Jimmy’s Gestalt Ecstasy
The press of life had become too much, and Shay, a hard working lass of deep dark beauty, needed to get out and away. Yes, an impromptu holiday was definitely in order. She thought long and hard about heading to the tropics for some sun, surf, and salsa, dressed the whole time in only the bare strings of a microscopic bikini, just sailing on rum and coke, and hopefully running aground against a charming, hard bodied native, or two, or three, whatever, but though that was a nice diversion, she had been there and done that many times before.
No, time for something different. Something new. Something wild and dangerous…
A letter in the post told her; no, demanded her course of action.
She done the City Of Lights, and went in-Seine. She had ravaged Sin City, and you wouldn’t believe the stories they told of her there. Hell, she was on the travel brochure. She sambaed Carnival so hard her hips ached for a month afterward, and was buried under a mountain of beads at Marti Gras, and eaten The Big Apple core and all. So where could she go that would thrill her like no other place on Earth…
Only one place… There was only one…
But she had avoid going there, because it scared her as well…
Lost Peaks is not for the timid…
Doomtown. Bloody Creeks. The Big Nugget. Lost Peaks.
The mythic City of the Damned…
Lost Peaks…
It made her shudder with both excitement and terror, but this time she was going to do it. She had booked her flight, and amazingly she was blessed with a suite at The Source Casino, Spa, and Hotel, not to mention the internationally famous Venue and Nightclub. She had booked it three years ago. Actually she had entered a lottery to be booked. You see, there was a very long waiting list to stay anywhere on Spike Island, but at The Source it was almost impossible to find a berth unless you knew someone or are someone. Shay, for all her supernal beauty was no celebrity, and nor did she want to be. She valued her privacy too much to be hounded by a pack of ravenously idiotic paparazzi.
But then she received a letter in the ol’ snail mail. An night black, embossed letter, all decked out in gold leaf filigree. Inside in flowing script, it read:
Sweet Shay, you have won The Source Casino, Spa, and Hotel’s grand sweepstakes, entitling you to a week’s stay at The Source, with all services provided complementary.
Also inside was a number to call that gave her a direct line to immediate booking.
Shay had never dreamed she’d win such a prize, but she had, and now she was almost forced to visit the biggest, baddest, most dangerous City on the planet, but this was an opportunity she couldn’t never pass up no matter how much it scared her.
They say as long as you stay in the tourist zones of Lost Peaks you were safe, but stay away from the back streets, and never go into The Deeps. But Shay had never been one to follow the rules, and as she knew this aspect of her constitution all too well, she feared what her impetuousness would cost her in a City like lusty, lascivious, but oh so lethal Lost Peaks. One false step, and Sweet Shay would be just another statistic, or worse… Lost Peaks had habit of swallowing people whole; never to be seen again, and She had a ravenous appetite.
As Shay’s flight angled in for final approach to the Auric International Airport on The Golden Isle north of Spike Island, she was almost vibrating with trepidatious anticipation. She could see why the Great Valley of Lost Peaks was such a massive tourist draw. It was absolutely gorgeous. To call it a scenic wonder was to do the Valley a vast disservice. The Valley Caldera was ringed by jagged mountainous teeth, dominated by The Great Eight Peaks, most notably the volcanic glowing rim of brooding Flame Peak to the very south of the Valley.
She could see Spike Island to the south as well, piercing up through the center of the voluptuous shape of Hourglass Lake, and the beacon light of Shard Spire at the pinnacle peak of the island. The titanic City of Lost Peaks surrounded the edges of the lake, as well as the shores of all three islands in the lake, and filled the Valley, and adjacent canyons to bursting with soaring high-rise skyscrapers, and architecture so brilliant and amazing that every great structure could be considered a manmade wonder of the world.
She’d made it! Then she shivered, she was in Lost Peaks. For better or for worse…
She was whisked by hydrofoil shuttle ferry across the surface of Hourglass Lake to the closest entrance of The Source. The resort took up the majority of the island, and suites and attractions honeycombed the thrusting, dormant volcanic peak that was Spike Island. All other casinos and establishments only leased property from Source Inc. Shay’s breath was taken from her as she found herself holding her respiration as the blazing lights of Lost Peaks twinkled on as Spike Island continued to approach ever closer in the dying red-gold light of the sharp shadowed dusk.
She was already dressed to party. If nothing else, Lost Peaks was a party town! In fact, the City was one colossal party, A very, very, very hardcore party. The kind you need all kinds of protection to attend. Shay had taken flight wearing only a little black crop top that had a gold foil print on it that simply said “HEY!,” and a hot red, very flirty, pleated microskirt. She considered dispensing with her panties, but it was a very short skirt after all, and modesty still held some sway for Shay outside the Valley confines. So she chose a miniscule g-string of a delicate golden weave that sparkled when the light hit it. It would call attention to her pink bits, but she was okay with that. Anyway, gold was Lost Peaks official color. Maybe later she would go commando. She’d feel it out. On her feet she wore high heeled sandals, crusted in rhinestones, that were just too bling-bling glitzy for words, but Lost Paeks was all about the glitz and glam, so she was nowhere near over the top. Lastly, she artfully adorned herself in sparking jewelry. She wanted to get noticed. What fun is it to not strap on the dog and splash the town red? Especially in a burg like Doomtown. Her final touch was a black collar with golden steel spike wrapped around her neck, just to give minor notice to all of her kinky bent.
She decided to go a little Goth in her make up, in a graphic juxtaposition of light and dark, with a milky base, and black lipstick and mascara, as well as nails. Her shiny, wavy jet locks cascaded like twin falls of black gold to brush the alabaster crest of her shoulders as she strutted off the shuttle ferry like a dark and leering goddess, heading straight toward the grand northern entrance to The Source!
All the wealth of ages flowed out of the Great Valley, and everywhere Shay looked that exorbitance was in evidence, but no where was it more so than as she passed through the gates of The Source. The fabled riches of crumpled empires of past ages paled in comparison to the luxury she now beheld. From the moment she disembarked her transport there were functionaries attending to her every need, and suggesting more activities than she would never have thought of on her own.
She was ushered into her suite by a handsome bellhop, who waved of her attempt to tip him. Everything was taken care of. She need want for nothing. The suite made royal palaces seem shabby and infinitely jealous. She was in the belly of the Beast, and she was feeling just fine. In point of fact, she was loving it.
The sun had been heading into the jaws of the west as her plane landed, and by the time she was situated at The Source, it was well into the night, and that was when the City cranked it up to eleven. She breezed down to the casino floor, but as she was exiting the lift, a concierge waylaid her, and handed her a hard black plastic card with the initials J. O. E. emblazoned on the face in shining gold chrome.
“Take this, Mistress. It will get you into anywhere on the Island gratis, not to mention most places in the City. Careful not to loose it. It doubles as a tracking device, and a mobile. Each function may come in very handy in this City. I suggest you find your way down to the Club. The first act of the night’s scheduled entertainment is just taking the stage. You don’t want to miss the Master of House, now do you?”
Shay shook her head no, and the concierge nodded with a knowing look, and pointed her in the direction of the Venue. Shay found that all she had to do was flash her little black card, and doors opened for her and crowds parted. She might as well have been a celebrity, but without all the annoyance of flashing bulbs, and the crushing press of fans.
As she passed the soaring golden doors of the Venue portal, she entered the heart of The Source where music pulsed and beat 24/7, and the ecstatic revelry never ended. The place was a vast cavernous chamber bigger than a stadium by at least twice. Gleaming gold, crystal, and marble encased the surfaces of everything, and their colors shifted and merged in a miasmic orgasm of light play. The crystalline ceiling curved high above the teaming floor of the Venue, and great hanging balconies ringed the ceiling, supplying even more party space than just the broad encircling terraces of the central floor. At the far end of the Club was a massive stage crowned an almost obscenely ornate, hundred foot tall proscenium arch. The entire stage was at least a hundred yards wide, but every bit of it was used for the spectacle of set pieces, lights, and effects. Above the arch was a huge projection screen displaying what was taking place upon stage, as well as other screens to the sides showing many other camera angles; these screens constantly flickered and shifted with different media images and effects in time with the rhythm of the infectious music. Light pulsed and flashed with the thunder of the beat, and the mob inside the Venue hedonistically writhed and shook with the rapturous vibrations of being alive just one moment longer.
Water fell and pooled from any sources and many of the crowd splashed, played, and fucked in the heralded healing waters of The Source’s famous Spa. In fact, water seemed an integral part of the design of the Venue, as light painted fountains seem to sprout from everywhere, created baths in which to lounging and revel. The air was humid, almost feted, but shuddering invigorating.
The main central dance floor, a great crystal circular expanse, revealed beneath it the main pools of the Spa proper below, and hung suspended as a great glass disc before the raised main stage. Below the ten foot lip of the stage, and the security perimeter inhabited by hulked, grim faced brutes, was an orgy of sweat and hormones as the party raged and raved. Bodies of the beautiful people were fully on exhibit, and many wore only fluorescent body paint, if even that, wearing just the ubiquitous, pliable glow sticks, curling up and down body parts so that they jittered and trailed light streams throughout the coursing mass of the shadowy throng. In a way, Shay felt almost overdressed, but others here and there were dressed more conservatively, so she felt like she was still in step with the group.
Up on the stage, was the great George Clinton fronting the fabulous and freaky Parliament Funkadelic! The bass pounded out into the mob of celebrants like primal urge to mate as “Bop Gun’s” quaking beat shot up each and everyone in the audience with a pure, raw hit of uncut funk to the main vein of the brain! And the mob went crazy on the high of it all, as well as many other recreational substances.
Shay had never seen the like, and was sure she never would again. This was Lost Peaks, and nowhere else could close, and The Source was center of all of Lost Peaks. The place where everybody who was anybody wanted to be, and be seen. The paradisiacal, paradoxical dreamscape at the dark core of the lurking nightmare that was Doomtown.
Shay glided into the Venue as if wings had sprung from her back, and let the galactic groove take her. Normally this kind of musical flava’ was not her bag, but in the midst of the funk fidelity, she could not help but let it invade her soul, like a fantastic retrovirus that rewrote her DNA spiral from end to end, transforming her into a new, and vibrant creature that shook and swayed her over-stimulated body to the roaring rhythm, grinding her swiveling hips and shimmying her pretty titties to a maximum effect. As the music possessed her mind and body, it guided her to perform actions and motions she never believed she was capable of achieving. She had always had the gift of lithe athleticism, and innate rhythm, but upon the night in The City of the Damned, she seemed to enter a fugue state of wild abandon that Iberian Gypsies call the Duede, where a performer becomes one with the music, as if they are a wave and spark on an electric current, part of the very vibe of the cosmos.
Shay danced and danced, and others in the crowd seemed to sense she was beyond them, in the erogenous beauty of her motion, and an unspoken circle pulled back and formed a static perimeter around her, as eyes watched with awe and ardor at the libidinous marvel she had become right before their eyes. Time seem to slow for her, as she felt the ripples of the notes in meter writing the dance upon her soul. Hands and eyes reached out for her, praising her for the orgasmic goddess of divinity she had become. Erotic heat pulsed in blasting waves from her sexuality like the core furnace of a star’s reactor, and all who saw her felt it and were burned by it’s intensity, yet desired to be consumed by it.
As George and P-Funk launched into “One Nation Under A Groove,” Shay was in a daze, her mind almost wiped blank of anything but the music. Suddenly, there stood a man stood behind her, emerging from the raucous mob like wraith, enigmatic and singular. He stood majestic and iconic, the essence of cool and aplomb, draped all in shimmering black of a double-breasted suit, silk shirt and tie, wingtips, and fedora. His eyes were concealed by shades even in that dim, strobing environment. Much of his face was hidden under the down turned brim of his hat, but the sparkling radiance of his infectious grin shown plain in the flashing lights. The crowd looked at him and howled a cheer in a new wave of ecstasy, but Shay did not hear it or see the man, so lost was she in the current of the groove. He circled her, watching intently, his movement utterly graceful and confident. Shay danced on unaware that anyone had entered the circle with her, then as if sensing some inaudible signale, the man entered the dance with her, but never intending to touch Shay, just moving with her like he was just another part her being, separate, but connected, still circling so close, but just beyond a physical merging, only together in the synchronicity of the music.
George and the gang, cut short suddenly as they broke out of the last song, and there was only the tick of high-hat to mark the time of the next jam. This jolt shook Shay momentarily from her trance, to find the tall figure standing calmly before her. In the dim light she could only make out the amused smile on his face, as once again P-Funk punched the atmosphere with “Give Up The Funk (Tear The Roof Off The Sucker,)” and the man without warning took her in his arms, and spun her, into a deep dip, snatching her breath away. Of a sudden, they were both moving together perfectly in synch to the driving rhythm, and just as suddenly they seemed to be alone in the Duende of the universal spark of the music. Only they two and the music existed in that realm apart, moving in sublime harmony; Shay and this unknown male of power and precision. His smile never wavered, as if he knew something no else knew and never would. Shay wondered if his eyes would reflect the what his smile spoke to her, but they remain hidden behind the darkly obscuring lens of his shining black shades, leaving her to see only reflection of her yearning face blinking in and out with the flaring lights, and whirling blur of the faceless mob. Their primeval dance was sultry, feral, and at times almost brutally savage is it’s desire, with hips locked, bodies now merging intimately, hands seeking, and caressing, limbs sliding across each other, through spins, dips, twists, flips, and other contorting acrobatics, of which all displayed shay’s flying form in magnificent motion tesifying of her stunning fecundity; all of their conjoined movement blazed a burning effigy of unbridled longing for carnal congress.
Nothing else seemed to mattered. Nothing.
In a close clutch together, her left leg up and wrapping his hip, his right hand at the top of the crack of her derriere, her left hand at the back of his neck, fingers in his hair, their other opposite hands clasped tight together next to their locked bodies, his lips brushed hers, and continued to her right ear, and murmured what only she could ever hear.
“You’re magic! This City needs more of what you’ve got, baby.”
Then he whipped her out into a whirling spin, and let her go as the song finished, and just as suddenly as he appeared, the man, like a wisp of opium smoke, vanished into the seething press of the mob, which seemed to roar in joy or perhaps rage, at the ending of the dazzling dance. Shay came out her spin, her face flushed, but smiling in the joy of her motion, only to find him gone. Gasping for breath in dismay, her exhaustion abruptly caught up with her, and as she searched the faces of the crowd around her for the man that had so recently been pressed into her flesh, the world spun dizzily, and she swooned, and knew no more.
Distantly she felt hands on her, many hands, rubbing, caressing, kneading, exploring…everywhere. And yet, even though she consented to none of the attentions, she was lost in the sensations, lost in the lingering malaise of the Duende, and utterly submitted to the invasions of unknown fingers upon her body’s charms. Lights swirled and the beat drove on, and the hands searched further and deeper, and unwarranted her rapture built higher and higher. Then the hands were gone, as if cut off by a guillotine, and she felt herself lift up, and float away into nothingness, with only slightly frustration at being interrupted in reaching the fruition of her loins need. And the beat drove on… Pounding and pounding like the thump of the heart of the world! Like the insistent pulse of creation! Like the Hammer of God forging a new and everlasting Word!
And inside Sweet Shay, her need grew, even in her semiconscious state, and the wetness of her dream state envisioned the Man in all his majestic mystery and potent power, dominating her subconscious, like a tantric juggernaut, ever gaining speed and momentum, a virile embodiment of all thing masculine. The yang to her yin, and yin to her yang, both fulfilling the yen of her Zen. Her senses filled with his memory, and a fire lit by the Duende conflagrated exponentially inside her until the craving fairly screamed her desire. And in the center of that furnace of need was his grin burning like a sun, a special brand of magnetic Mojo all his alone.
Like a cloud of overwhelming narcotic particulates, in a sweet embrace of living death she came to rest upon some unknown bier just short of the River Styx, with Charon beckoning for his coins for passage on his boat of bones, but the smoke and mist cleared, and she found herself alone on a plush couch in a ready room, lit by a single lamp, whose body was shaped into the form of a water nymph holding crystal ball of fire, burning from the filament within. The room lay just off the right wing of the stage. The door to the room was open and she could see, from her relative darkness, George and P-Funk performing “Flash Light.” Shay was still confused as to what exactly happen. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought she had been drugged, but she hadn’t drunk or consumed anything, and she was now clear as a crystal bell. Not a trace of fuzziness or blur. She was mystified.
She checked herself over, and found everything was in apparent order. Even the black JOE card was with her. With the exception that her pussy was gushing in a decidedly amorous and anticipating frustration, she felt in fine working form, if just a bit tired, but dancing madly for close to an hour will do that to a girl. Her fingers brushed across the fabric of her g-string, over the lips of her vulva, and lingered on her clit. Idly she stroked it, and quivered at her own welcome touch. She pondered whether she should bring herself to climax right there. She certainly felt like a good hard cum, but she was close to crying out to be fill with a hot piece of thrusting meat.
If had not been for the grin still burning like a beacon in her mind, she would have found the first cock to pass her, torn off the intervening clothes, and jumped the one eyed little soldier, and rode it all the way to glory. But that grin transfixed her the couch, as she caressed her pearl idly; she even pondered musingly about running out on stage and pouncing on a surprised old George and fucking his funky ass out into the Galactic Groove and beyond! That aught to pleased the crowd not to mention the Funkmaster himself. The bump of George’s and his funktastic pack was still moving her and her fingers couldn’t seem to stop themselves as they burrowed more insistently into juice slick cleft.
Yet that blast grin remained, exciting her even further the more she dwelled upon it, and suddenly her fingers were frenetic blur upon her sex as she strove towards a zenith titillation. She became so frantic about her endeavor that her foot accidentally knocked the lamp off the table near the end of the couch.
The light went out, and she continued her effort, when a silhouette appeared in the doorway, and stopped watching her with curious intent, as her shadowy form writhed in the very murky cast light. Shay was too far gone to care who saw, so she closed her eyes to block out whoever it was, but then the shadowed figure approached her, and put his hand on her in shocking surprising to her sensibilities. Her eyes flew open, and stared in a heady mix of lust, anger, and fright at the looming shadow above her, thus effectively stopping her just before she tumbled over the edge of the climactic abyss.
How dare he! It was obviously a man. She struck out blindly at the offender, the fucker who had interrupted the culmination of her body’s thought-stripping passion. She fought like cornered wolverine, kicking, punching, and scratching randomly into the darkness.
“You fucker! Go the fuck away! Shit! Get away from me!”
The man seemed not to notice her struggling, but said.
“Stop fight-!”
“Fuck you, asshole!”
“Wait a minute!”
“Eat me, you shitstain!”
“Oh to hell with this.” He growl in the darkness.
Suddenly, and with ease, despite her struggling and cursing, he threw her over his shoulder even as she screamed protests and vainly fought against him in the darkness of the ready room. Even though she was kicking and scratching, she was little more than a child compared to his iron thews. As he carried her out of the ready room, and in behind the curtains of the wings, where she continued to she screeched at him, and called out for help, but nobody seemed to be about, let alone able to hear her above the thunder of the funk.
In the darkness, she could see very little, and certainly not her abductor. Suddenly she felt herself being carried up a flight of stage stairs, up into the floating platforms of the rigging. She was pissed, and she was scared, but most of all she was so horny she was even tempted to make herself cum while flung over the shoulder of the asshole idiot that had ruined her crushing orgasm through which heavenly gates she knew she had almost passed. But she couldn’t get her hand into the right position, with his shoulder pressing into her saturated groin, only stimulating her slightly, but not enough but to frustrate her even more. He was holding one of her arms and both her legs in a fireman’s carry, while she beat futile against his broad muscled back and flailed her calves, cursing vociferously at her kidnapper.
“Let me go, you miserable fuck! Put me down, or I’ll scratch your bloody eyes out! You big fuckin’ piece of shit! Goddamn it, get your hands off me, you cocksucking bastard!” and on it went as they climbed ever higher in the relative darkness of the stage rigging in the wings.
She was still yowling at him as they reach a platform about fifty feet above the stage. He reach up quickly and gave her a sharp, hard slap on her bare and exposed ass, and rumbled in a grating tone.
“Hush.”
Shay yelped, but instead of quieting her, the spank only inflamed her loins more. She actually felt herself want him to do again, and then again, and again until she came.
“That’s it, you ballwashin’ fuckass, I’m gonna’ kill you for that!”
Then came another hard slap.
“I said hush.”
This time Shay bite her lip, but did not yelp, and shot back.
“Fuck you!”
This time he really gave her a swat, and the pain shot right to her burning pussy, and she almost came. Almost! Damn it!
“Hush now, or I swear, you won’t be sitting for a week when I’m through,” He growled.
They were now in the center of the stage, high above the performing P-Funk, but though she could hear the band, she could not see them below, as there was a huge floating set piece hanging in the rafters. Shay could not tell what it was, as the darkness was encroaching up above the lights. The grated catwalk down stage opened onto a platform positioned atop the set piece. There was a bell-shaped cage built into the platform made of golden polished chrome, very much like a gogo cage you might see in any club. He stepped onto the platform, just about the time he gave that last slap, and she threw a frenzied tantrum upon his back.
“Fucking kill you, you fuckin’ fuck!” then her voice became unintelligible as she thrashed about in her rage and sexual frustration.
Suddenly, in seeming exasperation, he slung her off his back, and slammed her front into the cage grill, knock a bit of the breath out of her. She still could not see much in the dim light, and his impatient words rasped right in her ear.
“Dammit! I did want to do it this way! Now just relax, and let me-.”
Shay face was pressed against the grill, and She could not move an inch as he pressed up against her, and held her still. P-Funk was booming “Up For The Down Stroke” fifty feet below, and she knew she was about to be raped by some fucking pervert, and still she’d never been so turned on in her whole life! She was infuriated! At this fucker, at Lost Peaks, for being just what she feared it would be, but mostly at herself, not for getting herself into this spot, but for not being able to stem the flow of her juices dripping down her legs, for not being able to quiet the insidious yearning, the rabid desire, the bloody fucking lust burning inside her cunt, screaming for her to be fucked and fucked hard. Shay raged and moaned, as the music drove her heat, and an enigmatic grin shone in the blackness of the back of her mind, even as she trembled in terror and overriding need at her impending defilement She spat at her own words at him, cutting him off.
“Fuck off! I know what the fuck you want! Well, fuckin’ get it over with you, God damn you, you sick fuckin’ shit. Just do it! Fuck me! Fuck me, but you better fuckin’ kill me, ‘cause I’m gonna’ kill you if you don’t!”
He just chuckled. She blinked. It was not a evil laugh. It was amused and rueful. He let up his pressure on her just a little. His lips were right at her ears, and gently rumbled in a deep baritone.
“I didn’t come here to rape you, you silly girl. You’re beautiful, gorgeous, and perfect! Just right for this gig, but, my oh my, you’re a crazy wild hellcat! A real pistol. Like I said before, tiny dancer, you’re magic, and this City needs more just like you!”
Her eyes went wide and all the fighting tension went out of her body, leaving only the ravenous need practically tearing her insides out in her desperation to cum harder than she ever had before! It was him! The Man! Her knees nearly buckled in mixed relief and yearning. A trembling moan broke her lips as she pleaded in a quivering sigh.
“Oh God, fuck me! Fuck me, please! I need it so bad!”
She could hear his breath quicken, and he pressed his body against her, again pinning her to the cage grill, but there was a change in how he did it now. It was no longer brutally aggressive, just insistent. She could feel the substantial hardness swelling in the front of his hips. He merely leaned against her, and she was no longer mashed against the grill. His right hand stroked down her belly, and cupped it, as he cupped and gently squeezed her right breast with his left. His right hand crept under waistband of her skirt, into her panties to caress the mons of her quivering vulva, and teasing the bud between her soaked slit. She heard him take in a deep breath of her scent as he nuzzled her hair, then he wumbled in her ear so soft and very friendly.
“Normally, I’m not so susceptible to flights of fancy like this, but you’ve moved right in and made me want you more than I’ve wanted a girl in a long time, love. So… You’ve got me where you want me… How do you like it? Gentle and soft or hard and rough?”
“I don’t care! I just need it so bad! Please!”
“Hard it is then.”
He said in almost a growl, then he tore off her spiked collar, and burying his lips in the crook of her neck, and held her still with his teeth, his tongue stoking the rising bit of her neck flesh that the pinch of his slight bite brought into his mouth, while he kicked her legs wide, and his hand came off her aching pussy as he undid his fly, retrieving his impressive, fully turgid manhood. Then flipping up the back of her short little skirt, while pushing up her top to uncover her breasts and hard little nipples, she felt him pull aside her tiny g-string, and steadied her in position. He placed his phallic corona to her moist and trembling inner labia, right at the leaking entrance to her clutching love canal, then in one swift, smooth thrust, he buried his sexual sword deep, right next to her twitching cervix, in the silky pudendal pocket between her g-spot and the opening to her womb, filling her sex-straved pussy completely. Shay gasped in spite of herself, being filled so suddenly and resoundingly, and with that vacancy full she came quickly and finally, not mention hard and long. As she crescendoed, his fingers simply pressed on her clit, in a slow rotation, while his left arm held her to him, massaging her right tit, and gently pinching her nipple, as her body went completely rigid, and shook with waves and waves of tremors washing over her body, and crashed around within her over-stimulated senses. Her breath came in short gasping sips, in time with the spasms racking her pussy, as it gripped his cock tight.
He seemed to be all around her, enfolding her, and she could smell him poignantly, his scent being like an exotic intoxicant to her olfactory, and then his hot breath was once more in her ear as he coaxed.
“That’s it, baby. Cum for me, girl. Don’t worry, love, there are plenty more where that one came from, just you wait and see.”
She responded in returned heat.
“Oh God! Oh Fuck! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me so hard! God, I fuckin’ love it!”
She was still cumming as she felt him start to thrusts back and forth, his fingers still expertly rubbing her throbbing clit. His thrusts were hard and sharp, jabbing deep into her grasping pussy every time, pushing her hard against the cage grill, but his thrusts kept her cumming, extending her climax in a way she had never experienced, hitting just the right spot over and over, until her legs failed, and it was only his powerful strength coupled with his impaling member that held her up. His other hand roamed her anterior, stroking her smooth skin, kneading her fine firm tits, and gripping her throat, turning her head as he nuzzled her neck, and finally found her desperately panting mouth, and locked his lips and tongue with hers. She was still cumming, her juices coating her inner thighs, as he pounded his ardor into her climaxing sex to the rhythm of P-Funk’s “Do That Stuff.” Shay just closed her eyes and reveled in the most intense experience of her life, her brain filled with endorphins, her body filled with tremors, her mind filled with his grin, and her pussy filled with his pistoning cock. As his lips and tongue touched and played with hers, she actually found herself grinning in total ecstasy.
Then the world seemed to shake and tremble underneath them, and lights suddenly started to flash all around them, but she barely noticed as she was lost in her rapturous sensations. Nor did she notice when the set piece started to lower below the great proscenium arch into full view of the assemblage of partiers. Her paramour did not stop, not once, but kept hammering into her, keeping her climaxing as one after another orgasms firing off in her brain and pussy, and all points in between, all the way down to her finger and toe tips.
As the set piece came into view, it became obvious what it was; a great blinking, light flashing spaceship, the famed Parliament Funkadelic Mothership that descend at all their stadium shows when they played the signature tune “Mothership Connection (Star Child.)” At first, no one noticed the couple copulating atop the Mothership, but soon one of the camera operators spotted them, and trained his lens on them, and just like that, Shay and her lover were fucking on the massive screen above the arch for all to see in super high definition detail. A roar of approval went up from the audience as they realized what was happening, and just who was up on the Mothership. Out on the floor the revelers took in the lascivious scene playing out in graphic intensity up on the set piece as cart blanche to follow suit, and shortly, there were fucking couples all over, and even piles of writhing bodies in blissful copulatory hedonistic abandon.
Old George Clinton raised an eyebrow at the scene unfolding before him and the band out in the Club, but George had seen crazy shit before, and this was Lost Peaks, the muthafuckin’ craziest place on Earth. So like whatever, ya’ know. George just shrugged, and he and the rest of P-Funk just kept laying down the hardest funk they could, and hoped they could get in on the action after their set ended.
Shay had finally realized what had happened, but her predicament of being thoroughly fucked in from of a crowd of thousands only turned her on even more. As she vaguely looked out at the audience though her orgasmic haze, she saw the mob turn into one massive full-on orgy, as excess and hormones took over, and reason and rational thought fled the premises.
Shay could feel her lover speeding up, and she knew he was soon to cum, but she did not want him to stop. She didn’t ever want him to stop! He was pounding her so hard she could barely breath, but her orgasms kept surging through her, like a constant stream of electric delirium, bathing her with a divine transcendent euphoria so passionate it erased any and all her inhibitions. Shay was the Goddamn Goddess of Super Sex and Muthafuckin’ Funky Ass Soul, baby! Her man was about to finish, and fill her with his hot, potent seed. Her mind said there was always a chance of pregnancy, even though she was taking precautions, as well as possible disease, but at that heated juncture she was far beyond caring. Let him use her as his vessel. She was dying anyway. Everyone was dying, and right then she was dying of pleasure! Damn the consequences!
But like a good things, this too had to end eventually…
He gripped her tight in his steely arms, and she knew he was there as he brutally rammed his love bone as deep as he could inside her rosy cunny, and let loose jet after jet after jet of his seed, a gushing geyser of cum, flooding her tingling womb and surrounds, and as his last thrusts literally rattled her teeth, straight from her pelvis, right up her backbone into her jolting brain, he came and came, and she came with him, one last shattering time!
The watching crowd roared as they saw the man climax inside her, and she stiffened with him once more in her own spectacular orgasm. The mob was chanting two words, but Shay could not quite making them out, but she really wasn’t listening anyway. She was just to damn exhausted, and her brain was buzzing with overloaded-synapse afterglow of a life changing experience.
She had never been fucked like that! It was the best fuck of her life! It wasn’t love making. It had been hard driving, good old fashioned, animalistic rutt-fucking, and she bloody fuckin’ loved it! She would have collapsed, but even though he was winded, he held her up until her shaking legs could support her weight. His softening meat slipped gently from her sore but very satisfied pussy. He tucked it away wet, inside his pants, and zipped up. Then he patted her bare bottom affectionately, as he adjusted the back string of her panties into place. He pulled her up straight, turned her to face him, then held her to chest, and soul kissed her, as he dipped her deep. The audience thundered it’s approval. He pulled her up and broke their liplock. They were both grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat.
He held her close and whispered in her ears.
“There was a reason I brought you up here, you know? I want have you dance up in the cage during the end of the P-Funk set, then come down and dance with me during my set. So you still up fot it, or did I tire you out too much?”
He pulled his shades down his nose, and gazed at her with an amused questioning expression in his twinkling, but very dark eyes. Shay looked back at him baffled.
“What? Who?-… What?”
“Dance? You, during the show? Will you do it?”
“I..I- yeah sure, but-“
“Cool. I gotta’ go take care of business. We’ll talk over breakfast later, love
“But who?-“
However he had clicked open the locking mechanism that released the cage so the it tipped back, and he leaped out and slid down the smooth curving front surface of the Mothership, hit the outer lip of the giant set piece, and without hesitation or missing a beat, performed a perfect front flip off the Mothership’s edge, and landed in a crouching single kneeling bow, with his arms out stretch, his head dipped forward, but still grinning ever so infectiously. The crowd screamed in it’s jubilation. He never even lost his hat or shades.
Shay looked down on the stage in amazement at her lover as he straighten to stand, and inimitable George Clinton tossed him a cordless microphone, and a light began to dawn in her befuddled mind as to just who had fucked her into a puddle of pussy pudding upon the Mothership. Shay mouth gaped in astonishment.
Parliament Funkadelic’s galactic funk surged to a swelling climax, as George proclaimed.
“Give up the love, for the Master of the House, the Master of Ceremonies, and the Master of Everything Funktified! You all know him! You all love him! He’s the Mack Of All Macks! The Soul Child Of Destiny! First Son Of Lost Peaks! The Original Lost One! Make some noise, funkateers for James Omega Eternal! The One, The Only, Slick Jimmy Is In The House!!!
The mob went mad!
And Jimmy’s voice soared into the rafters as he hit his famous jam, “Mean Sugar Mama” with a vengeance in a funky booming bass filled version, with George and P-Funk backing him up!
Shay just stood atop the Mothership in incredulous awe, as the rhythm surged and began to rage, and the mob pulsed with the deep vibration Jimmy’s cosmic funk! Then the only thing Sweet Shay could do was dance and grin her fuckin’ ass off!
Welcome to muthafuckin’ Lost Peaks, Baby!
