X's, O's, Dicks, & Ho's

The Island, Twilight

The horizon was gorgeous.

Night fought arrival to the day's sleepy end with vibrant pink lightning strokes in the multi- hued distance. The apple bodied man walked the barren beach in blue shorts silence as he led the short naked woman by pink ribbons bowed around her erect, pierced nipples. She moaned in a deep pleasure and curious excitement. She wondered if they would run into people on the island and they would note her nudity with disgust and her cheeks would burn in shame as her juice ran down her legs.

Her breasts were a birthday gift to Mister and a size F with tiny nipples re-worked in a diamond shape. The sting of the ribbon lead was minimal and she did her best to keep up, but not run into her Mister. Her lips were overplumped, but he loved them wrapped around his cock. Her hair was a rainbow of color in long curls that touched the bottom of her ass. Her hips were wide and her legs toned although her stomach was soft. Her full, long lashes caught at her curls and she fought to see through her hair and not lose one perfectly placed lash. Mister loved plastic perfection.

He wanted a living breathing love doll and that was exactly what she was. Fucking a plasticine person, in his mind, was just another masturbatory aid beyond a cyberskin contraption or occasional phone sex with a stranger-none of it was real, just a fantasy to himself. So adultery against his decades old marital agreement with Quiet Martha it was not.

Humidity was greatly present and the sweat under her large chest ran down her stomach to an occasional sea gust that chilled it. He slowed his pace and she followed. He was near his favorite spot to watch the night sky take over. He walked them toward the Sandcastle Chair. Everyday someone made it and every night someone destroyed it. Usually he was the culprit for the latter whenever he could make it to the Island. Away from the rough surf, they strolled with the occasional tiny crustacean in a scurry across their bare feet.

He sat on the sandy throne and it held his massive form as usual. He tugged her lead and she crawled to him, her large nipples dragged in the sand. Her pink overplump slightly opened and drops of saliva left her hungry mouth. He watched the darkness take the last gasp of the day and he released Donkey Cock. That was what he called his mammoth penis that had been enhanced by across many borders' illicit dealings in accoutrements. His stretched dark grey cock grew into the enormous proportion of his excited state out the bottom of his blue swim trunks.

The bulbous tip flared out and beckoned her puckered mouth. He tugged her ribbons and she dove for the flare as his dick continued to grow. He relaxed back and sighed as he looked at the stars and awaited moonrise. The slurpy suction sounds only made him thicker as he rested his head on the little pillow that day's artist had left for him. Her manicured hands, so soft and dainty, stroked his length as far she could. Her throat surgery had been his Christmas present; all nonessential bits had been removed, so she could take her prize neatly down her esophagus. Her body, by each anniversary and holiday, had become reconstructed to accommodate all of his needs for his enormity. He could take her in any hole however he liked and whenever he liked. She had become an It of hobby-science. He laughed to himself. Some men at his age built model planes or flew drones, but not him. He wanted to extend his sexual self to the fullest and beat any demographical evidence of what wasn't supposed to work any longer and when.

He pushed her curls to one side so he could watch her attempt to take as much as his seated shorts position would allow. He felt her breath blocked by the erection and knew the neurotransmitter work that was his New Year's present to himself would stop her from a black out. She had the retainer in her mouth that covered her teeth and gave a silky slide into her throat and he loved how it felt at different points of Donkey Cock. He moaned and stroked her thick extensions. He pushed her head farther into his shorts leg and felt her esophageal muscles work at him as if he were food to be consumed in her stomach. It felt like a fierce tickle and his hips bucked in response.

The squeeze of her re-fabricated body heightened him to the point he had to catch the cum train, so he exploded with bellows and shouts that carried within the sea gusts. His extra large testicles sent a massive load to fill her stomach and he watched as her softness expanded. He always loved to see the imprint of his dick down her throat and the stomach bulge of his deposit.

He felt like a god.

Zeppelin's Ziggurat, Late Night in the City

A large thunderstorm deluged the inner city's decrepit buildings of the Warehouse District where the sea fog had been settled for hours and added creepy effect. Water rushed through the broken apex of the derelict façade of the multi leveled wonder that once brought tourists and added to local nightlife. Through the broken levels of rotten floors the cascade fell, impacted the cement basement floor and then swirled toilet-style into a large steel basin with a sizeable hole in the middle. The water's tingy pitch against metal rung through the caverns below, until it waterfalled over the dirty, naked crowd that swayed with a moan in unison; the crowd filled with all kinds of people from every social status and circumstance imagined. The scent of homemade berry soap and the pheromones of natural human funk almost choked the air, but the entranced crowd was too lost in their communal bath trip to even register it. The glazed gazes focused above as their hands and fingers caressed each other with soap and moan in perfect synch.

Away from the large stone shower that drained straight into the sewer tunnel only 200 feet ahead, torch lit choices and options of multiple tunnels beckoned with echoes of melancholy, ecstasy, cries, and laughter in hopes to beckon a new participant. Down the melancholic tunnel, a torch burned every fifty feet, and the tunnel ended in an expansive round room with thousands of candles lit which heated the room that held graffiti depictions on the walls. In the middle of the room was a gigantic round bed that turned slowly and vibrated quietly as a nude trio played with each other in the center. The bed was covered with deep purple velvet and gold pillows with black lace.

The man had long black hair braided down his muscularly smooth back and directed the younger woman who sat on her knees between the spread legs of the older woman who lay back with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. His deep voice held a soft authority and a security both women needed very much. He spread the outer lips of the older woman's vulva and sprinkled a blue powder from a glass salt shaker thoroughly over her inner lips and outer lips. The older woman gave an excited gasp as the powder made her lips swell with blood rush and a throb of desire. "Snort this, My Love. Show Auntie Raquel your gratitude for her bringing you here to me."

The moon face of the younger woman, swollen yet hollow by constant drug use, gave a relaxed smile with slightly dead eyes. She leaned forward and closed one nostril with her right index and took in a line that made the older woman shudder in sensitivity.

He laughed lightly and stroked the younger's back with pride. "So hungry to please. Very good."

After a few lines, she switched nostrils until he stopped her with, "Now lick the rest."

She licked and sucked on the tangy, aged labia until the older woman moaned and hip rose. The younger gave louder pussy suck sounds and caught the line-residued pussy juice in her hand so she could further absorb the sweet delight of the drug. Her tongue roughly licked the smegma inside Auntie Raquel's clitoral hood and consumed it as if it were caviar. The clit nipped by teeth sent Auntie Raquel into orbit.

Auntie Raquel bucked her hips into the younger's face and put her fingers into the stringy long hair with a faded rinse of red. He suddenly grabbed the younger's head by her hair and forced her to gag as he based her to his sack. He loved the absorption of the drug by the stringy, bubbled accumulation of powdery spit in the deepness of her throat. Auntie Raquel turned over and spread her cheeks with both hands. The dark pink tunnel of her anal gape beckoned a tongue or dick. He sprinkled quite a bit on her rim and inside her anus. He placed the shaker next to him and pulled the younger off him and onto the new hole to feast on. There was only a spit-filled gasp with a cough before she sucked different spots of the large gape. He stroked her body until he was in a perfect position behind the younger to slide into her own anal gape dry. She screamed into the cavern of Auntie Raquel and was rewarded with a large powdered rosy prolapse sent into her open mouth. She sucked the drug off so hard, Auntie Raquel almost passed out.

He encouraged them both to give in to the oneness and solidarity they felt as the drug took hold and bound them in a triad pleasure. They felt each other's muscles tighten and organs pulse for more play as well as their own. They could hear the drum chorus of heartbeat, the disconnection from their bodies, and the reconnection to the tops of their souls.

They felt their freedom as the surroundings fell away and they were in the cosmos. Gaseous clouds of blue and red swirled around them as the dizzy aspect of what was up or down was lost, they gripped and moaned as they saw the fire of Sol and the grey blankness of Luna at a distance. Millions of stars, comets, and space debris floated around them, until the younger woman broke away for Luna.

She had to get there. He was there. She knew it. He needed her and she felt it, the familiar ache of a loss that never should have been. The other two cried out to her, but it was lost to the vacuum of space. She felt the granules of cosmic dust and the heat of solar wind help her gain momentum for Luna. To see him again, to touch his skin, feel his penetration, sealed with long, deep kisses. . . .

Antarctic Complex Bravo, Evacuation Quarters, Level J Section 5 Room 7275, Winter Storm Tango Day 70

Quaid Daniels ended his communiqué to his wife Cecilia and their lot of grandchildren with air kisses and declarations of a magnificent reunion when they all returned to the Country. As the screen went black, his face changed to a pensive one. He was stuck in Antarctica until he could find a way to safely escape the massive, stagnant winter storm that was Tango. He wanted to explain to Bree, his hypersexualized side piece, what had happened to Bedelia, her chromosomally reconfigured younger sister. He had not a clue of how to explain what he had witnessed at Antarctic Complex Zebra Ultra's Human Enhancement Facility. Even with endless shots of tequila and vape circles, he could not come up with a solution.

Bree's handlers, Emilian and Christophe, had each reported that she was fine and safe with no changes they could tell in her demeanor or libidinous appetite. He would have been fine with such, if he hadn't become stranded. The reports were old at the moment.

He needed to see her.

He craved to hear her orgasmic cries, look into her ever-changing eyes as the Rego in her body sent her into sexual spirals.

He took his brief case from under his bunk and opened it on the small desk across the room. Inside was a small box that he opened quickly and punched a code into the keypad.

Bree's bedroom immediately appeared. Emilian with tousled dark hair sat on her messy bed and buttoned his trousers with a shake of his head and short spout in his native tongue. He looked pained with spread legs and a grimace.

"Yeah, I know," Quaid muttered as he realized Bree had exhausted the hired cock yet again. Quaid wondered how many times she needed to be sated now. His dick ached to fuck her and his mouth watered to consume her. "She can be quite a handful."

Bree was not in the room. He keyed another code and her bathroom came to view, but she wasn't there either. He quickly punched the code for her living room, but not a trace. "Where the fuck are you, honey?"

He tried the spare bedroom and the game room, but he came up empty handed. He wasn't alarmed, just pissed. Emilian handled all of her day to day. He was youthful and experienced in all forms of pleasure-Quaid had seen his expertise at the Circus Amore, the live sex act club and local swinger hang out near Old Downtown. Emilian was paid to keep her in check-no matter how dick raw he got. Emilian was her go-to guy; regardless of exhausted after glow.

Quaid keyed up her fenced backyard and saw her in Christophe's embrace. She, in a long black silk robe that promised full nudity underneath, and he in jeans and a white popped collar shirt with a holstered handgun on his left torso; they both muttered phrases Quaid couldn't make out. Quaid exhaled a sigh of relief. Christophe had a team of eight men who kept watch quietly around the perimeter of her home and neighborhood. Quaid didn't really like the tone of intimacy the two had, but he weighed more relief that she wasn't alone and about to do something rash.

Then he saw her eyes change as she looked up at Christophe and pulled slightly back. "Would you mind if I came for you right now?"

Christophe smiled a bright white toothed as his bleached flat top reflected porch light. "You can come whenever you like. You don't need my permission."

She laughed in return. "Master gave you and Emilian complete control of me, so I must ask because you might not want me to. I don't want you to send off a bad report that I wasn't minding."

Quaid's dick jumped in his pants as she referred to him as Master. He felt better about his contracted dominion over her.

Christophe stroked the fly away hair that had escaped her sloppy dark blonde bun on both sides of her face. "Mr. Daniels wants you to be safe and if a nice hard cum does that, then you should do it."

"Damn right! Cum for me baby," Quaid said to the monitor.

He watched Bree step away from Christophe and open her robe under the soft backdoor light. She let the robe fall and turned around to expose her curvy, backside and then twirled around as she left the patio for the soft, damp grass. She giggled as she sat on the grass and opened her legs. Then she laughed and rolled about the grass as if she were a child. She sat up, suddenly, with a surprised look on her face. "Christophe! I forgot the baggie! It's on the table."

Quaid adjusted his camera on the rectangular glass table with cushioned chairs around it behind Christophe's right. There was a zipped freezer bag of something cylindrical and clear. He couldn't make out what it was. Christophe picked it up and looked at it-blocking Quaid's camera's view.

Faintly, Christophe commented. "If I toss this at you and you don't catch it right, it's going to harm you. Come get it."

"Bring it to me!" she shouted, then remembered her manners. "PLEASE!"

Quaid saw Christophe's shoulders slump and then heard a faint sigh. Quaid looked at Bree-her eyes glowed emerald green and her smile was her cock hungry one. Quaid laughed at Christophe's back as he strolled over to the grass speckled nude form. "She is going to seduce you, Christophe, try to hold back. Make her beg for it."

Christophe kneeled as she whispered something neither he nor Quaid could hear. Christophe laughed as he got up. "No, you do that to yourself. The idea makes my nuts hide."

"It's just a little ice!" she exclaimed increduly. "You can help me decide which hole I should use!"

Christophe put his index to his lips. "It's late, Bree, we need to be quiet. Let's not upset the neighbors with your hijinks, ok?"

She closed her mouth with eyes wide, but shook the bag that held her large ice dildo. She kept her mouth closed but tried to make the sound of something.

"Speak, but quietly," Christophe said in a low, authoritative tone-serious, but somewhat carefree in the conversation.

In a hushed tone almost whisper, she answered. "I need something hot inside me to counter the cold."

"Where's Emilian?" Christophe queried as he looked at her large, erect nipples on her large, natural breasts.

"Fuck yes," Quaid agreed to the monitor.

She looked to the grass forlornly. "Tired of me. He told me that he needed to ice his balls for a bit before we could play again."

Christophe and Quaid both laughed and said, "Pussy."

She looked up and smiled. "So, I'm not a lamia?"

"No," Christophe and Quaid responded light in tone, but serious in nature.

Her face gave a fragile look and her eyes glistened. "I never expected it to be like this... I wanted to help my little sister....now I'm...this...I think Emilian hates me and I don't really blame him. It's like I need to breed...I'm glad I kept the IUD in-I don't know what I'd do if I ever conceived with this stuff in my system... I'm ruined."

Quaid shook his head. She needed him there to console her. It was at moments as such that he really regretted informing her about Bedelia and the options they had, and then he had let her choose a very scary option into the unknown. He felt responsible and frustrated at his lack of presence. He grabbed his secondary satellite phone and hit the number for Christophe.

He keyed the monitor to caption as the sound was muted. He watched Christophe respond to the phone on his belt.

"Mr. Daniels," Christophe answered confidently.

"I need to talk to her," Quaid said in a deeply serious voice. He watched Christophe pass the phone to her and she took it quickly.

"Master!" she exclaimed and then in a hushed voice. "Master, how are you?"

Quaid smiled at the sound of her voice in his ear. "Baby, are you ok? You crossed my mind and I wanted to hear your voice."

She smiled and wiped her eyes. "I-I-I'm...."

"You're beautiful and mine," he reassured as her face became complex with what she wanted to share and what she felt she couldn't.

"Yes," she agreed finally. "When are you coming home? Or maybe I should say-when do I get to be with you again?"

He wouldn't lie to her. "I'm not sure. Winter Storm Tango has me at Bravo in the Evac Ward. Are you playing with yourself enough? Using the toys?"

She laughed. "Probably too much. It's hard to stay focused. I've had to burn a few vacation days because I haven't been able to keep focus at work. I got the Tabula United worked out though. Did they send you the copy of-"

"No work talk. Tell me about what's on your mind?" he interrupted quickly.

He watched her become pensive and listened to her pregnant pause in his ear.

"I was trying to convince Christophe to play because I've worn Emilian out....I mean, Emilian's great...he just needs to time to heal...I think I've rubbed him raw by my neediness, physically and mentally. He's good-I don't want to get him in trouble. I appreciate all he's done for me-it's been a lot. He's been very kind." She stammered and looked about as she tightened her grip on the freezer bag.

"He's an employee and he will serve what I pay him for-and he better be especially kind for this situation....Where are you, baby?" Quaid watched as she stood up and looked around as if she were clueless to her location.

"Backyard. I interrupted Christophe's check. I can go back inside," she rambled as she began to pace.

"Shhhh, baby, are you naked?" he asked with a smile and soft tone.

"Oh, yes, I prefer to be naked nowadays," she confessed as she walked back to the table and put the freezer bag on it with a tap.

"Why don't you sit on your table and wave Christophe over," Quaid instructed as he vaped and looked for his Tequila Sunrise. "Put the phone on speaker and set it down."

She beckoned Christophe with a wave of her left and placed the phone down next to the baggie with her right. "Yes, Master."