Tuesday, 24 April 2012
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
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
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
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, 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?
A True Story
- R. A.
Images – Author’s
+ Season of the Witch lyrics: Donovan Leach
Further true tales of the Prince of Centraxis -
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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The Prince of Centraxis – http://centraxis.blogspot.com