After the Energists Rebooted Teen YearsChapter 48 Twilight Zone
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Reality In The Twilight Zone free porn video
[This little erotic novella is a collaborative effort between myself, and another, who has fleshed out Snama in more ways than one.]
Part one . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone
Perhaps it was a gentle, anemonic caress of his manhood sheathed inside Snama’s yoni that had awakened Neshe. Or it was just a sleepy stirring of the angelic form spooned against his chest and loins that encroached upon his sleep. Maybe it was a combination of these two. Or was it . . .
He was not clear. His eyes wandered to the Spartan face of the phosphorescent clock. Four thirty seven it said. ‘Almost daybreak’ he thought. His mind meandered to when they had actually slipped into the realm of sleep.
He clearly remembered it had been exactly the stroke of midnight when his white hot signet had first kissed Snama’s delicate, almost translucent skin. He had branded his initials on the small of her back, just above where the cleavage of her buttocks began.
It had taken him barely four minutes to indelibly inscribe his mark on five points of Snama’s quiescent form.
The first brand had seared the small of her back. The second and third ones had settled on the peak of each perfectly rounded buttock. The fourth and fifth brand he placed on the velvety smooth inside of either thigh, almost kissing the rising swell of either outer lip of her yoni.
He had not been surprised that she hadn’t uttered even a sob as the white hot gold had five times seared her soft, delicate skin.
As a matter of fact nothing had surprised him about Snama. Right from the moment he had first set his eyes on the reality of her late in the afternoon — at the airport, where, courtesy of one of his friends in the Customs, he had been able to receive her on the tarmac.
He had positively known, ever since the day she had responded to his Valentine with the picture of a hennaed hand, that if he ever met her, the first time Snama would be in a sari.
Though he had seen just two small pictures of her, he had recognized her instantly. And in a sari she was, pale golden pink brocade in a very complex filigree pattern . . . as complex and as beautiful as the online relationship they had developed.
Snama stirred almost imperceptibly. Her haunches burrowed another hundredth of a millimeter into his groin, as if there was still room to be united more than they already were. In the gentle prison of her yoni, his manhood throbbed. Once again his mind meandered, in a ‘slow, smooth, sweet mind fuck’ on how they had become so close.
___________________
They had met on the net, in a chat room famous [or infamous] as a blatant sex chat site. Their interchanges, though, had always been short, and philosophical. So far as he was concerned, they had left him always thirsting for more.
Over time he had come to know that Snama also thirsted for his company.
And when she had responded positively to his invitation that she vacation with him in India this year, he had known.
___________________
He had complimented her on how her form beautified the sari she had donned, and her slightly diffident, just this side of shy smile had emblazoned itself on his heart.
In the car, he had only uttered three sentences to her in the hour long drive to his home.
‘Welcome to me, and welcome to India.’
‘I knew you’d be in a sari . . .’
‘I also know, there’s just you under the petticoat.’
His left hand had found her lap, slid comfortably into the gold silk ‘V’ formed by the juncture of her thighs.
Snama had just uttered four simple words . . .
‘I knew you’d know.’
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Her flight had been long but not tiring, she had told him. He had wanted to show her around what little his city had in the way of cultural and historical interest, but she had gently demurred.
‘There’ll be time for that later, there’s so much to explore in us here first.’
Dinner had been early, and a simple affair. It was embellished only by Snama’s glowing presence in the muted candles between them in soft rose tinted candle holders. A shashlik on boiled, white aromatic rice, kebabs, unleavened bread . . . no wine, though later, some time after dinner, some cognac in exquisitely etched, warmed balloons.
Those softly sparkling glasses in hand, he had guided her to the roof. He knew she would be charmed by the view of the already half somnolent city, the shiny domes and turrets of the Temple a burnished gold in the glow of faraway focused spotlights.
The soft night breeze carried the waft of her scent to him again and again, almost as if insistent. But instead of obeying the impulse that impelled him towards Snama, he took a step back, standing almost at a right angle to her body, his eyes taking in her soft profile.
He watched her with half closed eyes, sipping his cognac, his gaze following the darting of her eyes on the darkened horizon, knowing that she’d turn to him . . .
And turn to him she did.
‘This place is beautiful’ she said
‘More, because of you being here’
Again that almost shy smile.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said
‘So soon?’ she asked
‘I didn’t say let’s go to sleep…’
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Snama stirred slightly again, intruding for a moment into his reverie. Then she settled down, and his mind again meandered.
In the subdued light of the bedroom, her looks, her form gained a new softness, a subtle accent to her womanliness.
There had been one soft kiss, and then his fingers had unwound the brocade cocoon of her sari . . . in a moment her blouse, bra and petticoat had gone too, revealing the golden wealth of her ripe womanhood as he disrobed.
He had been as ready for her as she had been for him. A step towards was all he needed to close the gap the gap between them. A simple extending of his arms was all that was required to pull her close. His hands had themselves found the roundures of her buttocks lifting her up to him.
‘My kuss, my yoni, my cunt.’ He had whispered into her mouth as he had effortlessly impaled her on his impatient manhood, flashing onto her mind an instantaneous playback of all they had said and ‘done’ via the chat messengers.
Snama’s arms and legs entwined around his body. For a lifetime he held her crushed unto his chest, then in a couple of loping steps crossed over to his bed, gently lowering her underneath himself, his lingam still sheathed in her heat.
Of themselves her legs flexed, retracted, her knees finding a place on either shoulder of his.
Their need was totally mutual . . . it had not needed any assistance of motion to impel them into nirvana.
___________________
Part 2 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone
To be or not to be was a question with Hamlet.
Beyond being is becoming, and that, somehow was the path being traversed by Neshe and Snama.
Becoming one.
An enfolding, encompassing, a melding on the part of one. A dissolution, a surrender on the part of the other. And such is the beauty of the quest that distinctions evaporate in the face of the ardor. The seeker becomes the giver, the recipient becomes the beneficent. Where to give is to get, to get is to give.
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Part 3 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone
Neshe had no idea how long he would have remained atop and within Snama, his pubis crushed to her, his fingers embedded in her dark tresses, but for the phone that jolted them both out of their trance like state.
It was a dud call, but it awoke both of them anew to each other.
Snama was sitting up by the time he was done with his cell, a slightly bemused expression on her face. His gaze followed hers, down across his own body.
‘Wondering why I keep myself shaved?’ he asked her.
‘Also that your
lann is still rampant’ she answered, bringing a warm smile to his eyes, by giving his member the vernacular name he had taught her.
He took in her entire body in a sweeping, lingering gaze before saying,
‘That’s a tribute to Madame.’
Her smile was dazzling bright, yet shy.
Neshe stretched languidly, rose to a sitting position, took both her hands in his, kissed both her upturned palms, said
‘You’re so worthy of such a tribute’ adjusting himself he stretched out, laying his head in her lap
‘I’ve often imagined lying with my head in your lap, like this.’
As if with a will of their own, Snama’s hands found his face, the fingers of her right hand combing through his hair.
‘You look so boyish right now,’ she said.
‘I am boyish’ he replied looking up into her eyes, ‘even babyish, if you will . . .’
A golden pink bathed Snama’s face.
Neshe rolled half onto his back.
‘Your scent and mine have mingled beautifully’ he said, nuzzling his cheek against her thigh, then parting both with his hands.
Snama braced herself, but he suddenly uncoiled himself up into an upright sitting position, forcing her down on her back.
‘Let me look at you part your legs, part them Lattaan khole . . .’
Time seemed to have stood still. Snama felt his gaze on her center as a palpable caress, felt its warmth gradually transform into a searing heat. It took all her self control not to close her thighs, not to squirm, not to roll over, not to take her eyes away from his face.
He was stock still, his eyes riveted in a fixed focus on the entrance to the core of her.
She felt herself melting, liquefying under the intense heat of his gaze. She felt herself very naked, totally exposed, and yet not vulnerable. More, that she was open and knowingly offering, her part of the act . . . his, to penetrate.
Her own exhalation told her that she had been holding her breath for quite some time. And it dawned upon her that it was the softness of his kiss on her yoni that had triggered the sharp outflow of breath.
It was a fleeting, butterfly touch, given more in reverence than in ardor.
‘No wonder you women rule.’
He broke her reverie, imposed himself in another dimension on her senses.
She just smiled.
When Neshe next bent, it was almost with animal lust, parting wide her petals with both hands, and thrusting his tongue in deep.
Snama gasped. But the next moment he was sprawled half across her, his mouth hovering upon hers.
‘Taste us’ he said. ‘Taste us from my mouth.’
Snama’s mouth fused with his. The tip of her tongue traced between her lips, slipping first only partway between Neshe’s, surely tasting sex, and on a second sweep, penetrated fully to meet his tongue.
She allowed her tongue to dance with his, to tempt him, and when she was certain, she withdrew her tongue from his mouth slowly into her own, and his followed.
Part 4 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone
Fusion.
Minds. Bodies. Hearts. Souls.
Desire is like a beacon, guiding the eyes.
Hands explore the body’s truth. Mouths are hungry.
The loins love, the hearts lust..
Sensation usurps the role of words.
Skin communicates with skin.
Fusion.
Large, broad, slightly rough, warm male hands. His.
Dainty, delicate soft female hands. Her’s.
Exploration that seems unending.
Caresses. Kisses. Tangling, untangling.
Neshe’s body. Lean and hard from years of daily swimming, almost hairless yet rugged. Sharply defined planes and angles of chest and torso, nipples small chocolate isles, navel a sharp gash in the concavity of his belly, hard, solid hips and strong thighs.
Snama’s body. Soft skeins of dark silky hair, lush vales and hillocks proud with promise.
Snama lingered most at his face, his eyes and his chest. Neshe’s lips and hands tarried and teased most at the juncture of her thighs. He probed, delved, coaxed out secret after secret of her being. At a singularly excruciating moment of pleasure mixed with equal pain she cried out repeatedly, as supporting the small of her back on his left forearm, he explored her viciously, his right hand taking her yoni, the thumb stabbing in again and again, first one finger and then two battering into the cloistered recesses of her anus.
In such torment he held her, heaving and bucking and mewling, till the sensations overwhelmed her capacity to bear them, and she fell limp on his arm, a rasping moan escaping her throat …
‘Do you intend to kill me?’
‘Yes.’ he replied ‘And resurrect you again and again, with the need of my love.’
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Part 5 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone
He had mixed them a pitcher of an exquisite aromatic sherbet, telling her that it will revive her drained energies in minutes. It did seem to have a salutary effect — enough to make her ask for another glassful immediately after she had finished the one he that had given her.
Standing with one foot resting on the bed, he had poured her the second glass, brought it between his thighs, dipped the head of his half erect phallus in it for a moment and handed it to her, his eyes never leaving hers.
Unflinching, she had taken it from his hand, and siphoned it away in one long draught, her eyes riveted to his.
He stood, daring her with his eyes. She had to look away, lowering her lashes and tilting her head. Crawling now to the end of the bed, to the most inviting and commanding body standing statuesque before her she sought to meet her match.
When she reached Neshe, she took his offering in her hand and looked up to him once again. In a small and teasing explanation of what would occur next she stroked him in her hand. An immediate power exchange occurred. The woman had the man in the palm of her hand.
‘The sherbet was so good, I want more yet. And there is just a little taste more here for me, not to be wasted.’
She smiled at Neshe, more with her eyes than her mouth.
Snama’s cool lips connected to tip of Neshe’s manhood, and she smoothed it across her moist mouth. Her tongue trailed his length, and nibbled back up again in tiny chewing bites, until she reached again the glossy dark head of the wondrous erection she held.
Parting her lips, and laying out her tongue, she drew him into her mouth. Descending and ascending, exploring, tantalizing then retreating, she took Neshe to a beautiful completion with her mouth.
What he had begun with a cool dessert, he had finished with hot cream.
The moment of Neshe’s coming was given an explosive eeriness by a power outage. Total darkness immediately redirected all sensory reception to the active principle of both, Snama’s mouth and tongue, Neshe’s phallus.
Both were hit by an intensity of feeling never experienced before. Snama felt her lips clamping at the base of his shaft as he pulsed with a demonic delirium in her mouth, his glans literally lashing at her throat.
Neshe’s thighs rippled as if with Herculean effort, his buttocks clenched, as bullet after bullet of thick, lumpy, searing hot semen spewed out of him and into Snama’s throat, almost scalding the soft insides of her.
But that was how their nerves responded to what was happening. In another, different, the emotional sphere, there was a most powerful, totally alien paradoxical perception. Both felt themselves totally in the power of the other, yet in total control.
Therefore, it was an abandoned engulfing, absorbing on the part of one, an abandoned lunging, an erupting on the part of the other.
The overwhelming impact literally drained both of them of their energies, and they collapsed on the bed, Snama’s face still buried between Neshe’s thighs, he himself grotesquely half sprawled on her, h
is legs a tangle on her breasts and torso, his phallus buried in her mouth, his upper body atwist on the bed.
And at that moment, the power came back, once again with a blinding impact.
_________________
Part 6 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone
The first reaction of both was to immediately separate from the other, as if they’d been engaged in some nefarious pursuit.
And then it was spontaneous, bubbling, side splitting mirth.
And the uncontrollable laughter once again physically drained them.
‘We should fix us a snack,’ Neshe said, when he was able to coherently speak.
Snama patted her belly expectantly,
‘I’m feeling famished’ she grinned.
‘Despite the high protein dose you just got?’ Neshe winked as he uncoiled himself.
‘Move, let’s have a midnight picnic.’
The cleanliness and order of his simple, functional, bachelor kitchen impressed Snama. And she complimented him on it.
‘One of my Freudian friends maintains I’m obsessively anally clean, and that reflects in the cleanliness of everything around me’ he laughed.
‘I’m not very sure of the clean business, but you do seem to be obsessed with the anus’ Snama ventured.
He laughed again, half seriously this time. ‘Aye Madame, that I am, I am, and I intend to take you that way.’
She turned a dark shade of red, turned away from him.
He extended his hand caressing her exposed back, His fingers trailed down her spine, till he reached the small of her back. He let his fingers linger, sensing her tremble expectantly.
He removed his hand, gave the soft, sensitive spot just above her buttocks a lingering kiss.
‘Bring your hands back Snama,’ he whispered ‘Part your buttocks, let me see your bundd’ his lips bestowing soft caresses on her skin.
Snama’s hands were trembling slightly as she brought them back, parting her cheeks for his gaze.
Neshe just sat there unmoving, and she could sense his fixed gaze. She felt more naked and exposed than she had ever felt before, a red hot flush bathing her from head to toe. She wished he would say something, do something, but he just sat there, gazing, till she could no longer bear it, and her trembling hands slipped away.
‘No.’ Neshe’s voice was soft, low, almost inaudible. ‘Not yet, not till I tell you to.’
‘I . . . I’ she started to say something, but was surprised at her own acquiescence as her hands of themselves came back to the roundures of her buttocks, parting them, baring herself mercilessly to his gaze.
‘Thank you, my love’ she heard him say, and after almost an eternity, ‘You may sit now, Snama.’
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Part 7 . . . Reality in the Twilight Zone
A boiled egg each, toasted slices, liberally buttered and coated with pure golden honey. The ‘midnight picnic’ was spare and Spartan, yet food for the gods.
The time spent in the kitchen with him was a revelation for Snama on many counts, unveiling aspects of him, she’d never been aware of.
First, the way he moved about and worked. Total economy of movement, total economy of time. He knew exactly where everything was, and in a trice he’d set the eggs for boiling on one burner, the tea kettle on the second, toasted the slices and buttered them while the eggs boiled, all the time keeping up a steady stream of conversation with her. He told her he hardly ever used the kitchen himself, except at such odd hours, when the live in help was asleep, but he’d trained his people to be organized and disciplined.
In her forty four years, Snama had known quite a few bachelors, but none as good a ‘housewife’ as Neshe.
When she complimented him on this, saying she’d never seen a man work so efficiently in a kitchen, he’d responded
‘That my darling is because you’ve never known a man like me before’ emphatically cutting off any further line of enquiry in this direction.
Then there was the total ease, at his nakedness, and of hers. As if he was oblivious to the fact that both of them were naked.
Soon they were washing down the rich golden toast with sips of aromatic green tea, of which he poured himself a second large mug, offering her another too, which she graciously declined.
When she’d risen to tidy up the table as he sipped the steaming hot golden brew, he stopped her, saying he’ll have it done in a minute, he just wanted to keep looking at her as she sat opposite him.
Vera
- 22.08.2022
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