I blushed and mumbled incomprehensibly, but Scorpio’s creeping hand was making me moist. “You’re not communicating,” she said. “Your throat chakra must be blocked. I’ll have to open it.”
Scorpio stood and released her skirt, revealing the glory of her cock. “Now,” she said. “Strip.”
I stared with my mouth gaping. Her beauty that stark, that sharp. Yes, Scorpio was so lean it seemed she didn’t have enough skin and that her bones might tear through. Yet somehow she had juicy breasts the size of plums. I slipped off my clothes, hands shaking.
“Kneel,” Scorpio ordered. Then when I got into place she walked around me three times. Her footsteps falling hard and her circles strangely binding me without rope until my arms were pinned behind my back and she stood facing me. Her cock filling my vision. “I know you want your mouth fucked,” Scorpio said. “So beg for it.”
I whimpered, cowed by her ability to know what I craved, and she cracked a slap on my face, making my ears ring. “Please,” I bellowed. “Please.”
Scorpio stroked her cock and then jammed the head in my mouth. It was so big it strained the circle of my lips and I feared I couldn’t take any more, that if she rammed deeper I’d choke. “You can,” she said. “You’ve no choice.”
Scorpio rolled her hips and the shaft rubbed against the back of my throat. My eyes watered, my mouth watered, but she fucked harder. Bucked her hips until my throat numbed and then cracked open. She yanked my hair, thrusting one final time, and I swear I felt jizm spray hot and spread through me.
Scorpio pulled out. “Come back again and I’ll open your swadisthana chakra, located here,” she said, running a crimson nail over my cunt.
Sagittarius
“You’re Moon Double Cock,” Sagittarius declared, yanking off my T-shirt. “And this is your coronation ceremony.”
Never having heard of a Mayan ruler so named, I raised a dubious eyebrow. But Sagittarius plowed on. “Below,” she continued, “are one hundred thousand people here for the event and they’re transfixed—watching me ritualistically disrobe you.”
I looked over the edge of the ancient pyramid and saw nothing and no one—just the outline of lush rainforest stretching on forever. “How can they see us?” I asked. “The sun set an hour ago.”
“No, the sun’s at its zenith—just as this city, Tikal, is at its zenith.” Sagittarius regarded me with fiery eyes and swept the entire park with a wide gesture. Then she knelt, kissed my feet, and stroked my legs, and I, helplessly, softened into her fantasy.
“And who,” I asked, “are you supposed to be?”
“Oh, I’m the priestess leading the final stage of the ceremony.”
“Final stage?”
“Yes, the bloodletting to ensure the prosperity of your reign.”
“Hmm, I know some people like that, but hon, you hate blood.”
Sagittarius grinned and cupped my pussy. “This is the good kind,” she said. “The pop your cherry variety.”
Of all the things Sagittarius had ever asked me to imagine, being a virgin struck me as the most ridiculous and I snickered until she jammed my mirth with her finger—shoved fast into my hole. “The spectators and the young queen gasp,” Sagittarius said, smiling at my surprise and slipping in a second finger, then a third. “The priestess feels blood trickle down her wrist,” Sagittarius continued. “And another wetness even more sacred.”
Planting my feet into the cold stone, I braced myself to ride each thrust and I looked down over the pyramid’s edge. My clit swollen into a fat bead, I could now see Sagittarius’ vision—the one hundred thousand people watching and sliding inspired fingers into their robes, into those of their neighbors.
Sagittarius pressed her head to my cunt and flicked her tongue like a snake. “Come for the good of the people,” she said between licks. “Listen to them fucking. They want your divine ass and they’re screwing each other dreaming of it.”
“Yes,” I panted. “The spectators are a web of mouths and crotches—everyone both sucking and getting sucked. They’re heaving, writhing, shaking and—now—they’re coming together with the seismic force of an earthquake.”
I jerked against Sagittarius’ mouth, my moan ricocheting out into that surprisingly twenty-first-century night.
“Queen Moon Double Cock,” she said, as soon as I’d caught my breath. “I think park rangers are coming….”
Capricorn
Still slicked with sweat and slightly panting, I was relieved to have finally reached the top. All the way up the mountain I’d had my eyes fixed on nothing but Capricorn’s tight ass and now I had plans that didn’t include the picnic she was unpacking. I heaved off my knapsack and rummaged through it.
“Can you believe the view?” Capricorn asked. “Isn’t it incredible?” Without looking around, I nodded yes and spread the blanket.
“Come here, hon,” I wheedled, slipping the sandwiches from her hands. “You didn’t want to stop mid-mountain, but we’re here now….” I pulled her down and kissed her like kissing was everything. And I caressed her from back to buttocks to thighs, her muscles rippling under my touch. We’d been together for two years now, but Capricorn still always needed it soft and slow to get wet.
Our eyes locked and I fell into the rich, brown earth of hers. “I want you buried in me,” I whispered, setting her hands on a trail to my cunt. “And I want to be buried in you,” I continued, undoing her belt.
Capricorn stroked the fur between my legs and then squeezed and massaged the lips. She had strong, capable fingers and everything she did with them was perfectly precise, perfectly designed to send tremors through my slit. I mirrored her movements—stroking with the same softness and then slipping between her folds. We lingered over each other’s clits, drawing small moist circles, and finally we thrust simultaneously into each other’s holes. Moaning moans that sounded like sighs.
Yes, I’d been waiting so long for her to ram my cunt that now my bones were almost melting with relief and I could finally open my eyes to see. To see the clouds soft against the mountains in the distance. To see the trail far below us twisting and curving—sometimes steep and rough, sometimes lush with velvety green. Yes, Capricorn was right. We were at a gorgeous dizzying height and we were getting close to the edge. Her thumb pressed into my clit and mine pressed into hers, we were just a few strokes from coming.
I bucked harder and drove my fingers deeper. Feeling like we’d been reduced, or perhaps elevated, to just the connection between us. Yes, that we were nothing but two pussies clamped wet onto knuckles, jerking faster and faster until we would slump into each other. Into the earth. Yes, we were as high at that moment as we’d ever be again.
Aquarius
With me and Aquarius sharing the tiny bench, our thighs touched. We were in room 11—a closetlike space dominated by a screen and the bluish light it threw off. There were sixty-nine channels on offer and I was letting Aquarius choose. This was, after all, her opportunity to learn.
I’d met Aquarius at a peace rally a year before. She’d been hard to miss as she’d been practically deep-throating a microphone, belting out chants. Also, with her silky hair and chiselled features, she’d appealed to me in a patchouli kind of way. We took up drinking fair trade coffee together every week, yet despite my longing to make it personal, our talk was always political. Then Aquarius mentioned Andrea Dworkin and I saw my opportunity.
“You can’t understand pornography,” I’d declared, leading her to Slut Cinema. “Until you’ve seen a variety.”
Now Aquarius was picking a channel and the screen was filling with two stewardesses. One was topless, though she had a jaunty scarf tied around her neck. And the other was taking a miniature bottle of wine from the drink cart. Stewardess number one cracked open the wine and splashed it over number two’s tits. Licked it off and then splashed on some more.
“This is a parody of lesbian sexuality,” Aquarius huffed. But I said nothing. She was right—I’d never seen an actual
dyke with so much makeup. Let alone such long nails. I was hoping, however, that Aquarius would soon forget about the blue eye shadow. I knew I would.
Stewardess number two poured the remaining wine into her costar’s mouth, letting it drip from her face like cum. Then number one yanked up her skirt and wriggled out of her lace panties. The camera zoomed in, filling the screen with crotch—fleshy hairless lips, a ring through the clit. Feeling my own cunt throb, I looked at Aquarius. Her green eyes had gone big and round and she was crossing and recrossing her legs. I snaked my hand between them and, through the thin fabric of her skirt, cupped her hot pussy. Surprised, she stiffened, but then stewardess number one spread herself open and Aquarius relaxed, thrusting into my touch.
Stewardess number two looked appraisingly at her costar’s juicy slit and jammed the empty bottle into her hole. Then as she slipped the bottle in and out, Aquarius slid her hand between my thighs, moving the panties to one side. Yes—finally—Aquarius, who could always be counted on to think outside the box, had her mind (and fingers) deep inside of it.
Pisces
In the surf we did kicks, flicks and side steps—mamboing together in bare feet. We didn’t have music, but twilight gave us a naked rhythm.
Pisces was my partner, a woman with such grace she seemed to never walk but rather glide. A woman with tiny feet and gorgeous heavy-lidded eyes full of strange light. Pisces was a dancer by profession and passion, so she led. And I loved her, trusted her enough to let her take me into peculiar and beautiful steps.
Our mambo melted into tango—tango with its tragedy of old Argentinean nights and its sensuality of Pisces’ thigh too fleetingly between mine. Then she dipped me, hard and smooth, and I felt our breasts crush together. We surfaced and slipped into another dance. This time whirling like dervishes with our right hands lifted to heaven and our left hands pointed to earth. Our skirts billowing with each turn. “The fundamental condition of existence,” I remembered Pisces telling me once over wine, “is to revolve.” Now, reeling faster and faster, I understood. Neutrons, electrons, protons, wheeling through each sky. Venus, Neptune, Mars, wheeling through each cell. Pisces and I growing dizzy, flushed.
Pisces took me in her arms and we slipped into a waltz. The waves falling in three-quarter time, we step-step-closed with them, slow enough to feel not just the softness of the sand under our feet, but also its sharpness, its grit. With the strong accent on the first beat, I kissed her hard. Our tongues twisted together like two pink seals and her teeth chewed my lips.
The waltz dissolved, but the dance came back—rough—raunchy—all crotch. Yes, with our hips gyrating we were looping like music and the rub was making a slick fire. Pisces, without missing a beat, brought us to the ground.
Muscle slippery like a fish, she slid against me, letting me feel the hot press of her cunt. I dipped a finger in and wriggled through her juices. Then I pulled out, giving it to Pisces’ mouth. She parted her lips and flicked her tongue over the wet finger—gorged on it as if it were a small, delicious cock. I dipped back in and sucked the fringes of her pussy lips. Her shaved slit looked like an unusual and delicate sea creature—best served raw on the half shell. It smelled like mermaid perfume and it felt like nothing else. Pisces grabbed my hair and yanked me to her clit, grinding her crotch into my face.
“This is heaven,” I murmured when I finally surfaced. “This is heaven.”
SUBTEXTS
Peggy Munson
1
Daddy puts on his Duran Duran album and I run through the woods. It’s the same recurring nightmare but I am awake. The red velvet hood brushes my cheek, soft as blood splattered on rabbit fur. The last lights of day cut through the trees like a series of incisors. Daddy is a feral version of Simon Le Bon wailing, “I’m on the hunt down after you.” The echoing music makes the branches quiver. Everything is salivation and footfalls and panting breath. My cape flutters in the jet stream off my back. I don’t know why Granny has chosen to live in this spot, but she’s Germanic and odd in her need for privacy and shade. I catch my breath at her doorstep, glancing around with paranoia. I fondle the laces on my corset. Granny likes me hemmed in.
Granny isn’t really kin. We call her Granny because she’s been in the scene longer than anyone. In the front room, her whips hang on nails and her teacups rest on hooks. Everything looks normal, except that her boi’s dog crate is open. He’s usually there, curled up and resting between chores. Maybe she sent him to buy lube at the general store. I pry open her door. I see Granny’s frilly bonnet heaving on the bed. “I brought baguettes,” I say cheerfully. “And your favorite whiskey, Granny G.” But something is not right. I have a feeling of déjà vu as I lean over her protruding nose and utter the lines: My what big teeth you have. My what big teeth. Granny has always been proud of her Ashkenazi nose, but the flaring nostrils are not hers. “Better to eat you with,” snarls the thing in Granny’s nightie.
The figure lurches out of bed and pins me to the maple floor, singing “Hungry Like the Wolf” between drooling snarls. “Eeek!” I scream. Daddy has duped me. He bites at my velvet cape, tearing off pieces like flesh, red filaments flying everywhere. “Grrrrr, you tease,” he snarls, fumbling for my wrists. I struggle to get away as his nostril-steam and claws leave white contrails on my chilly sky-blue skin. I grab his throat and squeeze it until he is pawing the air for breath. I pull myself away, with half of my cape ripped off, and my corset and panties still on. “You whore,” Daddy snarls. I hope he molests me on the half-mulched autumn leaves.
I take off running.
I should have known he’d be in Granny’s bed. Daddy sometimes bottoms to Granny. She probably made him eat her out, something he’s very good at with his long, wolfish tongue and nicking teeth that terrify a clit just enough to make it stand up. Maybe she got the munchies after he made her come, and went with her boi into town. I shouldn’t have stopped in the woods to drink my bottle of Orangina. Daddy pants down the trail as the trees slap me on the ass with their branches, and try to pry their way inside of me. Daddy and the supernatural trees are in cahoots. Daddy calls out to a sugar maple and then its gnarly blackened arms seize me and pull me to its bark. It stuffs a hunk of gingham in my mouth—the handkerchief that fell from my basket of food. It flips me around so that I’m facing a woodpecker hole. “I’ve got her,” says the tree.
“Stop it, you wooden jerk!” I yell as I spit out the handkerchief. The trees cackle. They look so wholesome and Rabbinical with their long beards of moss, but they are dirty, voyeuristic bastards. I rip at the bark with my fingernails. But it’s too late: Daddy strolls down the trail, swinging his tail. His fur pokes around his leather chaps. He spanks a paddle against his left hand. “Toro, toro,” says Daddy, and takes the last of my red cape in his mouth and tears it off. He yanks my panties to my ankles, then spreads my legs out until my panties rip. “You’re too tempting to the animals,” says Daddy. “Tsk-tsk.” He whaps my ass with the paddle and his long, scratchy tongue runs down my ass crack. He starts rimming my asshole and his nose burrows in my crack. He slides his long nose between my legs, sniffing my wet pussy. “Ahhhhhhh,” he sighs. “You smell like a rained-on clove cigarette. No—like a puddle full of dimes.” He has to mull over this for a while, his nose nearly fucking me as it prods around my hole, and his tongue lapping at my pussy juice. I start to whimper from the abrasion of his tongue on my clit and my pussy lips. My clit feels swollen. I thrash against the branches that are holding me. I stare with one eye into the darkness of the woodpecker hole. “No,” says Daddy finally, after he’s teased me for a while. “You smell like a girl who fucked herself in the woods.” Now he’s angry. “A girl who is not supposed to FUCK herself without PERMISSION.” He slams the paddle very hard on my ass, so I flinch and retract. He is right. After I finished my Orangina, I stuck the bottle in my ass. I noticed the bottle was shaped like a butt plug, with a big bulbous end that wouldn’t slip in and a narrow shaft. I thought how Granny might flog me for being
late, and I rubbed my clit and fucked myself with the bottle on my picnic blanket until I came.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I’m begging now. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Bitch,” he yells. A birch tree turns around when he says bitch as if he’s called its name. It thrusts a bunch of branches toward Daddy for him to make a switch. He starts to beat my ass, the branches stinging up and down my legs. I moan and plead for him to stop but wow, it feels incredible. “Oh, Daddy,” I moan gleefully. I’m swimming in endorphins when he pins me fast against the bark. He mounts me from behind and pumps his cock into my ass. He fucks me for a while like that, his hot breath scalding me. “Oh fuck me fuck me fuck me,” I scream, stupid as a little girl with nothing but a ruthless id. Before I come, he pulls his cock out and slips another condom on. He tells the trees to look at me. “Look at my little whore,” he says. “Look at my puddle full of dimes.”
“She’s hot,” the trees exclaim in unison. They point between my legs where I am dripping wet, where I am opened up for all to see. “Look at her lipstick cave.” They’re leaning in, blocking the moon and stars so that I only see the shining eyes of animals.
“Her lipstick cave,” says Daddy. “Yes, that is exactly what it is.” He takes his finger and he spreads my pussy lips. He sniffs me with his nose again, and pries the hole with nose and teeth so I am gasping, moaning for his cock. He pulls a tube of lipstick from my satchel, then applies it all around my pussy so it makes a little mouth. “I want to hear you scream,” he says. “And plead and beg for help. No one can hear you here. Meanwhile, I want a blow job from your cunt.” He rams his cock inside of me.
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