Work Out Sleep Over

The flow does wane. How tragic. The endless ocean has calmed and the beach is a mess with debris. I slowly pull myself out as the last vestiges still need to make their escape. I hit her chin, her nose, deluging one breast and then the other in heavy virile seed. I fill her cleavage with the dregs and land back on my hands, disentangling us with my passenger still clinging to my shoulders. Saoirse sighs and stretches a bit, feeling the soft mounds of her body, playing with my discharge in the heavy puddles and rivers. Louise is in the crook of my neck, working my shoulders with her lips, easing out that last bit of tension. She circles under my arm and goes to my chest, some remnants of my fun little romp clinging to the underside.

Heavy breaths and the soft moans, the game is forgotten in scattered pieces on the floor, the tiles soaked through and the board itself somehow torn. That's a shame. I'm sure it's a good one, with a deep complex rule set that allows for strategizing and improvisation for ages 8-80. But I also don't like board games.

"You're still hard," Saoirse says with a long moan in the afterglow.

It is true. I am still hard, seed still coating the whole length, dripping from the tip and flowing back down to pool on my stomach. I am still hard because I am not done. As fun as this was, it was not enough. I grab Louise's ass and give it a squeeze. She jumps and yelps before melting into the touch. She's getting excited. She knows what's coming to her. She keeps working down to my stomach, lapping at the pools of seed and savoring my taste.

"I have a bit more experience with her," Louise says, smugness dripping from every letter of every word, "So yeah, more than one time."

"Our first was only once though," she whines.

"Because it was our first," I say, "It always takes a bit to get everyone used to it. But your first time was really good. And so was this. You should be proud."

She is. Despite the disappointment that she didn't win, she is still basking in a cataclysmic afterglow. In over her head and she is still breathing, hand caressing a swollen stomach, eyes gazing up on me as a chosen part being attended to by another, surrounded by soft and warm things with food on the table.

"So," I say, standing up and bringing my length level with Louise, "I'm starving. Quick rinse, clean up, and eat?"

I like this plan. They like this plan. I am good at plans, but we need to act fast. The pizza is getting cold.

---

I am having sex with a children's movie on in the background and I don't know how to feel about that. Technically not a kid's movie, but it falls into that weird category where you have to have someone under 10 in the room for it to be socially acceptable to watch. But it's good. I'm not really paying attention to it, but it's a musical with a song I don't hate, so that must mean it won all the awards for everything ever.

Saoirse is still out of commission, lounging and reclining zipper all the way down and idly fondling all the things that need fondling. Louise is still tucked away in her frog suit, dark skin occasionally peeking through the invite more touch, more gaze, more utter debasement while the cartoons sing about love and family and friendship. She's stroking me, idly playing with me, so I'm not technically sure this counts as full blown sex, but adjacent to it at least. For all intents and purposes, it is. I am clean and full and warm. My hand is groping Louise and she likes it. My other hand is working on massaging Saoirse as her feet press into my calf. Three bodies, not quite united, but connected and whole and doing nothing of grand importance.

The buzz of the wine is wearing off and I don't see the need to go for another glass. It did its job in opening the gates, getting me out of my head and into my body. The suit is mostly off at this point and I don't think I'll put it back on. It will just get in the way. The washing machine does its little chime and that means we can make the bed and sleep whenever we want, however far away that moment is from now. There is a hand idly playing me with. I am where I belong. I hum some happy noise that has no words and throw my head back against the couch.

"I like that noise," Louise says, "It's fun."

"It's like getting a cat to purr," Saoirse says.

"You both know I'm not a pet, right?" I sigh.

"I mean you are a little bit. I'm petting you right now and if I do it good enough your legs will shake. You like to cuddle and you leave stains on the floor. That's close to pet, if not on the target."

I squeeze a bit and she thumps my chest.

"And you bite. Bad Rachel. Bad. Do we need to put you outside?"

"I'll go after the neighbor's dog if you do that. And their daughter. And their wife. Now that just sounds like a scandal to me. Better just keep me inside."

"I guess. But you're getting fixed."

Saoirse is the one to beat me to an incredulous look. A lie, a farce, a bluff, the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard and Louise is just grinning like it's all a joke. I twitch and jump in her hand, rage building once more.

"Not funny," Saoirse says, "That is blasphemy."

"I will actually bite you if you do anything to it," I say.

She just keeps grinning and stroking, eyes innocent and smile warm. A bit more pressure to remind me not to do anything out of line, but she gets a squeeze back. Fangs and claws and all that sharp nasty business that comes with the more primal instincts. She leans up and kisses my cheek and all is forgiven. Mostly. She is not doing anything more energetic than idle play and that is starting to rub.

I move my hips with her and she has the gall to stop giving me what I want. She plays dumb. She did nothing wrong, has never done anything wrong, will never do anything wrong, because she is perfect and pure and in a frog shaped hood. Nothing can go wrong with a world like that. She needs that hand to reach for her cup and take a sip. The other hand is calmy folded, doing nothing at all. The lazy hand could have just reached over and taken the cup while she was keeping me happy. I do not like her hands.

Even when they come back, there's a bit of rage still there, just for the briefest moment of denial. I need constant attention. But this is still nice. Another song comes on and I can't help but feel a bit tired of it. They always come on with this big to do and then it's all bombast and showmanship and projection with mediocre chord progression. It's not bad, but everything just kind of feels the same after a while. I can't tell if this is the song about what the villain wants, or what the heroine is, or what the love between them means, or if it's about nothing at all. Except that one with the Latin vibe. That was good. Might have to look it up later, add it to the shuffle at some point. I've been meaning to see if Louise wants to start a shared playlist. Could be fun. Could cause a big fight that leads to us breaking up. Like if she doesn't keep stroking me and actually put some heart into it, I am going to have some words for her review.

I start rolling my palm across my chest. She can't read my mind, but she can feel the pressure and I can certainly read her needs. She does want a bit more. She does want to be writhing and screaming and doing all the things that Saoirse was doing. But no, this is fine. This is enough. This is perfectly pleasant. And it is pleasant. I want more than pleasant.

My other hand has to leave the thigh, but it's for a good cause. Gain without sacrifice is never lasting, and it finds another smooth toned muscle to pull in Louise. I scoop her up with a delighted little noise and set her on my lap, legs embracing my lap and thighs rubbing up and down on me with that same warm fuzzy cloth. That is pleasant. Very pleasant. Still not quite what I want, but we are making progress.

And I have my dance to contend with. Soft rhyme, easy rhythm, more of the same but closer to the goal. My heat mixes with hers and I feel her pulse dance through my length. Power in the movement, raw and toned speed made slow, she is good with everything movement related. Bendy and hypnotic and flexible the joints move the body as the body sends sensation to the mind and the mind tells the joints what to do. I am still fondling her chest, playing with her nipples, pinching and squeezing and letting her know that I am ready and willing to break her at a moment's notice.

I stop for a moment when I realize that she is moving in time with the songs on the movie. Suddenly, I see why people like musicals. There is something to them that I can't quite put my finger on, but they are certainly something at least. Deserving of a spot in the rotation and I still imagine two in a row might actually kill me, but we'll see. This is nice. Especially when I notice she is seeping through her frog suit.

"You really want me, don't you," I whisper in her ear, kissing the lobe before drawing back, "Did you like watching me and Saoirse? I bet you did."

She hums some non-committal answer, but I know. I know she is barely holding on, barely a hair's breadth away from taking me for herself in the wildest passions. I kiss her neck and she melts back into me, happy little moans and whimpers and all of the fun things she can do. I look over to our third and she is smiling something from the devil. Mischievous and evil and all sorts of wicked, eager for the real show to start.

Louise is getting excited. Her stomach clenches and twists as I run my fingers down the smooth lines. It twitches and it knows. I know, she knows. She traced the shape that I am and she knows how it feels. Still intimidating as I move the length a bit to show her, to make her feel every single thing that will be going inside of her. She strokes me and I help her. The pulse of preseed is starting to well and bead up the length. The first pearl exits my tip and paints her stomach.

She moans for me and I kiss her and she tastes like lust and desire and a defiant little thing that has tempted me for far too long.

She whirls around and mashes against me, hands fumbling with the comfortable clothes until they are gone and tossed in a pile. She is on me and pressing my length between our stomachs, finally coaxing the slick coating from me in long pulses like a lazy river. I am scratching her back with just a bit of force and she can't decide which way to go. I decide for her. She goes up on her knees, still not quite enough of a gap for us to align but better.

"Please," moans Louise. I smile with the cockiest quirk of the lips I can manage and I lift her again. I lift her and finally put her on the edge of the cliff, where she is weeping her tears for me and me alone. They mix with my discharge and stain our skin in viscous pools.

"Please," she whines again, bracing herself against my shoulders as I keep lifting her. I move and turn to tease her opening for a moment before I start lowering her down.

She starts shaking and twitching and losing control. I hold her sight, hold her r till as I enter her. She is warm, housing so much of the trapped hat within her.

"I like this," she manages through a quaking lip, "I like this a lot."

"Really? I had no idea. That's twice now you tried to play this game with me."

I kiss her cheek again and she kisses mine and once again I am taking down the task of slowly filling her. It's easier than Saoirse, but she's had more practice. Every day almost, at least in her mind. She thinks of this moment, this perfect instant of filling and being filled so completely. I am not the only one to have rather incriminating dreams in the night. She may not want to say it, but she does. And every time, every single time, I am there to hold her in the darkness and remind her that she just has to wake up to feel something so incredible.

We are still wrestling each other when she hits the base. And she is there at her end with a thought. She moans into my mouth as her release pools around my shaft. I stroke her hair and she melts into soft spasms in the afterglow of the beginning.

"Just from that," Saoirse sighs, "You came just from that?"

"Shut up. Just shut up. You know what this feels like. I'm surprised you didn't," whines Louise still pressed to my lips. I move my hips and drag it out a bit for her. Just a bit. I don't want her to get too tired too quickly.

"Hey, I got mine. Just seems a little unfair is all."

"I can circle back to you in a moment," I say, "Kind of busy."

"Take your time. I got all night."

I move more into her, up and down, up and down, nothing quite there to be complex. The simple motions to keep her steady, to keep her used to the sensation without getting too overwhelmed. It only happens in the simplest of ways as she winds down and becomes energetic once again. The storm has passed and she is ready to ride once again.

She adds circles to the motion, slow wide circles in her hips so I hit every part of her and she presses into every part of me. She is tighter than Saoirse, but there is more of our audience. All good in its own way. It's hard to move into her. It's hard to push and pull and do all the things that I need to do. But she is opening again. She is spreading and flushed and getting used to me again.

I shift again and put more strength into her. She responds by taking hand to my chest and giving a squeeze. I like that and she gets a fun noise from the back of my throat as well.

"If I got you a cat one," Saoirse says, "Would you purr? Cause you're growling again."

"What if she was in the frog one," Louise manages. I'm surprised she can think that abstractly. I'm not capable of that. I do not know what a frog is. I do not know what a cat is. I know I am rutting with Louise now and now all I am is a beast in motion. It feels good. She feels good. She is talking and that means she is not thinking about me, and she should be. So, I make her. I am thrusting and turning and moving. And know she is. All of the little bits of thought, I take those away. She is now moving around. Turning and twisting her hips as she rises and drops. So much control, so much minute detail of the work. It's wonderful. It's wonderful to feel the motion she gives to me. More noise, she gives me more noise and I give her the same. Growl, animistic and primal, roar and all the simple noises that words cannot convey the proper meaning. My muscles are tense and burning and I need more.

So, I rise. I come to stand from the couch, lifting her with me while Saoirse laughs from her seat in the peanut gallery. She claps and I don't care. I am lifting a Louise and dropping her while she scrambles for support, only to find me and only me. I lift her and drop her on my length, bulging her stomach against me. My shape, I can feel my shape through her. She grips me in every single way, holding on for dear life. And she loves it.

I can feel another one come through her and I smile. She is spasming and thrashing. Good. Good. She should be that way. She should be in constant ecstasy. And she will be. Her breath hitches and stops as her body calls to me. Her legs pulse and I find the way to keep that way, constantly around my hips and riding the same motion. I keep us there, dismantling the brick wall stone by stone.

And she is there, screaming my name and howling her pleasure with me. I hold her tight, still the motions and keep her where she should be. Right on the edge of the sharp light blanking her mind. Her release sprays up my stomach again and that's all the world needs for me.

"Are you ready," I whisper while she still is in the throes of her end, "Cause I am."

She stammers and mutters something before realizing that she can't speak. So, she nods. She nods as I take over the motions from her. There is not enough strength from her, so I just take over. I thrust and scour and fill her with my motions. I slam and pound and do everything brutal I can to make sure that she will remember every moment of this forever. So, I keep in her, deep and strong, slipping everything in as deep as I can.

I am there. I am there on the edge where the sea is boiling in terrible hurricane force. Beasts in the water, terrible strength I the world and it all comes through the act of me rupturing her. I feel the pulse through her, through the outline of my shape in her stomach, past her belly button almost up to her rib cage.

"Inside," she manages to stammer through another riding wave of cold sharp euphoria, "Please inside."

"You're getting it everywhere," I hiss. That makes her happy. She somehow manages to push me in even deeper with her legs and I am right on the edge.

White. Everything is white in star bursts dancing underneath my screwed tight eyes. It is explosive shot gun blasts rocketing through her in entirety. She howls again. She moans my name so that the world knows that I am a force of utter destruction. It is breaking her in long, long shots. My shape changes, losing the hard line, flowing with tide and eroding the rocky shore. The first one alone slowly fills her in seconds, minutes, hours into her. It does not end. The first pulse where everything is tight and flowing and heavy. I can feel her wight increase with the seed I give her. I pulse again and it is just as long, just as destructive, just as creative as the first.

It is long, gloriously long, our shared ruin. My seed and her discharge run down my legs to a heavy lapping puddle at my feet. It is up to my ankles. It is flowing across the floor. I slowly pull out, leaving my essence behind still filling her, still swelling her stomach more and more and more as I keep pulsing, keep morphing her stomach against my hard lines and hard muscles.

I slip out and sandwich my length between our stomachs. I paint my chest and hers, hitting both of our chins as I once again press my lips against her. I taste my seed flowing through her. Heavy, bitter salt, dark and murky and ebbing reason down to the dusty gravel. I am coated. She is coated. We are both weighed down with release and fading strength. I collapse back down on the couch as I keep pulse against her, covering dark skin and pale skin alike. It's rapturous. It is the basest and purest thing that I am. I love it. I love the scent and taste and all of the release of the world through me.

It is over, save for the endless dregs that still slip out and flow down to the floor. I do not think about the mess. I do not think about the cleanup. I just bask in the simple pride of virility and production. I filled two women, made them comatose and languid and happy. I had a good night with a good meal and warm clothes. I feel light and foggy and all from the wonderful glowing heat from my core.

I lay Louise on her side, both of us still drunk from everything our bodies gave out for. Saoirse is clapping and I wish I could bow. The credits are rolling on our movie and I don't remember a damn thing. I can just look at all the things online later. It's probably there.

Louise lets out a long, long sigh and that means we're done. I am still a bit peckish for more, but I can stop. There are two sated appetites and that's a wonderful accomplishment. I stretch my arms along the back of the couch and then I am done. We are all done. It's late. It's dark. And that means it's time to go to bed and then deal with the tomorrow that probably isn't real. But we'll see when get that. As soon as we all get our legs back, then it's off to bed. Which we still have to make. And there's the problems on the floor and the cushions, but that's a tomorrow problem.

---

I hate past Rachel. I hate her so much. She's a hassle to deal with, always causing more problems than she's worth. I hope future Rachel will forgive her, because present Rachel wants to throttle her. The sheets are back in the wash after a short stint of being clean, but a me, a Louise, and a Saoirse is just too much. I need to invest in a sleeping tarp or something. Or I could just sleep in the bathtub. Terrible for the neck, but probably better for the water bill.