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

Then the whisper answer flowed into her as a response to her wail. It dried her tears, straightened her posture, and gave her hope. "Caesario."

She giggled and dropped the blanket onto the cot. She blew out the candle and walked into the dark tunnel to follow the whisper. She laughed as she realized her ass, pussy, and peehole were plugged and pressure for release had built in her sleep. She loved this game. She always got it right. She always found the Rego and the pain was gone again in a great body release away from everything. With Rego, she was a winner-always. With Caesario, she was Mighty Queen-always.

She loved her new family and friends in the commune of the sewer tunnels. Yet, she still loved him more-always.

Lunar Complex 7, Studio Apartment Section 8-A, Mulholland Standard Time 20:00

Bob enjoyed the large meal of a familiar dish he remembered eating in his old life on Earth. He fought to keep focus as she explained to him why and how she was present. He did his best to follow, but he was just too tired. He couldn't concentrate or hold thought. His body felt like concrete covered in steel. He wanted to go to bed. He suspected he would be alone when he woke and everything he had experienced when he entered the apartment was induced by the jewels. FFFFFuuuuuuccccckkkkk yyyoooooouuuuuu, CHRYSSSSAAALLL-

She watched him fall head first into the pasta and cream sauce.

She smiled in delight.

The spices had worked and now it was time to fix everything. She removed her earrings so her real voice would induce the trance. She slid back her chair and sauntered to the other end where he snored into the coated pasta. She leaned him back and licked the sauce off his face. She had wanted to do so many things to him for so long. The time was now at hand and her stomach filled with hyperactive butterflies. She pulled up her dress around her waist. Her garters and stockings exposed along with her smooth pubis and ass. She sat on his lap facing him and held his head straight with her cool palms.

"You have me, Peach, now. We get to work together, fuck, and succeed. Tell me everything, consult me at all times, and when we are together, you feel invincible."

She brushed his lips with hers and then pushed his head back. She slowly unbuttoned his dark shirt and wrinkled her nose at the familiar smells of sin. He had been with someone sexually. She would wash him, prepare both of them for bed, and the next day would be the true beginning of their new life together.

She rubbed against his crotch. She had never taken a penis to her vagina ever in her life. Her sister, Rita, always discussed how beautiful and perfect it was supposed to be according to the novels she read. She smiled bigger; it would be beautiful and perfect. . . for Peach.

A frown immediately crossed her face as she realized Rhonda, the powerhouse of the subliminal, would not get the love. She shook her head. For so many years, she played different parts in different places doing deadly things. She could do this. Easy peasy.

Rhonda de la Mer was now Peach Plum and she loved him all the same.

She rubbed against his crotch, which had developed a lump. She knew what it meant from Rita's ranting: Bob wanted love. She would give it to him because he had deserved her love for so long. She removed her dress and tossed it to her left. She was in a corset, garter belt, and stockings as she sat on his lap and stared at his light snore.

She needed him immobile. She hopped off him and skipped to her bag near his bed. She pulled the black rope from her bag and skipped back. She bound his hands and legs to the chair. She pulled the chair to the large window that showed the universe and Earth as background to the grey and black dunes of Luna.

She went to the entertainment console on the wall to her right and played a familiar Foreign tune to keep her true self present for the most important moment of her heart and body. Drums played slowly as her heart raced and she felt her lower parts engorge.

His dead weight, tall form slumped bound in the chair as she freed the lump with a slide onto his knees with a quick work of button and fly. She marveled and touched it softly. She felt herself further swell in excitement and wet the inside of his slack knees. It was gorgeous with a perfect tattoo of a rose in bloom at full erection of a large, long dick. She giggled to herself and then realized it smelled awful. She hopped off and grabbed a tea towel to dampen and soap. She made quick work to wash it and his enormous balls that she pulled from his slacks carefully. She was fascinated. She had never really seen a ball sack up close. The balls were lightly hairy, the penis so rigid and big. She felt her excitement hit her ankles. She believed she was ready. She jumped on him in a gymnastic move and yelped loudly in her sudden impalement.

She felt a sting, a pinch and give of something broken, then a massive stretch of her insides as she froze in breath and movement. She had gored herself changed forever. Her walls were intrigued and repelled by the cock invasion. Her stomach was queasy. Her breath controlled the rage of pain.

It hurt.

It stung.

She teared.

She felt more slickness excrete and imagined it was her pain in a leave from her most intimate moment.

She was glad he was in slumber. She knew that she had to be good for the morning, so she began the pace of rise and lower as his dick twitched and speared in her newness, her tightness. She focused on her breath. She would be perfect. She would be his best. Apparently sex is a lot like throwing knives-it takes focus and technique to concentrate on the task and quell the fear of failure.

Her arms gripped his shoulders; his head fell back against the cold window as if in ecstasy. She motioned up and down in off kilter spurts within gasps and short cries. Lots and lots of practice for the morning because she needed to be perfect like Peach, he wouldn't be the wiser.

Rita was full of shit.