by Oblimo
The tickling under Ursula's right arm melted away into a lingering squeeze. She felt a feather light caress in the hollow of her right collar bone. "How do you want it?" Sweet-Tart asked.
Her arms trussed wide, Ursula managed to tip her head. "Huh?"
"Do you want it warm…" Sweet-Tart asked, and suddenly Ursula's arm was bathed in a luxurious heat. Ursula sighed. "Or cold?" Ursula shrieked as the green sleeve iced over.
"Warm! Warm, please!" Heated green gel surged down both her arms and melted together into a sultry collar around her neck before inching down her back, rubbing and soothing. "Oh, that's wonderful."
The hot gel crawled up over ribs. "Warm? Here too?" Sweet-Tart asked as the living suit lapped around the curves of Ursula's breasts.
Ursula gulped. "I…I don't know." The gel rolled up and over her sensitive skin. "Ooh, yes, warm, definitely, yes."
"So this is what a solid girl's nipples feel like," Sweet-Tart mused. Points of pressure dimpled the gel covering the gentle but wide rise of Ursula's breasts, like pinches from the Invisible Man. "So much bigger and stiffer than Dee's—Ha, there's something I'd never thought I'd say."
"Oh, ha, ha—Ah! Not that rough, please!" Ursula squeaked, chest heaving.
"Shit, sorry." The dance of dimples disappeared. "Hm. Pfft, what am I thinking, I've got an expert. What do you do?"
"What do I do?"
"When you get past second base for the first time with another woman," Sweet-Tart said.
"You know," said the queen-sized Galatea at the foot of the bed, "we were starting to feel left out of all the fun." Two more miniature green girls, dangling from the bedposts near Ursula's feet, crossed their arms in identical gestures of impatience, using the loops of chain as stirrups to keep themselves steady. "But I really wanna hear this."
"Yeah," the tiny twins on either side of her echoed.
"The very first time," Ursula said, trying to concentrate as the clutching gel cupped the small of her back and nestled into the plane of her abdomen below her ribcage, "I'm gentle and slow, because you never know. I kiss her areola into my mouth, my open mouth, and then I—"
"Like this?" Sweet-Tart interrupted. The gel crowning Ursula's breasts plumped and rippled for a long moment, sparking the electric current connecting her chest to her bellybutton that always ran whenever her nipples were over-stimulated.
"Yes," she stuttered as the current ebbed, "but not, um, both at once like that."
"Well, duh," Sweet-Tart said.
"Shut up," full-sized Galatea said as her flanking twins leaned in and chorused, "Go on."
"I kiss her areola into my open mouth," Ursula whispered, "and press her nipple to the roof of my mouth with my tongue two, three times, a baby's suckle really—Oh, God, yes, just like that." The green bodysuit puddled into Ursula's bellybutton and pressed a pseudopod between the globes of her ass. The electric current became a live wire. "Mm, ngh, not so long, not so long without stopping." The live wire turned white hot. "Please…please…"
"That's funny," Sweet-Tart said, "because I was wondering how it would also feel here…"
"Oh, oh God."
"…and under there and there…"
"W-wait, please…"
"…and then everywhere at once…"
Ursula arched her back, locked her legs, and whipped her head back and forth just once before collapsing her weight against the elastic green gel supporting her shoulders.
"What the Hell was that?" Sweet-Tart marveled.
"Breast orgasm," Ursula breathed. "For me, very sharp, really fast, and fucking hard. I can only do it after lots of over-stimulation, so it actually kind of hurts—"
"Do it again!"
"Pygmalion!"
"Aw, okay." Sweet-Tart scissored her legs around the bedpost, working the strands of gel stretching from her fingers as if playing a very complicated game of Cat's Cradle. "Your whole body changes after you cum, did you know that? Your skin gets even softer and smoother." She wiggled her fingers and green gel roiled across Ursula's rounded belly in tandem, pinching and pushing in waves. "Fuzzier and sleeker." She sucked a few candied strands into her mouth. "And the taste—"
Ursula heard a wordless screech of frustrated rage from the foot of the bed. The teeny twin of Galatea dangling from the rear left bedpost raked her spiky pixie-cut mane—Pixie stix, Ursula decided—until it looked like a nest of pine needles. "Shut up!" Pixie Stix cried. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! I can't take it any more!" Pixie Stix hooked her feet into a loop of chain and dove headfirst for Ursula's foot. "Lemme at her!"
Pixie Stix dug doll-sized fingers into the sole of her foot for purchase and gnawed on the Goth girl's ticklish toes. Uncontrollable laughter wracked Ursula's body. The gel slathering her from neck to belly shimmered and fixed into an adamant candy coating, freezing Ursula in mid-convulsion. Molded to every millimeter of her musculature, her candied prison buoyed and supported her body in exquisite, comfortable immobility that somehow magnified every twinge and twitch of her toes a hundredfold. Her laughter cycled up into a wolf-cub howl. Ursula kicked like a chorus girl, her leg pivoting past vertical—"Damn, girl," queen-sized Galatea whistled, "you could kick a Rockette in the freakin' face."—but Pixie Stix stretched and followed, a rubber snake, her legs glued to the bedpost and her worrying mouth vacuum-sealed against Ursula's foot.
Ursula's leg hurtled downward and splattered Pixie Stix against the mattress, the force of the blow spreading the little green girl's malleable gel-flesh around Ursula's foot like a slipper. "Works for me," Pixie-stix muttered. She melted into a sheer, glossy stocking, one end knotted about the bedpost and the other swirling up over Ursula's buttery calf. The bodysuit holding her captive relaxed, allowing Ursula to sag, sway, and catch her breath.
"Oh, no," said the fourth miniature green girl, hunkering down into the loops of chain on the bottom-right bedpost. The jelly stocking that was once Pixie Stix glided up and over Ursula's left knee in smug silence. "There is no fucking way you're grabbing that awesome ass without me." She squeezed herself into a dense ball the color of food additive Green Dye #3. Ursula's sensory-overloaded, oxygen-starved brain danced with green M&Ms and sugary jaw-breakers until the green ball spewed jets of gluey resin, enveloping her right leg in an instant, crushing hug.
"Hold it," queen-sized Galatea commanded, and the gel on her legs set firm like a pair of lime green, vinyl thigh-high boots. "Upsy daisy." Ursula was hoisted into the air, the glop binding her limbs taking up slack until she bobbled a foot above the mattress. She rolled her shoulders and scissor-kicked her legs and felt nothing but bouncing gel.
Ursula cooed and sighed in her floating prison. The frozen moment stretched long. She blinked and rocked her head up. Galatea stood, arms folded over her breasts, mouth curled into a triumphant grin of sharp sickles.
Ursula started, "What…"
Galatea whispered, "Now," and gel swept in from all four corners—across and through her inner thighs, down and over her pubis, up and around her ass—to tickle, burn, freeze, pinch, prod and squeeze Ursula's pussy. "'Venus Butterfly'," Galatea clucked over Ursula's screams of mindless delight. "Pfft. Amateur."
Suspended in the air and coated neck-to-toe, Ursula's sensorial world focused on her ravaged sex. She felt an impossibly large gulf between her legs, swollen and agape. "Fuck me, Galatea," she begged, her hips and abdomen trembling and relaxing in plateaus of increasing tension. "Fuck me, fuck me."
Galatea surged to the side of the bed and filled Ursula's mouth with the sweet, tart, citrus honey of her searing kiss. Ursula moaned and bit, drank and swallowed until her lips brimmed over. The fiery nectar trickled down her chin and dripped onto her neck. The gel-suit sucked it down, took up the kiss, and spread its urgent suction over every inch of Ursula's skin. When the kiss reached her clit she came, hard and abrupt, tension releasing in sudden, fierce waves. "Please," Ursula whimpered into Galatea's molten mouth. The void between her legs seemed to yawn empty and wide. "Fuck me. Fill me."
/> Galatea reached down. Her hand merged with the green suit assaulting Ursula's sex. Slicked with Galatea's and Ursula's own honey, Galatea's fingers drove deep into Ursula's pussy, fluxing but firm. Their body-kiss never broke, and Ursula flew.
Ursula luxuriated in her bodysuit, rocking and recovering. "So that was lesson four," she pondered. "Just lesson four?"
Galatea sat at the vanity, staring as Ursula bopped up and down. "Yep."
Ursula watched Galatea watch her. "What are you looking at?"
"Your ass," Galatea said, unabashed.
Ursula chuckled. "It’s my best feature."
"It's spectacular," Galatea agreed. "I want to borrow it. Copy it, I mean. Do you mind?"
"Friends are supposed to borrow each other clothes, not body parts."
"You're doing both right now," Galatea pointed out, then blushed dark. "Thank you for calling me your friend." She turned away. "It means a lot."
"You sound lonely," Ursula said. She waited for Galatea to say something but gave up as the silence lingered and asked, "Where's Dee?"
"Out," Galatea grumped, "getting his brains fucked out."
"Oh, Galatea," Ursula gasped, "I'm so sorry. Are you sure? That's so unlike Dee."
Galatea whipped around, eyes narrowed and sparkling wet. "I'm sure."
"That jackass," Ursula hissed.
"Yeah." Galatea boiled off the vanity bench and paced the room "Yeah! Imagine! He's out there…" She threw her hands in the air. "…Somewhere, letting me fuck him as much as I want when he knows perfectly well the rest of me ain't getting any!"
Ursula rocked in thoughtful silence. "You know," she said after awhile, "if we are going to commiserate about our love lives like proper girlfriends, you are going to have to explain the basic physics of yours."
Galatea paused mid-oozing-stride. "I thought you knew all that stuff."
"How would I?"
"I dunno," Galatea said, pacing again. "Magic? You're the damn witch. How did you know my name?"
"I heard Dee shout it once," Ursula admitted.
Galatea froze. "Say what?"
"'What's my fucking name?'" Ursula mock-screeched, then dropped her voice a few octaves: "'Galatea!'"
Galatea glared, gemmed eyes aflame.
"I'm not spying on you," Ursula insisted. "You two are the loudest lovers I've ever heard. Everyone on the second floor can hear you."
Galatea giggled.
"Viggo said he purchased some 'acoustic full-spectrum noise-canceling ear-speakers,' whatever the Hell those are, so he can play his video games in peace."
Galatea clapped her hands over her mouth but the giggles shot oscillating spikes through her jellied fingers and down her arms.
"He said, 'I heard them break their fucking bed, I swear to God.'"
Galatea rocked back and fell on her rubbery rump. When she thought Galatea's silent giggle-seizure died down, Ursula asked, "Still with me?"
"Yeah," Galatea said, sitting up. "But I hate answering questions; I get way too many from Dee as it is." She stood. "I follow this rule that always shuts him up."
"What rule?"
"Show," Galatea declared, swaying her Ursula-inspired ass over to the bed, "don't tell."
"Good rule," Ursula agreed. She caught a glimpse of Galatea's saber-toothed grin and her eyes bugged in sudden realization. "Oh, shit: Lesson Five."
"Mm-hmm," Galatea hummed, nodding and leaning close.
"Wait," Ursula said. Galatea sighed theatrically and plopped her chin between Ursula's breasts. "I want the lesson," Ursula insisted, "but there's something I want to do first."
Springy daggers of lime-colored hair drummed on Ursula's forehead like impatient fingers. "What's up?" Galatea asked.
Ursula pulled at her elastic restraints. "I've been dying to see what I look like in this. In you. Can I walk over to the mirror? Then you can Lesson Five me all night if you want."
The bodysuit slackened its hold on the bedposts and Ursula drifted down onto the mattress. "It's a deal," Galatea said, standing up straight, chin stretching as it tore away from the gel coating Ursula's chest, "but I will have to go back sooner rather than later. Dee won't be gone much longer, and there's no way I'm ever going to let myself fuck him again unless I'm there too."
Ursula alighted upon the mattress. "I almost understood that." She felt a gentle gush down her arms and legs as the gel glued to the bedposts gave up the ghost and glissaded into the rest of the bodysuit. "Oh, that was yummy."
"Likewise, I'm sure," Galatea said, stepping back.
Ursula sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed—and collapsed, mewling.
Galatea loomed over her again. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Ursula rolled over onto her stomach. "You mean—ah, God…" Her hips pumped and gyred over the mattress. "You mean you don't know?"
"No, you're wearing a discrete me," Galatea explained. Ursula moaned, pushed a gel-gloved hand into her bed-humping crotch, and Galatea added, "Maybe 'discrete' isn't the best word. What's going on?"
"Can't talk," Ursula murmured, her hips juddering against her hand, "getting off. God, I'm so wet. The suit, it's so damn slick…"
The Goth girl waggled her middle finger against her clit in furious little circles. Galatea blushed, feeling more surprised and shocked from being embarrassed than from watching Ursula masturbate. "I'm sorta superlubricative," Galatea mumbled.
Ursula shuddered one final time and sunk into the quilt. "If I lie still, I think it'll stop."
Curiosity overcame embarrassment. "What'll stop?"
Ursula did not even risk turning her head to one side. "The suit," she muttered into the quilt. "It moves when I move, but it keeps moving, slipping and sliding all over me but still hugging me really tight, like a, like a—fuck, it's like nothing else I've ever felt, but it's amazing. Too amazing. Another orgasm like that and I'll go into cardiac arrest. Can you talk to it? Her? You know, the suit?"
"Sure." Galatea shrugged. "Just as you can, and a few other ways, like bursts of short-wave electromagnetic radiation or aerosolized nanopackets or whatever, but I'm sure she's listening aurally, too, in case you say the safe word."
"Dee would never cheat on you," Ursula said after a long pause. "You are the great love of his life."
"Really?" Galatea bubbled.
"You've got a vocabulary more technical than his—I haven't understood half of anything you've said—and you've got tits as big as your head. It's like you were made for him."
Galatea's voice iced over. "Is it now?"
"Damn," Ursula said, "I'm sorry I insulted you. You really were made for him, weren’t you?"
"I wasn't made for him." Galatea wrung her hands into a fused ball. "He made me."
Ursula slowly turned her head to watch Galatea pace the room. "Like Pygmalion?"
Galatea dropped down onto the vanity bench. It disappeared inside her gelatinous translucent bulk. "No," she said, staring at her dappled reflection in the antique mirror, "nothing like Pygmalion. I looked the myth up on the Internet. In one version, Pygmalion jerks himself off between the statue's legs, did you know that? He'd talk to it and even buy it dinner and presents first, but then he'd dry hump it—when it was just a statue, just a thing. He was so pathetic that Aphrodite brought the statue to life. Love took pity on Pygmalion, you understand?"
"Yes," Ursula answered. "The uncensored version of the story always creeped me out a little, honestly."
"Well," said Galatea, lost in reflection, "Dee didn't do that. He made me, but I chose him." She shrugged and turned around. "So don't you dare pity me. Got it?"
"Got it," Ursula nodded. "Hey, the suit didn't move. I think she's listening. Maybe she's as pissed at me as you are."
"I doubt it," Galatea said, then laughed. "I mean, I'm not pissed off at all. Having a girlfriend to talk to is awesome. So get up and shake that thing already."
Ursula arose. "Mm, she's still the kinkiest thing I've ever worn, but I can move without cumming now." She t
ook a few tentative steps. "Ooh, damn." She strode around the bed, her hips rolling in a liquid rhythm. "But I can still think of nothing but sex…Galatea, stop staring at my ass."
"Stop moving it like that," Galatea said.
"Like what?"
Galatea detached herself from the vanity bench and oozed aside. "Check us out."
Ursula sashayed up to the vanity, ogling her own reflection. "Holy shit." The sepia tones of the mirror could not dull the electric effect the bodysuit had on her figure. Ursula gleamed, a lime green fetish queen, every curve, bump, and line standing out in stark, polished relief. "I look more naked now than I do when I'm really naked." She rocked her ass toward the mirror and whistled. "Not bad."
"It's a-frickin'-mazing," Galatea said, moving in toward the mirror to get a better view, "but then I'm an ass-man."
"Oh, ha, ha," Ursula said, turning the other cheek and swinging her pigtails. "I love how she doesn't stick to my hair."
"I'm serious. I love to play with his dick, but I'm always staring at Dee's ass."
"So are half the women at the office," Ursula said dryly, but jolted into the air when Galatea screamed.
"I knew it!" Galatea jammed her fists through her temples. "He's such a clueless idiot. He says he hasn't had a date in over a year."
"He hasn't," Ursula said, shying away. "That is, he hasn't asked anyone out in over a year. I know about a dozen women who'd say yes if he'd only ask."
"Dee? Ask a woman out?" Galatea raged. "Oh, no, of course he wouldn't. That's too obvious for him to even consider. He just hangs out waiting for someone to jump him."
"That's Dee, alright." Ursula shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
"Well," Galatea muttered darkly, "if he keeps that up he's not going to have to wait much longer."
"Huh?" Ursula said, shifting her weight back.