Last Chance

She could sense it coming, could feel the intensity build with him. Her hands dug deeply into her thighs, leaving marks that would last for three weeks. The electric thrill seemed to sudden course through his body, leaping through space into her's. His hand darted from his side. He cupped his free hard and using his pumping fist pointed the fat cock straight at it. He began thrusting his hips forward, fucking his hand instead of stroking himself. She couldn't move, couldn't tear her eyes away from his entire form start to push and pull with each thrust. He stared her straight in the eye for a moment, the same eyes that had run up and down her in front of the class so many times. The eyes that dared her to look away, dared to ignore what he was doing to her.

His head rolled back, his jaw slacked open. He seemed to thrust his entire body forward and freeze. The orgasm rushed through him and then spilled into his hand in a violent gush. He started convulsing, his body shaking and shimmering as he milked load after load into his pooling hand. Finally he seemed to collapse, all energy running out of him. His head slowly rose again until his eyes bored straight into Karen's. Without breaking his gaze, he slowly raised his hand up allowing the action to visibly tense up his prime muscles. His fingers approached his face.

Karen felt her crotch gush, her vagina throw itself open and release the overflowing juices as his tongue darted out, rolled around his fingers for a moment, and draw back into his mouth thickly coated with the white cream. Her shoulders shook violently as everything with her seemed to tremble and demand release at once. The electric sensation ran through her again and again each time his tongue darted out until finally all that remained was a thick strange dangling from his middle finger.

She froze, her loose muscles suddenly contracting again. He wouldn't! some shrieking voice in her mind cried, the last desperate attempts to hold onto the world as it was supposed to be dying as the voice was proven wrong.

He leaned forward and slowly moved his hand away from him. She watched it in perfect clarity, the rest of the room drowning out into a thick blackness, the only thing living and real the finger dripping with the last drop of cum. The finger, and the eyes behind it. The body of the man erased from her existence; his eyes floating in the black space, ordering her to accept it, knowing resistance was futile. Her mouth sagged open. She felt the firm finger brush against her lower lip leaving behind a sticky feeling spot, then over the teeth and finally onto the tongue. Her mouth snapped shut like Venus Fly Trap, her lips hungrily sucking the finger like a baby milking mother, the tongue rolling against it and pressing into it, terrified by the idea of loosing a single drop of it.

The finger slowly pulled itself out, trailing behind it a thin milky white strange. Karen closed her eyes and licked her lips, feeling the ritual finally completed and the body savoring the offering it provided. She sat frozen. Her body obliterated beyond its senses. She barely registered the fact that Kevin had stood up, collected the money from the railing, and had moved away. Her eyes raised slowly until they were wide open but not seeing anything, only feeling the still hot fluid roll around her tongue.

"Happy bachelorette party," the voice coming as a sweet, private hiss from absolute temptation. Chris' lips an inch away from her ear lobe, her hot breath running down her neck causing the already aching fire to add yet another dimension to it.. Her mind didn't register the hand reaching across and planting itself on her upper tight just below the hem of the skirt. The hand firmly gripped, Karen's scattered mind registering enough to know that if the hand even dared move an inch up her thigh she would melt into an orgasm.

4

Ring.

The phone broke no one's concentration.

Ring.

The second time Brad managed to pull himself away from the television to recognize the action. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat, the one that had been lodged there ever since Karen stepped out and the boys came over for the party. He stood up but not a single man in the room turned his head to acknowledge it.

All the better, Brad thought to himself as he walked into the living room and picked up the receiver. He was very pleased with the results so far. It was all going as he had planned, and in some cases even better. The scene was set perfectly and he hoped the phone call would tell him the rest was going to come through.

"Hello," he said.

For a moment all he could hear was a static line of a cheap pay phone and a loud thumping beat of music.

"We're leaving soon," the voice on the other end said.

Brad's smile widened and the lump ran back up from deep inside him. The knot of anticipation nearly buckled his legs and sent him into the floor.

"And how is it going?"

"Everything as we spoke of. She got her dance and now can't really sit still."

"How's the potion working?"

"Seems to be doing the job."

"Wonderful. We'll all be waiting for your arrival. And by the way, Chris, are you having fun."

Across town Chris turned away from the phone and back to the darkened room. She eyed Karen sitting back in the booth. She was trying to laugh and make a joke of it for the others but she could see her beautiful legs open and clothes beneath the table, the way she crossed her arms over her chest so she could secretly caress her nipples. She had waited so long for a night like this with Chris.

"I'm having the time of my life."

Brad hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment. He forced himself three long. slow breaths to calm down the raging desire burning inside him. It was all so close, it was all so near. Now it was time to put the last nail in the coffin, the last final act.

He headed towards the kitchen and fixed another round of drinks. He made five drinks, splashing together vodka, tequila, and cranberry juice. He found it was the perfect drink to cover the taste of the last ingredient. Yahalle root, once refined to its liquid form, had a bitter taste of almonds. He poured the fluid in, smiling to himself.

He held the empty vial in his hand for a moment, the distilled process not removing the guttural response it swelled inside him. The instant nostalgia and memory it brought up. The heat of the Amazon, the constant crazy mixture of sounds and sites. The little village in the middle of nothing. And the women...

He didn't have to listen to the live fucking sounds punctuated by an occasional groan from one of his friends to be turned all. He had to do was remember what it felt like to be tied down, what felt like gallons of the boiled root poured down his throat, and the sensation. The feeling that each speck of dirt beneath him had its own individual contour, each one giving him its own unique pleasure. And the feeling of the sex...

His body convulsed a moment as the memory tore through him, pulse the instant rush that is released in the brain when Yahalle root is present in the system. It makes the images of the imagination stand out clearer, makes the dreamer less afraid of the dreams. And the feeling of the sex. His cheeks flushed as the memory of the first one ran through him, the one who had come to him late at night, his rock hard cock poking straight up into the night sky demanding attention. And how she rode him, the wild bucking hips and bouncing breasts, the guttural cries in another language. He had to take them all on, the entire village of women. One by one, sometimes painfully kept at full erection for days with their constant displays and shows put on for him. All orgies, what seemed like hundreds of limbs, vaginas, and tongues swirling around him in a mad daze. The constant sex, the constant pleasure.

But it was all worth it. He had done his task, his release came almost immediately after the last convulsing vagina had snapped around his spouting cock. And he had gotten the root.

The root that had been nothing more than imagination since the dawn of mind, an almost primitative reminder of the Earth's potential. The root that ignited the libido, drove the body nearly insane with wild fantasies previously undreamed of, and the almost limitless endurance it gave to those who took it. He snorted out a short laugh, remembering the night that he had taken on nine women, all leaving satisfied and mystified by the introduction of a totally new possibility of sexuality.

It was the perfect mixture for his bachelor party.

He grabbed the drinks and walked back into the den. The four men absently grabbed the glasses and started gulping it down. He had stopped counting how many doses he had given them. It had never proven toxic to any animal, no matter the dose. All their eyes were transfixed on the television screen. A slender blonde was being fucked by two men dressed as cops, one in the mouth and one in the pussy. He looked out of the corner of his eyes at all the men, none of whom were really concealing the rubbing of their crotches anymore, especially for Wayne, whom this movie had been chosen for.

Brad had planned the order and content of the films just as closely as he had planned everything else that evening. He knew how to watch people, how to look for those things that others simply passed over. The tiny details that, once accurately observed, and told volumes about the subject. Wayne was the easiest one to please, his fetish for blondes was plastered over every inch of his interests. His work in the law firm caused the stress that could only be relieved at the gym. Not only did it punish his body in the way that his work demanded, it also fed his always raging libido. He loved to watch the women, show off for them and droll as they did the same for him. It wasn't hard to peg Wayne's interests after a view visits with him.

Henry's had been a little more discreet since his was less societal acceptable and available. But, as with anything else, he just needed to be looked at in the right light. All Brad had to do was check his Internet history to pin him down immediately. Searches and sights about barely legal teens, tight pussies, and pleated skirts. Brad had been amused when he put an early Tracy Lords film on just for Henry. The rest had all been blinded by the breaking of such a taboo and secretly delighted in the forbidden desire but Henry could barely contain himself. His large muscles built from his years as a carpenter had pressed his well callused hands deep into his crotch.

As for Tom and Dwight, they both shared a pleasure for any of the group scenes. Which made them perfect for the next step in the plan.

Brad hit the stop button and popped the tape out. Caught in the sudden blue light of the dead screen, all the men had to put on the face of humanity. There was some quick coughing to cover up the heavy breathing bordering on panting. A few adjusted in their seats, trying to free up the pressure of their raging hard-ons in their pants.

"Great fucking films," Tom said dreamily. The Yahalle root was really taking effect on him, his voice dripping with the near pleading for more and for release.

"Now here comes my favorite," Brad said as he slipped the tape into the VCR.

The image came up quickly and all the men settled back in for another round of the torturous display. Their interests were light up further when a single woman dressed as a cheerleader walked into a steam filled locker room with twelve guys standing in various states of undress.

5

Karen's head kept falling forward on the ride home. Her eyes ran over the blurring lights and fast moving exterior. She felt, different. There wasn't a word for it.

Her mind spun back over the images, trying to find those that were real and those that had only happened in her imagination. The drunk had hit her, but there was something else. The sense of lightness, of hear detachment, of heat and throbbing sensations. Her senses felt almost obliterated by her desire, making memory impossible.

"Did it really happen," she dreamily asked Chris. They were alone in the car, the rest of the girls dispatched with earlier.

"Yes," Chris said with almost a hiss. Her hands tightly gripped the steering wheel, making her knuckles white.

Did it really happen, floated through her head. Was it all real. Seeing Principle Trump walking through the door. Chris taking charge and leading them out the back. The dark hallway, light only with the neon of the exit light. Black leather walls. Was that real, or was it something else? Did I imagine it? Did I imagine the door cracked halfway open? Did I really race past it, stopped only by Chris freezing dead in her tracks and going slack jawed? Did I walk back and look to where she was looking? Was he really there? Was it really him? Was that really Kevin down on all fours on the floor. Was that man really saying those things? His large red cock popping in and out of his mouth, his hips grinding in until his public hair tickled the nose. Suck it, yea come on baby you know how to do it you love it when a fat cock stuffs the back of your throat. And was the one behind him really fucking him that hard, his hips wildly bucking against the bare ass? Were those men really in the shadows of the room, each one stroking their exposed cock? Just part of the show. Is that what Chris said?

"Here we are?" The voice broke through her fog.

She was startled to see the car parked in her driveway. The same old house, the same old lights, the same old collection of trinkets that defined it as theirs. As her eyes registered the sight, her tongue instinctively ran around the back of her mouth, still trying to taste the last bit of semen that may still be in there. The house was the normal world, the real world where she was just another college teacher. She wanted one last taste of the night.

"Look, the lights are out and the television is on," Chris said, pointing. Karen followed her eyes to the living room window. The blinds were all closed by the flickering blue color on the sides revealed what was going on inside. Christiana rolled down her window. The car filled with the sounds of the night and a new noise. It was the canned sound of sex. The moans and amplified deep breathing was just audible on the silent street. They heard a brief snicker and some various words from various mouths. "Must be the bachelor party," Chris said with a grin.

"Too bad we have to break it up," Karen said with a sigh, resigning herself more and more to the normal world, trying to force the painful itch out of her hot thighs.

"But just imagine it," Chris said in a lower voice, her tone becoming floating and dreamy. "All those men sitting right in that room, after watching porno's all night.

"Chris..." Karen gasped, suddenly afraid of where the words were going and the effect they would have on her. Just the flash of image she caught from the beginning words told her that anything more would get the engine running again.

"All those big men sitting there in the dark, all they can see if the fucking on the screen. Imagine those hard cocks straining against those pants."

"Chris, please..." Karen said, not bothering to keep the pleading out of her voice.

"Doesn't that turn you on, after all you saw tonight," Chris said, her voice going from bedroom to laughing demon. She could read it so clearly in Karen's eyes. Her graze was transfixed on the window, her eyes wide. "All those hard cocks just in one room, straining and having no release. All that cum built up on the balls..."

"Oh God!..." Karen gasped.

"Just wanting to get out. Maybe they've been rubbing themselves, imagining. Wanting so badly to run from the room and blow their load all over the bathroom walls."

A heavy pause in the car.

"Or maybe they just couldn't stand it any longer and started doing each other."

The final words sent a long tremble through Karen's body, her legs shivered. Her hand drifted down and touched the bare thigh revealed by the loose skirt.

"I've always imagined..." Karen said in little more than a whisper, her eyes seeing sights that only existed in the imagination.

"So what do you think. It's your last chance," Chris whispered, the final hand played out. It all rested on the next moment, the question hanging heavy in the air.

She saw the idea register in Karen's mind. She was momentarily blinded by the leap between imagination and reality. She could see it clearly, the ease with which it would happen. All those hot men, she caught her breath again, all those cocks, and the ache in her groin flamed up. It wanted and demanded relief.

Chris stared at her, reading her face go through the confusion of the decision, the two sides battling and the inhibition quickly loosing as the imaginary image melted her.

"If they've been watching all night," Chris breathlessly whispered, "go put on a show for them."

"Yes," Karen heard herself whisper.

They sneaked in the house. Slowly prying open the door, the two women stepped into the darkness. They moved past the open door to the living room, stopping for a moment to see the total hypnotic pull of the television. Karen sized them all up for a moment, five of them. She could feel the electricity and desire in the room. Her own smile cracked on her lips as resolve washed over her.

The two tip toed up the stairs and into the bathroom. Chris helped her prepare, cracking open some old boxes and crates to find the things she planned to use. Handling each item brought back a rush of old memory and the warm comfort that it was all going to happen again, one last time. They sneaked back downstairs. Karen was the first one who heard the noise as they walked closer to the foot of the stairs. She stopped cold and snapped up her hand behind her, communicating to Christiana that something was amiss. She gingerly walked the rest of the way down the stairs. Slowly she moved towards the half open door that opened into the living room. She hesitantly stuck her head around the corner.

Her mouth snapped open, the cry of surprise painfully kept in the back of her throat.

"You got to see this," she said in a breathless whisper, reaching her hand behind her until Chris obediently took it. She gently pulled her up until she was beside her.

"Oh my god," Chris whispered, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head.

Of course Brad had heard the door, he being the only one who was waiting for it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two shadows move through the darkness. And like every other part of the evening, he already had the plan. He knew what Chris would be talking to her about, but now it was time to add on the extra fire.

The shadows had safely moved away from them, underneath the grunts and groans coming from the screen and the room he heard feet going up the stairs.

He relaxed back into his seat again, looking around the room one more time.

They were all near the point of insanity where it felt like the body threatened to break and the head ready to explode from the pounding blood. Their breathing sounded like everyone in the room had just run a marathon, the gasping, uncontrolled gulping of air, trying to make it smoothly go down the tense throat. All were hot, hotter than they had ever been, he knew. He had played it perfectly all evening, applying the lessons the Amazons had taught to him about blurring the lines between pleasure and pain until nothing remained but the burning desire without release. Using the tools of the pornography to hammer the erotic signals into their brains. Paying attention to them as they were drawn tighter and tighter, caressing that burning ache with unrelenting images tailored to each individual taste.

All four had long since given up on any sense of self control. He had them locked into the scene, their eyes pried wide open by their own desire, their bodies little more than puppets under his command. He would run it up, higher and higher each time, using those scenes he knew would get to them in their own special way. Bring them just to the point of exploding in their pants without ever touching themselves. And then he would stop it cold, bring the scene back to reality with the smallest of jokes or small talk that shattered them out of their illusion enough to dull the fire. Dull it, not put it out. It helped them regain enough of their senses to gather their composure, to forcefully push back the burning ache of the groin. Sometimes he let the dead times linger, pulling them almost out of the spell and then thrusting them back in again.