A Unique Shade Of Violet free porn video

That was spectacular, but I am pretty fucking sore now.  It’s not so bad, but even if it had been substantially more painful it would still have been worth it.  He was great, even though he didn’t hold back at all once he got going.   It’s what I wanted, but now I feel like my whole body has been turned inside out and put back together ninety-eight percent correctly.  He is still breathing hard and giggling on the floor, but I have to stay upright or I’ll hurt more than I do now.  Just the thought of bending my legs or touching the floor is barely sufferable.

Ow!  Not perfectly upright either, apparently.  That seems to tighten everything up in a way that’s… wrong.  What next, though?  We shouldn’t waste the daylight, and I need to know more of what he knows.  I’m sure he feels similarly.  He’s finally starting to settle down, but I can’t help him up, so this goes on for another couple of minutes.

As he stumbles to his balance, I ask “Feeling better?”  His erection is starting to subside, but it’s still hard enough for me to tell that it is completely clean.  Like, one hundred percent clean.  Based on a visual inspection alone, I would probably be comfortable deepthroating it were it not for the obvious context… and size related challenges… Maybe?  Maybe.  Anyway, coincidence, or another curious effect of the still increasingly bizarre nature of this… environment?

“Yeah,” he tells me breathlessly, “I’m good,” he inhales deeply, exhales, then another, and another.  “That was good.”

“It certainly was.”

“I’m glad you thought so.  I haven’t done that in a while.”

“It didn’t show.  Well,” I admit, “I guess I wouldn’t really know, but it was good.  It felt good.  So much better than I expected.  I mean, I’m definitely in pain, but it’s not nearly as bad as I’d heard.”  I only half believe my own words, but I want them to be true.

“Give it a few minutes,” He says, taking a step and touching his own ass as though it were sore too.

“So,” I start speaking quite abruptly to distract myself from the pain, “Where to?”

He’s clearly a bit surprised by my abrupt change of tone, but responds with a relaxed ease nonetheless, “I haven’t been too many places yet.  I washed up on the beach with no clues and no clothes.  No shipwreck on the horizon, nothing to identify how I got out there.  Otherwise I’ve just been exploring the beach and this one and only building, and making notes in this old notebook.  Getting my bearings, trying to find windows where I can get a look at some landmark that might help, stuff like that.  Do you know a way out of this building?”

“Sadly no,” I tell him, “The first thing I did was walk a perimeter of the building on each floor, but it was to no avail.  There were a couple of rooms I couldn’t access, and they might have had outer doors.  One of them was chained and locked at multiple points, and the other was boarded up incredibly thoroughly.  Other than that, we’re in the same boat.”

“Not exactly,” he said, “I walked a lot of the interior of the building, so maybe that will help.  Let’s start with something easy.  I found my way to five floors.”

“I got six floors.  There’s a courtyard at the top with a narrow corridor that’s got a few rooms surrounding it.  You can’t see much, though.  The tall walls make it impossible to get to the roof of the corridor and it obviously doesn’t have any doors leading to the twenty-meter drop into the sea.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Is it?” I ask.

“I think so.  Out of all the people we’ve walked by, some combination has got to have the combined climbing expertise to belay or rappel down the building, and the engineering expertise to safely get whomever goes down back up.”  Even as I speak a part of me is thinking about how we might construct such a device, and I am somewhat

“Maybe, but do you have any of those skills?”

“Not so much that I’d feel comfortable calling either that action or contraption safe, no.”

“Then let’s put a pin in that and focus on devising a more attainable solution, rather than recruiting witless fools and trying to get them to snap into enough that they can successfully complete potentially life saving or life ending tasks.”

“Alright.  I guess that’s reasonable.”

“So, where to?” I repeat.

“Let’s start at the top and work our way down.  I’d like to see this courtyard.”

“Sounds good to me.  Then we’ll circle back around to the beach by the afternoon?”

“Sure.  What are you expecting to find there?”

“I don’t know.  We’re investigating.  Searching for clues,” I remind him before bluntly adding “You are getting measurably dimmer throughout this conversation.  Are you aware of that?”

“I can tell that I’m slipping a little, yeah.”

“Can I try something?”  It’s almost impossible not to smile right now.

Looking both perplexed and expectant, he says “Uh, sure.”

Without a moment’s further hesitation, I slap him as hard as I have ever slapped anyone in my life.  While that’s honestly not much of a standard to measure up to, it really is a very satisfying experience.  The sound alone is spectacular.  A loud crack bounces around the corridor for half a second before echoing back into our ears.  A tingling sensation sparkles on my palm and my fingers.

He seems as though he is utterly shocked, which was definitely the goal.  His body goes rigid for a moment, his spine locked in the upright position.  It looks like if I nudged him in any direction he could be felled like a tree.  “What the fuck was that for?” he exclaims.  After a momentary pause, he adds, “Oh.  I know what that was for.”

“Did it work?”

“A little.”

“Better than nothing,” I say, “Let me know if you need another one.”  That thought gets me a little wetter.  Just when I was starting to calm down, too.

At first, he appears puzzled, but after a moment that scrunched up expression becomes a nonchalant smile.  “I will.”

“Good,” I smile back at him, “Shall we?”

“Yeah.  Come on.”  That’s all he says before he starts walking toward a pair of red metal doors at the end of the hallway.  Their windows are reinforced with luminous, twisted wire.  It’s dark on the other side, and it’s hard not to find that a little foreboding, considering the bright shine of a tropical sun pouring in through the plate windows of the corridor.

“Okay...” I say with a raised eyebrow as I start following him, taking a few quick steps to catch up.

As we open the doors and step through them, we pass from aggressive sunlight and florescent lighting to the dimness one might more ordinarily expected of a dilapidated warehouse.  What light there is must be coming from the sun, but it’s been reflected off of so much graying wood and rusted metal that it has an almost brown tinge to it as it reflects off walls of gray and taupe, deteriorating cork boards, and well-fitted sheets of plywood covering the windows.

Everything around us has gone nearly sepia tone purely by virtue of age and material composition of our present surroundings.  It’s an unnerving shift.  When we turn around at the sound of the doors clanging shut, we see that they are solid steel fire doors.  No windows.  We look at each other in obvious confusion about where they might have gone.  He opens one and we both look at it.  Upon a few moments of inspection, we find that it’s actually two doors which have been crudely welded together and ground back down so they can fit inside their arch.

“That’s weird.”

“This wall is really thick, too.”

“Yeah.  Do you think that this is another building altogether?” I ask.

“Why would someone graft an existing building to another like this instead of just expanding one?”

“This is not sound engineering.”

“No.  Definitely not.”

We look at each other for a moment, baffled.  The more stable our sense of reality, the stranger this place is.  “...Moving on.”

With that, we turn around once more and start down the hall.  There are doors on either side, leading to all sorts of things.  Some resemble classrooms, others are more clearly storage areas, bathrooms, and utility closets.  Most of the light in here is coming through gaps in the boards over the windows on the rooms on our right.  Classrooms and bathrooms, oddly.

“Why is it important that the bathrooms have windows?” I mutter aloud.

“Huh?” he asks, “Oh that is weird.”

“Right?  They’re not small, either.”

“Maybe because we’re not on the ground floor?  It’s still weird, but at least it’s less of a privacy issue.”

“…Maybe we shouldn’t try to make sense of it.”

He considers and half smiles in sarcastic commiseration, “You’re probably right.”

“I almost always am.”

“I like that about you.”

“You don’t even know if that’s true yet.”

“Perhaps...” his voice wanders away for a moment as though he is considering the premise of the concept.  When it returns he says “But I can tell it is.”

“I like that about you.”

We walk in silence for a moment until I step on something, causing a loud snap to fill the air.  A pencil broke against a bit of flooring that had curled upward with the passage of time.  I’m grateful to it for showing me the slightly rusted nail I was about to step on.  

“That would have been bad,” I say.

He looks where I’m pointing and agrees.  “Very bad.  Let’s not get infections.”

I nod, and point again.  “I want to check this out.  Maybe we’ll be able to get the plywood off that window.”

I step past the threshold and he follows me.  The windows in here have far more light sneaking through.  We step up to the large window in the corner and each take hold of it with two hands.  Gesturing to each other with our eyes we synchronize our effort and pull together.  It takes several tries to get it off but it starts to creak on the first one.  I’m surprised by how gracefully we toss it to the floor together.  It does that satisfying crunchy slide through the dust and debris on the floor as it coasted away.  

Sunshine pours in on us.  Our pupils constrict immediately and harshly.  When the pain subsides we find that there is a lot to see from here.  Definitely tropical.  We can see the mountain – probably a volcano given the looks of the topography – and some jagged, black cliffs which separate the beach from the rest of the island for as far as we can see in this direction.  Between them is an expanse of beautiful, intense, tropical green.  The tops of a couple of buildings are visible amid the jungle, but it’s not really clear where they are.  There are some gaps in the trees which might be roads, but their destinations are far from obvious.  The other buildings have to be pretty tall, if we can see them above some of those trees.

“Damn,” he says.  “That sky is beautiful.”

In my haste to begin qualifying and quantifying anything of use, I’ve not taken even an instant to admire the whole.  It is really something.  Something spectacular, even.  Sapphire blue and clear nearly to the horizon.  What few clouds hang in the sky are the jaunty, lazy sort of cumulus which orbit larger, more savage systems.  Aesthetically speaking it is a rare beauty, as long as you don’t think too hard about what may be lurking beyond the horizon.

Shockingly, he follows up his original statement by saying “Those clouds are a bit concerning, but it’s lovely.”

Huh. I may not need to slap this guy a second time after all.  “Yeah.  I’m nervous about what’s out there, too.  You know, the suspiciously beautiful and outright foreboding jungle.”

“So am I,” he said, “But there’s not much I can do about it, so shall we get back to exploring?”

“Let’s do.”

We scatter the debris from in front of us, being particularly careful to avoid any stray metal and thankful for the absence of any broken glass.  The way his ass moves amid his graceful locomotion is very pretty, and the swaying of his cock is almost musical.  I follow, happy to be behind him but wishing he could be appreciating my ass this much.  Not that I would be up for him doing any more to it than that appreciate, but I sometimes enjoy being a bit of a tease and he seems a perfect target for such fun as that.

He makes me feel something, for sure.  It isn’t like the normal aura of arousal we’re currently soaking in, and it isn’t just a dose of sexual tension on top of that.  I’m not even sure it’s sexual or romantic. Certainly could be, though.  Both, neither, one, the other.  Simultaneously both and neither.  He fills me with confusion.  If I recall correctly – and I do – regardless of the occasional craving for a dick I was pretty fucking gay when I got here, yet now I am somehow, quite uncomfortably, not so particular about how masc the person that dick is attached to is allowed to be...  I shiver.

I should wish I had my girlfriend’s tongue on my clit instead of… Whatever I want from him.  Well, I definitely do want her.  Right now, and forever.  Failing hers, I would be fine with any talented girl’s tongue for at least a little bit.  Something to remind me of home.  A goddamn anchor.

I know that it’s most likely that my feeling for him will turn out to be temporary, but in the immediate, it’s quite compelling.  Intriguing at the least, if not exactly compelling.  It’s really the fact that I remember him.  It’s like he was there, but remembering him isn’t like remembering anyone else.  Anyone.  He’s not out of place exactly, but… It’s almost like an image superimposed on my memory, like an engrammatic green screen.  I want to know more, but I’m scared it’ll just complicate my understanding of reality further.  

Maybe my new sidekick will be able to help once we find a way to get his head a bit clearer.  In the meantime, we’ve continued our trudge down the corridor, taking extra care and far too much time to cover any meaningful distance.

“Let’s go back.”

“Why?” he asks.

I point at the floor.

“Oh,” he says, “Yeah.  We’ll have to go through here eventually, though.”

“Yeah, but what if we find shoes somewhere else in the building.  You know, somewhere with a less dangerous floor.”

“...Good point,” he admits “Or clothes, for that matter.”

“Let’s not get crazy now,” I very seriously joke, “We’d be so out of place.”

“Do you enjoy showing off like this?”

“I’m not showing off,” I tell him slightly sternly, “I like to be naked, and apparently it's an option at the moment.  Plus I’m comfortable. Also...” I lean in and whisper “I don’t want to look like I’m not one of the herd right now.  Best to look like I don’t take existence any more seriously than they.  Just in case.”  I pause for just a moment, then say “Now look like I turn you on.”

As I pull away he looks for a moment as though he’s going to ask why, but he manages to put it together.  I hate being watched.  Of course, that’s not true under all circumstances, but I stand by the sentiment.

“How’s that?” he asks playfully, looking downward only with his eyes.

He is halfway hard, almost at my command.  I’m going to have to test if that works regularly… “Nicely done,” I say and grab his growing shaft.  I give it a squeeze and a couple of good jerks before I throw it back at him.  He’s dazed, but he stays standing.  That’s fun.  I like that.  “Let’s go.”

“Where?” he asks.

“I’m going to show you the courtyard I found yesterday and we’ll work our way down from there.”  After a brief lull, I ask “Remember?”

After another second he visibly flashes back to here and now and the still-tingling memory of the slap he had received keeps him here.

It’s a quick walk to the stairs.  Right back the way we came and keep going around two bends of the hallway.  These ones aren’t part of a stairwell, and they’re far more rickety.  The metal bends and creaks, even twisting a little as we ascend its springy steps.  When reacting to the impact of steps other than my own, it’s downright challenging to climb.  The first door at the top leads us outside.  Really more like a chunk of a door.  A very jagged half, really.  Looks like it’s been ripped off two of three hinges and snapped off at the top, forming a huge, splintered wooden blade, aiming proudly skyward.

The cool air feels good on my skin.  Salty, but sweetened with a procession of floral notes.  We are surrounded by five highly unusual palm trees.  The atypical trees have grown on a curiously twisted, almost haphazardly corkscrewed trajectory..  Branching palm trees, at that.  Is that even a thing?  No.  Not branching.  They’ve got something else on them at the top.  Some kind of leafy vine.  I really wish I had Ginger here.  She could answer so much.

Uh-oh… That’s new.  Who the fuck is Ginger?  I don’t even have to close my eyes to see her face, but when I think of her it’s like remembering into the future.  My thoughts hurt.  I try to express them but absolutely nothing happens.  It’s like my mind's eye is so bloodshot it’s agony to keep it open, and my voice has been kidnapped by conceptual dry mouth.  A moment later my basic mental faculties return.  They apologize for storming out on me like that and we agree to table the investigation into the identity of this new so-called memory.

There’s one tree in each corner of the courtyard, and a small, shorter grove of them in the center of the grass.  The grass is spectacularly overgrown.  It even creeps through the bricks in a couple of places, but when it gets larger it seems to become woody, almost like a species of bamboo…  Don’t fall down.  That would be very bad.  A climbing plant that looks like some tropical sister of ivy tears at the concrete and stone in many places with its sheer force of patience.  We can faintly hear the sounds of humans on the beach, but we are alone here.  

Profoundly alone, really.  Sometimes I’m with him, but sometimes he’s somewhere else.  It’s more than just his state of mind, though.  I can’t even tell that he is here a lot of the time.  I might as well have walked up here alone, but he’s about to open his mouth and speak so he’s crossing my mind again.

“So, this is it,” he says as he casually scrutinizes our surroundings, “It’s nice.”

I look at him quizzically, and with slightly narrowed eyes I say “Show your work.”

“The air smells nice.  The breeze feels nice.  There’s palm trees, but no sand.  Picnic tables.  Firepit.”

I respond coldly, “It’s concrete and crumbling masonry with heavily overgrown, weed laden grass and some oddly shaped trees.”

“Oh yeah,” he interrupts, “They are a little funny, aren’t they?”

I ignore his moronic words quite easily, and continue sharing my feelings “The cracked, gray tops and seats of those picnic tables have deteriorating rusty nails sticking out of them at all angles.  They have steel supports that are more rust than metal.  The fire pit is full to brimming with what I’m pretty sure is wood-ash-derived lye from being left untended for so long in this tropical rain and everlasting humidity.  Whatever it is it burned the fuck out of me when it was completely cold.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?  Did you step in the lye?”

“I did,” I tell him, almost triumphantly embarrassed.

“What happened to your foot?”

“Yeah,” I start my sentence without knowing where it’s going, “I’m not really sure what to say about that.  I stepped in it, got burned, sat on that bench, and got a splinter in my thigh – perilously close to something far more tender, though.”

He winces in empathy “Ouch.”

“Very ouch. I knew I was going to have to keep moving after I examined it, so I stood back up and started limping toward the door hoping to find a first aid kit.  On my way, I stepped in a pile of heavily decomposed fruit which had gone past the fermentation stage and had started turning to vinegar.”

“What kind of fruit?”

“What could that possibly matter?” I exclaim in frustration, before sighing with intention and saying “Whatever.  I think they were mangos, but it’s pretty hard to say with how far gone they were.”

“Weird.”

“That’s it?  Just, ‘weird’?  It healed in less than two days.”

“For now,” he says, “Yeah.  Everything you just said was weird.  That differs in no way from the anything else that I’ve heard or observed of these surroundings, or for that matter from what I’ve experienced or witnessed since my arrival here.”

“Alright,” I admit, “That’s hard to argue with.  This place is fucked up.”

“You know what I think?”

“What?” I sigh.

“I think that you aren’t seeing this place for what it could be.”

“Please go fuck yourself.  Right the fuck now.”

“Not right now,” he says, “But soon probably.  Based on recent experiences, I definitely will be doing that from time to time.”

“What?” I ask, not caring if I had interrupted him.

“Nothing.  Just learning new things about myself.”

“Ugh,” I say, aggressively ignoring the statement, “Whatever.”

He’s doing a nice job of keeping the weird explicit overtone of his joke disguised as a weird implicit undertone, at least.  I’d have to give it a seven out of ten on the double entendre meter.  “I’m just saying, it’s a potentially nice space.”

“There’s a literal trash heap in the corner!”  I yell back at him almost instantly, vigorously pointing at it to illustrate my point.

“Yeah… I guess this place is looking a little bit lived in.  I’m not even sure if those sleeping bags are part of the heap or just near it.”

“Huh… Yeah.  Let’s focus.”

“Right,” he says, “We can do that.”

“So, this is the courtyard.  We’ve got all these walls, and no real way to get to the other side.  You can see a bit from a few of the windows in the rooms off that corridor, but nothing we haven’t already seen.”

“Cool, cool.  What about those trees?” he asks.

“Are you insane?” I retort, “And also, are you a really extraordinary gymnast or something?”

“Not really, but I’m relatively graceful.”

That is true…  But, “Be that as it may, have you ever tried to climb even a regular palm tree?”

“No, actually.”

“Well then, be my guest.”  This should be good.

“...This is a trick, isn’t it?” he asks with amused trepidation.

“Yes,”  I utter the syllable with velocity and directness of Mercury.  

He shrugs.  “Fair enough, but it seems worth trying.”

“No it doesn’t dumbass,” I say as I take him by one shoulder to arrest his movement, “At best you’ll wind up wrapped around the trunk trying in vain to hump your way upward and being mocked ad infinitum for as long as we shall know one another.  Also, the more success you have the more danger you’ll be putting yourself in.  You won’t be able to see anything until you’re at least five, six meters up, and it’ll be hard to get a wide-angle with that canopy of vines or… whatever.”

“You’re no fun at all.”

From behind slightly sarcastic attack eyes, I remind him “That’s not the impression I got from you earlier.”

“Good point.  You’re a great deal of fun.”  His eyes blaze with delight when his voice hits the positive modifier.

“I certainly am,” I say with a certainty that asserts that opinion as fact.

“Then we’re agreed,” he says, “Now, how do we get up there?  I feel like the trees are probably the answer.”

“Even if they are, we’ll need tools and supplies.  Rope for example, or something like it.  Maybe a harness.”  He points to the greenery, about to speak.  “And don’t say the vines,” I tell him, “We don’t have the time it would take to turn them into something usable.”

“Do you think we’re going to find those things here?”

“No.  I don’t,” I tell him, “That’s why I haven’t pursued it any further.”  After a long pause, I say “Let’s go to the beach.”

“...Alright,” he says, glancing back at the trees as we head inside.

“We can look into it more later.  We should just cover as much ground as possible right now.”

“You’re right.  Let’s go.”

With that, we start toward the stairs, and once on them, we hurry downward.  On the second floor, I lead us to the stairs I came in from.  They’re different than what he described while we were exploring.  I wasn’t intercepted by beautiful, self-purported guides to help me get my bearings in this world.  There was no locker room, no “maze of interwoven and labyrinthian corridors”.  

This was extremely straightforward.  Slightly curved, very wide, four-inch tall, concrete steps leading through an eroded groove in the huge swath of rock leading us to a somewhat secluded corner of the beach.  Enclosed by a round beach on three sides is a shallow cove of crystal clear water which is free from the currents of the tumultuous ocean.  I washed up with nobody around, and I could see a huge party down the beach, so I found shelter as quickly as possible.  A building with official looking signage and bulletin boards seemed more likely to yield answers the people down the way.  Also, I was naked and to my knowledge had just been abducted, so…

“Here we are,” I say as we step into a shallow tile basin at the bottom of the stairs.  Cool, clean, high pressure water sprays from six showerheads built into the rocks beside us.  I keep walking without pause, and he follows me after a couple of seconds.  I think maybe it took him those seconds to realize that there’s no sand on him and that shower is for when you go back inside.

“This is where you came in?” he asks.

“Yeah.  Different than your experience, no?”

“No kidding.  I wonder what that means.”

“Why would it mean something?  We just washed up on different patches of the same beach.”

“Huh.  Maybe you’re right.  Probably.”  He shakes off an unidentifiable feeling and looks back toward me with an abrupt smile.

“…Yeah,” I say with a raised eyebrow, “What should I see down here?”

“Well,” he says, “It’s more what we should see, and then what we should do.”

With a great roll of my eyes, I say “And what’s that?”

“We should go that way,” he points to the rocks on the other side of the cove, “Because neither of us has seen that, then head back down the beach and go back up the way I came in.”

A little surprised by his logic, I say “Yeah.  Good plan.”

We walk briskly across the beach, until we reach the edge of the water, then look at each other, then to the long curved beach, then the aquatic shortcut before us, and back to each other.  Without bothering to speak we walk forward until we are almost chest deep, then start to swim.  He passes me in a moment, so I catch up to him and stay alongside for a moment.  “You’re a good swimmer!” I say loud enough for him to hear.

“Thanks!  It feels like my first time.”

“I don’t think it is, though.”

“Probably not.  My memory is pretty fucked right now.”

“Also it doesn’t make any sense.”

“It just feels that way.”  He speeds up.

“Hey!” I catch up easily, playfully yelling “Get back here!”

It doesn’t take us long to reach the other side of the cove.  It does take a moment for us to sufficiently rinse ourselves of sand to keep walking, though.  After we get over the ridge there’s another beach, but we can see that it ends at a bluff far too steep, jagged, and slippery to dare climbing.  We turn back after a short stroll around to see if there’s anything noteworthy about the beach.

“…It’s empty.”

“Yeah…  That doesn’t not make me nervous,” he says.

“Agreed.  We can check this out later.”

When we climb back over the ridge things seem noticeably brighter, though I hadn’t felt it was any dimmer back there.  It was just quieter, but… somehow it was visibly quiet.  That was weirdly and unexpectedly stressful.  A different weird stress than the rest of what I’d met here.

Suddenly and cheerfully, he suggests “Let’s have a minute of sunshine and something to drink before we get back to it.”

“Huh?” I ask, a bit distantly.

“We’re already down here,” he says, “We may as well have some fun to break up the anxiety and weakly suspended terror.”

Feeling particularly unpleasant at the moment I accept his offer, “Sure.  Sun’s still pretty much straight up, so I guess we can take a break.”

He smiles with a peculiarly alluring fiendishness.  He has something in mind, and that sounds fun.  For the moment at any rate, both my brain and my pussy are ready for whatever it is.  I follow him down the beach toward the crowds.  We procure beverages with remarkable simplicity from one of the makeshift bars on the beach nearer the other entrance.  Nobody even asked us for money.  Doesn’t seem like anyone has any.  The one made out of driftwood, not the one made out of old pallets.  

We sit atop a picnic table, sipping the fruity concoction in our cups and resting our feet on the seats to take a break from the sand as well.  I can’t really taste any alcohol, but I do feel immediately more relaxed.  The table is slowly losing its fight with gravity, having sunk an inch or two into the sand.  For a few minutes, we just watch the people of the beach.  Observe our surroundings.  The bartenders seem happy to be here, happy to be mixing drinks for people and smiling at them.  Doesn’t seem as though they are working in the strictest sense, though.  When one of them gets bored and wanders off another seems to emerge from the churning horde to take their place almost immediately.  It’s apparent chaos, but if you look closely you can see that there is an underlying systematic method.  It’s almost automatic.  Unconscious, even.

One of the ladies behind the bar is standing between two men – obviously hers – each of whom is massaging her firmly.  Their hands ran roughly but intimately over her body, grasping her sides, thighs, ass and breasts as they kissed her shoulders and neck.  She stays expertly upright with her long legs splayed widely above another woman on her knees.  From the look on her face, I think that someone just put a finger or two in her ass.  

The intense oral sex they are having would not be anything but obvious regardless, but the aggressively, overwhelmingly pink hair of the one on her knees and the sounds coming from the subject of her attention should be drawing even more attention.  Of course, they’re not.  Almost nobody is even looking.  As far as I can see, the only ones paying attention are us and the four people awaiting their drinks while her vocal and public orgasm delays them.  Her voice easily travels the ten or twelve meters to us and still no one listens.  It almost looks like a game, the way the boys are watching her mix drinks, it almost looks like a game.

Once she finishes and comes down, her momentary partner stands and makes drinks for the couple.  Once finished, the masculine member of the couple stays behind, while the pink-haired girl takes off with the woman he had walked up with, playfully sipping on the drink she just made her.

With that interaction done and a lull in interesting behavior to watch I say, “Damn.  That was interesting.”

“Yeah,” he says, “A whole lot happened just there.”

“Uh… Yes.  Do you think we should just try to get used to this?”

“What do you mean?  Join in?”

“No, not really.  I mean, I could go for a little more, but there are also some points I’d like to address.”

“Like what?”

“Safety, mostly.  And all related subjects.  Reproductive medicine, for example.  I’m not seeing a lot of condoms.  Or any, actually.”

He looks at me a little surprised.  “Yeah.  It is a bit odd.”

“You haven’t even thought about this yet, have you?”

“I guess I’ve thought about it, but…  Emily – possibly Xandra – implied pretty strongly that those sorts of concerns are irrelevant here.”

“And that’s something you took at face value?”

“No, but I’ve also been really fucking horny since I arrived, and with the sheer quantity of naked people who I find attractive and actively want to fuck, I haven’t been up to the challenge of restraining myself on every occasion.  It’s not that I don’t see a possible problem.  Anecdotally, I haven’t seen anyone who appeared to be pregnant which I take as a good sign, but not as evidence.”

“Yeah… Fair enough,” I admit, “I did tell you to cum in my ass.”

“You did.  And you liked it when I did.”

“Yes I did.  And I’m sore now.”

“I told you.”

“True enough,” I pause for a moment to finish my drink, then jumpstart the next activity.  “I still want more, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Not in my ass, but yeah.  I want to cum so fucking bad right now.  This might be the worst it’s been since I got here, so whatever you want to do to me, do it now, please.”

“That’s probably because this beach is apparently the most concentrated–”

“Now!”

He doesn’t even acknowledge my command, instead executing it immediately with simple efficiency and straightforward passion.  I like this.  Could get used to.  Fuck.  Now he’s slid onto the ground, standing on his knees he pulls me toward him.  I am grateful we picked the table whose surface was most worn by salt and sand.  It’s nearly smooth.  He forces my thighs apart and holds them down without difficulty by softly pinning my knees against the edges of the table.  

First he bites me very gently.  Thrice on each thigh, alternating his way between them as he moves closer to my pussy.  I can feel his breath.  Right as I am wishing he would hurry up and get to it, he accelerates the teasing by running the tip of his tongue over each line and groove of my pussy.  He’s getting to know the shape and taste and smell of me.  He’s learning me at his pace.  I know that it may well pay off in the long run, but fuck!  Start eating me out at my pace.

Not long after I am becoming frustrated by the delay though, he escalates again, and starts doing just as I had been hoping only moments before.  Once his tongue makes contact with my clit he stops fucking around.  He isn’t teasing anymore, and he doesn’t take it away immediately.  He presses on the tip of it with tip of his tongue, then he circles it.  Circle, flick, lick.  It’s very swollen.  Hard, even.  Lick, flick, kiss, suck.  Oh…

“Fuck!”

“Mmm...” he responds from between my thighs.  He mutters something else that I can’t understand, so I take his head and push his tongue onto me harder.  Now he can’t say anything, so he can’t interrupt what he’s doing.

He gets the message, and gets back to it.  It feels weird saying ‘he’, though.  His tongue feels a lot more like a female tongue than a male one.  I’m not saying that I’ve never had a man go down on me so well, but he is eating my pussy like an experienced lesbian in her forties.  There is literally no detectable timidity in the way he licks me or the way he touches me.  It’s like he knows how he’s making me feel.  This is hard to stay present through, actually.  Come on, don’t fall out of the moment.  It feels so good.  So good.

Yes.  Hang on.  Everything feels amazing right now.  The sensations are so spectacular that for a few seconds I actually forget how unacceptable my world is at the moment, and move past the dilemma of accepting reality or not in its entirety.  For this one moment, I am free.  As I slip back into myself I am so happy to have had that feeling, so elated to have experienced some sort of clarity that I really am just enjoying myself now.  Doubt and confusion have been set aside and the only thing that matters right now is this amazing tongue that is doing everything to me.

It feels as though he is licking my clit and penetrating me with his tongue at the same time.  I don’t know what’s happening down there, and the mystery is as much a turn on as anything else.  What I know with certainty is that he has a finger pressed against my asshole, and I am ready to explode.   Fuck.  Oh, fuck.  I’m almost there.  

I miss my girlfriend so fucking much…  I’ve only been here five days and I’m about to cum on someone else’s tongue.  I really hope she understands… I know she will.  It’s not like I’m cheating.  I don’t know what I am doing, though.  What’s happening here doesn’t feel like a hookup.  It doesn’t feel like anything more than stress relief either, though.  This is… This is what it feels like when someone who loves you gets you off.

As I feel the tongue start to slither deeper into me, I can tell the pressure on my clit is his finger.  The finger pressing against my asshole slips suddenly and forcefully inside.  One moment it was outside, the next it was two knuckles deep.  My orgasm begins exactly as abruptly.  Suddenly I’m cumming so hard I can barely see.  Every muscle in my core has contracted, as though they are all trying to gather in one place, at the heart of sensation.  I am wet with sweat, I am wet with mist, and I am quite simply wet.  Fire behind my eyes blinds me completely now, and all I can feel is a single, powerful, explosive gush.

With a glistening face, she turns to me and smiles.  “How was that?”

“It was amazing!” I nearly yell at her with total glee.

Another smile.  “I’m glad.”

“I missed you so much.”

“…Um, what?”  he asks me.

Suddenly the spell is shattered, and I see him for who he is.  She isn’t here.  I’m still alone.  “Oh, sorry,” I tell him, “I drifted to another place, I think.  I was imagining my girlfriend, and I… I don’t know what happened.”

“Oh, that’s okay.  No worries.  Are you okay?”  He stumbles through the question from behind a politely furrowed brow.

“Yes,” I tell him with the most I could find of a polite smile, “Sorry if it was weird to tell you I was imagining my partner while you were going down on me.”

“No, not really.  Glad I could help you feel connected to home for a second.”

A little puzzled by limited results of my search for his toxic masculinity I say in surprise, “Wow, that’s… really nice.”

“Thanks,” he says.

I smile in response.

He adds “What is weird though, is that you actually thought I was her.”

“Yeah, I… don’t really know what to say about that.  I can still kinda see it.”

“What do I look like?” I know he’s playing into my fantasy for a moment, but I hear her voice as clearly as his.

“Beautiful…  She looks beautiful.”

“That makes me happy.”  He pauses.  “Want to make out for a minute?”  I pause.  “I won’t mind if you close your eyes and pretend that I’m her.”

It would be absurd to pass up this offer.  “Yes.  I’d like that very much.”

We are entwined only for minutes, but it feels like longer.  It is really wonderful to be with her, even for a moment.  At this point I know it’s an illusion, but sometimes it is my imagination that best centers me.  Feeling her skin on mine in place of his, her hand on the back of my neck, her tongue… Even his nipples have hardened and pressed against my breasts as hers do.  Somehow he even knows how to use her tongue, and for just a moment I am home.  When finally we finish and I withdraw from her embrace, the image fades quickly and I can see him again.  A friend.

“Thank you.”

“I liked it.  I’m glad you did too, Virgo.”

“What?”

“Wait… Why would I call you that?”

“Uh… It’s her nickname for me.”

“Are you serious?” He asks.  His voice is laced with incredulity, but I can tell that he knows I was telling him truth.

“I am.”

“So then, that’s a whole new sort of weird.”

“Uh-huh.”  He nods dopily, but I can’t blame him for his sheepishly befuddled demeanor.  I share it.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“I think so.  This is all just so strange.”

“That’s good.  I was just thinking that I could help you relax again.”  

“No, that’s okay.  I really enjoyed this, though.”

His response perplexes me, so I change my tone from flirty to direct.  “I feel bad that you didn’t get to cum.  What if I just gave you a quick blowjob?”

He looks at me and smiles half heartedly.  “I’m not sure it would be all that quick right now.  This is all pretty intense.   For that matter, I really don’t think we have the time to waste.”

“But,” I start, “Well…” I want him. “Yeah.  You’re right.  Obviously.”

“I promise you can have me tonight.  As much as you want.”

“Okay.”  I am pouting on the inside, but my eyes don’t betray it.  He knows that I agree with him, just as I know he is resisting just as strong an impulse as I am.

“What next, then?”

“Let’s get back inside and start working on creating a more detailed map.  We can just take those stairs back into the corridors, or we can go through the locker maze, shower dungeon nonsense.”

“Is there anything in the maze you think I need to see?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.  There were literally dozens of rooms and branching corridors I saw but couldn’t investigate.  For all I know there could be a tunnel that takes us somewhere outside this conveniently isolated area.”

“Maybe we should save that challenge for when we have some more time?”

“Okay.  Let’s just head back and start cataloguing rooms.”

I laugh a little.

“What?” he asks.

“I just think it's funny that cataloguing the rooms of a borderline ruined building is turning out to be our best hope thus far.”

“Oh.  Yeah.  I guess that is funny, in a very dry sort of way.  Sometimes the mundane is just what’s called for, though.”

I raise an eyebrow toward him, and after a moment, in full seriousness and as playful effort to lift our spirits, I say simply, “Nothing about this experience is mundane.”