Isolation is a pit.
For what seemed like forever I couldn’t climb out.
One too many times had I almost ended it all to escape.
I want out.
I kept repeating that thought, over and over.
Then, there was a thought of why, the thought of where, and the thought of how. Within that long purgatory evaporated, awareness having filled its place.
Somethings lied on either side of me, long and warm along my legs and arms, and they shifted. Brooke and Sylvia? God, I hope so.
Eyes fluttered, and I was greeted by the sight of something white, obscured in a blur as though it were a mirage… A white ceiling. Muscles shifted, numbed but alive, tingled with currents streaming from a center. Beneath, a soft cushion shaped and rolled with me… A bed. Something felt light under my head, like fresh snow on mountaintops… A pillow… Is this my room?
I felt naked… like, really naked.
For each movement, they moved, and they tenderly kissed. There was no ignoring it.
Tugging on the sheet below, rubbing it between my fingers, I was hit with curiosity: Since when have I owned silk? The sheet’s hidden curls unfurled into a unified surface, and in the same motion there was an odd stretch in joints, muscles twitching and aching in an unfamiliar way.
The kissing… who’s kissing me? One made pressure on my neck, a soft nudge and wet tap to its side. The other moved below, their lips firmly on the stomach with sudden, smooth haste. It was sporadic, from neck to collar, from midriff to hip, from thigh to base, feeding a sensation.
A soft voice arose from my left, almost song-like as a wind chime. “Hol eaara sabe-inway?”
As I shifted, the sight of a semi-blurred face came to focus, one belonging neither to Brooke or Sylvia. She gazed back with what morphed from sereness and uncertainty, her grey eyes having a sharpness that betrayed shyness. That very naked body sent my mind in a whirl, with tempered legs and arms sending warmth in me; one snaking behind my head, the other groping my–
My… breast?
Rising up afforded a better view of a new, round endowment, the movement having startled her. “Aur cudiexiysa uen?”
More alarm bells rang, a surging panic tugging against a growing heat. I have breasts… I have breasts?! What the hell?!
The other girl–for now she laid in clear view–resumed a relentless assault of my midriff, trailing to a…
Oh… oh!
From my nether, a large penis stood erect, much larger than from what I had remembered, falling just above my midriff; the tip wet, the length hard and full of heat with a girth no larger than a balled hand. It coursed with a flow of reserved, slow pulses, appearing as unreal as the scene before me… or tangled on top of me.
My hand instinctively brushed its end, finger tips coming away moist, sending currents straight to both heads. A penis… a large penis… and boobs… What roofie-induced dream is this?
The sight of the other fair-skinned, still-kissing girl caught my attention, her lips eagerly violating its base. Bob-tousled hair hued as a strong wine, cared for in a way that exuded youthful life and artful taste, brushed subtly on either side of the rod in a rhythm. For the faintest of looks, our eyes met, the sight of bright pink irises and curvaceous brows promising a commitment.
She trailed up and along the base of the shaft, the sensations of her effort dispelling any notion that this was a dream. The rational mind cried, begging for a slower approach.
“You’re… oh… god?” I spoke. The voice that came from me, deeply feminine and of a middle-low range, was not mine.
Wine–for her name couldn’t be known–giggled, her lips finally reaching the end, the mouth parting so the head slid in; its juices consumed by the touch of cheek and tongue, and of a brush inside.
“Oh god!” I nearly yelled.
The other, Eve, brought herself closer, breasts pressing into my side, legs and arms pulling tighter as soft lips again found my neck, then slowly down on the collar. Her energy surged relentlessly, an electrifying sensation that suffocates.
A breath and another utterance had been stopped, for Wine suddenly removed her head and in swiftness her lips met mine. “Oh–hmmph!”
Slithering in place, her tongue danced above mine. Leaning back had her following me, bringing the smell of fermented cherries. There was a taste of something sweet, feeling like caresses, and it lingered like mouthwash. Pushing in, it ran deeper.
Just as quickly, the kiss was broken, pink irises again boring into mine, and a voice low as a song of a cello began to enchant. “Loyie aur liefayrayadme sabe-inway, sarl cu hol rie.”
“… I don’t understand.” What language is that? Chinese?
A cute, befuddled look took her. “Wynsas?”
“Winsaz?”
She giggled in response. Not Italian… Maybe a weird Irish accent?
Eve, from my breast, brought her hand up and cupped my chin. With a shift to our posture, new lips bore into mine. An aroma of something similar to cedar and palm oils filled the air, the scent a threatening arousal of another kind. The push and tug of lip and tongue grew fierce, and the taste was as similar if not more potent.
I felt incredibly out of depth, for kissing was a niche thing to me, and they outperformed, guiding with each nudge. It felt amazingly addictive as cinnamon sugar on challah.
In that distraction, Wine again engulfed my end, for the heat of a wet-warm brush could not be imagined. “F-fuck…” Burying my head into Eve had done little, save that the makeout momentarily halted, resumed by her insistence.
Containing that raging fire was a rhythmic effort, for the feeling of Wine’s labors was its own push and pull. She seemed to have this inexperience, which was more than overcome by eagerness. Again breaking away from Eve, I chanced a look, witnessing her head slowly rise and fall, with dribbles of saliva sliding down my rod. The energy, the eroticism of this, threatened an explosion.
Oh shit… oh shit! Rising to release that pressure, Eve sensed my intention, shifting behind and sliding arms under me, raising my upper back. The other moved, relenting some of the rhythm for a moment. Our new posture left me kneeling, legs straddling thighs, leaning back and resting on boobs and a shoulder.
Wine pushed herself further, a cold sweat beading on skin and brow. Low and soft moans chorused, my hips rising and falling with her, my moans joining her song. Hold… hold…
Eve made a soft utterance, and the drain was unplugged, “Nusha?”
A heavy flow from the deepest reaches within me rose in fury, the inferno now burning along the whole of my length. Streams surged, filling her mouth as a flooding basin as my groans rose with the arch of my back.
She was forced away in a gush, coughing and gagging. It was a moment longer before the climax ceased, white streams dressing our naked display. Soon a mild euphoria, an animal-like pride, and rational shame bore down. “Oh fuuuck…” I uttered out of heavy breaths.
It seemed Eve had similar, choice words in laughter, finding amusement in this eroticism. “De Hul!”
“‘De Hal.’” The words still felt strange.
Stunned, I examined what had left me: Thick, long splotches of hot cum as white as snow had cascaded on and before us, some on my stomach, fingers tracing through the substance. Any notion of cleanliness was abandoned when I brought the droplet close, feeling it as thick as molasses, smooth as jam, and odorous of something like pine and but not. This is so weird… so, so weird.
Wine seemed to have composed herself, the sounds of her struggle ceasing, brushing away white droplets from pink lips, scooping some off the chest, dipping those covered fingers in her mouth as though hesitant yet curious. The act proved as repulsing as it was erotic.
“Are… you ok?” I asked, the exhaustion fading rapidly.
The playful voice of Eve sang, the meaning suggested. “Rieff, naar lilic loyie ssaamie?”
Wine removed her wet fingers, swallowing as she shuffled closer before answering high pitched yet lightheartedly, “Ileaymil eaara!” In those pink eyes a hungry look stirred, gazing to mine then down, her hand trailing along her and through another splotch on her chest, down past her stomach and toward a lower region. A brief moan left her as fingers were inserted, signaling alarm bells.
A resolve arrived in earnest. “Don’t,” I begged.
Another white glob was scooped off of wet silk, rubbed into a mixture with her own saliva, and began messaging the rod. I forced her hands away with a gentle swipe and a firm voice. “Stop.”
Wine looked up, her confident demeanor faltering, only to smile and giggle, again proceeding. Hands flew to bat hers away. “Stop!”
That playful smirk faded as she took in my expression, her eyes showing nervousness. Eve's arms grew loose, and the muscles in that bosom grew stiff. Both leaned away.
There was an awkward moment of silence, the kind you would have after a shitty, Broadway play. “Wynsas… aur 'miluryi?” Wine then spoke, drained of that sing-song melody.
Silence rang loud, for there were no right words that would bring understanding, and I suddenly felt like an ass; an idiot of idiots. The feeling grew worse as we sat motionless, as we waited for divine intervention.
Crap… Crap!
I twisted about, gently removing Eve in a way that conveyed forgiveness, clasping hands together, then doing the same with Wine’s. “I’ll be back, stay here.”
Both watched as I stumbled like a newborn off the bed, collapsing onto knees and hands to a cool stone surface with an unrecognized pattern. Much of the room’s detail was lost, my mind too erratic in a static whitewash of thoughts and 21 knot gales of emotion, too focused on trying to orient myself like an uncalibrated Boston Dynamics android.
“Loyaaraml rie tsaff fryo wiemv?” Eve asked.
It was an awkward stand, the shuffle to the nearest exit stiff; a closed, tinted glass doorway with no visible handle or knob. “I’ll be back,” I repeated, tumbling into a wall, jumping in surprise when the door slid open on its own. The leap through was less than practical.