Synamphoteron
Part 1 of Till The Sun Come Up, a series by @themanthemyththeverite and @worldsover
Few people get paid to have sex, the rest have to pay, and everyone has nothing else to do. You’re the sole person who can say how humanity got here, but you can’t begin to explain how you got here.
The startled starborn suffuses through smog, creeps like ice up maple bark, syrup slow, clangs past glass, clatter, clunk, and before its destination, it dances in fear of its father fire—millions of miles away, sure, but for light, those millions become minutes, so the meandering amasses. Hysterical wavelengths between dying sun red and orange of autumns forgotten seep into the room; you’re uncertain whether they complement or clash the mercuries, the xenons, the heliums in the tubes that sigh neon cyan and purple. With one arm, you lean against the window as hot coals on photonic feet give your unclad skin an ever-fresh coat of paint. That window leads to a wall of glass, leads to a concave sheet, a dome of glass, then hexagonal panes of—would you look at that, another layer of glass. Tomato-tinged air trapped behind transparent lasagna.
First measured in nanometers, electromagnetic waves transmute into meter-long air oscillations as sound shares light’s prismatic temper. "You had to send that in the group chat." Your tone is kindred to the two girls’ demeanour: annoyed, testy, like the restive, red-biased hue.
Bora sits at the edge of the bed. Her eyes could blast lasers, cook lasagna to a crisp. Tap. Tap. Her feet are purposeful and slow—a bit faster, now the count is in beats per minute. Fifty, forty-five, a dreary Largo. The rhythms accompany an implied song, a dirge that should not have percussion, yet the floor is a drum to Bora regardless.
Minji kneels and crosses her arms. The submissive stance runs counter to her irked brows, pouty lips. Nipples light and half-stiff in spite (or maybe because) of the cooking pot pressure of the enclosed space. Neatly trimmed so that your focus is on the tummy above and the sinuous folds below. You’re in full male gaze now but think of it as inspecting for clientele feedback. That’s why you’re writing it down so precisely in your memories, laser engraving every subtle line of her tits, her lithe arms. For work. Definitely. Professionals look out for professionals.
Direct your attention back to Bora. That same experienced eye discerns the contrast in her curves to Minji’s. Filled further in both of her money-makers—ass and tits—yet they command a comparable cost. Different strokes. She has writing along her cleavage. Are those notes? Closer inspection (not too close, not right now) gives a glimpse of a few words: three, Amazon, harsher. Of course, the woman would write notes on her own body.
The earth spins too slowly, the sun’s scaffolding too sound; it hangs in the sky for uncountable time. You expect a retort by now. The air conditioning is at full blast, yet sweat drips down all three of you.
Bora almost falls off the bed, leans forward, and words fail when she tries to explain. The anger between the two girls only forces your erection to admit itself, and you want to exclaim that the whole situation is silly when everyone’s stripped down to the bare essentials.
“I—”
Just when Bora finally finds her message and parts her lips, Minji interrupts. "I was first! Open your phone right now.”
She isn’t wrong. However, Bora was much closer, already at the hotel restaurant when she called you up. Even the express tunnel took an hour or so for Minji to get here. No sense in arguing because it was all your fault regardless: you made the final mistake of giving both of them your room number after much dawdling. Hindsight tells you to have canceled with each of them, maybe postpone for tomorrow, but hindsight’s a dead concept in these times—at least, that’s your excuse.
“Oh, so it’s gonna be like that, huh?” Bora says to Minji.
You puff up your cheeks, storing air to blow out dramatically, exasperated. “Yeah, yeah, you’re all mad, look. Since we’re all naked and, as it seems, in the mood anyway, how about we compromise?”
The two of them glare at you for the disgusting profanity. The world’s a concession, so get over it, you wish you could say. Again, you keep quiet since you find no sense in starting further arguments.
“There’s no point hiding shit between us, is there?” Your eye contact with each of them is to search for approval. Both are empty with an emotion you can’t decipher. Increased anger? Understanding? Whatever. “Minji needs practice taking dick in her throat. Bora needs to practice taking dick in new ways. Ah, Amazon position," you say as your sight inevitably falls on Bora’s tits used as a canvas.
Their glares pierce the feeble filaments of your explanation.
"I-I, uhh, look. What? I’m sharing company secrets, not even secrets, really, to company employees. Who cares.”
Try not to fall—you’ve already tripped. The signals they send between each other are palpable. Smirks, slight nods. They see through your pretense.
Or at least they think they do. This is your most potent weapon. Give them a common foe, and they’ll come to that dirty word of compromise. No, Minji and Bora aren’t best friends, but they are the kind of friends who push each other. And sometimes those pushes are mean-spirited, a toe gets stubbed, some scrapes, but they’re always forward-facing shoves. Much better than your shared past.
They glance at each other, both skeptical but with fantastical sparks in their eyes, flashes of consideration dancing in their pupils. Even the hungriest of the pack would rather secure half a meal than risk no meal at all.
“Alright,” Bora mutters, the scowl on her face still prevalent but significantly less marked. “Are we sharing or not?”
“So impatient,” Minji retorts, her tone as sharp as ever. “But fine. I’ll pity you just this once. You need the practice anyway.”
Bora’s jaw sets into a tight line, taut and irritated, her mind eagerly snatching up ammunition for an equally petty reply. It’s one you won’t allow, not tonight, not on your terms. It’s an easy endeavor to shut her up: you kiss her, silence her lips, angrily tangle your tongues, and overall overpower her until she’s forced to back down with a whimper. Then, the tide of their aggression ebbs away, both of them taken aback, clear as the heat that singes the earth above you. Let go of Bora’s chin, shove her onto her back.
“That’s enough.” You growl, glaring at both of them. “Do you want this or not?”
A clear threat. It rings in their ears like an alarm bell, a homeostatic imbalance that screams negative feedback. Though they’re aware your need equals theirs, the risk of loss is simply too overpowering.
So they act fast.
Minji, still on her knees, crawls from the other end of the room. Her usual grace is gone. Instead, she’s on her knuckles, desperate to get a piece of you before Bora eats you up.
But it’s too late. Bora gets up from the mattress, grabs your shoulders, and pushes you onto the bed to replace herself. Your legs flop off the side, and any fight you have dies with Bora’s ass firmly planted on your thigh.
You gather yourself, trying to pay attention to both at once, turning your head to watch Minji; however, Bora’s body is too warm, too close for you to ignore, and the feverish heat within you shreds your patience. It’s a futile venture, and Bora knows it.
She smirks, trailing a finger down your chest before she slowly grinds her bare pussy on your leg, an indulgent moan escaping her lips.
“Fuck,” Bora murmurs. Her head is pitched back, her hair flowing down her back in a cascade of silky brown. Her eyes are shut while a smile paints her face. “The first bite is always the sweetest.”
The mesmerizing sound of Bora’s soft moans and the dripping of her arousal onto your skin monopolize your focus, erasing the other in the room from your vision. But then the silent prayer, the quiet, almost imperceptible hum from Minji’s throat, draws you out of your Bora-induced stupor.
The two contrast in approach and tact: Bora is forceful and blunt; Minji is calm and strategic. She begs and pleads, but not with her words. Instead, with fluttering eyes, Minji looks up at the foot of the bed, sees your own feet, and plants light pecks up your free leg. And the eye contact intent flummoxes you: she wants to be in charge but wants to cede it to you as soon as she gets that control. Whines and pouts, Minji puts her soul into wresting your attention towards her.
Competition taking over, Bora gives a light kick to Minji’s shoulder as she bears her weight down on your leg, humid and heavy, a comfortable balance to Minji’s tug on the opposite side.
“Mwah, mwah.” Minji makes a point of her having her kisses up your shaft be as loud and sloppy as possible, then stops beneath your cockhead, cooing happily while rubbing her lips. “Such a gorgeous dick. Mmwah.” A short peek of her tongue laps up the spit that her smooches drool. Finally, Minji grabs your cock, slaps it on her tongue, and makes the bubbles of saliva splash and dance with joy.
“Fuck,” you groan. “Fuck, that’s good.” It’s something straight out of your wildest dreams, the erotic sounds that ring in your ears, the familiar yet exquisite feeling of Minji’s lips wrapped so messily around your cock. “T-try to… ah… use your tongue more.”
There’s no response, nothing audible, but the juxtaposition of thick, honey-like warmth to the semi-cool air of the room on your shaft is enough to tell you she’s listening if only to hear your moans.
Tips, you think. I need to give Minji tips. But fuck is it hard to process, to get even a single coherent thought past your mental facilities. Minji is such a fast learner, and she grasps the concepts you throw at her so quickly that you suspect she was only pretending in her mediocrity, only toying with you.
“R-rhythm,” you choke out, words that fall from your lips as your brain grasps for straws. “Stay m-more… hah… consistent.”
The quirk of her eyes is quizzical, and Minji tilts her head despite its preoccupation with your stiff cock in her mouth. A muffled “hm?”
“It means you’re shit at giving head,” Bora snarks, picking up on her confusion. “You think roleplaying as a slobbering puppy counts as a blowjob?”
Minji ignores her, though if the tightening of her lips is any indication, she’s more riled up than she lets on.
Actions speak louder than words, and Minji testifies to that with her efforts redoubled, trying new things with her throat; she hums and moans, swishes her head from side to side, rolls her eyes up into her head all while she plunges your cock into the deepest depths of her warm, tight, wet mouth.
Your hands grip the base of her ponytail tightly. Her eyes water as they meet yours, dark and runny with mascara before you release her, though she obediently remains glued to your shaft, still spluttering and choking all over.
It’s a moment of bliss quickly disrupted, however; while you might be in heaven, Bora is unsatisfied with purgatory. Her frustrations pile up second by second until she’s at a breaking point, the rutting of her hips on your thigh no longer enough to placate her desire.
“When’s it gonna be my turn, hmm? You better not fucking cum yet,” she hisses.
Her words almost entirely fly past you, and it’s only when you notice how her nails dig into your skin lightly—when you notice how her breasts are so soft and fluffy on your chest, when you notice the growing pool of sticky fluid on your thigh—that you pay attention. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I promise I’ll—”
Hold it in. Hold it. Despite all your comments about Minji’s oral technique, stars start to fall; you’re unsure if they’re merely a construct of the wavering mind or actual meteors outside: both equally destructive and plausible.
“Minji, please. I need you to hold off a-and when I tell you to do something...”
Somehow, a smirk on Minji’s cock-busy lips until she finally releases your glistening length with a gasp and a moan. “Fuck, your cock is delicious,” she murmurs, her voice reverent and soft, sultry and alluring. “It feels so good choking on it.”
“Oh, please.” Bora scoffs. “That was hardly anything.”
Minji’s eyes narrow. “Don’t be jealous just because he wants me on his cock instead of you.”
“That’s only because you’re hogging him to yourself!”
“Excuses, excuses,” Minji laughs. “You just can’t take this dick like I can. It’s okay to admit that.”
A roll of Bora’s eyes. “God, you’re such a brat sometimes.”
Her stare is sharp, irritated, and narrowed while Minji’s gaze stays light, airy, and placid with lids wide open.
“What’s that mouth to these tits, huh?” Bora scoots up, fills your face so that you have no choice but to taste her pillowy flesh. She stirs on your leg. The folds of her slit, slick. “Or this pussy? Hmm?”
With locked knees, a hand behind Minji’s head, her arms around your waist, your length pushes past a series of subtle locks in her throat. A bit of drool like a canal.
“Dammit, I need this cock too. What a needy whore of a mommy,” Bora says as she looks at Minji teasing your shaft with puckered plosive lips, ppuh.
“You know, calling me names like that”—Minji drags her tongue up, slurps down—”is only gonna make me wetter.”
“Like I care,” she retorts. “Fucking slut.”
It’s a crown, a goddamn accolade to Minji as she ignores Bora’s heated glare, her mouth filled with stiff cockmeat. If anything, it only makes her more determined to suck the life out of you, and her cheeks hollow around your shaft, each lost layer of saliva replaced with two more until her face and hands are a mess of sticky globs of spit and ruined makeup.
“Good girl,” you huff out. Your hands stroke her hair kindly as she bears your length down her throat, holding herself there obediently despite the glk, glk, glk of her gag reflex’s protests. “Fuck, ah, mommy, that’s f-fucking perfect.”
“Take it,” Bora chimes in. “Take all of his fucking dick down your slutty throat, you whore.”
There’s no breath, no room, no sound Minji can possibly make to respond, so she settles for a weak gurgle when Bora grips her by the hair; she forcefully slams her face down into your stomach, a muffled cross between a shriek and a gasp silenced near-instantaneously.
The shock of it all would stun Minji, even if she had steadily become well-adjusted to your length. You don’t even have the breath to curse as Bora gives Minji’s helpless face a shove, then two, three, before she simply yanks Minji off of you. It’s a power vacuum that opens up, a new niche in your delicate ecosystem, and one that Bora occupies with a hunger, a drive to consume; she’s a whirlwind of biological instinct, bearing down on you and leaving a lustrous trail from your thighs past your crotch. What was already shiny with Minji’s saliva is now mixed with the varnish of Bora’s lips. Those folds entice you to assume responsibility, but you practice restraint; if you fucked your cock up into Bora without warning, there was no telling of the consequences. Hold in a bated breath, like you’re trying not to drown, which only unwinds when she weighs down on your stomach.
But one moment she’s the weight, then she’s suddenly the aggressor: beneath your legs, her arms hook so that your legs straddle her waist. She’s deceptively strong for her frame, and caution keeps your mouth shut; your confusion gives way to nonchalance. Did either of you really care all that much about the method as opposed to the means?
On the side of the bed, you notice the vexed furl of Minji’s brows, her hands through her hair, pulling on it in frustration: Minji wants to protest, wants to put up a fight, but any dispute, physical or argumentative, would be lost as she barely has a breath to catch and a gagged mess of spit and tears and sweat on her lips.
Not that you have much of a fight either, with Bora now firmly in control of your legs. She doesn’t need to say words; they’re written on her tits—Got three complaints. Need to be harsher. Amazon position. Lying on the mattress, your legs pulled up and your knees almost together, Bora squats above you. Her breasts squeeze between your calves in the air, and though you focus on the plentiful glossy flesh squishing words into scribbles—focus until dreams of that promised titjob overtake your thoughts—you can’t ignore how she bends your cock forward with her hands.
On your back, forced into docility, you’re unsure precisely what Bora was having trouble with, why she would need help at all. So instead of commenting, giving advice, breaking the scene, you play the part. “M-ma’am, are you going to put it in?”
Bora grunts, and the sound you let out at the sensation of her contrastingly delicate folds is higher, almost pathetic compared to her. “I’m not sure if you deserve it. Not giving your dick to me first.” Her free hand plays your nipples, one at a time, then trails up to your neck, sharp nails and all. Bora leaves a light red scratch mark on your jaw, which she holds crudely to make you look her straight in the eyes, not her tits. When she sees pre-cum drip from your slit, all because of a light graze, she slaps the sweat off your cheeks.
“I need it,” you whine out. “I need you so badly.”
A thumb on one cheek, the outer fingers on the other, both drive and grasp with an uncomfortable harshness that makes you drool. “Usually, begging like a little bitch works for you. Not sure what it is this time. Maybe it’s hearing this other slut whining so pathetically for your dick. Whatever. You’re my toy right now, understand? No sounds from you. Nod if you understand.”
No hesitation. Finally, Bora gives your strained cock its relief; ironic how relief comes in the form of pressure. With flexuous, loving force, she bears down and insists her warm flesh walls upon your shaft.
The mattress doesn’t feel as soft as it should. It could be from the intense gaze that tenses your whole body up as much as your cock, but it’s more likely the way her pussy throttles your shaft. An incomparable plushness. In and out. No consideration, no sacrifice for your comfort, Bora fucks herself onto your dick with the same care as a disposable dildo, and you, in the emasculating position, find your head emptier and emptier along for the ride. The characters on her Bora’s boobs bounce up and down, and you ascertain no meaning despite how hard you stare. And stare you do, immersed in the rhythmic waves of her body, her hips which slide so fluidly, her grasp on your cock, waning and waxing.
“Fuck, you’re doing such a good—” Spit gets in your mouth.
Bora looks mad, but you can’t tell; now there’s spit in your eyes. You’re unsure if you’re thankful that Bora is still riding or scared at what she might do next. The movement of her waist transitions from that self-serving swinging to a more aggressive hop, driving your back into the cushion.“What part of ’shut the fuck up’ did you not understand? Huh, toy?”
You hold back a deep groan that gurgles from your lungs by holding your own neck with your hands.
“That’s it. Know your place, whore.” Bora takes your wrists in her hands and pins you down tighter.
It’s not a unique experience to be on the receiving end of Bora’s fire and brimstone, but it’s certainly the first time you haven’t been allowed to retaliate in kind. Of course, she’s still an efficient, wild machine, her hips plump and forceful, solid and thick against your skin, but the enlightened weightlessness of your resignation heightens each ripple of her thighs as she crashes down onto you.
Words bubble up to your lips like steam from a geyser, but you choke them down; each time you want to flip her over and fuck her at your own pace, you have to swallow the urge. The suppression doesn’t help your endurance, strains your mental facilities until you’re sure your face is as red as a tomato.
At least you’re allowed to moan.
“Look at you.” She growls, her face inches from yours and equally flushed. “Look at you gasping, begging for this pussy. Do you regret choosing Minji first, hmm? Do you regret it now?”
Weakly, you struggle in her grasp, trying to pry your arms out of her pinioning hold, but it’s a fruitless effort. She smirks, though it’s evident in her hitched breaths that your cock is taking a toll on her as well.
“F-fuck, you’re lucky… your cock feels, haah, so good,” she pants out. If she’s tired, her arms aren’t showing it as you try once again to break out of this willing prison of restraint.
A moan draws you out of your tired battle, distant yet near; it’s a luscious set of thighs and calves that attract your eyes while another whimper escapes the lips of the one forgotten on the sidelines.
Bora simply laughs.
“What a slut.” Bora’s grin grows wider, though temporarily split by the spark jolted through her body by your cock. “A-ah, look at you.” She points at Minji, her legs spread wide, her fingers stuck up her glistening pussy. “Fucking slut, jerking off to this. You, haah, y-you wish you could fuck this cock like me.”
Minji’s too out of it to respond and instead rubs her clit to induce another bout of mindless mewls and whimpers. But why would she have words? She lost—end of story. And somehow, in that loss, she finds a perverse pleasure. Her eyes are cracked open; they watch Bora’s hips drive themselves down onto your cock, watch your eyes roll into your head while Bora simultaneously shatters both of your sanities.
“You want to sit on his dick, don’t you? You… a-ah, you want him… to f-fuck you like a little whore of a mommy, don’t you?”
“Mhm!” Minji whines through lips pursed too late.
“That’s right, hah. You fucking—You were always like… This dick.” The more it slides past Bora’s cunt lips, getting sorer and clingy, the more that heavy breaths take over Bora’s words until her speech is a sentence of gasps punctuated by groans. Bora’s back and forth swing slows down, her face less severe, and fingers don’t press so hard into your chest that you can feel the bones on your muscles. So she’s just as human as you are.
“Fuck, my mouth is so dry,” you say, your cock soaked silly with Bora’s juices.
“Me too.” When Bora sticks her tongue out, you take a nibble of it; close your eyes, but the wet kiss isn’t enough.
Minji gets up from her enraptured position and fetches a bottle of water from the hotel fridge—probably way too expensive for a bottle of water, considering they’ve got desalination down while sea levels are through the literal roof. In this respite moment, you take deliberate breaths as Bora’s grip on your shaft relaxes. That secretly jealous pussy even lets you go, but her fingers still curl around you to keep you hard.
“Thank fuck Yoohyeon doesn’t need practice too. My dick would really be exhausted.”
“Nah, she wouldn’t get jealous,” Bora says.
“You sure about that?” Minji asks.
“I didn’t mean exhaustion from jealousy.” You shake your head. “I meant the fact I only have one dick. Yeah, yeah, I know, get the extra implant. We’re not that far ahead that I trust mods wholly. We still live in fucking fish bowls."
"That’s fair. And I heard it’s kind of an overload having two dicks. That’s the most sensitive part. I can’t imagine multiplying that by two,” Minji says.
"Isn’t that what it’s like with you already?" Bora says. "Considering how sensitive those nipples are."
"I play it up a bit for the clients, you know." So she must want you to test that.
"Hmm." You motion to Minji. "Come here."
She’s obedient, though her demure bashfulness is an exciting ingredient added to the frothing mix, a tasteful respite in contrast to Bora’s all-encompassing control. Hands cup your face, soft and gentle; her kisses taste like home, an easy comfort to sink into, to lose yourself in. Yes, it’s messy and loud, wet and improvisatory. But mutualism, not parasitism, is the difference between Bora and Minji.
It’s by third-party intervention that you remember that respite is temporary, that breaks are short intermissions between hard labor, and by god, does Bora put you back to work. Somehow, you end up on the floor as she replaces Minji yet again, the firm muscle and sinew of her body displacing any semblance of fluffy sweetness.
And yet, the parasite returns. Though perhaps, if you really thought about it, wasn’t that you?
Minji whines and pouts from over the bed as Bora glares down at you, frustrated with your constant magnetism to Minji, irritated at your subconscious stubbornness in choice. Is it choice? Instinct? It doesn’t matter, you decide. Your cock is in Bora’s hands, after all.
Bora doesn’t even need to say a word, not with that scowl on her face, not with the way she effortlessly puts you on your back again, entwines your legs around her waist. Even the way she fucks herself onto you is evidence of her displeasure, harsh and angry, and all you can do is grunt, groan, try not to get overwhelmed by the tightness of her wet cocksleeve.
Your eyes close, flutter open and shut, over and over and over again. The world should not spin at this speed, yet it does as Bora clenches and clenches.
“F-fuck, fuck, haah,” you breathe out. Though your body stiffens in anticipation of Bora’s admonishment, it never comes. So you push the limits again. “Minji, come over h-here.”
“Stay focused on me,” Bora says, “or else.”
“Or else what?” You don’t say that convincingly enough.
Bora puts her fingers down your throat. “Going to turn you into a messy whore just like mommy over here if you keep getting distracted. But we might as well use our little fucktoy over her.”
Reluctant, Minji licks up her own juice from her hands, then slips close, crawls down from the bed, and leans to Bora’s pistoning body with wanton interest, the look of a pining lover. Their eyes meet. In defiance of animosity, the accursed word rings loud and true in their ears yet again.
Compromise.
When Bora finally releases, you gag out spit around Bora’s digits. “What… what do you want?” Minji asks, inches from her face.
“I think our boy over here wants a show. I’m not sure he deserves it, but I don’t care. I just wanna have some fun at this point. So while I fuck myself onto my dildo, I need you to give me a little extra pleasure, Minji.” At first, Minji doesn’t know where to start—neither does your mind when Bora slams her ass down, pussy a chokehold on your cock—but once Bora settles into a rhythm, the obedient woman lunges forward to make out with her.
She plays with Bora’s tits where her more modest ones still jiggle at the sympathetic force of Bora riding you wildly. The hard floor is naturally much less comfortable: your back needs to arch, and your head ends up knocking every time she weighs down on you, yet your cock only twitches more at how Bora delights in your difficulty. It twitches in the confines of her wetness, and it twitches at Minji’s renewed enthusiasm. Her hands play with Bora’s tits while she kisses the neck with hunger. Lips lower until Minji can taste the words on milky skin, licking like her tongue could clean the characters straight off.
The heat ramps, internal and external. Eventually, it’s too much, even for Bora, who gets off your dick for another breath. She drags herself up towards the bed and loses her dominant image for a second. Panting breaths from her lips. You can see the creamy glint of her pussy, the nearly frothy mess of white that lines your cock. It’s the prize for patience; it’s Van Gogh’s Starry Night (before they digitized it); it makes you want to ram your dick impatiently before she even gets up on the bed. Minji can sense your hunger, but more personal temptations have her eagerly touching herself on the side of the bed while you ready your cockhead to enter Bora once more for her doggystyle offer.
Push forward, Bora’s now slovenly slit swallowing your dick with ease. Minji’s eyes stray from Bora’s swinging tits as your pounding pace quickens, and her tongue unconsciously falls from her mouth. You mouth “come here,” and Minji squirms between Bora’s limbs without question. If only you had a mirror at the headrest to see her smirk now.
Though you’re standing behind Bora on her hands and knees, she is no less in charge. Another part of it is comparison’s sake—how quickly the other desperate woman lies underneath for a taste of your dick, even if it’d more likely be the taste of Bora’s fluids by now. Minji’s head hangs off the edge of the bed, her tongue out to tempt you. But the little whimpers and upside-down pouts can’t pull your cock away from Bora, can’t stop her from backing her ass up. Despite one hand on her thighs—the other is busy with a finger between Minji’s suckling lips—the speed and force at which those pussy lips engulf your entire self leave you helpless. Bora is the conductor of the complex symphonic rhythm. That one hand is as ice-still as the rest of you. She drives the weight of her thick ass and thighs into you, her pussy a jealous sheathe, squeezing your cock as though you might leave too long if it didn’t.
It’s a fair assumption. Minji pulls herself up, core workouts paying off, yet she only receives a few licks of your cock, too focused on matching Bora’s intensity. And it is your cock focused on the heat of it all, not you. Your mind is far beyond this melting, dying world, all because of the severe heaven Bora gives. All because of how she tightens her legs, sending pressure to your dick, and sucks up the fluids, the pre-cum for herself. The bed creaks, the bed shivers, and the variegated lights dance on her back to overwhelm your every sight and sound sensor.
Nerves mired in excitement, you’re a malfunctioning spaceship in dead orbit or empty vacuum; you are equivalent to the earth you made. (Why does the unsettling thought of the past always come up in these moments?) Minji, dick-starved, grabs your legs closer so that she can at least get your balls into her mouth. Swinging and active and tensing up, she has to give your testicles as much care as possible if she wants you to even have a chance of remembering her.
Bora looks back at you and clasps her fingers tight on Minji’s thighs, and she shudders, even giggles a bit. Then, while maintaining that relentless back and forth pace on your cock, Bora trails up to Minji’s crotch, and with no notice, thrusts fingers inside while she kneads the clit. “This is my dick,” Bora says, a slight frown that she can’t address Minji directly.
“Mmph! Aack.” A clump of gag-spit from Minji onto the floor. “F-fuck, you’re being so rough. You’re supposed to be training him, not… Nnf, not me. Can’t I at least taste some of him?”
“Girls, please—” Your speech staggers when Bora bucks her hips up in a way that stimulates your dick’s tip remarkably smoothly “—haah, fuck. When I fill up Bora’s pussy—”
She whips her head back. “Hey, who said I’m letting you—”
“You’re the one fucking your ass back into me like there’s no tomorrow.” To be fair…
“Ugh, fine. J-just, be a good fuck doll and tell me what you’re gonna do.”
“As I was saying, when I fill up Bora’s pussy, Minji,” you say, and she perks up, eyes big, “get a taste of my cum, eat Bora out like she’s eating you right now.”
You can’t imagine being in Minji’s place. There’s no such thing as exclusivity between the two of you, yet there once was. To be literally underneath the woman who made that relationship past tense must be conflicting: the very tongues and cock which betrayed her also prod her holes now. She must be even more conflicted than that, though—It’s not like she didn’t have her fair share of infidelity.
But while the emotions run high in an atmosphere that can’t support it, only the physical matters now. History fades much easier than hormones. The redder the sun, the sloppier each of you becomes. It’s less about control for Bora now, more about pleasure. Panting, sweating, messy wet pleasure. Sometimes there’s a break in your fucking rhythm to jab into Minji’s throat, and she welcomes the intrusion happily.
And so you repeat, pause, then resume this depraved continuity, a multi-faceted subject; the contrapuntal nature of Bora’s muffled moans and Minji’s frustrated whimpers are the voices that accompany your groans, the melodies that create this carnal fugue. Imbue it with passion, annoyance, joy, drama, and it’s everything any composer could ever have wanted; performers sweating, crying out their lines with the utmost honesty.
Bora’s lines are the least articulate, muffled by Minji’s dripping pussy stuffed in her face, almost as much as your cock is buried in Bora’s own warmth, though Minji’s free to sing and sing and sing, on and on as she hits every note perfectly. Pitch hardly seems to matter considering how effortlessly her voice slides across the register, up and down, alto to tenor to soprano.
You wait for it to come back down, to shimmer back down in waves of sound, but it doesn’t; her voice finally begins to waver and crack, her mouth hesitating around the edges of your shaft as her hands find purchase in the back of Bora’s thighs. Though you can’t see or feel the contractions of her core, can’t savor the wash of her juices that greet Bora’s lips like a geyser, you can still watch her body tremble, watch as her eyes roll up into her head while she mindlessly slobbers on your cock.
“S-shit,” Bora groans out, her tongue still licking and teasing away at Minji’s clit, ignoring her audible wails. “Pound me, a-ah...ah, haah, ah, fuck.”
There might even be a muted note of desperation in her voice, but you choose to ignore it and instead focus on her walls’ rhythm. It’s as though the symphony has gone mad and its conductor has fallen victim to crazed acceleration. Your cock isn’t in a position to complain, drenched in her folds yet still clenched down on tightly.
She must be tired; the locomotion of her body slows, though you make up the difference readily. Slam into her, a snap of the hips sharper than the sharpest staccato, and it’s the first time she lets out an audible shriek while her legs quiver.
“Oh, oh god, you better, ugh, haah, f-fuck me harder, you stupid toy.” The words contradict the complete lack of irritation.
But still, you play your part—can’t screw it up now. Your submission is practically muscle memory, a blur under the pressure, so you repeat the motif again, again, again, until Bora’s hips are hardly moving and she’s simply letting you rail her into the bed.
Even Minji, still twitching from Bora’s overstimulation, joins in, eagerly laps at Bora’s dripping cunt, an eye for an eye. Bora scrambles to stuff her face in a pillow, deaden the scream that escapes her lips as she climaxes on your cock with anything but poise and dignity.
Her quivers are like earthquakes, each pulse of her insides scrambling your own instrument, an overdose of rosin to your bow. The sound it produces is scratchy and rough, pulled from your throat unwillingly, an inevitable cadence that leads to the coda. The final chords strike in your stomach, ring out as your hips clash against Bora’s ass, once, twice, then nothing but stars as your climax arrives, nearly lost in the already frenzied chaos of bodies—the spike of excitement straight to your brain cannot be ignored. Pleasure wrought not only by the clamp that Bora has on your cock, but by the fullness of her ass that smacks back and the needy hands and lips of Minji underneath.
“Fuck.” The singular swear summarizes your myriad thoughts condensed into a burning gas ball of fusion. Your balls twitch.
For each ceaseless thrust, a shot in the dark. Cum fills Bora’s pussy more and more; her thirsty slit spills over, past the suction of your lips, creating its own lubrication to escape. Another rush to your head, and you hold onto her buttcheeks for dear life, spread them apart, let your cock pulsate to its heart’s content. Bora’s low, satisfied groans pale in comparison to Minji. Eaten out by Bora, given nothing but the residue semen your pistoning shaft impels out, it’s no wonder that Minji whimpers and mewls that audibly.
“Didn’t you have orders, Minji?”
Minji exits her trance with a wide-open mouth to catch the sticky stream that spills with every shove of your cock, but more and more of the milky load gets on her face—nothing wrong with that for you, but she cannot waste a single drop. So any last bit of reticence drops to the wayside as she exerts her abdominal strength to bring her mouth up to Bora’s pussy. It takes even more of Minji’s strength as Bora eats her out relentlessly, and it takes deft lips for Minji to catch your cum while your cock winds down its rampant ramming. Pulling out is a gradual process but one that Minji gives gratitude by kissing and licking your shaft on the way.
Bora’s knees and elbows slack, barely attempting not to crush Minji while the two of them lap each other up as though the competition never ended. An unfair confrontation since Minju gets the motivation to taste more of your seed. Having already had much fun with Bora’s pussy and Minji’s mouth, you join Bora at the head of the bed where a pile of pillows lies, where Minji’s legs quiver yet at Bora’s punishing fingering in addition to the lip service. Give Bora a kiss, give Minji’s pussy a kiss, and the slick and the drool would concoct a bar-worthy drink if Bora weren’t already enjoying her dessert for so long.
You’d think she would get tired at some point, but she only stops eating Minji out after Minji is done cleaning up the creampie flood. When Bora finally flops onto her back, lying next to Minji’s feet, you see Minji lean her head forward and show off her tongue—topped with cum one moment, gulp, perfectly clean the next.
Between you and Bora heaving and sighing, Minji sits up and looks at you two. “So.”
“So,” Bora replies.
They both look at you. “Fine, that wasn’t much of a training session at all.”
Minji giggles, crawling over you to sandwich you between her and Bora. Bora scoffs. You turn on your side towards her, but she turns too, facing away from you and towards the window. Then, when you flip to Minji, she has her frazzled hair in her hands and quickly falls asleep. Unsure, confused, you lie back and stare at the concrete ceiling, imagining stars.
Imagination manifests in more literal subliminal processes: Two simulations run on virtual memory, which temporarily overrides your consciousness and creates a split timeline at a turning juncture in the decision tree. After all the gratification, the first false reality seems too greedy because you cuddle with Minji for a smattering of praise and light kisses. Warmth falls like rain from her fingertips even as she takes you back inside her, and for a moment, there’s guilt and regret, the lamentation of the light you lost. It must be written in her eyes as well, a longing haze of slow-burning sex which clouds both of your judiciousness.
The second fabrication is bitter, angry, and purely lustful, your muscles coiled with frustration and annoyance. Why should Bora get to slap you around, tell you what you can and can’t do? After all, your desire is mutual. And so you push and push, seize your place back from her grasp. Your hands yank her by the hair and pin her down to the bed. She might scream, moan; you might join her in that, but what matters is the satisfaction at the end. That relief joins you in deep slumber on ruined sheets.
Inward. Downward. Your dreams lead you toward an unknown center, but there must be an endpoint. And therefore, your dreams slam you up into a lonely, wakeful truth in which no amount of glass outside can clarify the enigmatic machinations of Bora and Minji. The bed big enough for three is only filled with a single you. Frustration escapes you in one sigh; sleep reclaims you as your eyes close once again, as though the veil of darkness might hide you from the scorching brightness of the world outside.
The past has gone and slipped away; there is no future. So when will you have time to untangle this mess? Two falsities intertwine in a double helix—the snarl of memories gets worse—and though slow to boot up, your mind is ablaze once again: The startled starborn suffuses through smog...