by Oblimo
"Get a grip, son!" The cable guy waved the long plastic schlong in the air. "They've gotten to all of us." He pointed the dildo at the paperboy, who winced. "Except him. I grabbed him when they were inviting him in."
"Yeah," the paperboy grumped, "thanks."
"You should be thankful." He leveled the dildo at the pizza guy. "Tell him your story."
"Only if you put that fucking thing down." The dildo thunked onto the vanity and the pizza guy sat back up. "Okay, kid, listen up. We get this call for five large pizzas, extra sauce, extra cheese. We just started this 'All Day Delivery' deal, but one look at the address—the frickin' Easy Sorority House, man, poontang heaven—and I pull rank and take the order. I just want to get a good, long look, that's all. But the door's answered by three stacked girls in tees and panties and they ask me to come in while they get my tip." He ran a hand through his slick hair. "Just like a porn movie, you know?
"Anyway, these three girls lead me down to the dining hall, and there's even more girls in there, grinning at me. One of 'em grabs the pizza and lines the boxes up on the table, one after another, see? Then she pops the tops open, one at a time. She's got this cute little frown on her face, and she says, 'We ordered Meat Lover's pizzas.'"
Eddie cupped his hand around his ear, listening at the door. "I think some of them are leaving. There's lots of whispering, too." He turned. "I've got a real bad feeling about this, guys. Guys?"
The pizza guy continued, "Anyway, she says they ordered the Meat Lover's. A couple other girls corner me against the table. At this point I'm pretty sure this is a joke, some initiation prank: flash your tits at the dorky pizza guy, that kind of thing. But there's something in the way they grin at me. So I pull out the receipt stub, confirm the order, but I say something goofy about how the customer's always right, offer them coupons. And then…and then they're all closin' in on me, and they've all got that 'we're gunna eat-you-up' grin. And I'm standing there with a bunch of buy-2-get-1-free coupons in my hand and a boner in my pants." He fidgeted with the illustrated throw pillow.
The paperboy's eyes bugged out of his head. "And?"
The pizza guy grimaced. "And then one says, 'Sorry, no substitutions,' and they drag me down, splat, right on the pizza." He ran his hand through his greasy hair again, this time plucking out a chunk of stewed tomato. "Once it cools down, pizza grease makes one Hell of a lube." His eyes misted. "The first fifteen minutes were the greatest moments of my entire life. But then…it didn't stop. They didn't stop. And after they'd eaten all the dough and cheese and licked off all the sauce, they still wouldn't stop, no matter what I said or did." He hung his head. "And when I couldn't get it up again, I swear, they were getting ready to eat me." He glanced up. "That's when Eddie here busted out of the kitchen and saved my ass."
Eddie could not meet his eyes. Something about standing in a room full of half-naked men, and one paperboy, he supposed. "Dumb luck on my part. They got me naked and let their guard down. Thought I wouldn't do a runner with my dick hanging out." He laughed, leaning against the door. "I'm a streaker, not a hero—Oh, shit!"
The butt of a metal fire extinguisher, as heavy as a SWAT police battering ram, punched through the door on the second swing, leaving a ragged round hole. The girl with strawberry blonde curls thrust her head through the hole, her grin menacing and maniacal. "Heeeere's pussy!"
The four guys fell into a huddle in the middle of the bedroom. Suddenly, the personal space issues of their nudity did not seem so important. The pizza guy gurgled, "What the fuck do we do? How the fuck do we get out of here?"
The curly blonde wriggled her hand through the hole, scrabbling for the doorknob, pointy pink tongue peeking out between her teeth.
The unreality of their situation sunk in. "That's exactly what we do," Eddie said. He felt calm and sure. He looked at his three companions in turn. "We're going to fuck our way out of here."
The pizza guy cringed. "This is madness!"
The curly blonde's hand stumbled on the doorknob. "Ah, ha!" She fiddled with the lock.
"Madness?" The cable guy squared his shoulders, jutted his jaw. "This is poontang." He stood erect, in more ways than one. "Let's do this."
The lock came undone. The curly blonde's howl of triumph was picked up, echoed and amplified into a lusty battle cry by dozens of throats. Eddie turned to the pizza guy. The pizza guy swallowed, nodded, hardened.
Eddie barked an order: "Virgin in the middle!" The paperboy jumped into the center of the huddle. The pizza and cable guys took up his flank. Eddie took the vanguard. "Here they come."
The bedroom door flew open. The first wave of frenzied coeds poured into the room. The paperboy dropped his satchel to the floor. "This is so…" He gulped, searching for the perfect word. The host of Easy pussy fell upon them.
He found it. "Awesome."
Poor, poor pitiful me,
Poor poor pitiful me.
These young girls won't let me be,
Lord have mercy on me,
Woe is me!
—Waren Zevon, Poor Poor Pitiful Me
Act 6
Chapter One: Come Easy
Intermezzi
Tomoe Exposition walks into the sterile white plane. The click-clacking of her heels echoes. Soon she finds a worn, maroon leather recliner chair next to a counterfeit Tiffany floor lamp. "Wow. A Matrix reference. Why am I not surprised."
She sits in the lounger, taking care to cross her legs and smooth her black miniskirt. The chair faces the frame. She looks out at you, her dark eyes merry, her smile inscrutable. "Oh, hey! Long time no see." She scoots back into the chair, the leather scrunching. "Sorry for this hokey Fourth Wall routine, but Oblimo asked me to say a few words. Me, I don't think they need to be said." She folds her arms across her blouse. "He's a bit of a wuss when it comes to new things. Besides, if you've read this far, you probably know what's coming. Oblimo lets me read the roughs, so I definitely know what's coming, at least as much as he does, which—granted—isn't always that much. Sometimes, the inspiration fairy takes its time when taking a dump."
Tomoe plops her hands onto the armrests, and sighs. "Okay. Here's the deal: Yves' getting some in this chapter. More than some. If you ask me, it's about damn time. Yaoi is my second favorite thing to watch while I whack off, next to futa of course. That's 'homoerotica' and 'dickgirl' porn, respectively, in case there are any noobs out there." She reaches her right hand down and pulls a wooden handle. The back of the chair reclines and the footrest pops up.
She props herself up on her elbows to look out at you again. "This chapter features a ton of hardcore yaoi-futa fucking. Me, I'm in hog heaven. For some reason, Oblimo wanted you to know ahead of time. I'm sure there's more he wanted me to say." Tomoe bends forward and wrestles with the zipper on the back of her miniskirt for a while. "But I don’t give a damn. If watching SB and Yves doesn't turn you on, that's your business." She wriggles her lithe, olive-skinned legs and kicks off the skirt. It drops to the nominal floor. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gunna get down to business."
The frantic fingers of her right hand squirm into the crotch of her rosy silk panties just as her left hand reaches up and switches off the lamp.
"Get writing, big guy."
Yellow and black warning stripes marked a hairpin left turn few hundred yards up the road. Yves downshifted. The Aston Martin decelerated to a more comfortable speed, the speedometer dipping below the 100 MPH mark. The engine's revving modulated into a throaty feminine voice, "Trust the tranny, Yves."
"Just testing the clutch," Yves said, applying enough gas to keep the car humming at eighty miles per hour. He eyeballed the upcoming left-hand turn. The thick backwoods tree line afforded little room for error. About one hundred sixty degrees at the steepest, he judged. "You're tail happy, SB."
The muffler snorted. "You accusing me of skirt-chasing, or oversteer? I deny neither." The turn hurtled closer. "You want me to handle this one, yaoi-boy? Remember what happened last time."
"Nah
." Yves kicked the clutch, spinning the steering wheel hand-over-hand to the right, shocking the powertrain. The Aston Martin lost its balance, rear wheels slipping wide, threatening to fishtail. Yves pumped the clutch pedal, teasing the flywheel, his foot angled to punch the gas and brake. The rose supercar's spin-out became a tight, controlled drift. Yves floated through the hairpin, accelerating out of the turn in a smooth upshift and an earsplitting squeal of rubber burning against asphalt. "I've got it."
The Aston Martin zoomed up the straightway, engine purring but nonverbal. Yves waggled the gearbox stick. "I thought you had a dry clutch, SB." He arched a brow. "Now it feels all wet."
"Wuh," the engine gulped. "Wow. So, uh, does this make us even? You know, for last time?"
"You mean when you reprofiled your camshaft without telling me?"
"Not my fault. You, ah, really know your way around a stick." SB's embarrassed mumbling barely rose above random engine noise. "So the VTEC just kicked in, yo."
Yves glimpsed a gray shimmer dancing behind the dense line of evergreens. "Looks like we found the reservoir."
"Oh. Cool. Um. Hey, Yves?" The stick shift shivered under Yves' fingers. "Can we take that turn again?"
Unyx's sex was candied gossamer against Jo's tongue. The onyx glossing Unyx's cleft thinned and nestled until her labia flowered black and her clitoral hood gleamed as a black pearl. Unyx tasted of sex and licorice with an undercurrent of sweet liquor so potent it cut through the red rhythm fogging Jo's mind. Jo pulled away from her feast. "Ouzo?"
"of – course – what – else? but – please." Unyx's tail, still entwined about Jo's leg, tugged, gentle but insistent. Her gloved hands urged Jo back down. "please – finish." Jo flittered her tongue over Unyx's clit, a bud of black silk. "god – three – Ursula – Nyx – me – we – all – feel..." Unyx thrashed and pushed Jo prone onto the green bed, bundling Jo head-to-toe under her serpentine trunk.
Jo reveled. Muscular, python power surrounded her, quivering against her legs, her arms, her everywhere. The taste of ouzo and sex flooded her mouth. The random spasms soon settled into a slow, steady pulsation, beginning with Unyx pressing her pussy into Jo's mouth. The pressure traveled down Jo's neck, over her breasts, tummy, thighs—pausing to prolong the tender squeeze over Jo's sex—and legs in undulating waves. Jo felt as if she would melt.
Then the tip of Unyx's tail glided between Jo's labia majora, moving to the same pulsing beat, and Jo felt as if she would fly. Jo stretched up, hugging as hard as she could. Her arms barely reached halfway around the sleek snake swaddling her. The thick tail-tip nudged and nuzzled but would not penetrate. A greedy, empty need yawned between her legs. Jo arched her neck, the back of her head crushing into the flowerbed, her chin burrowing into Unyx's sex. She screamed. She begged, "Fuck me. Oh, God, fuck m—" The tail-tip slid into her, in perfect time with the beat. "My-fucking-God!"
The beat pulsed within her, without her, around her. Unyx's tail-tip filled Jo up, so thick it throbbed against her clit, only to withdraw again. Jo ran mad. "Stop teasing and fuck me—Jesus oh God so deep. More, dammit, more." Then, unthinking: "Cum. Cum in me."
Unyx's punishing rhythm began to falter, her steady rocking started to seize. Jo felt a giddy rush of triumph. "Yes, yes, cum in me!" Jo heard Unyx's wordless, helpless yelp. A single spasm shot through the bulk above her. The tail-tip thrummed once, twice. A sizzling, fluid warmth gushed inside her. Jo climaxed, laughing in lazy delirium. The tail-tip shuddered and withdrew, leaving Jo's womb awash.
Jo came down far enough to think about it. "Wait. What the fuck just happened?"
Unyx flopped down beside her on the flowerbed hard enough for Jo to feel the shockwave. "So," Unyx gulped, her milk-white skin slick with sweat, her eye-mask retreating into contact lenses. "So that's what it feels like."
Jo felt positively oozy. "That's what what feels like?"
"I think..." Unyx mopped her brow. "I think I finally reached the end of Galatea's lesson number five."
Unyx's tail twitched in the jasmine flowers between Jo's knees, shiny-slick, almost greased. Jo daubed her hand over her sex, more curious than trepid. Her fingers shone with her own wetness—she'd been in near constant meltdown for ages now, or so it seemed—but little else. Her sinuses twinged. "Ow." She rubbed her nose, smearing her nostrils with her own musk. "Ew. Stupid, stupid." The pinching twinge spread out in a spiky ring around her head. "Christ, what's happening now?"
Unyx held up her hands, her right with every finger outspread, her left gesturing thumb's up. "Lesson number six."
"Say what?"
"I'm closing ion channels."
Jo's headache faded, leaving nonplus in its wake. "What?"
"Un-mindfucking you."
Jo growled and squeezed her knees together, squashing jasmine and Unyx-tail between them. The obsidian, ophidian goth girl yipped like a puppy, her tail recoiling. "Gah, careful! It's really, really sensitive." Unyx giggled. "We're Unyx. We've got afterglow." She closed her eyes and settled into the flowerbed. "We've gotta take a nap."
"I liked you better when you over-explained everything." Jo sat up and grabbed for Unyx's tail. She overshot, amazed at her newly-grown reach and frustrated with how much her newly-huge-and-bouncy boobs still managed to get in the way. Jasmine petals flew as Jo and Unyx played a giggly game of keep-away with the tip of her tail. "Start expounding or Mr. Happy gets it."
"All right," Unyx laughed, squirming. "All right! But, listen: do you hear her? Do you hear Black Cherry's blood music any more?"
Jo froze. "No." It was true; the party-next-door-but-between-the-ears sensation that had plagued her for hours had fallen silent. "Wow, no! Did you do that? Oh, thank you! But how?"
Unyx shrugged, eyes closing again. "How did Black Cherry mindfuck you in the first place? Get the blood music inside you, we mean."
"I'd crawled into bed." Jo blushed. "With my jelly-egg vibrator. I was friggin my way past Pluto when that cherry-chocolate tramp strutted into my room like she owned the place and sat on my face." Jo relaxed and lay back. "I was too far gone, and she tasted too good, and the whole thing was too damn kinky…so I ate her out. She came like crazy and the music started up."
"Black Cherry's cum was full of nanomek—what she calls 'novilunium'," Unyx explained, and then she blushed, silvery blood flushing milk-white skin. "So was ours. The binding we ate was very strong, you see, so we couldn't give you any nanomek until we got really excited. Stopping a mindfuck costs more nanomek than starting one up, so we had to get really, really excited." She grinned, shook her head. "And the spooge shall set you free."
Jo lay awhile in thought. She felt sated and stuffed enough to ignore the gurgling, orgiastic noises from across the flowerbed, at least for the moment. "So you cured me of blood music."
Unyx bobbed her head. "Yep."
"By fucking my brains out until you came like a sperm whale."
Another head-bob. "Yep. Had to burn all the nanomek in our cum to do it, too. So you're truly free from all headfuckery now."
"I wasn't even thinking about that," Jo said. "When Black Cherry did it—did me—it felt like she was being selfish, taking something from me. But you," she laughed through her blush, "you gave and gave until I almost blacked out."
Unyx, her eyes still closed, waved a silent Aw, shucks, at Jo. "So what were you thinking about, then?"
Jo rolled onto her side. "I was thinking about my sorority sisters."
"What about them?"
"Can you cure them, too?" Jo asked.
Head-bob. "Yep."
"The same way?"
Head-bob. "Yep." Unyx sighed, resigned. "In fact, it's the only way."
"Um." Jo paused. "I'm not sure how to tell you this. There's lots of girls in the Ep-Zed House this weekend—we're throwing a big party tonight—and I think Black Cherry got to them all. I mean lots of girls. Like, over a hundred."
Unyx rolled over and leered. Her eyes sparkled like black ore, her tail toying with the petals of countles
s flowers. She bobbed her head. "Yep."
The rose-colored Aston Martin supercar growled down an abandoned road, little more than a narrow strip of potholed hardpan dusted with gravel. The engine groused at being kept in such a low gear. Yves shot a sour look into the rearview mirror and the engine's grumbling grew self-conscious. "I want to go fast," the engine said. "Can't help it. Not when you're behind my wheel, driving me like that."
Yves maneuvered the supercar through a rusted-open chain-link fence. "Like what?"
"Like 'wow'," the engine chuckled, a strange bubbling sound. "Like I want to scream, 'Floor it! Floor it!'"
Yves shook his head, bemused. "You are every red-blooded American male's wet dream, SB."
The engine mumbled, "I seriously doubt every." They drove down the old gravel road in silence and second gear before the engine affected an overblown fake orgasm. "Ooh! Ah! Floor it! Floor it!"
Yves laughed hard enough to bring his headache pounding back to life. "I can't. If I did, we'd drive right into the reservoir." The road curled into a dead end behind a wide grassy bank. A fallen, weatherworn sign insisted upon no fishing without a county permit. "We're here. And you still haven't told me why you wanted to come in the first place."
"You need to relax." The supercar's engine noise dropped into a subsonic purr. The driver's seat thrummed against Yves' neck and the small of his back. Yves yawned, headache gone. "This place is pretty relaxing, isn't it?" the engine asked.
A thick wall of pine trees circled the bank. The reservoir stretched out ahead of them in a great, flat bowl. The early-afternoon sun reflected off the dark water in flashing triangles. The grass grew wild and tall, cutting off sight of the road, completing the illusion. "It's amazing," Yves confessed. "A mountain loch in the middle of Middle America."
"Reminds me of a bend in the Durance River," the engine whispered, "a long time ago."
