CAPTCHA Island Ch. 02

But even as Mara starts on a long series of shallow grunts, her penis remains unresponsive. She twists her neck to look at me. Instinctively, her eyes locked on my offered crotch.

I close my legs.

"Watch, I'm gonna cum!" she announces straight at me, disturbingly calmly, her face inquiring my assumed expertise rather than yielding to her lust in progress. She pushes her voice above the high-pitched wave of her anticipation: "It's like I can fully focus on my asshole for once! It's like...isolatedOOOh fuck! Yes! HAAANh HAAA mmh! Fuck my ass Lucy!"

I know how formless pleasure gets at the apex of orgasm, how it beats and bounces everywhere; when I cum anally it goes from my vagina to my rectum and my anus, and my spine, my clit, my nipples, my lungs, my toes, my... until there's no distinction of what's provoking what. The echoes burn as real as the source.

Yet if a caress feels good I still know my skin can't actually orgasm.

I'm looking at someone who's experiencing it against all logic. Mara is clutching Lucy's hips, her mouth oscillating between a malicious smile and a big open exhale. Her dick doesn't budge whatsoever, no precum, no tightening of the testicles. The flabby package is resting into Lucy's cleavage. Meanwhile her asshole is squeezing around her tongue.

"Let her have a look!" Mara tells her with still so much detachment.

Tongue and head move out of the way and then of course Mara starts doing something weird to trouble me: she arches her back and her climaxing anus smacks open, to the point I can see her insides. But there's two important details: it lasts so long there's no way she's not controlling it; and she was still cumming when she started.

So she has to explain: "I can slow it down if I want, it's like waves."

Yes, the contractions of her orgasm stretch against time, and stretch into an ample motion. She makes her ass do that. And it's exactly like she describes:

"See, I make it build up and up and up..." (her hole loosens up and gapes for as long as she wants, gathering pleasure in a rogue crest) "...and then I make itHhAAA..." (her hole clenches back to even more tightness than its usual puckered beauty, pleasure crashing down on the sand of her cells, whipping, soaking every grain)

"It's like when you've started cumming and you relax your muscles for as long as you can to delay the first contraction. You know what I'm talking about?"

I know exactly what she's talking about.

Mara does it again, and again, in perfect control, breathing in, moaning out, making the involuntary voluntary, making the fleeting unending, because she can. I can almost see the physical pleasure dissipate from her asshole each time she contracts it. I see its gradual loss of intensity. Everything looks better in slow-motion.

Eventually her head falls back on her sister's thigh. She came for perhaps two full minutes.

She looks serene. And beautiful.

I think about my collection of toys. I can remember every first time each one rested inside my ass. I bought some of them only for that, to taste their shape, to shape my insides over their shapes... and when I pull them out, when all that remains is a huge gape, it's still their shapes somehow. Fuck, I can remember the first time I gaped. I still masturbate to that entry in my diary. I was so emotional. That night I had achieved doing something I saw only in porn. That night I was porn.

"My turn!" Lucy says.

"Let Sydney do it!"

"No I'm good" I retort.

"Come ooon! With your fingers!" She gets on all fours. Mara sits on her heels next to her ass and presents it to me. They're waiting.

"I don't have anything to learn from this."

"You could learn what you're missing out."

"I don't wanna be a futa if that's what you mean."

"They all do. Neitocris says our mom was a futa for three years before she left the island."

I read about it. I read Joan's descriptions of a futa orgasm. How extreme it is.

Anyway, I've done prostate exams before.

"Let me find some gloves in my bag."

"Fuck your gloves!"

"Just a finger," I warn.

"Your whole hand if you want."

"Nevermind."

As I still try to cling on to my tears, to tell myself my expedition hasn't gone south, to tell myself it's not sexual, as I try to stay in the medical world, Mara spits gracelessly on her sister's asshole. When my knees touch the ground, I'm in porn world, where everything looks fake and too real at the same time.

No one spits so aggressively on her lover's anus in reality, right? No one spits on her sister. No one wants that. Right? It's unthinkable, and I didn't even know I was thinking it.

I was supposed to be an explorer of both these world.

I'm an emissary of none.

From this moment, everything gets so easy. How easy it is to plunge my fingertips into the warm spit of someone else. How easy it is to slide my finger all the way up her ass. Easy for me and easy to do. So much I put another one.

Nothing feels wrong inside but nothing feels right. "Oh my God, your pr...! Wh..."

Lucy chortles and thrusts her pelvis against my wrist. Mara spreads her and spits again.

"You have three prostates! they're so huge!"

"I can't feel them, fuck my ass instead!"

Her movements get broader. It feels like she's suckling on my fingers. If I dare moving my arm back and forth, it won't be an exam anymore.

"Ready?" (One would expect me to ask this, but it's Lucy who did.)

"You're going to cum?"

"Of course. This way you'll feel how my three prostates don't stiffen when I do. It's only my butt that is cumming. Can you imagine if you made pills that make humans cum from just the asshole?"

Snakes smell with their tongues, I think out of nowhere.

"If you cum, you'll do like your sister? Opening and closing your hole for an hour like a circus act?"

"Do you want me to?"

"No, please! Just have a normal orgasm. Please?"

"Normal..." they shake their heads.

Lucy, ass up, head on her forearms, mewls as I begin fingering her very undoctorly. I take her lifeless penis in my other hand, her balls swaying against my thumb. I want to detect any tremor that would indicate typical bodily movements: the testes sending sperm to the prostate(s) sending seminal fluid through the ducts and out the urethra, ejected by contractions of the muscles and the shaft.

It helps me shunning the sting of the breeze on my juice-covered clit. It helps me keep a straight face.

"Alright," Lucy murmurs, "I'm gonna fucking cum like a slut but I promise I'll be nice, doctor." And at once it gets less easy to move. Her sphincter clamps over my knuckles. Nothing else. No shockwave, only some physical signs to look for, toes curling, nipples engorged, and her moans. Her enthralling moans which I guess were too strong to keep in. I have nothing to feel inside except a sweet resistance and the astounding awareness that I'm making this girl cum.

The thought that I'm in for two minutes of this makes me buck at the hips.

Imagine pills to make people cum for two minutes. Or five. Ten. See these ridiculous cartoon pills bumping in my brain against my lust, or against dollar signs exactly the same size and color. Or against a ruthless envy.

I was here to help people. Anorgasmic women; impotent men; people in wheelchairs...

I hear: "Your hands are so soft; when I get my sperm back I want you to jerk me off!"

Again, Mara is starring straight at me, in heat. She says "Me too! Can I touch your boobs till she's done cumming?"

"Mara, you're so rude! Ask her if she wants to cum!"

I pull out. "Aiiight, enough."

And when I get back up, Tassia and Ana are gone.

*****

The feast is like the futanari see sex: an all-you-can-eat buffet. A la francaise. You can't make that up.

There's people coming and going, sitting, standing, but for once (their once) this big bash is entirely devoted to eating and chatting. No grabbing, no fondling. It would look like a regular town fair if we were wearing clothes. And it would be a nice moment if we felt part of it.

"Permanent contract," Lauren says. Over her shoulder I observe Tassia and Ana, on their own, nibbling at things that looked vegan enough. "Unlimited funding. Everything. Options, healthcare, personal security... they can give us new names if we want. I saw her buy an entire campus in Washington State, like a teen at the mall. They have lobbies, hedge funds everywhere, I heard names, you wouldn't believe me... They're crazy. And they know exactly what they're doing."

"Like you?"

"Sydney..." She represses a sigh. "Sydney, we are at war!"

"They're gonna change your body! It's gonna change your soul!"

She looks at me as though Porn Island is not the place for such philosophical contemplations.

Her hands are shaking.

"Why do you care about me so much all of a sudden?" she asks.

"I came here to help people! Not—"

"You came here to do exactly what is happening. You even used me for that, you lied to me apparently, but now you have it. So seize it goddammit! You're afraid of your potential, I didn't raise you like that!"

She didn't raise me much. And I'm only afraid that I went to hide and lick my fingers after I made Lucy cum.

Neitocris has joined Ana and Tassia. I'm too far to be anything but a powerless observer. They're arguing. Ana differently than Tassia. They're not crying.

I can't read lips. Pretty sure mom can.

I ask her to look and tell me what's going on.

After a moment and a thin smile, she gives me the answer: "Financial settlement."

"Christ..."

"We're not soldiers. The SS-P has abandoned us. You heard it firsthand. We don't have to fight for them. We can make a deal now."

"But do you even realize? You'll turn into a... a sex fr... a sex something! A penis on a body! Look at them!"

"We went through this horrible ritual to get here. We'll taste blood in our mouths for the rest of our lives. I think I can handle another. My soul is not in my genitals!" ('Unlike you', she forgot to say) "If you don't wanna see it, tell the two nitwits what to do with your equipment and go away for the night. Then we leave this place and you become the most important scientist of all time."

A fist flies out: Ana punches Neitocris in the face. Her hand breaks like glass. Carpal, metacarpal, possibly some tendons in her elbow, the whole shebang. The futa didn't even budge.

I'm the only one who screamed and by the time I was done, all was done:

Ana stumbled away, holding her shattered limb, quickly surrounded by a dozen futanari. In her rage and her fear, she grabbed a knife from a table and stuck it into the first neck she found. It cut through. The stabbed futa in turn grabbed the handle and removed the blade in a squirt of blood. She put the knife back on the table, next to the apple pies, rubbed her open wound a little and then didn't die.

It gave time for Tassia to leap forward and interpose, once more holding Ana in her arms, even as they tripped and tumbled to the ground, even as the others circled her closer. But still it was Ana deciding her fate, and she was accepting it, unflinching except for the pain in her arm, she let them approach, whatever their intent, let the blows come...which didn't. They gently but firmly grabbed her broken hand, inspected it. Within the space of a blink or two, her wrist glowed of the same colors I saw inside the hexagram. Then her face drooped into a bitter relief and she resigned to her defeat. She was not allowed to hurt.

Mom has put protective arms around my shoulders and chest. (Why does she care about me all of a sudden?) Her left breast is pressing against mine.

I guess it would be no big deal in other circumstances, but not on Incest Island. Not when my nipples get instantly hard from it. Not when I get so vividly aware of her hip against mine, her thigh, her toes that have inadvertently landed over mine...

We split and as quick as possible I fill the silence: "We're going insane here," hoping she will get what I try to mean.

If it wasn't enough, some douchy futa spews a "You two have great tits! I've images of double titjobs in my head now!" right at us.

"They can't get to us," mom tells me midsentence. "We're strong, you and I. Aren't we?"

Tassia is carrying Ana away from the thick crowd and the shock of healing magic, led toward the huts by other futa I've never seen before. She looks back at the queen. They say something. An unthankful nod.

"Thank you," I tell mom.

"What for?"

"For your genes."

"Heh..."

And because she understood what I meant she adds awkwardly:

"You know... when I was your age I made a man bump into a lamppost with just my cleavage."

"I don't wanna throw men at lampposts."

"It was your dad."

"Heh..."

Our semblance of conversation doesn't make much sense but we don't get the time to go on: Neitocris is casually walking over to us.

"Ladies. Have you tried the Chilean seabass? Were you talking about destroying the pharma market?"

The wounded futa is not bleeding anymore. She went back to eating and drinking and make merry. We will destroy every market, forever. We will destroy civilization. Because now I think we were hired to destroy death itself.

While enough bonfires are lit to burn an entire army of wicker men, we share the meal and the wine with the queen and her court. We talk money and politics, a subject I'm more familiar with than I thought. We don't see the girls again.

Right before 9 PM, an assistant brings us our freshly printed contracts. They look too good to be true, thanks to mom's negotiating skills, or thanks to the devil who said yes. I never cared about money, but if I sign this I will never have to care about money. So I read, we sign and only then Neitocris walks away, without a glance, without an Are you ready? She climbs upon her throne and stands for attention.

"It's time for the retrieval ritual. Lauren Bremner will become a citizen of Mucha Polla Island. Some of you have never seen it performed." She looked at the twins. "Just stay aside and watch. Now music!"

Coming out of nowhere a dozen futa gathers on a platform, holding instruments that pull a chuckle out of me. Namely this little blow of air out the nose characteristic of those who forgot how to laugh. And it's just as well cause I shouldn't laugh, because these instruments...they're made out of human bones.

"That's when you're wondering if we're cannibals," Neitocris ventures. "We just like to literally sing through our victories."

The horrible music starts and sounds horrible.

Already I'm analyzing. A slow rhythm, with a slight bass line. Arpeggios. Mute and somber.

I wish I had my camera with me. Then again I'm not an ethnologist. They only want me to be the lackey who'll study their bodily fluids, they don't want me to understand them.

I take my phone from my bag and start filming as we gather around one of the giant bonfires.

We're a bulky circle, deep enough to get lost in (and I get lost), packed enough to have stranger's sweat on my skin. I am drifting inside. Blending. Until I'm too far away to hear the things Neitocris whispers to Lauren. She genuinely wants to be reassuring. Mom does her best to contain her fear. She closes her eyes, breathes, nods at everything she's told.

Three futa step in the center, holding pots of a sort of dark substance.

They circle her. Neitocris circles the circle. We circle Neitocris. On my video there's only fire and shadows and motion blur. The ripples of arms and legs decide.

She raises her voice: "Lauren Bremner, did you come here because you've been hurt by the real world?"

"N-No?"

"Lauren Bremner, hast thou ever been hurt by the real world?"

"... Yes?"

"Well, tough shit, uh? But anyway, I, Queen Neitocris, ask you solemnly full access to your body and your will. Aye you say?"

She opens her eyes and says "Aye," with hardly concealed irritation.

The rhythm gets a little louder.

Two of the three futa kneel before and behind Lauren.

Following the music, they smear the sticky substance on her crotch, in her buttcrack. She gasps "Oh God..." under her breath. From the position of their hands I understand they penetrated her.

When they're done and out, the third futa fingerpaints three letters above her pubic hair. Later I would translate them as this one or not us.

I manage to get close, or maybe I'm just cast closer, either way it makes me stick out enough that mom turns her head at me. She doesn't know what to say but it looks like a goodbye somehow. A farewell from mother to daughter. Something I only got once before, the day dad died.

Should I tell her I love her? Do I want it on the recording?

"Now, down the hole!" says the queen as I get sucked back into the spin.

A few steps from us, a hole has been dug. Very narrow and deep enough to stand straight up in it. Soft roots are snaking out of the walls of earth.

Her small escort helps her to sit on the edge and then, lifted by their inhumanly strong arms, she slides down. Only her head is left out. The rest gets buried.

"You all right?"

"Y-Yes—Oh G—what's happening?" she wails all of a sudden.

"The roots are tightening around you, don't be scared. I mean, I understand if you are, just...don't be."

The music explodes into a cacophonic mess. It covers my heavy breathing on the video.

A noise I've never heard before startles me and the twins whom I can still see within the flow, in the corner of my eyes. It comes from the flames of the bonfire at the core of all of us. Like hissing and screaming.

The fire wriggles, struggling to keep its natural course, like the air beneath is keeping it from rising up, like the ground is sucking it in.

What was a fifteen feet high blaze crumbles into a ragged ball, smaller and smaller. Mom is screaming too. "It burns! Get me out of here! It bu—" But long before I can panic, it's all over. The fire is dead and we're in the dark. No more torches, no more music, only the panting of a thousand people, my mother being the loudest.

And then a wave-like noise.

I rapidly deduce it's the futanari letting themselves fall to their knees because I can feel their breathing around my hips.

After this first rumble another one begins, longer, higher-pitched, like a strange rain, and it takes me more time to understand: they are punching the ground. Over and over. Not in sync.

A vibrant pouring rain.

Which thumps inside my clitoris.

There's no escape. It's there and it's supposed to be there. The subterranean night is too deep, the dome too high to reverberate the invoked storm. Our chthonian thunder can only diffuse across us. That's how magic feels like: a sticky vibration that can never spread too far from flesh. Because it stains. And when we perform the ritual to leave the island, we'll be thrice dirty of it.

Two soft arms brush on either side of my body: the twins are pretending to be scared and seeking my comfort. I don't react. Means I don't push them away either. I'm sure they smelled my wet pussy anyway, no one's fooling anyone.

One first time, one last time I turn around completely to see if Tassia and Ana are anywhere near.

They're not.

Maybe they're spying from a distance but not feeling. And I slide deeper into the circle.

There I can see better the tormented stun on mom's face. A fight against pleasure. The same as me, worse.

No toy has ever stimulated me like this punching. It's a thousand erratic strokes funneled into an angry needle. And their hands will never break. They will never stop, not until Lauren cums. I tell them to stop but we can't, not until Lauren cums. I step closer, legs quivering like a slut in heat, but we can't, not until Lauren cums.