Work Out Settle Down

"The house needs one of these," Saoirse moans.

"That and one of the robot pods," Troy agrees.

"Wrestling ring," says Louise, "If only for sentimental reasons."

"Tomato plot," I say, water up to my neck, steam filling my head, "Maybe a spot for peppers too."

"We're mowing our lawn," Louise says, "Troy needs the enrichment."

"Thank you. I can use the dad sword to cut the grass."

I let a slow breath escape my nose. I can't even smile at the thought of the dad sword being taken down from its place in our hearts. I am too relaxed. I am too serene. I keep sinking, each drop of water warm across my skin. Each inch of my skin is light and burning for the briefest of moments before the pain becomes balm. I take in a breath and let it out.

"I almost don't want to have sex now," I sigh.

That momentous phrase isn't enough to completely shatter the veil. It does come close. Very, very close.

"Oh great," Saoirse sighs, "Our Rachel is defective. I don't think they make parts for that anymore."

"We broke the warranty on that a long time ago," Troy nods, "Those things are scams anyway, but still."

"Both of you shush," chides Louise, "Rachels don't have to want sex. This one could be sick or something. That means we have to take care of it now."

"I said almost," I murmur, "We'll just do it after this stops feeling amazing. Besides, Louise still has to have her prize. As a woman of my word, I can't let that slide."

I have made them calm enough to fall back into the hot spring's trap. A quiet night made completely dark. Soothing warm water and a floating tray bobbing on the soft ripples. We'll need to drink that at some point. Not now. That would require us to leave the water and embrace the night air and its terrible cold. We do not want to do any of that.

My muscles unwind. My bones melt. The heat is down to my soul and it is now rich and gooey. Every so often, a ripple carries down my skin and exposes me to the night. My chest my knee, my length hitting against the night sky. A jolt of cold to bring my mind out the bliss and that only makes the following descent all the sweeter. It's cold and warmth and down into the end of the world. Sleep forever and the closest thing we can come to death and it is so beautiful.

A curious fish darts through the water and traces ever so lightly against my foot. And then it is gone. The sensation is forgotten. There is warmth and cold and barely a mind to perceive. The fish comes back and lingers along my calf. Then it's gone. Nothing, I am nothing. We are all nothing. An endless void of black and blank and scoured ideas that don't even have a shape to them. The fish comes back and now it's at my side and it is not going to leave. There is a soft touch as it nibbles and swims along the still current. It stays on me. It traces muscles and lines. It likes a spot, a ticklish spot on my side. It's a game now. I am not supposed to react. I am supposed to drift and flow along with the world. The curios fish wants me to move and jump and play.

"Rachel," says the muffled fish voice, "We started drinking. No more time to soak and be peaceful."

The fish tempts me and I am very easily tempted. I believe the voice was Saoirse and the fish was Troy. I have no proof and I do not care. I sit up and the night air chills me. The water warms me. Haris on end only to stand back down because there is no threat. Saoirse is the temptress and she watches me emerge. They all do, mostly concentrating on my chest and the thin streams of water running over them. That already happened to Saoirse and Troy. I just watch them drink tiny sips from the saucers. Both of them cough and snort and look like they've just been punched in the mouth. Troy takes it better, in my opinion, but not by much.

"It can't be that bad," Louise says, "You're all just wimps."

She goes to the tray and pours me and her a shot of clear sake. Not quite a good vessel for a jovial clinking, but the sentiment is there. She takes her and I take mine. Louise is cautious, despite her bluster. She lets me go first.

It burns. It just burns. I blink and stare into the middle distance as the fire assaults me. The pain muddles into a soft singe down my throat and into my belly. The warmth redoubles and soothes away anything that might have ever wronged me. I cough and the sparks scour away any shock. I am back to warm and back to the serene and back to feeling my fingers in a soft play against the world. Louise is coughing and sputtering and desperate to find something to cleanse the pain. She settles on the bath water and that is not a good idea. It's probably not poisonous, but the principle of the thing certainly doesn't strike any of us as smart. She spits it out and I don't know if that's better or worse for us.

"I hate that," Louise whines, "I hate that so much."

Saoirse takes another sip and seems to disagree. She blinks again, suppresses a cough and contemplates her own growing numbness.

"It gets better," she says, "And even if it didn't, getting drunk here is probably the best place to get drunk. Even if it is kind of painful."

It's Saoirse's turn to pour and Louise takes it with a ginger hand. There's poison in there. It's clear and bright and nobody is forcing her to do anything, but she still must drink the poison because that is what we are supposed to do. Saoirse brings her close. She will be safe if Saoirse is close.

Then Louise leans over and pours the drink down Saoirse's chest. The sake stays there in a fun little puddle. And before any of us can react, Louise is neck deep in tit meat, tongue moving and lapping and writhing like a snake. Saoirse gasps and freezes. Troy laughs and I just stare at it all. The moon is beautiful tonight. A minute passes of silent bodily worship. Then another. Saoirse is flushed and red and holding Louise close. One more moment of carnal pleasure of body on body, one more minute and they break. Louise is drunk now, on the alcohol, on the body, on the atmosphere.

"That honestly makes it taste better," she sighs. Saoirse takes hers again. And before any of us can make another move, Saoirse has a hand to the back of Louise's neck and they are kissing.

Troy's touching himself underneath the water. Gentle motions, easy motions, any sense of urgency sapped by the water. I watch the ripples in the water before I am dragged upwards. He's flushed and red too, a sharp grin on his face. He catches me looking and spreads his legs a bit. His tip pierces the surface. Long and thick and excited, I shift in my seat. He smiles at me and looks down. I'm hard too. I almost didn't notice. I'm watching my fiancés make out and my other fiancé masturbate. There's a lot to watch and take in and my cup is empty.

Saoirse and Louise break in a love drunk daze. They are lost to us and barely hanging on to one another. Louise hiccups and shakes and now she is moving back in. Face to neck, soft kissing on freckled skin, tasting the fumes dancing in the air. I move and spread my legs. My own tip is on the night air and it wants attention. There is no one to give me attention. That's terrible.

Troy cocks an eyebrow and brings to the tray to him. The others don't even notice. They've switched onto something harder. Saoirse takes Louise's chin and tilts it back up. I don't see the conclusion as Troy has decided something for me. He turns me with a strong grasp and I let it happen. I need him to feel strong and in control so he doesn't run away. He pulls me in and I smell the alcohol on his breath. It churns with the night air and I am simply drunk. Impulse and action and reaction, no pesky thoughts to get in the way.

I kiss him and his grip didn't quite want that. Or at least, it wasn't the plan. I do not like plans. They get in the way of action. And they don't last beyond the first point of contact. I am careful of the tray, though. That's magical. I know better than to mess with magic.

I kiss him and he tastes like drink. I kiss him and he tastes like heat. Every part of him burns me. We are flame in boiling water. He pushes me a way and I want to kill him. That is my body is taking away from me. I can have it and take and move it and do everything I've ever wanted to it, and it is now out of reach. He holds the little saucer up to his chest and his gaze forces me to look down. I no longer want to kill him. If I did any of that, then I think the overall quality of ideas had between the four of us would drop significantly.

I move down, kissing his neck, feeling his chest, running everything soft and strong in me over his abs. The muscles tense and flex and push back against me. I can feel his heartbeat through every inch of smooth skin. He shifts away from me again and I'm back to hating him. And being somewhat impressed. Most of him is out of the water and he must be freezing to death. I watch the hairs on his arms stand up, the gooseflesh rise, but he is still smiling down at me. He is smug and self-assured as he brings the lip of the saucer to his skin.

The sake runs down his skin and I am there at the end of it all. The waterfall runs to me and my tongue is burning again. The fog is back. I can feel his length poking me in the chest and that deserves attention. Later. Not now. I am getting drunk now, lapping at the wonderful heady mixture of spirit and flesh. He runs a hand through my hair and leaves a trail of tingly sparks under his fingertips.

The well runs dry. The flow stops and I am just kissing the spots and puddles away. It still burns down my throat. It still burns in my stomach. It still burns through every vein and nerve and I will crack the world for more. I crawl up Troy. A moment suspended and he falls down the stone. I am on him. He does not get a second of respite. I climb on him and pin him down as the night ai chills me. I feel the steam rise off my back as I hear Louse and Saoirse moan into one another like an echoing canyon. They are wonderful background noise, a reminder that this little moment of conquest slots together with a much larger whole. A whole encompassing every speck of my existence. I come to his chest and then his neck and then his chin. Our lips meet and he still burns at my tongue.

"Which Rachel am I now?" I whisper in his ear, teeth nipping at him like a feathered dagger. He shivers. He is cold. I am cold. There's a fire in me and its slowing emerging through him. He shivers again. He is not quite as cold as he wants to think he is.

"Scary," he mumbles back, "but good scary. There's a good amount of adorable mixed in. Mostly because your also kind of drunk Rachel too."

I kiss him and he shuts up and I go back to being everything he said and more. Hie is poking me in the stomach and something wonderful clenches in me. I think that's what I'll take from him today. We can try so much more over the next handful of days.

I keep rising on him as terrible as it is to break from his lips. He's still smiling, with a tinge of overwhelmed awe as he stares at my body. His lips are on my breasts for a moment, but I am cruel. I take them away too soon for both of us. But now I have a plan and it is the best plan I've ever had. The tray is still on our side of the pond. Louise is the one to bear the brunt of the cold stone, although Saoirse between her thighs, her hands locked around those scarlet tassels. Louise has a sloppy drunk grin on her. I assume Saoirse has a hungry drunk one. Troy for sure has a smug drunk one. I have no idea what I have on my, but I hazard a guess it is rapturous.

The tray tried to escape, but I have a good reach. Troy gazes down to my stomach and likes what his mind is giving him. He is getting closer to the reality of the situation. My trip drags across his chest. My head is sensitive and twitching and sending beautiful sparks down to my core. It begs for more. We have begging and pleading between us. My entrance traces his length and that is still something for later. The sauce is full and everything is aligned.

My tip touches his chin and there is a bit more fear in the smile now. He's done this before, so he knows. That knowledge brings familiarity. He knows how terrible it can be. He knows the devil in me and the saucer keeps drifting lower. I settle my hips. The stones take the weight through my knees. I fall down onto him, my weight keeping him pinned. He opens his mouth and makes his eyes wide.

I pour over my length and he kisses the burning skin softly. I hiss and clench my teeth. The sparks are sharp. My thighs clench into the movement. It knocks against Troy's tongue. He's afraid now. My hand shakes and there is still enough in the cup. He kisses me again. He works the tongue. Soft, feather and breeze and starlight through curtains, he is soft against my heat. My length twitches and pulses and a bead of my preseed shoots from my tip. It lands on his cheek and he does not care. There is so much of me to take care of, more than he can hold still. His hands go to my thighs and hold me still as best they can. I pour another shot down and give him more. He is lost to the drunken haze too. Mind empty of all thoughts except the haze I bear down on him. Louise gasps and moans and her thighs refuse everything that isn't more pleasure.

The cup runs dry and Troy is red as the blood moon. He kisses my tip. I tilt my head and he does it again. He puts it into his mouth and I have a moment of soft lips and circling tongue and a gentle vacuum. The burn has made me a bit numb, but he pulls a heavy pearl from my core as my sack tightens and bounces. I shiver in the night air and withdraw. A jolt of cold to my spine and it is another mote of beautiful sensation for my being. I twitch and bod in front of him for a moment and then I slide back. His tip pokes my ass and he finally gets a moment to look cocky and in control again. As much as I like scared Troy, smug Troy is also a good Troy. I rise and adjust and he sees all of me with a backdrop of milk pale moonlight. His gaze says more than his mouth ever could.

"I love you," he sighs. Still not quite as much as the gaze, but a very, very good effort. The burn turns rose pink.

"I love you too," I sigh.

"Boo," says Louise, "Shut up and ride him. The empress demands it."

"You're the shogun," Saoirse says, circling a finger on her stomach, chin resting just below, "Unless we want to swap. I can be the empress."

Louise says something in response, but a tongue turns it to a yelp and I go back to forgetting about them for the moment. Troy's against me. He is hard and unyielding and eager. His hands are my thighs and we are working in harmony for once. The same end is in sight. The same goal. I weep such sweet tears for him as the slide down his lengths. I circle and roll and everything is slick and ready. The words did most of the work. The gaze and the drink covered the rest. He moves his hips.

I hiss as it finally happens. And then I drop. I've done enough teasing and playing. I am here to ride and work. I work on him. Rock and stone and metal finally meet and he is trying to ride against me. He thrusts softly. It's always a second to get the momentum working. I find his rhythm and pour my own effort into it. It's a good one. It's a very good one. He always knows what we should be set as. I rise a bit and give myself a moment to bask in it. A hollow in my core to let the hunger rage in my body.

He is thick. He is long. I feel it in the void left behind. A black hole in my stomach, whose absence only drives me further insane. I drip and he opens me like a shotgun blast. He is hard. He is thick. He is wonderfully, perfectly, simply big in me. I rise and I fall over him. I drop and I ascend. He is holding me and loving me. I rise and stay at his tip for another long, long, long moment where everything is silent and still. Louise goads us on. She's getting bored. The show has stalled and the shogun needs to be quiet before the general starts a coup. Then I'd keep her chained to my bed where she will live out her days in the most velveteen padded cell imaginable.

But she's still right. I need to drop. So, I do. I let him fill me and everything is right again. My core parts around him and the weight settles and shifts and pins him completely. He tries to fight against me, against everything I want. He does not win. But he smiles through it all.

The rhythm is set and now we are dancing. Simple, easy motions, just to give into the desire. It's raw hunger, but easy to sate. The amount is the hard part. I want more. I need more. I have Troy, but Saoirse and Louise are so far away. I can still hear them play together, little squeaks and yelps and moans like a sputtering kettle. Troy grunts and groans as I try to pulverize him into dust. Each drop has a bit more to it. each rise is a bit sharper.

The pattern gets faster and faster. He keeps fighting it, matching the pace and adding small shapes that scrape and stretch me under my work. My stomach bulges with him and some part of him that is still cognizant smiles sharper. He can do that, even to me. He can do that to the world, and we are the ones that can take it. I roll my hips with the pattern. I circle with the thrusts. The set gets more parts moving in synch. I moan and bend and flex and I am now face to face with him. I don't want to ride so far away. I want him to be close. I want them all to be so incredibly close.

The shape of me changes and the path he carves through me changes with it. And it sets him off. A bit too much, too fast, something he was not quite prepared for. The gears are in motion and the end is in sight. Not his fault, not my fault, the world is not at fault, because there is simply nothing wrong. The hunger wants this. The urge wants this. He can go again because is virile and strong and that's why I chose him. I catch his eyes and there is no shame in the sudden end.

The first shot is burning and steaming and thick as it enters me in a strong pulse. I huff and pant as he lets a solemn groan escape from his chest. Low, so incredibly low it can only be heard by elephants and the damned. I can feel it though. I resonate with the noise. I live in the sound. I have weight and heat and beautiful seed in my belly and its heavenly. Not nearly enough to get me over the edge. It grounds me and roots me to the earth. I am immobile. I pant and huff and make him stay as deep as he possibly can he. I am full and warm. There is no strength in me for the moment. I sink in him and bask in the star glow deep in my core.

He has the strength to pull me aside and bring me to his lips. He still tastes like sake. He tastes like heat. He tastes like Troy and sex and the endless haze we all exist in, just to surface to engage in the mundanity of society. He slowly rolls to a stop with that same grin on his face, a bit softer than it used to be. He's a bit tired now. I would be too, but he finds a new spot of cold stone to lie on. He gets a shot of invigoration. His eyes snap open with a deep breath and an extended sigh.

"Sorry," he murmurs, "that was a bit quicker than I thought."

I lean in and kiss him again, tongue on tongue and lips on lips and heat on heat. His body steams.

"Never apologize for being a fucking stud," I whisper. I kiss his cheek and he chuckles and bounces. He's still hard. My assessment stands. A mere show to attract mates. He has virile seed enough for us all. Flood the world, drown the oceans and get a better tax return than I could ever hope to see.

"Boo," says Louise, "Rachel, you didn't even cum. Someone put them in the stocks. The sheriff demands it."

"You're losing the thread there, Louise," Troy grunts as he reluctantly withdraws, "I thought you were the empress."

"No, I'm the shogun. But I'm also the sheriff. I can be many, many things. And your sentence is to swap with Saoirse."

"Finally," Saoirse sighs, "Louise you pull hair way too hard."