It's Always Time Act 06 Ch. 04

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Oblimo
Oblimo
244 Followers

The pain from his wounds had become a dull, pervasive ache. "Not in front of your sister," Dee said. She gaped up at him, her cherry-creamsicle colored cheek rouged arterial red with his blood. I've got to get this just right. "You wanted her to know," Dee explained, "but you want to share with her? In any way?"

Black Cherry glanced from Dee to the statue behind him and back again. Burning brandy drizzled her inner thighs. Her hand slipped out of his pants and onto his wrist. "Come with me, Master."

Dee followed her for a few paces but stopped short of the door. She tugged once. He shifted his weight and resisted her pull for a heartbeat before he tripped forward another pace. "The deal, Cherry," Dee reminded, bumping against her wing. "Release Galatea."

"Oh, right," she said, her customary, coy smirk returning. Her wings flourished in the air. "Galatea! I hereby release you from any and all binds, geasan, blood music, um, disharmonies, and, uh, etcetera etcetera." Her wings sagged and she gave Dee a helpless shrug. "Sorry. Look, Galatea, you're free to leave. I won't hold you here, or try to stop you. Any power I had over you is gone." She and Dee turned back to the statue, waiting.

Nothing happened.

"Well," chirped Black Cherry, scraping her palms together, "that was exciting. Worth the wait. Shall we go, now, Master?"

Dee frowned. "Release her, Cherry."

A wing waved at the door. "The door's open, Galatea. There's a storm door leading right outside. Don't let it hit you on the way out."

Nothing happened. Dee's hands curled into fists. "Release Galatea, Cherry."

"You want me to drag her back to your apartment like this?" Black Cherry folded her arms. "That's how I brought her here."

"What?"

Black Cherry rolled her eyes. "I found her this way, Master. I came in through your bedroom window, and there she was, frozen, just like that." A wing claw gestured. "Like she'd French-kissed Medusa." She arched a brow. "Oh, I tried to smash her to bits, believe me. Even dropped her out the window. Nothing worked. Ooh, I was so angry, Master."

A chill ran up his spine. "But the bedroom. All that red and green…"

"Oh, that," Black Cherry dismissed, waving a hand. "I was angry, Master. So you had to be angry, too." She twirled, wings drawn in tight. "Did you really think I used the whole bottle of green food coloring on me? I just needed a few drops. I used the rest on the walls, along with half the red bottle." She made wide swipes with her arms and wings, miming an artist splattering paint across a huge canvas. "When you, Yves, and I were in your apartment, Galatea was stuck headfirst in a Rhododendron bush outside your bedroom window." She waggled a foot at him, pumping her heel against her jelly clog. "With her feet in the air. The whole time."

Black Cherry sidled toward Dee. "So you see, Master, I have released her. I'm not the one keeping her like this. I never was. She could have gone to you any time she wanted." A wing claw caressed Dee's cheek. "But she doesn't want you like I do, Master. Well, she is free." Black Cherry kissed the center of his wound, painting her lips with blood. "The deal is sealed." She threw herself at Dee, wings crushing over his back, and kissed him hard on the mouth, thrusting her tongue between his lips. He tasted his own blood. "And you are mine."

She took him by the hand. "Just like you wanted, Master. Now, come." Dee felt hollow and numb. He followed her out the door, unresisting. "It's time, Master." She shut the door behind them, her glistening grin vanishing as the light fled. "It's my time."
Black Cherry led Dee into darkness. He reached for his chest. The sudden pain from contact made him wince, but the constant ache had become a distant throb, and no fresh blood flowed around his fingers. "How did you cut me, Cherry?"

"That raspberry-flavored floozy told me to 'eat shit and die,' I believe her phrase was," Black Cherry said, pulling Dee along. "But all I ever wanted her to do was fuck you, drain you dry enough to let me in." She stopped and pushed open a door. Pale light revealed her coquettish grin. "Now it's my turn to drain you, over and over." A wing claw skittered down his bare side, scratching and probing, but without piercing. "We will fuck and cut and fuck and cut, all day, every day, forever."

Dee could not decide what was more nauseating, her madness or his dick growing hard at her words. "Jesus."

"Never met him." A playful shove sent Dee stumbling through the door. "In you go, Master."

Grey light filtered through grimy slivers of glass set high in the wall above a row of boxy washing machines. The air was thick with lint and the sickly sweet scent of fabric softener. Baskets of half-folded laundry piled high in the corners while dozens of pairs of pantyhose and delicate exotica hung from dry-racks and clothes lines strung throughout the room.

Shadows flicked across the basement windows. It's time. Dee found his balance. It's time to stand, but I have so little strength back. How?

     ["…It will come when you call…"]

He spun about, skidding on the cement floor. "I'm ready for you, Cherry." A dangling silk strap snagged his hair and a brassiere fell on his head. "Ah, shit."

"You make an adorable demigod, Master." Dee heard an edge in her laugh. Black Cherry glanced behind her.

"You glitter not of gemstone," Dee said, uprooting the bra from his hair, "but of broken glass."

"Nice recovery," Black Cherry murmured, squinting at him. "Master?"

Dee loomed forward. "You dapple." His shoulder did not hurt at all. "You brittle."

Black Cherry dropped back toward the door, her wings trailing cobwebs of lingerie. "You sound strange, Master." A door banged open somewhere upstairs. She gazed up at the ceiling, frowning. "Something's wrong. What's happening?" She glanced down at the bulge in Dee's pants and squeaked, "Wait."

Dee took a slow, single step. "This…" His bare sole connected with the floor. "Is what you wanted." The washing machines lurched forward in the aftershock.

Black Cherry whirled, wing claws slicing through clothesline. "Wait!"

Dee caught a wing claw by the tip. "No." He hauled on the claw and twisted Black Cherry into his embrace.

"I'm ready for you, Cherry," he said, and kissed her hard enough to shred her lips with his teeth.

Black Cherry yanked her head back. She stammered, "I don't—mmf." Dee crushed her to him, his mouth covering hers. Her cherry-chocolate, cordial-candy taste cloyed his tongue. She pushed against shoulders as unyielding as granite slabs. "Mmm!" Dee reached under her ass and slung one of her legs over his hip, mashing her mons against the crotch of his pants. "Mmm…" His sweatpants slipped down around his thighs and the head of his prick slid up to her bellybutton.

Black Cherry's body reacted at once. Her gel-flesh stuck to his skin. Her wings perspired fat droplets of sanguine nectar. Her protestations dissolved into a fervid keening. Dee hooked his other hand under her ass and hoisted Black Cherry off her feet. She locked both legs around Dee's hips and wrapped her arms about his neck. Dee steamrolled toward the row of washing machines, his passenger clinging and crying.

Dee tossed Black Cherry down onto a washing machine. Its lid dented around her derriere. She clung to his neck, kissing and sobbing. Dee took her by the shoulders and slammed her back against the wall, fracturing the cinderblock.

"What's happening?" Black Cherry wailed. "What's happening?"

"I'm fucking you, Cherry," Dee said, kicking off one leg of his sweatpants. "Is that so hard to comprehend?"

"Yes. No. I…" She shook her head, the miniature wings above her ears whipping through the air. "Why are you, I mean, why am I—"

Dee cut her off, snarling, "Scared? Don’t you get it yet?" Dee pulled his sweatpants off his other leg. "You have to fuck me to hurt me." He raised his balled first. Black Cherry quailed. A wing whickered inward, not to strike, but to shield her as she shrank away.

Dee followed through with his swing, tossing his sweatpants across the room. "So I have to hurt you to fuck you." Dee's voice dripped with scorn. "Remember, back at the apartment? Out on the highway? You only got wet…" He twisted her sheltering wing. "…after I kicked your ass." Black Cherry barked a single yelp of fear and pain and let the wing fall.

"This is what you want," Dee said. He hiked one of Black Cherry's legs up high, her jelly clog shoe melting into a shapeless wedge, and held it tight to his shoulder. "This is what you want from me." Dee angled his erection at her pussy, ignoring her soprano screams. "This is what you think a 'master' is supposed to do. You sick, stupid bitch," Dee hissed, and invaded her.

Her arms and wings flung wide, Black Cherry shrieked, "Master!"

Dee smothered her mouth with his hand. "Shut up," he said, thrusting, "I'm not your master." He heard chaotic drumming across the ceiling; movement in the story above them.

He hitched his knee atop the washing machine and drove deeper into her searing sex. "This isn't what a master is." Black Cherry's head lolled, scarlet honey pouring off her wings in lazy waves. "This isn't what a master does." She screamed into his palm with each lunge. "Not your real master, Cherry."

More shadows danced in the windows. "But you don’t want the real thing, Cherry." Dee shoved her, rolled her onto her shoulder, and fucked her sideways. She batted her fists at the washing machine next to her, her gel-flesh splattering, raising red welts over the machine's metal casing. "Because you aren't the real thing. Even as a statue, Galatea's more real than you." The drumming above them grew louder, more directed.

Dee rammed into Black Cherry and bent over, one hand firmly clapped over her mouth, the other sinking into the wet mess that was once her hair. "Do you know how I can tell Galatea's real? That she's not some stupid princess trapped in a story?" Something pounded down the stairs in the hallway beyond. Dee raised his voice. "Waiting for a master? A hero? A rescuer?"

Eurydice burst through the door and into the laundry room, knees bent, hands splayed and ready. "Where?"

Dee looked back at her. "Down the hall. Last door on the left."

Eurydice turned about and fled without another word. Black Cherry's scream was so loud, vibrating through Dee's hand, it rattled the windows and washing machine lids in their frames. Black Cherry reared up.

"Oh no, you don't," Dee muttered. He whirled his arms across her fluid flesh, starting a standing wave that ended with her flipped over flat onto her stomach. He hopped off the washing machine, tugging Black Cherry's hips down. Her ass was a pert as ever. Dee pressed the head of his cock against the bud of her anus.

Black Cherry shuddered and fell quiet. Her silence was electric. Dee lifted his hand away from her mouth. "So," he said, "do you want to stop Galatea from rescuing herself, or do you want me to fuck you in the ass? This is probably your one and only chance, on both counts."

She whimpered for a while before Dee realized the soft sounds she made were words. "Fuck me, Master. Fuck me." Dee seized Black Cherry by the neck. "Fuck me."

"That's how I know," he said, and did.

* * * *

Eurydice stormed down the darkened hall, struggling with each step. Nanomek swirled inside her, a maelstrom in microcosm. The air upstairs, overripe with sex and the pheromones of fear, had stirred them up. Here in the sorority basement buried halfway into the earth, she feared they would blow her apart. Scent traces of Dee's blood and Black Cherry's desire—She's cumming so much, she cuts him and Dee makes the bitch cum so much—churned in a molecular soup around her. She wanted to turn back, to go back to him, to forget Black Cherry and Galatea and just be with him. To be Eurydice and Dee, forever and always.

But not as much, she realized, her eyes fixed on the last door on the left, not as much as I want to do this. White light flooded behind her, lit her up neon green. "Now what?"

The strawberry blonde spilled down the stairs, naked save for her FedEx cap and a slick of sweat. She trembled, hands on her knees, panting and grimacing like a marathon runner. Her hair lay matted and limp over her face and neck. She wheezed, "Stop."

Eurydice narrowed her eyes. "You don't know when to quit, do you?"

The strawberry blonde shook her head, swallowing, finding her voice. "Nuh. Ugh. I…" Shadows flickered at the top of the stairwell and the strawberry blonde froze. "Oh boy."

Tendrils of living ink zigzagged down the stairs, swimming through the air like a coordinated school of fish with endless, liquid tails. The strawberry blonde crooned, eyes sliding shut as the first whorls of gleaming black crept across her hips. More and more of the substance slithered over her skin, tongues of obsidian spiraling down her legs, coursing up her back and between her breasts.

The black ribbons pulsed and the strawberry blonde's feet started kissing the ground. "Never mind," she sighed, suspended in mid-air, before the black ribbons reeled her in, floating her weightlessly up the stairs.

A bemused voice drifted down. "you? but—we—cured—you—already."

Eurydice heard the strawberry blonde reply, "I know. But, but, would you, um, do it, y'know, again?"

"hmm."

"Please?"

"'kay."

"Woo!"

Eurydice rolled her eyes, turning to her destination. My final destination. The last door on the left stood closed, lime-colored light trickling around its frame. The hallway echoed with Black Cherry's feral squeals. My destiny.

The green girl pushed open the last door on the left, and crossed the threshold into radiance. I love you, Dee.

She never looked back.

* * * *

A Sister of the Frenzy blundered about the sorority house kitchen. When the blood music sang this loud behind her eyes, she forgot everything, including her name, living only for the irresistible song inside her head. There were always lyrics behind the blood music, the dulcet voice of Black Cherry, carrying subliminal suggestions, infectious moods, and the occasional direct command. In the early hours of the morning, the blood music had coaxed the Sister into a pair of pink hot pants, a white spandex shirt, and the insatiable need to fuck every last ounce of sperm out of some guy with the unlikely name of Deiter Detwiler. Now, almost twelve hours later, the pants' tight crotch had rubbed her sex raw, and the sweaty spandex was sandpaper against her nipples. But the blood music was worse.

She toppled against the kitchen counter. Empty Jell-O boxes, mixing bowls, aluminum utensils and tins tumbled into the sink and a scattered across the floor. The Frenzy Sister moaned, head bowed, riding a wave of panicky excitement that was not her own. The blood music soared, full of dissonant cords, random rhythms, and lousy lyrics. Black Cherry sang of being tricked, of a surprise attack, of enemies at the gate, and of Master's cock fucking her in the ass, as ironic as rain on her wedding day, which was to say, not ironic at all.

Filled with this nonsense, the Frenzy Sister went on automatic pilot. Black Cherry's song faded into background noise, like a loud party at a neighbor's house, but still informed the Sister's own ideas and desires. Her ass fell against the pantry door, one pink-clad cheek toggling the lock on the knob. The doorknob nudged between her cheeks, and the Sister decided she really needed some serious butt-fucking herself. She remembered the cable guy, catatonic but erect as a schoolboy on a vibrating bus seat.

She tottered toward the swing-hinged door. It opened inward before she reached it. A confusion of black coils billowed into the kitchen. Thick tentacles, their tips conical and smooth, flowed across the floor in the fluid, sideways wave-motion of an octopus unfurling across the ocean bottom.

Danger, Black Cherry sang through the music in the Frenzy Sister's mind. That's Unyx! Don't let her near your Sisters. And stop Eurydice! Come down to the base—ooh, damn, fuck my ass! Fuck it! More!

The Frenzy Sister clutched her head. "I don't understand."

Unyx glided into the room. Her glossy black lips parted in a languorous smile, her neck and chest flushed silvery white. An obsidian corset hugged the ribs below her breasts then stretched down into a gleaming bodysuit. The suit shone like latex, clung like velvet, and flowed like oil. Below the delta of Unyx's sex, the bodysuit bound her legs together into a seamless trunk, only to split again into dozens of snaking limbs, as if she had grown roots instead of knees. One of those roots found the Frenzy Sister's ankle.

The tentacle's touch was smooth and sleek. Dozens more lazed on the floor and crowded the air around the Sister, swaying inches away but not making contact. The Sister could only quiver, gazing mute into Unyx's eye-mask.

The delicate tip of a black tentacle traced the Frenzy Sister's jaw, ran down the line of her neck behind her ear. The physical strength behind the soft touch was immense. The strongest force she had ever experienced was giving her the most intimate and tender caress she had ever known. The Sister's sex, despite hours of non-stop stimulation, felt cavernous with need.

"let—us—in," Unyx said, her tentacle curling up the sister's neck and stroking her cheek, "and—the—music—will—stop."

The Frenzy Sister nabbed the tentacle with both hands and shoved it in her mouth. It tasted of licorice and power—a savage, unstoppable power touching her, filling her, yet treating her oh-so-gently. It made her feel delicate, precious, prized, and hornier than she had ever been in her entire life.

"whoa," Unyx said as the Sister deep-throated the tentacle with abandon. "you—ah!—you—like—that?"

The Sister chuckled and slurped hard. The tentacle in her mouth pulsed once. She froze, then pulled the sleek limb out of her mouth long enough to gasp, "Are you kidding?" She ripped open her hot pants, yanked them down around her knees. She begged, "Oh, God, fuck me," before inhaling the tentacle back into her mouth.

Unyx gulped, little jet beads of sweat pricking her forehead, as the Frenzy Sister pumped the tentacle in and out her mouth. A second tentacle brushed against the Sister's outer labia, and pulsed slowly inward. The Frenzy Sister screamed around the throbbing member in her mouth. An orgasm struck her like lightning, she felt so deliciously full, and all she could think was more, more, more. She reached for a third tentacle and rammed it up between the globes of her ass.

"wait—what?" Unyx licked her lips. "seriously?"

The Frenzy Sister, refusing to part from the tentacle pulsing down her throat, nodded vigorously enough to give herself whiplash. The tentacle tantalizing her pussy started to withdraw. The Frenzy Sister screeched in frustration, reached down, and clawed both tentacles inward.

Unyx's black raccoon mask drained away from her face. "I think," Ursula's voice trailed off. The Frenzy Sister sunk to her knees and elbows on the floor, eyes rolled over white, lost in an endless tide of power, pleasure, and triple penetration.

"I think I get hentai now," Ursula gasped.

* * * *

"Um," Eurydice said. "Hi." She raised her palm in a little wave.

Galatea said nothing, showed no signs of life.

Eurydice contemplated her other self. The statue stood much taller than her, its bearing more fierce and proud, even with the sad, lost look on its face. A face so different from Eurydice's own. Not too much older: five years, ten years at the very most. And only in appearance, Eurydice had to remind herself. Galatea was merely six nights old, after all, and she did not share Eurydice's memories of the meliae that came before them, as confused and cloudy as they were. But the maturity of Galatea's visage, a true, elegant confidence that could never be confused with haughtiness, seemed deeper than appearance. Galatea wore no mask of womanhood. She was a woman down to the core. Eurydice felt mawkish and girlish—felt all sorts of negative words ending in –ish, in fact— in Galatea's presence.

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