside the orgasmic girl’s relentlessly clenching tight inner lips (despite an almost undeniable need to fill her virginal womb with warm jets of creamy male jism), the young shaman experiences an indelible mind-blasting orgasm as she squeezes down another inch and wraps her vulva all the way round the bulb of his crown.
Nasher’s vice-like heatedness swirls round and round, squeezing and sliding athwart the cap of his boyish manhood while her heart leaps into the palm of his hand. He comes with her, as her, riding the wild tide that plunges through her screaming nerves. He experiences the ecstasy that annihilates all her needs and wants in blinding blasts of bliss; two tuned bowstrings plucked into insensate harmony by an invisibly indivisible muse.
With knees outstretched and tendons straining, the squirming teen moans incoherent cries as her long dark hair whips at Ram’s face and sticky fingers close around his shaft. “Ohh, yes… o yess… o LOVE!” she cries between gasps. Her free hand draws his from her breast, sliding the flat of his palm around the taut drum of her belly to stroke the vibrating flesh of her flank. Gasping and shaking, he grasps the smooth, tight, rounded bulges of Natasha’s silky cheeks in both hands while her fingertips tickle his fuzzy fur lined roots and her soft velvet pelt brushes against the edges of his wrists.
“Love,” he moans, “oh, love…” The swooning girl drifts to one side in his grasp and pulls away from the head of his cock with an unforgettable suction, producing a clearly audible popping sound. She falls full-length upon his belly and chest, firm pert breasts pressing down upon his ribs, heart pounding and breathlessly mute as he blinks up into the sealed moonlit curves of makeup-frosted eyelids. Natasha’s ripely wet font writhes athwart the front of Ram’s rigidity, and he moans when she stretches and parts her rapidly maturing womanhood to rub her slippery lips lengthwise along the topside of his lingam once more. “I think I’m going to come,” he warns her.
The entire world seems to tremble and shudder when a flashlight sears the darkness of the cloistered tent and each of the lovers blinks into the other’s sex-stunned eyes. The chant falters and halts and squeaky cots creak and shift when all the girls suddenly crane their necks as one, to peer at the nude pair of horny naked kids who are brazenly coupling scant inches away in a torch-lit pool of dazzling brightness.
The blinding light plays across the lovers’ closely pressing bodies from somewhere beyond the gaping tent flap. Ram’yana is instantly cognizant of their complete xposure to the widening eyes of the no longer chanting gaggle of shocked, curious and guilt-riddled girls. Who is it? he briefly wonders - but the young teenager forgets all about the circle of goggling stares, the threat of discovery and adult recrimination when Natasha suddenly starts raising and lowering her hips, rocking her pelvis and sliding along the length of his shaft with unendurable double-time motions. “Don’t stop,” she implores with words and deeds, regardless of peering eyes and shining light. “Come… come all over me…”
Her loins squeeze along his shaft with astoundingly lubricious ease, bringing him to the verge of explosive ejaculation while a glittering sea of curious eyes all witness the near-total conjunction of their firm and tender lust-moist flesh. Nasher’s mouth melds into his in a superheated flow of liquefied lava. The lovers only have eyes for each other as they peer through the emerald-lined windows of their enflamed merging souls. They gasp wordless sounds into receptively gaping smooth lips and softly succulent masticating mouths. When he closes his eyes the light burns through his eyelids.
Ram’s mind drifts through and about his strong young body as Nasher’s vagina slides over the cap of his cock. He feels awed, surprised, shocked and fearful - lovingly empathic and uncommonly sensitive as an untried virgin all over again, being fucked by this beautiful female creature who rides astride him in full public view. Just like sharing my virginity on acid with Fifi L’Amoure at Rendel’s party, he recalls.
The memory seems out of sequence, confusing the shaman even as he strains at the gate of Natasha’s unbroken hymen. “Forget about them,” Nasher whispers, and amidst his confusion he can’t tell to whom she’s referring. For a moment he shifts between times and spaces and the world seems to shimmer as he tries to hold onto the fleet heels of pubescent delight. “You can come inside me if you want,” she gasps into his ear, pressing even more closely, ever more tightly. Oh, fuck…
With a resurrected surge of confident wilfulness the shaman manages to dodge all the way back into the engrossing lucid dream/reality/memory, allowing himself to be overwhelmed by the inexpressibly shocking ecstasy of Natasha’s incomparable textures and the utterly satisfying bliss of their lovemaking - the sight of her soul staring into his, and the unvoiced certainty implicit in the mutual needs of lusty young love as they both hover on the verge of completely losing the rest of their virginity in each other’s arms and loins. The entire wider world and their onlooking audience fade into distant irrelevancy. Ram’yana desperately holds fast to the moment and wills his younger self to manfully try and stem the unstoppable rush of his oncoming orgasm. I want this to last forever…
Then the immature priestess shifts position and her thighs close around him, concealing most of his hardness between her silken legs so only his crown is visible to the crowding onlookers between the bulging curves of her bunching buttocks. He sighs while his balls boil with semen. She squeezes down and glides back in the actinic torchlight, heedless of discovery or humiliation, sliding along the length of his shaft to push his engorged piston between the tight squeezing bands of her labia. Ram’s body trembles with anticipation.
She begins to ride her mount toward a slowly approaching horizon as her smile glitter down at him, enticing his stunned body into a rampant flurry of pneumatic action between her slick nether lips - surely inviting him to thrust his rod inside her irresistibly burning tightness and explode into her adolescent womb in a creaming lather of helpless juvenile abandon. He hangs onto his paramour’s hips and rides her body along the parallel lines of their conjoining lust, toward a bold infinity of mutual oblivion - while her enviously aroused girlfriends and an unknown stranger lay eyes on their hitherto unseen foaming genitalia and witness the wanton rapture of their most unbridled passions. Nasher drops onto his body and grips his head as her mouth mashes into his face, seeking his lips as she burrows through shadowing vines of their dark wavy hair.
Tongues entwine inside Nasher’s sweet little mouth while her lover grapples her rocking hips and hefts her light little body all the way up along his full bloated length. He hesitates on the brink, barely able to constrain himself from plunging right up inside her barely ripe little cleft and completely deflowering her on the spot - and rams his girlfriend’s light little body back down along the front of his cock. She groans in a glory of near-total fulfilment, exuding an obvious moan of unsatisfied desperation when the juice-glazed nubbin of her swollen clitoris bulges against his hairy roots. He breathes into his belly to slow the onrushing swell of his seed.
The torchlight unexpectedly disappears and the coupling lovers are left in a cloud of impenetrable darkness. They lie frozen together on the brink of adulthood while the sounds of their raging breaths fill the closeted night, scant inches from fertile conjunction. As their eyesight readjusts to slanting moonbeams, the low chant attempts to return with uncertain cadence in a fractured round of mismatched syllables. Ram’yana squeezes up along the splendidly wet split seam of Nasher’s loins and pulls back again and again as her slippery labia stretch around the front of his length. He follows the siren-song of his personal goddess’s gratified urgings as she heaves and pants and writhes and groans within her protective circle of whispering girlfriends. “Love me!” she cries into his mouth, loosing the last shreds of restraint in the throes of unendurable sex-starved teenage frenzy. “O fuck me, o fill me my man, my animal, ohh, do it, oh do it, mm, fill me right up with big hard cock!”
Ram’yana needs no further instruction. “I love you,” he says, parting her cheeks and outer lips with a gentle tug as Natasha slips the elastic ring of her commitment around his purpling crown. “I love you,” she breathes in a momentary pause of utter stillness while she hangs on the cusp of womanhood. Just as her lover slips his hands under Natasha’s firm round buttocks and they kiss with abandoned wet moans - just as he positions the beautiful young teen for entry and she lowers her hips, beginning to force his jutting cock all the way through that burning ring of fire and right up inside her glorious sex for the very first time - the tent flap surges open and all the girls subside into instant silence when the torch flashes around the guilt-riddled circle of flushed young faces from the ominous height of an adult’s oversight.
Natasha freezes on the edge of fulfilment and they both groan with the torment of unconsummated lust. Ram’yana deliberately slides past his goal, crying out as he jets thick gouts of semen up into the beam of light. Creamy gouts of fulsome teen come arc toward the rumpled cotton sleeping bags of the nearest girls while his eyes squeeze tightly shut.
A true story
Shaman of Centraxis Part 4 - To Infinity and Beyond Shaman of Centraxis Part 5 - Land of the Living Shaman of Centraxis Part 6 - All the Way Shaman of Centraxis Part 7 - South of Eden Shaman of Centraxis Part 8 - The Whole is Greater Shaman of Centraxis Part 9 - Crossing Boarders Shaman of Centraxis Part 10 - Believer Shaman of Centraxis Part 11 - Behind the Veil Shaman of Centraxis Part 12 - Peace, Love & War Games Shaman of Centraxis Part 13 - Pole Dancer
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From The Prince of Centraxis - http://centraxis.blogspot.com