yo Hetero con gay en la playa
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Pasha On The Playa Pt. 01 free porn video
Author’s Note: Burning Man is the world’s greatest fantasy event. This story is based on an actual encounter.
*****
The sun was up and already hot. Voices were speaking to me, although an incredible hangover headache prevented comprehension.
‘Look at him! What are you doing, lying in the dust?’
I glanced down, groaning. Overnight, the wind had come up and I was covered in an inch or two of white. Playa dust from the Black Rock desert not only covered me, but also my sleeping bag, my cot, and everything else in the fancy big tent I had bought for this trip. The dust was itchy and awful.
I sat up with great difficulty. ‘Water?’
‘Elena, is he too stupid for us? Who puts up a tent and leaves it without the fly in a dust storm?’
Elena handed me her water bottle with a sympathetic nod. ‘He has troubles, like he said last night. Woman trouble.’
The other voice, which I dimly remembered belonged to Katerina, said, ‘Come with us. You need shower first before we talk.’
I stumbled after them, clad only in my shorts, asking, ‘What was in that punch? I am dying.’
‘Is special homemade vodka from our uncle Ivan’s still. Very potent. We told you to sip, but you gulped. Is very popular. He has many customers from Park Slope. We brought some for the giving.’
The side of their large rental box truck had a shower rigged up, complete with the required basin to capture gray water. They pulled off my shorts and thrust me under the head, which dripped a barely adequate amount of lukewarm water. Before I could say anything, two naked female bodies were standing in the basin with me. It was crowded but delightful. They had liquid soap and soon we all were sliding on each other. Elena placed my hand over her substantial breast and said, ‘We wash each other. Saves water.’
Two things were happening. My head was clearing and my cock was growing. They grabbed him and giggled. ‘Yes. In the book it says he is well-endowed. This will be ok.’
Still in a fog, I was led to one of their camp chairs and allowed to dry in the desert breeze. Elena approached with a full glass of something and said, ‘Drink. Old Russian recipe. Good for hangover.’
There was a portable camp table to go with the camp chairs and soon breakfast appeared. Fruit, juice, bagels, sliced ham, cream cheese, black bread.
‘Is Brooklyn breakfast. Ok?’
‘Yes. Very ok.’ I gazed at my companions, whom I had known since yesterday afternoon. Curly hair, strong Slavic features. Ample bosums. Hips that could have been well padded, but weren’t. Muscled thighs and legs. All three of us were naked, which would have been strange, except that we were at Burning Man, where many thousands of mostly naked people were spending the week.
My head was much better and I apologized for being such a lunkhead.
The women looked at each other. ‘Do we know lunkhead?’
I explained, ‘I grew up in Minnesota. Someone very dull was called a lunkhead by the
Swedes.’
Elena was sitting in my lap, her left breast less than six inches from my lips.
‘You remember, we are librarians? Supposed to know words. You will teach us more strange American words?’
I hugged her and licked the prominent pink nipple so close by. ‘Yes, words I can tell you about. I am a plumber and a part time writer.’
Katarina said, ‘In Russia, plumbers are very important. Make outhouses go away.’
But not at Burning Man. Legions of porta potties were down every avenue, complete with washing stations for hands.
Elena got off my lap and climbed into the truck. Katerina caught me eyeing the bare behind of her sister and said, ‘You are bad. That is for later.’ Her smile was wide.
I crooked my finger and she assumed Elena’s position on my lap. Her breast was equally lickable. Her lips were warm and her tongue found mine. I said, ‘Better.’
Elena was back, hitching her chair closer and opening a book on her knees.
‘Pay attention. That is special boob. Is not going away.’
I asked if they were twins, even though they did not look much alike. ‘Yes, what is word… We are fraternal twins, two eggs.’
Yesterday, over way too much vodka punch, they had told me the story of being sent from Russia to their uncle Ivan in Brooklyn when they finished elementary school. Their mother, a divorced mathematics professor, told them there was no future for academics in Omsk, and they should study hard in America and make careers there.
Even though there was a large Russian community, where they could speak their native language, Ivan was firm that in America, one speaks English, and made them struggle through language lessons from the first days of their arrival.
They were very smart, and did well in school. Ivan sent each report card back home to Svetlana, who wrote long letters about scholarship, and respect for learning. They got into City University of New York on the special program for gifted students. Ivan and Momma had letters back and forth about their majors. And also about boys.
At CUNY, during the day, Elena and Katarina enjoyed the openness and casual friendship of other students. At night, to their way of thinking, there was entirely too much old fashioned Russian discipline. Ivan could not be avoided as long as they were under his roof, so they toed the line, day after restless day. At night, cuddled in one of their two beds, they whispered about how to gain their freedom.
In the very first semester at college, they made the Dean’s list, to great joy at home and among their family friends. Unlike some of the immigrant Russians, especially the ones living a life of petty crime, or worse, being part of the mafia, the girls wanted success the hard way.
In their senior year, a friend said they should look at the library science program because there seemed to be plenty of jobs for junior librarians. The degree took an extra year, but Ivan was enthusiastic. They could find jobs at libraries in New York City and live with him.
They were very lucky that an attractive older Russian woman met Ivan at a community dance and started going out with him. Ivan became a foolish middle aged man in love. The girls arranged to meet the new lady at a coffee shop and explained their need to be on their own. If she was going to live with Ivan, would she please demand that the nieces from Omsk had to move out? With hugs and kisses, she joined their plot. A week later, on Sunday morning, Marina and Ivan came downstairs for breakfast and announced they were getting married. Very apologetically, Ivan said that it would be too crowded in the apartment for four adults after the marriage, and looked at them sadly. With fake sniffles, they embraced him and Marina and wished them a happy life together and said they would begin looking for their own apartment immediately.
His memory of the rest of the story he heard yesterday was dim, probably because they had drunk him under the proverbial table with their potent punch. He did remember a lot of kissing and a lot of groping, and thought he might even have had sex with them on a big mattress inside the box truck. They seemed very comfortable being naked in his arms this morning.
Elena was pointing at a picture in the book, which turned out to be a history of the Ottomans. ‘Look, you will be our Pasha. Pasha on the Playa with his women.’ They giggled.
He tried to move Katarina so he could read the book, but he was hard again and she was holding him tightly. He kissed her and said, ‘No Pasha if you don’t let me read.’
She laughed and jumped from his lap. ‘You read. We dress and go for bike ride on playa.’
Plumbers don’t get whole weeks off for naked arts festivals, so I had finally ducked out of work and dashed for Gerlach on Wednesday morning. It was now Thursday, if my hungover brain was working, and I was late to the party. With the dust and the heat, I wondered
if it was really necessary to be a crazy person for a whole week.
The librarians were back, with feathered headdresses, and skimpy bikini outfits made of fake animal fur. Very strange and exotic. They examined me and declared that I would wear a black speedo and nothing else except dark glasses. I didn’t have a black speedo, but they did. With a lot of unnecessary playing with my penis, I was settled into the suit and told to get my bike. Before we went anywhere, they slathered on a lot of lotion and declared we were safe from skin cancer. I wondered.
They showed me the way down six o’clock avenue to Center Camp, where there were unclothed females, and males also, in great profusion. I asked, ‘This is really just a nudist colony?’
‘Pasha is to be quiet. We will explain later.’
Before us, in the inner semicircle of the camp, were acres and acres of open desert, flat as could be, dotted with strange and weird things. Straight ahead was a giant statue, which I knew had to be the Man. The Burning Man statue, who would burn on Saturday night. An avenue full of walking and biking Burners lead out to the Man, and in the distance beyond him was another structure.
‘Is Temple. We go there.’
We had to stop every minute or so for explanations. The playa was where all the art was. Small to large, with incredible variety. Elena said, ‘Some art takes whole year and many hours to construct. Comes from all over world. Simple librarians impressed.’ She smiled at me. I worked my bike up to her and placed my arm around her waist. I leaned over and whispered, ‘Simple librarian is doing a New York number on dumb plumber. You have advanced degrees from CUNY, and that accent did not get you there.’
She said to her sister in a standard Brooklyn dialect, ‘Katerina, he has found us out. I think game is up.’
Katarina looked at me boldly, ‘Plumber, don’t play dumb either. After tour, we will go back to the truck and talk. For now, be good.’ To emphasize the point, she flipped her hips at me.
The Temple was very interesting. A giant wood structure, almost filigree in places, built in a week, that would burn on Sunday night in memory of all the Burners who had died since last year. It was filled with mostly silent people, who seemed to be treating it as a church, whether they had clothes on or not. The rumbling throb of the giant speakers back in the camp was muted. The Russians were standing over their bikes, their hands on my shoulders.
‘Do you go to church, plumber?’
‘Maybe I have been too dumb to tell you my name is Marty? And no, I don’t go to church.’
Their hands were soft and calming. ‘Marty is nice name. We will call you Marty when you make love to us, but on playa, you are Plumber.’
I had been captured, I realized. Their sneaky plan was to come to Burning Man, all the way from Brooklyn, planning on finding guys they could have fun with. How come it was Thursday and they only had me cornered so far? What was their Pasha game anyway?
It took another hour of biking to see the sights and make our way back to the truck for lunch. The midday sun was cooking us. Katarina started a generator on the ground next to the truck while Elena and I went inside to fix sandwiches. In a few minutes, a portable air conditioner was going, and Katarina closed a transparent curtain across the end of the truck as she climbed in. There was a stack of body wipes, of which many were used to clean only some of the dust from us. I sat in a canvas camp chair and was amazed that two immigrant librarians had pulled this all off. A small table appeared next to me, with an imported beer and a sourdough ham sandwich. Carrots and other raw vegies were there also.
‘All right. What’s going on? You are feeding me before the slaughter?’
Elena was giggling and Katarina was looking stern. ‘Plumber, did you read about how one becomes Pasha? Loyal service to the Emperor…’
‘Yes, but the last Ottomans were overthrown almost a hundred years ago.’
‘For Burning Man, we make revisionist history. Like Tsars used to do. We have name and biography for you. Also harem. After lunch, we fix cushions for Pasha and you do your reading. Otherwise, punishment.’ Her eyes glittered and the voice was back to the heavy accent.
They were both looking at me very seriously in the dim light filtered in from the end of the truck. I was admiring the obvious charms of my new companions and wondering if the Pasha got to tell them to undress. Maybe I should get into this new role. Everyone at Burning Man seemed to be projecting a new personality, why not me?
In a few minutes, I was on marvelously soft cushions, with a female on either side, another cold beer, and the Ottoman book in my lap. They had opened it to a biography of someone named Alexander, who was greatly beloved, and known as Alexander Pasha. It seemed he was an expatriate Russian who infiltrated the Emperor’s staff and made himself very useful.
I was trying to read and losing a battle with nap time. Fortunately, the librarians were losing the same battle and we slept.
I woke to the cool air of the portable machine on us, and my arm pulling one of the women tight to my front. She wiggled herself against my hard cock and whispered, ‘You want sex now?’ I pulled her over and found full, soft lips for a kiss. ‘I always want sex, but maybe not right now.’
‘Is ok. Book says Pasha demands sex from harem all the time.’ They were half lying on me, both kissing and stroking me to distraction. ‘What does book say about beating disobedient women?’
‘Censored. It says certain practices in harem can not be described in book.’
They had their bras off and were lying back on the cushions, laughing at me.
I sniffed, ‘Certain practices, eh? I’ll bet those horny old bastards couldn’t get it up.’
I had a sudden thought. ‘Do you have boyfriends at home? I shouldn’t be chasing you if you do.’
Katarina rolled on her side away from me, keeping my hand around her breast. ‘Is either short story, or long story. Anyway, Russian girls not having any luck finding right men.’
I leaned down and chewed on her fat nipple. She caught her breath and said, ‘Bad.’
It was worth a try. ‘I guess I will have to show you how Plumber from California romances new girlfriends from Brooklyn. Ok?’
She spread herself open, grinning at me, ‘Plumber first, then Pasha?’ The voice was pure Brooklyn. The boy shorts were tight, outlining a lot of anatomy.
I looked from one to the other, and kissed them gently. My latest girlfriend at home had decided, like the others, that being married to a plumber was not for her. I was horny and the Russians had already offered themselves. I could have them, here on the playa, and not think anything of it. A little voice said, be nice, be their Pasha.
‘Tell me more about Pasha. Why is he here? Were you forced to be his concubines?’
‘Sister, this one is strange. Not jumping us like other guys.’
I went back to my camp chair. ‘There must be more to your story.’
They put their bikini tops on and walked me to several big boxes in the front of the van. ‘Mutant vehicle in there. Already registered with Burning Man. We need help to assemble.’
Two hours later, dripping with sweat from the merciless sun, the three of us stood looking at the ten foot tall Pashamobile. Gears and chains and big bicycle wheels everywhere. A very throne like seat surrounded by acres of exotic fabrics. Six feet off the ground, and wide enough for a very big potentate, or someone thinner with special friends. Lower down, seats made from bicycle parts that included pedals for propulsion. Obviously, persons of low rank were to sit on them and pedal as commanded. Close to the ground, in the middle, a large box that we had just filled with a dozen heavy batteries. Another box contained an electric motor connected to the rear axle by a sturdy looking chain. Maybe not too much pedaling requir
ed. Festooned here and there were decorations suggesting imperial power. Scarabs, alarming replicas of poisonous snakes, a miniature mosque with minaret.
It was explained to me that the librarians had called in chits from many cousins to get it built. And unbuilt, so it could be shipped and reassembled at Burning Man. There was still an empty space between the front wheels. ‘Special sound system with generator goes there. Maybe we take for test and do that tomorrow?
I said, ‘Let’s wait, the real show is after the sun goes down and all the lighted vehicles are paraded. Don’t we want to do that?’
‘Marty, you are right. Fix us a drink so we have strength to make dinner. Special meal tonight.’
‘What are we celebrating?’
‘Drink first, then quick shower, then talk.’
They told me there was five hundred gallons of water in the truck, but one hundred was gone already. ‘You don’t mind cozy shower?’
They were sliding soapy bodies on me again. I pulled their hair and said, ‘This is very suspicious. You are being too nice to dumb plumber.’
The breeze had died so it wasn’t moving dust. The sun was low and warm, not hot. The tall gin and tonics tasted divine. I had fresh, clean shorts on. They had clean shorts on too. A lot tighter than mine.
In the Brooklyn voice, they said, ‘Marty, you are derailing our plan. Guys in Brooklyn aren’t nice like you. No one from home would work for hours in hot sun helping crazy women like us.’
They advanced on me and each took a knee. The kisses started out gentle, but didn’t stay that way. In a while, hands found the hard length of me still inside the shorts. ‘We want you. Do you want us? You said no before. There is something wrong?’
‘You know about first date rules? No hands below waist?’
‘Elena! We must fix this one!’ They had a tight grip on my long hair, hustling me into the truck and down on the thick mattress in the front corner. Two hard knees were in my crotch, pinning me in place. They were skinning out of their clothes, such as they were, and talking in low emphatic voices in Russian. Katarina said something very firm, very tough sounding, and Elena shrank back, ‘Nyet! nyet.’
My clothes were next. It was dim in the front corner, but the fading light gleaming on their bodies was magical. Elena lay on me, shielding my important parts from her sister. ‘Is it over for me?’ I whispered in her ear.
‘Yes. She says, no fucking, no living. You have insulted fine Russian women.’
‘Would it help if I stabbed you with this and you screamed?’
‘Yes. Hurry!’
I was actually a little scared. These two were big and tough. I flipped Elena over and found my way inside in seconds. ‘There! Slut!’ The response was electric. I’d never had sex with a woman swearing at me in multiple languages. She rolled on top and got heaved into the air. We rolled and fucked and shouted and had fantastic climaxes together. She gripped my ass with fingernails dug in and didn’t relax until every last squirt of me was inside.
‘Oh god, sis, he is good. You should have been first. You were more unhappy than I was.’
I made little thrusting movements in her to stay hard while I thought about how to take care of Katarina. Elena loved it, squeezing and making small musical noises in her throat. Our tongues found each other and played. Sister was on her haunches, staring at us and undecided what she should do next. I quickly disengaged and pulled her into my lap. I placed Elena’s hand on one hard globe, and my own on the other. I nodded at her and she slapped it. I slapped the other side. My free hand was pressing hard in the small of Katarina’s back to hold her in place.
‘You are in Tsarist court and have been sentenced to ten years hard labor in Black Rock Gulag, picking up gum wrappers.’
‘Nyet! I am Princess, first cousin to His Majesty.’
‘You are faker. Think we cannot tell from hard ass? No Princess has muscles like that.’
While her mind was diverted, I flipped her over and plunged. She was wet and he made it fully inside the first time.
‘Bastard! I will beat you if you stop!’ The voice was Brooklyn and needy. I knew needy and worked on her. Elena laughed and pinched her sister’s nipples. She screamed, I came too, and we fell over.
Vera
- 16.10.2020
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