by Oblimo
SB bit her lip and nodded. "She taught me. She taught me how to take it off. Now, please, put it back on." The pommel nudged against SB's mons. She thrashed and sobbed. "Oh, God, put it back in."
Sweat stung Yves' eyes. "Tomoe's okay with this?" Yves swabbed the sweat with his forearm. "With us?"
SB's laughter was faint and dazed. "I hope not. I hope she's jealous as Hell, of you as much as she is me." Her fingers fell away from her sex. "She's watching us, you know. Right now. A hundred years ago. A thousand years from now. So she'd better be jealous."
She brushed a golden lock of Yves' hair behind his ear, then tipped her head back and shouted at the sky loud enough to make Yves flinch and pull the sword back. "You hear me, out there? You see me, Tomoe?" Her cry was triumphant, not angry. "It's me. I'm the one! Not Ursula, not Galatea, not Raspberry, and it sure as shit ain't gunna be you! I'm the one," she said again, her tone softening. She pressed a palm against Yves' cheek, her smile as rapt as it was wicked.
"I'm the one who gets to fuck Yves." Her fingers dropped away from his face and wrapped around Yves' hand. She guided him down until the scimitar's bulging pommel nestled into her sex. "Do it, Yves." She luxuriated beneath him, hips pumping as her nether lips flowered to accommodate the pommel-stone. "It's time.
"It's finally our time."
Yves applied pressure to the pommel, felt the resistance of SB's most tender flesh. SB's fingers trembled over his. She spread the petals of her sex with her other hand. "Yves," she breathed, and opened herself to him.
His heart slamming in his chest, Yves pushed down on the rubicund pommel. SB clawed his chest, kicked against the blanket. "Yves!" Her labia enfolded the pommel. Pungent nectar drizzled around the hilt, the blade towering above the both of them. She led him to angle the scimitar down.
"Deeper, Yves."
Balancing the weight of the scimitar delicately in his hands, he eased the hilt in. Yves realized he wasn't breathing. SB screamed his name and threw her arms around his neck. She curled and huddled beneath his chin. The sword slipped further into SB's core and Yves felt a subtle shift in the contours of the rose girl's body. She felt more sleek, angular, and hard against him. Between his fingers, the scimitar began to burn.
Even though Yves hovered only inches away, even though Yves watched agog as it happened, even though Yves' hands were wrapped around the scimitar as it coarsened and thickened, the exact moment of transition—the moment where Yves could say, before it was her sword, and now it was her cock—escaped him, or maybe never truly occurred. One minute Yves was fucking an Amazon with the hilt of her own sword, the next he was jacking off a dickgirl with the biggest prick on the planet.
The potential power locked in SB's scimitar was a flickering candle compared to the flamethrower of her cock. Yves adapted to her size quickly, using the hollows of his palms more than his fingers to tease and squeeze her shaft. SB convulsed and groaned with each stroke. "Yes. God. Yes. God! Ye—No. Wait. Wait!" Yves threw his hands in the air, dragging one last shuddery cry from SB.
"Jesus Christ," Yves growled, standing with fists clenched. "I want to make you cum." He bared his teeth in a mirthless, horny leer. "Is that so much to ask?"
"I need you," SB said in an alto voice so deep it bordered on baritone. She rolled over onto her stomach, the pillar of her erection forcing her up on all fours. "I need you inside me." She scooted backward, pressed her ass against his groin until their balls touched. "And you know what they say, Yves." She threw him a shameless smile over her shoulder. "Ladies first."
Yves squat down behind her, his knees locked tight about SB's thighs. He loomed over her, bending down to kiss the sweet-and-salty, sports-drink sweat droplets off her brawny back, making her shiver. "What about lube?" he asked between kisses.
SB arched her back and rocked her hips in silent response. Her skin was satin against his chest, giving him another serious case of gooseflesh. His dick slid across the crack of her ass. Her cheeks were solid muscle but his shaft glided between them. Yves moaned and pressed his face into the sheaves of cotton-candy dreadlocks trailing the nape of her neck.
"No need," SB said, grinding her ass over his groin and her back across Yves' chest. She felt pillowed in luscious oil. "Not with the vitrum. Not with a goo girl, or even a goo dickgirl. Now fuck me." She bent up and back at an inhuman angle to plant an open-mouthed kiss on Yves' forehead. "Fuck me."
After almost three hours of non-stop flirting and foreplay, banter and battle, Yves needed no such encouragement. He was already reaching back, aiming the head of his cock at the bud of SB's anus. "Yes," SB whispered, relaxing. She reclined her head on her folded arms, her ass bobbing between Yves' thighs. "Yes."
"Yes," Yves hissed, and penetrated. SB's passage was tight but supple, forcing Yves' foreskin back but accepting the sensitive, exposed head of his prick, bathing it in a snug, delicious heat. "My God," Yves said, pressing his chin into her shoulder, feeling her whole body quake beneath him. "You're incredible." Yves slithered into her.
A single, hiccupping sob burst from SB's lips before she bit down on her fist. Yves started a slow rhythm, pumping the first few inches of his cock in and out of her in time with the low waves lapping the nearby shore. SB moaned after each stroke. "Mm. Mm. Mm—more!" Her fist popped out of her mouth. "More, dammit!" She rocked back on her elbows and knees in time with Yves' next forward thrust. Yves' dick sank into her ass until her balls slapped against his.
"Whoa-fuck," Yves said. SB's innermost nectar clutched his shaft. He withdrew, then drove forward. "Oh, wow." He built up a strong, lunging rhythm. "Oh, hot damn."
"Oh, thank fucking God," SB said, an obscene smile blooming across her face as she readied herself for some serious reaming.
Yves hugged himself tight to SB's back, stretching his neck to mutter in her ear, "Nuh uh. No rest for you." The sensuous, torrid friction of her core around his cock threatened to drive him mad. He bucked and reamed and bit her shoulder. SB slammed her fist between her teeth in and screamed. The juice of wild strawberries, so tart it was almost bitter, trickled around Yves tongue. He pulled away long enough to growl at SB, his teeth stained maraschino-red. "You are gunna cum so fucking hard."
SB craned her neck—"Wha'?"—but Yves' pounded into her as strong and steady as the crashing surf and she flopped onto the picnic blanket, cross-eyed and keening.
Her helpless pleas of pleasure triggered a rising pressure within Yves' groin. The urge to pump his pelvis became an imperative. Yves bit down again, wrapped his arms around SB, and hauled the two of them up together onto their haunches with his next thrust, his deepest yet. SB threw her arms wide. "OhmyfuckingGod—Yves!"
Yves' slipped his arms down and around SB's waist and pinioned her prick. "So hard," he promised her, his dick buried in her ass, his hands stroking the length of SB's massive member. "So fucking hard."
SB tried to protest, "B-but…" Yves stroked down on her cock while plunging into her ass and she could only wail his name, again and again.
"I know," Yves soothed, but would not relent. "Nanomek, I know. But don't worry." He stroked and plunged. "You feel so good, SB, I can't hold back." The pressure and tension focusing in Yves' groin began to crest. "And if I am going to cum…" He swirled one hand around the base of her shaft while pushing two fingertips into the wide slit atop the head of SB's dick. "Then so are you."
They came together in a torrent of release. Yves lurched and spurted deep within SB. The rose dickgirl sobbed and spewed a geyser of seminal fluid high over their heads. She fell backward against him, he collapsed into her. They kissed and panted and held each other close.
The intimate and glorious afterglow lasted about ten seconds before they were both spattered head-to-toe in a downpour of piping hot strawberry jam as SB's meliae jism fell to Earth.
The paperboy pelted down the narrow steps to the Epsilon Sorority House basement, satchel of soggy newspapers bouncing off his flat, newsprint-smudged ass. The pizza guy and Eddie followed close
behind on the single-file stairway. The cable guy, his work-clothes little more than strips of cloth stuck to his sticky skin, hesitated at the top of the stair, set his jaw, turned and stood his ground.
Eddie poked his head back up the wood-paneled stairway, his face a blotchy patchwork of lipstick, bites, bruises, and vaginal juices. "C'mon, man! We don't have time."
"You guys go on," the cable guy said, his voice flat. The hordes of horny E-Z sorority sisters searching for them in other parts of the house sounded muffled but were getting closer. "It's too late for me." He adjusted himself. "And I can buy you a couple of minutes."
Eddie squinted up. The cable guy stood rigid, but Eddie could not read his body-language on his butt. "What the Hell, man?"
"I have erectile dysfunction," the cable guy answered in that same flat tone.
The pizza guy and the paperboy crowded Eddie at the stairwell's bottom. "Could've fooled me," the pizza guy said as the paperboy looked up, puzzled.
The cable guy sagged. "No, it's true. It's just not something I talk about. Even got a prescription for it. Never thought I'd need it, but I put one in my wallet, just in case." The rampaging Easies were close enough to pick out individual voices. The cable guy called over the rising noise, "Remember when I fell back on stairs, when we were headed for the second floor?"
"Oh my God," Eddie whispered.
The paperboy shrugged. "What?"
"I took it," called the cable guy. He adjusted himself again and stepped into the upper hall. "So get going."
The paperboy shouted from the bottom of the stairwell. "Took one what?"
"Viagra," Eddie said, his face ashen. "He took a Viagra pill. His hard-on'll last another three hours, or until his heart stops, whichever comes—uh, happens—first."
The pizza guy blinked back tears. "I'll never forget you, man."
The paperboy choked back rage. "You selfish bastard."
Eddie ran back up the stairs, grabbed the stairwell door. The cable guy took a few more steps into the hallway. Somewhere down the upper hall, a girl cried, "There he is!" Eddie and the cable guy exchanged a knowing glance. "Look at that, he's still hard," gloated another girl, "and just standing there." The cable guy nodded.
Eddie slammed the door to the stairwell shut, trapping the cable guy in the upper hall. He battered the doorknob until it he heard the mechanism inside crack. He hobbled back down the stairway, cradling his throbbing fist, where the pizza guy and delivery boy looked on in horror under a single, bare light-bulb. "Keep moving," Eddie ordered.
"What are we looking for?" the paperboy asked, casting about. An unfinished cement corridor and assorted basement clutter stretched in either direction.
"Storm cellar door," Eddie answered. "A huge-ass building like this has got to have a storm shelter. Right?"
The pizza guy nodded his agreement, then glanced up. Something thumped against the door at the top of the stair. "Did they get the extinguisher again?" The thump developed a steady rhythm and the pizza guy paled. "Oh, shit. That's his ass. C'mon kid." He clapped the paperboy on the shoulder. "Let's not waste the time he bought us." He led the paperboy down the left-hand side.
Eddie picked his way over steamer trunks and boxes of bric-a-brac to the nearest doorway: laundry room. Frilly under-things hung everywhere, a panty-raid mother load. Eddie shuddered and moved on, the hallway growing darker as he moved away from the stairwell. "You guys find anything?"
"Storage closet," called the paperboy.
"World's largest collection of old Cosmo mags," said the pizza guy.
Eddie found the next door. He rattled the rusty knob. "Please, God," he muttered, testing the door with his shoulder, "don't tell me we got all this way and the storm cellar's locked."
The paperboy's voice drifted down the corridor. "What the fuck is that?"
Eddie spun. The paperboy and the pizza guy stood at an open door at the far end of the corridor. They were bathed in a pale green light. "What's going on?" Eddie asked, hustling over as fast as he could.
"Is it," the pizza guy wondered, staring into the doorway. "Is it even real?"
Oh, no, Eddie thought. He heard the flickering buzz of florescent lighting as he approached. Light shone from the doorway ahead, casting scintillating motes of lime-colored light over every surface in the hallway. Please, no. He reached his two companions as the paperboy took his first step into the room. Eddie peeked around him. One look was all he needed.
The paperboy started, "Maybe it's just a sta—" but Eddie yanked him back.
"It's not," Eddie hissed. "Don't touch it. Don't go near it. And whatever you do, don't point your dick at it."
"All right, all right." The paperboy massaged his shoulder, then narrowed his eyes at Eddie. "But you know something. Something you're not telling us."
Eddie blocked the doorway and the contents of the room beyond. "It doesn't matter. Either way, we've got to get out of here, right?"
The pizza guy moved to the paperboy's side. "You've been here the longest, and I just realized you never told us how you got here." He folded his arms, making them dance with flecks of green light. "So what's your story, Eddie?"
"I don't have a story," Eddie insisted. His eyes grew accustomed to the eldritch illumination. "I'm just Eddie. And trust me, I have no fucking idea what's—the storm door."
The pizza guy blinked. "Say what?"
"Behind you," Eddie said, pointing. Now that his vision had adjusted, he could see the short stairway leading to a canted metal door. "It's right there. Guys, we're getting out of here."
The pizza guy turned. "Holy shit. You're right. We made it!" He marched up the stairs.
"I'm still a virgin," the paperboy insisted.
Eddie rolled his eyes. "Only in the strictest sense."
"Yeah," the pizza guy said, pushing on the door, "you've done things today that'd make Bill Clinton blush. Or give you a medal." The door creaked and moaned as metal strained against cement. "Eddie, give me a hand with this."
Eddie hopped up the stairs. The pizza guy shoved one side of the storm door. A sliver of light zigzagged down the stairs as the heavy metal door shifted half an inch before falling back. "It was just held by a sliding bolt," the pizza guy laughed, "but it's heavy as Hell."
Eddie shouldered up against the other side of the door. He turned to the pizza guy. "On the count of three?"
"Sure," the pizza guy answered, "but we're, you know, buck naked."
"So?" said Eddie. He gave the pizza guy a celebratory punch on the shoulder. "We're outta here!"
The paperboy mounted the foot of the stair. "Hurry up, guys, that thing in there's giving me the creeps and, well, a boner."
"One," Eddie said, shifting his weight. He grinned like an idiot.
"Two." The pizza guy tested his handhold on the door.
Eddie breathed deep. "Three!" He pushed.
Both sides of the door flew open, hinges squealing and sparks flying. Eddie and the pizza guy belly-flopped onto the grass. Eddie squinted in the sudden flare of sunlight until a long shadow fell over him, coasting wide to cover a huge swath of the lawn, as if cast by an encroaching alien starship.
"Oh, hello, Eddie. You've made a friend, I see. That's good."
Eddie punched the ground. "No, no, no." He turned his head. "I was so close."
Red Mary Jane jelly clogs skipped through the grass, stopping inches away from his eyes. "Aw, I'm sorry, Eddie. Was your friend close, too?" Eddie looked up at a pair of legs the color of a cherry creamsicle. "Don't you two worry. I'll help you finish."
Black Cherry swooped in. Eddie's stomach dropped. She flipped him over onto his back with one wing claw, pinned the pizza guy's arms to the ground with the other.
The pizza guy glared, murder in his eyes. "What did you do, Eddie?"
Black Cherry clucked, poking and prodding the pizza guy as if inspecting ripening fruit. A pair of long, black, braided hair extensions dangled from one of her hands.
The pizza guy hissed, "What. Did. You
. Do?"
"Nothing." Eddie choked back tears. "I did nothing. I…I showed up for work."
"And I'm so glad you did, Eddie," Black Cherry said. She stood up, hands on hips, chest outthrust. "Because I'm starved."
"What the Hell's goin' on?" The paperboy tromped up the storm cellar stairs and into the sun before his eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Oh, fuck me."
Black Cherry tipped her head, the miniature pair of wings above her ears pricking up. "Okay!"
"So," SB said, wringing the last of the strawberry spooge from her hair, "all that high-minded talk about 'existential monogamy' is really just a rationalization of your fetish for—"
"For mutual, simultaneous orgasm," Yves said, nodding, "yes." He shimmied the picnic blanket over his butt, hoping it would serve as an impromptu towel. Instead, Yves got the strangest impression that he was polishing his own ass with a chamois. "Although I prefer to think that my fetish partakes in my philosophy, rather than one being the reason for the other. I don't buy into the idea of the whole…" He made chopping motions with his hand. "Separating the mind from the body thing. Is that bad?"
"I can think of more selfish fetishes than wanting to cum together," SB leered, ogling Yves' derriere.
Yves returned a smirk. "Unless you can shrink that thing between your legs down a few—dozen—notches, you ain't getting any of this." He dropped the blanket and slapped his ass.
"But it’s sooo shiny!"
"The palm sisters and their ten lovely assistants are itching for another go," Yves said, gesturing lewdly with both hands.
SB pouted, "Today's been a parade of ass, each juicier than the last, and it's all hands-off."
"I never said anything about hands off," Yves laughed.
SB hummed thoughtfully, furled the fingers of her right hand, and a knurled, pink dildo sprouted to fill them.
Yves' cock twitched. "Can you feel with that thing?"
"If I leave it unlocked," SB answered, "yeah." She sighed and the dildo zipped out of existence. "But it isn't the same."
