In Season
Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll 27
*
He hardly notices when the
brouhaha commences. Echoes of an unseemly shout reverberate through
colourful melodies, weaving glissandos of waterfalls between the tribal shaman’s
ears. A delicate hand grips the base of his staff with a tightening squeeze
while the anointed surfaces of his lover’s perfect body slip across and around
his skin. Clenching fingers stroke the exposed length of his slippery manhood, trailing
behind the tautly stretching ring of his ladylove’s lusciously whetted clasp. Everything
else is mere distraction.
The
intimate strength of Racheal’s inner caress is an instant reply to the
pleasurable intrusion of another girl’s touch – an immediate response that evinces
the teenage priestess’ complete acceptance of another’s presence amidst the totally
absorbed and uninhibited pleasure of their joyfully evanescent union. A sinuous
tongue begins lapping at their meeting place and for a few scintillating
moments the sensation distracts the young shaman from total immersion in his
mate’s enjoyment.
A woman… he decides through the
hallucinatory haze of interchanging senses and roiling emotions, while his Lady
gasps and moans her way toward another screaming peak; …a girl... He relaxes into an unexpected rush of extraordinary
pleasure while a marching band led by a silver-skinned naked baton twirler colours
his inward sight with gilt-sashed scarlet hues, keeping time with the
psychedelic strings of strident viola and duelling guitar. Another girl…
The tongue
laps at his loins while Racheal’s breasts press down upon his chest like the
soft rounded cheeks of twin cherubim. The priestess’ tongue slides between his
lips and her fingers frantically entwine around streaming strands of his tangled
long hair.
Then a
jostling motion commences nearby and the succulent mouth suddenly withdraws
from their slipsliding loins.
“Back,
knave!” a familiar voice commands, slicing through the song that washes across
their steamy nakedness in tintibulating waves of percussive arpeggios. Wordless
yells mingle with the music that pumps through the tribal longhall, animal
cries that only articulate into intelligible phrases for a smattering of
moments. Ram’s realigning sight shifts from his paramour’s rapt face and his
head turns to observe the source of the sounds, but another sight attracts his
hypnagogic attention. When he glances downward he’s just in time to witness the
apotheosis of Crystal’s starkly climactic beauty as she screams her delight
into their loins;
“Oh Arnie, ohh god, oh fuck, oh yeah, oh love, oh MAN, I LOVE you!” the spry redhead girl declares to
the longhall. An amplified accompaniment of sumptuously slow music pours down
across them all while her fine young body fucks and bucks to her boy’s chosen
tempo, and the vibrant, flagrant, titillating exposure of her near complete
nakedness draws the attention of all in the hall. Chrissie’s eyes weep salty
droplets and a corner of her delectably kissable little mouth actually drools a
stalactite of saliva when Arné Stook pins her pink little body between the
mattress and the wall. The younger teen screams while her boyfriend pounds
through her torn satin hotpants from behind, huge calloused hands hoisting her slim
girlish hips all the way up round his stoutly upstanding erection.
*
‘When I look out my window
Many sights to see
And when I look in my window
So many different people to be…’
*
“Come on,
man,” a drunken voice pleads from somewhere in a blindingly bright region above
their roiling bodies. “I got cash. Tell ya what - less flip a coin for ’er.
Heads or tails?”
*
‘…That it’s strange
So strange
You’ve got to pick up every stitch…
“Mm, must be the season of the witch…’
*
Crystal’s
cries shift into a rhythmic pattern of guttural moans while the stranger’s looming
silhouette attempts to barter her rainbow-lit body for grubby booty. Ram
watches her glittering eyes roll up into their sockets as she gasps and yells
in synchrony with Arné’s well-timed thrusts.
“An easy
choice,” the more familiar voice answers. “Here – some heads,” Marco’s
mollifying tone suggests as a smouldering spray of burning seeds falls onto
Ram’s shin. His leg kicks down along Crystal’s sweat-streaked ribcage and
nestles against her jostling breast. Sensations surround and enfold him, impossible
to separate, all feelings and urges a simultaneous, sensuous, unfathomable
immersion in sumptuous, sacred, slippery animal motion. He watches their
uninhibited coitus through innumerable perspectives, a bold and brazen bas relief
engraved in timeless time - overlaid and overlapping shapes and identities all
melding in a molten kaleidoscope of fractured yet seamless images.
*
‘When I look over my shoulder
What do you think I see?
Some other cat lookin’ over his shoulder at me
And he’s strange…’
*
A subtle
shift in his Lady’s straddling ride betrays her awareness of the untoward
conversation. Racheal’s strivings accelerate as she swivels around the fulcrum
of Ram’s desire, striving to catch a blinking glimpse of the forest of legs
arrayed about their public boudoir.
“Jus’ wait
yer turn!”
They SEE… The notion blares in his
brain with the intensity of a strident trumpet and he can’t tell whether the
thought is hers, or his, or everyone’s. A funnelling tunnel pours down from the
sky, leading toward their mingling bodies and exposing their nakedness to
another, far more focused and distant will. His ladylove turns this way and
that, automatically trying to avoid the touch of the fey intrusive vortex while
she rides her mate to a swiftly approaching denouement.
When Racheal
twists round his shaft in a particular, special, intimately familiar way, her
paramour feels the unmistakeable signs of another impending explosion begin with
the riveting convulsions that thrum through her interior. She falls upon his
lips and her tongue fucks his mouth, matching each thrust to her gliding,
squeezing, galloping ride.
*
‘…Sure is strange
You’ve got to pick up every stitch…
Beatniks are out to make it rich
Oh no!
Must be the season of the witch…
When I go…’
*
Poised
betwixt amber and viridian, the brightly coloured rainbow light is suddenly extinguished
and the longhall is plunged into a fire-lit haze of candlelight darkness once
more – yet the vortex composed of a far more rarefied light continues to pour
down upon them, a windowed opening into another realm. WE ARE HERE. The Voice booms through Ram’s mind with undeniable
gravity, commanding his attention even as Chrissie’s mouth envelops his cock
with delectable heat and Racheal’s tongue dances with his own inside both their
slick-lipped mouths.
HERE… The thrust of the Voice is an
unopposable command. He’s propelled more completely inside his body, amazed by
the sheer intensity of blazing sensation his meaty materiality bestows while both
wondrous Centraxian girls bless his hard youthful flesh with glorious feminine charms.
HERE… The Voice demands, and sensational
pleasures mix and mingle with emblazoning visions, arising from near and afar. Absorbed
in delight, he views their world from the eye of the vortex - the source of the
Voice - and sees immature children cavort and disport on a sparsely wooded
patch of wide, gently sloping hillside, surrounded by the milling mass of a
festive native tribe.
NOW… The woodland melts to a dire grey
wasteland where sweating orgiastic savages rut in the dusty husk of a shattered
ruin.
“Thassit,
we’ll jus’ wait a while,” a lesser, material voice interjects, “Whaddya reckon,
maybe later, when things quieten down a bit.” The words barely penetrate as
Ram’s consciousness sinks into rapturous bliss with the liquid kiss of his
loving mate.
Apparently
unmindful of her attentive audience, Racheal rises and falls with such frenzied
abandon she pops right off Ram’s crown with a breathtakingly tight labile squeeze.
She groans with despair, interrupted just as another orgasm begins to race toward
a mind-shattering zenith through her pulsating veins and electrified nerves.
Chrissie’s endless moaning is instantly silenced when her slick, taut mouth
replaces Racheal’s incomparable quim. The younger girl begins to swallow as
much of his length as she can take while her limber little body rocks to her
boyfriend’s incessant pummelling.
“But fuck, that could be bloody ages…”
“Who art thou calling ‘buttfuck’, knave?”
Ram’s eyes
project sparks and unformed shapes into candlelit darkness while they readjust
to the sudden gloom. He’s unable to make out the face of the redhead who sucks
at his cock while Racheal’s slick tongue freezes between his lips. Inarticulate
vibrations arise from the feminine mouth which fully surrounds his erection;
the dazed young shaman exults as the wee runaway moans and slurps around his
first meaty inches, sucking his slippery shaft with almost painfully naïve
vacuum-strength zeal while his fingers tie knots in her flaming hair.
Another
blinking glance and a dazzling flash of blue-white light informs the prince
that the younger teen is still rocking in time with Arné’s fast humping. Her
boyfriend swivels around while he mounts the tripping redheaded pixie from
behind and Crystal’s moaning mouth slips away, her tongue diving to lave Ram’s
testes. Arné’s hairless chin comes to rest on Racheal’s shoulder when Crystal’s
suckling mouth is pulled away with the reaming, twisting surge of his fucking.
CREATURES… The import of the Voice’s
message is undeniable. Arné’s face is transfigured into the visage of a rutting
satyr as he impales the wee pixie that sups on Ram’s swollen, sex-sticky cock.
Racheal’s fingers entwine with Arne’s, guiding his hand around Crystal’s breast
while her rump resettles astride her young man.
Ram’yana
groans when the exhilarating heat of this Lady’s taut slick sex reseals round
his crown. Arné’s eyes remain shuttered while he savours the extraordinary
sensation of his massive frame pressing down against Racheal’s soft, smooth skin.
One meaty hand encompasses her magnificent breasts while she strokes Chrissie’s
tit with the other. His wide smile rocks inside her gilded mane as they all move
to the repetitive tempo of sinusoidal motions that course through their fine
young bodies.
*
‘Sure is strange
You’ve got to pick up every stitch…
The rabbit’s running in the ditch
Beatniks are out to make it rich
Oh no
Must be the season of the witch…
When I go…’ +
*
A surprisingly
brilliant flash reveals the Lady Racheal’s inspiringly ecstatic features and
her expression is instantly, undeniably, forever graven into Ram’s wide open heart.
Elation fills him for a blissful eternity while he witnesses the wondrous
afterimage of resplendent animal pleasure that transfigures her beautiful face.
Slim,
strong fingers dig into his shoulders as she rebalances atop his pole and her
breasts rock and roll while she rises and falls astride him. She mounts her
mate with a proud expression, fucking in time to the panting susurrus of their
parallel gasps. Arné manhandles her flesh and kisses her neck and both girls
groan as one when his dilated eyes flash open; yet their perfect, graceful
bodies seem somehow primitive and foreign in the spirit-sheathed glaze of Ram’s
illuminated gaze.
CREATIONS…
Creations, aye… but whose?
The heat
of their bodies and force of their passions distorts the air with shimmering
waves in their shadowy bower. Arné’s eyes cram shut when the prince’s focus
bores into his friend and ally’s wide-eyed stare - obviously avoiding the young
shaman’s attempt to gauge and engage his will and attention. A toothsome grin
distorts the martial artist’s handsome features, transforming his chip-toothed
smile into a feral grimace as his muscular chest presses against Racheal’s
shoulder blades. His face is illumined from beneath by a lambent orange glow
and further distorted by hallucination-filled darkness. He begins to fuck
Crystal so enthusiastically that her teeth scrape Ram’s cock as her face is
crammed into the mattress between his thighs.
BURNING IN AETERNAL FLAMES…
Her mouth
envelopes his left testicle and she sucks it into her cheek until his smaller third
orb stretches her lower lip. I wonder if
she’s noticed? Ram’yana ponders anew amidst the blinding assault of sensory
tumult and transdimensional communing. The darkness swims with orgiastic
half-seen forms and their bodies all flare with the auric evanescence of
undeniable, unsated, ongoing drugged and drunken arousal.
While his
lips suckle at the Lady Racheal’s throat, Arné releases her breast and tears away
the last remnant of the other girl’s skimpy clothing. With a deliberate
roughness he rips the scraps of material from her body, leaving her even more completely
naked than Racheal - utterly exposed in full view of the partying throng that
fills the chamber to overflowing.
The shaman
watches Crystal’s stripped flesh tremble in waves, reacting with aftershocks at
her boyfriend’s unexpected roughness while her slim body rocks to his reaming. Her
slim pale flank, bony hip, angular shoulder, full milky breast and high freckled
cheekbone are tinged burning orange by the flickering firelight, shadowed
declivities revealed by guttering candles strewn all about the longhall. She
groans round the shaman’s testicle and dainty hands slide along his thighs, as she
and Racheal continue to pleasure him into a psychedelic glory of superconscious
delight.
His
earlier discomfort entirely forgotten, Ram’s drifting spirit observes their
entwining bodies from a close remove as his flesh automatically bucks inside
his teenage mate’s tightly stretching seam. Her curiously hairless shaved lips clamp
down and stretch further round almost every inch of his fully erect girth while
Chrissie’s tongue enwraps the place of their union.
He’s drawn
completely into his flesh by the rapturous thrill of Racheal’s slowing self-impalements
and Crystal’s fascinating ministrations. Amidst a blazing glory of rushing
sensations, he’s suddenly struck by the inconsequential detail that his
trousers have unwound from his ankles and his bedazzled mind notes the equally
insubstantial fact that they’re all totally naked and fucking in time to the
music - rocking and rolling together in a corner of the communal Centraxian
longhall while the party rages around them.
I’m so slow, he realises
as Crystal’s tongue is torn from his cock by the swelling storm of Arné’s
unceasing pounding; …so strangely
lethargic… not like the normal surge of acid… Arné presses Racheal down upon Ram’s body
until her breasts squeeze into flattened wads of fleshy dough that slide up his
chest each time the other lad spears into the screaming redhead’s taut little
belly. A pair of struggling bodies falls to the floor near the fire and knocks
one of the dancers off their feet. “Hey!”
Racheal’s
lips seek Ram’s throat while Arné presses her down and his teeth grip the place
where her neck meets her shoulder. Her prince glances across the darkened
chamber, focus sliding past scuffling forms, beyond a nearby quartet of queerly
gyrating dancers, over slowly crepitate mounds of twin-backed bodies, between an
intent pair of interested voyeuristic street kids and sundry wreckage strewn
across low coffee tables and displaced furnishings. Another fight breaks out
beside the fucking automaton of his reclining body and Ram’s irreverent
lighting technician persona rises to the fore: Who turned off the colour wheel?
His eyes
traverse the dimly lit chamber and alight on the unexpected sight of Joe’s prepossessing
black body. The soldier’s glistening muscular frame is backlit by violet bands
of streetlight that pour through the barred front window. The G.I. grips the
dark streaming mane of a lightly tanned gamine woman, riding her crouching form
like a centaur on heat. Charmayne,
the prince notes without a glimmer of surprise. Joe’s thick obsidian thighs
clamp astride long haired Charmayne’s hips and pin her slender legs together. The
statuesque student’s limbs seem particularly slim and small as her body
shudders beneath her soldier-boy’s onslaught.
ALL POSESSORS POSSESSED…
Translucent
shapes suffuse the hall, rising and arising from the fleshly forms of all the
drunken revellers. Fauns and satyrs, nymphs and dryads ride the minds and forms
of men and woman, boys and girls, all unknowingly guided to higher passions by
immortally spirited riders. Ram’yana watches enthralled, immersed in sensation,
until he’s unexpectedly dazzled by the sudden lightening bolt of a flashing camera
- a flare in the dark that completely illumines the lurid scene for a
singularly breathtaking instant.
The
photographer is a dark blur in the periphery of sight as afterimages of
coupling couples swims across the surface of Ram’s addled perceptions; spectral
duos of subtly transforming shapes and shades that continue to buck in his mind
while Racheal fucks his thrusting body and Crystal’s tongue licks around both their
slick loins.
Racheal’s
long smooth thighs slip away, sliding along his furry legs as the extraordinary
promise of her vulva’s embrace withdraws upward and suddenly pops off his pole.
Ram’yana gasps when her grasping silkiness is instantly replaced by Crystal’s
sweet little mouth again; the bright afterimage of Joe and Charmayne transforms
into a chimerical animal form, a butterfly’s wings; a rapidly beating human
heart.
When
Crystal gobbles his whole length down in a single swift gulp he’s blinded by a
roseate glare and only slowly realises that Racheal is tonguing his ear while
her naked breast nuzzles into his armpit. When her hand drifts down to cup his
balls alongside Chrissie’s slim fingers his sensitive sack contracts and all
his testicles roll and slide inside his Lady’s softly gentle palm. “Love,” she
breathes. As Ram’s mind spins amid a torrent of amazed desire, the twinned
ultra-intimate caresses of two beautiful nubile females ignite him into a
blazing volcanic font of entirely unexpected instant release.
A blast of
white-hot light sears up through his spine and blows him away with the
megatonnage of an inexpressibly satisfying xplosion. The searing blast screams
through Ram’s soul and he’s carried away in the oncoming rush of an insuperably
intense orgasm. His awareness explodes amidst blazing, gut-wrenching gouts of
mind-blowing ecstasy; his eyeballs roll upward and his toes curl into the flesh
of Crystal’s firm little belly as the prince’s mind is sucked out with his
semen, blasting into the girl’s mouth and throat in unending spurts that drain
him dry.
He’s left
gasping and shuddering on the breathless lapping shore of consciousness, soon succumbing
to the warm waters of oblivion while Crystal continues to suck the last drops
from his youthful hardness. The Prince of Centraxis glides into another world
with effortless ease while the orgy continues to xpand around him.
“Rank
hath its rewards…”
“Feel so, uh, dizzy.”
“…uh uh uh uhnhuh uh uh uh unhuh uh uh uh…”
“I know… me three… but I don’t think it’s the acid.”
“Some of
those big waves just aren’t meant to be ridden.”
Ram’s mind
subsists at a crisscross plexus of music and dreams, words and feelings that
all convey a multiplex series of blended intentions and multiplex meanings.
“Rank is rank.”
“We’re pretty stoned… an’ pretty dunk, ah, drunk I guess…”
“They’ll
just dump an’ dunk yer.”
“Oh, baby,
fuck!”
The world is a kinaesthetic soup of
extraordinary interweaving revelations that all lead toward the same
inconclusive beginning. The shaman’s next immersion in Earthly awareness draws
his consciousness back into his body, sucking him from a blissfully drifting
rapture of displaced thoughts and misplaced aspirations, into a sensual cosm of
glorious visions and raunchy sensations.
This time
he’s sure the lips wrapped around his enduringly swollen girth are Racheal’s;
his lover’s familiar hands-free, deep throated, wildly tonguing technique is
wondrously unmistakable. He lies back in a state of immobilised nirvana and
idly wonders what combination of drugs could possibly have rendered him into
such a torpid state. As his crown slides more deeply into his lover’s taut
throat than ever before, geometrical Central American motifs coruscate in
vibrant Day-Glo colours behind his heavily sealed eyelids. “Oh, Rache…”
“Take it all, babe!”
“Rank in the tribe is self-given, knave – just like thine own…”
“…feels like it’s just gliding above the water…”
“I see it but I don’t believe it.”
“What a fuckin’ bodacious chick!”
The voices
wash over him in differing tones laden with melodious or malodorous intent, a
symphony of intermeshed wills and faceted thoughts. Not even the rumbling voice
of Ram’s liege lord rouses him from total immersion in his lady’s talented
succour, but Racheal judders to a halt when the older cavalier addresses her
from somewhere close at hand in the darkened longhall:
“Prithee
stop molesting the lad, milady” Kha-Aan chortles and the other conversations
seem to fade into a background hum. “As his patron I must insist, thou must
desist forthwith - to protect his virtue and reputation. And besides – ’tis a
wasted effort; he’s non compos mentis…”
Ram’s
eyelids creak slightly apart and he regards Kha-Aan’s silhouette through
rainbow spirals that smear oily designs through his interlaced lashes. The
baronet’s lean body glistens nakedly in the faint firelight as he reclines
before the glowing hearth, barely more than an arm’s length distant. “He’ll probably
not be waking soon – not after that galloping ride thou bestowed upon him!” He
sucks on a joint while an unidentified and equally nude young female rides upon
his long thick mast, moaning to the high-pitched accompaniment of more distant repetitive
squeals and moans and appreciative comments from unseen admirers in darker
corners.
“Tell me,”
their lord commands just as Racheal’s lips resume sliding along Ram’s shaft.
She halts while Kha-Aan continues, and her prince luxuriates in the feel of her
suckling mouth while he eavesdrops on his liege and lover; “Hast thou been
prudent?” The words barely lodge in Ram’s distracted mind, and but for the
strange emotions he senses emanating from his mate and the repeated
interruption to their lovemaking he wouldn’t bother focusing upon his lord’s
banter at all. The Lady Racheal commences a frenzied attack on his rigid
ramrod, overpowering his fractured thoughts with delightful sensations he finds
impossible to ignore.
“Level
with me,” Kha-Aan rumbles, and the witch girl’s reply is a silent adoration as she
works herself to a lather of abandonment on Ram’s ever-resurgent teenage
erection while Kha-Aan’s latest consort accelerates astride him. “Hast thou
been… oh, baby, that’s so good, keep going, like that…” His hands grasp the bouncing
hemispheres of the unknown young woman’s breasts. “Oh, fuck, baby…” He thrusts upward inside her, flanks and hips jerking
until she screams her climax into the populous night; she instantly subsides
atop his lanky frame, a curvaceously boneless, unconscious heap that collapses
into the crook of his arm and onto his bony lap.
Kha-Aan
strokes his moustache with one hand and the young woman’s hair with the other
while dimly lit figures shamble through shadows beyond and behind them. His
fingers carouse along her throat as she rolls over beside him, still wrapped
round his long, hard pole. “Ah, fuck doll, thou art a hot little strumpet!” The curvaceous brunette’s breathy panting
swiftly subsides into a snore while Racheal’s lips sear a trailing ring of fire
up and down Ram’s hard cock; he finds it increasingly difficult to mask his
wakefulness with convincing immobility. “Or thou wert, ’twould seem,” the cavalier amends while the prince surreptitiously
watches the older man’s eyes scan Racheal’s alluring delineaments. Kha-Aan’s smile
broadens as he speaks; “Another one bites the dust.
“Where
wert we?” Kha-Aan asks, reaching for a handy bong while his other hand shifts
from breast to breast. His hips begin to rock slowly, gently thrusting his cock
in and out of the unconscious girl. “The utmost discretion is required in
matters such as these…” Is he talking
about what he’s doing… or about this…
he wonders, restraining a moan at Racheal’s concentrated laving; ...or… surely not about this public orgy?
The young
prince forgets his renewed schism of concern when Racheal’s mouth retreats
along his tumescence and pulls away in the darkness. He’s vaguely surprised
when the tribal High Priestess holds him in place with a gentle grip and begins
to emulate Kha-Aan’s display of pseudo-necrophilia. She climbs aboard Ram’s
unmoving body and her tight young womanhood tenderly slides athwart his rigid,
pounding, blood-engorged flesh. Kha-Aan’s voice drones through Ram’s hidden vibrant
reverie; “I hear thou hast been a naughty
priestess, in which case all my efforts to protect thee may have been for
naught…”
“In vain, thou meanest.” Racheal pauses to
carefully enunciate the words and the prince has only a moment to begin to
decipher their conversation. Racheal groans as she impales herself to the quick
with a single long dive and immediately starts fucking her recumbent mate as
furiously as if his were the last cock on Earth. White light suddenly rises all
around them and closes in, a swiftly shrinking iris of consciousness in a
blanking, blinding field of whiteness. Ram’s mind fades away in an uncommonly
rapid rush, and he’s only dimly aware when she continues to use his somnolent but
rigid flesh regardless of his conscious or subconscious presence.
A strange
chant comes faintly to his ears as a vivid vision flits through mind and being,
gone almost as soon as it arrives, yet so luridly unworldly it slips back and
forth betwixt dreams and memories each time awareness momentarily returns him to
the glorious reality of his Lady Racheal’s breathlessly relentless fucking.
He feels
the soft, smooth caress of her thighs as they slide around his hips, tautly
stretched by firmly clenching hands while her entire naked body is stoked and
pinched, licked and kissed by innumerable hands and greedy mouths. Chanting
fills the candlelit chamber as the wondrousness of her hot, tight sex fills his
enraptured mind. He feels the inexpressibly arousing grip of her girlish vagina
wringing and grasping his cock with extraordinarily uncommon tenacity – so much
more satisfying than their usual fare. Barely an inch of the teenager’s skin is
visible beneath the onslaught of ungentle hands and hooded faces as she’s held
suspended before and around him. Her thoroughly constrained body thrusts about his
hips and the soft mounds of her widely spread buttocks bump against his balls
as he moves inside her, back and forth, while a host of insistent hands swing
her slight, slim, buxom frame against his loins, around his hardness, all
fucking him with the fertile offering of her vibrant firm young flesh.
He exults
in the knowledge she’s his for as long as he lasts and immerses himself in
sheer sensation, savouring every gliding, slipping, thrusting millimetre of
plunging, diving, sucking young membranes as all the others fuck him with the
teenage girl’s helplessly held and oh-so-yielding flesh. He exhorts them to
faster efforts with a paean to the patron…
Ram’s
awareness briefly returns to their mutually clutching bodies and he re-emerges
into his flesh (and hers) just in time to share a mind smashing, gut ripping,
soul melting simultaneous orgasm when his body gives up its seed to her
insistent embrace once again. He comes with an inarticulate groan at the very moment
the priestess screams her loudest. Her loins continue to slide and contract
around his shaft while she sucks him almost entirely dry. A few moments later
he’s gone again.
*
The
prince is next awakened by blindingly bright
flashing lights. He has a hard time focusing on the source of the strobing
illumination. Someone has covered his naked, sex-streaked body with his purple
velvet cloak and the fire has all but died out; refractions of the darkened
longhall smear across his hazy vision. He recognises Crystal’s scent – mingled
with the fragrances of creamy jism and a sweet taste of female essences - and
her murmuring voice warbles against his cheek when her face presses over his
shoulder and nuzzles into his long wavy hair.
The smaller teen’s warmth envelops his back while her naked body rocks
against him beneath the velvet cloak, and her arm slips around his torso as the
firm points of her breasts flatten against his shoulder blades. From the sounds
of Arné’s regular grunting and the rhythmic pressure of Crystal’s breasts it
slowly becomes obvious that the martial artist is still resolutely fucking the
girl from behind. Voices are engaged in lively debate in the nearby kitchen and
a beam of light reflects onto a wall from the source of the merriment while
occasional flashes fill the darkened longhall with actinic glimpses of the fading
party’s aftermath.
When he hears the familiar whine of an electronic flash cycling back to
full power the prince realises someone is taking photographs of the mayhem. He
glances around the gloomy room and sees a pair of intertwined bodies making
love on the couch while afterimages dance in his bleary sight.
He’s prepared enough for the advent of the next blinding flash to
recognise Joe’s muscular body humping a lithe slender blonde, half hidden
beneath his muscular black bulk as she squeals with delight. The blonde warps
herself around his torso while the heavily set Negro pistons through the half-shorn
pink seam of her ultrawhite flesh, glaringly bright against his liquid darkness.
Ram’yana watches the couple coupling in the faint glow from the kitchen as his
eyes adjust to the dark, and when Crystal’s hand next wraps around his manhood
she finds it’s already fully erect.
When the blonde girl begins to come in the darkness and her ecstatic screams
ring through the longhall the prince grows rigid in more ways than one. That’s Racheal, he realises as Crystal’s
little hand begins to pump up and down along his hard-on.
“God she’s beautiful,” the wee pixie moans into his ear while her breasts
slide against his skin and her hand forms an extraordinarily strong ring round
his shaft. The photographer departs the hall and despite his shocked surprise the
shaman automatically notes that the cameraman is Vostra, the tribal scribe –
and that he’s using Ram’s 35mm single lens reflex camera. Racheal’s cries echo
in his ears while Crystal squirms around until her lips squeeze onto his swollen
cock. She continues to suck him and bring him off with hands and mouth until
they both quickly come at the same time, and at that selfsame moment Arné
groans and shoots his seed into the core of the young pixie’s slim little
belly.
His mind goes out like a blown flashbulb.
An immeasurable time later he awakens when Racheal attempts to rouse him
from his near-comatose slumber and take him abed, and Ram’yana can barely
mumble a reply; “I’ll come up later,” he says as her fingers stroke his cheek
and she bends to kiss his sweaty forehead. His eyes flutter open to see his
intended’s hazy smiling face, and he notices that a dangling strip of pale
material has been hastily wrapped round her waist to barely cover her sex. “See
you soon,” she says, blowing him a parting kiss while he struggles to find
words to make her stay. She almost trips over him and catches herself against
the wall, dislodging a hanging that falls to the bed.
As he watches his lover’s pale flank depart in the darkness the young
shaman prince suddenly recalls what he’s so recently overheard – and the
unworldly vision he’s seen - and then the image of Racheal’s strangely hairless
pink labia stretching tautly around Joe’s big black cock returns to fill him
with a blinding surge of jealousy. Or…
did I dream it?
He rolls onto his side and Crystal’s naked leg automatically wraps around
his midriff while her fingers steer him toward her flaming inner furnace. Arné
has rolled away and seems soundly asleep, as evinced by his reverberant snores
that emanate from a nearby lounge chair.
Crystal mumbles his name from behind sealed eyelids. When she whispers,
“Want you,” in a barely audible voice he realises he’s hard as a rock. Am I dreaming this? The prince moves
automatically, without another thought. His body feels uncommonly uncoordinated
as he climbs onto and into the younger girl. Her slender fingers glow against
the darker shadow of her furry thatch as she parts her moist tender lips wide
for his implacably gradual entry. The teenage mage is overflowing with an
endless font of rampant desire and soon discovers his vitality has recovered
enough to manhandle the diminutive girl up into a sitting position atop his
rigidly aroused cock.
“Fuck me faster”, the pixie exhorts, and rewards his efforts with encouraging
wordless cries while he rides her all the way to the next orgasmic station on a
monorail track to mindless conjoined oblivion. The horny tribal shaman impales
the smaller girl until she screams herself into a drunken slurry of
psychoactivated sexual bliss – yet the echoes of Racheal’s raucous climax haunt
her mate throughout their rampaging lovemaking. The image of his beloved’s fine
familiar form wrapped around the serviceman’s long thick cock and muscular
torso impels the shaman to pound through Crystal’s body with the relentless
hammer of his furious lust.
Be here now, he commands
himself as he relives the vision of his beloved’s screaming explosion with the
American G.I. Be with Crystal… oh
Goddess, she feels so fucking fantastic… he reminds himself as the redhead’s trim
body gyrates around him. Be here now, with
her!
Yet even
as they scream together and the older teen creams the precociously enticing
girl’s incredibly tight silken innards with a cramming horde of swimming
tadpole seeds, Ram’yana can’t get the sight of Racheal’s rapturous face out of
his mind.
As they
lay panting in a hallucinating tangle of sweaty limbs and come-slicked genitals,
Ram’yana watches Joe pound away inside a particularly appreciative Charmayne on
the same couch where he’d so recently serviced Ram’s bride-to-be.
Am I dreaming everything?
Is anything real?
Images – Author’s
+ Season of the Witch lyrics: Donovan Leach
Further
true tales of the Prince of Centraxis -
\
AND
And for
further enlightenment see
The New Illuminati - http://newilluminati.blog-city.com/
The Her(m)etic Hermit http://hermetic.blog.com/
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comment – and thanks for reading this far…
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