Diana felt Hazy's hands at her breasts, caressing the cups of her brassiere that held the firm tits before unsnapping the hook that released her large, fleshy mounds, while Andrew drew down her stockings;-one at a time, kissing all along her legs ... smelling her cunt and putting his mouth on her wet pussy ... sucking and nibbling at her clit, while Hazy began toying with Diana's asshole ... sending tremors of maddening pleasure through Diana's body.
Diana and Hazy took turns giving pleasure to each other-and now Andrew was added to make their passions even stronger. The three of them would feel delight tonight-and as long as the loving lasted. And, that could be forever.
CHAPTER ONE
Diana Summer paused, lowering her bedroom window, to look at the sky outside. There was an almost tropical feeling in the air tonight. The clouds that had haunted the city all day with a threat of rain had drawn away and the lights of the city, just now beginning to appear here and there in the gathering twilight, seemed to glow with a heightened clarity. The air was warm and clear and the city shone with a special radiance in the un-misted night. From her window Diana could see the whole panorama of San Francisco Bay from the Golden Gate Bridge to the Bay Bridge. She smiled, greeting the night, then turned and crossed the room to stand before the big bureau mirror to look at the full-length image of her reflected body.
Everything she wore was black: there was the ebony bright blackness of her evening sandals, the dusky black of her lace filigreed garter belt (the straps like taut, black satin ribbons across the summer tanned smoothness of her thighs), the smoky black of her nylon stockings and textured panties, and the sooty black of the mascara highlighting her eyelashes and eyebrows. And everything about her was dark, expressing her Mediterranean-Oriental features-olive dark complexion, fathomless black eyes, the shimmering blue-black spill of her shoulder-length hair, and the coal-black and silvery-dark dense pubic foliage, contained by the translucent nylon of her panties, as evidenced by the sparse wisps and the tendrils coiling out around the edges of the crotch band and over the top of the garment at the base of her slim belly.
She was as beautiful as night and summer and darkness. Diana was, to be sure, a daughter of darkness. The notion struck her fancy and a smile shadowed her lips as she considered it. Daughters of darkness were crafty and adventurous and voluptuous-they thrived on new experiences which included the unfamiliar, the exotic, and the forbidden. Especially the forbidden. Diana's favorite territory. With a prowling stride, a smile still faintly lingering at the corners of her mouth, she went from the bedroom into the bathroom and stood before the medicine cabinet mirror, seeing herself more critically now she put the last touches of make-up on her face, touching deftly at her eyebrows with a pencil, then screwing a vivid, quartzy pink tip of lipstick from its golden tube and lightly embossing her lips with it, parting her lips lightly with the tip of her tongue to dab up the fleeting, moist, glycerine taste. Finished, Diana set the cosmetics aside. She washed her hands briefly with a pink oval of soap and dried them on a big camel-colored beach towel draped over the glass door of the shower. Opening the medicine cabinet, she studied the rows of bottles and tins until she found the one she wanted, opened it, and shook two pink disks into her palm. She put the pills, one by one, on the tip of her tongue, and washed them down with a swallow of water. Diana didn't really believe very strongly in aphrodisiacs, and she certainly didn't need anything extraneous to stimulate her sensual appetite, but there was no harm, she figured, in giving her libido a friendly little nudge of encouragement-if only for the symbolic sake of doing so.
Back in the bedroom, Diana selected a paisley patterned, charcoal-black, wing-collared knit dress and put it on. She noticed that the clock radio beside the bed said seven-thirty. Time for Hazy and Andrew to arrive.
Hazy, she hoped, would be no less eager than she was to carry the evening's events from a properly seductive beginning all the way to a supremely erotic conclusion. Not that she had ever known Hazy to falter when it came to sexual experimentation. Hazy Winter and Diana Summer might be as different from each other in some ways as were the seasons they had been named after-but in one respect, they were predictably identical.
Both were daughters of darkness.
The sound of the doorbell chimes distracted Diana from her reverie and she went through the living room to the top of the stairs. She pressed the button on the inside of one of the white stairway balusters, releasing the lock on the front door downstairs, and called tentatively down, "Hazy, Andrew, is that you ..?"
Hazy and Andrew came up the stairs in a burst of animation, busy conversation, and laughter. Diana sensed at once that they had been either smoking or drinking already. But that was fine. It was Hazy's job to soften up and lower the defenses that both of them would breach together. Andrew was her boyfriend.
Diana drifted into Hazy's arms, giving her a friendly hug, and put one arm around Andrew's waist, her fingers at his hip, smiling, saying, "You've gone ahead and gotten a start without me, haven't you? That means I'm-what?-two, three drinks behind? Not too many to catch up, I hope...."
"Not at all," said Andrew debonairly, with a gesture. "By all means, I think you should get started at once. This one," he nodded at Hazy, "had us so entrenched down at Stonehenge drinking Hyde Specials out of retorts that we almost forgot about dinner."
"And maybe we should anyway," said Hazy, putting her brown, Italian suede handbag on a coffee table as they went into the living room. She was wearing a simple red sweater and black skirt that molded precisely the girlish curves of her slender body. Her hair was blonde, cut short, and styled in a swept back fashion that complemented her lovely features, making them seem doubly sharp and intense.
"Well, I don't quite think I want to pass on dinner," Diana said as the two of them seated themselves on the couch, "but I can guarantee you at least one for the road ... so name your poison."
Andrew asked for a martini, Hazy for grapefruit juice and tequila, and she joined Diana at the liquor cabinet to help mix the drinks. Their eyes met only once as they filled the glasses and they shared a momentary knowing smile that Andrew was entirely unaware of.
Hazy returned with Andrew's drink and her own and sat beside him again, Diana sitting on his other side.
"Surrounded by women," Andrew said. "My favorite kind of ambush."
"Oh, really?" said Diana, moving a bit closer, almost touching him.
"Andrew is a shameless sexist at times," Hazy remarked. "Sometimes I don't know what I see in him."
"Must be something," Diana suggested, glancing at them both in turn, straight-faced.
"It isn't hard to figure," Andrew said. "I'm great fun in the hay, have money in the bank, and I've got great taste in women."
"Is he really great fun in the hay?" Diana asked Hazy with a mock-skeptical expression. She darted a glance at Andrew. "Or is that impolite to ask in his presence?"
Hazy deliberated for a moment, grinning at Andrew, then dismissed the question with an enigmatic smile, but she eased somewhat closer to him, he put his hand over hers on his knee, and they exchanged a loving smile.
"Andrew is also a leg man," Hazy said.
Diana looked at him thoughtfully over the rim of her glass. "I happen to have excellent legs," she said. "Have you ever noticed that, Andrew?"
"Your legs?" he said, surprised by the question.
"She does have very good legs," Hazy agreed, squeezing Andrew's hand.
"Or so I've been told," Diana said, and with a casual movement, she reached down with both hands to slip her sandals off, then sat back on the couch, lifting her feet up to brace them lightly against the edge of the coffee table. In the process she drew her dress back and up over her knees, fully revealing the dramatic symmetry of her calves, meeting Andrew's eyes in the same instant that Hazy eased her leg slightly closer to his, her hand settling lightly on his thigh.
With extremely watchful caution, Diana put her hand on Andrew's other thigh, and within moments there was an unmistakable change of mood in the room, all three of them perceiving a sense of courious imminence that Hazy dispelled by letting her fingers move slowly toward Diana's across Andrew's lap until their fingertips touched, interlaced, and their hands clasped firmly. Diana gave Andrew a cursory look, amused by his sudden dismayed expression. He started to say something, but Hazy stopped his lips with a forefinger, letting it trace slowly across his chin in a vaguely admonitory fashion, her other hand gripping Diana's more tightly and bringing both their hands up from where they bridged Andrew's thighs to the point where a softly gradient curve in the crotch of his pants indicated the presence of his dormant cock. Both hands nestled there, fingers linked in a shared pressing caress over the soft bulge inside the pants. Andrew looked into Diana's eyes, saw that she was smiling at him with warmth and desire, turned to look at Hazy, and found her lips upon his, the familiar sweet taste of her tongue in his mouth, the kiss escalating with a slow intensity into a gentle assault by her tongue, which swept against his, stroking it into urgent collaboration. Hazy murmured into her lover's mouth, her senses vigorously aroused, guiding Diana's hand in her own to touch the jut of Andrew's cock as she prolonged their kiss. Then Diana initiated her contribution, leaning forward to share the extended kiss by letting the tip of her tongue swirl eagerly around the joined mouths until Hazy felt its presence on her lips and inhaled it sensuously, the three tongues intermingling, both women pressing their bodies up against Andrew, their free hands touching his face and throat with gentle stroking motions. The three mouths twisted and turned together, turning the kiss into a warm vortex of glorious pleasure; all eyes were closed and minds rapt in concentration. Hazy withdrew first, a stunned, passionate look of utter joy in her eyes. While Diana continued to kiss Andrew, their tongues shifting warmly together, she reached toward the top of one of Hazy's stockings beneath her skirt, pushing her fingers under the elastic pressure of the dark-banded stocking top and feeling the warmth of Hazy's inner thigh. Hazy made it easier for her by pulling her skirt up, all the way past the crotch band of her red nylon panties, and parting her thighs wider to permit her girl friend every liberty. At the top of the stocking, the manufacturer's emblem, stamped in white on the tan nylon, shone with an almost luminous clarity, and farther up, beneath the gauzy crotch band of her panties, the ridged labia of her cunt, oily wet, were obscurely visible in the thick nest of curls. As Diana watched a thin wash of cunt juice filmed the nylon, exciting her so much that she could feel her own cunt pulse wetly and spend a driblet inside her panties.
Coming up for air, Diana broke momentarily away from Andrew, her tongue sliding out of his mouth. Hazy looked at Diana and Diana looked at Andrew and Andrew looked awkwardly at each of them, then lowered his eyes to where both women were now stroking his cock into rigid arousal. He sighed, his flushed cheeks glowing, feeling ,the heated flexing of his cock within his pants, all sensation seeming to center there now as the long fingers elegantly caressed, pulled, and stroked him into a turbulence of desire. The cock reared and heaved against his pants, uninhibited desire filling his mind. Diana's face moved near his, the pink circle of her mouth bright with saliva from all of their mouths, tongue tip lurking between her lips, pantherish craving in her dark wide eyes. No one spoke. The metaphysics of sex were at work now and words could only have gone against the grain of the mystique. It was a mood that needed no articulation. Andrew knew, as well as Diana and Hazy, that a whole spectrum of select and extraordinary pleasures lay ahead. He also knew in some way that it was a gift Hazy was offering him; it had all been premeditated by her in advance with Diana's concurrence. He'd often confessed to Hazy that one of his favorite fantasies was to find himself in bed with two women, but there had never been even a passing hint from her that she would be capable of becoming part of such a reality.
Together, their thumbs and forefingers converging simultaneously on the tab of Andrew's zipper, Diana and Hazy tugged the zipper down, down, opening his pants. Andrew's cock came through the vent, the shaft straining upward, a droplet of clear bright liquid sparkling on its head around the tiny slit that winked another pulse of juice out as Hazy's fingers squeezed the rod. Diana's face descended, her tongue curling up under the thick humid length of cock, her mouth widened, and she sucked inward until the wet tip of cock grazed the roof of her mouth. Her cheeks contracted with the pressure of her mouth around the savory bulk, her lips stretched downward, and her face disappeared beneath the spilling cascades of her dark hair, the cock throbbing along the soft width of her moving tongue. She lowered the top half of her body, turning sideways on the couch, to improve her position, and her mouth shifted, gripping up and down along the cock, a thread of spittle seeping out around the tight grip of her lips along the engulfed shaft. Andrew's hands forged roughly through Diana's spilled hair. Her teeth barely touched his shaft, his hips thrust up to force his cock further into her mouth even though her underlip was already flush up against his balls. A moan came from his throat and Diana heard it as if it were an echo from another dimension. If she was anything in the world, she was an accomplished fella-trice, a craftswoman at sucking cock, an artist who had refined the act of drawing come from a man's balls with a whole repertoire of personal nuances, knacks, tricks, and surprises. Her mouth was soft magic as her tongue soared back and forth, up and down, back, then around, up and over, polishing the erect staff with shimmering paths of saliva. Her face nudged lower, her eyes shut to bright darkness as she licked harder and sucked more determinedly, Andrew beginning to move his cock in counterpoint to the motion of her mouth, both of them striving along the same rapturous wavelength. Abandoned entirely to the warm imperative rhythms of cock and tongue, tongue and cock, Diana let her mind and body flow together, her mind swimming through seas of time and space. She scarcely recognized Hazy's hands at her back, the fingers working at her dress's zipper, hands spreading the halves of cloth away from her lissom shoulders as the zipper was lowered. Hazy tugged the dress down, revealing golden flesh and black lace, the top half of the dress falling around Diana's belted waist. Hazy's hands touched Diana's upper arms, her shoulders, gliding down to shape the full globes of Diana's breasts in their shiny bra cups. Bending forward, she browsed her nose into the spiced fragrance of Diana's hair, breathing in the rich scents of shampoo and flesh and clean hair, the afterscent of ripe and lubricating cock reaching her nostrils moments later. Her taste for cock whetted by the smell, nerves keening, Hazy dipped her face and struggled her mouth into the play with thirsting enthusiasm. Diana generously yielded, the wet cock slipping from her mouth to snap at an upward angle into Hazy's, a glint of mixed spittle and cock juice furling over Hazy's upper lip.
Andrew gasped loudly and shuddered with a sigh as they completed the transition, Hazy mouthing his cock as Diana lifted her face toward his and ran her fingers along both sides of his face to plow them through his hair, clutching his face and guiding it so that their lips met, mouths tasting and exchanging kissed that grew in fervor, tongues and lips churning hungrily. Their hands gripped and, without breaking the momentum of the kisses, dropped together to touch and caress the surfaces of Hazy's downturned face, her eyes, shut tightly, the softness of her cheeks and prominence of her nose, her chin damp with her own saliva. A shiver of licentious glee ran through Hazy as the hands searched her face, and she began to suckle her lover more vividly, with more purely carnal excitement than she had ever experienced the flat pad of her tongue racing in swift blurring journeys from balls to glans and back, the vinegary smell of hot cock intoxicating her mind and quickening her impulses.
Diana slumped further forward, cradling the back of Andrew's head with crossed hands, her mouth moving down to his throat. She began to lick the bottom of his chin, her tongue moving quickly, the bright moisture gleaming in contrast to the dull glaze in his eyes. Andrew's slack legs spasmed, quakings of exquisite pleasure tremoring his body, the tantalizing throbbing of his cock peaking into harsher and quicker pulsations, carrying him up to the very precipice of release. But he did not want a climax yet, certainly not before they had even gotten started in earnest. He wanted to trade pleasure, not monopolize it. With an almost superhuman effort, Andrew retracted his cock from the luxuriant ebb and flow of Hazy's tongue, turned his face away from Diana's avid mouth.
The three looked at each other like animals at a waterhole, content, but merely pausing for a moment to savor the lull, watching and listening, eager to get on with things. Diana and Andrew looked candidly at each other, her eyes and smile telling him how much she had wanted to fuck him ever since Hazy had told her how enjoyable he was, and how delightful it was going to be to fuck him. With Hazy. Hazy looked at him with a self-pleased smile, proud to have trusted her instinct to go along with the plan, loving the joy of sharing loves with a lover.
Hazy was first to break the silence. "I think we should get our clothing off," she whispered to her companions, "and continue...." The sentence trailed off and she reached out to slip the remaining half of Diana's dress down around the tapering of her hips and off, letting Diana accommodate her by helping her out of her sweater and skirt, the garments collecting in pools of crimson and jet at her feet. Hazy's lushly rounded and contoured body was packaged in red nylon panties with a black lace overlay and black ribbons tied fancily in bows at her hips, a red seamless transparent brassiere outlining the dark circles of her erect nipples, tan nylon stockings held up with red garters, and a pair of caramel-colored calfskin mocassins with elevated heels.
Andrew, wanting to remove their shoes himself, knelt before the standing women, cupping his fingers around the heels of their shoes, one of Diana's and one of Hazy's, absorbing the beautiful sight of the gleam of light on black and tan leather. Suddenly, obeying an impulse, he licked along the edge of Hazy's shoes, his tongue tasting the worn bottom before curling up along the shiny leather top. He took the whole pointed tip of the shoe into his mouth for a moment and drifted, with eyes shut, into an enchanted detachment, the universe receding all around him, his joy expanding proportionately.
Diana -edged closer to Andrew as his lips fondled Hazy's shoe, her thumbs pushing down and snagging the fabric of her panties to ease them down to her knees. She let them drop and stepped out of them, one leg at a time, and briefly held up the black fabric delectably soiled with cunty odor like tropical brine. She tossed the panties to one side and stepped forward to display the grandeur of her cunt, the dark hedge of curls bisected by the unfolded labia that glistened with pink brilliance, her fingertips spreading the lips wider yet and opening the frothy vestibule. The cunt looming, Andrew raised his face from Hazy's shoe and twisted his mouth up into the warmly wet splay, a swimmer in seas of primal brine, his nose and eyelids suddenly washed with the warm fluids brewed in the depths of her cunt. His face was a carnal cornerstone and Diana ground the slit of her sex upon it, rotating her hips so that the labia slickly caressed his nose, making his head spin, thoughts whirling wildly, abstract collisions of image and idea, as euphoria took hold of him. He moaned with pleasure, blinded in the grotto of her sex, but drunk on flavor and bouquet.
Hazy was agitated by the onslaught and plunged into the scene with violent gusto. Her mouth enveloped half the length of Andrew's cock as he oscillated his face into Diana's pussy, dazed by the contact and ascending into chilling realms of intoxication, his fingers closing around one of her ankles, his other hand edging into the tight crease between her rounded buttocks, seeking her asshole. A forefinger slipped into the pursed gnarl of rosy flesh and pushed into the snug interior. Diana winced with pleasure, then ground her pillowing ass cheeks against the bold pressure. A moan was wrenched from her lips at the intimate touch, her mind resounding with sensual felicity.
The sucking presence of Hazy's mouth upon the head of his cock and the searching caresses of her hands over his legs and hips and balls made Andrew gasp with gratification, his being now focused between sucking and countersuction, the erotic electrification of taking pleasure and the balmy joy of imparting it. His prod slid in and out of Hazy's warm mouth, the warmth of vintage cunt basting his own mouth. His tongue tripped up along the portal of Diana's sex and dabbed at the node of her clitoris, touching off her first orgasm, which came like a sudden flood of released energy, her cunt convulsing uncontrollably, her limbs trembling.
"Ohhhh, ohhhhhhh, Andrew, that's-it's uhhhhhh-hh," Diana breathed, holding the back of her wrist to her forehead as if to hold back the cosmos of stars still flickering and flashing in her mind in the wake of her coming. She staggered, wobbled to one side, and sat down, facing Andrew, spreading her legs out and tilting her knees outward so that her cunt yawned open, the labia disclosing the channel of her vulva awash with nacreous flow. She looked down between her legs, compelled by the sight, excitement quickening her pulse and shortening her breath.
With Hazy's mouth still turning in timeless rhythms around the burning tip of his cock, Andrew inched toward Diana where she sat and plunged his face into the inviting pastel glaze of her cunt. He kissed deeply into her and, with lips and tongue tingling with acrid sweetness, kissed the taste of her back into her eager mouth, licking her lips and tongue and all around the sides of her mouth, flavoring their kisses with her secretions.
"Good, good, I taste good," she whispered, looking at him with a blurry gaze of inebriation. She started to say something else, then seemed to be suddenly seized by a demon of impatience, and gasped, "Now, Andrew, now, fuck me, fuck me, Andrew...." Her eyes met Hazy's as she glanced up from where the cock slashed relentlessly in and out of the girl's mouth, and she cried, "Both of you, Hazy, Andrew, fuck me, come on...."
Responding to the plea, Hazy drew her lips up off Andrew's cock and moved forward. Her hand caught the cock behind her and she guided Andrew, with a few pushes and pats of her other hand, into a position between Diana's legs, aiming the erect staff at the pubic mound. Diana accommodated by laying back and arranging herself with smiling anticipation, eyes shut, smile dreamy.
"Let's undress her completely first," Hazy suggested, "then take it from there."
Diana felt Hazy's hands at her breasts, caressing the cups that held the firm tits before unsnapping the hook stretching across the autumn brown shallow of her back, Andrew's hands moving to unmoor her stockings from her garter belt and remove the belt. His touch seemed almost subliminal as he drew her stockings down one at a time, kissing all along her legs in the wake of the unfurling fabric, down over her ankles and over her toes. Diana twisted on her back, tremors of maddening pleasure wrenching her body, her cunt a hot flow of sensation between her legs.
"Come on in," she said, her eyes wild, catching Andrew's wrist. "Be my guest, come on...."
Her urgency spurred his eagerness and he swung his hips into the cradle of her thighs, the head of his cock veering into the velvety splay of her pussy, her labia gulping him in until half his length had been consumed. Diana's legs twitched, her heels rising to grip around the contours of his buttocks, and he was pulled deeper yet into the miring softness. She began to fuck him even before he had a chance to stabilize himself.
Eyes shut, breathing raggedly, Andrew paused to concentrate on the enlivening feeling of the simmering liquidity of her cunt clutching along his throbbing rod. His hands curling under her shoulders, he pulled her up toward himself in a forceful embrace, and she rose to him, her naked tits rising. The stiff nub of a pink-tan nipple brushed his lips and he stroked his tongue around its circle, a cry of pleasure twisting from Diana's mouth.
Sitting back at arm's length, Hazy watched her boy friend fuck Diana, smiling with excitement as they passed his cock back and forth with a thick, wet, sluicing sound. It was too much for her to bear and she surged forward, anxious to participate somehow and complete the triangle. Lowering her face across Diana's abdomen into the funky linkage of genitals, she licked hungrily at the connection, catching the glistening shaft with each backstroke and gilding it with the wand of her tongue, spicy nectar sparking her taste buds.
Diana moaned in her ecstasy, her mind seeming to burst into luminous fragments, her limbs wrapped and folded around the consummate lover fucking her and fucking her. Her slim belly rippled with tidal tremors as the cock blazed and churned in the well of her sex, igniting infernos and starting quakes in the deep cask of her womb, making her come and come and come, all at once, the orgasms thrusting her through psychic waves and plunging her into carnal raptures of pleasure, pleasure that was a pounding and driving and encapsulating bliss suffusing her mind and annihilating her nervous system. Her legs gripped Andrew like the arms of a strong man and she went motionless beneath him, trembling with consecutive orgasms, pulling him toward his now. It was clear what she wanted and he gave in to her wish, letting himself slide into the swift stream of orgasmic consciousness. His mind became overloaded with erotic imagery, his body yielded to the rush of sensation tingling his cock, and then he was coming with her, the come jetting through his moving cock. With a gasping moan, Andrew recoiled his prick from the heavy pull of Diana's womb and flashed it upward across Hazy's upturned face. A long ribbon of pearly come looped up across her face, followed by another, and another, and another, and Hazy moaned and writhed, her cheeks flushed rose dark beneath the clinging rivulets, the fingers of one deluged hand strung brightly with strands of come.
"Hazy," Diana called, her voice fragile and far away. Hazy glanced down into her friend's eyes, saw the look of desire and love there, her gaze locking with Diana's. As if pulled by an irresistible magnetic force, compelled and spellbound, Hazy crawled on her knees to her prostrate companion. Her lips kissed a trail up along one of Diana's sprawled legs, over her calf and onto a supple thigh, kissing along the inside of the thigh and past the glutinous spoils of her plumbed snatch, up over the coppery shallows of her abdomen and the broad domes of her lovely tits. Their tongues ran together like fluid vipers and they traded the kind of kisses that made their minds ring like holiday bells. Hazy, somnolently and with a kind of spacy joie de vivre, brought her sperm-laden hand down across Diana's brow, the come dangling from her fingers and draping across the other's nose and cheek. Diana moaned with a smile, and her tongue flashed with inordinate desire, the smooth velvet tip scooping just a fillip of taste from her shining cheek. Eager to join her, Hazy bent down and touched her tongue to Diana's cheek, sampling the pearly fluid, then kissed her, the taste making both of them moan into each other's mouth around the shifting of their tongues.
"Love you," Diana said in a taut voice, and her arms embraced Hazy, pulling her down causing her face to rest, like a child's in sleep, gently across the soft promontory of a breast. Cupping the underside of her other breast, she tilted the rigid nipple, and guided Hazy's languorous face to it with her other hand. Hazy's lips wrapped around the pinkish nub, and she began to suck with a sleepy, dreamy, happy intensity.
"Wish I had milk for you, sweetheart," Diana murmured, eyes fixed on the pale ceiling as the sucking kindled more and more of her feminine sensibilities. She felt completely like a woman now, completely fulfilled, adorned with come and feeling the pull of another beautiful woman's lips on the tip of her tit. She was immersed in a feeling of pure erotic tranquility, boundless and immeasurable.
"I hope we haven't, uh, finished." Andrew said suddenly in the silence. He exchanged a sensual glance with Hazy, then glanced into the abstracted haze of Diana's eyes as she nursed Hazy. She met his eyes and her lips formed a bold smile, telling him that she was ready to do anything he was, anytime.
"Do you think you can go again so soon, Andrew?" Hazy asked. "Maybe we should take a little break."
"Ummmmm," agreed Diana, letting Hazy's lips slip from her nipple. "A good idea, darling. I think we could use a few stimulants."
"Stimulants?" Andrew raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, stimulants!" Diana nodded, liking the idea. She got up slowly, wobbling a little on her feet until she caught her balance, then left the room and went into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of champagne and a joint rolled in orange paper. The three of them sat cross-legged facing each other and smoked the cigarette leisurely, passing the champagne bottle from hand to hand until it was almost empty.
"I think it's about time we got back on the express, Andrew," Hazy said, looking at Andrew as she passed him the champagne bottle.
"And I know just the car I want to ride in," he replied, with a smile. "Where the scenery's the nicest and the service the best."
"So, let's do it," Hazy smiled, drawing him toward her with one hand, drawing Diana with the .other, then easing them in a sort of slow motion pas de trois into the positions she wanted them in. She wanted to be taken in the ass while lying on her back, with Diana sitting on her face and facing Andrew, which would allow Andrew and Diana to kiss while she tongued Diana's pussy.
Reclining back and opening her legs for Andrew, Hazy beckoned Diana to squat above her face. Andrew, shaft in hand, moved forward on his knees, guiding the head of his cock against Hazy's asshole, and Hazy smiled winsomely up at Diana's lowering crotch. With a vigorous surge, Andrew thrust his shaft into the anal vent, driving smoothly and easily into the depth of Hazy's asshole in the same instant that the furls of Diana's labia caressed Hazy's extended tongue. Pitching herself forward, Diana began to kiss Andrew with passion, her tongue flickering around his lips, their hands locking. Hazy tongued with feverish glee into her girl friend's cunt, and she felt Diana's thighs on either side of her uplifted face as the cunt settled against her mouth, embracing her with smothering, tart acridity. Tongue to cunt, mouth to mouth, and cock to asshole, the three clung together with a kind of joyous ardor, each concentrating on their own sensations. Hazy was deliciously skewered by her boy friend, her cunt beating like a pulse above the connection, while she sucked her girl friend's clit. Diana was having her clit titillated by her girl friend and was accepting kisses from her girl friend's boy friend. And Andrew was mining his girl friend's ass and covering her girl friend's mouth with torrid kisses.
Moving together in a compatible rhythm, Diana's hips oscillating, Andrew's cock stroking, and Hazy twitching wildly in the sensual press between, they refined a smooth tempo of motions, like musicians orchestrating a melody.
Hazy's mind was fogged. She could feel the tight clutch of her asshole around the thick rod impaling her and her mouth was wet with cunt, her eyelids damp, her mind swimming with pleasure as the sounds of sucking and fucking felled her ears. Glancing up, she could see above her, hazily, the plane of Diana's midriff and her low hanging tits, and down past her own spread thighs, Andrew churning himself in and out of her with fierce intention.
Seconds inverted, becoming eons for all three of them, and while their minds soared and raced beyond their immediate range of consciousness, spinning into psychic voids of pure sumptuous contentment, they held one another tightly, an abundant, overflowing sensation of love and complicity pouring back and forth between them. Orgasms crashed in volleys and salvos through Diana's body, and through Hazy's, both of them harvesting every flicker and waver of pleasure, their breasts shivering and arms writhing. They seemed finally to dissolve altogether into each other's pleasure, dominated by it, hearing each other's moans and murmurs of rapt satiation. Stimulated by the sounds of their mutual climax, Andrew was helpless to hold his back any longer, and with a conclusive forward lunge, he drove himself with slapping balls to the haft in Hazy's clasping asshole.
He moaned with intense excitement, impassioned, feeling the semen roar from his cock, erupting in viscous discharges into the deep warm receptacle of Hazy's ass, her buttocks jerking against him with each spasm of his rod. She swiveled her buttocks on the floor, collaborating with him, her anal muscles expanding and contracting, and suddenly her eyes popped as wide open as if she'd just been violently struck.
She could feel the semen blossoming in her bowels, filling her depths, slow lapping tides of warm male essence coursing into her and heightening her orgasms, tranquillizing her stunned mind. Hazy's gaze became opaque and she moaned and hurled her face against Diana's thighs, curling her tongue into the other's slit, quivering beneath Andrew as his cock abruptly disengaged, dripping banners of sperm into the receding fissure.
"Oh, geewowgoshalmighty," Hazy mumbled in a giddy, weak voice as she focused her gaze on her partners and the surrounding room flowed back from mere color and chaos into concrete reality again. She lay breathing like an exhausted runner, her smooth belly rippling with her labored breathing, a feeling of cosmic energy ebbing in her worn flesh.
"That was fan-tas-tic" Diana said, pronouncing each syllable with heady emphasis, on her knees beside Hazy's head.
Andrew nodded. He smiled with satisfaction, Hazy and Diana huddling close to him and into his arms, an arm around each of them. They were like sedated panthers now, lolling in the dark shadows of their passion, recovering their dissipated strength.
After a while, Hazy said, "I think that was called sex."
"Sex," Andrew nodded, "indeed."
"Sex," Diana echoed softly, relishing the word.
"What is it, though?" Hazy asked.
"Sex?" Diana looked at her thoughtfully. "Yes."
"Well, I'd say it's a warm little pink animal that lives under my bed and looks something like a bunny and likes to be fed peaches and bits of steak and to be read to from Henry Miller," Diana surmised, laughing.
"And drinks vintage wine," Andrew added, touching her flank gently with one hand.
"And has an emerald-studded leather collar and licks the hand that feeds it," Hazy said, grinning.
"A lonely little beast sometimes," Diana said, a bit wistfully.
"And downright predatory at other times," said Hazy, and they all laughed together, amused by the abstractions.
"Speaking of sex," Hazy said, "I have something that might interest both of you." She paused, reflecting, then got up and rummaged through her handbag for a moment before taking out a small card, which she handed to Andrew, who held it up so that both he and Diana would see it. The card was black with raised gilt lettering, and it read:
A Bacchanal
1 Free Pass
Admits Three
June 2,1977
Andrew turned it over and they saw that the name Neon Leon was stamped on the back below a fashionable Pacific Heights address.
"What is this?" he asked, puzzled.
"I guess it's an invitation to a bacchanal," Hazy said, smiling.
"A bacchanal? An orgy? Where'd you get this thing?" Andrew was skeptical.
"It was given to me by a dwarf in Ghirardelli Square," Hazy said. "He pressed it into my hand along with a bag of spice drops, then disappeared into the crowd."
"I don't think she's kidding," Diana said to Andrew, smiling at Hazy.
"I'm not."
They all studied the card for a moment, then looked at each other uncertainly.
"Anybody want to go?" Hazy asked.
"This could be anything from the opening of a new delicatessen to a Mormon birthday party," Andrew said, shrugging, "but it could also be some sort of a weird adventure."
"And weird adventures can be just right for the scrapbook," Diana finished for him, looking at them both with a grin.
"Which means, I guess, that we go to a bacchanal," Hazy said, conclusively.
There was a silence of agreement. Then Andrew said, "But that's tomorrow. What about now?"
"You must jest," she said flippantly, looking at the flaccid stalk of his still damp cock languishing between his legs. "Haven't you fired your bolts for the night, cupid?"
"Well, I think there's always room for a Parthian shot," Andrew said, and reached for her. His fingers closed around her forearm and he drew her around facing him, urging her legs apart and looking directly at her brandished cunt and pirineal gorge, her anus still veneered with swirls of semen.
Andrew knelt and kissed the open pink fissure of her cunt, and moved lower, his tongue stealing and winnowing its way along the gorge. Hazy's thighs tremored against the heavy presence of his face, her body flexing in eager reaction, a moan tearing slowly from her lips, and she parted her legs as broadly as she could in complete acceptance of the intimate kisses.
"Nice," whispered Diana, watching with admiring approval, and without hesitating, she drew herself into the action, easing forward to feast her mouth upon the humid gleaming split of Hazy's pussy. She lovingly and gently kissed the slickly flared labia, her face intersecting with Andrew's as he foraged eagerly in the lower orifice, and for a few long moments, their faces moved together in a sublime alliance. Then Diana's finally drifted away and she let it hover around Andrew's, watching the skillful work of his tongue with dreamy appreciation, until he paused for a moment, opening his eyes to return her gaze.
"Kiss," Diana murmured, her lips curving back in an appealing smile as she made the request.
Andrew was quick to please her. His mouth turned against her in a ravishing kiss, and she returned it with all the force she could manage, the shared taste of Hazy's fluids and his passing from tongue to tongue, Hazy moaning as she watched them, overwhelmingly aroused.
His cock reviving, the full limber length of it rearing upward and outward from his body in wondrous full erection once more, Andrew paused to glance from one woman to the other, looking for some sort of suggestion as to what they might like to try next.
"How about ... this," Diana said after a moment of consideration, smiling at her companions. She leaned back, balancing on one elbow, and with the fingers of her other hand spread apart the ruby fronds of her pussy, facilitating the opening of the vaginal channel, a shimmer of incarnadine luster emanating from the gap. She drew the upper half of her body all the way back, stretching out full length upon the floor, her hair a river of jet flowing under and over her golden-brown shoulders, and her legs drawn all the way apart, her buttocks curving sharply upward as her knees tilted back all the way to the tips of her nipples, her feet lifting from the floor.
"If you please," Diana continued, her voice coming out in a throaty rasp as she contemplated Andrew's pleased expression and his lustily throbbing rod. "Please...." Her voice hesitated, breaking off, but she held her eyes on his, glancing up over the full domes of her breasts. She saw him move between her legs, then felt the thick spar of hard cock entering her as he arched forward, pinning her to the floor with his hands on her shoulders, his lips opening around hers, their tongues meeting, her legs folding around his and pulling him fully into her. Her cervix seemed to caress the thrust of his glans and an explosion of divine sensation was detonated inside her cunt, spasming the funnel of her puss and loosening her muscles around his buried staff. They both moaned together, grinding their mouths together in a prolonged kiss, while Hazy looked on with bright eyes.
Filled to the brim, deliciously, expansively, wantonly, Diana eased her eyelids serenly down over filmy eyes, still enjoying Andrew's kiss, one hand reaching out to pluck at Hazy's wrist, their hands turning together to clasp and hold with special intimacy. Andrew's cock plunged in and out of her with metronomic regularity and she shuddered beneath him, sparked to the core of her being by the deep plunging and swift withdrawal of him, the repetitive ebb and flow, each backstroke bringing his cock nearly to the point of disjunction but each plunge slamming the tip back into the spongy palpability of her cunt. Her hand gripped Hazy's more tightly, the pliable grip of her cunt at the other end of her body counterpointing the pressure, and she squeezed as hard as she could, both hand and cunt squeezing, fingers clamped with palsied force and vaginal walls pulsing repeatedly with tight contractions. Looking down between her body and Andrew's, Diana could see the rod slapping in and out of her, fucking her, fucking her, fucking, the damp gleam of their mutual spendings sparkling along the top of the shaft, the aroma of their hedonistic exertions spicing the air around them. Her clit was radiant with sensation, the tautly spread lips of her slit soaked with oily fluidity, and her very essence seemed focused down now to that hot viscidity, clutch of cunt and propelling cock, a feeling of flight and falling and vertigo and frenzy expanding and blending her senses, fingers like talons in Hazy's grip, her ass cheeks and shoulder blades ruddering her torso from side to side on the hard surface of the floor.
Andrew groaned into her mouth, every nerve in his body singing and dancing around the locked fucking core of their sexes. A dizzying surge of premonitory psychic and physical cues warned him that he was about to ejaculate and, with eyes closed, he held to Diana, his tongue lashing down over her mouth to meet hers in a final kiss, their lips churning, and then he let himself go as abruptly as if he were leaping from a cliff into stormy seas.
"Come, come, come," Diana tantalized him, the words blossoming from her mouth into his, urging him, and he went off, his mind reverberating with the impact, his prick spasming with the clamor of his come, which flashed warmly into the satiny depths of her, charge after charge of it, the embedded head locked in softness, oozing come into warm cunty softness.
Diana, overwhelmed, collapsed, her arms sagging and legs going limp, her breasts spreading beneath the sag of Andrew's body on hers, both of them melting into a sort of union of body and mind. She was still holding Hazy's hand, and she withdrew her hand now, very gently, so she could place it alongside the other over Andrew's back.
"That was strictly beautiful," she said in a kind of dazed girlish trance. She was totally sated and depleted, but she moved her cunt muscles in a weak loving clasp along the length of his still lodged cock as a kind of gesture of endorsement.
"I guess I'll have to debark now," Andrew smiled, looking down into her dark eyes.
"Guess so."
He moved his hips delicately back and his staff slipped free of the adhesive junction, a stream of cunty nectar and dribbling semen spilling out around it. The briny scent of them brought a slow smile to every mouth.
"That was absolutely fine," Diana said, enraptured, unable to find words for her emotions. She shook her head musingly, eyes shut, her smile like a fixed curve in space.
"And you thought you were only going to have dinner with two women," Hazy remarked, looking at her boy friend with appreciative affection, her smile broad and languid.
"Never can tell," Diana said, her fingers touching Andrew's cheek in a vaguely maternal caress, "can you?"
Andrew smiled, ignoring the question, which was clearly rhetorical. No, you could never tell what would happen, not as long as there were women like Hazy Winter and Diana Summer at large in the world, never in a million years.
CHAPTER TWO
The following day all Diana could think about was the bacchanal she and Hazy and Andrew planned on attending that evening. What would it be like? Was it really legitimate? Or should she say illegitimate? Who would they meet? What would happen But there was no point in spending the day uselessly speculating, so after an early breakfast she went out into the city to do some shopping and casual tripping about with no particular goal in mind. It was a sunny day and she wore a bright lavender strapless sundress, wanting to feel the warmth of the sun on her arms and shoulders. A matching lavender headband binding the waves of dark hair back from her forehead, her nails lavender, a lavender leather choker necklace around her tan throat, she looked especially striking. She strolled down the street from her Telegraph Hill apartment and turned toward Ghirardelli Square (where dwarves lingered), deciding to spend the morning browsing in the complex of shops and boutiques.
The day was warm, people were out in large numbers, both shoppers and tourists, and Diana spent most of the morning wandering from one shop to the next, picking up an English dessert bowl set here, some bars of Spanish Gardenia and French Lavender soap there, and finally deliberating over a sky blue T-shirt illustrated with a gang of reveling nymphs, fauns, sylphs, elves and sprites.
"You like it?" a clerk asked, noticing her appraisal. She was a tall, smiling, red-haired woman wearing a white pants suit with a white rope belt, her eyes blue as topaz, her mouth printed cerise. The glow of her skin was a dark cinammon umber and she smiled at Diana with interest.
"I like the message," Diana said, smiling back at the woman with unreserved enthusiasm.
"Well, I don't think you can knock that," the woman said, and laughed lightly, her eyes merry.
"Nope...."
Diana looked at her and they smiled at each other, a friendliness of mood and manner linking them instantly.
"My name's Tracy," the redhead said.
"Diana," Diana said, and they shook hands briefly, both of them continuing to smile a bit ingenuously.
"I'd love to spin your top, Diana," Tracy said.
The words were so unexpected and so anomalous that it took Diana a few seconds to react to them. But when she'd caught her psychic balance she could only stare back at the redhead in simple dismay, too surprised to show any umbrage.
"I...." She tried to form some sort of response, but was speechless. Spin her top?
"I shouldn't have said that," the redhead apologized at once. She frowned and started to turn away. "I really shouldn't have. Look, I'll find you another clerk."
Diana bit her lower lip, looking at the woman, then shook her head. "No, please, I don't , . ." But her sentence trailed off and they both ended up looking for a long moment into each other's eyes in the tense silence, a sketchy smile shaping the corners of Tracy's mouth, the impudence in her eyes complimenting it.
"You are very bold, aren't you?" Diana asked her, making an effort to sound at least mildly perturbed.
"I'm shameless," Tracy nodded. She smiled. "But I'm quitting on Friday."
"You're a lesbian," Diana said.
"Yes."
"Do I look like a lesbian?" she wanted to know. "You look beautiful, Diana. Just beautiful."
"But not like a lesbian?"
Tracy glanced about now, checking to see that their conversation was private and no other shoppers or clerks were within earshot, surprised that she was suddenly on the defensive.
"Just beautiful," she repeated, blushing slightly now.
Diana waited a full fifteen seconds, staring searchingly into the redhead's eyes, before saying, "You aren't bad yourself, you know."
They kept staring at each other, smiles widening and gazes bright with implication, while the subdued background sounds of the shop continued around them, both their hearts suddenly pounding conspicuously harder than before.
"Break time, I think," Tracy said at last, as if to herself, and she looked across the shop to where another female clerk stood behind a counter where jewelry was displayed. "Breaking, Pammy," she called, and the other woman glanced up and nodded in recognition. Tracy came out from behind her counter, her stride a long fluid lissome feline symphony of motion. In passing, she caught one of Diana's hands in hers and drew the woman quietly along after her, a lazy smile tilting the corners of her mouth upward to the gleam of her teeth. Diana followed unhesitantly.
Outside, the sunlight made Tracy shade her eyes with her free hand, squinting as she looked curiously about, her brow furrowed in concentration. Then she led Diana away from the shops, past a big stone fountain and down the tiers of steps descending toward the bay, past the clusters of tourists passing them on their way up, past a street violinist with his case open on the pavement in front of him, the red velvet lining shining with dimes and quarters, across the street, and onto the lawn that sloped down toward the beach.
"Where are we going?" Diana asked, her voice a dry whisper, her lips suddenly dry, fingertips light and tingling against Tracy's touch.
"Where I can eat you, starling," Tracy said softly, smiling back at her lasciviously over her shoulder. "And you can do whatever you like, too," she added, nodding placidly.
They crossed the patchy lawn and moved down onto the crescent of sandy beach, people thinning out around them as the terrain turned to shore, still walking hand in hand, Diana's golden strap sandals sinking deeply into damp sand that mushed up between her bare toes and squeezed into the shoes under her soles. Walking along the strip of beach, they passed the back of the Maritime Museum, and kept going, heading in the direction of the concrete T pier ahead of them. The pier extended in a gradual arc several hundred yards out into the ocean, low walls bordering its sides, strolling couples and fishermen scattered along the end near the shore but dwindling to a stray individual or two in the distance.
Neither woman spoke, both sensing that to do so would have destroyed some fine subtle erotic balance in this portentous scenario. There were times when words were superfluous, or unnecessary at best, and now was one of them. They were concerned more with style, the style of silence and a growing sense of sensual expectation filling it, giving it its content, the gentle touch of fingertips elucidating it. Enveloped in a conscious silence, they drifted out along the pier past the last of the people, the presence of the ocean asserting itself more as humanity faded. They kept walking until they were completely isolated and Tracy drew Diana to the wall of the pier and they puased there, elbows on the wall, looking out toward the Golden Gate Bridge across the dark water. A light breeze gusted over them, fanning out filaments of orange and raven-black hair around their shoulders, and they glanced sideways at each other, smiling wisely.
"I'm not wearing anything under my dress," Diana said, her words so softly spoken they were almost lost in the wind.
"How very convenient, Diana." Tracy nodded, looking her prey up and down, her gaze hardening a bit as it -edged from the warmth of intimacy toward the heat of desire. Tracy looked around, saw that they were alone, more than a hundred yards beyond the nearest people, a solitary young couple who stood looking out to sea like themselves. She stepped forward and put her mouth to Diana's, her lips curving lushly into a tonguing kiss, their arms coiling about each other's torsos, all the more eager for having lingered their way into the contact. They clung together for a long while in a kiss that was the antithesis of their femininity, roughly masculine and aggressive, then drew slightly apart, looking at each other with a pleased sense of delight.
"Now, let me see...." Tracy murmured, grinning, and she went down on her knees on the pier, unmindful of the film of water there, the fabric of the immaculate pants suit flaring out around her calves and absorbing a chill of wetness. "Don't mind getting a little dirty," she smiled up at Diana, her tone enticing. Then she reached up with both hands and swept the flow of Diana's dress up and further up around the swell of her hips, bunching the thickness of material back around the undercurving slopes of her ass cheeks, and bringing the hem up past her rigid knees. She pushed her face slowly forward, nudging the hem and lifting it higher with the bridge of her nose, her mouth drifting along the bare flesh of supple thighs as the dress was raised. Easing her ass back against the wall, Diana opened herself without restraint to the assault, her breath catching audibly in her throat. The mound of her sex was revealed and she shuddered with sensuous anticipation at the feel of the wind on her thighs, the thrill deepening as she looked down at Tracy's face between her legs. She parted her legs even wider, opening herself more, and the center of her muff lifted upward and outward, the shift of motion unpeeling the folded labia into a gloss of pink. Reaching up with the fingers of one hand, Tracy spread the lips wider, easing back the maroon furls and slipping one finger into the shallow of her channel, the finger probing gently along the length of the slit to arrive at the flushed node of her clitoris. Diana trembled deliciously, her eyes shut, a fevered storm kindling in her flesh. The cries of gulls dinned in her ears, the cool rush of the wind swept over her quavering thighs, and she thrust one hand down around Tracy's slender neck to steady herself.
"Easy," Tracy soothed. She shifted .her knees on the gritty damp floor of the pier and raised her face higher, still tickling the dampening clit with one finger, her eyes inches from the movement of her finger. Diana's hips began to churn in a responsive motion, her hand pulling up against Tracy's head, fingers gripping into the tendons of her neck, and her clit scintillated with flashes of brilliant sensation, her body glowing beneath her dress. An orgasmic rush stormed her senses and she cried out, her body wrenching back and forth at the waist, hair tossing in the salty wind, her hand leaping from Tracy's neck up to her hand, pulling the tenderly marauding finger tighter against the throbbing of her clit Her clit was simmering with tingling heat, the muscles of her ass tightening against the hard pressure of the concrete wall, her long legs flexing, damp sand clinging between her toes as they arched up from her sandals.
Diana sobbed, her heart beating faster, and rushed toward orgasm with open mind and melting body. Her mouth pulled open as her underbelly convulsed, an internal thermal quaking shaking the nether depths of her cunt, shaking her thighs and trembling her legs beneath her. Cascades of electric tremors and shocks of bright heat blasted through her, saturating her senses, blanking her mind. She groaned, and her shoulders arched way out over the wall of the pier, her hair spilling like a dark curtain down toward the water, the muscles of her back aching with the strain.
Replacing her finger with her tongue, Tracy abruptly altered the manner of her approach. She bent forward and moved her lips against the ovoid flanges of Diana's cunt, nibbling gently into the liquory interior and into the interlining aflood with cream. A mucid ooze overflowed the bright embrasure and she lapped her tongue against it, wanting it all, her tongue sliding the length of the wet slit while her nostrils filled with oceanic scent.
"Ohhhhh," Diana moaned, "ohhhhhhh, yeah, that's-ohhhhhhh," she caroled, coming, coming, blissfully coming, her heart pounding chaotically and hips twitching with a rolling intensity against the impact of Tracy's tongue. The pleasure was too great to endure, it was stronger than she was, infinitely stronger, and she gave up all resistance to it, a spray of salt water misting her face as her shoulders slumped and her body sagged lethargically against the wall and away from the incursion of Tracy's mouth. Her feet gave out from under her and she settled down on the wet floor of the pier with sprawled legs, her dress blossoming out around her, Tracy's lips spinning away.
"Ummmmmm," Tracy cooed with a catty little smile, and her eyes narrowed with satisfaction, both of them staring at each other, their clothing soiled and their hands braced against the cold dampness.
"You dance divinely," Diana replied, a mood of lightness overtaking her now that her emotions were momentarily exhausted, the energies of her flesh ebbing into mellow contentment.
"We're a mess," Tracy noticed, wrinkling her nose at the muddy legs of her pants suit and Diana's dress folded unkemptly underneath her. "But I guess you can't make an omelet without breaking any eggs."
"Or a leg," Diana said, and smiled, shading her eyes with one hand against the glare of the sun so she could see Tracy more clearly.
They sat smiling at each other for a while, all desire for the moment satisfied, basking drowsily in the afterglow of their pleasure, then Tracy extended one arm before her, her hand stretched out toward Diana. Her palm was plastered with murky water, the spaces between her fingers intersticed with muddy droplets. Reaching forward, she touched her fingers along the underside of Diana's jaw, turning her face until their gazes were joined pointblank, her palm nestling Diana's chin.
"Are you going to return my favor?" Tracy asked, and she withdrew her hand, leaving the whole front of Diana's chin streaked with rills of lackluster water.
"Of course," Diana breathed, nodding somnolently. "Merely polite to return a favor."
"You look beautiful with a little dirt on your face," Tracy told her, and she seized Diana with spontaneous passion, kissing her with even greater force than before. Their tongues blended and wove together with the shared taste of mudwater and saliva and they held each other with conviction and purpose, drawing apart only very slowly.
"What a day this has been," Didna said after a while, with a kind of detached bemusement.
"What a rare mood I'm in," Tracy answered, misty, foundering senses drifting all around the wreckage of her libido.
"It's almost like being...."...." in love...."
They sat staring into each other's eyes with pleasant tranquil smiles, contemplating each other's joy. Then Diana made a move. She scooted forward, pulling the naked press of her buttocks slidingly along the rough cold wetness of the concrete, soiling and fouling her dress. Her hands slid up around Tracy's waist, one of them bracing her abdomen while the other unzipped the white pants, and she shucked the pants down around Tracy's hips, tugging them down over the upper halves of her thighs, as far as she could with the redhead facing her in an oblique forward-leaning posture. The vale between Tracy's thighs was exposed but her cunt was still only indistinctly visible, a fleecy thickness of rusty curls covering the vermilion domain.
"Anything special you'd like?" Diana asked, licking her lips in readiness.
"Lots," Tracy said, nodding her head, smiling, "yeah ... but-" Her smile brightened and she met Diana's eyes. "But I think you should use your imagination," she concluded.
The challenge in her tone filled Diana with a sudden burgeoning of arousal. Yes, she thought, my imagination. Still sitting precisely opposite Tracy, she whirled the hem of her dress back over her knees, turning herself partially sideways and stretching one leg all the way out in front of herself, pausing then long enough to reach out and unstrap her sandal. She put the sandal aside and eased the long, perfectly shaped leg all the way forward beyond the lowered top of Tracy's pants and between her thighs. The little crescents of sand covering the insides of Diana's toes oozed and slid off, the granular wetness gleaming on the amber flesh of Tracy's abdomen, and she moved her foot lower into the shadowy juncture where the warmth of Tracy's pussy lurked. Tracy shook with a keen erotic chill as the pads of Diana's toes touched her, curling into the into the luxuriant curly mass of her muff, and then her breath caught in a sharply inhaled rush in her throat as the toes snagged along the ragged edges of her crevice, enlivening her with a burst of excitement.
"Gonna hitch hike to nirvana," Diana said, and she dipped her big toe dextrously into the damp sheath of the redhead's cunt, turning her foot sideways and easing the whole toe as well as most of the next deep into the stickiness of cunt, wriggling her toes playfully to set off some sort of reaction.
Tracy sighed like a clubbed animal. Fading sideways, her hands, palms down, gripping the concrete, she turned very gradually with the turning of Diana's foot and her cunt rippled open around the vented toes, the toes debouching abruptly. Flecks of sand and swirled cunt cream glistened on them. Tracy's eyes shone. She caught the foot in both of her hands, brought it up to her mouth, and bent forward, laving the toes with her tongue, weaving the soft pink pad between all of the spaces between the toes and nicking up the tasty grains of sand there, tasting the toes, the seawater, the residual brine of her own juice.
Then she lowered the foot back down between her thighs, positioning the big toe against the smoldering ember of her clit, pulling it toward and against her. Her clit throbbed insistently, the toe prodded against it, massaging, and she let out a brisk half-choked cry of startled pleasure.
"Baby," Diana soothed, her calf twisting, her toe tautly twisting the clitoral bud with the softest of pressures. She began to swab her toe back and forth, sweeping the dampening clit with it, stroking, and an extravagant smile broke over her face as the rhythm built, Tracy grabbing her foot and ankle fiercely in the vise of her thighs.
"Going to come?" Diana coaxed, her voice a whisper, "goin' come, honey, come, come, come on...." Her toe flashed back and forth across the pearly pinkness of clit with increasing speed, stoking flames and spreading heat while the cuntlips mouthed open into a glossy splay just below, the fissure of Tracy's asshole twisting inward. Diana dropped her foot a bit, dragging the big toe directly through the plush gulf of cunt, lowering it down past the base of the slit, then snugging it forward again. Softness of toe hunted muscular tightness of asshole. Diana kept her closely on Tracy, who looked back at her with eyes vibrant with feline sensitivity, a warmth of affection flowing like an electrical charge between them.
Tracy was spacy with pleasure. Her head lolled, her shoulders slumped, and she melted inward upon herself, thrusting forward in the same moment to sink the salient tip of Diana's toe into her asshole. The smooth muscular grip caught the toe, hauled it in, all the way, and she purred like a cat, feeling the pads of the four remaining toes braced against the sleek inside of her thigh.
"You're a gourmet, aren't you?" Tracy asked Diana, leering warmly as lush new feelings and sensations began to irradiate her mind, struck off sparks by the willful pressing of the toe in her asshole. The sensations were overwhelming, consuming in their intensity, lightening her mind and slackening her body, and she gave in wholly to them, not thinking or caring about anything else.
"I love to eat good things, yet," Diana said after several seconds, still turning the beautiful redhead on the tip of her toe, spinning her like a metaphysical ballet dancer off into an alternate universe of thought an feeling. She stopped, then, withdrew her toe suddenly, and folded her calf back under her body, leaning forward to reassert her presence before Tracy could absorb the withdrawal. "Lie back," she ordered firmly, her fingers pushing, and Tracy obeyed, stretching herself back and down without a second thought about her clothing. If anything, the likelihood of getting dirtier roused her even more; she didn't care. All that mattered in the world now was the divinely lurid little drama she was starring in.
Diana's fingers molding her hips, Tracy writhed on the grimy, watery pier like a drugged wet lioness on her back, her orange mane tossing, her head pressing back, teeth bared in a feral grimace.
"A gourmet," Diana breathed, and her mouth moved tp the feast, up past the pants snagged around Tracy's knees, into the lovely territory. But it was not an entree she wanted now; a smorgasbord seemed much nicer, so she tempered her excitement, easing her face up from the sensual succulence. She untied the belt around the waist of the tunic and thrust her face under the fabric and against Tracy's flesh. Her lips, grazing, roamed across Tracy's abdomen, her tongue rimming the recessed navel, rising across the ridged expanse of her rib cage and around the soft width of a breast, the loose fabric of the tunic tightening against the back of her head as she shoved her face into the acrid, stifled warmth of armpit. "Yeah," Diana moaned, and her tongue probed the sweated stubble there, the crease widening for her as Tracy flexed her upper arm outward to give her more latitude.
"Ahhhhhhhh," Tracy shuddered, her cry rising into a mellow sigh of pleasure. Her arm jacked open and she angled her shoulder, offering the dusky privacy of her armpit to the stirring touch of Diana's tongue. The axillary hair flavored with the musky incense of Tracy's sweat enriched Diana's mouth, and she licked harder, more indulgently, her nostrils swimming with female scent.
Her pace accelerated by the sound of Tracy's moans, Diana slid the tunic up over her head and lifted her face, unhindered, to Tracy's, lowering the fabric again over the woman's breasts. Their mouths met, and tongues intersected, softly licking, saliva flowing from one mouth to the other, spittle passing like liquid gems from tongue to tongue, igniting taste buds, glutting their minds with inexpressibly overpowering carnality.
Tracy was the one to call it quits, finally. She rose away from Diana's avid mouth with the drunken elegance of a tired swimmer floundering onto a beach, and for the next few seconds she lay there on her side, breath churning between her parted lips, her heart pounding with rapid beats.
"You're all muddy," Diana said after Tracy seemed to have returned to her senses. "Too dirty to go back to work, aren't you, Tracy?" Her hands moved delicately to the besmirched pants suit, touching muddy wet spots all over the pants and tunic, her lips forming a little smile.
"Maybe I am," Tracy said, looking down at herself with mildly surprised realization. "But it was certainly worth it, I know that."
"I think so, too."
"You're quite a customer," Tracy said. "Not the average run-of-the-mill customer, by any means."
"And you're some sales clerk."
They exchanged a brief, commemorative kiss, then Diana helped Tracy pull her pants back up, zipping them, and stood brushing at the dirty patches on the pants and on her own dress. When she finished, they walked a short distance further out on the pier, silently, then moved to the wall and stood there side by side, looking out over the bay.
"I don't often make friends quite this easily," Tracy said, the tone of her voice indicating that what had just happened was an exceptional rather than an ordinary event.
"Yeah, me, too," Diana nodded, smiling at her intently.
"I'd like to see you again, Diana," Tracy said softly, without taking her eyes from the bay. "Yeah, me, too...."
Tracy turned her head, smiling at Diana. "Say, Diana, how'd you like to go to a party?"
"A party?"
"Yeah. Look...." Tracy reached into her pants pocket, pulling out a card and giving it to Diana, who glanced at it with interest, then chuckled suddenly as she recognized the familiar invitation:
A Bacchanal
1 Free Pass
Admits Three
June 2, 1977
"Hey, I've got one of these-I mean my girl friend has!" Diana exclaimed, grinning at Tracy. "You got this in the Square, right? Same place as Hazy got hers."
"You mean-you're already planning on going?" Tracy asked, surprised by the odd coincidence.
"Sure, a couple of friends and I. But we're really in the dark about this. Are you, too, Tracy?"
Tracy shrugged. "A dwarf invited me to an orgy, that's all I know. But my curiosity would never let me pass this one up."
"We are an awfully lot alike, then, aren't we, Trace?" Diana said, and stepped a little closer to the statuesque redhead, clasping her hand in hers and holding it against the front of her dress.
She had found someone special, she was sure. Introducing her to Hazy and Andrew and all of them attending the party gave every promise of being an occasion to remember.
CHAPTER THREE
Hazy and Andrew showed up at a quarter to seven, Andrew wearing a plaid pink linen suit with black tie, Hazy a jade-green hooded dress, green stones sparkling in a semicircle around the apricot tan column of her throat.
"How nice we all look for people who intend to undress before long," Hazy observed, going to the liquor cabinet and pouring herself a shot of whiskey. She downed it with one toss.
"Or hope to, anyway," Diana said. "You brought that card, didn't you?" she asked Hazy.
"Of course, darling."
"Well, speaking of cards, that one seems to really get around."
"What does that mean?" Andrew asked. He and Hazy could both see that Diana was eager to tell them something, and they looked at her inquisitively.
Diana told the story of her afternoon, adding the part about Tracy's encounter with the dwarf at the end, grinning as their expressions became fascinated.
"And she's going to be on the scene tonight?" Hazy said, interest more than a little piqued by that aspect of the story.
"Said she would."
"Well," Andrew said, looking at both of them, considering, "I guess it pays to hang out in Ghirardelli Square."
Before leaving they all had a drink together, Diana proposing a toast to a successful evening, and finally Hazy nodded at the clock on a book shelf, suggesting that it was time to go.
Andrew, who owned an MG Midget, pointed out that it would be a tight fit for the three of them, but the women dismissed his remark with sly smiles, and he smiled, too, realizing that neither of them minded a bit spending a little time on the lap of a lover: the idea of discomfort didn't apply.
With Andrew driving, Diana wedged firmly but gingerly at an angle between Hazy's spread legs, they set out. A pale, silvery, summery moon hung like a grand lantern in the sky above the city, but it was cooler than it looked, the ocean brewing fitful breezes that stirred across the bay and over the city.
Andrew drove down Telegraph past Washington Square and over to Union Street, following it through quiet neighborhoods of closely crowded apartment buildings across Van Ness where it metamorphosed into a glittery, tree-lined thoroughfare of fashionable bars and restaurants, antique shops and art galleries. Further along, Pacific Heights began, the blocks acquiring a broader sense of space and an appearance of stateliness as the buildings became fewer and larger, whole blocks dominated by two or three houses. The architecture was eclectic: there were peak-roofed imitation European chalets, ancient somber fortresses of red brick and stained glass, long low characterless modern duplexes, and a preponderance of towering mansions of Gothic, colonial, and Victorian design, many of them as much as a century old but all carefully restored and freshly painted so their facades shone with a distinct look of newness.
Andrew found the house they were looking for: a three-story Victorian palace as ornate as French pastry. It was surrounded by a low stone wall with a wrought iron fence that opened onto a flagstone path leading up to the entrance. The windows both upstairs and down were softly lighted and the sound of music could be heard distantly from within.
"Ravel's Bolero," Diana said, placing the music.
"Wonder if they'll get into rock," Hazy said. "Something you can dance to."
"'Heat Dreams' by Golden Bluebird," Diana laughed, snapping her fingers. "Yeah. Well, we'll see. But there's more than one way to dance, Haze...."
Andrew glided the car past the house, looking for a parking space. The streets, they all noticed, seemed to harbor an unusual number of impressive cars: two Rolls Royce Corniches (with personalized license plates reading TRICK and TREAT), a 1933 Duesenbert SJ, a couple of Cadillac Eldorados, and a number of foreign sports cars.
Andrew found a parking space around the corner, and when he shut off the engine, they all looked at each other hesitantly in a moment of silence.
"Anybody feeling butterflies?" Hazy asked.
"It looks like it could be the real thing," Diana said with excitement in her voice. "It's no sharecropper's spread, that's for sure."
"So does anybody want to smoke a number first-or shall we just get moving?" Andrew wanted to know, looking at both of them for a decision.
"Number," Hazy said.
"Number," Diana seconded, nodding.
Andrew lighted a cigarette and they smoked it in the car without speaking, a nervous eagerness evident in each one's expression. When it was a roach, Hazy flipped it out the car window. "Time's a wast-in'," she announced.
Andrew, nodding, got out, opened the door for the women, locked the car behind them, and they headed toward the house, three abreast.
"I feel kind of like Dorothy on that yellow brick road," Diana confessed when they stood on the porch in the dim light of an orange overhead globe.
"I just hope it's like Oz in there but with a minimum number of witches and those weird flying monkies," Hazy replied. She rang the doorbell while Diana and Andrew looked on.
The door was opened by a young girl who looked no older than eighteen or nineteen. She had a vivid pretty face, with bright friendly eyes and a convivial smile, silky-soft auburn hair falling in wavy tumbled drifts around her shoulders, and was wearing pre-faded levis, a dusty blue cotton blouse, and a pair of crepe-soled leather sandals. She might have been someone's daughter in a family TV show.
"Hi," she said. "Got your invite?" Hazy gave her the card, trying to see past her into the house.
"Thanks. Come on in. Mingle. Do your thing." The girl stepped aside to admit them, and they entered slowly, looking about, diffident.
Diana smiled jauntily, and asked the girl, "Is there anything we should know? Uh-about procedure or anything?"
"Whatever you want...." The girl smiled, moving away, and was gone, leaving them standing there. They were in a dimly lighted foyer, the music they had heard was coming from a room somewhere off to the right, a flight of stairs was directly ahead. Dark purple and saffron draperies depicting medieval carnivals and masquerades covered the walls and there was a dusky shimmer of candlelight from upstairs and the adjoining rooms.
"The thing seems to be to explore," Diana said, confronting the shadowy horizon of the stairway, glancing back at Hazy and Andrew for agreement.
"It is, of course," a voice answered her, and their eyes were all drawn to a man who seemed to have materialized like a wraith. He was wearing a dark brown velvet three-piece suit and a necklace of brown agates. He was classically and severely handsome in the manner of Eruopean nobility with a cold light in her eyes and the ghost of a smile on his lips that might have connoted merriment or cynicism or both. "May I?" he inquired, and he captured Diana's hand in his without waiting for an answer, leading her with a gentle authority toward the stairs, smiling at her, then quickly back at Hazy and Andrew as if he had just cut in on a dance.
"Bye," Diana called back over her shoulder, giving a little shrug, as she allowed herself to be urged up the stairway. "See you later...." She saw Hazy and Andrew's wondering stares fall back, then ascended with a sudden lightness of motion, the man beside her so fluid in his movement that he seemed to be floating about the steps.
"My name is Lyon, Siegfried Lyon," he told her as they reached the first landing, passed a big window of golden and indigo and ruby-red glass, going up the second short flight of steps to the next floor, where they immediately turned into a vast room.
"Diana Summer," Diana said. Her heart was beating rapidly against her breast, a powerful feeling of excitement growing in her. She looked into the room, illumined by candles in high brass fixtures on the walls, parabolic auras of light reflecting upward along the walls, the orange cusps of flame flickering densely. The floor was plushly carpeted and there were a number of antique divans and huge hassocks and pillows all about, as well as hanging wicker baskets nesting small jungles of ferns and trailing vines, exotic orchids and dahlias and dark blue starshaped blooms. As Diana looked on, her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the atmosphere and she began to see with increasing clarity: people in pairs or groups of three were making love and fucking in a variety of inventive combinations. The sounds of their blending moans, sighs, whispers, and labored breathing washed like a murmurous tide through the room. Diana was spellbound. Involuntarily, she started to tighten her hold on her companion's hand, then became aware of an extreme change in shape and texture, something altogether different: he had, it became suddenly apparent, replaced his hand with something else, and now it was his erect cock that she held tentatively in her curving fingers. The hot length of it stirred expansively in her grip, her fingers tightening in reaction and wrapping all the way around the thick staff. Eagerly. She was taken off guard by his temerity but looked him in the eye and matched his dark smile with one of her own.
"If you don't mind...." he whispered under his breath, the words fading into a momentous silence dramatizing his desire.
Diana nodded, an alluring smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Like a sensual supplicant, unthinking, and unconcerned for the moment about thought, she lowered herself to her knees before Lyon, her buttocks settling on the heels of her shoes as she braced the weight of her body on her toes. Her mouth came open, her tongue swishing out and along the upcurving cock, flagrant male scent storming her nostrils. She took the full length of him into her mouth at once and he pushed forward to make it easier. Inside her mouth his cock turned on her tongue, her tongue rolling under it, caressing, the interplay of tongue and shifting cock reducing hoth of them to a spontaneous hypnotic passion.
A tremor of closed eyelids touched off a fountain of celestial light in the dark of Diana's mind. Sucking, she leaned forward with robust determination, sucking, sucking cock, her mind drenched with incandescent light, tongue stroking, oblivious suddenly to everything in the universe except the warmth of cock and taste of cock. A bead of warm juice graced her tongue as she sucked avidly and she loosed a low, keening, whimpering sound, swallowing in a rage o excitement.
Lyon's hands swept around the back of Diana' head and he moved himself into a more comfortable proximity with her, his cock angling upward more smoothly into the downward rush and slide of her mouth. Her mouth generated wetness, saliva gathering and accumulating in viscous eddies with the steady stroking of her tongue, a stray trickle leaking out over the pad of her lower lip. Her hands, grasping the material of his pants at the level of his knees pulled him toward her, and she soared forward with empyrean intensity, giving herself, giving.
It was the touch of another hand that made her slacken her pace and change her tempo. Another hand was touching her cheek and brushing back a tickling wisp of her hair, fingers rested lightly on her forehead. She opened her eyes with great effort, still sucking, and saw dimly out of the corner of her eye another woman, crouched beside her, watching her, wanting to join in. Diana moaned, tremors of pleasure quaking her body and trembling breasts She acted on instinct. The cock, relinquished slipped away from the pull of her lips, and she turned to kiss the silent intruder, the most intimate kiss she had ever given a total stranger. Both tongues tangled together in a kiss fluent with saliva, exhaled breath churning from mouth to mouth.
Unprepared for the withdrawal of Diana's mouth, Lyon staggered clumsily to one side, prick bobbing and stepped unsteadily between both women. His strength momentarily sapped, with a sharp percussive gasp, he dropped weakly to his knees, hands clutching both of them for support. One hand slipped around the newcomer's waist, his fingers reaching across the pliant slender curve of a bare hip as warm as summery satin, the other anchoring in Diana's cleavage, nearly tearing her dress. He sagged between them and the interruption caused them to terminate their kiss.
Diana, her mind awhirl, drew her face back and for the first time got a clear look at the other woman. Her eyes were a light sea-blue, a shade darker than the blue eyeshadow emphasizing their color, her nose long and straight, her mouth a full-lipped prurient pout. Her face was framed against an extravagance of scalloped jet-black curls in a "natural" style and her body, completely naked except for a sterling silver necklace with a silver wishbone pendant, was slim and petite, her breasts a little too full and large for her physique.
"I think we were kissing," she said with a petulance that matched her pout, and without bothering to look at Lyon, who still clung with one hand to her waist, she thrust her mouth back upon Diana's, resuming the kiss with brusque famished intensity, inhaling Diana's tongue hungrily and tucking her own beneath it to suck tenderly at the velvety damp pad. Diana yielded absolutely, seduced irrevocably by the woman's resolve, and let the kiss launch her into mindless realms, beyond thought, into an ether of pleasant warm contentment.
After a full minute the woman removed her mouth from Diana's, listlessly. A thin filament of saliva glinted on her lower lip, a sequin of spittle decorating the corner of her mouth. Diana reached out exaltedly and touched up the moisture with a forefinger, putting the finger in her own mouth. And suddenly she was no longer concerned with Lyon, not even as an addendum to her sapphic diversion. She tugged his hand free of her cleavage and pulled away, waving him off, turning to the woman.
Lyon gave up and let them go-for the moment. Moving back, he watched with quiet interest as they held hands, smiling at each other with the wide-eyed excitability of experimenting children.
"I want to give you a bracelet," Diana said softly, and, taking the woman's hand, she bent forward and ran the tip of her tongue around the thin wrist, creating a circle of wet light.
"And a necklace," she said. Her face descended to the woman's throat and her tongue swept from side to side like a plush pendulum, underscoring her silver necklace with a film of light that shone like crinkled cellophane.
"An' an anklet," she murmured languidly, and she knelt down, her tongue coiling warmly around the woman's ankle, leaving a dewy circle on the lissome pale gold of her flesh. "Lie down," Diana whispered into the woman's ear, and she helped her down onto her back, the blue eyes meeting her own in the process, a look of blind love passing between them.
"Rings," said Diana huskily. She lifted a limp arm and turned the hand, kissing the copper frosted nails and spiraling circlets of spittle around each finger, kissing the palm and licking the sweaty moisture up, pressing the palm and fingers up along one of her cheeks while she repeated the same loving precess with the other hand. She paused after a bit, her face upside down above the prostrate woman's, their eyes meeting solemnly, both mouths open with tense expectation, and then she lowered her face until her long dark hair swirled like curtains past her cheeks, enveloping both their faces and completely camouflaging the warm erotic rapture of their kiss.
"God," the woman whispered, the single word exploding lightly from her lips. "Oh, God, oh, oh, uh...." The words seemed to catch in her throat, her body electric with fever, with lust, and she twisted on the floor like a drugged tranced beast, her arms wrapping around Diana's waist and propelling her, on her knees, down along her body so that Diana was kneeling with her thighs bracketing the other's head, Diana's lips plowing down into the steamy furrow of her sex. The coral lips of her cunt blossomed around Diana's tongue, the yielding center opening into a pungent redolence and creamy succulence of female brew, and at the same time she reached up, shucking Diana's dress up around her thighs and pulling down the filmy panties, which turned inside out with the crotch band clinging to a cunty glaze in the perineal furrow. The woman yanked at the panties, and suddenly the crotch bank snapped resonantly free, the juicy dark-stained fabric cleaving away from Diana's obstinate labia. Raising her face, lips pursed, the woman kissed the exposed cunt, lips open to the nether lips that opened without a bit of resistance, they were already so wet with the warm nectar seeping up from the deep well of her vagina.
"Suck," the woman gasped assiduously, and the word was lost in the sound of her sucking and Diana's sucking, as they both blitzed each other with primitive ardor, hands gripping soft thighs, cunts oscillating around vigorous mouths.
Changing her style, Diana began licking the woman's cunt, licking ravenously into the florid sprawl and into the humid cove, seeking the same warm liquor she could feel now oozing from her own splay into the mouth below her. The woman changed her approach, too, and abruptly they were both licking each other, tongues traveling the length of silken splits and whipping back again, gliding through sweetening fissures from pearly clit to tart asshole and doubling back, flicking asshole and clit alternately, flippantly, lips crowding, juice streaming. Moans rushed from their throats, their limbs spasming and fingers knotting, toes arching, but they kept at each other with impassioned precision.
Her breath coming in heavy sobs, shaking her body with lewd concussions and rippling aftershocks, Diana reared her ass further backward, taking her tongue for an instant from the brimming well and lining up her own cunt more solidly with the woman's mouth. Her labia divided, widening into the glossy elastic shoal of her sex, the woman's nose veering within, and she sat herself upon the worshipful face with salacious elegance, tightening her thighs around the smooth cheeks, her dress spreading out around her hips and thighs to plunge her lover into a total darkness of velvet fabric and cunt warmth. For a moment, pausing in her own activity, she perched delicately on the woman's face like a queen on a regal pillow, wanting to smother her and enclose her and contain her and immerse her in all the dampness and heat her cunt could produce. But she held back. She didn't want to brutalize her lover. Didn't want to make her uncomfortable. That was not what love was about.
Unclamping her thighs from around the remote face, Diana pulled her knees farther apart on the floor. Her panties were still twisted and stretched to the tearing point between her thighs, inhibiting her movements, so she lifted one leg over the woman's face and moved to one side as if she were dismounting a horse.
She knelt beside her lover, both of them smiling, stricken, wordless, dizzy, amazed and delighted by each other.
"Fabulous," Diana said, simply, touching the woman's lips, still bright with her own nectar. The lips responded by kissing her fingers, as affectionately and automatically as if she were a seasoned lover of hers.
"I don't think we've met," she said to Diana, a smile parting her glistening lips, a look of potent mischief in her eyes.
"I'm Diana," Diana said, returning the smile.
"Cheryl," the woman said.
"Cheryl," Diana repeated, testing the sound of the name.
They were both distracted by a movement off to the side and, looking, saw that Lyon, naked now, sat there regarding them with a semi-tortured expression of thwarted desire, his cock a rigid spar put-sating visibly between his legs.
"Pardon me, Diana," Cheryl said apologetically. She gave Lyon a look Of feigned irritation, indicated her real attitude quickly with a grin, then went to him, pushing his legs apart and whisking his cock between her lips, taking the head far back in her throat and straining her lips down to the very end of the shaft, her lower lip brushing up against the orbs of his balls. She started sucking with an extremity of concentration and eloquence and earnestness that took him altogether by surprise, her tongue skidding and flourishing, lips pulling, and he was so charmed and overwhelmed that he felt the come storm into his cock before more than a minute had passed. His teeth clenched and he gasped, out of breath. His hands slapped out, catching at the floor, which seemed to have become as unstable as the surface of a trampoline, and he groaned as her flourishing tongue brought him up to the very point of release, then tripped him over and into spaces of solar brightness, incredible sensation filling his cock, racing his blood. A geyser of come erupted in Cheryl's mouth, and he reeled with drunken ecstasy, a second jet discharging as she sucked with a smile, her eyes closed tightly and features composed with a look of demonic dignity, more come washing over her tongue and down her throat.
"How's that, good enough?" she asked, sitting upright and blinking her eyes open, her balmy smile releasing a trickle of come that ran down her chin and spilled into the copper-dark vale between her large breasts.
Lyon answered her question with an enfeebled nod, too wasted for the moment to manage any vocal response. He glanced down at his quenched cock, still bobbing buoyantly on the rebound from Cheryl's expert mouth, a final thick droplet of pearly come squeezing from the slit in its tip, then his eyes sought Diana's, his mouth forming a jaded smile as she smiled at him with ceremonial pleasantness.
"Pardon," Diana said very casually and she punctuated the word with a short chuckle, cutting that off as she bent forward and took the already deflating shaft of Lyon's cock into her mouth, the fingers of one hand curling around it to milk one last drop of come onto her tongue. She scooped it up and, paying no further attention to Lyon, turned back to Cheryl with her tongue pinkly extended with the lactescent offering. Cheryl grinned spiritedly and poked her own tongue out, its tip touching Diana's, both their faces blandly contented, eyes shut and mouths smiling around projected tongues, the rich droplet of precious come melting in the pink junture.
Diana opened her eyes again when she felt Cheryl's tongue retract, ending the mellow tasteful soft contact, and she found herself staring directly into Cheryl's eyes, a deep feeling of heady intemperance lightening her mind and muting her heartbeat. She felt as if she had just regained the surface of a warm sea in which she had been swimming underwater for long minutes.
"Good, Diana, you're beautifully good," Cheryl said in a thick voice, nodding, an expression of lyrical satisfaction warming her gaze. She took a huge breath, exhaled it, gave her head a little pleasant lulling shake to jolt her marauded consciousness, then took Diana's hand in hers in a more or less sisterly fashion. "Want to explore with me?" she asked.
Diana asked, "Explore?"
"Yeah. You know. Look around the house. See what we can find."
"I want to, of course," Diana said eagerly, pleased that Cheryl didn't want to abandon her for someone else.
"You're beautiful," Cheryl said again, impulsively, and the smile that followed the remark made it obvious that she had enjoyed more than an ordinary amount of gratification with Diana.
"You're sweet," Diana told her, touching one of her rigid nipples, the pinkish halo moist with sweat.
Cheryl gave her an imploring look.
"Sure," Diana answered, "sure...." She put her mouth around the nipple and sucked the whole tip of the tit into her mouth, suckling with a happy smile. Cheryl winced with pleasure, warmth filling her swollen tit, her face flushing, eyelashes batting, and she took Diana into her arms with sudden tenderness and anxiety, smoothing her hair with one hand while Diana sucked and suckled, with vitality, greedily impatient.
They continued like that for another minute or two, then Cheryl slipped her fingers around the underside of her suckled tit, and eased the nipple from Diana's mouth.
"Let's go see what we can find," Cheryl said, and helped Diana get to her feet.
Hand in hand, they left the room, not even taking time to glance at Lyon in passing now that they had found each other. Let's go upstairs," Diana said, nodding toward the stairway. "Okay?"
"By me," Cheryl concluded, smiling agreeably. "Sure, c'mon." Her hand tightened around Diana's and they ascended slowly, looking like two ingenues in a haunted mansion.
"How long have you been here?" Diana asked, her eyes scanning the gloomy dark elevation looming ahead; it was darker here in the absence of any candles along the stairway.
"Half an hour or so." Cheryl shrugged. "Not long. I came with a girl friend. Modiste. Maybe we'll see her." Her hand squeezed Diana's more tightly. "You like chocolate, Diana? Maybe we could make a sundae...."
"Chocolate?" Diana asked, puzzled for a few seconds, then realizing that Cheryl was talking about a black woman. "Oh, yes, I think I'd love that," she added hurriedly.
Halfway up the flight of stairs Diana's foot encountered something palpable in the darkness and she drew abruptly back, an "oh" of surprise parting her lips, Cheryl coming to a stop beside her.
"Excuse me," Diana said hastily, discerning vaguely the pale shape of a presence (someone naked, her mind informed her at once) on the stairway.
"Never mind," a voice said dismissively just as quickly, and the person stood up before them. "I was just taking a breather."
Her eyes fathoming the darkness, Diana saw a tall woman facing her, then saw her more clearly as the woman moved to hold out her hand in introduction: "Hera Yellow Wing," she said in a friendly voice. Diana found herself looking up at the woman, who was easily six feet tall and had the long lean body of a fashion model, small high breasts, and a fashion model's long, narrow, sophisticated face, her long ink-black hair drawn sleekly and smoothly back over the top of her head and bound in a lush pile above the back of her neck. She was wearing only a pair of earrings, crystal stars fixed in her lobes, and in the dim light they seemed almost phosphorescent, accenting her somewhat voluptuous smile.
"I'm Diana, this is Cheryl," Diana said, touching Cheryl's arm. They both smiled at Hera, their smiles warming with a growing awareness of the woman's imposing size and extreme beauty.
"You must be warm," Hera said to Diana, referring with a nod to the dress she still wore, her smile garnishing her stately features with a touch of mischief. "Or modest, perhaps?"
"Hardly modest," Cheryl affirmed.
"Hey, I just got here minutes ago," Diana explained. "We were going to go upstairs and have a look around. Is that where you're coming from?"
"Want a companion?" Hera asked, ignoring the question. She looked from Diana to Cheryl and back again, a sense of bawdy implication narrowing her eyes.
Diana glanced at Cheryl. "I don't mind, if you don't, Cheryl?"
"Two's company, three's allowed," Cheryl smiled, looking up at Hera, accepting the suggestion without a moment of deliberation.
Diana said, "Yellow Wing? That's pretty. Is it Indian?"
"I am mostly Comanche, with a bit of Apache and a good deal of Sicilian cat burglar and Greek demimonde in my blood," Hera said.
"You look very familiar, too," Cheryl noticed, studying Hera more closely.
"Vogue," Hera said. "French edition. Of maybe Le Monde or one of those. Although I'm not that well known yet, I thought. No cover shots." She was obviously pleased and flattered by Cheryl's recognition.
"Sure, I've seen you in a magazine," Cheryl said, remembering. "That spread with all the models on top of different skyscrapers. Saw it at my hairdresser's. My God, you stood out like emeralds in a coal bin."
"Well...." Hera savored the compliment for a contemplative moment before saying bluntly, "Mind if I kiss you, Cheryl?"
"Mind?" Cheryl laughed softly. She cast a quick glance at Diana, then said, "No, 'course not, if you don't mind a little taste of Diana and maybe a little bitty taste of semen...."
"Probably we should all share a little kiss," Hera said, captivated by Cheryl's provocative remark, looking at Diana for some sign of assent.
"Sure," Diana nodded, and stepped forward, drawing Cheryl with her so that they converged at angles on either side of Hera, the heavy sphere of one of Cheryl's tits eclipsing one of Hera's modest orbs, warm flesh joining, one of Diana's large velvet-covered tits pressing up against the other. Their mouths fused in concert with Hera's mouth, Hera's lips parting to receive two synchronous kisses, two tongues flowing luxuriously between her teeth and sweetly against the inner surfaces of her cheeks, her tongue, the roof of her mouth. Hera's tongue flickered impetuously back over both tongues, licking at the women's lips and her hands groped and lifted the underside of Cheryl's bountiful tit, pulling the nipple up so that it brushed with quivering solidity against her own, both nipples springing crinkly erect in their floral circles with the electrification of the contact.
"Divine tit," Hera breathed into the widening welcoming warmth of Cheryl's mouth, her own breast suddenly aflame with tingling sensation, their nipples rubbing deliciously and arousingly together, her other nipple stimulated to stiff sensitive hardness by the well-defined velvety outline of the shape of Diana's breast through the material of her dress.
"I love large breasts." Hera confessed after a long, fluttering sigh, withdrawing after a few seconds from the three-way kiss to get her bearings, out of breath.
Diana, seized by an imperative desire, let her hand trail down to seek Hera's cunt. Her fingers pressed into a liquory wetness and she pressed them further, three fingers sliding into the hot nether gap all the way into the pliant cuntdepths, marshy to the touch. She brought her hand back and held it on a level with her chin, between Hera and Cheryl's faces.
"Share," said Cheryl, taking the hand in hers and turning it toward her. Her gaze became vivacious with delighted astonishment as she saw the slender fingers streaked with milky tendrils of viscid cunt-brew. She pulled the hand to her and inhaled, saline funk thick as heavy incense expanding her nostrils with its sublime odor. "You're a dairy," she whispered into Hera's ear, her tongue licking briefly at the coralline opening, her nose inhaling a lemony scent of hair lotion and sweaty undertone of female flesh.
Hera greeted the comment with a look of passion i so intense it seemed that all mobility and coherence had fled her expression. Her tongue whipped out and she cleaned Diana's fingers, devouring the taste of herself, lust brightening her dark eyes and giving I her face an almost preternatural glow.
Diana could see that it was time for the three of them to go elsewhere, somewhere whey they could lie down and spend some time together, and she was just about to say as much when a voice from the stairs above distracted all of them: "Well, well, if this isn't just a fine, a very fine stroke of luck." Looking up, the three women saw another woman moving with a prowling, hip-rolling finesse down the steps toward them, her body emerging from the upper darkness like a silky apparition.
"Modiste!" Cheryl exclaimed, a happy smile appearing on her lips, her eyes gleaming with recognition as the dark woman glided into their presence.
"Sweet," Modiste said softly, with a nod, acknowledging her, then looked at each of the other women in turn, Diana and Hera, smiling with a cool, fixed, appreciative stare at them. "I was looking for a nice, blue-eyed, straw-pale saffron, and cream-colored teen-ager," she said in a lazy voice, "but you three ladies look very fine to me, very fine in every nice way...."
"I'd say so, too," Hera said, her eyebrows arching with approval at the sight of the new arrival, Diana nodding in agreement beside her. Modiste was completely naked, they saw, wearing nothing more than a small flight of diamond and gold and turquoise and onyx hummingbirds and butterflies on thin golden chains bright against the smooth tan flesh between her broad round tits.
"Come on, girls," she said, smiling at them, then turned and started back up the steps, beckoning to them with a forefinger held out behind her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Diana and Cheryl and Hera followed silently. At the top of the flight of steps they moved behind her into a room at the end of the hallway, Modiste shutting the door when they were all inside.
It was a small room furnished with a single item: a big double mattress in the middle of the floor, candles in wine glasses against each of the four walls lighting the room, casting flickering shadows on the walls and floor.
"Me for the mattress," Modiste said, and she dropped onto the mattress, turning over on her back and stretching herself out with a proud exhibitionistic ostentation, dauntless, her gaze sweeping the three pairs of eyes surrounding her as her acolytes knelt around her, Hera by her head, and Cheryl and Diana beside her. Her body was a long soft terrain of glens and vales and slopes and shallows, darks and pales. Her arms and legs and torso were cocoa dark, a deep umber at the firmly capped tips of her tits, the bottoms of her feet and insides of her hands pale. The outer labia of her cunt, bisecting the furzy bracken of her pubic thatch, were plum dark, purplish and moist, but the inner surfaces were several shades lighter, a sight Diana displayed by unfolding the corrugated cunt flaps and opening the split into candy pink depths ashimmer with juice.
Diana glanced at Hera and Cheryl, waiting for some sort of signal to begin, or some plan of action to be commended. They looked at her, demurring, then all seemed to realize together that such consideration would only delay their pleasure.
"Pot luck," said Diana, laughing, and lowered her face into the width of Modiste's yawning slit while Hera pressed her lips against her full mouth and Cheryl flashed her tongue across the quavering globe of a big firm tit. Modiste twisted on the mattress, her arms and legs flexing as three tongues caressed her, lighting fires in her blood and setting her heart to beating in a heavy swift tattoo. A shower of long black hair fell on her belly and across her thighs as Diana's face vanished against the crevice of her cunt; Modiste's eyes closed with the sensation of her tit being drawn into Cheryl's mouth; her lips twisted with Hera's kiss. Modiste moaned and writhed, her buttocks grinding into the mattress, a heated throbbing saturating her cunt, her long slender body lambent with reflected candlelight, thrilling and heaving to the ministration of three tongues, Hera's licking her mouth (her own tongue stroking back at it with mouthing agitation), Cheryl's lips lovingly sucking her stiff nipple, Diana's tongue plunged deep down into the palpitating semi-liquid chasm of her sex.
Modiste's moans became murmurs, the murmurs turning to whimpers, whimpers dissolving into sobs and gasps and tremulous panting breathing as the three women pleasured her and pleasured her, their tongues orchestrating explosions and tremors and quakes, busy, dedicated, licking, unrelenting. Her mind was a blaze of sensation, her body seething and blazing all along its length, tongues swishing here and there, mouth, tit, cunt, tit, mouth, cunt, lovely tongues skyrocketing her into ethereal skies of the mind, kissing, licking, sucking, loving and loving and loving with a steady reliable mounting intensity that made her first orgasm rage like a hurricane through her. Coming, she felt herself expanding in every part, mind and body, all of her completely infused with pleasure, a profuse enveloping pleasure that coursed through her in accelerating waves, and she cried out, reaching out wildly as she cried. Her fingers latched around Hera's neck, pulling her mouth into a deeper kiss, caught at Cheryl's arm, jerking spasmodically along her wrist till their hands were joined, and her cunt heaved consummately against Diana's mouth, wetness brimming from her.
For a silent spaceless moment there was a puase, a cessation of activity as if Diana and Cheryl and Hera were all frozen, impulses paralyzed by the orgasm they had created; then Diana was sucking zealously from the wellspring of Modiste's pulsing cunt, guzzling, letting the savory nectar cover her tongue. Rising and turning, she kissed Cheryl, a robustly elegant kiss, the taste of Modiste flowing onto Cheryl's tongue, and Cheryl quickly turned to kiss .
Hera, passionately. They kissed the flavor away, holding each other with eyes shut and hearts hammering, their embrace growing more intimate as they licked each other's lips, noses, eyes, ears, cheeks.
"I knew there was a good reason for sororities," Diana said, smiling broadly and looking at all three of her companions, Modiste, Hera, and Cheryl, smiling with equal affection at each of them.
"Not that a good brawny stud isn't my cup of tea, too," Modiste pointed out, not wanting Sappho to take more than her share of credit.
"Ahhh, yes," Cheryl agreed. "Cock, cock, my queendom for a cock...." She spoke in a mock-theatrical tone, causing the others to all laugh lightly.
"Speaking of which," Hera said, "I could use one, I think. Hope that doesn't make me sound too much like a glutton."
"Gourmet, not glutton," Diana smiled. "I think I could stand a little bit of that kind of action, too." She glanced at Cheryl and Modiste and Hera. "Not a thoroughbred lesbian here, then...."
"Too narrow and confining," Hera said. "Women are nice lovers, but men are...."
"Masculine," Cheryl finished for her.
"Rough," Modiste suggested. "Which is just as nice as soft but quite a bit different. Rough. Rough," she mused, "means craggy. Uneven. Un-smooth. Rough."
"They've got wands, and that's a hard act to follow," Hera said flatly.
"If you like magic," Diana nodded.
"I'll buy that," Cheryl agreed, nodding.
Modiste looked archly from Cheryl to Diana and said, "Buy? Have you ever?"
"Bought sex?" Diana gave it a moment of thought, and shook her head.
"Or sold," Modiste said, contemplating the thought. "I mean, have you ever traded quim for currency? Have you ever sold your jellyroll for greenbacks?"
"I work in an office, not on a street corner," Diana replied a bit sharply, looking defensive.
"I'm just curious, sweet," Modiste said in a softer voice. "That's what we're all doing here. Finding out a few things about things."
"I'm afraid I've conferred favors on a boss or two," Cheryl admitted, frowning. "Or three," she amended, after a few more seconds of consideration.
"Oh, but that's not very dramatic," Hera said. She disturbed her lovely sophisticated features with a lewd grin, and said, "Where's the most unusual place you've ever been balled?"
"I was balled in the bleachers," Cheryl said, her grin even lewder than Hera's as she reviewed the memory. "Among thousands. And it was an orgasm to remember, believe me!"
"In the men's room in a bar called the Ionian Owl by a philosopher," Hera countered. "He gave me a crash course in hedonism, which I passed with honors."
Cheryl said, "I made love in a rubber life raft-before I learned how to swim." She paused and smiled vastly. "That's how I learned. We capsized and I had a quick transition from pleasure to terror. But I made it. It was quite a trip. One minute I had a mouthful of sperm and the next minute the whole Pacific was in my mouth. It was truly wild."
"Best high I ever had," Diana said, her eyes sparkling with the memory, "was coming down a banister in conjunction with a boy friend, me astride him."
"Wow!" Cheryl said, laughing. "That sounds like something you ought to patent. If it really works."
"Yeah." Diana smiled, reminiscing. "We left the banister looking like it had just been freshly waxed."
"Mmmmmmmmmm," Hera murmured, closing her eyes and getting a fix on the image. "Sounds very nice, really."
"I think I'm getting horny," Diana said, returning the three listless sensual smiles she found herself looking at.
"Me, too," said Hera, nodding. "I think we ought to get back to the party."
"There are some very nice things happening out there," Modiste testified. "It might be nice to get back in circulation."
Everyone agreed. They looked at each other with tender sincerity; then Modiste kissed each of the others, and departed so suddenly she was gone before anyone could speak. Following her lead, Cheryl kissed Diana and Hera, got up and left the room quickly and quietly. Left alone, Diana and Hera looked at each other, a little shyly, neither of them eager to make the next move.
"I'd like to go with you," Diana said unhesitantly, her smile slightly shy.
Smiling back at her, Hera's eyes were dark bright points of light; Diana's gaze was silvery and sloe-black.
Hera bent toward her and pressed her mouth over Diana's, her lips parting along the curve of Diana's upper lip, her tongue edging temptingly under the front of the lip to trace its shape and slip along the pliable moist frontage of gum and ivory hardness of teeth. "Sure," she whispered, taking Diana's hand, both of them rising with the kiss still held and savored. "I can't stop wanting you," Hera sighed when she finally broke the kiss as they approached the doorway. "Really can't."
"Me, too," Diana said, tilting her head with a dainty entranced look, and opened the door almost unconsciously.
CHAPTER FIVE
They moved together, fingertips sketchily touching, out of the room and into the corridor where they immediately encountered a wandering guest: a fairy tale princess drenched to the waist in hair the color of Caribbean moonlight, silver white, and with eyes as blue and bright as the light from a star. She was wearing a sleek, clinging, creme de menthe wrap robe with white scroll embroidery on the sleeves and on its high conversative neckline. Her skin was that rare combination of healthy brown golden and carnation pink coloration that one associates with technicolor debutantes and ingenues. But there was a look of experience and perception and sensual effervesence on her face.
"Oh, hi," she said, seeing Diana and Hera, misting to a stop before them, smiling with an odd detached warmth.
"Hi," Diana and Hera both echoed simultaneously, moving closer to her, Hera's bronze nudity in bold contrast with the black velvet and satiny green of the dresses Diana and the other woman wore.
"I've just been roaming around taking in some fantastic sights," the woman said with a becalmed smile. "Have you both?"
Diana looked sharply at the woman and it seemed to her that there was something familiar about her face, that she had seen her somewhere before or met her-but the circumstances eluded her. The woman noted her expression and gave a subtle nod, her smile broadening. "You recognize me," she said.
"I ... don't know-" Diana began, staring uncertainly.
"Have you seen the play in North Beach-Black Vanilla Blues? Or the one that preceded it earlier this year-The Qwertyuiop Machine?
Diana placed her, then, remembering the impressively talented new young acress who had personified Thursday Afternoon in The Qwertyuiop Machine. But she couldn't recall her name.
"Of course, I remember you-I saw the play," Diana said. "But I'm afraid I don't remember your name. You were very good I"
"Anima de Verite," Anima told her, pleased to have been recognized. She looked at Diana and Hera inquisitively, waiting for them to introduce themselves, and Diana said, "I'm Diana Summer, this is Hera Yellow Wing." To Hera, she said, "Anima is a marvelous actress, Hera. A show stopper!"
"You're lovely," Hera told Anima without timidity, their eyes meeting. "I'd love to see you in action."
"Thanks," Anima said, smiling, not missing the intended ambiguity of the remark. She glanced momentarily back the way she had come, then declared, "Mad goings on here I My first orgy, and it's no misfire, that's a fact."
"What's happening?" Hera asked her.
"There's a room back there with a sign that says EXPERIENCES on the door," Anima said. "I just left it and my pussy feels like a drunken old cat that's been out in the sun too long. It feels like a hot coal slowly cooling in warm water."
"Really?" said Hera, her brows knitting, an intrigued little smile on her lips.
Then Diana saw something she hadn't detected at first-a finger-length pearly glimmer on one of the sleeves of Anima's robe, more of them punctuating the fabric where it draped over one of her hips. She couldn't stop herself and reached out with impulsive curiosity, touched the glimmering sleeve, and brought the finger back to her face; it gleamed with a dab of semen. She held it to her nose, then offered it to Hera, wiping the come on Hera's full lower lip.
"Oh," Hera said, startled, her tongue gathering it in. "Oh, wow!" she enthused, the taste registering.
"I just made love to some of the nicest people," Anima explained, the soft fabric of her gown advertising the peaked nipples of big firm breasts as she moved her arms as if they were trailing in water beside her.
"How many?" Diana asked her.
"Counting the dildos?" Anima said, and smiled. She shrugged. "Just enough," she said.
Diana kept staring at the smirched dress, her heart beating faster as her mind conjured up images to account for it, orgiastic montages that made her aware again of the heat of her cunt.
Anima moved a few steps to the stairway, and sat down on the top step, indicating with a small sigh that she needed a rest from her activities. Hera and Diana followed her and she looked up at them standing over her, blue gaze cooling a little as the wonderment in her eyes lessened, her smile becoming more relaxed. Her cheek was so close to the long svelte contour of one of Hera's calves that a few errant pale threads of her silver-blonde hair touched wispily against the leather-dark flesh, Hera's leg shifting discernibly in response, her unshod toes tightening against the pile of the stairway carpet.
Anima's tone was nostalgic, as was her smile, her gaze strangely dull as she began, "Three men who looked like they might have grown up on a beach somewhere. Hawaii, Jamaica. Mars. Salty bronze bodies, heavily muscled, white teeth, manes of sun-bleached hair. And a woman about forty, with a handsome strict fact, eyes as yellow and bright as a cat's-or bird's. All of them were dressed formally, then men in Victorian dinner jackets, while she wore an orange and gold gown and smelled like an Italian garden after a storm. They were all very supercilious, aloof, clannish, asked me if I would like to be their table. I told them yes, it seemed like a good method exercise. Be a table. So one of them took a pair of golden manacles. He asked for my permission and I told him to go ahead. He locked my hands behind my back. She bound my ankles with a fox wrap. They laid out pastries and biscuits and wine in small glasses on my back and shoulders and my ass. And they dined...." Pausing, her eyes were wide with enchanted reminiscence. "Yeah. Very slowly. Slowly. I had my face on the floor, one cheek on the floor, and I could just hear the sounds of glasses tinkling, the cold touch of glasses on my flesh, the feathery weight of the pastries as they picked them up and put them down, crumbs falling. And when they were through there were crumbs all over my back, and little oases of spilled wine. I heard the woman say she'd clean off the table, and then I felt her mouth on one of my shoulder blades, nibbling up the crumbs, and she worker her way down my back to my bottom, using just her lips, no tongue. A minute or so of that and my nipples were stiff, my cunt was aching and I wanted her. She made little trails of phantom grazing kisses back and forth down my back and I couldn't bear it any more by then and I asked her to kiss me, please, and she put her face down beside mine and let her open lips touch mine, barely, just the corners of our mouths touching-I tried to kiss her but she laughed and moved away. She let her breath breeze over my face, warm and fresh, a forest breeze-but she wouldn't kiss me. By that time I realized, in some dumb dull daze, that someone's cock was rustling against one of my thighs, getting hard. They were getting undressed, all of them. She kept teasing me with her lips just out of reach while she got her gown off. Her breasts were small, very small, but curvy and beautiful, nipples thick as raspberries, and she stood up in front of me, her cunt peeled open and she smiled like a hothouse orchid. I begged her to give me a taste of herself and she laughed. She put her cunt right down near my mouth and I could see the lips warping into wet depth, then they had me on my back and there were three hard ons massaging my tits, my stomach, my legs and arms. Cocks so warm and nice I could feel the pulsing, the heat, and then the first little warm spills and threads of cocky juice as they started to glow and blaze. I begged to be fucked, but nobody would make a move. It seemed like time was frozen, nothing would happen, everything was standing still. Then after hours and days and years of waiting I finally had a cock in my mouth all the way back to my throat, balls dragging my chin, cocks pressing at my ears, and she was with me, both of us sucking all three of them and I was drowning in roses and honey. Somebody was stroking my clit, my nipples. I wanted to use my hands, but I was still wearing the manacles, couldn't, so I sucked like a maniac. I kept trying to kiss her in the melee but she wouldn't let me-I could hear her laugh every time she pulled away, but then she passed a cock on to me so well basted with her saliva that I came the moment it was on my tongue. I've never felt such an orgasm. Like I'd fallen off the moon or been side-swiped by a meteor. My cunt was like a forge. Then everybody was coming. All I know is I suddenly felt like I'd fallen down in the surf. My mouth was full, my breasts were splashed, an ear was full of come. I died and was reborn."
Anima stopped talking and looked up into the eyes of Hera, who had been gently and steadily buffing the warm moony arc of her cheek with the slender configuration of her thigh as she told the story.
"And then what?" Hera asked in a scarcely perceptible voice, increasing the motion of her leg with just enough vigor so that the satiny and silky surfaces of calf and cheek translated tactile vibrations of warmth, Anima's cheek brightened pinkly against the tan of her thigh.
Anima shrugged, nuzzling the thigh and licking it with a swift pinkness of tongue, tersely. "I put on my dress," she went on, "and was getting ready to leave. Then I saw the woman strapping on a dildo-one of those enormous phallus replicas, perfectly modeled, almost as thick as-" She hesitated, the fingers of one hand encompassing Hera's wrist, fingertips touching her thumb as the grip tightened. "Your wrist," she said, grinning impishly. "And I didn't say anything at all. I got back down on the floor and asked her to fuck me until that thing melted between us. I left my dress on this time, just hoisted it up and let her mine for gold. I could feel our stomachs lock together, our bushes blending, and she fucked me like a champion. You could smell the rubber melting, I started coming right away, orgasms" were banging through me from the cellar of my cunt to the attic of my brain, and I was like a big soft pinball machine with every light and bell going and all the flippers. I begged her for a kiss, but she wouldn't; she just kept fucking me like she'd been born to do it, and then one of the guys got back into the act standing over me, facing her and she started to work him over with her mouth while she rode me. My legs were around her back, my heels on her ass and I came like I'd been sucked through a black hole into some other space and time. The guy came, too, mostly on me, and he ended up crawling away from the scene. But she did kiss me, finally. A nice, soft, teddy-bear buss on the nose. Then I left."
-Finishing, she cast a penetrating look at Hera, her cheek still floating along the warmness of thigh. As if anticipating Hera's request, she said, "I'm a little worn for now. I think I need a drink. But maybe we could get together later ... do you think?"
"I hope so," Hera said, disappointed, but understanding.
"All of us later," Anima said, giving her smile to Diana as well, Diana nodding her approval.
Diana and Hera left her sitting on the stairway, temporarily spent, her shoulders sagged, an outlandish smile rifting her lips, her eyes shining.
"Looks like I almost lost you," Diana said when they were far enough away not to be overheard.
"You won't lose me, Diana," Hera assured her, with a faint smile, not looking at her. "I'll get your phone number."
"I work for a publishing company," Diana told her. "Marble Island Press. Remember it, sweet." She felt Hera's hand take her own and her heart and mind radiated a marvelous mixture of gladness, erotic excitation, and affection, feelings so strong she closed her eyes for an interval of seconds to treasure them.
The corridor ahead was long and empty. Glass-encased candles in sconces along the way flickered shifting patterns of light and shadow gelatinously over the walls, clarifying framed prints by Beardsley and prints illustrating Boccaccio and surreal sketches of aerial phalli, polychromatic genitalia, incubi and succubi sporting with obsequious victims, landscapes and seascapes analogous to lovers in postures of copulation, maidens in petticoats and chemises with the heads of wolves and lions and swans, androgynous fishermen/women retrieving nets writhing with lewd blue and pale mermaids and sea-empurpled sirens and enchantresses.
"Where are we, The Musuem of Erotic Art?" Diana asked, her eyes wandering from one picture to the next, taking in all in admiringly.
"Looks like it," Hera nodded. "But what's this," she said briskly, eyes glancing from the pictures to a door a few feet ahead. They approached it slowly and looked at the sign it bore on a redwood plaque: the word DARK in black script greeted them.
"Dark," Diana said.
"Dark," Hera repeated.
Their eyes met. "Go ahead," Diana said. "I'm right behind you, of course. In the dark."
"Sure," said Hera, and she opened the door and let herself into the waiting darkness, and explorer stealing with her companion into a void of absolute and uncircumscribed blackness. The door closing behind them enclosed them in black unseeable space. A blackness so solid it balked the senses and brought Diana and Hera to a halt, both of them standing motionless while they wondered what tactic to employ or plan to follow and what to expect in such a black and anarchic realm. Yet there were sounds: sounds that shaped themselves plainly from different quarters and corners of the room: the slow panting shared breathing of some unseen couple, a woman filtering gasps between her teeth on the precipice of a supreme revelation, a droned murmur here, a fragile effeminate moan, a whispered endearment. The sounds made a theatre of the darkness, the invisible players like phantoms in the throes of unknown pleasures. And the air was ripe and sifted with fran-grances: the loamy smell of female heat, turbulent and fermented cunt, mingled sweats, floral redolence, brine of cock, vaginal wines, leather, sweat, and nylon, miscellaneous leakages and sweetness and sensual sours and whiffs of goatish glee.
Diana, letting go of Hera's fingers, partially by choice but not without a surge of apprehension, stepped, one foot at a time, like a cautious stalker in a silent film, into blackness, reaching ahead of her to analyze the darkness and encounter its surprises with excited trepidation. Nothing and nothing seemed to surround her, yet the sounds were omnipresent. She stopped and listened, then set out obliquely anew, sidling along with one arm paddling at her side, the other drawn out ahead, fingers poised.
Nearby, somewhere, Diana heard a female voice whisper, "It unsnaps, julep, it unsnaps. Please don't tear it." And a mildly impatient male voice replied, "You breasts feel beautiful." The exchange was followed by a murmurous sob off to her right, very close, and she turned to the sound, fascinated, visualizing everything and nothing. Then from the same site a sound like wet rags being kneaded began and the sob sounded again, again, turned to a tranquil-ized murmuring that rose slowly in volume and intensity, overshadowing and drowning out the moist kneading. Making up her mind, Diana moved toward the sounds with sudden resolution, deciding to find out what was happening there.
One hand prodding the space ahead of her, ready for contact of some kind, she took small slow steps, expecting something, anything. Her seeking hand encountered, first, flesh, and she jerked it back instantly, not wanting to frighten anyone or seem an interloper, to interrupt. Her heart was flailing against her breast, adrenaline rushing, a delicious sense of perilous excitement scattering hher thoughts. What now? she wondered. Reach again, tentatively? Yes. Tension and uncertainty made her hesitate, but she forced herself to act, to reach, touch. Her fingers, all five of them spread and arched in the darkness, touched softness, warmth of flesh, and this time, as if she had tripped a trigger, a male voice said in a clear whisper, "Hey, who's that?"
"Diana," Diana said, her voice sounding too thin and unnerved, she thought.
"Well, Diana," the voice replied above the sluicing and murmuring, "welcome, welcome, Diana."
The soft steady murmuring broke, then, ending momentarily, fading into a heavy breathing that yielded after a few seconds to a familiar female voice that exclaimed, "Ohhh, Diana, hi, how are you, babe?"
The voice caressed Diana's memory and her thoughts raced for a moment, then slowed, comprehension touching her mind like a butterfly lighting on a seductive flower. "Tracy," she said, reaching out in the darkness. Her hand enclosed the velvety soft hummock of a tit, a fullness and width her clasp could not span, and she realized as she fanned her fingers out across its broad slope that she had not really noticed Tracy's breasts and that they were apparently extremely large. The nipple was a rubbery thick nub jutting against her palm. Tracy was on her back, it seemed, a fact she confirmed by letting her other hand touch out around the curve of a shoulder pressed against the floor, then reconnoiter down along the curvaceous flow of waist and hip to the pillowy plumpness of an ass cheek upon the floor.
"Fucked," Tracy stated in a thick whisper, "yeah, am I ever."
"But I thought you were a lesbian."
"Nope, not any more, no more," Tracy said, her her either with her eyes sprung wide and staring voice so filled with conviction that Diana pictured into the total darkness or shut so tightly that she was layered in worlds of duplicated and reduplicated darkness where the only hints of light were the lucent penumbras nickering hazily behind her burning eyelids.
Eager to know more, to feel more, Diana trust both of her hands into the space between Tracy's thighs, finding that her thighs were pointed outward from her body and raised slightly, the man between her legs being slumped snugly into the resultant arch, connected with her. The fingers of one hand pressed into the juncture where both bodies became one, exploring, and found the moist point of linkage where submerged cock breached its sodden aperture. As aperture that was not, her touch told her, Tracy's vagina. Her fingers skittered around the pressed base of the cock, tickling the rim of Tracy's gorged asshole. Tracy moaned loudly like someone in an intolerable delirium. Diana, smiling to herself, pushed and slithered her middle finger along the length of the thick cock into Tracy's ass beside it, wriggling the finger teasingly against the membranes interior and the hard flexible throbbing of the wedged prick, the entrapped digit sliding in the greasy flex and pull.
"Oh, Diana," Tracy moaned, "Diana, Diana,' Diana, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, both of you, both, please...." her voice melting lustfully in the warm darkness. The cock then began to veer in and out, carrying Diana's finger with it. Diana felt a spill of liquid warm and thin broth from the vessel of Tracy's pussy and her own cunt seethed in instant reaction, her thighs slippery. She bent down, let her face descend and her lips sipped along the hot, soft, groovy length of Tracy's cunt, her tongue stealing now on impulse into the boggy gully where finger and cock plunged in unison. A confectionary fragrance expanded Diana's nostrils and her mind reeled, filling with music, love, just, desire, intense need, her own cunt exuding warm juice over her thighs, her tongue struggling to push into the crowded slot, licking the lovely tasty fragrances and fluids, her lips warm with them, her mouth and tongue circling the arroyo. Her eyes were closed, wrapping her brain in darkness and kaleidoscopic jets and pulses of light snowflaking her mind, her senses jolted, everything twisting and convoluting, odors tingling her nostrils, heat spreading through her body, the taste of genitalia ravishing her mouth. She was still wearing her dress, but there was no time to undress now. No time. Tracy's cries were wild and uncontrolled, almost as if someone were slapping her face repeatedly, slapping cries from her. Barely thinking, Diana rolled one leg over Tracy's body, getting her calf over her head, and pulled her dress up around her hips with her free hand, the middle finger of the other hand still snaking in and out of Tracy's ass with each forward fucking motion of the invisible man. Invisible. It didn't matter.
Didn't matter. Somehow, she knew, it was even better that way, better, more exciting. She twitched and shivered as Tracy's lips pressed a palsied smile onto her cunt, kissing the smile between the soft labia and onto the softer softness where a bright thermal spring filled with cunt flavored fish rippled under the sirocco of her tongue. Diana floated. On water. In space. Under water. Through thin and airless bodies of space and water, unable to breathe or see or hear anything. She could feel only her cunt. It was molten and lave was running down the slopes from the volcano, lava, lava? Come, come, a vintage brewed in her vagina filling Tracy's busily dedicated mouth.
They both came together, coming, coming, coming, coming, then going, coming, going, the spasms and tremors of fulfillment passing through one body and into another until the bodies were indistinguishable. Diana didn't even know who she was, or where, on top? bottom? Inside Tracy's ass she felt the male organ pulse, going off, climaxing, and her finger beside it was abruptly seized by a series of muscular contractions. Her eyes glazing in the darkness, she pulled the finger slowly out, holding it out, holding her hand up, and she let herself slip face downward between Tracy's thighs, her hand thrust up like the hand of an expiring swimmer vanishing in deep water.
For a long while the darkness reverberated with sighs, Diana's, Tracy's, and the anonymous male's, Tracy's hands flung slackly across Diana's back, Diana's cheek pillowed in the canyon of Tracy's thighs, the man clinging to both women, one hand wrist deep in the lush mane of Diana's hair, the other clutching one of Tracy's ankles. The sounds of harsh breathing subsided slowly, dwindled to a near silence, and finally Diana lifted her head with weary effort, rising onto her hands and knees, pausing while a renaissance of gathering energy restored her strength, then got to her feet, a licentious Venus rising from a sea of satiation. Her hands in the darkness touched around the man's face and she kissed him firmly and deeply, tongue streaming between his lips. Turning, she knelt beside Tracy and kissed her, their tongues curling sweetly together.
Tracy said, speculatively, "Now that I'm bisexual, I can't help wondering who the man is that did it. How he looks, and so on."
"And I wonder who I just made love to," the man replied. "A redhead and a blonde? Two blondes? A brunette and a blonde? Who? What Chinese? Black? Caucasian?"
Diana felt one of her breasts being hefted as he finished speaking, and he added, "Very nice breasts, I'm sure of that."
In retaliation, she closed her fingers around the shrunken tube of his cock, which seemed enormous despite its flaccidity and was damp with Tracy's fluids and her saliva. "And I can't help wondering just what kind of boy wonder we've got here," she gibed.
Tracy said, "But we'll never know, Diana, right? That's the whole point of this dark room, right?"
"Hey," the man protested, "that isn't like a strict rule or anything, is it? I mean, I'd like to-"
"Nope," Tracy cut in. "Don't try to spoil this now. Just relax. It's time for something else. Another scene."
"You been here long, Tracy?" Diana asked her. 'And you just getting started, or what?"
"This is the first room I've been in," Tracy said "I've been here for twenty minutes and already my sexual orientation has changed. How long you been here, honey?"
"No more than an hour or so." It seemed strange, Diana thought, but it was true. An hour of eternities and infinities. "And I haven't even been with a man yet," she said. "Uh-except for a snack, you might call it. Shared."
"One needs a good-sized meal, not just a taste," the man suggested, his tone implying that he would be only too willing to assist.
"But it's too soon right now," Diana told him. "Really. I'm sorry. Maybe we should just drift along. Tracy?" she asked. She was not especially eager to investigate the house by herself, not when someone she liked and trusted and felt comfortable with might accompany her.
"Sure," Tracy said, "why not?"
Their hands touched in the darkness and their fingers locked together, their lips brushed, pink tongue tips barely licking against each other between their parted mouths. In the same moment Diana's senses focused on the phenomenon of the room again, impressions she had been detached from confronting her all at once: the moans and whimpers of men and women (Hera?) in different stages of sexual emotion-drowning in fulfillment, swimming in sensation, wading yet, beached, some of them, in receding tides of arousal; and the quintessential oceanic scent of so much sex-aromas of acidic sweats and cider sweet cunts and the vinaigrette of plumbed rectums, woodsy smells of pubic thickets and minty redolence of golden and dark hair, phantom tinges of perfume, sweat, sensual spices and salts. Diana licked her lips, taking it in. Too much, too much, she thought. Completing her kiss with Tracy, she put one arm around her and helped her up, turning with her toward the general direction of where she remembered the door to be.
"Incidentally," Tracy said, as they passed their male companion en route to the exit, "I'm an albino fishwife, and my hair is the color of Dracula's rug!"
His good-natured laugh made both of them smile as they felt their way toward the door, and they carried their smiles out of the shapeless blackness of the room, into the hallway.
A few yards along the hallway, Diana and Tracy encountered the next door: it was labeled TALK. They listened but there was no sound from within. Nobody could be heard talking.
"Yeah, well-" Diana put her hand on the knob and opened the door, both of them stepping slowly inside.
CHAPTER SIX
It was a spacious book-lined room. The walls covered from floor to ceiling, all four of them, with books. One wall also held a fireplace, which was blazing like a small inferno with flaming cedar logs, crackling with the sound of burning wood. The room was furnished with several leather easy chairs in dark colors; two before the fireplaces were occupied by men who looked up as Diana and Tracy entered. One of them was an athletic-looking middle-aged man wearing a black velour jumpsuit, and the other was thirty-five or so and darkly, conspicuously handsome, his eyes like cold blue light. He was wearing a navy blue kimono robe belted at the waist.
"Hello," he said, greeting Diana and Tracy. They nodded in return and Diana said, "Not much seems to be going on in here."
"Oh, don't discount us," he retorted. "There's room for talk as well as motion."
"Newton's seventeenth law," the man in the jumpsuit said with mockerudition.
"What were you talking about?" Tracy asked the younger man.
He gave it some consideration. "Well ... many things-puzzles and mazes ... and fads and crazes."
"Good book title," the other observed. Then, after a moment, "On the other hand, maybe four monthly magazines. Yeah. Puzzles, Mazes, Fads, and Crazes."
"What wave length are you guys on?" Diana asked him, sensing the nature of a mood that was not exactly sober.
"We are, for one, stoned, quarry deep stoned," he confessed, and smiled cheerfully. "And taking a break from making the beast with two backs...."
"Not to mention the beast with three backs," the younger man put in, smiling at Diana. "How about you?"
"I'm Richard, that's Anton," the man in the jumpsuit said. "Will you join us?"
Anton said, "There's some brandy on one of these book shelves, if you'd like."
"Not for me, thanks," Diana said. She looked at Tracy, who shook her head. They both sat down with their legs crossed in front of the fireplace between the two men, and Tracy said, "We'll just idle our motors here for a bit, okay?"
"If you want to talk," Anton said. "This is the talk room."
"If I must," Tracy said. She smiled at him. "What's the topic?"
"Be our guests," Richard said gallantly.
"Sex in cellars," Diana proffered, her eyes playful.
"I've had most of mine in attics," Richard said. "I'm disqualified."
"I wonder," Anton said speculatively, "how many feet above sea level lovers have gone with their desire. Has, for example, Mount Everest remained virgin soil or did someone on one of those expeditions grab some quick kicks on a precipice or crag?"
"With a yeti," Diana suggested.
"That's semi-bestiality," Anton told her, "and punishable in Tibet by confinement in a snow bank for twenty-four hours."
"Weird," Tracy said, commenting on the conversation.
"Well, I write weird things for a living, so I've got an excuse," Anton said in his defense. "My mind was permanently crimped at an early age by all those pulp magazines-you know, Ghastly Odd Tales, Mind Melting Mysteries, Flabbergasting Fantasies, and so on."
"What do you write?" Diana asked him seriously. She had always been interested in writers because they were usually unusual in one way or another.
"He wrote East of Breakfast," Richard said. "Soon to be a major talkie."
"Or at least a minor one," Anton said hopefully.
"Really?" Diana said.
"A first novel. But there's another on the way." Tracy asked, "What kind of novel?" Richard smiled, thinking about it. "Well, I don't know. A wordy one, I guess. Which is probably bad.
Novels aren't too popular anymore-not as popular as when people were reading them by candlelight anyway-so I suppose the fewer words the better."
"The novel as short story," Tracy said helpfully.
"Or punch line," said Diana.
"The microscopic novel!" Richard exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "Tiny books for a society that doesn't have time to waste between the computer banks and the frozen dinners. The novel as fast food for thought."
"Well, I also write poetry," Anton pointed out in his defense.
"Poetry?" Diana smiled at him. "A poet in the twentieth century is something of a rata avis, I should think."
"Or a rara Hertz," Anto said with dry good humor.
Diana looked at him candidly, a quick glance, and tried to see him in a sexual perspective, reminding herself that even though they were in the TALK room they were at a bacchanal. But the feeling was too elusive now that they were in a different context and she released the thought for the moment, deciding to enjoy the company of the two men (since she felt a definite rapport with them) and to let circumstance take care of the rest.
Looking at Richard, Tracy said, "Incidentally, does anyone happen to know who Neon Leon is?"
Richard replied, "Ah hah. You're new guests at Neon Leon's."
"You know who he is?" Tracy asked.
Richard shrugged. "Well, I've been here before-but I don't think anyone knows for sure. How did you get your invitation? Was it the itinerant dwarf or the mysterious letter or the message in the bottle?"
"A rich nut," Diana said knowingly. "Having weird times with his money, right?" She looked at Anton for confirmation.
"I don't know." Anton looked blank. "We've been here twice now, Richard and I, and it was all because we found a bottle on the beach with a TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN invitation in it. I know one woman who received her invitation on a CB radio, one who found one taped to her Gucci scarf when the lights came on in a planetarium, and a hippy girl who woke up one morning with hers written on her hip with body paint. Usually, though, it's the dwarf, letter, or bottle."
"What about Leon himself?" Tracy wondered. "Doesn't he ever appear and sample the goods, so to speak? If someone buys a candy store they usually squeeze the pralines, no?"
"It sounds reasonable," Anton said, "but I don't know anyone who claims to have met him."
"Do you enjoy these scenes?" Diana asked him pointedly, trying to get a fix on his attitude.
"Like them? I think there's a time and a place for most things. I'm learning things by being here. And feeling things. It isn't dull, I can say that."
"Maybe we should all collaborate on a thesis," Tracy said with a droll smile. "Or you could do it as a novel, Anton-To Fuck a Stranger." Her remark was followed by a meditative lull in the conversation, which she finally broke herself by saying, "Then Neon Leon remains a mystery figure?"
"No less," Anton said.
"Who do you think he is?" she wanted to know.
Anton said, "I think he's a famous author and we're his laboratory society-his ant farm, that is."
"How about you?" She looked at Richard.
Richard said, "I think he's the illegitimate son of Perle Mesta and Alf Kinsey."
"Or maybe just a very imaginative voyeur," Diana said, "One who can afford to dabble with his fancies."
"As good an explanation as any," Anton nodded. "And probably is the case," he added seriously after some thought.
There was a another brief lull, then Anton looked at Diana and said, with a pleasant smile, "Incidentally, when we leave the TALK room, would you mind visiting the DREAM room with me?"
Diana was pleased and flattered by the invitation, but tried not to let it show too much. "The DREAM room?" she asked. "There's a DREAM room?" She grinned. "Yeah, well, I do like dreams. It sounds like a thing to check out."
"I could use a couple of dreams myself," Richard said. He asked Tracy, "Will you accompany me?"
"Love to," Tracy said, facing him with a warm smile. "Want to go now-or talk some more first?" She glanced questioningly at Diana and Anton.
"I'm ready to go with the consensus," Diana said, looking at Anton. "You?"
"I'm ready," he said. "I would like to know a little bit more about you first, though if you don't mind."
"About me?"
Tracy said, "Yeah, I'm kind of curious about you, too, Richard."
"You're both interesting women," Anton said earnestly. "I'd like to know a little more about both of you. Why you're here. What brought you. What you do for a living."
"Would you like to fuck us, too?" Tracy asked him with blunt candor, taking him completely by surprise with the changes in both her expression and tone.
"Well ... yeah, I would," he said slowly, his glance cautious. "Of course. I like you."
Diana and Tracy laughed together and when he saw that they were not baiting him, he laughed, too, a bit self-consciously.
"Talk, talk, talk," Tracy said, frivolously, and she reached out with one hand, slipping it so suddenly between his naked legs under his robe that the cool touch of her fingers on the flaccid conformation of his genitals made him jerk back in the chair with a mild cry of surprise. "Relax," she whispered, and she held his cock lightly in the curving of her fingers, her thumb angled up along its shaft to the bulbous head, stroking it until, within seconds, she felt an incipient surge toward erection. Then she removed her hand and turned her gaze to Richard, a capricious sprite's grin brightening her face. "What do you do, Richard?" she asked. "You a writer, too?" I think I'd love to play with two writers...."
"I install buglar alarms in chastity belts," he informed her, unsmiling.
"No. Really!"
"I'm a myrmecologist."
Tracy smiles smugly. "Ah. Well, I happen to know what a myrmecologist is. Now all I have to do is figure out whether you're being a smartass or actually telling the truth."
"You know what myrmecology is?" Richard said dubiously. "Yep."
"That makes two of us," Diana said, her tone peevish. She looked at Richard. "We are not dummies, dear. I happen to be a secretary in a publisher's office, but on the side I do a little writing myself. I published two pieces in Commentary last year-and letters to the editor in Bug World and The Journal of Underwater Technology."
"And I'm a part time shop clerk and hooker specializing in nuclear physicists," Tracy added, giving Diana a look of cameraderie, then turning to face Richard again with the kind of smile with which a confident duelist approached the opposition.
Anton and Richard did a mutual doubletake, breaking into laughter together, and then Diana and Tracy were laughing with them, neither of them eager to cultivate real contention.
Richard said, "Tracy, not many people know what a myrmecologist is. Do you really?"
"Of course, " Tracy said. "I've read the definititve work on ants. I'm fascinated by social insects. But I'm not really a hooker," she admitted. "Just an old Phi Beta Kappa who ended up clerking in a shop."
"I'm no writer, either," Diana told Anton, "but I am a hell of a reader. And, as I said, no dummy."
"Obviously," Anton said. Impulsively, he reached toward her face, touching her cheeks with the fingertips of both hands, and guided her mouth to his, his tongue warmly opening her lips. She accepted him with a small murmur of delight and a complete yielding that turned the kiss into an equal collaboration, her tongue surging between her lips and against his with a flickering assertive complicity that brought a sigh of extreme pleasure from him. "Kiss," she said in a voice that could barely be heard, the word neither a request or a command but merely an abstract invocation sweeting her tongue and mind with its taste and sound. She put her tongue out as far as she could and their tongues circled together, their lips not even touching. Diana spung her tongue lightly away and flashed it playfully across Tracy's mouth, urging her into the action. Smiling and nodding, Tracy cooperated, and her face appeared suddenly beside Diana's, their tongues straining out of their mouths to lick at Anton's lips. Their hands discovered his cock in the same moment, Diana's fingers touching lightly at its base, Tracy's enclosing the top half, the thickening bulk of it rising between the widening arch of her thumb and forefinger. Moving her mouth down from Anton's and away from the gustatory blend of their three tongues, Tracy absorbed the plummy tip of his cock with her mouth, Diana rising beside her to lift the presence of her tongue to his cheeks and closed eyes and into his hair. Tracy's mouth widened with the expansion of cock, her eyes squeezing shut tightly as her lips pulled and sipped, the length of cock heating her mouth.
Anton was just beginning to move his prod in Tracy's mouth, his fingers firming around the back of her neck in preparation, when Diana's hand, reaching down, hauled the throbbing shaft out of the other woman's mouth, twisting it away and inserting her middle finger and forefinger in its place. "Sorry, mustn't get carried away," she breathed into Anton's ear, tongue teasing around the lobe. "Gotta go dream a bit before we fuck, right?" she said, nodding her own confirmation. She stood up and took her fingers out of Tracy's mouth, grinning at Anton's hapless, disappointed look.
"Monster," Anton whispered, glaring back at her. He reached for her hip but she easily stepped away, laughing, and Tracy, following her example, drew back out of reach.
"I guess they want to go dream," Richard said to Anton. "So why don't we all go do it, and then maybe we can go somewhere else together."
"Bed and bedlam, Richard," Tracy said, and gave him a quick little kiss on the corner of the mouth. "Then you and I can romp a little, yeah, if I haven't already made you jealous...."
"Mostly insatiable," he said, his smile making her smile back at him.
"So I guess it's dreams then," Anton said, and stood up. He took Diana's hand and she moved close to him, intimate now, her impudence gone, Richard and Tracy linking hands and joining them.
Diana and Anton led the way out of the room and into the hallway, which was empty for the moment, and Anton indicated the next door. The plaque on it said DREAMS.
"Just exactly what goes on in here?" Diana wanted to know, hesitating.
"I haven't tried it yet," Anton said, "but someone I talked to said you take a pill and dream."
"A pill?" Tracy said. "What sort of pill?"
"I don't know."
"But you want to take it anyway?" She looked reluctant. "I like to check out my pills."
"Oh, Tracy," Diana said, "don't worry. I think we're in good hands here. This obviously isn't a cheaply or unintelligently organized scene. Come on.
"Well, uh-awright, I guess so...." Tracy nodded, and Anton tapped the door briskly three times with the back of his hand.
The door opened after a few seconds, just a crack, and a man's face looked out at them. He said, "Dreamers?"
"Four," Anton said.
"Four," the man repeated to someone behind him in a room where an aura of soft golden light, faintly glimpsed beyond his shoulders, beckoned like a mystical horizon. It was a radiance like the first dawning light of a morning or the final brightening death of twilight, splendidly lucid and white and golden. Diana tried to see past the man but could not and gave it up when he passed four pills into her hand and whispered, "Take these and come in, won't you?" clsoing the door as he finished the sentence.
Diana gave one of them to Anton, one to Richard, put one on her own tongue without looking at it, and turned to Tracy with the fourth, turning Tracy's face toward her with one hand and holding up her pill with the other. It was a pink lozenge as vivid as rose crystal. Tracy stuck her tongue out, smiling with her eyes, and Diana put the pill on the damp tip of the pad, suppressing a brief desire to suckle the tongue instead. Time for that later, she told herself. Diana swallowed her pill, gliding the fingers of one hand in a passing caress against the soft kernel of Tracy's clit, an exceptional intimacy in her touch, and Tracy swallowed hers as a chill of sensual provocation sparked up through her body from her cunt. Turning, Diana looked at Anton and took his hand in hers. Her mind was abruptly suffused with golden light, she felt herself slipping, downward, it seemed as if the floor had turned to liquid velvet under her, she was immersed in pink warmth and waves of light, sinking, and was borne away suddenly in a pink flowing menstruum, dissolving, her thoughts gyrating and dispersing as lavender depths claimed her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Diana opened her eyes and saw that she was in a field of her mind, a meadow as illimitable as the ocean, pink slabs and tombstones topping through windblown waves of breast-high yellow and red grass, some of them translucent, neon, candy and cunt bright. The air was heavy with scents of ozone and sulphur and myrrh and muscadine and ginger, hot tides of spearmint wind and pale odors of perineal ravines. An intoxicating desire overcame her. She was still, she saw, wearing her dress, after all she had been through. It was time to get rid of it, she thought, and she lowered the dress from her shoulders and flung it like a cape into the grass, freeing herself, unsnapping her brassiere and casting it aside, glorying in the complete unenthralled sensuality of her feeling and her nakedness, bared legs, proud tits and unhidden cunt. An animal on a veldt, she paused and squatted in the tall grass, fleecy blades tickling her thighs and belly, and she closed her eyes and squinted in concentration, and a hot jet of piss spurted in a golden arc from the vessel of her bladder. Her forefingers snagged at her labia, twisting them to each side, and she emptied her bladder, eyes narrow and filmed with soporific contentment like those of a great cat sunning herself. She shifted her weight a bit, and the muscles of her cunt summoned up a final brief dribble that drained her. Then she was on her way, questing through the grass.
Which was not grass but a revolving door through which she pushed her way directly behind another woman, tan and slender, into the lobby of a skyscraper and between two banks of eight elevators where a crowd of naked women waited for cars that would rise (according to signs in pink light above each one) to The Second Time Around and Three For the Money and The Fourth Dimension, Seventh Heaven, A Niche on Nine, Eleventh Heaven, Thirteen Reasons, Sweet Seventeen, Twenty-Three Skid-doo, Dirty Thirty, Fabulous Fifty, Cloud Sixty-Nine, The Floor of Milk and Honey, Shangrila, Green Fields, The Raven's Nest, Alpine Height, The Observation Dome, Balai Hai, and The Aerial Eden. All of the women waiting, Diana noticed, were like herself, identically naked, myriad reflections of their smooth flanks and full breasts and long legs shining from the polished marble walls, multiplying her, peopling the shining walls with multitudes of her.
"Where you going?" Diana asked one of her selves, friendly, smiling with a kind of torpid recognition as she appraised the beauty of her breasts and the friendly smile she returned herself.
"Cloud Sixty-Nine," she told herself, her full lips parting to reveal the pinkness of her tongue as she spoke.
"Mind if I go along?" Diana asked, her heart beating faster as she looked into her eyes, eager for acceptance.
"No," she said with casual indifference, starting to walk away, but she stopped with an outstretched hand, and then she turned, the nipples of her tits were firmly and warmly against the nipples of her tits, and she could feel their poignant erection as the flushed pegs stiffened against stiffening flesh. The elevator in front of them opened and she took her other self's hand and they entered the car side by side.
By the time the door closed behind them seconds later they were in each other's arms, breasts heaved together, cunts meeting and pressing through the lush boscage of their pubic thickets, clits zeroed in on each other, mouths fused and filling with each other's tongues.
The kiss ended as the elevator doors slid open. Diana stepped out and the doors snapped shut behind her even before she could turn to catch a last glimpse of heT other self. "Hey!" she cried, but the elevator was gone. She was left alone on a small oasis of greensward in a clearing in the heart of what seemed to be a spectacular botanical garden. Above, the foliage grew so thickly that the light within was dusky and brindled with soft dark shadows and pale glints of filtered sunshine. Huge flowers hung from the verdant walls in ornamental profusion, electric pink, claret, cream white, cinnabar, luminous orange, and deep purple, the flesh of their petals as smoothly textured as brushed velvet, velour, and glossy silk, their shapes flagrantly unorthodox, more like the labial convolutions of aboreal vaginas than any familiar blooms. Diana plucked one of them and held it in her hand, a blossoming cunt on a cool green stalk. She slid her tongue into the warm pink maw and it was indeed a wildflower cunt, the perfumes of the womb and oils and odors of fuck and some concealed like steam in its damp folds. With her eyes softly shut, Diana appeared her tongue into the floral core, licking the cunt honey into her mouth and around her lips, inhaling the vibrant bouquet with flared nostrils and trembling eyelids. The soft folds of the flower dilated around the probe of her tongue, undulant softness of vaginal muscles spreading around the muscular softness of tongue. A rivulet of succulent nectar streamed onto her tongue and her eyes opened, her lashes stroking the supple firmness of the arch of thighs she found her face between, her pink cheeks pressed against coppery smooth flesh as her tongue struggled and skewered between vaginal lips. Her vision focused and she saw that she was facing her lover's upturned bare feet, the toes arched and straining as the cunt tremored, and in her own cunt she felt the hot thick goading of her lover's tongue extracting a flow of pearly warm come from her channel, the fluid dampening her thighs as it drained from her clit. She was on Cloud Sixty-Nine and it was the most lovely cloud in a universe of clouds filled to bursting with come-flavored storms, yet she" did not even know who she was or how she had gotten there, her cheeks were sheened with sweat, her mouth tart with viscous brine, sixty-nine, sixty-nine, her brain chimed like the bells of a surreal pinball machine, her tongue flogging down along the pink vulvar gullet where creams of spume and gleams of spittle irrigated the warm flesh. Diana dipped her finger into the foamy gap and sucked away the sweetness. She pressed her face more tightly and sightlessly toward, revolving her cheeks and chin and lips in the wet orifice, smearing the oily issue all over glowing flesh, the nose and chin and lips of the other woman twisting in circular orbits around the blossoming heat of her own cunt, sounds of sighs and cries of bliss rising in her ears and increasing her heart beats. The orgasms came like bursts of thunder and cracks of lightning, fat clouds pouring, her heart firing like a howitzer, her tongue careening, every muscle in her body stretching and twitching with glorious tension, celebrations of superlative release and fulfillment coursing through her flesh and exploding her thoughts into incoherent shards.
Diana moaned deeply and furiously, the sound swelling through her and exploding from her lips like a great bubble of air rushing up from depths of water go break the surface, the globular cushions of her ass cheeks descending to thrust the shallow funnel of her anal clevage across the upturned nose of her partner, the woman's nose wedging between the soft orbs and into the fragrant gutter of her ass, her tongue following it, plowing into the grooved space tinged with relishes of sweet gall and candied rue and ambrosial slops from the draining vent of her gaping puss, pushing her own face down and further down at the same time, the world vanishing from sight and sound as she dove all the way, the sweat-moistened span of her forehead pillowed between softnesses of thigh. Lifting her face, she pushed her chin into the pussy chasm, grinding it down and moving it around, back and forth, up and down, around and around and around, then lowered her mouth again, supping and smacking, wetting her lips, her eyes bright as obsidian. She could feel the woman's orgasms convulsing her underbelly, slowly at first, then faster and more frequently, rippling the bulge of her cunt and tossing her body to and fro, the force of the implosions rocking Diana like a woman on a soft raft in a stormy sea; and that triggered orgasms of her own, inexorable, fierce blasting orgasms that made her cunt seethe and squall and strain against the pull of the soft tongue licking it, sending wildfires flashing through her blood and mists into her brain, spinning and catapulting her senses, black space burning behind the hot press of her closed eyes, her fingers shaking, her legs bucking.
She cast herself, galvanized by a final consummate orgasm that made her cry out like a wounded angel, up and across her lover's legs, gripping the soles of the rigid feet and feeling the energy flush out of her body in a cosmic rush, her sweat-damp hair spilling like a damp curtain over her eyes, tongue bitten and spit flecking her lower lip.
"Oh," she said more softly than she thought she had ever spoken, in a voice only one wisp removed from no sound at all. And repeated it, shaping the word as if she were creating it for the first time: "Oh...." Her eyes slowly opened and she touched the spittle on her chin, touched the pale toes before her eyes, saying, "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh...." It was like a mantra, a verbal wreath she was weaving in tribute to the beauty of everything she felt and had felt. She was aware of every atom and cell and phase and depth and movement of her body and at peace with all of her instincts, her brain was an uncut gem, sapphire or emerald or ruby and her body was made of gold and silver and crystal, pure light radiating from her. From the other side of eternity she could feel the warm suspiring pulse of her calmed pussy between her legs, and she managed, barely managed, by concentrating with all the balmed impulses of her mind and body, to very softly and gently contract the toiled labia, the sensation like the squeezing of a distant sponge, and felt the last warm trickle of soupy come exit from the receptacle of her womb.
Who was it she was with? was the first question that formed itself in her fatigued mind. She raised herself on one hand, with effort, and turned her face, glancing back over her shoulder, and saw that she was with a life-size Raggedy Ann doll. Wow! she thought, her lips spreading a merry and enraptured smile on her face, eyes wide, silent laughter filling her mind. Raggedy Ann. And she herself another doll? Named Diana? She didn't really know, couldn't even imagine, her thoughts were too disorganized and ephemeral. She was ... Diana. Diana. Goddess of the moon and the hunt. And she was ... dreaming. Yes, that was it, she remembered, this was all some sort of odd and outrageous dream. How sad. Unfortunate.
Diana sat up, looking about her. She had been in a clearing in a forest or jungle. Now she was in a furniture store surrounded by beds with king and queen size mattresses, a young male sales clerk standing beside her. She was wearing a gold mesh tunic top open at the sides from hip to armpit (a thin band of fabric across the sides connecting front and back) and a long gray flannel skirt. She was peripherally aware of another clerk toward the front of the score and conscious of the fact that it was nearly closing time, the clock on the wall said ten to five and she felt a little pressured because she wanted to buy a mattress now but was having her usual trouble deciding exactly what she wanted. The clerk didn't seem impatient, though, and he smiled helpfully at her, his gaze searching her face as he said, "This is one of the best buys in the store if you ask me, this model right here." With a forefinger, he tapped a mattress with a pattern of bright red valentine hearts. His smile held her eyes and she smiled back at him, liking his looks: self-confident, tanned, pale blue eyes, and a strong chin that gave a distinctly handsome cast to his youthful features.
"If it's sleeping comfort you're looking for," he said, "I'd go with this one, really...." He captured her gaze again, and she nodded pleasantly at his endorsement, still noncommittal.
"Well, o'course I'm interested in sleeping comfort," she said, and her smile altered suddenly just a bit, becoming less formal. She paused, her smile touched with shyness, a certain vague timidity and boldness mingling in the openness of her expression. "But I'm not ... just interested in sleeping comfort," she said casually, looking away from his eyes at the last moment. "I mean, I'd like to find something I can really sort of ... relax in-and on...." She let the sentence dissolve in implication, giving him a quick glance, her smile curling her lips upward, and they looked at each other with a tranquil intensity, an unspoken affinity passing between them.
"I think this is the best model for anything," he declared, putting emphasis on the last word, but not unsubtly, causing a flush to arise visibly into her cheeks.
"Oh?" she said. Her smile was momentarily awkward but she did not avoid his eyes. "And you really think it's the best buy?" She looked at the mattress and back at him.
"Is it for-uh, just you?" he asked her, his voice slightly hesitant, as if he didn't want to appear improperly inquisitive. "Or are-"
"For me," she interjected, nodding, and met his eyes with a very blunt smile that wavered on her lips. "And whoever-uh...." She laughed suddenly, lightly, coloring more, then finished, "I'm not married is what I mean."
"Go ahead, touch it," he said, testing the resilience of the mattress with the tips of his fingers. Diana followed suit, prodding the mattress with her fingertips, and her hand touched his lightly, for just a moment, as she withdrew it, a warm little-jolt going through her at the contact.
"Mind if I sit on it?" she said, turning her attention again to the mattress but feeling a warmth stir ring inside her that made her feel somehow lightheaded and a little fidgety.
"No, of course not. Go ahead."
"I love these hearts," Diana said. She sat on the mattress, her skirt pulling up to the midway point of her calves, the walnut tan of her panty hose more clearly revealed. She traced the tip of a forefinger around the curvilinear outline of one of the red hearts, smiling up at him with a child-like friendliness. He looked back at her in silence and the silence seemed to envelop them and fade into an eternity of small intimate silences, ending only when she cleard her throat.
He sat beside her. "They're nice hearts," he said, nodding, his half-smile no more than an inch from the sober line of her mouth. She was tingling inside, her heart pounding rapidly, her tongue parting her lips as they stared into each other's eyes.
The thrilling surprise of his hand on her knee brought her own hand, as if in reflective reaction, over his knee. She felt as if she were on an emotional precipice, her breath exhaled in a soft, audible rush, his fingers pressing gently but firmly to mold the flannel of her skirt around her knee, and as one plunges impulsively into the delicious, shocking catharsis of a pool from the safe vantage point of a diving board, losing all inhibition in the impetus of the moment, she put her face before his and accepted the soft caress of his lips on hers, his tongue stroking along one side of her mouth to the other while the tip of her tongue at the breach of her lips followed it, then touching her eyelids, her earlobes, her throat, her forehead, and his hands closed over her unhaltered breasts through the mesh of her tunic, his tongue returning to her lips again to coax hers out and take it into his mouth, drawing on the damp morsel while one of her hands groped with blind anxiety toward his crotch, finding the thickness of his cock already rising to full erection against the tight fabric of his pants.
"How gentle you are," she whispered into his mouth, slipping her tongue in and out, her fingers gripping his cock, his hands closed around the contained spheres of her breasts, their bodies looming together.
"I want you to fuck me," she told him, passing the word fuck into his mouth with an ardor that let them both devour it like a shared bite of ambrosia. The wicked pleasure of it was like a thunderlcap in her brain, and she felt the lips of her vagina unseal and moisten, her box pulsing, her heart careening, her smile frozen, an icy glittering head of sweat running down the amber flesh of her side where the tunic was slitted.
"I want to fuck you," he said agreeably. "You're incredible, this is a dream, a dream."
A dream, she thought, mists webbing her brain. "Kiss me," she pleaded.
Their mouths joined, tongues rushing together. She licked his tongue and touched hers all about he damp interior of his mouth, along the back of his teeth, the roof of his mouth, between the insides of his lips and his gums, and then opened her mouth to him. He transferred a soupcon of saliva onto her tongue and she swallowed, her throat rippling, her fingers hurriedly fumbling at the zipper of his pants, lowering it while they continued to dreamily sweeten each other's mouth with kisses.
"Boy, can you kiss," she said weakly, her body limp with satisfaction, her cunt a hot coal beneath her skirt.
His cock thrust through the opening in his pantt and into her hand, the glans seeping clear fluid already, the length of the hot tool adhesive to the touch, a tangle of pubic hair flourishing around its base.
"Yum," said Diana, and she went down to the cock, touched the slitted tip to her cheek, and reeled away, a thread of bright juice unraveling from the tip of the rod as she draw her face away, the juicy streamer breaking to loop across her parted lips as she exclaimed, in a marveled voice, "Oh!"
"Please he gasped encouragingly, taking her face between his hands and easing it back toward the un-ging elevation of his wand, a turbulence of sensual agitation filling its heated length. The lilac pad of her tongue orbited his delicately pulsing glans, the tip buffing it, and, opening her mouth wider, she slid the whole shaft deeply inside, stretching her lips around its breadth until the head of the cock was rammed back up against the roof of her mouth, her tongue shifting from side to side softly and slowly along its undersurface. With an overjoyed groan, he responded by lifting his hips and pulling her face closer, then began to fuck her mouth steadily, his fingers spreading into the spilled silvery darkness of her long hair; her eyes widened to stare up at him with curiosity and pleasure while she sucked him accommodatingly. She computed the extent of his arousal by gauging the fervor of his expression and feeling the compressed swelling motion of his cock upon her tongue, the warning temor of his hips, and she drew her lips free almost instantaneously.
"Don't want you to come yet," she said, kissing him again, her fingers petting the cock cautiously. The spell between them momentarily interrupted, her mind went back to the thought of the other clerk and she looked around the store, trying to locate him, but couldn't, and forgot him just as promptly when her lover slipped one arm under her knees and scooped her legs up across his lap. His hands eased her shoes off, letting them fall to the floor, his thumbs pressing into the gauzy nylon fabric of her pantyhose under her arched toes and massaging the nylon against the bottoms of her toes, his fingers encircling their tops. Her smile drove him on and he pushed her back down across the bed, slinking his hands up along her lovely calves and lushly pliant thighs, hooking his fingers in the rim of the pantyhose, and pulled the opaque garment down around her hips, uncovering her thighs and peeling the sheer cloth down over the curves of her calves, rolling it down around her heels and free of her bare feet her toes wriggling enticingly as he tossed it aside.
She folded her skirt back and put her legs across his lap, the toes of one foot curling around the jut of his cock, her underbelly flagrantly exposed to his dazed vision. Her vagina opened like a gaudy hyacinth blooming through the bush dark coils of her pubic pelt, the deep burgundy of the outer labia in vivid contrast with the illuminated pink of the interior. A vanilla ooze filled the ovid gap, shining, a sight so breathtaking that Diana herself was drawn to it, her lips parting vivaciously as she looked down into herself. She squeezed the muscles of her vagina voluntarily and a series of shudders ran through her, charging her mind with erotic gratification, her knee tilting high and toes stroking the cock slowly. Reaching down, she spread the forefinger and middle finger of each hand into the rift of her sex, into the warm juice and deep into the pulpy interior, smiling up at her lover as if she were presenting herself on a platter for him. He dropped his face and his lips tightened as his mouth met the inner warmth, her fingers releasing the unpeeled labia to let them enclose his lips.
"Golly, I ... just-uh, I-I," Diana began, attempting to articulate her feeling, but giving up instead wholly to the feeling. Her breath coming in panting exhalations, she twisted her buttocks further over onto the mattress, lifting her shoulders and head and stretching out more comfortably, her teeth gleaming between the fullness of her divided lips, eyes blinking, thighs quivering lightly as her lover's tongue swam up the canal of her puss. His face burrowed forward, his forehead flush against the damp hedge of curls covering her underbelly, his hands furling her skirt all the way to her breasts, and she sighted down along her body, moving both of her legs so that the smooth soles of her feet were pressing up both sides of his cock, her toes intersecting over its top, the pulse of the cock thrumming against her flesh. She suspected that with a single twitch of the toes of either foot she could bring him off, and she wanted to, she wanted to see her feet and ankles covered with jewels of sperm, but more than that she wanted it in her mouth or deep in the satiny chamber of her womb or in the clenched vise of her asshole, so she resisted and waited, bringing all of her attention to bear on the action of his tongue, which sped now all along the embouchure of her snatch, flicking at the soggy nubbin of her clit and probing at the niche of her asshole, sending thrills through her that seemed to fire sparks from her fingertips, her mind blurring with images of flame and conflagrations, her whole body burning ecstatically.
Psychic eons passed and she forced her eyes open, seeing him rising over her on the mattress, undoing his tie, his smile heroic and loving.
"I'm so ... hot," she gasped, smiling greedily back at him. "So hot. Please hurry." she watched him unbutton his shirt, and to keep herself perking she ran a finger into the slit of her puss, taking it out and tasting it, her black eyes blazing with voluptuous self-indulgence.
"Fun, fun, fun," she chanted, watching him discard his shirt and unbelt his pants, her fingers pulling her tunic up from her waist and over her head, her big broad tits jiggling as she tossed it away and shook the ebony cascades of her hair about her shoulders, grinning happily in anticipation. Her torso was streaked with paths of sweat like trails of crystal on the pale saffron of her flesh. Her cunt was a liquid crevice between her legs. Her mind was numb with pleasure. He lifted one of her arms and kissed the pissy redolence of her armpit, her fingers tightening around the shaft of his prick, their mouths meeting once more, her pegged nipples flattening against his chest as they embraced.
"Fun," he reiterated, dizzy, unbalanced, nibbling at her lips while she primed his cock with a slow pumping of her rigid fingers.
"Now, oh, now," she cried, and she pulled him down upon her and smoothly into her, the hard full length of him gulped deep into her uterus. "Fuck, me, oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck fuck fuck me," she begged, her feet, soles down, braced against the mattress, her fingers laced around his neck. They stared directly into each other's eyes and he began to thrust in and out of her, the soft thrashing and slapping of their bellies making them smile with glee.
"Oh, what a nice mattress," Diana exulted, hugging him passionately, her head tilting all the way back, her body spasming with the entrance and exit of his cock, heels skidding on the mattress, her brain lightened and enravished by cerebral echoes of the orgasms that were flooding her cunt.
Eye to eye, his hands linking with hers as he pressed her arms down against the mattress above her head, his cock pinioning her body with its compulsive rhythm, their noses almost touching, they smiled into each other's face. Her tongue reached up, sweeping his mouth, soliciting his affection, and he inhaled it, their fingers tightening, the momentum of his cock increasing, the plushy sheath of her vagina swirling around it as she moved her hips in response to his.
Diana's thoughts tumbled and whirled through twisting mazes of consciousness, pink mazes, frozen images of pink light expanding and contracting in the depths of her mind. Her body trembled and shimmered from head to foot with lewd pleasure, milky cunt sucking the hot tube of masculinity in and out of its palpy channel, moans gushing from her mouth. Feeling helpless with her arms pinned above her, she drew her knees up and thrust her long legs straight up in the air, clutching them around his back in a taut embrace, her ankles looking above his pumping buttocks, urging him on.
She felt the second cock before she saw it and knew what it was the moment it graced her lips and her mouth welcomed it with a wild smile, her eyes brightened with lust, and she turned her head sideways on the mattress, looking up at the second clerk who smiled down at her, his expression tender with concern. She nodded and he accepted her cue, pleased and eager, his hands dropping his pants, stepping forward, his huge phallus swaying to and fro through the vent of his shorts. It was prodigious, curving outward and upward in a bold incarnadine arc, huge, uncommonly huge, and she wanted it inside her at once, anywhere, in her mouth or asshole, either, but somewhere, without delay.
Her breathing slackening, Diana slowed the rhythm of her hips and decelerated her first lover's movements to a waning by taking her legs down off his back, pulling her wrists free from the grip of his hands and retarding his vigor with soothing touches. His stave pulled loose from the glut of her pussy, sparkling with wetness from tip to hilt, and she rose to her knees facing him, moving over to welcome the second clerk beside them on the mattress. He shed his shirt, bent to remove his shoes and socks, then let Diana help him remove his shorts while he smiled with aroused excitement, his prick throbbing with anticipation.
"Gee, 'm I ever gonna be ragged around," she said with an anxious grin, her hands turning around both limber cocks, her eyes darkly bright with expectation. She appraised the cock that was blazoned with the brine of her uterine fluids, the scent rich in her nostrils. Her face moved down to it and her lips opened around it, the saucy taste unutterably palatable, her tongue flourishing and lapping up the flavor. Next she switched to the other cock, swabbing it with the warm gloss of her tongue, and at length, she turned her gaze speculatively from one prod to the other as if trying to figure out just how she wanted to manage the installation of both of them simultaneously.
"Gotta do this right," she said to herself, and looked at the first clerk, pointing to indicate that she wanted him to lie down on his back. He followed her instruction, stretching out upon the mattress, his seasoned cock yearning for further satisfaction, and Diana straddled him with her face toward his, inserting him into her profusely lubricated channel, dropping her body low upon his so that the round globes of her tits cushioned her weight, billows of her gleaming dark hair falling around his face. "Now you," she whispered back over her shoulder, her eyes moodily narrowed as she girded herself for the enchanted impact.
He moved into position and fixed the heavy head of his cock to the pinkish span of her asshole, the gnarled muscular fissure slightly agape from the upslung pressure of the lodged cock. He pushed gently and Diana, her eyes closing with the ecstatic tension of the penetrating cock head, pulled him in with a voluntary contraction of muscles, the thick pole tearing a burning path of pure delicious sensation as it vanished, inch by pleasurable inch, into her rectum.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh, both of you, both, now, now, now!" Diana demanded in a hoarse cry, her eyes florid with color, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled a snort of air through her nose, her head bobbing back and up to cast cataracts of ebony hair over the caramel tan of her slender back and shoulders. She hunkered forward on the shaft filling her cunt and revolved back on the one steeped in her ass, rolling her hips in a slow, soft, grinding motion between them. Inside her she could feel them swell and throb, thickening the whole lower half of her body with heaving tremors, the silky humidity of her cunt caressing one as the other moved in the velveteen tunnel of her ass. Her body swung between both men, her tits swaying on her chest, her knees digging into the mattress on both sides of the man beneath her, and she grasped her hands back around the hips of the one behind her, pulling him more harshly into her, moaning uncontrollably, a maelstrom of warm spasms churning her cunt as the cock there butted her cervix.
"One ... moment," she groaned suddenly, holding both hands up in a pacifying gesture to halt the action. She stopped moving, grinning with carnal drunkenness, and they stopped, too, all three of them pausing for the moment, Diana held in juxtaposition between two hot cocks, the man below holding her hips, the other with his hands placed around the soft domes of her tits, her nipples jutting between his fingers.
"Just wanna feel you," Diana murmured, and she let her-eyes close lightly, her teeth shining brilliantly through her comatose smile. She concentrated on those parts of herself squeezed full of burning cock, gorged vagina and punctured anus, her bowels blossoming with luxurious heat, her sundered labia awash with spillage from the chalice of her womb. She moved her hips very slowly and softly, experimentally, testing the depth and width and heat of both organs, the viscous pull of her asshole and silken sliding of her cunt loosing little bursts of exotic sensation in her that made her whimper with pleasure, her body rejoicing; and then she was moving faster, faster, and both cocks were rushing with her, four hands guiding and steering her lithe form as she bucked and plunged in a mounting hysteria of joy, sensation building in her from a sparking of pleasure of the pure flowering force of pleasure.
Diana's brain began to erupt, pink light springing up in fountains, her dazzled consciousness spinning, her body shuddering. Orgasms plungered her flesh, steaming her cunt, burning her mind, and as she soared and tossed on the shafts trading her body back and forth, her hands closed on the hands palming her tits, her face twisted back so she could propel her tongue into the mouth of the man behind her. Her mouth spoke the phrase, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," into his, and he began to ravage her with a frenzy that sprawled her face down upon her other lover, both cocks pounding her with relentless stamina.
"Sooooo fine," Diana trilled. She twisted and writhed like a Lorelei between the two men, her eyes gleaming like black diamonds, her tongue swishing around the halo of her lips, cunt generating a sudsy flow around the shaft drilling it.
They were all approaching climax, together, all vibrating on the same wavelength, traveling through the same spaces, ascending, ascending, clinging to one another, and then, improbably, spectacularly, beautifully, they were all coming together. Diana, melting in every nerve and pore, rocketed face down through voids of space, all senses ablaze in the transit, her body going rigid as she slumped upon her prostrate lover, his prod still energetically pumping her.
In that moment Diana knew only one thing: that she was the focal point of three climaxes: her own and both of theirs. Her own spun her into a vertigo of agonizingly blissful sensation, and theirs kept her steadily accelerating as they lunged and jerked against her, their cocks ejaculating spasmodically into her.
"Ohhhhhhh, God, oh, God...." Diana moaned, her mind swimming with visions of flood and storm. She blinked her eyes open wide and was acutely conscious of warm come running lushly from the dilated labia of her pussy and of jets of come coursing into the depth of her asshole. She rose to her feet, arching her ass high and slipping the lodged cock free, the same motion releasing the one in her cunt, and a sudden feeling of lascivious buoyancy shivered her limbs, inundating her mind. Disconnected from the thick cumbrous infusion of her lovers' cocks, she reeled giddily in their abrupt absence, her hands stroking the air, her thoughts disintegrating into a resplendence of white orgasmic light, the stroked nerves of her erogenous zones sizzling with the effect. Tilting to one side, she collapsed slowly upon the bed, face up, arms and legs flung out from her body, twisting away from the touch of her men. She lay there in a dazed torpor, spent, elated, savoring the sense of disembodied consciousness augmenting the ebbing pulsations of her orgasms. Her hands reached out to handle the flagging rods between the legs of her lovers, kneeling beside her, her soft fingers fondling the glistening phalli with a special tenderness. Looking down at j herself, her legs parting to give her a better view, she smiled a conoisseur's smile at the ribbons of sperm on the insides of her thighs.
Her expanded body smelled like a newly opened package of fragrances: her sweat had the scent of an aphrodisiacal champagne fermented in the nuclei of her pores by some mystical erotic alchemy; an odor of ripe sylvan herbage rose from her excavated asshole and her cunt gave off the wondrous reek of deep green waters and Mediterranean reefs and lilac sea beasts languishing in tidal pools.
With her eyes shut and her face afloat in the black river of her hair, Diana danced with Eros in the dark ballroom of her mind.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hazy had found herself a psychoanalyst, a slim, dark-haired houri with narrow cool features and a glacial somber gaze only slightly softened by chic eyeglasses with big, round, whiskey-colored lenses. They had met in the TALK room no more than a few minutes after Diana and Tracy and Anton and, Richard had left, and there Hazy had heard the story from her of how she had come to the back chanal against her better judgment and in spite of her reservations, because she felt that unfamiliar experiences should be explored, scientifically, objectively. Hazy had intrigued her by hinting at an experience they might share together, a revelation as it were, and had led her into a small private room on the top floor of the house. There they were alone in a nimbus of lamplight, Pavana seated in a brown tufted velvet wing chair, Hazy curled up on a snow-white lamb fur rug in front of her.
"I don't really know if I should be here," Pavana said in a troubled voice, clearly nervous and even somewhat frightened by the situation she had let develop, but undeniably engaged, also, by some irresistible fascination with the obvious purpose of Hazy's interest.
"I think you should just relax and listen to your impulses," Hazy replied, and smiled, knowing how restless her blatant nakedness made the other woman. Pavana, by contrast, was fully clothed in a cream-colored satin shirt and navy dots and a white wool garbardine skirt and black flat-heeled shoes. Her bearing was poised and contained, authoritarian, but the spark of uncertainty in her eyes spoiled the rigid effect, and her hands were gripped around the arms of the chair with noticeable tension.
"Impulses can be dangerous," Pavana objected, looking formidably sensible, reluctant to accept Hazy's simple dictum at face value, the excitement she felt at some level overshadowed by the sobriety of her credentials.
"But so can too much talk and too much deliberation and too much analysis," Hazy said challengingly. Her smile was temperate and self-satisfied and she returned Pavana's stare, her own attitude secure.
"I like to understand things," Pavana said, her manner stiffening rather than relaxing, her hands fidgeting on the chair's armrests. It occurred to her that she looked like a patient in a waiting room. Like one of her own patients.
"Listen!" Hazy said, suddenly turning her head as if a sound had distracted her attention, then glancing up at Pavana with a vague smile.
"Huh?" Pavana looked back at her, listening but hearing nothing in the silence, not even a dim sound of music or activity from elsewhere in the house. Only silence. "I don't hear anything," she said her curiosity aroused.
"You will if you listen harder," Hazy said with a knowing smile, her eyes mysterious, her smile insistent. "If you keep listening...."
"Oh?" Pavana nodded, then turned her mind studiously to the silence, concentrating on it, and very gradually as the seconds ticked by and Hazy smiled steadily at her, watching her, she heard something, something subliminal, an inner voice so subtle and diminutive it was like a whisper from the obscure spaces of her mind, a soft warming whisper that was unmistakably, she realized, the voice of her libido. It was calling to her across psychic wastes and winters and deserts, caressing her mind with an intimation of unknown experiences, undiscerned pleasures. Was it not the voice reasoned, her responsibility as a thinking person to seek even the most arcane knowledge, to pursue the most radical and exotic experience, to test alternate sensibilities and to taste the forbidden fruit that grew on the highest branches of the most sinister trees? Why, then, her resistance, hesitation, fear? Why? She looked at Hazy, whose gaze was so intense it made her glance away; her cheeks flushed, her heart pounding so rap idly now she was conscious of its drumming beat against her breast, a dryness in her mouth.
"Don't start talking to yourself," Hazy chided softly. "Talk to me." Her eyes seemed to shimmer with hazel light as her smile broadened and her short hair in the lamplight was dappled with highlights of yellow gold.
Pavana nodded, involuntarily, finding herself looking back at the other woman, and seeing that she had not really taken full notice of her extreme beauty before: the svelte incurvation of Hazy's shoulders as the top half of her body bent lightly foward, the heavy full roundness of her breasts and their softness and the peaked rouge-dark nipples erect in their circles, the tapering flow of her waist rounding into the broad curves of shapely hips, the flesh of her body shadowy bronze, the wide full thighs bracketing the pale blonde pubic plumage, and the sleek curving of her lovely slim legs tucked under her, one pale bare foot on top of the other.
Pavana parted her lips, watching, swallowing dryly, sitting back in the chair, her own full breasts rising with her breathing against the cool, pale cream satin of her shirt. She was not wearing a brassiere and could feel her nipples touch outward with a delicious firm tightness against the smooth fabric.
"You're very attractive, Pavana," Hazy said. The intimate sound of her name voiced by the strange woman struck a chord of burgeoning excitement in her.
She did not look, somehow, like a stranger any longer, Pavana thought."
"Beauteous Pavana," Hazy murmured in a warm undertone. Reaching out, she lifted one of Pavana's feet up from the floor, and, removing the shoe by pulling down on its heel and easing the instep forward from the arch of her foot, exhibited the finely sculptured shape of her foot accented by the taut sheer tan of her hosiery. Her toes were raised sinuously against the flexible material, a darker tan band diffusing the lucidity of her polished toenails. Kneeling forward, Hazy turned the foot with finesse in her hands and offered it to herself, rubbing her cheek against its bottom with the same drowsy absorption of a cat arching its back against someone's hand. The contact caused Pavana to slip down lower in the chair, her shoulders pressing back, her long beautiful leg curving straight out and upward to ease her encased toes against Hazy's forehead, all five of them touching gingerly and flexing against the dark arch of an eyebrow and moving down slowly against the rippling dark awning of her lash.
Hazy looked up at her, beseeching a facial reaction of some kind with her gaze, and Pavana nodded slightly, awkwardly, then a bit more firmly as Hazy's fingers ran up along the sloping incline of her calf on both sides of her leg, past her knee, and to the very upper reaches of her thigh where the fabric pf her pantyhose, tented across the inner apex of her thigh, was already damp to the touch.
"Excited?" Hazy inquired, her voice hazy, her eyelash spidering the nylon encasement of Pavana's toes, her unobstructed-eye fixing her with a warm stare. She moistened her lips to a pink gleam with the tip of her tongue, pressing delicately with a forefinger against the gauzy soft dampness. "I smell your cunt," she said, her fingers skating briskly over the mossy thick down held beneath the opaque hosiery at the bottom of Pavana's slim belly.
The randy sentence trailed into an imagined! echoing in Pvaana's incited brain, the lovely, dirty, beautiful word radiating outward from and through her consciousness like the concentric circles caused by a stone thrown into calm water.
"Love your cunt," Hazy said in a whispered murmur, "love to touch it, princess, love." She smiled, with her tongue licking a silvery line of moisture between her lips, as if appraising a repast, and said, "I'm going to get you ready, Pavana...."
"Oh, yes, do," Pavana gasped, the words churning out spontaneously, giving herself over entirely to the strong impulses crowding all thought out of her mind. She moaned with increasing comfort and smiled aggressively, urging her foot down and stretching her toes out and upward to brush them across the malleable width of one of Hazy's tits, Hazy so pleased by the uncalculated movement that she quivered pleasantly at the touch, her white teeth biting into the full projection of her lower lip, her shuttered eyes peering through their shuddering lids.
"This doesn't ... seem ... wrong," Pavana said, attempting objectivity. She smiled at Hazy, venturesomely, and confirmed her decision by moving her foot slowly further down from Hazy's lush tit, her big toe prodding the hardened nipple as it descended, tracing around the softer pink flesh encircling it, eliciting a small gasp and flickering smile from Hazy.
"Nothing wrong ... if you dig it, Pavana," Hazy told her, catching her breath. "If you both dig it," she said. She smiled down at the foot teasing her tit and her hands carved through the air on either side of it, her long fingers gliding back and along the sides of the foot and around the round curve of its heel, warm to the touch, the toe browsing her nipple more firmly as she guided it, lowering her face with closed eyes to lick the nylon surface all around the ankle.
Pavana, her lips pulling tightly together, her eyelids sliding down over the light dancing in her eyes, darkness containing her, felt a fine pinpoint of pure sensation begin to glow between her legs, inside the humid canal of her cunt, an effervesence of incipient pulsations sparking vaginal nerves from the portal of her vulva to the crypt of her womb. She moaned raggedly deep in her throat, her pink lips pressing together tighter still, sinking another two inches down in the chair, and with a series of tremblors that ran through her like the shocks of a dermal quake, she pitched her head and shoulders forward, letting herself flow toward the lure of orgasm, wings stroking in her mind.
With Hazy licking her ankle, she soared and soared and trembled, wanting desperately to soar higher. Then, inching forward between Pavana's sagging legs, Hazy ducked her head low and rose up under the white wool skirt, her hands lifting the fabric high over the wide columns of Pavana's thighs, her face hovering close to the thick mass of dingy curls showing through the nylon of the "pantyhose. In the; middle of the muff the slit of her sex was wide open and outlined against the coarse nylon, a nacreous line marking the inner shallows of the separated labia. Pressing her hands down to frame the moist scrolls of flesh and shape them against the texture of the nylon, Hazy slipped her tongue out and pulled it enthusiastically through the fissured aisle of the cunt and out at the tapering peak, the hot pink trinket at the top throbbing with depressed heat through the netted fabric. She covered the clit with an energetic fusillade of swift jabbing clicks, dabbing with it, taunting it, tasting the acrid nectar seeping through the lower vent with each glance of her tongue and filming the pantyhose with gossamer streaks of saliva.
"Oh, ohhh, ohhhhh, oooohhhhhh, ahhhhhh," Pavana chanted, the cries forced from her lips by a tempest of passion, each syllable louder and wilder than the last, as Hazy's twisting tongue stroked the sounds from her, extraordinary sounds of passion that made her want to cry out herself.
Wanting to see Hazy, Pavana pulled her skirt up over her head, turning it inside out over the flat terrace of her belly past the point where the encircling rim of her pantyhose indented the flesh of her midriff. Hazy paused in her pleasure, looking up at her new friend, her chin nudging against the cloistered hedge of damp curls, her lids lifting slowly to filter a lustful stare, and she waited until Pavana was looking her, back at her, confidently, trustfully, eagerly.
"Do any ... thing ... you like, anything," Pavana whispered, nodding, her head bobbing up and down with a kind of intoxicated emphasis of affirmation. "Anything. Carte blanche. Be my ... guest."
"You like?" Hazy asked, the touch of her breath warm on Pavana's flesh, her lower lips bolstered up by the nest of soft curls.
"I like," Pavana murmured, smiling deeply, holding Hazy's stare fearlessly now. She had made her decision to accept, to enjoy, to feel, and the doubt that possessed her before was completely gone; she was a participant now, wholeheartedly.
"Oh, I want to touch you all over," Hazy breathed, her desire exacerbated by Pavana's transformation, a mad energy of lust invigorating her. Raising up from the floor, her hands pushing lighty down on Pavana's knees as she rose, she straightened up and stood tall, grinning with crafty endeavor. Going around behind Pavana and pausing there, she waited for a few teasing seconds, then slid her hands neatly up over her slender shoulders, the right one stealing inside the satin shirt between the first and second buttons, the left one below it easing in at an opposite angle between the second and third buttons, the tips of her fingers settling nicely around the tops of Pavana's naked tits. Squeezing softly, she molded the supple flesh, bunching it gently in her curving fingers, and Pavana moaned excitedly, her face turning back and straining upward, her lips wide and thirsting for a kiss. Hazy accepted the soft shape of her upper lip between her lips, kissing her fervently, her tongue edging out to shift from one corner to the other of Pavana's mouth, luring her tongue out to greet it, and the heavy weight of her tits sloped down upon Pavana's shoulders as she gave herself to the kiss, stretching forward. Her hands tightened around Pavana's tits, pulling back and upward, and with a snapping around the first and second buttons of the shirt popped off, maximizing her access to the large globes, the nipples thrusting into her palms.
"I'll show you purple beasts and taffeta birds and crazy little valleys where golden bells ring all day," Hazy whispered into Pavana's ear, tasting the lobe with the tip of her tongue, exhaling her breath into the aperture. "And every day a holiday," she smiled, her lips circumnavigating the top of the ear, then moving over to her brow, tongue touching the soft trembling of the lid below it before trailing down along the side of her nose and briefly inside one nostril, and finally across her upper lip already bright with saliva from both their mouths. Pavana returned the kiss exuberantly, her head twisted all the way hack, her hair draped over her neck and shoulders, her eyes lightly closed. "Teach me," she murmured, "go ahead, teach...."
"Yeah," Hazy answered, and the word melted in both their mouths together like warm sugar, wet tongues joined and caressing.
With her head thrown all the way back and the muscles of her throat aching sharply with the resultant tension, Pavana opened her eyes as Hazy's mouth left hers, glimpsing the phantom pale of Hazy's nude figure fading away around her body, and she swiveled her face around to confront her face to face again. Hazy stood before her, stepping forward, and her hands came down around the woolen width of her hips, her fingers bunching into the thick fabric of the skirt, pushing it once more high enough to expose the top of the pantyhose, one hand gripping the taut rim of the garment just above Pavana's navel. She tugged down on the material, Pavana lifting the plump cushions of her buttocks up from the chair to make it easier for her, and the lowering pantyhose disclosed the rich pallor of her underbelly and the dense pubic thatch soaked down the middle with warm ooze from the slot of her vagina, her upper thighs and the soft width of their smooth, wan inner slopes. Hazy rolled the pantyhose down to her knees, releasing the nylon, and knelt, her mouth forging a thin smile, her gaze riveted appreciatively on the rippled labia before her, fruity sweet odor steaming richly from within.
"Ready?" Hazy asked considerately, smiling, wanting her next move to be fully expected and anticipated so that sharing it would be all the more enjoyable, and when Pavana gave her consent with an obliging nod, she brought her right hand up with the three middle fingers held together and embedded them in the vertical split of Pavana's pussy. She pushed the fingers in as far as she could and they sank past the second line of her knuckles. She spread them as far apart as she could manage inside the warm sac, her own cunt vibrating hotly between her legs as she saw a molten pearl drip from the slit. Her face spun down and she darted her tongue after the droplet, catching it and sucking it into her mouth, her eyes searching Pavana's eyes staring intemperately back at her, requesting every outrageous and extravagant indulgence now that Pavana had made her choice.
The movement of her legs inhibited by the pantyhose binding her calves, Pavana twisted her hands down and rolled the fabric with the fronts of her thumbs down further past her out-tilted knees, over them, and down over her calves, stretching forward as she did so, the soft flow of her black hair pouring over the bright yellow of Hazy's head as she attentively mouthed Pavana's throbbing clit, her enveloped fingers jacking leisurely up and down in the warm pudding directly beneath her en-framed chin. Sensing what was happening, Hazy reached out and helped Pavana force the pantyhose down to her ankles, Hazy peeling it off for her around both heels when it went beyond the other's reach. She held the divested lingerie for a little while in the backward thrust of her hands, then swept it to one side, still suckling and pumping her fingers with the rapt preoccupation of an artist. Her chin was macerated with frothy spend, her eyes shut and pressed into the meadowy underbelly, locked fingers afloat. She could hear Pavana moaning as she worked and played with her body with feverish determination. Unconfined, Pavana's legs moved in a soft curving embrace around the smooth nave of Hazy's back, twitching with spasms of erotic fulfillment as tiny orgasms bucked and churned her body, her toes arching and tensing, heels banging Hazy's soft buttocks.
Hazy's heart was racing, her breasts swinging heavily from the front of her body as she continued her homage to Pavana's beauty, but she was beginning to smother herself in her eagerness, so she decided it was time to come up for air. Besides, she thought with clear certainty , she wanted to try a little of this and a little of that. There were so many things to do, it wouldn't make sense to get into a rut. A rut? She laughed mentally at the pun. Drawing back from the bowl of Pavana's thighs, she unsheathed her three fingers and held her hand up to scrutinize it. Her fingers were marbled with juice, sparkling with light. Raising them generously to Pavana's face, she made a gift of them, wanting them herself but wanting more for Pavana to taste herself. Pavana nodded, once, moaning lowly, and opened her mouth around first and forefinger, her tongue scouring the warm booze of her cunt from the warm length of the finger, then curling around the other two fingers and cleansing them with a serpentine lapping.
"Any good?" Hazy asked when Pavana stopped licking her fingers, and Pavana delighted her by giving a mimetic demonstration of her reply: turning Hazy's hand back upon her and using it like an artist's brush to paint her smiling face with her own fingers, the saliva marking her cheeks with bands of iridescent light.
"I could paint a picture on you using my cunt as a palette," Pavana said with musing contemplation. "Or lead an orchestra in a symphony," she went on, grinning, turning Hazy's arm this way and that as if it were a conductor's baton. Her smile grew as she mulled over the idea, filling her whole face with radiance, and she drew Hazy's hand back now between her legs, guiding the three fingers again inside herself and stirring her cunt with them as an artist might work up a liquidity of color on a palette with a vigorous stirring of the brush.
"What kind of painting?" she asked Hazy, smilng warmly down at her, continuing to stir in the fingers in the brimming well of her sex with a slow deliberation, thoughts of Picasso and Renoir and Matisse and Monet and Modigliani and Van Gogh rain-bowing her mind with bold impressions of color and glimmerings of style and composition: pink nudes, yellow and orange meadows, wind carved, bouquets of carmine bright and violet flowers, breasts and hips and arms as dark as chocolate and golden with light rivers of stars in skies as black as silk.
"Oil, honey," Hazy said with rich sexiness, her one desire and ambition in the world now to be a canvas worked on with the tempera of Pavana's cunt.
"Honey or oil?" Pavana said, chuckling under her breath, pretending not to understand. "Make up your mind, honey...."
"Feels like oil in your cunt, honey," Hazy answered, and they both laughed together, enjoying each other thoroughly, no semblance of restraint or unfamiliarity left between them. Pavana slipped the hand out of her cunt and held it up, bending Hazy's arm back from the elbow and turning it toward her face, Hazy smiling eagerly as the warm fingers touched against her cheeks and nose, making her argent with come. Then a phone rang, interrupting them. It was an abrupt reminder of a more mundane and mechanical reality, the world of objects and conventions, things and transactions, all the more irritating since the idea of a phone here with them seemed somehow inappropriate, inapplicable to their concerns of the moment-a phone? Ringing? Jolted by the sound, they both turned, looking for the phone as it rang again. Annoyance governed their expressions, and neither of them made a move to reach for the phone, which they both located at a glance-on the floor against the nearby wall. The phone rang a third time, persistently, a fourth, and a fifth, coercively, before Hazy animated herself and crawled the short distance to it, reaching the receiver off the hook.
"Hello," she said, feeling slightly foolish and disquieted as she waited for a reply.
"Hello," the voice, a man's, on the other end said. I There was a short pause, then he went promptly on, booming the words out headlong, "I hope you're watching our movie tonight on Melodramas by Moonlight, 'cause if you are you've got a big chance to win a giant jackpot and a bonanza bonus, not to mention a shot at our Tickets to Tahiti dartboard and/or a case of absinthe, your weight in roast beef or pressed turkey, a complete set of the works of the writer of your choice bound in used saddle leather and delivered by marabou. This is Teddy Neddy at KLAY, right here in downtown San Francisco, do you read me, m'am, and are you watching our feature this evening Never So High, starring the Pilot, the Co-Pilot, the Navigator, the Ball Turret Gunner, the Boy in the Tail, and the Flakettes. Ifs a sky high hit!"
Hazy looked at the phone as if it were a small rodent she had just unearthed. "Huh?" she said. "Reet!" the man chirped.
"Who is it?" Pavana asked Hazy, noting the odd expression on her face and sitting erect in the chair, folding her dress back for the moment over her thighs, the erotic mood shattered.
"Sounds like a wrong number," Hazy said, then listened for the caller's next line, which was, "So, does the rain hurt the rhubarb?"
"I think you've got the wrong number," Hazy said
"Sounds right," the man said. "Sounds reet as rain seen through a windowpane, jane. You've got a voice like the touch of a nightingale's wing in a ward for the weird, and I'm endeared. ZeetY'
"I really don't know what to say to your routine,, dean," Hazy said, irritated by strangely impressed as well.
"Oh mean, queen!" the man exclaimed. "But I'm on the tracks for love, dove, and you sound like berries in May."
"Who the fuck is this?" Hazy said, glaring at the phone.
"Crazy, lady," the man said, laughing, and Hazy tried to place the voice, but it was useless. Besides, how could she know anyone who was calling her here and now-and was he in some way connected with the party-or what? She had no idea what was going on.
"Who are you?" she asked again, and waited patiently, refusing to be a foil any longer. Glancing at Pavana, she said, sotto voce, "Sounds like someone who fell off a tall peak."
"Secret admirer," the man said mysteriously.
"I'm at an orgy, dear," Hazy said. "You can't be too secret if you know that."
"I'm at the orgy, muffin cake," the man said.
"Well. Now we're getting somewhere. And where are you at the orgy, georgie?" Hazy said, imitating his technique without acrimony.
"Nibbled by pirhana," he laughed, "but I'm out for Jaws, Hazy. Yours. Maybe you and I and the shrink could write a chapter in ink that's pink, zinc?"
"You wanna fuck?" Hazy asked him, getting to the point.
"If it rhymes with luck."
"Just a minute," Hazy said. She put her palm over the receiver, and, turning to Pavana, said, "Honey, this sounds like an in-paEient and you're more qualified to talk to him than I am. Care to?"
Pavana made a pouting race. "Business now?" she said in protest. "Hazy, I'd like to get back to what we were doing, wouldn't you?"
"Shall I hang up?" Hazy asked. She shrugged. "I don't care, Pavana, I know that what we've got started is guaranteed a golden finish. It just seems like you might like to try your luck with this weirdo. Professional interest, n'est-ce pasi"
"Well...." Pavana looked unenthusiastically from Hazy to the phone she held at her side, then capitulated with a little sigh of mock-frustration, and got up, crossing the room to accept the phone. Taking the instrument into her hand, she gave Hazy a sharp sensual glance through eyes still hazed with a dreamy light from their dalliance, making it clear that she had little inclination to divide her attention between Hazy and the phone. Their faces loomed near each other as the phone was passed from hand to hand, Hazy's cheeks stippled with scented light, and Pavana gave in automatically to an impulse to bend closer and taste the soft damp skin, her nostrils inhaling the clammy aroma of come, their tongues touching and encirling in Hazy's mouth. She broke only with great of will, and turned her attention to the phone with minimal interest, saying flatly into the receiver, "Hello."
"That an invitation?" the man said in a hopeful voice.
"An invitation to what?" Pavana asked irritably. "Who are you, where are you, and what's this call all about? I'm not much interested in conversation, so why don't you get it out and stop wasting our time."
"I'd like to spend time with you, wastefully."
"What are you talking about?" Pavana said coldly. "Make your point!"
"All right, hold on," the man said, chastised by her humorlessness. "Don't give it up, sweet. I'll get it out, straight. From the heart, keen?"
Pavana said sarcastically, "You aren't reaching me, I'm afraid." But she was nonetheless fascinated, a bit, by the unusual diction, which was unquestionably imaginative. "Who are you?" she repeated, less angrily now.
"Downstairs, cake. Should be about two rooms over, I'd say, but I can feel you both up there, warming that bitty room, sending out hot vibes, I can smell the peaches, and I'd love to add a pinch of inch, believe me...."
"Go on," Pavana said, her manner softening, her eyes on Hazy's indeterminate expression.
"A simple story," he said. "I was tracking you both on your way upstairs. Admiring from afar. I watched you go into the room. You're new here, both of you. There's a custom goes with the room: a phone call admits a third party to the scene in progress, whatever it is. The idea is not knowing who's there. Which makes me a cheat, neat? I even know your names. Asked around."
"You want to come up and cut in on us and you can't even speak English," Pavana said, amusement dissolving her sobriety.
"Do."
"He wants to join us," Pavana said to Hazy, her palm cupped over the mouthpiece. "He says the phone is here to admit any caller to whatever is happening whenever-and he watched us come up here. He knows our names from asking around."
"And he wants a menage?" Hazy said, nodding with a reflective grin. "Well, you've got to admire his incentive."
"I was enjoying you an awful lot, dear," Pavana said. She paused, thinking, then speculated, in a softer voice, "But it might be interesting to, you know, get into deeper waters , ... I mean, if you don't-"
"Object?" Hazy put in, smiling. She laughed and touched the rigid bud capping one of Pavana's tits with gentle fingers. "Not if I hadn't already sounded your depths, Pavana, but I have, and we'll have more time, like I said. I don't want to be selfish, no. I think I'd like to share a cock with you. See how we flow together. Want to?"
"Um, I ... think so," Pavana said slowly, with a thoughtful smile, and she nodded decisively, making up her mind. "Yes, I would, Hazy." She looked at Hazy with a quick grin, seeing that she was just as eager to go along with the idea, maybe even a bit more eager, and she felt an uplifting surge of licentious anticipation realizing how quickly her change from detached observer to spirited bacchante had been effected. She slipped her fingers from the mouthpiece of the phone and, smiling into it, whispered softly, "Come on up...." Her eyes met Hazy's as she gave the phone back to her, and they smiled together, two playmates joyfully amenable to each other's thoughts and urges.
"You're so beautiful, Hazy," Pavana said, overwhelmed by the need to express some affection for her seducer, and, as Hazy turned back toward her after returning the phone to its cradle, she went down on her knees and wrapped her arms around the backs of her calves, sliding her hands up along the sleek tender flesh of her upper thighs to the firm cushions of her buttocks, letting her long fingers play into the narrow vale between the plump curves, the crease widening to segregate the halves of her ass as she pulled outward with her spread fingers, making enough room so she could prod one middle finger against the tight dint of her asshole, spunk running like thin syrup over her hands from the un-pursed split of her cunny. Pavana's lips caressed Hazy's knees and she kissed her way, slowly, fondly, upward, her lips placing bland kisses from thigh to thigh in a criss-cross pattern, tongue garnishing each kiss with a damp touch, her hands tightening around the broad buttocks as she rose higher, the bold middle finger snugging into the viscid density of anus just as her mouth reached the warm moistness of cunt brandished through its wealth of silken foliage.
"I never thought I'd ever ... kiss a cunt," Pavana said, her eyes closed, her lips opening around the exploratory tip of her tongue tasting into the come-rimed shoal and moving in partial submersion along the span of the slit from its base to the high pink prominence of the clit. Easing her head back, her eyelashes brushing lightly against the silvery-gold nest of curls, she pressed her nose firmly forward and into the groove, the slick labia folding tautly around her nostrils and sealing them shut, shutting off her breathing. She felt Hazy's hands wanter into the waves of dark hair framing her cheeks, her fingers separating to comb back and up through the soft flow and around the back of her skull, pulling her further into the warm liquidity, her nose absorbed completely, and she had a sudden placid, inspired vision of herself gliding smoothly downward through calm pink realms of ocean water toward darker lavender depths, her hair and arms and legs trailing like penants along behind her. Hazy shifted her legs, balancing her weight more firmly, her toes scrabbling and curling on the floor as the nose bobbed within her slot, and she pressed helpfully downward with the lower part of her body, mashing Pavana with mellow softness of cunt and thigh, capturing her buried face between the broad columns of her thighs and thrusting gently against the penetration of her nose, running her fingers up through the softness of her hair and smoothing them down again around the round curving of her head Pavana's tongue, below the infiltration of her nose, moved out between her lips and snaked into the narrow space partitioning the wide back-curving shapes of Hazy's ass cheeks, flickering there, stroking up vinegarish and licorice tastes of asshole, her nose moving, head rocking between the lulling thighs.
Hazy was so weak with passion, and weakening by the moment, that she was certain her legs wouldn't support her for another half-minute. She swayed drunkenly on her feet, riding Pavana's uptilted face, hands shivering up under the loose weight of her own tits to grip and squeeze the sweltering flesh, her mouth erupting with an orgasmic moan. She came suddenly, and dynamically, and the brightness and impact of the orgasm expanded her consciousness with a bursting aurora of vivid pink light, brightening to luminosity as the tremors riddle her cunt all the way down into the cavern of her womb and through her packed viscera, the very hair on her arms and legs seeming to tingle electrically with sensation as her body lifted with the ascent. Her receding cunt freed Pavana's dream-worn face and Pavana slipped back, her buttocks settling on the tops of her heels, her smile other-worldly. Her upper lip was limned with opalescent spittle, her nose agleam, and her cheeks were marked with two thin parentheses of froth where the ovoid clasp of Hazy's labia had left their signature. She touched her fingers lightly to her face, the soft tips scanning delicately over cheeks and nose, then drifting away, and she held the hand out before her, giving it to Hazy, who accepted, kneeling down beside her eagerly to kiss the cool palm and spreading fingers. Their arms twining about each other, they joined their lips together and traded tongues voluptuously back and forth, Pavana's cheeks damply grazing Hazy's with each lingering kiss, their tits squeezed nipple to nipple, their cunts cooking with warmth between their thighs.
"My nerves are singing," Hazy murmured to Pavana, caressing her temples, touching at tangled shards of radiant hair tumbled darkly across her forehead. "Hear 'em?" she asked. "It sounds like a whole chorus doing a medley of love songs ... like every synapse was sending lyrics, turning me into music, uhhhhmmmmmmm...." The sound was a heavy growled sigh of satisfaction, like a lazy lioness in sleep.
"I'm so glad you taught me music appreciation," Pavana whispered, and she raised her face to move it pleasantly against the fingers her stroking her forehead. "I can't get enough of feeling you," she murmured, her mouth roving over the backs of the fingers and the back of the hand to the turning wrist, kissing eloquently.
Firing each other with glances, the mutual caressing contact of lips and hands stroking the flame, they were working into a fevered mood all over again. But the mood was disrupted by the abrupt sound of two firm clear knocks on the door.
Pavana started, her tongue pausing on the edge of Hazy's wrist, eyes widening at the sound, and Hazy glanced idly at the door, letting out a long slow breath. For a moment they were held in suspension, frozen in mid-motion, and then, adjusting, their minds returning to the memory of the man they were expecting, they smiled agreeably at each other, collaborators with a new orientation.
"Room service," Hazy suggested, smirking.
"Uhhmmm," Pavana nodded. "You order anything, Hazy?"
"Dessert," said Hazy, languorously, grinning, and she addressed the door softly, "It's open, come on in."
The man came into the room, pausing inside to shut the door behind him and standing still there to face them across the short distance between them. The confrontation was sudden and direct, his eyes meeting theirs, a crossfire of three stares ensuing-but within moments they were all three smiling faintly, provocatively, smiles that curved their lips like the spacy balm of a barbituate. He was tall, more slender than muscular but with an abundance of hair on his arms and legs and chest that gave him a sensuous physical presence, though his broadening smile evoked a milder image. He was wearing only a pair of orange briefs with a design of dragons rampant, and ready by the look in his eye to commence their activities without delay.
"You the dessert?" Hazy said to him, her tongue flowing up and over her upper lip like a famished wolfs, her eyes feasting on him hungrily.
"No, m'am, the main course," he rejoined, grinning, "but I'll be anything you want if you treat me right-strawberry shortcake, mulberry longcake, cherries jubilee, berries bicentennial, baked Alaska, cold Hawaii, a chocolate-covered frozen banana, sherbet, pie, apple pan dowdy, apple slump or crowdy, or just plain old Sweets Galore. Reet?"
Hazy and Pavana both be into laughter, too mellowed by now to resist a little weirdness. But they did not get carried away with the laughter: a sidelong glance from Hazy to Pavana, both nodding as their eyes met, precipitated the opening move: they moved on hands and knees, low and slinking like prowling cats, toward him, writhing up around his legs with coiling arms and bright eyes, their hands gliding over his hips and up along his waist and down, their fingers catching between his briefs and midriff and turning the fabric inside out as they rolled the briefs down, uncovering a phallus in semi-erect state, rigidly dropping.
Hazy had her mouth around it first, Pavana an instant behind her settling for the balls pouched down below. Hazy licked up along the inclined back of the cock all the way to its end, curling her tongue deftly down under and doubling back, the wet trailing touch burning energy into the flesh Pavana licking his balls with feathery touches of her generous tongue. The sides of their heads bumped softly, pressing against each other as their mouths moved over him, and they stopped momentarily, glancing at each other and up at him.
"Skeet!" he cried, his hands grabbing down around their heads to give them encouragement. He pulled them gently toward his body, his cock lifting now and swaying bulkily between their faces, from Hazy's mouth to Pavana's, and this time it was Pavana who claimed it, tucking her tongue skillfully along its underside and stretching her upper lip far back along its upper length and drawing it deeply into her mouth and into her throat, holding it there. Her mouth impaled on cock, her eyes opened to Hazy smiling back at her, and Pavana returned the smile with her eyes.
"Suck," advised Hazy, and to instigate her she began kissing her, blanketing her face with brief kisses, a flurry of them on her eyes and nose before progressing down to the cock hugely expanding Pavana's mouth. Her tongue traced the outline of Pavana's upper lip furled tightly over the width of cock, bringing soft moans from both her and him. "Suck," Hazy whispered again, her breath on Pavana's narrowly opened eyes, and Pavana nodded with a moan, shifting the cock downward with the motion, then slid her mouth back along it, sucking, her face blank with joy in withdrawal, brightening with a glow as she advanced again. As she suckled it her hands found Hazy's tits and her fingers snared the nipples in rough pinching caresses, Hazy's hands catching and cupping the sway of Pavana's tits and caressing them. With a groan, watching them, the man began to fuck Pavana in the mouth, the hard shaft moving in and out between her compliant lips, her tongue meeting it with each stroke. He could sense at length the tidal rumble of sperm in the tautness of his balls and paused, the cock pulsing against Pavana's tongue, her hands reaching from Hazy's tits to his hips, fingers tightening, urging him.
"No hurry," he told her, and when he was ready again began pumping her again, his cock moving back and forth within the expansion and contraction of her encompassing mouth.
"Seconds," Hazy said after a minute or two, content no longer to watch. Her hands closed around Pavana's cheeks, softly hollowed with the intensity of her suction, and she helped her draw her mouth back to release the rod, lowering her own mouth to take it in.
The man smiled down at them, thrusting his cock more aggressively into Hazy's mouth than he had into Pavana's, enjoying the immediate contrast of Hazy's more predatory technique as her suckling struck moist sparks of sucking sound from his throbbing shaft. His hand turned around her face and he angled himself into her mouth more efficiently, turning her so that the movement of his hips and the motion of her head coincided rhythmically, the velocity of his motion increasing considerably, her mouth speeding faster along and back from his cock. His other hand sought Pavana, the touch of his fingers on her upper arm bidding her to do something, anything, to add to their pleasure, and she nodded with a smile, understanding, considering her options for only a few seconds before acting. She crouched down behind Hazy, her face so low her cheek stirred the rug, the breath from her mouth sifted against the cream and rose-hued sole of one of Hazy's feet tucked under her ass. Her tongue extended, touching the concave line of toes, bloodless with the weight of her body on her foot, and she licked her way along the sole and along the softening curve of the foot over to the ruddy roundness of the heel, sliding the pinkness of her tongue between the dark rose of the heel and the pale white of the ass cheek pillowed on it. Hazy shuddered delectably with the touch of the tongue on her ass, the cock churning her lips in a blurry haze, her mouth filling with a lather of spit, sucking harder and harder. Behind her the flat of Pavana's tongue, like a wet pain brush, moved to the small of her back and straight up along the curve of her spine, arousing interna chills of sensation, the hair prickling on her nape the cock a heated bulk spilling in and out of her salivating mouth. Her shoulders twisted as the tongue rose between the wing-like blades and onto the back of her neck, Pavana's hands reaching around her sides to firm her hot tits, strumming the nipples, and she reached back blindly, fumbling with her hand to search beneath Pavana's skirt and cast her fingers into the warmly irrigated slit of her pussy, delving them all the way inside, all four of them, and paddling them excitedly, sucking the cock with the same rhythm, Pavana's tongue investigating her ear now, tasting the shiny inner surface with its faint amber spice of wax. Then both women weTe at the cock, Pavana pushing the hot hub of her cheek into conjuncture with Hazy's, fondling her tits more tenderly as the fingers stroked more evenly in the liquid silk of her snatch. An orgasm shook her body, twisting her cunt against the delicate fingers. Shivering with subsidiary bursts of pleasure, she began to kiss Hazy's forehead, blazoned with sweat, skimming the full droplets with her tongue, her taste buds overwhelmed by the sourish elegant taste. Hazy's eyes opened, turning and trying to focus, her suckling continuous. Pavana's tongue, desiring more flavor, tripped down along between the dazed eyes and onto the upper lip, feasting on the sheen of sweat there, then moving back to the dangling balls again, having come full circle. With Hazy suckling and Pavana licking, the man felt a rush of weakening sensation overtake him, felt his cock surge and pound with a premonitory energy, the come boiling in his balls.
Hazy, sensing it, expelled his cock without a second thought, grinning like a strumpet. triumphantly. "Love the taste of your cock," she said, "but we can't quit yet, weirdo, not until you've fucked us both, reet?" She smiled up at the man, his eyes glaring back at her, his empurpled cock head trailing a glutinous banner of blended saliva and cock juice. Pleasantly stunned by the sight, Pavana reached for the wavering cock, but Hazy urged her away, pointing at its visible turbulent throbbing. 'Wait till the fury of the storm passes-he'd come if you touched him with your little finger," she smiled, her face patched with scintillas of light where Pavana's tongue had touched her.
Pavana nodded and watched the tremoring of the cock abate, getting a weak nod from him when he was ready; then she moved herself sideways and down in the posture of a limbo dancer, opening her mouth wide while he dipped the liquid streamer from the tip of his cock onto her tongue, swallowing with pleasure.
"Aperitif," she said, and turned to kiss Hazy. "Love you, teacher," she said softly with her tongue in Hazy's mouth, tasting the roof of her mouth, their long lashes fluttering in convergence. Hazy closed her eyes, nursing her imagination with the kiss, her hands filling with the ripe swelling of Pavana's tits. She felt as if she were kneeling in a nimbus of purple light that seemed to well up from the floor, her body bathed completely in its powdery violet illumination, her blonde hair fired with purple, her face ashen and magenta like a surrealistic photo negative. She felt something, remotely, somewhere back in the world, and drew back lightly from the kiss, opening her eyes to see Pavana looking intently past her at something apparently significant. She felt the hot thickness of cock upended against the slim escarpment of her back.
"May I have this dance?" a voice said into her ear, followed by the merest delicate contact of the tip of a tongue, the touch almost indistinguishable at first to her senses but growing quickly in palpability as the tongue crept into the interior labyrinth of her ear, licking the fresh gloss and setting her nerves to humming.
"Oh, yeah," she said warmly, smiling at Pavana as she spoke, nodding with equanimity, "any old kind of dance you want-hornpipe, fandango, waltz, foxtrot, cakewalk, gavotte, bunnyhop ... or pavane...." She turned her head back over one shoulder as she finished speaking, her eyes squinting with torpid complaisance at his face perhaps an inch from hers. His mouth touched her lids, which she closed for him, and he caught the curving lashes between his unparted lips, moving his mouth from side to side against their fluttery movement. "Nice," she said in a sigh, opening her eyes again when he paused, this time seeing Pavana's face beside his, joining them. "Suck my tits," she suggested, smiling at them both, her hands reaching out to grasp one of his hands and one of Pavana's, pulling them to her with interlaced fingers, her grip tightening, pushing her tits up toward their respective mouths. Their mouths moved around the straining hardness of the nipples on the peaks of her tits, sucking heat into her flesh, priming her desire, translating her mind to fog while her body began to simmer with sensation. Her cunt began to warm like the embers of a spent fire fanned by sudden breezes, their mouths stroking her. "Oh, it's ... too much," she moaned, exhaling a gasp, her narrow shoulders pitching back to bring her torso erect and her breasts firm against the wet flatness of their tongues. She held their hands in a palsied embrace, fingers knotted with tension, and veered her body to each side, turning her tits with the shifting of their lips and tongues, feeling her cunt burn with yearning. "Wanttofuckyou," she said to the man, impulse slurring the words, seizing his hand as hard as she could. "C'mon, let's ... please...." Her voice giving in to a heavy sigh, she surrendered Pavana's hand and reached for the phallus jutting up from his body, her fingers winding down around it with their tips touching his balls and his bulbous glans pressing into the heel of her palm. Realigning her grip, she pulled her hand further down along the shaft, closing her fingers around it firmly, the head of his cock rising like a purple crown above the curve of her thumb and forefinger. "Taste?" she offered Pavana, who grinned back at her and over letting Hazy put the projecting head of the cock between her lips. She sucked at it while Hazy held it for her and was compensated by a sudden ooze of elixir that freshened her mouth, and as she pulled away, she parted her lips to let the transparent fluid dribble over Hazy's thumb and the back of her hand, Hazy squeezing the cock to discharge a tiny bit more of the precoital nectar. Hazy lowered her face to kiss the back of her own hand and move her lips to the bright plasm, then glanced up at Pavana and kissed her solidly on the mouth, their tongues warmly mingling.
"Tuck," Hazy said listlessly, turning back to the man, and she released him, spreading her hands down between her thighs and easing herself back, fading slowly back and downward with her hands smoothing up from her thighs to frame the blonde triangle of her fleece, her back and shoulders easing to the floor. She straightened her body, her feet turning outward as her legs stretched and her widening thighs tilted her knees outward, her head resting on the floor.
"Time to sail the salty seas, weird mariner," she said with a short laugh, her fingers pressing into the hedge of flaxen curls camouflaging her cunt and smoothing back the corrugated labial fringes against the soft hair to give him a look into the rose bright and coral pale niche. "Don't wait too long," she said imploringly, and her fingers stroked the lips gently until a glimmering of come appeared, her smile enraptured, as she watched his aroused expression.
He moved into the broad aisle formed by her widespread legs, Pavana directly behind him, his cock seeking the invitation of Hazy's body, his hands moving over her sleekly curvaceous hips, and she held herself open for him, readying her senses for the implosive entry, her teeth gleaming brightly through lips twisted into a wild smile. Their eyes met with the first hot touch of his cock at the portal of her vagina and he smiled back down at her, thrusting himself into her, both of them moaning as his shaft invested her channel with its thick heat, the lubricating cunt walls clutching along its length. The head of his cock nudged her cervix, touching bottom, and she experienced a sudden paroxysm of unmitigated sybaritic pleasure, her vision blurring, lips twisting, head tossing to one side, her breath whistling through clenched teeth. "Oh, please, yes!" she cried, and she raised herself to him, her arms clinging around his back, her calves enclosing him as she pulled her legs around his body and pushed her hips up against his.
"Go, go, go," she chanted, and clung to him with lethargic tenacity like a lazy old sloth hanging onto a tree limb, consciously holding back her own movements, wanting him to get it started. In the meantime she could feel Pavana's hand groping desirously at the damp juncture of cock and cunt below their merged bellies, her other hand caressing a leg curled tip across his back.
"Oh, so, nice" Hazy murmured, exhaling deeply to slacken the pressure between her body and the man's, her belly flexing just enough as the breath ebbed from her to permit Pavana's hand to slip up and touch her navel. She inhaled, then, deeply, pinning the itinerant hand between them, grinning, completely preoccupied with a mounting awareness of incipient pleasures, her mind casting up fleeting images of fanfare and flying colors, blizzards of confetti, calico songbirds flying through translucent rainbows.
Looking down at Hazy past the man half-slumped over her, seeing her features now accentuated with the tight bestial smile of a slumbering lynx in its lair after a quick kill and warm feast, Pavana felt a swiftly jealous urge to be in her place, to be, at least, a more integral part of the action. It was not enough to be a choreographer, an assistant, an attendant, a voyeur. She moved, guided by impulse, around the man, to a position beside Hazy's head, and she straddled her face without a word of warning, feeding on impulse now like a predator on carrion. Her knees turned at angles outward from her body, her cunt opening, the oiled interior embracing the fullness of Hazy's lips, which opened to let her tongue spear neatly upward, fixing her on its point Pavana groaned thickly, taking up the slack on Hazy's face so she could breathe, and use her tongue, and the next thing she knew her own tongue was at the lips of the man facing her, his cock beginning to move in and out, with tantalizing slowness, of the brimming gully of Hazy's sex.
The man's mouth opened with a gasp to receive Pavana's kiss, his tongue teasing hers into his mouth, suckling it, and the exquisite tension of their kiss made him move his cock harder and faster in Hazy's gripping puss, which touched off a maddening viper-ish flickering of Hazy's tongue in Pavana's cunt, the three of them suddenly soaring into states of hyper-physical sensation together, tongue to cunt, cock to cunt, mouth to mouth. Their measured motion kept them moving like a well-oiled, efficient, soft, sensual machine. Hazy's thoughts melted, turning to bursts; of celestial light in her mind, and she seemed to become a mere psychic extension of her lashing tongue and pulsating cunt, almost disembodied with a sense of compulsive enjoyment, bucking her hips to oscillate her pelvis and rolling her face within the wet heat of Pavana's pussy.
Lurching and swaying from the impact of two tongues, the man's in her mouth, and Hazy's in the lush casement of her vulva, Pavana reached down excitedly with one hand to turn her fingers around the shaft dredging in and out of Hazy's puss, wanting to feel as much as she possibly could. Her hand fumbled at the thick rod anointed with Hazy's spunk, touching briefly at the top of Hazy's slit, a sensation like groping for a tadpole in a streamlet.
Moving in unison, with each other's cooperation and inspiration, they seemed to almost leisurely flow together with a kind of hot imperative grace of motion, all giving and taking in equal measure, fucking and kissing, and tonguing each other with regard only for their partners each knowing, or perhaps only sensing, that pleasure would beget pleasure. Time slipped out of focus. Their eyes shut, they ascended simultaneously through their skins and flew together, faster, faster, higher, up, gliding amid sonorous and somnolent spaces of the mind and unmoored body. Fucking. Kissing. Hearing only the threshing of tongue in cunt and tongues softly fencing and palpitating cock flashing in and out of seething cunt.
Then for all three of them it was like a trip through the Milky Way in a runway roller coaster with the winds and mists of space burning their bodies and blinding their eyes. Pavana's orgasm took her with nerve-shattering force, and with a grunt she fairly came, pressing her ass down on Hazy's head and lifting herself lightly on the soles of her feet as her pussy sluiced a warm vaginal broth into Hazy's ardent mouth, the action triggering Hazy's orgasm, causing her to writhe on the floor, stiffening her legs, and causing her puss to convulse, the adhesive walls of her channel pulling and suckling and setting the engulfed cock off, bolts of hot come jetting into the receptacle of her womb. She emitted a sob, her tongue skidding in Pavana's briny splay, the sexual taste of the sea flavoring her mouth, a thin wash of fluid running into her nose, her cunt singing with sensation.
Time passed. Seconds limped past the dazed and sprawled bacchantes, Pavana huddled on Hazy's face with spread thighs, the man sloped sluggishly forward between her full breasts, his lips fastened obstinately on a taut nipple, Hazy submerged beneath the weight of both their bodies. A minute passed before there was movement, and then like the victims of an explosion they each began to stir, to murmur silently, to slowly detach themselves from one another, feeling about themselves and looking slowly, and with transfixed smiles, at each other.
Hazy was the first to find her voice. "I feel," she said, grinning at the man, and turning to wink with whimsical lubricity at Pavana, "like an elephant stubbed his toe on my labia majora...."
"Yeah, and I feel like the gray oaf," the man said, nodding confirmation. He looked with a vaguely startled expression down at his fading penis, temporarily immobilized but still damp with both their spendings, pearly rills swirled around its length.
"Poor boy," said Pavana with an arch smile, and took the flaccid staff in her hand to knead it gently, a last pearl of sperm draining from the tiny lips at the ministration of her touch. "Mmmmmmmmm," she said, and bent down to squeeze it onto her nose. "Aren't we nice?" she asked Hazy.
"Sugar and spice, love," Hazy averred, and touched the sequin of sperm with the flat top of her tongue, blotting it up, and turning back to kiss the man very lightly, with an incontinent little chuckle, "Taste good?" she wanted to know, her features poised somewhere between an iniquitous and an innocuous expression.
"You taste good," the man said. One of his hands moved down into the rich melange of her pudding soft cunt, the fingers stroking in the veils of come there, causing her to grit her teeth pleasurably and expel a hissing breath, sweetly trembled by his touch.
"The headwaters of the Nile have nothing on my cunny," Hazy remarked, her eyes smiling as she looked from the man to Pavana. "Or, for that matter, the Amazon, the Blue Danube, the mighty Mississippi, or just any old river feeding off the waste of a perfume factory and filled with dirty pink crawlies that melt like smelt in a lecher's mouth."
The man gave her a strange look. "That's kind of rococo, no?"
"So?"
Pavana said, in a more serious tone, "I guess ... I won't get fucked now."
"Not for a time," the man ascertained, consulting his phallus, "yes, I should say not for a bit of time yet."
"Not that I didn't get my share," Pavana said, glancing at Hazy with a soft smile. "Your tongue is...." She hesitated, closing her eyes for a moment in contemplation, but when a sufficiently flattering metaphor eluded her, exlcaimed, "It's the cat's pajamas, Hazy!"
"And that cozy warm grotto where I was spelunking is the dog's silk hat," the man added, with an emphatic nod.
"Are these compliments?" Hazy asked, feigning a sullen look but smiling quickly again as she met Pavana's eyes. "I'm glad you liked it, honey," she said. "Told you to give it a try, didn't I?"
Pavana nodded, staring at her with warmth. "Yeah...."
An easy silence intervened, accented by a salacious exchange of smiles all around, then Hazy moved nearer Pavana, drawing herself up against the front of her body, cuddling herself into her arms and resting the side of her face against the upper slope of a breast inside the open shirt, holding her with her arms around her torso and her hands clutched up around her shoulders. "Pretty, pretty girl," Hazy whispered, the movement of her lips sketching each syllable on the supersensitive surface of Pavana's breast.
Pavana held her, beaming, inhaling the fragrance of her sweat-dampened hair, a humid, summery smell. She was about to kiss her on the forehead a gesture of affection when the phone rang suddenly again.
"Could be our agent," the man quipped, after a second ring, then picked up the receiver and said into the mouthpiece, "Yeah, Icarus, Icarus, and Icarus-flights of fancy our speciality. Who's calling?"
"Another call, wow," Hazy mused, shaking her head lightly against Pavana's breast. "This is some room."
"Might be a contest this time," Pavana said, watching the man listening to whoever was on the other end of the line. "Somebody calling to ask which perversion we're practicing."
"Pullin' taffy," Hazy smiled, shaking her head again on the cushion of Pavana's tit. "Wickedest weird pasttime in the candy pantry."
The man listened attentively to the caller for a minute or so, saying nothing himself, then nodded, muttering a brief, "Yeah, okay, thanks," and hung up. He looked at Hazy and Pavana and said, "Like cake?"
"Cake?" they asked simultaneously.
"Yeah, the pastry chef has a cake. Chef d'oeuvre, he called it. Something to share with a lady or two. He says. No guys." He frowned in annoyance at the thought. "Says if anybody here-ladies, that is-would like to please the ghost of Marie Antoinette, make haste to the larder."
"You suppose it's lewder in the larder?" Hazy asked Pavana, looking up at her.
"It's like room service in Teverse," said Pavana, enjoying the novel idea. She smiled. "You like cake, Hazy?"
"Chocolate or white?"
"Didn't say," the man said, shrugging.
"Doesn't, I suppose, really matter. I do like cake."
"Well, then, I say, let 'em eat cake," said the man, to himself, and he gave a sigh. He stood up, then bent down to kiss Pavana on the mouth and Hazy just below the curve of her lower lip. "Let 'em eat cake," he said again, and was gone through the door without even glancing back to see their lackadaisical smiles.
CHAPTER NINE
Hera, in her curiosity, exploring the house by herself, had wandered into the kitchen, a realm of pale white walls and shiny sterile surfaces, brightly lighted, that dazzled her eyes after the candle light she had gotten used to. It was a large square white room with three big refrigerators standing against one wall, two stoves against a third, the other two being festooned with a vast miscellany of colanders, pots, pans, tureens, kettles, and various serving and cooking utensils. There was a large working table in the center of the room at which a cook, in the crisp starched white uniform of a cook, complete with puffed white hat, stood squeezing from a frosting tube a final pink rosette upon the top of an enormous white cake, perhaps three feet tall, consisting of six layers supported by Doric pillars, and ornamented overall with pale pink roses and green frosting leaves. On the summit of the cake, under a silver latticed wooden arch, where customarily a bride and groom stand side by side, a naked pink candy lady on her back was being sweetly fucked by a naked pink lover, their tiny, silver candied eyes and scarlet etched mouths expressing ineffable pleasure.
"What a fantastic cake," Hera said, approaching the cook so quietly from behind that her voice took him by surprise, and he turned abruptly in the middle of his work, nearly disfiguring the last rose.
"Ahhh," he said, reflexively, his gaze drawn immediately to the superb naked beauty of her body, then up to her splendid dark face, her friendly smile provoking a smile from him.
"What an incredible cake," Her said again. "You must be the cook."
"The cook, of course." He nodded. "The cook."
"Stuck in here working," Hera noted, and shook her head sympathetically. "While everyone plays? That doesn't seem right."
"No." Her beauty was like a magnet holding his gaze. "Are you...." He cleared his throat, smiling hopefully, "from the room? The room I just called?"
"Room?" Hera shrugged. "What room? What do you mean?"
"You're not!" he exclaimed, looking disappointed.
"Not what?" Hera gave him a searching look. "Not from where? What room?" But she seemed less interested in his answer than in the cake, which she moved a bit to one side to see better. "You're a pretty handy man with a frosting bellows," she told him, looking at the tube he held.
"Yes."
She smiled at him with sudden warmth, her jet dark eyes nearly as bright as the crystal glare of her earrings, and said, after interminable seconds, "Would you like to decorate me?"
"More than any cake in Christendom," the cook replied, and threw back his shoulders, flourishing his frosting tube as if it were a rapier and he D'Artagnan.
"Still have some frosting in that thing?"
"And more, my dear, more, more," he nodded, pointing to five more tubes on a pantry shelf nearby, tiny pips of different colored frosting at the nozzle of each-rose, green, violet, white, and sky blue.
Hera went to the table, sat lightly upon its edge, then lifted herself back, swinging her legs up, and stretched herself out on one side of it beside the cake, raising her knees partially and bracing the soles of her feet on the end of the table, her toes curling down over the wood. The cake towered above her head, so close that a few dark strands uncoiling from the obsidian mass of her hair brushed against the side of it, scraping off some sticky curds of frosting.
"Try the pink first," she instructed, putting her forefiingers on the rims of her labia and prying open the pink gash of her cunt, staring back up at the cook behind her. "Fill me with pink," she trilled.
The cook did not have to be urged. Facing Hera's legs, leaning down and forward with the tube in one hand, he eased a forefinger into the moist crevice between Hera's two fingers, sliding it deep before removing it to inspect the viscous sheen it had acquired. He tasted it, licked his lips, and closed his eyes, smiling rhapsodically.
"Taste," Hera requested, looking at him with her upside down face, eager to share. "Ah, of course," he said. "A bit of cream." And he twirled his finger again in Hera's cunt, swirling it around and around like a spoon in a frosting bowl until she cried out, a whimpering sound that propelled her tongue out between her gleaming teeth. The cook, removing his fingers from her sex, laid it lengthwise upon her waiting tongue, and she trimmed off the flavorful spunk, her eyelids shuttered and quivering lightly as she relished the warm sweet taste.
"I do taste good," she said, as if to herself, opening her eyes again.
The cook nodded. Then, with the serious look of a man at work, he eased the tip of the frosting tube between the adhesive walls of Hera's vagina, inserting it more than halfway, and squeezing it, not very delicately, so that a tendril of frosting gushed into her cunt, moist wreaths of it spritzing back out around the splay of both labia.
"Ummmmm," he said, smacking his lips, and nibbled up the ribbons of frosting, kissing the raggedy edges of her labia and licking up the surgary taste from within the pink slick gap.
"Oh, that feels ... really-fine," Hera said, plucking at his sleeve, grabbing the arm that held the frosting tube. He turned and looked down at her and she smiled and pressed her shoulders back hard upon the table, arching her back up and straining her small breasts into dramatic prominence. He got the idea and wielded the tube skillfully, in a fluid motion, ringing the areola of the nearest peaked nipple with a circle of frosting, pink outlining the darker maroon, and dabbing a decimal of frosting on the stiff nub itself. She laughed amiably at the sight of his mouth still cloated with frosting and crossed her arms around his neck, lowering his face to hers, her mouth opening wide around his thinly pressed lips between which her tongue insinuated itself to greet his while the warmth of her lips melted the frosting in the fusion of the kiss. His free hand, assisted by one of hers, returned to the saccharine sanctum between her thighs, and he had enough clarity of mind to lay the frosting tube on her midriff so he could unbuckle his belt. His white trousers fell about his ankles and he crouched in an ungainly posture, kissing her still and rolling his fingers in the sweet kiln of her pussy, hurriedly untying his shoes, removing them, and shaking free the trousers as she invaded his shorts with one hand and unhitched the thick staff of his phallus. He rose and clambered up on the table, his huge hat flopping down from his head, his cock smacking her face as he arranged himself looking down toward her feet, and he reached for the tube he'd left on her body, but realized it was gone as he saw it appear in Hera's hands between her own legs, the slick vise of her cunt taking it in at the same time her mouth twisted around the head of his cock. He began to ease himself in and out of her mouth to the accompaniment of her swishing tongue, watching as she pumped the tube in and out of her sex, not squeezing frosting from it, just masturbating with it.
Such was the exhibition awaiting Hazy and Pavana as they entered the kitchen. They stood watching silently, holding hands, unnoticed by the two reveling patissiers. Then, spying the extra tubes of frosting on the pantry shelf, Hazy led Pavana to them, Pavana sensing her intention, and they each selected a tube, Hazy choosing the violet, Pavana the green. Smiling, tubes held like sweet stilettos in their ready hands, they moved toward the table, Hazy stippling a garland of violet around the circular span of Hera's undecorated tit, Pavana looping a green circle around the narrow frame of her face, pricking the tip of her nose with green. In her astonishment, Hera reacted by jerking one hand brusquely outward, it crashed into the bottom of the cake beside her, and she let the cock go from her mouth, half-rising and turning, clutching a handful of frosting. She saw Pavana and her astonishment faded into a smile, which abruptly turned fanciful and capricious. She slapped her frosting encrusted hand against Pavana's skirt, spattering it with white dollops, causing Pavana to surge toward her with a vengeful grin, tranquilizing her with a kiss while she spangled her black hair with green glittering stripes. The cook, kneeling above the kissing woman, reached for Hazy, and caught her by the shoulder, pulling her in the direction of his abandoned cock, and she let herself be forced gently, slipping her tongue along its bottom-but devoting only half of her attention to him: with the other half she extracted the frosting tube Hera had left impaled in her cunt, replacing it with the one she held, and squeezed a thick burst of violet frosting into Hera. Trembling with a moan, Hera struck the cake again with her hand, and this time it toppled across the cook's back, deluging him and Hera, the top layer pitching over shoulders. With a merry laugh, Hazy dove between Hera and the cook, stretching herself out on the table and thrashing her face in the debris of cake beyond them. Pavana, delving her hands into the white ruins, spread them back over her tits and the open halves of her shirt, removing the shirt, then her skirt, and mounted the table to join in. Together, turning upon and against one another, the four twisted on the table, their arms circling and embracing, legs in turmoil, mouths seeking whatever their could find, tongues careening against frosting molded bodies, tits, hips, flashing cock, gilded twists and locks of hair.
Hazy, getting ahold of the cook's cock, took it into her mouth, Pavana and Hera kissing beside them, their tongues tingling with the taste of sucrose, their narrowed eyes shifting sideways to see the big cock near their cheeks. Turning, they rained kisses on Hazy's avoid face, flicking up crumbs of cake and slivers of frosting from her cheeks and chin and nose and fringed lashes, licking into the clotted bangs of her blonde hair and trimming the shell-like inner contours of her ears, caressing her shoulders and throat and the cook's buttocks as he, stimulated by their touch, which grew continually more unrestrained, marauded Hazy's obliging mouth with his cock, her tongue undulating with singular versatility all around its underside. Mesmerized no less by the graceful strokings of her own tongue than by the smooth, regular strokes of the cock in her mouth, and the frosting smudges hands gliding about her shoulders and throat, touching, brushing, ornamenting her with violent and rose and green and white dabs and morsels of frosting and cake, Hazy knelt forward to take the cock deeper, lining herself up so that she was kneeling with her head pressed almost against the cook's belly. He saw what she was doing, and with a backward twist of his shoulders, and by rising onto the points of his knees opposite her, he arched himself more fully up into her mouth. His cock passed in and out along the velvety pad of her tongue, the head massaging the roof of her mouth, the moist gleam of the accouplement like the light struck from gems, he moaning now, Hazy's mouth sipping audibly, drawing moans from him, and she could feel the throbbing of his cock upon her tongue, presaging the rush of semen, and the rich taste of it.
"Oh, come," she pleaded, her voice hoarse with desire, her mind narcotized by need, tits swaying in a dipping rhythm as her lips and tongue built his desire to a soaring peak. Hera's lips opened around the nipple of one of her breasts, Pavana's mouth grazing along her nape, and she felt four arms around her waisit, hands upon her tits beside the delicate pressure of Hera's mouth and chin, then more hands, the cook's, fingers prodding at the tightened dent of her asshole. She relaxed her muscles, slackening her posture, and a single finger caressed her asshole, turning in the resilient nook, another rolling her clitoris in the fluid issuing from her cunt.
Hazy, sensing an impending orgasm, evinced a small jubilant cry, and let it flow, slowly, slowly, but with quickening sentience and sensuality, through her body and into her mind and back through her mind into her flesh again, her senses all quickened and quickening, the orgasm flowing, flowering, growing, seeming to pull her essence from her body as it inundated her mind-then she was coming as passionately and powerfully as ever she had, ever before, the orgasm accelerating into another, greater one, then another, faster, and another that exorcised all coherent thought from her mind and polarized her nervous system. Coming, superlatively coming, she tossed her arms out and steadied herself against Hera's shoulder and the top of the table, her tongue sweeping from the underside of the cook's cock up along its top as she yearned to bring him off with her, the pliable touch of it washing the full length and surface of his cock in a series of soft arabesques. Then, just as her climax was reaching its zenith, she reached with one hand to close the base of his cock between her thumb and forefinger, tightening her hold, and began to pump the cock into her mouth, terminating the motion of her tongue, using her fingers instead. The sperm leaped from the cock in thick spurts, splashing over her lips and chin, and she turned her face when the first two jets had hit her, the third bursting across one of her breasts, her mouth finding Hera's and giving her a share of the taste as the cock spent a fourth time, across Hera's left shoulder, and once more, across her right shoulder, her body twisting in Hazy's embrace. Their tongues thrashed together, in competition for the taste, their fingers clasping, breasts rubbing together. Hazily, Hazy opened her eyes and saw Pavana kissing Hera's shoulder where a pearly rivulet of sperm ran down into the crease of her armpit, and she slid her fingers into Pavana's hair, threading crumbs from its flow to spill down her sweat-brightened back.
"Pavana," Hazy whispered, the sound of the name an incantation that aroused Pavana to incant her name in turn, and when they had both spoken they turned to Hera and drifted their hands over her shoulders, kneading the flesh until it gleamed with the oily sheen of sperm.
The cook was the first of the group to fully recover, and he looked quietly at the shambles, the women sprawled in the wreckage of the pastry, and smile slowly, approvingly.
"Good cake," said Hazy, nonchalantly, anticipating his remark.
Diana, after leaving the DREAM room, decided to investigate the house more thoroughly by herself. Anton, Richard, and Tracy had all still been dreaming when she awoke, deliriously fatigued by her fantasties, and she had thought about waiting for them, since she didn't want them to think she was deserting them, but not knowing how long she might have to wait for them to waken had made her restless and finally, impatient, so she had left Tracy a note telling her she would be somewhere in transit in the house, and waiting for them to find her.
And she had gone exploring.
On her way down the stairs, Diana saw someone at the bottom starting up. She realized, as the woman looked up and met her eyes, that it was Hazy and Hazy recognized her in the same moment, both of them smiling, glad to see each other.
"Diana!" Hazy cried, and waved. Diana pushed with one hand on the banister while Hazy hurried up the steps toward her, and they embraced, lips meeting in a light kiss. Their bodies intersecting, Diana's legs brushed against Hazy's, their breasts warmly touching, and the sweaty, sticky contact of Hazy's flesh, gauded with frosting and clinging bits of cake, made her wince and pull away.
"Hazy!" Diana said. "What the-!?" She stepped back, looking her up and down. "What is this?"
"Cake," Hazy grinned. "It wasn't my size so I left it on the rack."
"Cake? My God, you've been tucking in a bakery!"
"In the kitchen. I left when they were getting the Baked Alaska ready." .
Diana shook her head, frowning, imitating a scandalized expression, but in the next moment she was smiling again, then laughing, still shaking her head.
"You are an absolute mess, Hazy!" she said. "You know what you need, don't you?"
"'Course."
"You need a nice bath, Haze." She smiled, giving it some thought. "And, come to think of it, I could use a bit of the same, too."
"There's a bathroom on the next floor down," Hazy told her. "Maybe we should give it a try. I guess I am a little funky." She looked at a long streak of violet on one of her wrists, frowning considerately.
"That's the ticket, Haze," Diana nodded, and she started down the stairs, taking Hazy's hand and leading her along. In the hallway Hazy pointed out the bathroom and they went inside, Diana locking the door behind them.
The room was decorated with pink-and plum-colored tiles, softly lighted by a brushed aluminum spot lamp set in the ceiling at an angle that beamed its light on the huge round pink tub against one wall. There were golden wire racks full of large green and black and purple and yellow beach towels and wash cloths. Diana opened a wall cabinet and found an exceptional assortment of herbal soaps, bath powders, perfumes and colognes, cosmetics, brushes and combs, and related items.
"Gotta go," said Hazy, and she sat on the toilet seat, primly, her heels lifted from the floor, voiding her bladder as Diana bent to her and kissed a smudge of frosting twisted in her bangs. When she was through, she flushed the toilet and helped Diana adjust the flow of water into the tub, both of them standing back as the tub slowly filled.
"Been having fun?" Diana asked Hazy, stroking the tan slope of one of her shoulders smoothly with her long cool fingers. "Isn't this the kinkiest blast you've ever been to, Haze?" She smiled, giving her head a little shake. " I wonder which of us has had the weirdest experiences so far."
"It's okay," Hazy said. "Once in a red moon. As a steady diet, I don't know. You can't spread yourself this thin too often, you know, don't you, babe?" She looked into Diana's eyes, waiting for an answer.
"Yeah, sure," Diana nodded, seeming distracted, then she stepped into the tub while the water was only ankle deep so she'd have time to get used to the hot water, and Hazy followed her. It was a huge tub, large enough for three, and they settled back, facing each other, the rising water sloshing up around their waists as they shifted from side to side, finding positions of optimum comfort in relation to each other. Diana let her legs fan out, enclosing Hazy's legs, lifting both feet from the hot roiling water to press her soft wet soles against the outer sides of Hazy's tits, her big toes prodding the crinkled nipples already beaded with crystals of water, and she slid lower in the tub, feeling a warm toe twist through the swirls of her pubic floss under the water to open the sleek crease of her cunny and push inside. Diana slid lower in the tub, her chin dipping to the level of the rising water. Disintegrating fragments of frosting floated on the surface, steam rising hotly from the water, and when Hazy shut the faucet off they both lounged in sluggish respose for a few minutes, their eyes narrowed, teeth bright through lazy smiles.
"Just what the doctor ordered," Hazy said, her lips moving on the water's surface, her tongue tasting the warm water as she spoke.
"Yeah," Diana nodded, her feet padding gently against Hazy's breasts and tipping the nipples above the water, her hands on the ankles between her thighs where Hazy's toe slowly and relentlessly manipulated along the curve of her submerged sex. "Just what the doctor ordered for now. A nice warm rest. 'Cause there's plenty more to do out there, Haze, you know? Plenty. Dawn must be hours away yet...."
Hazy smiled, but didn't reply. The glance she gave her was sufficiently articulate. There was love in it, and friendship, and concern, and desire, longing, and something extremely pensive.
"Will ya scrub my back?" she said after a while, lifting one hand out of the water to drippingly point at a bar of jasmine soap in a silver soap dish set into the tub behind Diana's head.
