It's Always Time

by Oblimo

  "How did you make me cum like that?" Ursula asked.

  "You came?"

  "Yes," Ursula said, examining the sticky green smears on her quilt, "when you kissed me."

  "Really? Me too!" Ursula heard something slosh and slide about below the bed. "That's the wonder of nanogasms. Don't thank me; thank Dee for those. And no, I'm not going to explain that. Not yet, at least, 'cuz trying to explain it would probably fill a fuckin' book. Anyway, one more question before it’s my turn."

  Ursula held the quilt up and over the side of the bed. "How do I get these stains out?"

  Galatea's head peeked up. "What are you, some sort of Martha Stewart hippie?"

  "I prefer the term 'Bohemian Bourgeoisie'."

  "Fine with me," Galatea said, rising to her full height. "As to your question: I have no idea. I like keepin' Dee too busy to clean up. Now it's my turn, right?"

  Ursula nodded and drew the quilt over her naked form. "Right."

  "Okay." Galatea crossed her arms. "I can’t help but notice you haven't asked me my name, or what I am, so I'm thinking that you already know. Am I right?"

  "I know just a little," Ursula confessed, "Galatea."

  "I've also figured out why you smell like Dee," Galatea said, and disappeared below the bed again. Huffing with exertion, she hauled out a small steamer trunk. She snapped open the trunk's fasteners, popped the lip up, and pulled out a bunch of bars of homemade castile soap. "You bathe with this stuff too, right? So it’s not the case that you smell like Dee. Instead, Dee smells like you."

  Ursula shifted, pulling the quilt tighter around her. "Right."

  "Well," Galatea said, standing up again, "I've bathed with it, too. Sort of. I suspect you know 'just a little' about that as well. But let me tell you something I know: I know every single ingredient you've put into this damn stuff, and you can be sure as shit a bunch of it ain't soap. So I've just got one real question for you. Answer correctly and I'll fuck you so good that orgasm you just had will be a little nibble off a chocolate bar in comparison. Answer it wrong…"

  Galatea surged onto the bed. Ursula clutched the quilt to her neck but Galatea just seeped under it from below and filled it out so Ursula suddenly found herself holding the quilt around Galatea's body rather than her own. "And I'll get creative," Galatea said, leaning in nose-to-nose. "My question to you, little Miss U:

  "Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?"

  "I'm a bad witch." Ursula dropped the quilt and scooted her round butt up against the bed's headboard. "Very bad. Terrible, in fact." Ursula saw a crinkle of confusion cross Galatea's brow, and added, "That is, I'm really bad at witchcraft." Galatea's silence felt like a vacuum and the lacey confines of the four poster bed became a confessional. "My older brother let me play Dungeons and Dragons with him and his friends when I was nine. After a couple of games the group thought my ideas were cooler than his and asked me to be Dungeon Master. I was still running the show in high school. One girl in my group, Marcie, had a real crush on me, but her character died…I think her name was Black Leaf or something…Marcie took it kind of hard. Anyway, that's how I got into the occult.

  "I studied for years, became a pagan, started spelling 'magic' with a 'k,' went to Bryn Mawr College, you name it. At first, it made me feel good; gave me something to be angry and defensive about other than being a really short, big dyke, you know?" Ursula wrapped herself around a down pillow and chewed, absent minded, on a braid. Galatea just stared, eyes shining like polished moss agate. "But soon it became my routine and I just went through the motions, until something incredible happened: I discovered the Internet."

  Galatea blinked. "Wait. What?"

  "I moved here. This town is geek Heaven except, for some reason, the closest thing to a New Age store is the local Hobby Lobby. Dee built me a PC and Viggo let me splice into his broadband connection…Don't look at me like that, I'm so not Dee's type and Viggo isn't interested in any woman that comes without a combo attack….Now don't you start looking at me like that, either, that was a damn good pun. Anyway, I found this medical supply outlet online that had a huge selection of homeopathic and all-natural products for all kinds of stuff. Their wholesaler must be really great, because whenever I use their stuff as reagents or ingredients or whatever, my magic actually works! Although it never works exactly the way I expect. So I went from being no witch at all to a bad witch."

  "Holy shit," Galatea said, letting the quilt slide off her slick back. "You talk a lot."

  Ursula blushed, tried to hide her entire body behind the pillow. "I wanted to give the right answer."

  "I was joking," Galatea laughed, "I was gunna fuck you senseless no matter what you said."

  "Yes!" Ursula hissed, waving her fists high in the air.

  Galatea spread out on the bed, her legs first fusing and then oozing out into a wide, low, jellied mound beneath her bellybutton. Ursula hugged the pillow, watching the glistening mass roll closer like liquid, green glass. "How does it feel?" she asked, staring down.

  "Touch me," Galatea said.

  Ursula's hazel gaze rose to meet Galatea's. "I mean, how does it feel to be you?"

  Galatea smiled, and spread her arms out to her. "Touch me."

  Ursula pushed the pillow away and sat cross-legged before Galatea. Ursula reached out and ran a hesitant finger around Galatea's right palm. "Smooth," she breathed, tracing a circle in Galatea's palm. A little ripple of gel raced ahead of her finger. "Silken." Emboldened, she slid her hand up Galatea's forearm. "Elastic and cool. I like it. What happened to all the sticky goop?"

  Galatea reached over and took Ursula's right hand in hers. "Not a fan of sticky goop?"

  "Don't get me wrong," Ursula said, squeezing, "it felt wild and downright wicked, but the little Martha Stewart inside me felt aghast."

  "Let's give Martha a goo girl anatomy lesson," Galatea said, and pulled Ursula's hand to the lower swell of her breast. "Surface tension," she said, pressing Ursula's hand up and in. Her pliant flesh bulged but did not break. "Mm."

  Ursula's jaw dropped. "Wow."

  "Dee's favorite word," Galatea purred.

  "Yours is 'fuck,'" Ursula said, slipping gel between her wriggling fingers.

  "Hey, yeah, it is!" Galatea bubbled. "How'd ya know?"

  "I hear you shout it whenever I'm in the hallway. You and Dee have been going at it all week, seems like, and you're not exactly modest."

  Galatea giggled.

  "So," Ursula said, and pressed her other hand over Galatea's stiffening nipple. Galatea's giggling trailed off into a contented sigh. "Lesson one: surface tension."

  Galatea gathered up Ursula's hand again and brought it inches away from her mouth. "Lesson two," she cooed. Ursula jumped at the sudden burning breeze of her breath. "Inner gel," Galatea said and popped Ursula's hand in her mouth with a meowing nee-yum!

  Ursula swooned but lurched forward into Galatea's awaiting lap as Galatea swallowed her arm up to the elbow. "My God," she cried from the confines of Galatea's cavernous cleavage. "My God, how does Dee take it?" Galatea's throat relaxed and Ursula's arm popped free. Ursula snuggled into Galatea's smooth, cool surface. "How does he stand it?"

  "He stands tall, proud, and, mm, hard," Galatea said. "You didn't like it?"

  "It was so warm and strong, I just…" She gulped, cheeks and neck flushed in crimson. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can't imagine what it would be like to stick a dick in there."

  "Oh? Wanna find out?"

  Ursula bolted, causing a gel-quake. "Say what?"

  "I'll save that for lesson five," Galatea said, arching an eyebrow.

  "You're joking, right?" Ursula laughter developed a nervous edge as she peeled herself out of Galatea's lap and back onto the bed.

  "We'll see." Galatea grabbed Ursula's hand again. "Ready for lesson three?"

  "Um. No?"

  "That's nice." Galatea pressed Ursula's hand into the gel of her tummy and pushed it down. "Lesson three." The Goth and the goo girl watched their
entwined hands creep over the delta above Galatea's sex. "Nectar," Galatea murmured and eased two of Ursula's fingertips into her pussy, her eyes roving over Ursula in eager triumph.

  A few moments later, Ursula said, "Hm."

  Galatea's brow crinkled in confusion. "'Hm?' No fainting? Not even a 'wow'?" She let go of Ursula's hand.

  "Don't worry," Ursula said, slipping her fingers in further, "I'm definitely wowing on the inside." She moved her thumb in quick little circles over Galatea's clitoris, making her shudder. "But this lesson I already know. I'm damn well versed, in fact," she added, and got down to business.

  "Wow!" Galatea splashed down onto the bed, writhing and melting. Ursula leaned in and dropped her lips delicately down, replacing her thumb over Galatea's clit. "Oh, wow!" Ursula's thumb arced below Galatea's sex and probed the tender gel beneath. "Oh, fuck, wow!"

  Ursula swayed on her knees as she caressed and kissed, coddled and invaded.

  "What's happening?" Galatea whimpered. "What are you doing?"

  Ursula's head peeped over the trembling curves of Galatea's calves. She wore a mustache and goatee of glimmering green nectar, grinning like her own evil twin from an alternative universe. "It's called the Venus Butterfly."

  "A Technique?" Galatea demanded, dumbfounded. "You are using a Technique on me?"

  "Half of one." Ursula rocked forward onto her elbows, her rump bobbing high in the air and her milk-white, elfin face descending below the verdant swell of Galatea's cleft. "For a proper Venus Buttery, my thumb would go up in here—"

  "Ah."

  "—my middle and ring fingers would go down in there—"

  "Yah!"

  "—and my tongue, well my tongue would go—hmmph, hm-mm, mm."

  "Ooh, fuck!" Galatea chewed on a fist to muffle a scream and then begged, "Enough. Enough!"

  Ursula scuttled back. "Don't you want to cum?"

  Galatea burbled, "Look at yourself, girl."

  "Huh?" Ursula looked down to find herself green and dripping from chin to bellybutton. "Whoa."

  Galatea rose from the sodden quilt. "Can your inner Martha cope?"

  "She's a bigger dyke than me," Ursula said, daubing a dollop of green honey off her left breast and rubbing it between her fingers. "That was well worth the mess. And you got so hot! Like paraffin wax, but delicious."

  "Delicious?" Galatea repeated, wobbling past the vanity and through the bedroom door.

  "Yeah," Ursula called out, licking her fingers. "It's like a combination of my two favorite flavors. When I was a kid, I loved this candy called Sweet-Tarts. Ate so many my tongue would bleed."

  "And the other flavor?" came Galatea's voice down the hallway crowded with oil paintings in antique frames.

  "Pussy, of course!"

  Ursula heard Galatea laugh, followed by a loud grinding. "Dee can't say words like 'pussy' or 'cum'," Galatea said over the mechanical noise. "He just goes, 'Um, you know.'"

  Ursula feasted on the nectar cooling on her body. "Yeah, I know he does," she said, her mouth full of sticky fingers.

  "What?"

  "Nothing. Why do you keep comparing me to Dee? And what's that noise?"

  "Your ice maker," Galatea said as the grinding wound down. "And Dee's the only other person I know besides you." She spoke as if her mouth were full of pretzels. "Anyway, oo' were 'ucky to get to fird base wiff'out second degree burns. I've got to cool down for leff'on four."

  Ursula's eyes widened in alarm. "We're still doing the lessons? I thought we settled those."

  "Hell no, girl." Galatea marched back into the bedroom, her surface tension solid but shimmying from the cold, a living statute of green tourmaline crystal. "You may think you're little Miss Thing with your Venus Butterfly Technique, but you’re in the big leagues now, this is a five-round fight, and you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

  Ursula boggled at Galatea as the green girl drew herself up to her favorite height of seven feet, her fists pressed to her hips, at the foot of the bed. Something complicated happened inside her neck. "'Yeah, I know he does,'" Galatea mocked in a perfect impersonation of Ursula's voice, her eyes narrowing into predatory slits.

  "Wait a minute." Ursula sat up. "Fight? What fight?"

  Galatea leveled an outstretched arm, ignoring her. "Lesson four…"

  "Wait a minute!" Ursula yelped, her eyes squeezed shut, hands upraised and waggling like mad. Something cool and soft brushed across the fingertips of her right hand, slithered down her fingers, tickled her palm, and stuck to the pad of her thumb. "Huh?" She peeped open one eye.

  A fluorescent lime green coating gloved her right hand, shining in the mellow glow of the twin Tiffany lamps on her vanity and bedside table. Ursula curled her fingers and felt the stuff resist but flow with the movement. She made a fist and it filled out into a perfect green sphere. She flexed and fanned her fingers out and the coating snapped back into a skin-tight glove. The lamplight refracted in dozens of translucent filaments that traced through the air from the tips of her fingers and lead back to Galatea's outstretched arm. "What the Hell?"

  "Lesson four: advanced surface tension," Galatea said with a goofy smile and shrug. Ursula felt the gentle force of the shrug travel through the filaments connecting them, giving her hand a snug, squeezing tug, raising gooseflesh over her arms and neck. "How does that feel?"

  Ursula rubbed her gloved fingers together. They squeaked. "Like liquid satin, fluid but not gooey."

  "Not that…"

  Beads of gel pulsed down the filaments, glommed onto Ursula's fingertips, and rolled down her hand. The glove grew, swallowing her forearm like a hungry lover, electrifying her flesh.

  "This," Galatea said, shrugging and tugging as the glove slunk around Ursula's elbow and clamped down more tight and clingy than any garment or stocking Ursula had ever worn. It was as pliant and sensuous as it was confining and terrifying. Ursula could only blush, stutter and squirm her hips.

  "Very interesting," Galatea drawled, and Ursula's blush burned brighter. "Well, then." Galatea leaned close, reaching out. "Let's get started."

  Ursula started to protest but Galatea's questing hand stretched past her, drawing Ursula's enveloped arm back with it. She stared at the fun-house mirror reflection her flushed face cast in the sleek substance of Galatea's arm, shining like lime-tinted chrome. She did not notice Galatea flow silently forward until the green girl spoke again. "Well, what do ya know?"

  Ursula sat up straight and the two girls bumped noses. Galatea's attention was focused on something behind her, her goofy smile sharpening into a wicked grin, her nose bobbling like Samantha Stephen's as she cast a spell on her hapless husband Darrin, her breath perfumed with the scent of green-apple flavored Sweet-Tarts. The smell is precisely perfect, Ursula realized, her mouth watering and mind flooding with awkward girlhood memories. She must be doing it on purpose. Again her dignity nearly surfaced but she heard a familiar clinking behind her.

  "Looky what I found," Galatea taunted.

  Ursula's stomach flopped but her sex throbbed, and she turned to follow Galatea's gaze. The green girl's thumb hooked into a wide iron ring, the last loop on a short chain soldered onto the bedpost. "What's this for, hmm?" Galatea asked, clinking the chain. "Martha Stewart living? Somehow I doubt it."

  Galatea wrapped the cobweb-thin, carbon-steel strong filaments around and around the short length of chain, pulling Ursula's arm higher, farther back, and straighter with each twist. Ursula's vision doubled, then swam. "Galatea," she whispered, and it was the sound of her own voice that made her eyes brim over and spill their tears. She heard the voice of a shrimpy, pudgy preteen who chewed on hard candy until it hurt after sneaking behind the gym equipment shed during recess to coax lingering kisses from popular girls, only to be sneered at when she dared greet them in the school hallway. "Galatea, you win, you win."

  The living glove swallowed her arm almost to the shoulder, its icy-hot grip tickling the skin right below Ursula's armpit. "Hm?" Galatea murmured as she co
cooned the bedpost chain in a growing lozenge of green chrome, a giant Sweet-Tart.

  "You win."

  "No, kiddo," Galatea said before stage whispering to the green disc. "You got her?"

  With a quick metallic sigh the disc morphed into a miniature green girl, legs wrapped around the iron bedpost like Stripper Barbie humping a flagpole, her teensy hands seizing bundles of the green tendrils trussing up Ursula's arm. "Oh, I got her," Sweet-Tart smirked. A surge of chromed gel pulsed down the sturdy webbing and the smooching, pinching, liquid velvet of the hungry glove swarmed over Ursula's shoulder and into her armpit. "Thanks for the extra nanomek," Sweet-Tart said over Ursula's barks of mad laughter.

  "You win!" Ursula cried. "I'll leave Dee alone, I swear!"

  "No, kiddo," Galatea repeated and sidled to Ursula's left. She fished the second bedpost's chain out of the lace canopy. "The safe word is 'Pygmalion,' not 'you win'."

  She took the chain into her mouth and sucked on it like a lollipop. Even through the tingling, tickle-torture from Sweet-Tart, Ursula named another childhood candy favorite. Charm's Blow-Pop. The chain popped out of Galatea's mouth encased in a candy-apple green sphere. The sphere cracked open and morphed into another doll-sized green girl. "You heard the big woman," Blow-Bop huffed, loping up the chain and planting herself on the bedpost, "the safe-word is 'Pygmalion'…Well?"

  Ursula blushed hotter than she thought possible. Already dizzy and giddy from the assault on her arm, the miasma of sensation threatened to drown her. Just as her body was choosing between falling faint or throwing up, her dignity finally surfaced and told her exactly what she needed to do. She clamped her mouth shut, squirming but dead silent, her eyes sparkling with tears and mischief. The original, queen-size Galatea just smiled and moved to a third bedpost at the foot of the bed.

  Blow-Pop crowed in triumph. "Now we're talkin'!" She punched her tiny arms out, fingers curled in a peculiar but familiar hooked horn gesture. "Th'wip!"

  Skeins of spun sugar sped from the little green girl's fingertips and lashed about Ursula's left wrist. "Ooh," Blow-Pop purred as the webbing raveled around the trembling hand, "you're just so dainty, so darling, solid but so subtle, so different…I want it." She reeled in her net of green silk, dragging Ursula's arm toward the bedpost. "Gimme, gimme," she giggled. "Got it!" Blow-Pop furled around Ursula's hand and a lazy river of satiny, molten candy trickled down her forearm.