Paresthesia Pt. 05

Slow, the motion of the current is slow, but that does not mean it is weak. The undertaking is leviathan. The heft of and shake takes time to go through each and every one of those terrible things trying to control it. I keep myself halfway in, halfway out, saw and thrust and groaning earthen plate.

There is writhe in her, the sway and morph of her body. Something is in there moving of its own accord carrying with it magma heat. I do not care. It feels wonderful tracing the lines and engulfing me whole. There is write and twitch within her and it is maddening to endure.

Hannah is fair better, I think. Her feet rest on her attendant's shoulders, toes flexing and curling as the tongue does as it wishes with her. I imagine the tongue is warm and withing the same way her insides are. There is dexterous motion and trembling staccato. There are stutter steps and delayed drops in her mouth. There is vice and shifting grip in her pelvis over me. Motion and heat, and behind bones of rubber souls. Spikes and nodes of moving rubber inside and on her. I am lost to the motion of in and out, side to side. I take my hand back and bring it down once more, leaving a handprint right on the dark skin. It will take more work to turn it red.

"Do that again," squeaks Hannah, "She did a thing I liked when you did that."

So, I do it again with a very good reason. It can be repeated, apparently, and now I have a wonderful game to play with the both of them whenever I want. I do it a third time, mostly for me. The motion hits my stomach and the visceral pull in my core almost has me do it a fourth time. I am not quite the basest self yet. There is still another's pleasure to consider for the moment, however inconsequential it is in the grand scheme of things. I am inside of Alessandra and that is all that matters.

Hannah seems sensitive tonight. She must have worked herself up. I do not blame her. I probably would have done the same. It does get lonely and cold in the warehouse at night. And it is always so empty the noises echoing at the slightest suggestion of vibration. It is designed for more people and thrumming machines. We can bring some of that, but not all.

Her climax hits her rather swiftly. Our guest seems to have some talent at this rather exciting game. That same smile is back, the serpentine and fanged one with venom and pierce. Through my toy I feel her quake. One body removed, and it is still enough to shake my soul. There is so much in her, so much shatter and rend. I am torn apart by the blast wave. I can only hope that Alessandra takes the detonation in stride. I am lost and in no place to render aid. I am lost in the round and the bounce, the way the ripples travel down the skin in pleasing waves. They crash against the shore of my stomach out of time with our shared motion.

Alessandra takes her time in drawing it out, hand and tongue doing their best to drag the moment. Not as well as I can, but well enough. I watch the arc and spray shoot over her head, splattering against her back, again and again and again while Hannah tenses and squeaks, trying to keep everything inside and clamped down. The hands and the tongue take over, however, pulling more and more and more from her. I slow to glacial. I have a show to watch.

"Oh, I think we should keep her Evan," gasps Hannah, "We can keep her here and let her sleep in our bed. Would you like that girl? Would you? Who's a good girl? Who's a good girl? You are. Yes, you are."

"I can bite some very sensitive things down her," Allie growls, "I would not push it. And would it kill you to give me some warning."

"It's always like that with her," I say, "Kind of makes it more fun, in my opinion. Have you ever had one of those before?"

"No, I've never gushed like a cracked hydrant."

"Well then, I think we finally have a goal for the night. Not to say that no goal can be fun. But still. Evan, do you think you can help her out?"

"I'll give it my best shot."

"Boo. What happened to the devil's playthings from a while ago?"

"I will take her down to the darkest abyss of ecstatic anguish. I will subsume the body in the monument to carnality in union. I am inside of her and I shall ruin her for whatever joys life brings. There is the end of things waiting for her in the consuming little deaths brought from my will."

"Was he a theater kid or something?" asks Alessandra.

"No, but I was. And I think I rubbed off on him a little bit," Hannah shrugs with the glow fading.

"I didn't know you were in theater," I say, "I would have some seen you if I did."

"Aww, that's sweet. But abyss. Anguish. Ruin. Fuck her. Fuck her hard and make her squirt. That's what you need to do right now. We can talk art later."

Its fair, and I would rather fuck than talk art. Although, art almost by necessity requires some amount of masturbation. It takes a great deal of ego to put down ink or paint or notes and say they are good, the kind of ego that only comes with shameful shameless self-love. That is to say nothing of those who put down the written word.

And the love I have is still slow to begin with. It is a rather lazy affair, just to start, just to erase the banter and the words to the back of the mind. There is nothing to think about other than the motion of body on body and the act of dancing union. She is tight. She is warm. She is slick. I am hard. I am eager. I am spreading and opening her with hip and touch.

Without the gag of Hannah's thighs, Alessandra is surprisingly noisy. Not unpleasantly though. She is deeper than Hannah, letting the noises come freely and opening. Moans, deep moans and reverberating echoes from her chest. There is a soft harmony from her, almost forgotten in the breath. Her chest lies on Hannah's stomach, cheek to abs and feeling the thrumming core from its source. Hands to chest, gripping what there is, slowly massaging and kneading and flowing through the leylines of form. Hannah likes it, from the slightly less predatory smile and the soft little noises from the back of her throat.

"He's still not doing all that much," Alessandra groans, "Big words from a not so big man."

"I have been pulling my punches," I sigh, "But are you sure you want it? It could be a lot more than you think it is."

Her response's beginning is to raise her hips and take her arms under her, back arched and flexed in perfect form. The middle part sinks forward, burying her face in hard muscle and soft caresses. Hannah looks to me with a sly shrug that says maybe we have teased her too much. Or not enough. That call is never completely accurate, and now I wonder if this was all some sort of beautiful set up to have me punished for having a night to myself.

The final bit of the response is a slam of her hips against mine. The couch, my most stalwart ally, who has seen fit to support me and keep me upright. I have not faltered, but the weight and the power behind the motion certainly intends to do just that. She moves with devilish intent, shaking foundation with thunderclaps all given by the shrine near her head. My hands are to her thighs and it might not be enough to keep steady.

Hannah looks to me with a thin smile. It is all here. The stage is set. The audience has grown restless and bored, storming the stage for some act of stimulation. Challenges thrown down and met with, we are all here for the empress on her throne by the bear pit. We are here to claw and scratch and bite with reckless abandon for the feast of carnality. I smile back, just as thin, just as vicious, just as starving. Hers is better. I can't deny that simple fact.

The world goes gray and I can finally breathe in my own time. The basest self does not have control over the body. It can think and act and do as it wishes forevermore in the endless expanse of gray.

Alessandra stills in motion, the ripple traveling down her hips. I slap it once again, leaving my handprint frozen in time like an ancient fossil. Once more, just for symmetry. I hope it is red by now. It better be red. If it's not, then I will have to remedy that. I certainly can, but she might not be quite as appreciative as I am.

I take myself out and catch my breath. The gray is cold. The gray is calm. The gray envelops and slowly numbs me as my seconds tick on by. Eager, I am eager to fall back in and let the motion take away thought. And I will. A moment, I have a moment to myself and I refuse to give it away to anything other than the woman beneath me and the women across from her.

I have my moment and the sensation numbs back to the thinking self. I am calm. I am cool. I am collected into the simple act I will undertake.

The spread is open to me, even now in the gray where the red marks do not show with stopped time. My thumb and grip open her a bit more than it was given. Beautiful, simply beautiful with folds and lips. She has my fingers in her, simple touch and stroke, more control over the action and she gives me no response. It would be worrying if she had anything in the moment. But I am alone, playing with her in no real grand design. In and out, the simple act of in and out, always nice, always desired, but the second digit in there lets me spread and open and touch all the spots and folds within. Each second of my time in expands upon that last moment when I return. I spread her and open her, and she gives me no response at all.

For all the bravado, all the challenge, all the talk given in defiance of my act, there is no counter to this. She is mine and mine alone. Even the viper venom smile froze forevermore cannot take her from me her. The fingers play in her, widening the shape and minding my gape.

My fingers grow bored and other appendages have needs. Hard. I am still hard. There is no other way to be as I align and shift into her. The stillness envelops me, parts the thigh grip and the slick slide. She is warm, so incredibly warm in the frozen moment, melting icicles and snowflakes of gray as I saw and thrust. It is easy, so incredibly easy to be lost in the in and out and side to side. I am deep in her, pelvis to pelvis, bone to bone, skin to skin and I hold there, applying more pressure. Every second of my existence adds another mote of pressure to something sensitive and waiting.

I am violent. I am destructive. I am surgical in the evisceration of Alessandra. But I am patient, carving away at the stillness. Each motion is a chip against a granite block. The stone offers no fight against its eventual being. It will be a statue to my liking. It will contort and writhe and scream my name in ecstatic exuberance. That is the grand art I shall make.

I slow and dip my hips. I have time. I have time to let the motion carry weight. She will feel every ounce. She will feel every second I spend in the moment. I am close. I am very close to ending my play in her, with each moment bringing it closer from on high.

I stop. I have to stop. I have a moment to draw out and she gets another slap and ripple across her ass as I rest. That probably won't feel all that good, but that is mostly for me. I will apologize later if it was too much, once we are all in my bed and holding one another right with the sleep and the night a constant weight pressing on our collective forms.

The gray sits in its silent, not even the echo of my movements coming back to me. It all hangs in the air just beyond its epicenter. I think Alessandra has enough of my rage against her. She will live and the desired reaction achieved once the color is back. Later, that will happen later.

I feel that Hannah has been neglected in this whole act of play. There she is, frozen in the smile of poison and it is not quite enough to convince me not to mess with her. There will be a threat at some point, but that is from the moment after this one.

With care, I shift all the positions. Alessandra is nestled safely against the arm of the trusty couch and the next victim is placed on the opposite one. Toned and lean, bent and flex just enough to give her lines and curves something tactile and haptic. I plant a soft kiss on her cheek, just to give her something gentle to focus on.

I pinch and twist her nipple while I bite the other one. She will require a more forceful hand to come to the desired pose. Such a hard stone, but still beautiful and not at all fragile. I stay at her chest for a good long moment of mine, doing what damage I can with altruistic intent. That too, will leave marks, and I hope that they both realize how devilish I can be. I should not be trifled with and they have done nothing but trifling for the last good long while. It is too much to ask for a simple loving moment and a calm session of union. I have to be the bad guy. I have to go as hard as I can to satiate the terribly monster, they think I am.

It's a fun roll, the harsh hands and teeth to soft things on a hard body. But that pull in my stomach still calls for the final act, and for that, I have more work to do. I sigh and dust my hands. I have an idea that I wish to try and hopefully it all works out.

My hands go under her arms and I lift. She's heavy. All bodies are heavy, but she feels dense, knotted and entwined together with bone. But she does not resist. She doesn't help either, but I manage. There is a spot on the open floor, a decent way away from the couch that I have been eyeing.

I leave her there, just floating suspended by no strings at all. Her entire body is gray and still smiling, and I have my work laid before me. I spread her legs and lower her, just a bit, it's a bit of work to get us all lined up and even. She gets another kiss on her lips and she still tastes like stopped time together with me. I press my forehead to hers and look into the eyes that I know are blue, so blue, so brilliantly blue.

"I love you," I whisper in her ear. The words hang still and do not enter her mind. She knows. She knows what the words are and what they mean. She knows them every second of every day, with every moment we share and every moment we are apart.

Not wanting to leave poor Alessandra the only one with a taste of my palm, I slap Hannah in the same way. There is no grand ripple of heavy flesh, just a small crater forming where my hand struck hardest. Bony thing, it is, but still round and supple with muscle and tone. It is nice, all things considered.

I align ourselves and begin. It is easy to move my hips when there is no weight to support. My gray keeps her still, so incredibly still. There is pleasure in it, sure, the simple act of vice grip and embrace will always have that. But I miss the arms and the hands grasping at me. My moment is mine and it is somewhat lonely. I miss the voices in my ear, the screams and yells and breathless moans filtered in curse. There is only the canned sound of me and her meeting hips. Not even the echo bounces of the walls. My pants barely leave my lips before the gray snatches them and makes them silent.

But I carry on with the embrace and the thrust, the rocking hips in and out, in and out as hard and as fast as I possibly can go. She can take it. She can take the whole moment of the world collapsing on her and walk out the other side smiling. There is always the survival of the woman riding tectonics in her core. The end of the world cannot stop her so I have no shot of doing so. But I can certainly make her scream my name loud enough to shatter glass.

All in all, the act is simple and vigorous. Even silent and still the bodies know each other. My hips move to match what I know she likes without even me making sure that is what it is. She likes the angle up, tracing the tip along the inside of her stomach. She cannot mean that I'm not that big. I can feel my outline through her stomach. Sure, the angle helps a bit. And she isn't the biggest woman. And the way we are positioned has something to do with it. But still. Not every man can do this. Probably. Hopefully. Not every man can certainly suspend time and do whatever he pleases to bodies in the meanwhile.

I embrace the statue suspended as I continue the movement rhythm. I am in and out, slowly going through the motions of what is instance. She is still tight and embracing, without the thrum of her core and the shatter of her soul. It is nice, if a little unresponsive. It is not quite the best she can be, or the best I can get. And, I do have to take want, for it will not be given freely.

My grip moves her back to the couch, stilling hanging in the air with that same silent smile taunting me. She does not realize what waits for her. I am close, but I have time to centime with her lying beneath me. She is spread and open as I lay my weight into her. It is enough to bend and bulge through her, trace and morph the lines of her stomach. It is easy, so easy to fall into the body and forget myself through it. I kiss her cheek again and hope that it does not trip the threshold into violent. There should still be gentleness in the moment where it all collapses.

My own release settles in the top and does not seem to abate. I am close and I have done enough to the both of them to allow myself to be close. I sigh out one final sigh to the world and let the quiet hang on my will.

A whim brings it all crashing down.

Hannah's eyes go wide and the smile falters once the mind catches up. Mirrored, we are all mirrored, with her on Alessandra's stomach and our hips touching.

"What did you just do?" moans Allie. Her mind will put it all together for her in a moment, but now, there is just confusion.

Hannah's comes first. The mind knows what to expect and tells the body to respond in kind. Tense, she is tense to the point of breaking, muscles clenched and joints locked. Her release hits my stomach and the pride pouring from me sets my own smug serpent smile. She pushes me out with her hands and arcs her back and I am over the edge.

Alessandra's comes right after. She sees the motions I have carried out in another body before those same things hit her. Wide eyed and open mouthed, no words or thoughts collect and solidify as to the actions. There is just that sparking white that hits her deep, so deep in the shared space of her body. Electrochemical glimmers growing brighter and brighter until all she sees is white and desolation.

And her quakes bring arcs and shots from her core, over Hannah and down to her chest. I am a smug bastard who brings everything down to my base level of debauchery. I am the best there ever was, is, and will be at this game. And Alessandra's contortion visage says as much, no matter how pained she is to admit it.

My own is slightly less spectacular. Vein and throb, pulses up my spine in warming glow, shot and release in long stranding arcs. I am warm and tingly, letting it all out in the crease of her thighs, tracking up Hannah's stomach, hitting her chin, flying over and landing on Alessandra's belly in long ropes. I empty myself again and again, lying back and angling and needing to let the joints lock and go as they wish. Warm, I am warm in the indistinct glow of release shared, given and taken between three people. Something it's my chin and it is Hannah in the final throes of her own rather tantric experience. I am laughing, softly chuckling. It's the way the glow moves my body and I do not see a reason to move any other way. It suits the moment, if I do say so myself. Mostly from Alessandra's shock over what just happened.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"For what," I sigh. I slump and fall. I am spent and judging from the way Hannah snuggles me, I think she is good too.

"I don't know. It just feels like the right thing to say. I didn't expect that."

"It's a really good trick," hums Hannah, "Part of the reason I keep him around. You have some good tricks too. Two tongues kind of tricks."

"I've dabbled in this whole thing. Never quite like that. But wow. Kind of overwhelmed honestly. Don't know what happens next."