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Synopsis: Poor Max was born under an unlucky and deviant star. Maybe he was born under a horny one, too.
Author’s note: Do not read this if you are underaged or were otherwise born at the wrong moment.
You’re here to read about sex, I know that. Well, be like the army for a few minutes and discipline your privates, because I have to tell you about something else first.
I remember the first time I heard that old song: “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all.” I was ten, and sweeping the floor of my dad’s pool hall. They’re playing my song! I thought. Somebody knew what it was like to be me! Then a wood splinter flew up from the floor and scratched my left cornea.
Bad luck has been draped all over me since the beginning. I was born on Christmas. My security blanket got recalled for causing a rare skin allergy. The training wheels I removed from my first bicycle bounced down a hill, causing a tanker truck to crash and explode. My elementary school was firebombed by juvenile delinquents and burned to the ground. My Little League baseball coach turned out to be a serial killer. Oh, and my name is Max, Max Greenhouse. I like my name, but you can imagine the jokes I got anytime I farted.
I could go on and on, but let’s be clear: I don’t go around with an “Oh poor me!” attitude. I’m unlucky, not pathetic, and I know that people all over the world have worse things to deal with. Bad luck does not completely define me — I refuse to live like that, and I’ve always believed what many gamblers believe, that a run of bad luck can change. And who knows — maybe it’s a Hindu thing and I’m running through all of my negative karma in the first quarter of my life, so that all of adulthood will be a breeze.
My mom believed in something even crazier for a time. She told me that she kept having this recurring dream when she and my dad were traveling in the Southwest. She was pregnant with me then, and this dream-spirit told her that I would be born at one second past midnight on Christmas, which placed me under the little known thirteenth sign of the zodiac — the constellation Coyøtl Major, also known as The Big Trickster. My mom fell into a conversation about the dreams with some Hopi Indians, and they hurriedly gathered to perform an elaborate dance to protect themselves.
It was a humorous story, but I guess it stopped being funny as the health insurance bills kept going up, and as our neighbors stopped coming around, their children barred from playing with me. My mom was never able to get pregnant after me, either. To her credit, she never once blamed me, and gave me all of the love she might have lavished upon the much bigger family she had always dreamed of. It remained just my parents and me. No siblings, and after trying just once with a goldfish to test the waters — the vet said he drowned — no pets.
My dad was a lucky and wealthy man before I came into the world, and smart, too, because he knew to quit while he was ahead. He was a professional card-shark and won shitloads of money in Vegas, enough to retire before he turned thirty. He opened the pool hall just to keep himself occupied, but by the time I was conscious of things, around the age of four, much of the family’s money was gone and the pool hall had become a necessary source of income. It was me, of course. Even though my dad had given up gambling at the first sniff of bad luck, life was full of ways for his money to fly out the window.
It’s important to understand this point, that I’m not the only one to be affected by my curse. It seems to extend out from me like an enveloping mist — just how far I’ve never been able to tell, but evidence shows that proximity equals disaster. My parents, by definition, were in for a rough ride.
Anyway, long before we moved to the little town of Skyline, Virginia, I wasn’t allowed in the pool hall during tournaments, and none of the neighborhood children would ring our doorbell for Halloween, and the late morning church service we attended was essentially deserted, the congregation choosing to overcrowd the six a.m. sunrise service, and… Well, I probably don’t even know half of the precautions people exercised to protect themselves. The pool hall got swallowed up by a sinkhole shortly after the scratched cornea business, and I’m almost certain that my dad had to sell our house himself, not because he wanted to but because no real estate agent would represent us. And the movers… Let’s just say that our fresh start in Virginia was a completely fresh start. Not one thing we owned could be salvaged after all that time underwater.
Because of the cornea injury, life in a new town began with me wearing a temporary eye-patch. I got a lot of teasing from my classmates but I didn’t mind, cherishing the opportunity to make new friends who didn’t know enough to be afraid of me. Skyline was a totally nothing town in the Appalachian Mountains — I think my parents moved there because they figured we’d all be safer among trees and squirrels as opposed to congested highways and mass transit. You could buy a house for nothing in Skyline, too, and non-existence seemed to be the eventual destination of dad’s former fortune.
I felt really bad about that, but what could I do? And I felt bad when the valley’s apple harvest got some sort of blight, and failed for the first time in anyone’s memory. I didn’t say a word, and neither did my parents. I even caught my mom in front of a mirror one time, practicing different expressions of surprise and bewilderment in an effort to keep the spotlight off me for as long as possible.
We all tried hard to send out happy signals, even when Ms. Shanks, my fourth grade teacher, was struck by a small meteorite during recess. Ms. Shanks didn’t die —the meteor fragment was only about the size of a marble — but her short-term memory was toast and she never regained it. People usually don’t die, I can be thankful for that. I mean, people die — the exploding truck and that whole serial killer thing and a few other instances — but for the most part I seem to be a vehicle for cosmic jokes, not the Reaper’s clueless assistant. Small consolation, but I was used to taking anything I could get.
No one thought to link me to all of the disasters befalling the county, at least at the beginning. By the middle of the fifth grade, though, I knew that they knew. I wasn’t told about a field trip to Washington, D.C., and my mom informed me later that the school convened a special PTA meeting about the chances of a terrible bus accident if I was allowed to go along. Soon after, I was “highly discouraged” from playing team sports, and outright banned from getting on any of the rides at the county fair, to go along with countless other restrictions. People knew, and they were making sure that other people knew. Like an information tsunami originating in my school class and spreading outwards in all directions, the news spread. The smart kids wouldn’t get near me, so I tried to compensate by hanging out with the losers. Even they could read the signs, and refused to share their drugs with me. They wouldn’t even let me buy them.
My parents understood how hard this was on me, and put me into therapy in the seventh grade. My therapist, Dr. Hendricks, insisted that luck was not given to some people and withheld from others. She believed in me, and wasn’t frightened, treating me like I was a normal kid until her husband’s dick… Well, I was never told the exact circumstances or physical consequences, but something really weird happened to his equipment when he got a lap-dance at the Possum Palace, the only adult club in that part of the valley.
I think it was then, after Dr. Hendricks dropped me as her client, that I truly began to draw inward. I spent a lot of afternoons walking the nearby mountain trails and hanging out in this wonderful abandoned river mill, until the fire. After that I guess I became pretty depressed. Three times the following summer, I stood on this high exposed cliff face during violent thunderstorms, more or less taunting God to take a good shot at me. I had this selfless fantasy in my mind that my death would spare all the unknown people I might meet later in life. It was a lot like that bridge scene in “It’s A Wonderful Life”, only it was hot and I knew that if I had a Clarence trying to save me, something terrible would happen to him along the way.
And damn if I didn’t get struck by lightning that third time. It seemed that the bolt took several determined stabs at me — it wasn’t a blink-of-an-eye thing, I’m sure of that. You’ll think I’m crazy to say this, but I believe God drove the thunderbolt in and twisted a few times, until He just had to give up in frustration. I don’t know why I wasn’t fried — strangely, all I felt was this concentrated heat on my left thigh. Turned out that the loose change in my pants pocket fused together, leaving a small third degree burn six inches below my left hipbone.
As if taunting me, the burn on my thigh left a scar — more like a small patch of shiny pale skin, really — that looks a lot like an upside-down coyote head. And being upside-down, it’s rightside-up from my perspective. The fucker was sending me the message that he was real, and he was here to stay.
I needed to tell you all that stuff so you could understand my reaction when the crazy thing happened to my computer, and everything that transpired afterwards. Still alive, still unlucky, I spent most of my time holed up in my bedroom through junior high and high school. I started collecting robot toys and figurines — I guess they represented logic and predictability, which were largely absent from my life — and like every other teen-age loner, I fell in love with the internet. Unlike others, I kept wondering whether the porn sites I enjoyed would go bankrupt and disappear. I visited this one big-boob site almost every day, but after two of its models committed suicide I instituted a two-visit rule upon my internet surfing — no more than two visits a month to any site, including search engines, and I forbade myself from ever joining anything.
A large part of my internet time involved satisfying my sexual urges, because I had no girlfriend and didn’t know that I would ever get one. I’m not bad-looking, and even with my reputation there were a couple of girls in high school who would have fucked me, but they were considered “the crazies”, even by me. And then there was Jackie Funk, the county MegaSlut. She was slim with a huge rack, but she was pure Appalachia, if you know what I mean, and even those with great luck or a breast fetish were afraid of all the unpronounceable diseases Jackie might harbor. She made me hard when she unzipped my jeans that one time; even so I ran like hell.
I jacked-off into the john a lot back then. When one especially strong spurt cracked the porcelain of the toilet bowl— the toilet literally divided in half and fell over — I changed my methods to masturbating into tissues in my bed. I figured that if my dick fell off or the ceiling caved in to kill me, then great — that would be a fine way to depart this unlucky life, blissfully diddling my way to the other side.
All of this is a roundabout way of telling you that I was a virgin when I left home for college. My parents were relieved when I departed — we had been reduced to living in a dilapidated and mold-infested mobile home by then, both parents’ hair completely white even though they were only in their mid-forties. My mom had turned to praising Jesus nonstop — the Son of a Bitch didn’t seem to be offering her much in return — and dad had developed this terrible gum disease, so that he looked as if he’d spent his whole toothless life in the valley. Anyway, I hugged my folks goodbye at a smelly Greyhound station on a cloudy Saturday morning, said a silent prayer for the driver and the other passengers, and sat back in the seat next to the emergency exit, dreading the next chapter of my life.
Which… went… well. Hour after hour, day after day… nothing, or at least nothing freaky-bad. I moved into my little off-campus studio apartment — I wasn’t about to live in a dorm with a roommate, even though I had to take out a frightening number of student loans to live independently. Anyway, I kept waiting for the cosmic blows to fall, but they didn’t. Classes began, the university didn’t blow up and my teachers went through the entire month of September unscathed. I got a part-time job at a convenience store, and it wasn’t robbed, or flattened by a runaway bulldozer, or… anything. I even had a really cute girl flirting with me, as in overtly flirting with me and asking me out on dates, and she didn’t break out with warts, or go blind, or become a nun, or… anything.
Going through life catastrophe-free made my skin crawl. I’d always believed that my luck could change, but when it actually happened I had this horrible sense that Coyøtl Major was saving up all the little disasters that hadn’t befallen me. He was gathering them in his big furry hands, packing them together into one giant calamity-ball, a black mass of trouble to be hurled down from the heavens like an oversized version of the tiny meteorite that took out my fifth grade teacher’s ability to create memories.
And then — miracle of miracles — my first kiss, with tongues. The girl I just mentioned, Terri, dropped by the convenience store late one night when I was on-shift, and she leaned over the counter and flat-out kissed me.
“No more waiting!” she declared when our mouths became unglued. “When would you have ever kissed me? Never?”
“I was waiting for the right moment.”
“Right moments have to be made and seized, Max. I’m patient, but you have to instigate things sometimes. How else can I know that you find me attractive?”
I shook my head like I agreed with her logic, afraid of where this might be going. For the past two weeks I had employed a number of strategies to avoid situations exactly like this, even going so far as to admit that I was a virgin. It had been a mistake, because for Terri that only made me more adorable and desirable, as she was a virgin, too. She wanted to be the first for me, and vice-versa, but the unspoken rule was that we’d have to marry each other first.
“You don’t work tomorrow night,” she fished. “Do you want to, you know, do something together?”
“How about dinner?”
“No. Let’s try something new.”
“How about going to a…” I tried to think of something else where we could escape quickly if misfortune tried to cut us down. Dance clubs and movie theaters were out…
“Max! Can’t you tell what I’m getting at? I want us to stay in together so we can, you, know, fool around!”
I was taken aback by the sly grin on her face, and the way her mouth had moved like a slow-motion movie screen mouth when she breathed the words “fool around”.
“Stop pretending that you’re shocked,” Terri scolded. “You might be a virgin but it isn’t like you don’t… want things.”
She glanced at the erection her kiss had produced and of course I did want it. I’d wanted it since the sixth grade. But sex — or worse, marriage to get sex — was the ultimate act of intimacy, meaning the possibilities for all that might go wrong were… legion.
“Your place tomorrow night,” she decided, taking the reins. “I have a stuck-up roommate and you don’t. We can just order pizza if you don’t know how to cook.”
The pizzas I’d ordered at school had all been fine, unlike the condom-topped ones delivered to me in Skyline. This whole dating thing made me nervous as hell; still, I couldn’t help smiling when Terri left. Like I said, she was a very cute girl, a petite brunette with shapely legs, a trim waist and nice perky tits. She wore glasses, but in my mind that just made her eyes a little bigger, and that much more delightful. Fooling around with her wouldn’t lead to doing it, but I didn’t mind getting teased hard, and then set free to launch my rocket in private. I was used to it.
Maybe it was that happy bouncy horny feeling inside that kept me from understanding what was happening for a few moments. Shortly after Terri left, I heard all this noise, a growing wave of tinkly crystalline sound, and all of a sudden there were big plastic beach balls bouncing everywhere, bright round colors dancing in front of my face.
“Fuck!” I heard someone shout.
It registered then that the front of a car was moving through the store, knocking over rows of merchandise. Glass was still flying, the balls from an overturned wire cage were still bouncing, and I knew without a doubt that Coyøtl Major was making his move.
“You drove through a fucking plate glass window!” a high school kid shouted from the interior of the car that was now a part of the interior of the store.
“Oh shit! Oh shit!” the driver of the car screamed. “My dad’s gonna kill me!”
I got nicked by a few shards of glass, but I wasn’t really hurt. I called the store manager and the moment he arrived I just walked away, past the blue and red lights of the police cruisers and down the sidewalk.
“Hey, we need a statement from you!” a cop yelled, but I didn’t even slow down. I guess you could say I had faith — faith that they’d have much worse things to deal with.
I heard sirens — not coming after me, but all over the place. By the time I covered the eight blocks home, I’d learned of the train derailment near the school, and the chlorine cloud released into the atmosphere. Fearing for Terri’s safety — and my own — I turned on my computer to check on the chlorine situation and wind direction. Before the monitor could even flicker on, the entire computer began to vibrate wildly on the desk. I dove onto the floor and jerked the plug out of the socket, then quickly crawled away, thinking my desktop was going to literally explode like my very first computer. Instead, it made this crying sound — or howling sound, I’m really not sure which — and then everything became normal.
Except that nothing was normal, because I’d been taken to a website that I’d never typed in, showing on a monitor connected to a computer that wasn’t even plugged in. The hairs on my forearms rose as I warily approached the desk, quickly scanning the contents on the glowing screen. CoyoteTrickster.com — Where Tricks Are Treats! I read, the slanted typeface somehow making my eyes hurt.
I felt chills everywhere, inside and out. Except for where my scar was. The scar on my hip felt like it was burning.
I sat down in the desk chair, staring. There were no graphics, no photos, no flash animation — only the slanted black type on a plain white background. A column titled Most Popular contained alphabetized headings like, Addictions, Body, Career, Control, Disease, Enemies, Family, Fetishes, Finances… My scar burned like crazy when I read the word Fetishes, and again when I skimmed to the end and read the very last heading: Women.
I had this idea that I’d navigate the site, but then I remembered the computer wasn’t even plugged in. Before I could test the keyboard and mouse to see if things worked normally, the screen refreshed itself, this totally dense and indecipherable pattern of overlapping black text now everywhere. I could sort of make out parts of words — it looked like several new pages had opened at the same time, only they were transparent, so most of the letters were intersecting with other letters. I didn’t really try to read what was in front of me — it was impossible — but somehow the letters OMEN stood out, and my scar burned so hot that I jumped out of the chair, dancing around the room like my leg was on fire.
Which it must have been, because the cotton of my jeans and underwear started to smolder in the area of my scar. Screaming, I pulled my pants off as fast as I could and stomped on them. Shortly after, my heart pounding, the temperature of my scar returning to something like normal, I sat down on the floor — as far from the computer as I could get in my small studio space — and tried to understand what was happening, or had happened, or might happen.
Freaky or impossible occurrences did not really surprise me — they had accompanied me through all of my life — but this one felt different. I glanced up at the computer monitor, glowing on my desk like some kind of rectangular devil. I knew that OMEN was really only a fragment of the word Women. Still, I was scared, and perhaps even more scared when I realized that my dick was hard, as in hard like it had never been before. Without my pants on, it was pointing straight at the screen, as if receiving transmissions. I felt this surge of horniness that made me gasp for air, and my dick swelled in front of my eyes, longer and fatter than it had ever been.
“Gaaaah!” I cried, my ass tightening. I watched with a mix of horror and fascination and eye-blinking cum-pressure as my dick suddenly shot a tremendous gob of milky whiteness, which smacked straight at the center of the computer screen. I heard that crying/howling sound again, and then the screen went dark.
This is where I think that what I did is totally different from what you might have done in similar circumstances. Strangely horny despite the geyser-like eruption, my scar and my dick burning sympathetically like two pyromaniacs in on the same caper, I reached over to the shelf where I had all of my toy robots displayed, and picked out my vintage Robbie the Robot, then curled up into a ball on the floor, clutching the little man-machine to my chest the way my mother might clutch a crucifix for protection. I shut my eyes, feeling the coolness of the wood flooring against my shoulder and cheek, and silently prayed that everything I’d witnessed was some sort of chlorine-induced hallucination. In fact, maybe if I just drifted off, the wind would carry the noxious gas here to my room and envelop me, and I could suffocate or choke to death in my sleep, never having to confront the implications of what had just happened.
“Max? Let me in!”
I awakened in the dark on the floor, the side of my face wet with drool. I looked up at the wall clock and it said a few minutes past midnight. “Just a minute!” I shouted back, slipping on my jeans. When I opened the door, Terri stood there under the porch-light with another girl, a blonde knock-out. They were both wearing light jackets over nightgowns, and they were barefoot.
“This is Britney,” Terri said. “Can we stay with you tonight?”
I was totally confused. Britney must be Terri’s stuck-up cheerleader roommate, whom I’d never met. And why would they want to stay with me?
Terri saw my confusion and explained. “They evacuated all the dorms because of the train derailment. They’re afraid another car is leaking and might explode. We weren’t given time to grab anything! No spare clothes, no shoes, no toiletry bag… I don’t even have my wallet!”
“We’re cold,” the cheerleader chattered, hugging her boobs under the jacket.
“So, can we come in?” Terri asked.
“Sure, sure,” I responded, stepping aside. My eyes lowered as Britney passed, scanning what I could see of her body. Christ, no wonder she was stuck-up.
“Were you already asleep?” Terri asked, glancing around the darkened room. She had never been inside my apartment before.
I turned on a floor lamp, lighting the small space. “Not really. I was just…”
“Wow! Look at all the robots!” Britney exclaimed.
I felt a sense of pride at my collection and was about to point out some of my best pieces when her eyes went quizzical. I thought she must have noticed my scorched underwear lying on the floor.
“What on earth happened to your computer?” she asked instead, leaning over to stare at it. The muscles in her legs flexed and I noted how far the front of her jacket was being pushed by the contents within. This girl had tits.
I tried to brainstorm an explanation for my computer monitor being covered with spunk, but then I saw how the cum had sagged and dried into a pattern, the exact same pattern as my scar, only rightside-up.
“It looks like a wolf’s head,” Britney observed, and at that moment the dark screen flashed brightly, almost attacking her with light. She jumped back and slipped, falling to the floor and crushing my rare Robbie the Robot with her buns of steel.
The next several minutes were a jumble of cramped strangeness. Terri helped Britney to her feet, and Britney kept staring at the remnants of Robbie, but with this weird hunger in her eyes. I got the two girls some diet-soda and we tried to figure out sleeping arrangements in a space that wasn’t designed for this many visitors. Because my apartment was so tiny, I’d built a loft bed in a corner of the room, with dressers and a wardrobe down below. It was agreed that Terri and I would sleep together up top — sleep as in sleep, not “sleep” as in become non-virginal — while Britney would spend the night on a makeshift bed on the floor.
I slipped on a pair of boxers in the bathroom — did they make fire-resistant underwear? — then climbed up the ladder to my bed. Terri sat cross-legged on the sheets, looking so sexy in her short nightgown. Her hair was down in a way I’d never seen, and she’d removed her glasses.
“Aren’t you going to turn your computer off?” she asked, leaning back on her arms, striking a seductive pose.
“No!” This from Britney. I looked down just as she removed the jacket that had obscured the details of her upper body. Her breasts were backlit by bluish computer light and I couldn’t believe how far they thrust out under her semi-sheer nightgown. “Leave the computer on,” she insisted. “It’s like a nightlight. It’s… illuminating.”
I looked at the demon monitor and its gooey-flaky coyote face. I’d never turned it on in the first place — it wasn’t even plugged in — and doubted I’d be able to extinguish its glow if it didn’t want that. And had it changed its position, angling down to keep its cum-painted eyes on the buxom Britney?
I felt Terri’s hand rest upon my bare knee, lightly massaging the muscles there. “You’re such a sweetie to let us crash here,” she whispered.
It was a simple comment and a simple touch, but I had a reeeaaallly bad feeling about all of this. The signs of a cosmic set-up were everywhere, with far too many elements in play at the same time. I kept thinking we might stand a better chance dealing with the chlorine cloud.
“You’re tense,” Terri whispered, her hand roaming up my thigh. Her other hand touched her throat, her elbow brushing a breast and making it wiggle under the nightgown. “You need someone to help you relieve your stress, Max.”
“Um,” I answered, surprised by the intimacy of her touch. I was rock hard, and somehow my dick didn’t feel right. It felt big, as in biiiiig.
“How lucky are we that a train would derail tonight?” she breathed, her expression half-there. “I didn’t know if I could wait until tomorrow night to fool around. And now…”
“Terri,” I cautioned. “We really shouldn’t. Britney is right there below and…”
“Stop being afraid,” she cut me off. “We aren’t virgins because we lose our heads easily, are we?”
I was going to answer, but it occurred to me that the soft pattern of bluish light and dark shadow on the wall behind Terri’s right shoulder was actually a giant eye formed by my backlit cum down below. The computer was acting like an electronic Jack-o-lantern, softly illuminating the entire apartment with coyoteness. In fact, all I could see of Terri — her fine lips and bright eyes, the contours of her pert breasts molding the front of her flimsy nightgown, and even the glistening highlights on her uncovered pussy, were all made possible by the soft light of…
Whoa! I did a double-take, my dick twitching the confirmation.
“I wondered how long it would take you to notice,” Terri purred. Her hand traveled up my thigh, slipping under the side of my shorts and three, two, one… Contact. My cock felt unnaturally hot as she seized it in her palm. “Oh God, Max! You feel… so warm and… so big…”
Too big — I could feel it by the way her hand didn’t cover enough territory. By the soft glow of my haunted computer, I watched Terri’s face twist. Contact with my dick seemed to be rearranging her resolve, or her thoughts, or… God knows what. All I knew was that her sweet features lost their sweetness, because how could they look sweet when they became so predatory?
“Terri? I think you might…”
If she even heard me I couldn’t tell. She leaned forward, her soft hair brushing my thighs, and then she leaned further. Without ever letting go of my dick, she eased my boxers out of her way.
“Oh Maaaaaax,” she sighed, just before opening wide to place the head of my dick inside her mouth.
I didn’t know what to do. You have to remember that this wasn’t only my first blowjob — it was my first anything, and it was happening to a dick that didn’t feel right, with a girl who shouldn’t be doing this and undoubtedly wouldn’t be doing this if not for… whatever.
“Terri? Um… Terri?”
She lifted her head, her lips full and wet, and I almost screamed. My cock felt wrong because it really was wrong. It had been plumped and given an extension, and… Had I always had those little tufts of brownish grey fur leading down from my navel?
“God, you’re beautiful,” Terri whispered, her free hand brushing the incongruous animal hairs. Didn’t she know that a human being wasn’t supposed to have those?
“Um, Terri — I think we have a problem…”
“It’s okay, Max,” she said, her voice dreamy. “As long as your cock doesn't go inside I’ll stay a virgin.”
She didn't strike me as particularly virginal when she lowered her head again, her lips drawing me back in. A part of me — the dick part — wanted her to suck me off big-time, but my mind raced, fearing the worst. Was I still me? And was this still Terri, or had she been taken over by… something? And if she did suck me off, what if I came like I had earlier on the floor, but even worse? Would my cum blow a hole through the back of her head?
Terri gave me just enough dabs and swirly licks to make it clear that there was no turning back — the lust-train had left the station and it wasn’t going to stop. I gasped, shivered, and then she slipped me out of her mouth, this devilish twinkle in her eyes. “Do you have any cucumbers?” she asked.
Total misfire. “Cucumbers? Um, no.”
“Bananas?”
“Terri, what…”
“Damn. How about a plastic bottle? Didn’t I see you still had that plastic diet coke bottle in your fridge?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Pulling her nightgown over her head, she climbed down the ladder stark naked. I rolled over to the edge of the bed, watching her pad her way to my small refrigerator. Terri had a lovely tight body, and I would have kept staring at it if I hadn’t noticed that Britney was similarly naked down below. I say similarly because, though Britney was completely naked just like Terri, the effect was altogether different. Years of jumping and cheering had honed Britney’s body to peak athletic form, and her rack was nothing less than breathtaking. Lying on her back, her legs spread wide, the glow of the computer illumined every dazzling contour of her hard body. Her arms were straight and extended, the insides of her biceps both harnessing and compressing her huge tits.
I groaned out loud as I realized that her hands converged between her legs because she was furiously playing with herself. As her fingers plunged in and out of her pussy, her boobs surged from the movement, the kind of wobbling I’d remember my whole life. But wait — I could see both of her hands, it was some kind of object actually going inside. I caught a glimpse of glistening gold color and tiny metallic feet. Fuck! She was stuffing my favorite C-3P0 figurine into her cunt!
Terri didn’t pay any attention to her roommate’s action-figure fucking as she returned to the bed, bottle in hand. “Where were we?” she asked, and it was a rhetorical question, because her mouth went right back to my dick.
I thought that Terri was quite good at giving head, but then what did I know? She was definitely enthusiastic, and big as I was I didn’t understand how she could stuff inch after inch inside her mouth. The sensations were unbelievable, and it didn’t dampen my excitement to hear Britney hyperventilating down below, her pussy obviously giving the gold-colored figurine the lube-job of a lifetime.
Terri started to cry even louder cries than Britney’s, despite her mouth being full of my meat. She was on all fours over top of me, except that one of her arms had lifted and it looked like she’d managed to insert the top of the plastic bottle up her pussy. I heard the brown liquid sloshing and fizzing, and wondered how much stimulation was coming from the bottle itself, and how much was due to the tickly Co2 bubbles. She twisted the bottle in back and forth circles, her tits jiggling over my belly, her mouth running up and down the old and new inches of my dick. I felt my balls swelling, and knew I was just seconds from blast-off.
Terri came right before I did. Her body went stiff but her mouth became spastic, and she screamed right into my cock. It was too much, and I felt the cum coming, and then it came. Her eyes went wide as my seed poured into her, her adorable cheeks puffing up, and puffing up more, and… Holy shit…
She let go of my cock with a quick movement of her entire upper body, throwing her head back and blowing my cum up towards the ceiling like a fountain. She seemed to be spitting it out, but it was more theatrical than it needed to be, her lips puckering and sputter-blowing in the manner of a trumpet player hitting and sustaining a high note. The cum that had inflated her cheeks flew out in aerosol form, riding currents of air that I wouldn’t have known existed in my apartment, seeming to travel everywhere.
Terri fell sideways — onto the mattress, not off the bed, thank God — the bottle still sticking out of her pussy. I looked down to check on Britney’s condition and was shocked to see her standing at the window near the shelf of robot figures. She had thrown the window open for some reason, and I could see thousands of teenie-weenie cum particles swirling their way out into the night. Britney looked like she was wishing each tiny cum-droplet a bon voyage as they exited the studio, shooing them lovingly past her face, her mouth open with her tongue working to catch any sperm-bits that might come her way.
From my perspective overhead her tits looked incredible. Her nipples were amazingly full, far bigger than anything I’d seen gracing the breasts of any internet models. I gazed upon the shapes of her boobs, absolutely entranced, and didn’t notice for several seconds that the focus of her eyes had shifted. She was staring, point-blank, at me. Something about her all-American cheerleader features turned feral, or wild in some way that I‘d never seen before. Before I could even be afraid she was up the ladder, her athletic body not only beautiful but cat-quick.
All I could think with her right there was: “Fuckin’ Cheerleader Tits!” I didn’t know if she had ever come while going C-3P0 on herself below — whether she had or hadn’t, I was eager to…
“What’s that?” she suddenly asked, her eyes focused.
I thought she had noticed the disturbing tufts of fur above my dick, but instead she leaned in close to inspect my scar.
“I need it!” she screamed, just before her tongue started to attack the smooth patch of skin.
My scar burned hot as she tongued it. The intensity of her lust for my scar was unsettling, but it placed her above me, big boobs hanging down. I nudged Terri’s inert form aside and pivoted beneath Britney on my butt, managing to get my mouth near her huge dangling breasts. I felt saliva form in my mouth, just anticipating the feeling and taste of one of those big nipples. I closed my eyes and craned my neck upwards, bumped into something metallic…
Metallic? I opened my eyes, and in up-close fuzziness saw the silver form of Gort, the robot from "The Day The Earth Stood Still", pressing deep into the voluminous flesh of Britney’s left breast. His legs firmly in her grip, she was using his head and back to move her boob around. The Gort-breast plopped against her other boob, which was similarly being prodded and stimulated by my collector’s edition Data figurine.
“Oh God, oh yes!” she cried, her mouth momentarily releasing its grip on my scar. “Hardbodies! Hardbodies! Oh Gort! Oh Data! Oh do me, do me, do me!”
She manipulated the figurines so their faces were “licking” her tits — the very thing I wanted to do in the very place where I wanted to be — and she began to scream in earnest, her hips gyrating, the loft bed shaking. Her nipples were oozing this fluid… Were the robots making her bleed? No, no, it wasn’t red, it was… milk. Milk?
“Ahhh!” she cried. "Drink me Data! Drink… me… G…Gor…”
Her ecstasy prevented her from completing that last plea, so I promptly inserted the name “Max” for “Gort”, interpreting her needs the way I wanted them interpreted. I pushed Gort away from her boob with my forehead and locked my lips on her nipple, my whole mouth immediately bathed in frothing whiteness.
My scar felt unnaturally hot like it might catch fire again, but I didn’t let go. I sucked and kneaded, and sucked more, sweet warmth easing down my throat. Somewhere above me Britney was screaming and pleading, and I felt my shoulder getting wet, her other boob leaking all over the place. Her boobs started to rock against my face — I mean they really rocked, like she was being fucked like crazy up there, her whole body surging forward and back. I let go of her tit to check what was happening, and could see Gort’s silver shape disappearing into her pussy, then out, then back in…
“Oh Gort, oh Gort, OhmyfuckingGort!” she screamed, coming and spraying milk all over me.
I felt it bathing my face, dripping down my neck, and then quickly moving down my torso, eventually making a tiny lake of my belly-button, and saturating the tufts of fur leading to my dick. My eyes blinking through a curtain of dripping milk, I saw Britney crawling away to straddle me backwards, stuffing her cunt with milk-soaked meat. She rode me fast, arching her back so that her boobs pointed at the ceiling. They sprayed and squirted, her white liquid turning to mist like my cum had before, swirls of milk descending down from the bed, and probably — no, definitely — heading out the open window.
And then my balls swelled, and my ass clenched, and I exploded into Britney, filling her like she was filling the air, two out of control fountains in the grip of something beyond us, something using us. The last thing I remember seeing were the two curving shapes of Britney’s spraying boobs, with the fuzzy shadow-eye of the coyote there on the wall, neatly framed between them. And then I passed out.