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Journey to Sxtlan
by Vivian Darkbloom
Synapse eNth
Knitting my brow, I reflected that the newly awakened inner voice
of prophecy bespoke of but one thing: the grim eventuality of
intractable doom. A gruesome fate awaiting as the consequence of
extremes.
Had I been lukewarm, amid the cushy center of the bloated bulge
in the bell curve, the monstrous chasm would have spit me out.
But no, that path straight along the center failed to show up on
my map. It was the fringe that I chose to walk. The edges of
perception and reality. The hot and cold.
And now that she was back, I knew that it was ready. My mascot,
my emblem, my totem.
"You know," said the older girl, "you could really take
advantage."
"Of what?" I asked.
She gazed skyward with consternation.
It was then that I first heard it, softly beneath us. "Can you
hear that?" I asked.
"Hear what?" she asked, amused.
The poor sweet innocents. No use alarming them -- they would hear
it soon enough. The scraping sound, now barely audible beneath
us. An eldrich horror lurking in the very bedrock of the the
foundation below everything. How foolishly one takes for granted
the seeming solidity of the earth we walk on, that it will not
collapse around you, hurling you down into the terrible darkness
of a deep dusty well to gaze longingly up at a thin shaft of dim
light that the blazing daylight has diminished into. With nothing
left but to wait agonizingly for the devouring worms: gnawing
blind creatures, ceaselessly chewing with razor-sharp incisors
diamond-hardened from the endless crushing of rock, the venomous
prick of their teeth, sharp, slime-covered, mindless, the
relentless degradation of chaos.
Seated beside me now, the younger girl delicately ran the eraser-
end of her drawing pencil along my shaft of light which had
infuriatingly begun to respond to the sight and scent of raw
femininity through the all-too thin cloth covering of my shorts.
Couldn't they understand the desperate seriousness of our
situation? The harrowing consequences on the brink of closing in
around us?
My hummingbird chortled with delight as it straightened. I
cringed.
"Hey now!" cried her older sister. "Stop that! You know," she
said, "What we need for this project is two models. The
combination of gestures and angles can make for a greater variety
in composition."
"Indeed," I replied. "But isn't it you who are studying drawing?"
"I am," she replied, "from a model's perspective. Something you
can do too."
"Me? Why I suppose it could be conceivable," I replied
tentatively as she edged closer. I was still grasping mentally
for what she was getting at, my mind terribly distracted by the
growing sound of that awful scraping inside the very structural
support of the planet below us. Couldn't they hear it?! It must
have been my highly attuned awakening state that enabled my ears
to apprehend it so clearly while these poor naive innocents
basked in the illusory sunlight of blissful ignorance.
"A juxtaposition of lines," she continued, turning to face us,
legs wide. My eye caught on the tangle of blonde where her thighs
met, in contemplation of the moist mysteries concealed.
Perhaps it was because she perceived my perceptual lingering on
this sensitive spot so seldom revealed, that her slender fingers
too found brief dalliance there as she reached down to separate
one or two of the strands that had gotten stuck together.
She emitted a quiet "Ah!" as they were liberated from each other,
the knot untied to let the fullness of sensuality pour forth
unimpeded. A sound that struck a chord up and down my tingling
spine, a power chord from the cosmic electric stratocaster. A
garden, fertile of blossoms springing forth.
And yet beneath it all, the dreadful gnawing of gnashing teeth,
the impending incursion of chaos.
The peril of extremes.
For it must have been my shameless shamanic explorations that had
magnetized the sinister creatures, had drawn them upon us. As I
had seen so clearly in my foolishly disregarded dreams. But how
little had I yet realized at that point, regarding the true
nature of the peril.
My mind snapped back to the physical realm. There before me were
two breasts, nipples pert. Between them, a shroud of alabaster
skin, smooth as porcelain but soft as silky down. The river of
taut skin led down to the lopsided knot of an elegant belly
button. And below that. . .
The tip of my fingernail gently traced along the course of the
river. The stream rippled with tense laughter, belying the
tension as if of a bubble waiting to be pierced, waiting to pop.
"First, you have to take off your shirt. Put your arms up."
"My shirt?" I replied, instinctively obeying, as she lifted the
lower hem.
"That's right," she cooed. "I'm taking an art class. They taught
us all about it."
"Art class," I repeated, my mind adrift from its moorings. Was
she referring to the category of art, as in art which might have
associated with it qualities signifying lesser or greater degrees
of what we might loosely refer to as "class?" Or to a regularly
scheduled gathering during which instruction in art took place?
"I could study art," I concluded.
I felt two tiny hands reaching between the elastic of my shorts
and the skin. From behind, my little companion leaned into me.
Helpless I was, kneeling, my arms bound up in the shirt, twin
bare breasts against my naked chest, and I moved but with
futility to protest the removal of my lower garment. For my
throbbing erection refused to subside, and now the two girls
would be exposed in all their innocence to the shamefully dirty
arrow of dark, raw animal urges.
As the little one behind me was tugging the stretchy ring of
elastic downwards, it caught on the very arrow of which I felt
such terrible shame. And it was at that same moment, while she
was wiggling my shorts to free them of the obstacle, that her
sister before me bumped softly against it, with who-knows-what
portion of her anatomy.
The tension I felt, caught between them, pulled like an elegant
string sculpture, a suspension bridge to beyond imagination.
Then it all broke free. My lips pressed inadvertently a bulging
breast as I felt my shorts drop to reveal the ridiculous rocket,
bouncing ludicrously as it hung between my legs.
"I see," remarked the older girl, simply, as she knelt before me.
"Now stand up so I can get your pants off."
It was at this point that I complied with my part in the bargain,
but not she with hers. For, rather than removing my shorts, she
reached out with her finger to touch the object of her
fascination. The younger one was playing with my testicles,
cradling them in her palm.
"A one-eyed monk. Or a blind worm," said the elder. How close to
the awful truth she had come! But now she leaned forward, and
soon I felt the warmth of her moist oral aperture around me.
Stars exploded before my eyes.
I melted into oblivion of forgetfulness, so intense was the
sensation of her tongue as it sketched lines of ecstasy across my
sensitivity. She took me in as I thrust myself deeper into her,
placing my palms behind her head to force her beautiful face into
my crotch. She made "Mm-ing" sounds of approval, almost gagging
involuntarily but not quite. Her beautiful breasts heaved gently
with the movement.
The little one was still tracing lines in the lower penduluae,
gazing with rapt attention.
Oh, such feelings that stirred inside of me as I forcefully
shoved my shaft into her soft cavity.
Then she backed out, to where it was solely her lips against my
tip. She spoke to her younger sister, holding my shaft like a
lever: "This is our first pose. Get out the pad and draw."
The younger one complied, crawling over, picking up the pad, and
commencing to draw what she saw, with the lines of a six-year-
old.
The older one's hand took the place of the younger beneath and
behind me, with deft swiftness and certainty. She toyed with the
rear opening, re-immersing herself around me. Soon, I could hold
back no longer, but sprayed forth the love welling from within me
into her.
She had sensed what would take place, and had pulled out my wet
sloppiness so that she could joyfully observe the large white
globs of liquid hitting her graceful nose, lips, and breasts.
Then she re-immersed me into her mouth, sucking up the leftovers
with her ever vigilant tongue.
"Here," said the artist, revealing her handiwork, a child's line
drawing of a me with my penis in her sister's mouth as she knelt
before me.
Astonishingly, the straightness of my member refused to subside.
Seeing this, The older girl lay back in the soft grass, pulling
me back down to my knees, and pinching my horn between her
breasts. "OK, here's our second pose," she said.
"Wait --" the artist struggled to fold over the gigantic sheet of
paper for the next piece.
We spent some time in that pose, as I pushed my driving dark
desire into the purity of her beating heart. Our breaths sounded
harshly together, as she reached down to toy with herself. But
that caused one breast to lose support, leaving me halfway in the
cold.
"Hey, sis. Come here."
"What?" Our artist had commenced on her second masterwork, but
she looked up nonetheless.
"Come hold these two together," she gestured to her breasts.
"Um, alright." The little one got up and sat with her panties
pressed up against the top of her sister's blonde head, reaching
out to squeeze the two breasts around me, as the older girl
reached down to finger herself, moaning.
As I gently gyrated back and forth, I found my lips close to the
mouth of my sweet angel. I reached out, puckering slightly, and
she caught my meaning, leaning forward to grant me the dearest of
gentle kisses, as our lips and tongues met with familiar
intimacy.
Momentarily her hands were busy elsewhere, and when they returned
to bracing her sister's breasts around me, I saw that she had
extracted herself from her panties, which now lay in a careless
heap beside her.
I kissed her lips once more, then my mouth traveled downward on
her body, her chest (still shirt-clad), her belly button, until
finally I was facing the beautiful smooth pink juicy folds.
She commenced to pee. She giggled. The older one felt the warm
liquid against the back of her head. "Ugh. Must you pee in my
hair?" She was still frantically fingering herself and moaning,
accelerating the tempo and pitch.
"No," said the younger, jerkily lifting up her pelvis so a burst
of the stream arced momentarily across her sister's face. I felt
the warm drops as they landed on me in the midst of her cleavage.
At that moment, the older girl shuddered with the most profound
orgasm, shoving her hips into the air again and again, face
mussed and smeared with liquids from both of us. Sharing together
our darkest filthy secrets.
As the stream of the younger ceased, I lunged forward and gently
bit the salty folds. Looking up, I could see her expression of
recognition, as her consciousness of things other than my mouth
on her receded, and her eyes closed. I thrust out my tongue,
searching for her tiny button. Her recognition intensified as I
found it, and teased mercilessly.
Now the older had me between her breasts. Now I could see her
evil goal, to have my juices again, this time pressing into her
heartbeat.
There was my fullness, between her mammaries, her sweet
besmirched face gazing up at me with clarity. And each time I
kissed the juicy younger folds, she moaned with intensity. I
could see that it really turned her on.
I figured enough time had gone by since her last orgasm, maybe
the sensitivity had died down enough so I could be inside her. I
lifted up, and shimmied down to where my tip pressed against the
tangle of blonde between her thighs. Rough prickles lashed me
gently, until she guided me to her lair, the sweet cave of soft
mysteries which I had contemplated just recently.
I pushed.
"Oh, yes!" she said. "All the way!"
I thrust the sword to the hilt, then withdrew, again and again
playing her strings with my bow, drawing out the lyrical melody
of pure sexual beauty. My little one had walked on her knees to
follow my mouth downward with her crotch, and she now kneeled
over her supine sibling, my face between her thighs, with her
little flower poised before my lips. Every time I sipped sweetly
from the little one's tender morsels, I could feel her sister
shivering with delight below me, as if it were her that I were
kissing.
Now and then I would kiss the salty lips of the one I was
fucking, so she could taste the juices of her sister's little
vagina on my lips. Then back between the tiny thighs.
So I teased one with the other, and both came nearer and near to
the bursting point. The little one had a few tiny moments of
contraction against my mouth, and then finally I felt the elder
rising in feverish pitch to the pinnacle. I drew her up to it,
then paused only the tip of my sword inside her, maintaining just
enough motion to keep her suspended. She gasped with desperation.
Then I gently kissed the tiny lips as I thrust forward with all
my might. Looking down, I could see her eyes widen with disbelief
at the intensity of the throbbing pulses that surged through her,
as I held myself locked inside her and let go myself.
I felt like a priest gathering my flock, as we crawled over one
by one to collapse together on the soft blanket they had brought.
____________________________________________________________
The memory had nearly lapsed of that terrible gnashing sound, of
hearing the ceaseless gnawing of chaos. What little that
remained, I foolishly shoved from my mind. We lay there, dozing
for some while, until gradually I was awakened by the sound of
slurping.
Gradually through the haze I pieced together where I was, and how
I had gotten there. I looked up to see the older girl still on
her back, the younger one bucking and crying out in passion as
she pressed her crotch into her sister's face. The one on the
bottom had her finger thrust into the younger vagina, and was
playing it to good effect. My hand fell on my own instrument, and
I found it pumped up and ready to join in.
How odd that, before this event, I had felt so lost and
uncertain. Now I knew exactly what I must do. There was no
turning back now. At what point had a whimsical flirtation with
fate metamorphosed into unyielding destiny? Who could say for
sure?
Quietly, I raised up and crawled up to where my prow was ready to
dive into the unoccupied opening. Neither girl seemed to have
noticed my arrival.
Then I plunged into the juicy cavern, feeling my own fluids from
the time before, steeping around me. The other two did not break
rhythm, but their intensified activity reflected awareness of my
entry.
Fore and aft we alternated, the tiny buns I loved so dearly right
before my eyes. I reached down to kiss them several times. Then I
felt knew what must come next. And here is where the terrible
transition took place.
I withdrew, dripping, from my initial conquest, and worked my way
up to where the tip my presence was right between the tiny buns.
The older girl, below, understood my meaning, and withdrew her
finger, taking me between forefinger and thumb, guiding my ship
into the harbor I now sought.
The tip found purchase in its tiny opening, and as my tiny angel
realized what was happening she pushed back towards me as I
pushed myself inside of her. It took several minutes for the
opening to expand sufficiently for my girth, but soon I was able
to thrust myself inwards fully.
It was then that the awful rasping returned full force to my
ears. Yet, remorselessly, I could not find it in my spirit to
withdraw from my current position. The gnashing of teeth grew
louder.
But then, something queer and out of the ordinary took place. It
turned out that the effect of the terrible gnawing was not as
expected -- a collapse into a dark cavern. Indeed, I felt
lighter.
It seemed, rather, that the abscesses directly below us had
actually altered the gravity that held us down to the earth. I
felt a sense of lifting, as we began to drift upward gently, like
a helium balloon adrift of its moorings. Then a little higher,
and more freely as weightlessness set in. Soon we were rising at
a frightening speed, still conjoined with an unswervingly
relentless sexual passion that refused to cease.
Rising on rapidly fluttering wings.
____________________________________________________________
Upwards spinning, we were. With one wing of an angel, the other
of a devil, one in feathery pristine snow white, the other a dark
leathery loathesome fluttering degenerate appendage, seeping with
gruesome slime. One light with the purest radiance of divine
unconditional love, the other driven by insatiable primal animal
urges. Mighty wings beating together in unified opposition.
And which was which? Between good and evil -- the pious purity
with its dark currents of guilt and cruel crusading, the primal
forces being the source of all life.
Like a double helix we spiraled as we climbed, making love on
palpitating cosmic feathery membrane, she and I locked in sweet
penetration through the impenetrable mists of the atmosphere,
veering lecherously to the obscene heights of infinite space
beyond time and galaxy, leering lasciviously like Aqualung,
upward into the perilous justice of impartial eternity. With
naught but each other, and the whispering flutter of susurrous
wings, dragonfly and hummingbird conjoined in hovering ascent,
her clear gemstone eyes locked in loving gaze with mine as the
gauzy shrouds of mist gusted by, cascading like filmy moist veils
of a waterfall as we rose, curling clumps and translucent wisps
forming dreadful wondrous hieroglyphs in eldrich tongues long
forgotten, whose words were the horrible utterances both guttural
and obscene, as we rose together on the mercurial twined
serpents' wings of Hermes' sacred caduceus.
The colors played in phosphorescant rainbow swirls, like animated
tie-tye fluttering psychedelically in the wind, or the opalescent
prismatic unnatural glow of laser disk refractions. A fractalized
full-spectrum Tesla's ladder powered by the electromagnetic
capacitance generated from our spiraling differential of
potential, the antagonistic opposites of every duality known to
the universe, merging with relativistic abandon to join as a coin
the two perpetually acrimonious foes, the spiraling rope ladder
of DNA converting mass into energy, yet an order of magnitude
higher in the concentric rings of power. The cosmic atomic fusion
of spirit with matter, forming from the two halves a perfect
whole: male and female, young and old, good and evil, light and
dark.
Despairingly I gazed up into the cloudy heavens into which we
steadily ascended on beating wings of true and false. How can we
determine with true certainty which side of the coin is which? An
indeterministic flip. For those whom we condemn as terrifying and
evil will condemn us as the same. Both will claim to have God on
our side, but who can prove with irrefutable certainty to know
the will of God? Or even the existence? Were it irrefutable after
all, wouldn't we all by definition agree?
Alone I felt beneath the approaching watery vaporous dust of
destiny, wondering who could hear in such a remote and forlorn
corner of the grandiose galaxy? How could the great and glorious
Supreme Being find time in its hectic day for me on it's calendar
filled with wars and floods and supernovae? How could the great
Preoccupied One possibly make time to hear the pitiful plaintive
cries of such a miniscule insignificant speck such as myself in
the turbulent unending universe of starvation and infectious
decay?
But such loneliness was ameliorated by my loving six-year-old
partner and the shared pleasure of our sex as I felt my sturdy
enormous curving horn in the wet slimy grasp of her filthy
pee-hole, and as I watched her eyes glaze with absorption, so
lost was she in the joy of our fucking.
Our eyes held locked in a pure crystal gaze of sweet and saintly
divinity, cherishing the sanctity of spirits united in love,
while our bodies twined and turned, descending as we rose into
decadent and depraved brutish writhing, sinister liquids oozing
into a horrid unspeakable swamp of craving, as our bodies merged
and parted in savage animalistic lurchings; cavorting in a
perverted seething ancient jerking dance, floundering limbs
wallowing amid the putrid stench. Probing excremental caverns
where lurk nameless horrors so dreadful that even the boldest and
most brave dare not utter slight mention of them in the daylight
of civilized conversation, but only speak of them in hushed
whispers confined to the deepest most secret shadows of night.
Steadily we climbed into the dreamlike starry caverns of infinite
celestial heavens, breaking finally through the mist to rise in
luxurious weightlessness above the great and ponderously spinning
green planet.
What goes up must come down, yet for us there was no fall from
grace. Merely naked loving conjoined weightlessness, rocking with
universal orgasm. As finally her welcoming thin thighs received
between their smooth soft folds to cherish deep within, the
delightful explosion of seed.
How sweet her mouth, pursed in semi-astonished wonder at the
emergence of liquid within her, the buttery, sticky sensation,
and how lovely her rapture as she gazed into the distance unknown
while her pulsating cavern responded in blissful release. And how
sacred our mutual admiration as we dreamily wavered between
wakefulness and the restless tranquil chaos of subconscious
stirrings.
As above, so below, for the stars above found reflection in a
still silent mountain lake of long ago, cold and pure. Hovering
on humming electrofluorescence, like fireflies we played and
wafted drifting in languor on the warm gentle breeze.
Until somehow we found ourselves lying on soft sweet-smelling
gossamer and down in unfamiliar surroundings, warm cozy and
friendly in the colorless shadows of crescent moonlight.
The walls were laid out in stone of unfamiliar origin and
masonry, odd rectangles of cyclopean design, chiseled with weird
writing and terrible reliefs, incoherent yet vaguely meaningful
to some lost distant hoary fragment of my disintegrating
consciousness.
With a yawn and fitful, fully satiated satisfied sigh, she fell
deep into the seductively even breathing of slumber, and though I
felt the pricking of desire to know better this point of arrival
to which we had evidently emerged, I found myself so overcome by
languid indolence that I merely closed my eyes and was soon
transported to the realm of my beloved, the land of shared dreams
and serpentine imaginings.
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