The Future Utopia Ch. 05

"Hey, Raine, we should try to get her into Varlo's on a special dispensation before she goes back to her time. She should experience it at least once." Sunni says.

"That would be amazing!" I agree wholeheartedly.

"Ok, we'll try. For now, let's work on how intensely you experience shared flavours." Raine suggests.

For the next few days, that's what we do at every mealtime. I learn fairly quickly how to focus in deeply on the flavour and taste it fully, and how to pull some of my attention away and make the taste of it more muted. You can even try this with ordinary food in the 2020s. Try eating some dark chocolate with your eyes closed, letting it melt slowly on your tongue, searching for the notes of bitter and sweet. Now pop another piece in your mouth, chew it up, and swallow it down while watching TikToks. That's exactly how "dialing up" and "dialing down" shared sensory experiences works. And don't even get me started on just how different everyone's senses are. Some people's tongues are naturally set at 11 out of 10, while for others certain flavours barely register. I guess that's obvious just from talking to people about their tastes, but it's something else to actually experience it first-hand. Or, first-tongue?

Anyways, this taste experiment helps me get used to the idea that I might be able to share the twins' sensations of sexual pleasure and not be disgusted or traumatized. For one thing, I'll feel it as they do, emotionally as well as physically; if they're enjoying it, I'll be able to enjoy it too. For another thing, I now feel confident that I won't lose my sense of self while engaging with them. I'll be able to dial it back any time I want--or amp it up, if I want it more intense. With this training under my belt, I agree to meet the twins at a secret place they've set up for their own private encounters.

Most people in the city don't have a private "bedroom," and just find a spot wherever is most convenient when they want to hook up. It's true that some people do choose to have a permanent "home" together with their intimate-partner group, just for the stability it brings. But relatively few feel the need to have a completely private place that no one else knows exists. As you can guess, the twins are in that minority. Having a secret place known only to the two of them excites them deeply, since it plays into their fantasy of a forbidden romance. It's a pretty big deal for them to let me know where this place is, and I won't betray their trust now by describing how we got there or what the surrounding area looked like.

Let's just say that once we're inside, I'm surprised to find myself in something that looks like a movie set for a fairly upscale hotel room. There are two main rooms: a sitting room and a bedroom, with a kitchenette and a washroom off the sitting room. The bedroom is dominated by a king-sized bed positioned in the centre of the far wall, with a fluffy white duvet and at least four huge pillows. On the left wall is a white leatherette couch. Above it hangs one of those bold Pop Art prints that were popular in the 1980s, showing a black-haired woman with geometrical earrings and intense eyes looking right at you. The right wall is entirely filled with mirror-paneled walk-in closet doors that reflect the bed. I automatically look at the ceiling, but there's no mirror there. At least they have that much taste.

"Welcome to our place," Raine says a bit shyly.

"Does it look like something from your time?" Sunni asks.

"Even better, it's totally retro! It looks like what they thought the future would look like in the 1980s." I say honestly.

This delights the twins, and their joy floods me with something deeper. I'm already attuned to them, after spending so much time with them and practicing tasting together. Opening myself to them now feels as easy as opening a book to the page I've marked.

I sink into the couch. I've gotten used to being naked while out and about, but in this context I'm acutely aware of how good the warm leatherette feels against my bare skin. Normally you'd expect artificial leather to be sticky on bare skin, like when your legs stick to a car seat on a hot day, but this couch feels like butter against me: soft, supple, and smoothly yielding. I sigh and spread myself out on it, eyes closing for a moment. It's enough to let Raine and Sunni know I'm ready. Already, we're in sync, as if we've been that way all along.

When I open my eyes, the two of them are on the bed, kneeling, facing one another. I can see the twins twinned in the mirror behind them (though their bodies block my own face in the mirror, which comes as a relief to me.) They caress each others' cheeks tenderly, then run their hands slowly down their partner's throat and shoulders. I'm shocked to feel it, that very first time: not one or the other, but both at once, as they stroke each other and are stroked at the same time, each feeling the other feeling that same doubled sensation. It's like an infinity mirror of the flesh: I feel you feeling me feeling you feeling me, and on and on, echoing and looping. My own hands rise to my cheeks instinctively and the twins both stir sensually, feeling my body join their duet.

"This is crazy!" I exclaim aloud before I can stop myself. The twins laugh at my slang, but it also stirs them even more, playing into their vintage fantasy.

I watch them, at first, as caresses turn to kisses, but very quickly I find that I like it better if I close my eyes, lay back on the couch, and just feel. I'm more of an exhibitionist than a voyeur myself, and watching them has a pornographic quality that turns me off. But with my eyes closed, all I have to do is surrender to the sensations that echo across my body, and that suits my own personal kinks much better.

They tease and titillate each other with lips and fingers, each of them feeling almost but not quite what the other feels. Having chosen male and female bodies (as people once called them), they feel sensations differently. But unlike a 'regular' man and woman, they're also able to feel what the other feels as it happens and adjust their actions to bring the greatest possible pleasure to their partner. Sunni's sizable cock is rock hard and he's ready to come almost immediately in comparison to Raine, and Raine, riding his sensations, knows exactly how to hold him at the edge without letting his desire flag or explode too early. Raine herself is slower to kindle into full arousal, but Sunni knows exactly how to caress her and lick her, lightly at first, then harder, though never hard enough to hurt her or desensitize her. Just as she's doing to him, he brings her to the very brink of climax and keeps her gasping there on the razor's edge. They each know what to do because they can feel it being done to themselves, and feel themselves doing it at the same time. It's more like masturbation than sex, I realized with pleasure: they're stimulating themselves through each other, and each other through themselves, just as I do when I touch myself and feel the effects of my own touch at once.

It's more than that, though; so much more. When Sunni finally penetrates Raine and begins to thrust into her, I also gasp out loud at how good it feels to be filled deep and ridden hard. The force of his hips rocking against hers, pushing her down against the bed, compels me as well, and without even touching myself I feel the inner walls of my pussy ripple as hers are, contracting sweetly; and I feel, at the same time, how amazing it is to be milked by those same contractions along the length of my cock, the cock that is Sunni's and Raine's and mine at once. Which of us is it that cries out? I can't even tell any more. The ancient riddle of whether women or men have better orgasms won't be solved by this encounter, because our experiences are so thoroughly blended by this point that it is not three separate climaxes we have, but one amazing singular orgasm woven out of three threads: Sunni's explosive burst, Raines climactic pulsing, and my own spasm, which washes over me like pain as I dial up their pleasure almost beyond bearing, intensifying it to satisfy my masochistic drives.

Sunni spends himself deep into Raine and we can all feel his energy drop, a deep languor overcoming him: the "little death" of post-coital men. But Raine is still pulsing with such pleasure that she could come again, and so am I, and so, so is he. He arches with her pleasure as she straddles his face and he works her lips and clit with his tongue, bringing her almost immediately to a second climax that is even stronger than the first, if such a thing is possible. If the first climax was unified, the second has the thrilling variety of their "almost but not quite the same" near-match. Each of them feels this one distinctly, in their own ways, through their own bodies. I can hardly tell which I enjoy more: the way Sunni is pulled into ecstatic climax from the depths of his languor, or the way Raine continues to ride the long wave of her previous orgasm to a new, and greater, peak.

Slowly, very slowly, I start to come back into my awareness of my body on its own. I'm lying on my back, legs spread, thighs wet with my own juices. I think I've actually gushed, something that happens to me very, very rarely, and only when my climax is terribly intense. I feel a deep glow of amusement and pride to realize that I've been able to experience this kind of pleasure with two people who have become very dear to me, but at the same time without ever being touched, without losing who I am, in the ways most natural to me. Normally, at home, I'd be scrambling for a towel to clean myself and the furniture by this point, but this time I know that the city will handle it. All I have to do is let go and drift off. Following the lead of my companions, I do just that.