myfirst experience
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First ChillChapter 5 free porn video
A morning of dance and an afternoon of theater had become the norm. Before dinner I would join Tash working on our plays. My newest one, the one I drafted first during Helena’s and my blissful honeymoon in Greece, really came together in Cass Lake, and needed little revision. Tash’s needed even less, being actually worked on during rehearsals.
“Enough,” said Tash that afternoon. “Come here.” She liked working sitting on her bed, her laptop in front of her. I sat at her desk with mine. Setting hers aside, she lay back and opened her arms. I filled them, lying over her. Gentle kisses became more heated. Genitalia squished together in the rhythm of fucking. My fingers caressed her small, clothed breasts. We decided the clothing wouldn’t do.
We removed each other’s and marveled at what they revealed. Eyes became fingers and lips. Along with her lovely tits, I enjoyed her taut belly, her thin build revealing the growing fetus inside earlier than any of the other pregnant women.
Stripping off her remaining clothes revealed her pungent and juicy pussy, which I tasted like the finest wine. Focusing on her pleasure rather than her flavor, I worked her towards orgasm. “Joe,” she moaned, “no teasing this time.” I thought about ignoring her request, but heard the urgency. So I did what I knew she liked and brought her over. “Yes,” she approved. “Fuck me.”
Sliding over her, I gave her a taste of her flavor while she guided me in. She seemed hotter somehow. We began slow as usual, but she urged it to be faster. “Don’t hold back,” she insisted within her moan. She rubbed her clit, giving me both hands to molest her breasts. Our eyes gazed into each other’s souls. I watched her move towards ecstasy and she watched me gain mine.
“Joe!” she groaned, writhing in pleasure. Pressing deep, I felt her trembling, milking interior milk me. Pulling seed from my balls felt exquisite.
“Wow,” I said. “For it being almost a quickie, that was intense.”
“I thought we needed it,” she smiled.
“I guess you thought right.”
“Not just that. I wanted to empty our minds and fill them with something new.”
“Something new?”
“I want to collaborate, Joe.”
“Really? You’re a so much better playwright.”
“Someday you’re wives, especially Helena, will slap that modesty right out of you. Your wives, Joe, the most gorgeous and sexy women on Earth. Not to mention one of the greatest composers and the most unique and visionary choreographer love you above any other man. They want you, and it’s not just your cock, no matter how beautiful and skillful it may be. It’s your mind, Joe. It’s who you are. A good man. A brilliant man.”
“Brilliant.”
“Of course. They’re brilliant, and you match them. What interest would they have in a dullard or even someone perhaps above average? Angels thrive on genius, on making geniuses excel, and three of them are your wives!”
“I ... I made them pregnant. No mortal ever has.”
“So you delivered the seed. A moment. Usefulness done.”
“But ... whatever is going on, this endgame for the eternal wanderers, makes my usefulness continue. At least Nick seems to think so, but I believe Xo and even Simon think so, too.”
“A past moment and an impossibly intangible future has little to do with now. They love you now, Joe. We love you. And maybe more importantly for this moment, we respect you. Why can’t your mind wrap around that?”
“To tell you the truth, I do believe I’m a genius, or at least completely confident in my abilities to create. Whether writing or acting or even dancing, I have to have that. But when I’m not creating...”
“You’re hyper-critical.”
“Sometimes, but mostly I’m less confident. My genius moments subside, and I have to look at what they wrought.”
“Disappointment?”
“No. Imperfection mostly. Confidence may lessen, but it remains. How else could I continue to do what I do? Why else would I submit my play to the workshop that started this all.”
“Seeing imperfection allows you to make things more perfect.”
“Yes.”
“And confidence allows you to do the work, the revisions.”
“And become a better actor and dancer.”
“So this modesty comes from a desire to be better? If you consider yourself a genius, you’d lose sight of your flaws.”
“Maybe.”
“Tough shit. You are a genius. Humans are flawed. Even geniuses. Why else would angels need to serve them?”
“Okay.”
“You’re my equal, Joe.”
“So, you’re a genius?”
“Of course.”
We laughed.
“So, what do you have in mind for our collaboration?” I asked.
Smiling, she reminded me, “Fucking to create a tabla rasa?”
“Okay,” I chuckled. “So what do we do best? We’re best at our own genders, of course.”
“See. Genius. That’s the point. Why I wanted this collaboration.”
“Male and female leads on equal footing. I’m excited already. What else? You’re good at intrigue at a disturbing psychological level. And I’m...”
“You tend to focus on tribal ritual, itself disturbing, it’s innate and cruel nature being fought by an individual’s free will.”
“What archetypes? Adam and Eve?” I asked.
“God, how telling that was, poor man getting tempted by the seductress, the succubus. Too weak to resist her sexual wiles. Islam is all about that, dressing Eve in a burka.”
“So, no then.”
“You know that’s what my earlier play was about, using sex as a tool for taking power. But you know, that whole thing with Salomé and Jesus sort of fascinated me. If she were actually a demon...”
“A struggle between good and evil. Or a dialog, if morality or ethics were to be removed.”
“Two camps. Sort of like Romeo and Juliet.”
I smiled. “You know that’s a really cool play. I actually was in it. One line mind you. But it’s like a dramedy. The whole thing with Juliet and her nurse. And it’s like two halves, first Romeo, than Juliet.”
“How about the ultimate Montagues and Capulets, angels and demons.”
I laughed. “A couple innocent youngsters ignoring the whole good and evil, heaven and hell thing.”
“Yeah. I guess that stretches credibility. Maybe a human form of it. A goody-two-shoes meeting a gangster or some biker kid.”
“Sounds like one of those eighties teen flicks. Valley Girl or the Breakfast Club.”
“The eighties version of the romantic comedy. That’s a genre with equal weight on genders.”
“You want to write a romantic comedy?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s a bit lightweight,” I offered.
“Some of the cleverest plays have been. Noel Coward and Oscar Wilde.”
“True gay wits,” I reminded her. “I’m afraid I’m nowhere their caliber, even if you might be. Maybe Michael,” I added, referring to our former colleague at the ACT workshop who had created a very Coward like play.
“Yeah,” Tash sighed. “He had the gender preference and somewhat of the wit. No way would I collaborate with him, even if his giant ego could bear it. Besides, I remember him being your nemesis.”
“You saw that?”
“Yeah. When you got all shy on Lindy, much to her annoyance. I felt kind of guilty with how catty he got. He could be a cruel little bitch.”
“You played along.”
“Sorry. I guess my role as cool Goth made me choose sides with the coolest of us.”
“Not a problem,” I laughed, stroking her lean body.
“I guess I got over your geekiness,” she laughed as well. “Much to my pleasure.”
We paused for a small kiss and for contemplation.
“What if...” she broke the silence, “we go to the source again? The one I used for my latest play?”
“Nick and Simon?”
“Not Simon. I don’t think Nick would mind. In fact I think he wants to expose his presence, even if it seems completely fictionalized.”
“What are you thinking?”
“The skin that sort of started the Tales.”
“The one found at the Trojan dig?”
“Yeah.”
“So I’d be Nick. And you?”
“An archeologist.”
“Are we talking about a period piece? Victorian?”
“Unh-hunh.”
“So you’d be a very modern woman for the time.”
“Maybe an assistant, the young wife of an archeologist actually smarter than him.”
“And annoyed by his Victorian condescension.”
“And his preference for dumb blondes.”
“So accepting my seduction might be revenge?”
“Not necessarily. Perhaps I’m as eager to cheat on him as he is to cheat on me.”
“So when he’s off with let’s say the resident babe, his secretary or the dig’s secretary or whatever, you’d go off with some hunky Greek laborer.”
“Until I move my focus to you.”
“Or vice versa.”
“You let me seduce you.”
“And the bimbo?”
“You mean she could be Betty?”
“Aiding Nick. Promoting your meeting.”
We contemplated some more. “What about the skin?” I asked.
“You could reveal its source.”
“I don’t know. The whole flashback thing has gotten pretty old. I mean Highlander and all its sequels pretty much buried it. Not to mention the many other films and TV shows that used it and seem to keep using it. It’s pretty tired, not to mention embarrassing and just plain silly.”
“Aren’t Nick’s Tales doing just that?”
“It’s different I think.”
“Because of the sex?”
“That too,” I chuckled. “But more, they’re sustained. Stand-alone stories rather than flashbacks.”
“Yeah. But I don’t think it would be a problem.”
“Why.”
“Because you’d be writing them. You’d make them theatrical and unique and perhaps a bit scary.”
“You think I could?”
“I think the challenge excites you,” she grinned, pulling on my hardening cock.
“It’s you that excites me,” I returned, bringing my mouth to a small breast and its erect nipple. Her moan excited me more.
Crawling between her lean thighs, I let her guide my cock to her damp slit and pushed in, continuing my suckling and thrilling at her deeper moans.
We fucked slowly. We made love. Until she reminded me within a moan, “We don’t have time for this,” and we stepped it up, fucking hard, pubic bones bouncing against each other at full force. It still lasted several minutes. Even if she came a couple of times during the most pleasurable assault, I didn’t. And when I did, I did all I could to give her third one the greatest intensity, joining her mind with mine. Not incidentally, it made my orgasm incredibly intense as well.
“Sorry baby,” she murmured afterwards, stroking the swell at her abdomen. I had actually angled my assault so that I hovered my torso above hers. But it had been a rather violent fuck.
“I didn’t... ?” I swallowed.
“She’s fine,” Tash grinned. “It’s safe.”
“I know, but...”
“Ssh, Joe. It was perfect. The loving fuck and the caveman fuck. As long as I get the first, I have no problem with the last. The opposite actually. Okay?”
“Okay,” I smiled and kissed her deeply. “I love you, you know.”
“Me too.”
We kissed again.
“I’m starved,” she proclaimed.
“Me too.”
“Me for two,” she giggled, rubbing her lovely baby bump again.
After dinner, during the couple hours we spent editing Nick’s Tales, Tash having joined us since she was essentially between plays, we brought our idea for a new collaboration to Nick.
He received it enthusiastically. “You’ll let me play you, or me I guess?” he asked me.
“I suppose that’s up to Lindy,” I shrugged.
He ignored my words, saying, “And Betty can play Betty. What fun. And you could be the cuckold again. But what about you, Natasha?”
“What about me?”
“Who’d play you?”
She shrugged.
“Sheila,” I said out of the blue.
“Of course,” Nick grinned. “She already has the accent.”
“But can she act?” asked Tash.
“She has presence and she has me to teach her,” Nick grinned. “She’ll be perfect.”
“Are you ever going to tell her about you and the angels?” I asked. “She must be curious about what we do during the evening.”
“I don’t think so,” Nick said.
“Because she’s a minion of Simon, even if unaware of it? My wife’s one of his angels.”
“It’s not that. It has more to do with her lover.”
“JB?”
“Yes.”
“Because Bob is his best friend?”
“Mostly. Don’t worry about her. I’ve kept her distracted.”
“How?”
“She has an apartment.”
“I noticed she doesn’t live in our former dormitory.”
“I had her bump into a woman who is now her roommate. A stripper. She got her a job, conveniently under the table. I’ve kept her stipend lower than you others here for that reason. She needs the extra dough. When JB joins her, probably in a week, they plan to wed and get her US citizenship, so even that won’t be a problem.”
I laughed. “Of all the women in the so called sex trade, and all of their men, they’re the last ones to object to that situation. He loves watching her dance. But if she continues being part of our company...”
“Which I hope she will. We’ll still keep her in the dark.”
“But...”
“Just like at Cass Lake, I’m not going to continue my Tales every night for days. As much as I love telling them, I’m in no hurry to finish things. Once this next Tale finishes, we’ll take another break.”
“But what does she think we’re doing?”
“Planning. Discussing our company’s future. Or evaluating our past. Stuff like that.”
“Okay. But poor JB. I think he plans on staying here, looking at possible schools here. We’re not staying are we?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Well the Off/On Broadway space for one.”
“That’s just a residency. Temporary. Just like when we return to Cass Lake or head back to San Francisco. This is home, Joe. I hope you’re okay with that.”
“Not a problem. It’s a beautiful campus. I love my luxurious accommodations. The theater is state-of-the art. Not to mention the rehearsal space and the thrust stage there. So you see this as a repertory theater like the Guthrie in Minneapolis?”
“Yes. This year it’s just a showcase for Lindy. Next year I hope to create a season, probably starting in September and continuing through January or early February. We’ll probably do shows simultaneously in New York. Like presenting music or dance while we’re doing plays here and vice versa. Then a stint somewhere west, probably San Francisco.”
“At ACT?” I asked.
“No. In Barnaby’s space.”
“Cool.”
“Then a space I’m creating in Houston. Something intimate like the thrust stage. Then to Cass Lake for the summer, rehearsing the next season there.”
“And those spaces when we’re not there?”
“You mean New York and Houston?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll rent them out. Or bring in chosen companies like Lindy’s friends. In fact I’m hoping Aerial might be interested in an establishing an East Coast residency.”
“That might be disappointing to Lindy.”
“Why?”
“She seems to want to collaborate with them.”
“Why couldn’t she?”
“We’ll be touring.”
“And as the director of the plays, why couldn’t she go off to be somewhere else?”
“Because she’s also our main dancer.”
“So we do plays while she collaborates with Aerial.”
“And musical concerts?”
“You think Angelique won’t tag along with her?”
I laughed. “Of course.”
“The only problem is you not being there. Lindy and especially Angelique will miss you.”
Half-jokingly, I suggested, “Then I guess I’ll just have to let a replacement take my roles.”
“That would work,” said Nick.
“Probably do a better job anyway.”
“Joe!” I heard chorused around me.
“But isn’t that the problem?” I continued. “I mean, just comparing us to the Guthrie is ridiculous. And I don’t mean the oddness of mixing dance concerts and music concerts with plays. Just consider the caliber of professionalism. The talent. The training. The experience. I’m an amateur, Nick. Most of us are. Compared to the Guthrie or ACT or even the small, unfortunately defunct but completely wonderful Jeune Lune from Minneapolis, we’re like high school kids fumbling about.”
“Did you fumble about at ACT? And what about Helena? Wasn’t she amazing?”
“She was brilliant.”
“No training. No experience. Brilliant. Charismatic. Breathtaking. What does that tell you about us?”
“I don’t know. You did some magic?”
Nick sighed. “If I did, I didn’t realize it. If I made this happen, it had more to do with my paving the way to getting you to San Francisco and ACT and to meet me and my angels. But maybe the magic of my Tales makes you and the others stronger, more capable, more brilliant as you said, and literally so in your presence on stage. But I think of it as a convergence, a happenstance as my work often seems to be. I helped pull together potential and talent and it thrived, mostly under Lindy’s direction. She brings out the best, and I think it has to do with making you comfortable and trusting and opening you up to expression. Hannah’s the best example of that, but Sheila as well. And Stan for that matter. With Sheila, though, you can’t even look to me for cause in her brilliant presence on stage. Her sexiness. Her grab of your attention. And of course, again, despite your never-ending modesty, who took equal focus?”
“Me?”
“And the audience wasn’t watching a lummox. Instead they watched a man, tall and limber and graceful and, of course, sexy.”
“If you say so.”
“You know it.”
“I suppose,” I admitted.
People laughed around me while Nick shook his head and muttered, “Idiot.”
An hour or so later, he began his latest Tales.
This time I sat in the light booth at the back of the theater where Naomi did her drawings. Logistics and mechanics made this the only real place a camera could record them and project them above and behind Nick. Another camera recorded the event, and a microphone attached to Nick recorded his voice as well. Other mics were available for other voices. Chanda had one on as she supervised the recordings. She wore earbuds to listen to them as well. Of course Alexandra was with her so they could relieve each other’s horniness. I noticed Stan had been with them the night before. I represented the only flesh and blood penis in that small room this night.
I joined them there to continue my time with Tash. Helena was with us as well. Naomi liked us together.
“Eva and Zhen miss you,” Helena whispered to me before Nick began.
“I miss them,” I smiled at her and kissed her. Agreement made, I would sleep where I most belonged, amongst my gorgeous wives.
Nick’s voice changed our attention and our consciousness.
Angel and eternal wanderer head east to skirt China, this time through places Xo had seemed to prevent Nick traveling through centuries before, in the future Vietnam. Though it makes for new places for him to seed, Nick senses his presence already there, perhaps mixed with Xo’s. Western tribes must have conquered it. But at an eastern shore, at a somewhat successful port with a remarkably cosmopolitan air, a later version of a familiar designed Chinese ship awaits him, with a crew more Chinese looking than Southeast Asian.
An older, regal, Chinese looking man greets them as they enter the port town. In charge of this most fortunate gift, he introduces the ship and crew to them. Not a gift of the ship itself, for it would be abandoned once it brings them to a place north of China, but the gift of safe passage.
“Let Xo know my appreciation,” Nick bows to the older gentleman.
“We must go aboard and meet the captain,” the Chinese man insists.
In the captain’s cabin, Nick soon realizes the gift involves compensation. Quite a lot, actually.
“You must realize this is an important ship in my business,” the older man explains, “and this will be a significant interruption in it.”
“Of course,” Nick responds, amused. “And we won’t happen to be traveling to places in which you trade.”
“To be successful,” the man shrugs, “one must look for advantages wherever one can.”
“And you are a very successful man.”
The man ignores this, though the smile reveals his pride, “I wanted the captain here, not just to meet you, but to witness this trade and to see my generosity of the division of your price with him.”
“And what might that price be?” asks Chanda.
“A good weight in silver and a full hand of precious jewels.”
Nick always prepares for such things, spending and enriching his coffers wherever is necessary. Both he and Chanda place their heavy sacks on the table, the heaviness a mortal being would have a hard time bearing over the many miles they travel, but immortals handle easily. Another sack appears, carried by the older gentleman, and he pulls a scroll out of it.
Nick loses more than half his silver ingots in the transaction. The jewels required have far less impact on his wealth. A pen and a jar of ink are provided by the captain to accommodate the note the older man prepares.
“You give the captain credit?” Nick asks.
“We have coin to be properly distributed to his men,” the man answers as he jots his notes. “I must translate the worth and give him three/quarters of it.”
“That does seem generous for an owner,” Nick nods.
“One must appreciate the tools and the skills in which one continues success. What would I be without my captains and their crews and my ships?”
He has Nick sign his notations, and pulls out a heavy sack full of coin and cautiously and deliberately counts out many coins. Everyone patiently awaits the end of this slow process.
A man of little words, so each one he lets out has weight, the captain nods at the completion of the counting and says, “We can set sail the morning after next.”
“Add another day,” the owner orders.
“As you wish,” the captain bows.
“But we are ready whenever you are,” Chanda protests mildly.
“My dear,” the older man smiles, “it will take three days to complete my hospitality.”
Chanda and Nick look at each other and shrug.
They soon find out the puzzle of the extra day. It seems the older gentleman has voyeuristic needs at the level of gluttony.
However much generosity he demonstrates at the exchange, he manages to end up with plenty. A large and opulent house shows off his wealth. So does the people within it. And in a way, it proves a gilded cage for the three days of waiting.
“A harem,” Chanda mutters, noticing five exotic women of five races, including Japanese, Indian and even a pale blonde. All dressed as provocatively as possible. All quite beautiful. And three exotic and beautiful men as well. “Slaves?” Not worried about rudeness or provocation, she makes her distaste clear to their host.
“And would they have such lavish and comfortable lives in their native lands?” the older man replies.
“You have not traded for the offspring of princes and potentates?” asks Nick.
“My captains know, in their journeys, that if they find beauty among the wretched, that they must bring them to me.”
“I presume this is ongoing,” Nick points out. “What happens when they get older? How many get traded away to make room for new acquisitions?”
“You misunderstand their future,” the man replies. “Yes, they are made concubines, even wives. But they are schooled here. Tutored for knowledge, intelligence and grace.”
“And sexual expertise?” Nick asks.
“Only abstractly in terms of experience with men. They are virgins.”
“Abstractly?” asks Chanda.
“They are instructed and they observe.”
“Thus the beautiful young men,” Nick offers.
“Only one of them. The other two prefer their own gender.”
“For a rich man who prefers the same.”
“Exactly.”
“So, in effect, two eunuchs and a ram,” Chanda concludes. “The ram might be dangerous.”
“To himself if he deflowered any of the young ladies. Both would be executed. But we make sure any interest stays well tapped.”
“How?” asks Chanda.
A lovely, graceful, shapely middle aged Chinese woman enters the large sitting room in which Nick and Chanda rest.
“So these are them,” she smiles. She is introduced as the businessman’s wife.
“First wife?” asks Nick.
“My only wife. She allows me no other. Not that I have any interest in any.”
“And why should you?” the woman adds proudly. “I have provided you your heir, and a daughter to dote upon. And who else could possibly understand and sate your needs?”
“Yes dear,” the man replies complacently. “A doting daughter,” he says quietly and with amusement.
“What was that dear?” asks his wife.
“Nothing dear,” he responds.
“We have a bit of time before dinner,” the woman says, sitting beside Chanda. The Southeast Asian angel notices the woman’s interest in her. A predatory fixation. “Tell me about the place of your birth. I have heard you have royal linage.”
“Some,” Chanda shrugs. “And some of Nick, but of course you couldn’t tell from his present looks,” commenting on his Egyptian appearance.
“This royalty,” the woman continues, “how much land do they rule.”
“Quite a bit actually. It’s a lineage going back many years. A son or grandson or even a cousin becomes heir, but always related. Nick however insisted new blood be added every generation. Sometimes from a wealthy family and sometimes a true commoner.”
“Interesting. Royals mating with commoners.”
“There’s a hierarchy of course, but a tolerant and respectful attitude to the lower classes. A benevolence, really. The king and his family are much loved by their people.”
“We don’t have such a kingdom here,” the woman explains. “Small, independent villages. Most subsist on what their location provides, trading what they grow or catch or mine. Warlords exist, but luckily never spread too far.”
“Oh? Why do you think that is?”
“The indigenous people are by and large proud of their independence. And proud of what they do to survive. Some have a small cache of soldiers. Others actually learn defense growing up, and defend themselves.”
“Here?”
“Our richest men rule by committee, with one of them elected as its leader. My husband led several years, but has recently given up the position.”
“Wouldn’t that create self-interest? Assuring greater wealth at the sacrifice of the poor?”
“What good would workers be if they’re starving? We actually do what we can for those too young, too old or too infirm to work. And we pay for our little army to protect us. Our riches of course, but the common people as well. Not that a lot of them appreciate what the committee does for them.”
“I think that has more to do with attitude than anything else,” Nick chimes in.
“They’re just envious, not appreciative of the work, the intelligence and the skillset involved.”
“Maybe for some. And I’m certain at least some if not most of these rich families didn’t climb to the top, but got born into it. And I know it takes skills to sustain it, but less than it did to create it. But if it’s true you remain generous enough to pay a living wage, these workers can live a simple life, comfortable enough without the worries and complexities of ownership. If it’s all they have and all they expect, it should be enough.
“But people need their pride, even the most humble. They need to feel appreciated. In fact they deserve to be appreciated. They eat and drink, shit and think just like you. Only chance put them in a lower position.”
“But what of the gifted or the ambitious?”
“How much room is there at the top? How many sailors can become captains? And I bet that’s often an inherited position, a relative gaining favor. No, as bad as a stingy owner, being treated as lower class animals, barely better than dirt under your feet, that’s where what you call envy springs. And anger. And rebellion.”
“But ... they stink.”
“Of course. They can’t afford frequent baths or expensive perfumes.”
A chime reverberates. “Dinner,” the wife smiles.
She guides them to a large table, with room for many more guests. Room for slaves and servants, but they are not invited.
They meet the son and heir. He sits regally at the table, his wife, also Chinese, beside him. Pretty bordering on the plain, she lacks everything the head of the house, her mother-in-law possesses: beauty, presence, command, confidence. Only full, buoyant breasts beneath her clothing suggests an equal if not greater quality, considering her youth, of her body.
Most disturbing, a woman kneels on the other side of the son. Her coal black skin makes her by far the most exotic person there. Her round face and substantial cheekbones and big brown eyes makes her the most attractive, save perhaps for Chanda.
The daughter, in her late teens, sits directly across the table from Nick. She’s clearly her mother’s daughter, both in beauty and in arrogance. Glances at her parents bring forth a look bordering on contempt. But when she glances at Nick, her expression softens, revealing fascination.
After the dinner, the festivities begin. Nick sits beside the businessman, watching the wife fuck the heterosexual slave. She shares him with Chanda. In fact, she and the angel begin the festivities, exploring and pleasuring each other’s bodies until the slave joins in. Though serviced by the other male slaves, and Nick is as well, and even joins in the servicing, it’s clear voyeurism is the man’s key perversion.
Lizbeth
- 06.04.2020
- 7
- 0
