Out of Step

I fight back as best I can. It is harder to move with her on top, but I manage angles and lines she doesn't quite anticipate. No full thrusts can connect, but I get some on her. I can teel the hit lands when her knees get a bit weak and wobbly. Each time that happens, the smirk comes back. Then there's a circle in her hips and that has to go away so I can focus.

Someone else is kissing me. It's someone new, a nameless face pressed into mine, breathing in the scent of sex. I'm buried in the nape of her neck. Feeling the soft skin glance along my cheeks. I nibble and bite and that only gets the better of her. She pants in my ear as the need grows. Someone pushes her up my face and I am buried in her weeping entrance. A new friend with an unfamiliar form and she starts writhing just like the others. Although, I think she had this done in her part of the preparations before. She takes to it well. She takes to it very well.

I can't keep track of everything anymore. My hands are on thighs. The thighs are strong and tough and they keep dropping on me. I can't stop any of it. The storm has whipped me into a frenzy. My tongue talks for me and the body relays a panting message for more delirious need. The bodies above me move and I am looking up a well-toned back. At the top of the back is a hard and on that head is a hand. Baikal has pulled my rider in close for a deep, deep kiss. She is another wonderful claimant for her and her alone. The circuit is complete and everything is as it should be. I am drowning in a sea of smooth skin and wilderness honed power.

Baikal's lust filled rage starts seeping into the onlookers. They pair off with one another again to find an outlet for their fury. Some come down to me. I feel a tongue on my chest, licking in smooth circles. A hand goes across the way and starts playing with my nipple. That's another new one for me, although that is certainly something familiar in the grand scheme of things. It's a lighter pleasure than the one on my mouth and the one at my length.

"You better seed her soon," whispers a devious voice in my ear, "The others are getting impatient. There's going to be blood on the ground soon. Unless you want something like that."

I have had my fill of bloodshed and horror, so I think I will listen to the angelic voice that wants me to finish inside of a woman. That just sounds like a good plan all around. Baikal needs it. Baikal will probably rend the sky if she doesn't get it. The wonderful body on my face is already hollowed out from both ends. I think she's had her climax, but I'm not quite sure. It is hard to count all the sensations I feel. I know there is a pull in my core, some deep muscles tightening enough to snap and bend. Baikal is there to break me under the power and the heat is all I am here for.

The one on my face is having her own terrible end. She's shaking and trembling and Baikal refuses to let up from either of us. She is viscous. She is incredible. Something claws at my stomach and I think that is the one to finally push me over the edge.

She doesn't stop as the first pulse comes from me. She doesn't' stop at the second, the third. I fill her while she remains in terrible motion, an avalanche consistently breaking down the underlying forest. It's warm. I can't stop my legs from shaking and moving and bucking as they grasp at anything and everything for support. Her core flexes over me and that pulls more of my seed. The tremors eventually settle into a steady rhythm share between all of us. The one on my face is slowly coming down as everything goes slack. Baikal keeps the pressure strong and I find myself with more to give than I thought. She slows. I slow. Everything settles for a moment as the clearing stills. I am still here on a patch of wildflowers and it is beautiful.

Baikal sighs and breaks and slowly lets me free. I'm still hard. That's always a fun surprise back when I was wandering. Here, it's still very welcome, but more of an expectation. Despite the weakness in my knees, the heat builds up again.

One more step outside of my body and I just feel right. Everything is as it should be. HI can breathe. I can everything down to the tips of my toes. I can feel the night air drifting over the trees. I still have a body on my, broken and collapsed from the nameless words from my tongue, but Baikal is there to pick up the slack.

"Fuck Mishi next," she commands, "and you better give her just as much as you gave me. I'm not going to like it if you run out halfway through. That dance made a lot of promises."

"Cut me some slack," I sigh, "It's my first time."

"First time here, but I refuse to believe that you haven't been practicing out there."

I just shrug on my bed of flower petals as the Mishi starts her journey with me. She seems to be very excited. I am allowed a moment to catch my breath and not much more.

---

Mishi is very excited, although not quite in the way I thought she was. She's much more interested in a slower pace, keeping her head clear, letting the actual sensations have names and thoughts and ideas attached to them. The ones that come to me are vice and writhe, controlled contortions of her muscles in such a fine way that I think she should have been on stage tonight. Her stomach moves like the ocean. Calm and still, too furious to peaks rivaling mountains. Every second, she keeps a clear gaze down to me. Her eyes are green, the color of fresh, lush grass. She's smiling every second of the way.

It's hard, but I match the motions. I don't have quite the same control, but I do have the timing down in the larger motions. She is strong. She's had her time in the forest. She ran after the herds of deer, plucked the flocks of geese from the air. It's hard to spend so much time against the elements and not come out stronger.

My head is in Baikal's lap. My head is still filled with the vapor of our sex and Mishi is certainly adding to the intoxicating mixture. Even the reason cannot pierce the veil entirely. It's against the membrane, shadows beyond the curtain. It can speak and name and sing, but it cannot quite break the line. I am in a haze. There are others watching us and that same knife edge gaze is still pinning me to the earth.

It starts again, right with the height of her motions. It's not the same. It is the dancing paly where the rules are still set. It is all there, laid out in plain test. A fun little game played with so many others watching. I am supposed to finish inside of her because that is the best way to end the game. Something about birth rights and ancient rituals, but I am here for the moment and the moment alone. It feels good. To be this way with some any others. My hands are on Mishi's hips and she slams down with the most strength she's made of the night.

She stays there, pinning me down. Baikal helps. She makes sure we are as deep as we possibly can be. And that is very deep. I see my shape through her. I can even see the dancing of my twitches and pulses. They both love it. Mishi throws her head back and sighs in content pleasure. It jumps into a moan as it does not end. It's a soft climax, a bit of a break between rounds and it is exactly what we both need. She's looking back into the masses for her former partner. That's where the intensity she wants lies. I have certainly given her want she wanted from me.

I finished and I am still hard. There's a bit of a conflict. She could certainly go again. I definitely can, from the way my length pulls against her stomach. But that's also not the game. Someone else gets a turn.

Mishi leans down, letting her heavy breasts hang and sway and those make a wonderful case for breaking the rules. I feel her breath on my cheek before her lips give me something more concrete.

"Congratulations," she whispers in my ear, "You've done better than every other man I've been with."

"And how many is that?" I ask. She gets a kiss on her neck. That's a little more amorous than what I wanted, but it's as chaste as I can get.

"More than you'd think. Just take the compliment."

It is a bit more than I'd like to carry, but it's there. Mishi gets off me and goes back to the embrace of the milling crowd outside. I stretch. That's about all that is expected of me at the moment.

---

Vostok and Eyr. One on either side and I'm not sure which is which. Two at once is more than I could ever really hope to keep up with. Although technically, I think that I am having more than that. Time is a slippery thing and so are my companions. I am pressed between the two at the moment. I am sure this moment is right where it should be and that is perfect. Shame I lost Baikal in the shuffle, but I am more than content with these two.

Upon closer inspection, I think they are related. Twins at best, sisters in all likelihood, and cousins if I am thinking clearly. I believe I am. I hope I am not because that means I am very close to finishing and all I want is for the moment we have together to last forever. At the very least, I think this counts as double time, really. I should be applauded. As far as I know my audience is just sitting in rapt attention, reveling in the show as they have all along.

It's mechanical, their rhythm. Practice and honed during late nights spent in preparation for this. Cool detachment in the act, but still the joy of a game well played. Their hips meet at my tip when they rise. The fall to my base slightly out of synch. It staggers the pace once again and it tangles with one another until the sensation has no defined points. I hiss through my teeth, and they both laugh in soft titter.

"He's fun," says the one on the left, "He's much better than last year's."

"He really is," says the one on the right, "I liked the last one though. His hair was much longer. Much better to pull."

"Please," I grunt, "Please don't pull anything. I'm fine with everything as it is."

"Oh, fine," says the left. I'm going to say that it's Vostok.

"You have so much more to play with anyway," says Eyr. I get that through process of elimination. Good. I am still somewhat reasonable and intelligent. That's a wonderful little thing to note.

The staggered pace gets Eyr on my tip first and that's the cue for the game to end. She slides me in with ease. She's tight and embracing and that's all she needs to be. They've played with enough to get me right at the edge. That tremble gets a shiver and hiss again. The free one has a laugh at my expense and that's understandable. There are so many little ticks and boxes and all of them are right along the broad category of joy.

I pulse and twitch and that's enough to make sure everyone is where we need to go. My eyes are closed and there is the sensation to keep me bound and lashed. The embrace rises back to my tip and I am free for a terrible, terrible moment. I feel a strand hit my stomach. My horrible freedom ends and the other takes me as deep as she can. I forget which. I wasn't sure about them in the first place. But it's the other one and I can't find a difference. I don't really look for one either. I am in the midst of my climax and that's the only thing that matters. There's a hiss and a sigh and a moan that almost turns on to a clear note for the song.

"He's really, really fun," says the one I'm in. Eyr. This is Eyr. Or Vostok. Absolutely not Baikal. I lost the shuffle and now I am back to the flower bed waiting for the next one to come along and take their due from me.

"Shame he's only back for a little while," sighs the other.

"You could always come back out there with me, if you're so inclined," I sigh, "There're a lot more fun things out there. Do you know what a casino is?"

"No, and that sounds like something that would do more harm than good."

I shrug. They're not wrong. And they're certainly the smartest of the bunch so far. I'm definitely not on that list at the moment.

---

I am growing bored of lying on my back and doing nothing. I like doing things sometimes. Like now. I have another one, this one is Toria, and she is doing the same as the others. She is riding me in a heavy rhythm, just like the others. It may be somewhat ungrateful of me to be so unimpressed with the act, but it is the same thing for the third time. Or fourth. Maybe fifth. I want something different. That's why I left. That's why I moved from one place to another. That's why I came back in a way.

And Toria is still very, very good at all this. The practice is still in there. So many other nights beforehand, judging from the way her body has changed. Probably the oldest out of the group, but that just leads to the experience she gives me. Practice and calm, gentle even, making sure the motions are soft and enveloping. Her hand is on a scar. I believe that it came from a deep bite. Might have even been infected at some point. I don't recall. The pace is calm and even and simple. All in all, it is a perfectly acceptable act and I am simply an ungrateful bastard for wanting more.

I gesture for her to lean close. That is something perfectly acceptable, if a little old-fashioned. She likes old fashioned. Toria smiles and bends and I am face to face with a gentle, playful smile. I lean up and find the lips in another bit of play. She hasn't been drinking. Everything is clear-headed and calm.

And then she finds herself pinned and rolled up. I am made iron and steel and they forgot that. Toria makes a small l little squeak with her new predicament. It's a terrible thing to be so surprised by something new. I don't care.

The eyes are on me again with the new noises we're making. A new show has begun and for once I don't gate.

Something burns in me and it's a chance to work it out. The limbs demand movement and they will have it. I brace myself against her and move as I should.

It turns out that that I wasn't as deep as I could go on her. I find more space in her. And then I make more. I spread her and she gasps with the new position.

"Naughty," she hisses, "Naught, naughty boy."

"You have no idea," I say, "You think that is the worst of it?"

"No. But you're also not really doing anything that out of the ordinary. You're just not following orders."

I get a little laugh now. That's also something I'm rather good at. I'm also good at dancing my hips, rolling and circling and moving in complex steps that' she's never seen. She has the song with me, it's on the off beats striking her core that set her moving. It's the triplets and the eighth notes. It's all the work songs used to quell the heat, the drunken ballads of aftermath, the humming of nurses as they tended to my wounds. So much out there and it is all pouring into her. My thighs burn with the work and Its all back to the simple thrusting. It's what I'm good at. It's what I'm made for. That, and the dancing.

Her legs move and wrap around my hips. The dance can't quite be as it was with the restraints. She likes the bit of restraint more. I go easier. I let her rest and catch her breath. I let her feel the soft clouds. She calms down. She likes the practiced movements. She gets the practiced movements.

That lets me find the routes and the spots she likes. I keep to those. I keep to the familiar and same so she knows what to expect.

And that is enough to start the process once again. It's gentle and dancing and eager. I keep the pace, just a bit harder than it should be. My breath goes ragged and harsh and there's a gentle kiss on my forehead. There's a gentle murmur in my ear that whispers sweet breezes and gentle rumbles.

It's another round of deep pulses from my core all for her. My back arches and I find my forehead pressing into hers. Something tugs my eyes open and I am staring down a deep, deep abyss. Her eyes are dark and calm, just a glint of a pleased challenge against her and I have met it in every way she could think of. It's what she wanted and I gave it to her. Maybe not I the exact way she thought it would happen, but it is still simply perfect. She gets another soft kiss and I get one in return.

Then she starts shimmying and I think that's the cue to let her up. So, I do. She rolls over and finds herself free. I roll over and find myself lost in the flowers once again. That's fine. Someone else will come along and pull me up. I already feel a hand on my shoulder.

---

Ladoga and Biwa are done and I made them that way. Some of the others have drifted back through the forest. My two recent partners are recovering with themselves as best they can. I stand and stretch and watch them for a moment.

Biwa likes her back stroked, I think. Or Ladoga is just soothing the deep red marks I was encouraged to make. I have some of my own still cooling. They work well with the scars. Probably won't last as long, but that's not what they're there for. They are there as a temporary reminder of the impact I can have, of the simplicity of existence, how feral we all can be at the drop of a hat. The moon is bright in its heavens amongst the stars this cloudless night. I bend and something gives in my back.

Biwa and Ladoga play so well together, softly, gently, the perfect opposite of how they were with me. They never break from one another. Biwa is taller, but Ladoga has more work put down in her legs. She also likes her ass smacked. My handprints are still there, but Biwa's overpowers mine. More red marks on dark skin. Lighter than mine, darker than the twins, almost the color of red clay in the dying light. They moan into one another as my seed still flows from between their legs.

Biwa rolls her breasts against Lagoda. Each motion sends another little moan and trill through them both. Shivers and trembles as the pleasure ebbs and flows like the tide. Ladoga is the one to break for a moment to catch her breath. They stare into each other's eyes and mutter something sweet and kind for them and them alone.

Then something swats my ass and I can't stay in the lovely moment any long.

Ness is standing in front of me, hips cocked, eyebrows raised, a smirk pulling her lips up in a vicious hook.

"You're still ready aren't you?" she purrs. I glance down. It would seem that I am. Definitely not as energetic as my first couple of rounds, but still impressive enough for anyone looking. I can even make it dance.

"Good," she says, "Because I don't think your friend would like that if you weren't."

It seems that Baikal has stuck around this long, keeping a vigil at the edge of the clearing in case anything gets too curious or hungry. The wandering hand that finds its way to her thighs every so often just seems to be a bit of a nuisance. She lets it do what it wants, though.

"She really does go for the old ways, doesn't she," I sigh.

"Maybe. I also think she likes you being the best, whatever that amounts to. It means she was right for coming with you. Everyone wants to be right. Even me."

"So, am I the best?"

"You've made it with 7 women in one night, soon to be 8. And one of those 8 is me. If you want to tell yourself that, then sure. I'm in no position to argue. It's not the biggest nest I've been a part of, but definitely the most fun."

"Please don't do that tongue thing again. I'm not sure if I liked it."

"Fine. You made such great noises though. I can tell that one's going to spread like wildfire once word gets out."

I shrug. I bet it will. I bet more noises will be made. I bet some people will like it and some people won't. Some will request it and some will ban it. I'd probably need another round or two to land on my decision.

I'm brought back from the future of the ritual as Ness moves closer. Her stomach is hard. She has scars as well. Her arms are strong and corded, moving me into her and I can't fight even if I wanted to. I just test the net and it is good. The trap is sprung and we are slowly, slowly falling back into the haze.