Paresthesia Pt. 11

Alessandra crashes over the edge and screams my name to the heavens, all the way tough the blast waves she was supposed to worship. The destruction that could happen didn't matter. Her climax is here and I am hitting it with more fingers and tongues and lips and kiss. The spray arcs down my chin, hitting my chest, laying down into the lines on my stomach. Slick and wet, everything is slick and wet and it keeps coming with the pulse and clench and collapse of muscles into a single point deep in her core. Warm, she is incredibly warm. Bordering the level of hot, almost, sizzling skin with hissing steam and wavering wind. Red hot sands and boiling seas, she shudders and babbles out mindless words that mean nothing other than that the mind is slowing down and reason is shutting off.

Hannah, in her infinite kindness, slowly strokes her hair and settles her down once the falling cliff edge. The flight is coming to an end. The stars are dimming and the world of actual color, the world of traffic jams and missed laundry days, alarm clocks that go off too soon and train cars with no open seats, slide back into place. She is not a matterless form of energy. She is not an ethereal being with no earthly concerns. She is a flesh and blood thing with odd pains and mistake prone hardware. She sighs and slumps and goes still.

"I'm really happy you had something, Alessandra," Hannah sighs, "But now I'm mad. Little bit at you. Mostly at him."

"I would have hit him if he stopped," she purrs. I can barely hear anything. Her thighs are still around my ears and they can stay there for as long as they want. I'll just go about my business as usual with a very odd mask strapped to my face. It could be fun.

"Well, now I have to hit him because he didn't."

"Y'know," I mumble through dark skin that smells of sweat and sex and wonderful bliss, "I could just climb over there and do you next. Just give me a sec to get out of here."

The legs tighten and I have trouble breathing through her. What air I do get is lovely and perfect.

"No," Alessandra says, "You stay there and do that again. I messed up and that means it's my mistake to fix."

"Evan," Hannah sighs, "Why is she the responsible one? We're older."

"Again. I can eat you out in a moment. I just need to get out of these legs. And please don't hit me. I just want everyone to cum as much as possible. That seems like a nice thing to want, right?"

The legs do a poor job of communicating my meaning, but the fingers digging into the muscles, the ass, the stomach do a much better job. I can feel Alessandra slowly start to go through the motions once more, getting ready and willing to go back up the garden path. It's hard to tell what the new wet weeping from her is, but it is there. The rush of blood floods into her, spreading her again. A hand to my skull keeps me from latching on and continuing.

"Sorry," Alessandra sighs, "Still a little too sensitive. And I have work to do."

"Can you please let me go then? I would like to breathe and wipe down my face."

"Yeah. I can do that. Sorry. Just kind of happens."

The terrible fresh air hits me and the new freedom is almost overwhelming. I can breathe. I can think. I can do anything at any time. And all I can manage is the tablecloth trick with the towel I put under her hips to wipe down my face. Hannah is glaring at me. I don't know why. I think I was being considerate for our furniture when I asked her to do that. It has refused its breaking point numerous times and I think that deserves some gentler care. Unless she wants our couch to smell like Alessandra for some reason. I don't know why she would.

It might be the fact that I simply move away from their body knot and settle myself down for a good show. I think I've earned it. And besides, this is one of those things that can easily use some audience participation if pushes comes to shove.

But once again, I am here on the sidelines with a wonderful view of light and dark clashing together. I can still feel Alessandra's heat, radiating from her in regular waves. Dry heat, it's all a dry heat the turns the world to steam before scorching it down to deserts and stone. Her hand comes out and grabs Hannah's ankle. The heat pulls her away from her perch along the edge of the couch. She yelps in delighted panic. It is all surprising and scary and everything is beautiful with the sudden aggressiveness imploding within her. It gets a nervous laugh in response. Alessandra still has the quiet resolve to keep her under lock and key.

"You're really aggressive today," Hannah sighs, "I like it. It's fun."

Alessandra grunts and gives nothing so high and mighty as words. There is a thing, there is a thing she wants and it is not hers right now. It will be. It will be hers and hers alone. She took it and now it is hers and hers alone with nothing in the world to stop her. Force and will manifested into reality with a simple motion. Another feat of strength and Hannah is riding her shoulders, suspended in the air and gripping hair to keep her still. Alessandra is lost in the stomach of hard muscles and defined lines. It all is hers, the needless expanse bottled in a lithe body and giggly demeanor. The legs wrap around her skull and start the same beautiful vice crush.

I don't think it's quite what she wanted. The snagged jewel snaps back with surprising strength. It might even surpass her own. It's just playing along, making Alessandra feel strong and in control. A mother lion playing with her cub, yowling in pain over a bite with no actual teeth, that's all they are. And she realizes it. Actual pain and actual response, genuine reaction from her own will. Hannah sighs and hums with the attempt to try and take her down to ashes.

I stroke myself. It's so much fun to be something more passive in the world every so often. Everything can turn and revolve on its own, without such a thing as will to validate existence. Alessandra lays into Hannah, her suspended prize, and Hannah leans into her wonderful new toy. It bites back. It has a tight grip and makes fun noises when she squeezes and touches and fondles certain parts. Full articulation, although the joints seem to fight back against her touch. They can do that. It adds to the fun.

And she has all the time in the world to play with it. It hums in her and the heat, the warmth, the lips and tongue, they all start her singing with the noise from her hips. It's loud, the song they sing together. Echoing off the high windows, the rafters molding the noise into twisting knot shapes. I add my own instrumentation in soft groans little huffs of strained breath. I tense my muscles and let them soften, enticing the vision and the sight. A show for a show, given and taken in equal measure.

None of it matters. Alessandra is lost in Hannah, and Hannah has her eyes closed, body hunched over the skull devouring her. I sigh and that still doesn't break them. I am fully outside now. I have my looking glass and it is still beautiful.

Alessandra's back doesn't have quite the level of lines and shifting parts as Hannah's. Overall, though, there is still more of it. It's heeled behind softer things, still moving, still engaged and tight, gripping bone and supporting the whole. It all lends itself to a gentler experience, a warmer time than the cold stone that rattles and breaks. Rolling hills, capped in a mountainous ass that cannot stay still in any type of way. Even now it shifts and drops, ripples of the skin falling up and down. Hypnotic, entrancing, simply perfection grafted into a singular point of being. More than a point really, but my point still stands. It is the focus of my visual spectacle, paired with the little bottled noises, forced from funneled openings and bolted shutters from Hannah. I have the best show in the world. All for me.

There is still the conundrum of my own release. I could end it all now with a little bit of a whiteout for me, myself and I. But that's not quite fair. It is something to be split and shared and given, sometimes taken and hoarded, but with someone else so close, it all feels like kind of a waste. A waste of what I can do, what I can give, what I am capable of. But I am left out. It could all end without any of my own satisfaction. So, I sit in idle, stroke up and down, arm behind my head, watching my girlfriend writhe in ecstasy of our shared booty call. No matter how it ends, I realize, still a good night.

"I swear, Alessandra," Hannah curses, "If you stop now, I will crush your head. I'll do it. You get one fuck up like that. One. Just stay right there. And Evan. You stay out of it. I don't need you fucking this up for me."

And she is now angry horny, which is a good horny. They are all good hornies really. Never met one I didn't like. I twitch and pulse at the primal hatred towards me as I think of ways to push back. Most obvious one would be to attend to her own attendant and deal some sort of trick there. But then the option of violence would be chosen and I don't know if any of us want to deal with the aftermath.

My civil disobedience is rather mild, all things considered. I am upright and moving, a hand to my length to keep my knees a little weak.

"Evan," Hannah growls, "What did I say? Close, so close. Right there. Hand a little lower. Come any closer and I will kick you."

"Just wanted a better angle," I shrug, "What? Do I need to close my eyes so I don't see your shame?"

"Just don't do anything."

"I won't. Scout's honor."

She howls and any response she has is now forgotten. It is close, so close, so tantalizingly close. A gossamer curtain against the softest touch, a rouge callous on an errant hand, and hole could be ripped through and the destruction can ring out like a cracked church bell. Alessandra is tearing at the silk, clawing desperately through it. Little bits of thread bare open. Little bits of knots come undone. But the whole holds. The whole remains in its barrier.

Hannah shifts a bit and it begins. I take the moment and that is all it will do.

Both of them are lighter than Deadman, although they both are oddly heavy. Heavier than their collective figures imply. Wherever the ruby insect goes, its weight remains in Alessandra. Whatever machines power Hannah are dense and compact. It's still easy to move one out of the way and one a bit closer. Hannah now lies on the couch, her release frozen, face contorted and flushed with gray color, the first arc just starting. Alessandra is ready to receive it all, tongue open and eyes closed, fingers still curled and coaxing. But there has been a change in performers, the understudy's chance to really shine. I am in Hannah's perch and she is in mine den, comfy and cozy, open to the sights and the sounds of the world. I keep stroking myself, shifting my attention between the both of them.

Hannah is lithe and hard. Alessandra is plump and soft. Both exude raw intoxicating power in titanic wave. I am a needle slipping through it all, directing and changing them both with a nudge and push. As immense, as vast, as incredibly suffocating as their presence is, I slip through it all. Unbreakable, not through competing strength, but through simple fluid bend and ethereal flow. I am a shadow, always dancing, always shifting, never crushed, never put down. I crawl over their forms with my eyes. Nothing can be hidden from me. I take their colossal beauty for my own, taken and filed away, burned into my mind, stolen down to the depths of my vault. It is theirs and I violate that ownership.

I am close. It's Hannah's legs that really do it for me, the flex in the thigh, the left one to be precise. Museums, halls, frames, galleries, none of them are worthy of any of her. She should be on the street, put up by someone with a vision against the gray box of the city. Spray paint and stencils, pulling the texture from worn brick and beaten pavement. She should be art for art's sake, something so simple as to make the drab architecture something better. The pull starts in my core and I tense the moment back to color.

It takes a moment for them to realize my wonderful magic trick. Hannah is too far gone to do anything about it other than try and deafen the pair of us with thunderclaps. It doesn't work. I don't think it works. I can't hear Alessandra, but her mouth is still open and her tongue is out.

I fill her mouth with a handful of long, deep pulses, spilling from the corners of her mouth, rivers down her check and spilling on her chest. Some go high and paint her forehead. I try to be courteous and aim away from the hair, but there are drops and strands still hitting the line. She doesn't care. It all doesn't matter. I am filling her in a roundabout way and that is all she wants. Something hits my leg and it's Hannah. Her own ride is winding down now, a few sprays still arching from her. She's pissed, but the good playful pissed that comes with a satisfying partner. I don't think it's possible to be truly angry while cumming. I'm certainly not angry right now.

I finish finishing and she is a mess, one eye permanently closed and so many strands and pools covering her body. A hand under her breasts holds them up and makes a deep puddle, almost over running the bank and pouring down to her stomach, her lap. She gurgles the seed, pushing more of it in thick cascades down her dark skin. I think I would like to go again once everyone is a bit more put together.

"Evan," Hannah rages, "You are an absolute bastard. I hate you so fucking much. I was going to do that to her. It would have been great. You ruined it."

She can't keep the satisfaction out of her voice. Even though it is not her coating Alessandra, the act of something painted is still a masterpiece. TO her credit, Alessandra seems to like being a canvas. For anything really.

"In my defense," I say, "If you did that, then I couldn't do this."

I slide down the back of the couch until I am staring into the mess I've made. I take a deep breath and steel my nerves.

I press my lips to hers and taste my seed still clinging to her face. Not that bad, in all honesty. Not the best, but the act of it, the texture and the sparks in the back of my mind over what Hannah is thinking, of what Alessandra is thinking, that is something to savor. Both of them are surprised, taken aback, lost in the endless awe of carnal indulgence. I am lost in the mixing taste of her and me and Hannah's lingering essence. It is all there, every primal thing we are reduced to a sensation that plays on my tongue and my lips and down my throat.

"That's not fair," Hannah whispers.

"Eh, probably. But did you like it?" I ask.

"That may be the stupidest thing you've ever said. I'm coming over."

Alessandra is still in a quiet daze as Hannah crawls into what could be considered our lap. And she joins in the raw sensation of other people.

It's a long, long moment we have together in our hazy fog of taste and scent and touch. It is a long, long moment of give and take, push and pull, everything slowly fading down. II was mistaken, apparently. A sudden rush of white out to drive me a bit further, but the bodies are slowly slowing me down, back to the warm black night of body warmth and muffled heartbeats lulling me to sleep. Shame. I could have gone another round if I actually tried. There's always the morning, though.

---

I had a morning blowjob and a morning cup of coffee and a morning stack of pancakes, more or less simultaneously. I even gave both Hannah and Alessandra their own good morning climaxes as well, concurrently as well. I had all of that and even the audacity to actually go out and see if the world had anything better. It won't. It can't. I have distilled the essence of perfection down to a handful of hours and I decided that it wasn't enough. The mere audacity of my existence should create a God if there is not one already, just so that I might be smote down to a charcoal stain on the pavement. Alas, there is no justice in the world, so I expect Kieran and Ken and Sylvia to show up tonight with steaks and wine and anoint me with scented oils.

And I am disappointed with the world after my morning constitutional. It is cold and gray, the sun losing its warm glow behind a scattering of gross gray clouds. What light there is bounces from the Hall's spires in ugly spirals. The grass is not as green on the other side of the fence. If anything, it looks a little brown and over trodden. Thumb boots can't be good for the soil.

"It's weird looking at it like this," Hannah sighs. Her hair hangs loose and combed back, pulled by a simple tie into something like a ponytail. I think it's a bit too loose to formally be called as such, but it works. I have something similar, really. A warrior's wolf tail, if I remember the gendered version correctly. Ponies are masculine enough for a hairstyle, in my opinion.

"You get used to it," I shrug. We've beaten most of the tourist crowds for the moment. They'll start filtering through the sidewalks after lunch. We'll be gone by then.

"But like, it's so close. We could just walk in right now. Like right now. They do tours. We could just sign up for that."

"Both of us are in the system as turncoats. Even if we weren't, it would be super weird to do that. We already know what's in there. Wait a sec. We could see Deadman's original hat. That would be fun."

"Idea. There could be a touch tank with Serpentor's snakes. And you can pay more to have a meet and greet with them. Have them slither all around. I'm a genius."

"Windstep wind tunnel. Like one of those indoor skydiving things. With an attached trampoline floor thing. So, you're just bouncing all around and hovering and doing flips for like an hour."

"What could Azure do?"

"Dress up station. Put some kiosks where people can do some coloring and then some sort of computer thing averages them out. He has to wear that costume the next day."

"We should be consultants or something. They need it. Revamp some of the merch. Bring back those Serpentor shirts that have her tattoos. Get some plushies. No more mugs."

They're all good ideas. It's all wonderfully profitable and sound. Entire wings of the c-suite all made obsolete by two people riffing on the other side of the fence that fails to keep us from looking and plotting and planning.

No exterior patrols. No exterior stations. There used to be a pair of beat cops at the fences, two more by the main entrance. When things got rowdy, they'd double it and put them in armor, shields, big old batons. But that's all gone. I blame the budget. And the cameras. I watch them turn and blink and chirp at me with robotic eyes. I wave. They do not wave back because they are rude. The cameras are there to be eyes and so they don't need real people with real eyes looking out to the world. I'm probably tagged and put somewhere in the servers with all the other motes of data faces. But it just blinks and moves along.

The fence itself is only iron, and not even pointed at the top. More of a flimsy grid that's pulled up at the edges. There were talks to electrify it, but since so many people get so close to it, someone sane decided that it would be better to just not have that bit and let the people touch. A sign would be too costly. I touch it and it rattles in its concrete sockets. Hell, I could pull it down. I would pull down a bunch more things with it, things with armor and guns and mean looks. And probably things with capes and tricks and then it would snowball into a whole thing that would ruin the other thing where the fence actually comes down.

We turn a corner and find ourselves in a small alley. The fence turns to a stone wall. More cracks in the vision show. Graffiti, most of it mine, sits on the walls, mocking and taunting and doing so many things to drive the property values down. There has been an attempt to keep the canvas clean. But still, there always seems to be a new coat of shoddy designs on the stone. The cycle will be eternal and everlasting. I should stop by soon, just to make sure the art is still fresh in their mind.