Fae Encounter

Finally, when he was reduced only to intermittent twitches, and he no longer thought he had liquid left in his body to pour into her, she released him in a process he could only think of as 'unswallowing,' and rolled off him. His newly birthed cock tingled in the cool air, wet as it was with the sticky ropes of come and saliva.

His head unconsciously followed her as she rolled, and he continued to kiss and nuzzle at her cleft while she whimpered meekly.

He felt utterly drained. It was beyond the tiredness of physical exertion, it was as if something had been tapped at the very core of his being. He had never felt so sated. He rolled onto his back and his gaze fell up once more to the ribbon of sky above, just visible through the sihoutte of leaves.

Was he mad, or were those stars above? He had surely not been here that long. He knew there were still hours of daylight ahead when he had first entered this place.

Oh well, he reflected, what did it matter? What could life offer him to better this experience? He could stay here as long as Veen and Plest would let him. Surely he had stumbled across heaven on Earth.

He had hardly finished the thought before he sensed both sister's stirring again. Surely they needed to rest, like him? His muscles were tired and even a slight ache had crept into his bones.

Just a little sleep perhaps, then he might be ready for another round.

Two hands gripped each of his shoulders and rudely lifted him up to a sitting position. He tried to wave them away, but they held him tight. Then, while Plest propped him up, he watched in drunken pleasure as Veen bent over on all fours, presenting an unabashed view of the valley between her buttocks, still dripping wet and shiny.

She returned a moment later, a knowing smile on her lips, and held out water cupped in her hands. He drank from it, suddenly realising his thirst. The cold water felt good on his throat and he did not stop until he had licked the moisture from her palms. She repeated the action several more times and he felt his strength returning. He could hold his own weight up now.

He suddenly became reawakened to the beauty of the two strange creatures before him. He opened his lips to ask them a question, anything to help explain the mystery of their existence which he had, until now, so blatantly put aside.

Plest pressed a finger to his parted lips though, and no sound left them. She grinned and nipped at his bottom lip. This time he did manage a groan. There was no way these insatiable nymphettes could expect him to go again. He needed rest and food. Besides which, he knew it to be physically impossible.

At least, that is what he thought until he looked down and saw his still staggeringly present erection. It was just not possible. No man in history could have manged it, it was positively inhuman. He looked up sharply into Plest's eyes at this thought, and he was met with a wink.

She placed a black hand on his pale shaft and began to slide it up and down. It was still lubritcated with a combination of her juices, his semen and her sister's saliva. It felt good. Really good.

But he shook his head, it could not be. He was spent, and too tired to start again even if he wanted to.

Veen, meanwhile, had returned to her position on all fours in front of him, but was now looking back slyly over one shoulder. The way her black hair fell over one eye set a dull ache in his gut to witness such beauty.

She arched her back in a way that made him aware that she was presenting her sex to him, if only he could gather the strength to claim it. Still, he continued to shake his head. Plest, however, stilled him by placing her hands on his jaw and, drawing his stare into hers, nodded slowly.

He was a puppet on her string as she drew him up onto his knees and positioned him between her sister's parted legs. A kindly nurse attending a weakened patient, she took his hands and set them on Veen's luminously white rump and held him until he was able to use Veen to support his own weight.

He was still uncertain, as she lovingly lifted his cock like a she was presenting a sword, and directed it to Veen's entrance. He could feel the heat Veen gave off before their skin even made contact. He leaned against her, her tight little opening resisting his entry to the point that his penis began to bow under his weight.

He had a moment, in this brief time, to look down at his hands, gripping Veen's plump little backside, and reflect on a curious change. His hands seemed very pale to him and, was it the light that made them appear more gaunt? The blue veins that criss-crossed beneath his skin were more pronounced. Perhaps he was just strained, or else tiredness was fogging his mind.

This train of thought, however, was shattered as he pierced the entry into Veen's core. She fit him, like her sister, with impossible snugness. He felt as if she were being forced to fold herself around him to encompass his girth. He breathed through gritted teeth. Had he been tired a moment ago? Something about his hands nagged distantly at the back of his mind, but he brushed it aside. How could he have thought to pass up this gateway into eden?

His hips moved of their own accord, allowing his cock to gingerly explore its new home. It was welcomed by the tight embrace of Veen's inner membranes, which drew him in deeper.

Plest had her hands on her sister's cheeks, spreading them for him, giving him that extra fractional inch of depth inside Veen. Her wide eyes were focused on him, her lips parted in a grin. That predatory look had returned to her expression. Then Plest was kissing the knotted muscles of his abdomen. Taking little pinching bites of his flesh that only heightened his returning awareness.

Veen had begun to move with him, rocking back on her knees to meet his thrusts and forward again to draw him out of her.

He felt the tingling pleasure encircling his shaft, but knew another orgasm was out of the question. Perhaps, if he held out and helped Veen to reach hers they would let him rest a while. He wanted to return to this, needed to return to it, but his poor body was just not capable of it. Was it?

Plest was behind him now, her fingers massaging his back and shoulders. He felt her warm body pressing into his, fitting her curves into his hollows. Then she was gripping his hips and adding energy to his thrusts. He felt her lips on the nape of his neck, her breath in his hair.

He gasped as she slipped a hand between his legs, cupping his swaying testicles, and squeezing them gently.

He was numbed to sensation at this point, surely? That melting sensation at his core had to be an automatic response, it had no bearing on his ability to climax so readily after two very recent, power-sapping orgasms in such quick succession.

Veen was practically bouncing with energy where she arched before him. Plest was directing his thrusts into her sister the way a master violinist might wield a bow; timing precise strokes to hit just the right note at the right time. Veen's little yelps of pleasure were evident appreciation of this maestro performance.

Once she had guided and cajoled his fatigued body into a rhythm and pace he could maintain on his own, she released him, and he continued like some indefatigable force of inertia now set in motion.

She then positioned herself alongside, identically to her sister, giving him once more that negative mirror image of perfection. He actually licked his lips as he ran his eyes over the black skin, beaded with their combined perspiration. She spread herself wide, inviting him to feast his eyes on her liquid sex and tight puckered sphincter.

His desire came out as a slack-jawed gurgle. Nevertheless it earned him a devilish grin from Plest, as she reached between her legs to take one of his hands. She drew it down to where he could feel the heat coming off her, then guided his fingers into her cleft. She used his hand to begin massaging her clitoris, which budded out proudly.

His head lolled back, rocking as his hips pumped, and his hand began to circle. He felt Veen's hand now dipping into her own cleft, running deep enough to slide over his pneumatic shaft, and then back up to rub out the ache in her own pleasure centre.

Plest dropped so that her face was pressed into the moss, her ass pushing up high, opening herself up further to his touch. With her two hands no longer supporting her weight, she was able to reach back and coax his thumb into pressing at the tight ring of her ass. It reluctantly gave way to their combined pressure, and he slipped his digit in up to the first knuckle. Seemingly satisfied now, she allowed her hands to fall and writhed her little backside against his touch.

In his mind he was a clock. His parts had been set by a master craftsman and all he could do was carry out his designed function with precision and accuracy. The fact that he could feel his breaths coming more rapidly, and a fist-like clench in his perineum was surely no sign that even this exquisite torture could induce a climax.

Yet, as Veen's cries grew hoarser and more uncontrolled, he felt himself rising with her. He could see focused determination in the profile of Plest's face, as she gritted her teeth, and he knew she was close too.

Her expression became a wicked grin, as he saw her snatch at Veen's working hand and pin it to the moss just before she could climax. Veen mewled at being denied this early release. But, she should have trusted her sister, who had set the hiker up to hit that perfect, illusive spot within her.

The hiker had, unwittingly, increased his pace, and knew now, from the intensity of Veen's squirming, that he was just brushing the precise area inside her to send her unravelling into ecstasy.

As she shattered into an orgasm beneath him he found the building clench within him was rising uncontrollably. He was going to come. He had lost all control, his hand was a blur on Plest's fragile tissue of hyper-sensitive skin, his thumb dipping deeper and deeper into her bowels.

The fuse had been set, but the final ignition came when Veen, still shuddering out her orgasm, gripped her sister by the back of her neck and pulled their heads together savagely for a kiss. As he watched their lips lock, their tongues slide over each other, and their eyes close in passionate fervor, he exploded.

To him, it literally felt that way. A wave of energy burst from him. It was more satisfying than anything he could describe, yet seemed to drain him almost completely. He cried out raggedly again and again as he pumped out stream after stream of come. He was gasping for air, his hands and limbs shaking with the exertion. He felt his eyes must surely be bulging out of his head. It was both terrifying and exquisite.

It had the effect of setting off Plest's own orgasm, and she writhed against his hand in a shameless and animalistic manner. She was crying heedlessly into her sister's open mouth. The hiker could feel her sphincter clenching down on his thumb, and the rapid muscle twitches rippling her sex.

When the white heat of the moment dulled and his senses returned he found he had bitten his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

He dropped, pole-axed, to the mossy bed. His heart felt like it was trying to pound out of his chest. In this lull after the storm, he had just passed through, he became all too aware that he might not survive if this continued.

He looked back at the sisters where they now lay, entwined on the soft mossy bed. Their legs were interlocked and they were slowly and sensually rubbing out the dying embers of their climaxes on each other's thighs. Their lips seemed fused in a deeply passionate kiss.

The hiker clutched at his still pounding chest.

Why did his ribcage suddenly feel so pronounced?

He crawled the few short steps to the water's edge. He gazed down then at a person he did not recognise. At first he thought it some magical property of the pool, certainly this place held some kind of magic, perhaps altering the reflection a person saw in it.

But, as he ran a hand over his face and felt the deeply pronounced hollows, the straw like hair and the long wispy eyebrows, he knew the face of the withered elderly man he saw staring back at him had to be his.

Suddenly he felt very frightened. He had made a huge mistake. He had to escape. Perhaps, if he got out of here, this would all prove to be a dream, or a nightmare, he could not decide which.

He set himself to flop forward into the water, to use every remaining scrap of energy to try to swim, and then run, for the exit to this forsaken place. Yet, even as he did so, he felt, rather than heard, the soft tread of delicate feet on the moss behind him.

"Dear, dear," Veen spoke, looking pityingly down at him, "Our poor old boy here seems to have taken fright."

"Here, darling," Plest placed a soft hand under his chin. He knew he must have been staring out of wide, terrified eyes at her, his jaw quivering as his mind tried desperately to make sense of the situation. "Come back and lie down with us. You can rest and we will look after you."

He tried to protest, to fight off their hands, but he could not. It could have been that he no longer had the strength, but he knew at least part of him wanted to go with them, a willing slave.

They led him back up the island, giggling and cooing at him like a much favored pet. He cursed himself for his overpowering desire to please them.

He wanted to cry when Plest flopped down in front of him and opened her legs, pulling his face down to her sex, even more so for the fact that he so eagerly wanted to lap at her and feel her come in his face.

It was around this time that he began to lose track of events. They began to swirl and blend into each other. They were disordered and, often, chronologically jumbled. All he had then were snatches of lucid moments in between infernos of sensation and dreamlike impressions of events.

At one moment he was on all fours, his face buried in Plest while Veen lay on her back between his legs and suckled on his, seemingly, unremitting erection. In the next, the sisters were in front of him, lying, face to face, sandwiched on top of each other. He had slid his cock between their pressed bodies and was spurting a sheet of hot come to be spread like paste across their sliding bellies.

Then, it was if he had jumped back to a moment before, when he had been thrusting into them where they lay on top of each other. Sometimes he slipped inside one, sometimes into the other, but most often it was between their bellies and over their insatiable clits. All the while they sucked on each other's tongues and rubbed and moaned at each other, hardly seeming to be aware of his existence.

Another snatch of stolen time and he was on his back and looking up sky again. Only it was daytime once more. They were taking turns to mount him. The one who was impaled on his shaft helped the other into positions to help increase her pleasure. Their motions, at times, were strange, running this way and that, seeming to repeat themselves, only in reverse.

He could do nothing by lay back and stare up, aware of the orgasm he now knew was unstoppably rising within him, or else that was drifting backwards away from him. All the while hot tears were running to and from his eyes into the ever deepening creases around them.

Soon, even these loose impressions became untethered, and he lost all contact with the physical world. All of his senses seemed concentrated now in the tortured, pulsing beacon of his abused glans.

He saw only flashes and swirls of light and dark, dancing around him in a fierce tempest. He was a leaf being tossed in a raging storm, as dark and light slammed together, again and again, in blasts of sound and light like strikes of lightening.

He heard laughter and cries and moans, in their voices and his own. He smelled each of them separately, and both of them blended together into one overpowering scent of sex and power. He felt only unbridled pleasure, strangely juxtaposed with the million tiny deaths as more and more of his very being was drained away.

His last true impression was of the waterfall. He began to realise, with detached indifference, that it had not been quiet or motionless for sometime now. He had just been too absorbed to truly acknowledge it.

To his dim awareness, it appeared that it was flowing again, roaring deafeningly loud in his ears. Yet the sound was different from before. He saw then that the waterfall was running backwards. The water from the pool was meeting at a point in its centre, gathering together and falling upwards to disappear in the blackness high above. He felt giddy with the disorientation. If he was capable of any output energy, beyond that which was being gradually and ruthlessly being drawn from his body, he would have laughed hysterically.

Sensations blurred again, and time moved like the unchecked wheel of a storm-battered ship. Then, Veen was suddenly millimeters away and face to face with him. He felt true terror then, staring into those wild, smiling, hungry eyes. They were getting closer, he wanted to scream, but he could only stare deeper into the bottomless blackness until they were all he could see.

Then, they encompassed his entire world and there was only darkness.

When he came to himself again he was standing alone in a field of broken rocks, surrounded by mountains he sensed should be familiar, but that he could not quite place.

He had no idea of how he had got there. In fact, his memories in general all seemed very hazy. Even his name seemed to escape him for now and, as to what he was doing out here, he no idea.

He knew he needed to get help. He needed to warn them. No, that wasn't it, he needed them to take him back to the place.

Which place? And who were 'they?'

If only he could get his mind to focus for a second, but it fluttered and banged around in his skull like a panicked bird in a cage.

There was something he had to warn somebody about?

About what?

He was so tired. He looked down. Were those his arms? They looked utterly emaciated. There could not be enough muscle there to lift them. They were skin covered bones, pale and thin. Then again, he could be mistaken, his vision was too weak to make out much detail, even at such close range.

Was he naked? He suddenly felt scared and vulnerable. He became aware of the hot sun baking his unprotected skin. How had he come to be like this?

Wait! There was a figure! Something dark, at least, was moving across the lighter landscape. There was heat haze, or else his vision was even blurrier than he had realized. He doubted himself several times before he saw it resolve into a tangible, albeit fuzzy, reality.

Who was it? Could they be trusted? Were they like the other one's who had taken...

What had they taken?

It didn't matter, he had to warn this person.

Warn them about what?

The figure was very close now. Here, something from deep down was coming to his lips.

"The water," were the words that croaked out. That voice and those words were both strange and unexpected to him.

Was he warning this person about the water, or asking to be taken back there? The mention of the word brought an equal measure of fear and yearning into his breast, confusing him even more profoundly.

A hand fell gently on his shoulder. Even that tender gesture felt like it could crumple his withered husk of a body.

"May I help you, old man?" A kindly voice asked.

A flash of memory came to him then, but he could already feeling it slipping away, even as he snatched at it. The water. He had to tell this person about the place where water ran backwards. Was that right? It sounded strange even to him, but it seemed important.

He could not decide if it needed to be a warning or a request to be taken back there. He had to get the words out before they slipped away again. He just hoped that they would come out and make sense, they were already starting to jumble in his broken mind.