"…God damn, woman," Yves was crying out, "how do you always do that?"
The morning sun threw strange shadows in the doorway. Ursula shrugged, opened the door wide and stepped aside. "Come into my parlor."
"Very funny," Yves grumbled, crossing the threshold and barging into Ursula's living room. "Oh, wait," he said, glancing at the antique French settee and matching oaken end tables, "this really is a parlor." He tapped a thoughtful rhythm on a lace-covered tabletop. "Doilies, even."
Ursula stood in front of a glass display case full of porcelain dolls. "I've never invited you to tea?"
Yves eyes watered from the patchouli incense and a lemony, astringent smell lingering in the air. "You have," he said, blinking. "I've always had to RSVP in the negative for…varying reasons."
Ursula waved a hand at the homey clutter of her living room. "You think all of this is affectation."
Yves pursed his lip and whistled through his teeth a bit. He espied a purple kitchen glove poking out of Ursula's sweatpants pocket. "You don't have a cat," he eventually said. He folded his arms, a gesture both defiant and protective. "Rooms like this are supposed to have cats in them."
Ursula smirked. "Black cats?"
"Maine coon cats," Yves countered. "One named Alabaster and the other Fusspot. This isn't a witch's parlor. It's my grandmother's."
Ursula laughed hard enough to snort through her nose. The tension in Yves' shoulders melted and he folded himself onto the settee. "Sorry," he sighed, "it's been a long night."
"Fuck the tea," Ursula said, her smile warm, "what about a hot toddy?"
"Only if it's a coffee toddy and not warm milk. I'd pass out."
"I'll grind some beans," Ursula said. Her bunny slippers scuffed the floor as she moved into the kitchenette. "Any roast preference?"
"Ursula, the only coffee I have in my apartment is made from instant crystals."
"That would be a 'no,' yes?"
"Yes," Yves called, peering into the kitchenette before settling into the settee, one arm draped over his forehead.
The coffee grinder grumbled and an undercurrent of freshly ground coffee added to the complex, reeking bouquet in the air. "Quit trying to smother it," Yves said. "I know already."
Ursula stopped puttering in the kitchen. "Know what?"
"You had sex with Galatea."
Ursula stumbled out of the kitchen, tripping over bunny-ears. "How did you—"
Yves sat up. "You've taken the day off…to clean. You're taking excuses to use every classic masking scent in the book. And your bed linens are hung out to dry in your kitchen. Either Galatea's gotten busy in your bed or you broke your hookah and got bongwater everywhere."
"What are you," Ursula said, "Sherlock Holmes?"
"No. Holmes was bi."
Ursula stared for a second before scuttling back into the kitchenette. "I'm going to use more brandy."
"Good idea."
["…You’re a computer nerd, Dee, work it out…"]
The solitary nanogasm burst against Dee's inner thigh and vanished faster than a top quark in a particle accelerator, a split-second lightning kiss barely strong enough to trigger a single nerve ending in Dee's skin. The surface of the green serum filling the tub remained placid and dead. Dee closed his eyes, trying to remember the first time Galatea told him about nanogasm.
["…One sperm makes one nanomek replication…"]
"Please, Galatea." Dee's voice rang, amplified by the porcelain tub. "Come back to me if you can." The thin lime liquid stuck to his skin and congealed into scum as it cooled. Caught in reverie, listening to Galatea's technobabble pillow-talk in his head, Dee felt no urge to wipe it away.
["…One replication gives me one nanogasm and produces two more nanomek—at least two, more if you really get 'em turned on…"]
A cluster of nanogasms trilled against his thigh in a sudden, brief salvo before the brackish bathwater fell inert again. Dee smiled, his eyes still shut. "I bet you thought I was going to say, 'but only if you want to.' What did you call me? 'Sensitive and enlightened and stuff.' Well, add 'selfish' to that list. I don't want you back only if you want to come back. I just want you, period."
["…which combined with three more sperm gives me three more nanogasms and produces six more nanomek, which gives me nine more nanogasms and, well…"]
The next flurry of nanogasms arrived quicker and stronger than the last, zipping over Dee's skin like dozens of marching, electric ants. The ripple-tickle-tingle abated, petering out like the last few superheated kernels of popping corn, before surging in a cascade of strengthening waves thrilling Dee down to the bone. His eyes flew open and he cried out in uncontrollable laughter. "Galatea!"
["…after a few minutes of that I'll be back in shape…"]
The green syrup between his legs fizzed and radiated warmth in a room-temperature-but-rising boil. "I love you, Galatea! I—Whoa."
["…and hot and horny as Hell. Literally…"]
Thousands of nanogasms ran rampant into Dee's crotch.
"And after that," Ursula said, curled up in the wicker rocking chair across the parlor from the settee, her hands wrapped around an oversized, steaming mug of coffee hot toddy, "we talked."
Yves lounged on the settee. "Galatea sounds like the sort of person who hates to chat unless it's really, really important." His empty mug bounced on his stomach when he spoke. "So what did you two talk about?"
"Oh, this and that." Ursula slurped from the mug. "You know, girl talk."
"Uh-huh." Yves folded his arms behind his head. The mug on his belly wobbled. "Sure. Girl talk. So Galatea didn't tell you anything more about meliae?"
Ursula perked up. "About what?"
"Dee asked me to figure out what's going on, and I'd already gotten a few ideas on my own, but if I just had a little more information…"
"Wait," Ursula said, setting her half-full mug on the silver tea service. "What's this about meliae?"
Yves rolled onto his side to look at her, catching his mug as it fell and balancing it on his hip. "You don't know about meliae?"
Ursula sat back. "Sure I do. Nymphs of the ash tree, and pollen dust, I believe. Very sacred tree, the ash. Fermented ash sap is the most potent—"
"Dee said Galatea is a meliae," Yves interrupted, frowning. "He called her a 'honey nymph'."
"Honey nymph? Really?" Ursula sat back up. "Interesting. A few texts mention 'honey nymph' meliae as the nursemaids of Zeus. I wonder…Yves, what's wrong? You've gone all white."
Yves' coffee mug toppled and smashed against the hardwood floor.
Ursula stood up. "Yves, what is it? What are you thinking?"
["…My girlfriend thinks I'm a god…"]
"I've just figured out what's going on," Yves said, his voice distant.
Ursula stared at the broken bits of mug. "Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" She shifted her weight as if resisting the urge to scratch an annoying itch, her eyes never leaving the shattered pottery. "I'll just go get the dustpan, shall I?"
"I've just figured out what's going on," Yves repeated, his attention focused far away.
["…If Galatea thinks you’re a god, she makes you a god…"]
"And I don't think I can fucking stand it," he groaned, "at least not sober." Ursula bustled back into the parlor armed with a horsehair bristle dust mop and bronze dustpan. "Do you have any more mugs? I'd like more brandy. Neat, if you please." Ursula bent over and swept. "Er, that's not what I meant," Yves stage-whispered.
"No shit, Sherlock," Ursula stage-whispered back, her ass bobbing as she chased after the last pottery fragments as diligently as an archeology intern on a dig.
Yves eyes followed the orbit of Ursula's derriere through the air. "Damn," he whistled, "has anyone ever told you you've got an incredible—"
"Pygmalion!" Ursula growled.
"What?"
"That means shut up! The next person who mentions my ass is going to wear it for a hat, I swear."
Dee's fingers crunched through the lip of the bathtub, the porcelain providing no more resistance than cracked eggshell. Green syrup bulged through the fracture but held just enough tension on its surface to keep from spilling over. The electrifying gel pulsed and churned in his crotch, nanogasms redoubling. Dee trembled, groaned, and grew rock hard. "God, I wish I could see you, Galatea."
A dome of foam rose from the surface of the fizzing gel. Dee could see outlines take shape before the crackling bubbles of foam boiled them away. "No," he insisted, "don't. Don't burn away your nanomek for me like that. You must have so little left." The dome dissipated. The ambient temperature in the tub continued to rise, washing Dee head-to-toe in waves of increasing warmth. "It's like you once said. I want to see you, but I don't need to. I know you're there now. I should never have doubted it." The jade gel started to steam.
You've got a plan, remember, Dee reminded himself. Stick to it, or she won't come back. "I want to be here for you, Galatea. And besides…" Fragments of porcelain fell to the floor as his right hand slipped into the viscous substance lapping against his ribs. "I've never masturbated for you before." His grin was slick and sly. "Time for you to learn the Dee Technique."
The mirror above the bathroom sink fogged over in the suddenly sauna-hot air.
Dee pushed his hand through the pliant gelatin trembling around his cock. "It's an underhanded technique." He laughed. "I mean an underhand, not underhanded. Palm underneath, thumb on top, like this. Start with the shaft. Don't work the head until it's primed—Christ, I suck at this dirty talk stuff." His shoulder rolled in a rugged rhythm as his hand ranged over his cock. "And you're so fucking good at it, Galatea. Even listening to someone talk dirty in a porn flick used to embarrass me and turn me off. But you, Galatea…The way your eyes glint and flick to the left whenever you say 'fuck' or how you get a little cross-eyed whenever you talk about my dick." His shoulder started to jerk. "You think my neck is hot, you think I'm a breast man, but it's your eyes, Galatea." Dee's voice dropped to a trailing whisper. "Your eyes."
Dee kicked as he came, shearing off the tub's stainless steel faucet and shooting it across the room with his heel.
Dee arched and flexed, gasping. "Holy shit. I talked. I dirty-talked. I can't believe that I…"
A slurping suction threatened to raise a hickey over his entire body as the foam rolled back and compressed at his feet, giving Dee the fleeting impression of a maddened mare rearing for a berserk charge. Galatea erupted, fully formed and finely figured, from the sea green froth gathered at the end of the tub. Her jelled flesh shimmered and shone, pure as green amethyst. She clambered over him, her hair twisting and braiding in nesting knots, her eyes unfocused and incandescent with lust. Galatea gushed, "Neither can I now shut the fuck up," and soul-kissed him hard enough to implode a bowling ball.
Dee threw his arms around her, hooked his right leg over the perfect arc of her ass, and hauled her down over him. Her kiss became a smothering, traveling smooch as their bodies met. Dee swiveled his hips and drove his cock deep into her sex. Galatea threw her head back in a delirious scream that rattled Dee's teeth and shattered the glass mirror above the sink.
Yves lurched out of the closet, natural-light grow lamp in hand, knocking over a small hydroponic tank of marijuana plants in the process. "What the fuck was that?"
Ursula scuffed into the bedroom, belting down brandy from a narrow, crystal glass. "That's just Galatea getting her magic back. Now you know what my life's been like these past few days—Oh, fuck, my pot!"
Yves, his eyes still wide in alarm, demanded, "You want me to what?"
Ursula wound her arm back to hurl the empty glass at him but just shook her head and rocked back on the balls of her bunny-slippered feet. "I want you to clean that shit up, asshole! That was going to be two months' rent!"
Dee got a brief glimpse of Galatea's cherubic, girlish face—Why does she look so young?—before her medusa's hair and eyes of burnished gemstone filled the world and her tart, honeyed tongue sought his again. He nuzzled and bit. She whickered into his mouth and rode him ragged. A thick cushion of gel buoyed Dee up to the middle of the tub. Dee shut his eyes tight and they fucked in freefall. The only resistance and weight was the slipping friction of flesh against flesh. The only sensation was Galatea's pussy sliding over his dick and the fervid, breathless French kiss that went on and on until the sweet sting of a second orgasm crashed through Dee and his cum poured into Galatea's core.
Her lips, still pressed over Dee's mouth, parted in a frenzied smile and three bubbling giggles escaped them: "Ah-hah, ah-hum, hm-mm." She tipped her head and kissed Dee slantwise. He heard a metallic sigh. The weight atop him shifted in a single, pulsing wave and the folds of Galatea's sex flowered around his mouth as her thighs sunk around his head. He felt her sultry breath bathe his crotch. With a guttural, mewling "Mrriiine," Galatea wrapped her pillow-soft hand around Dee's balls and sword-swallowed his prick up to the hilt. Her hips ground her pussy into his face and Galatea sixty-nined Dee toward a cataclysmic third orgasm.
Galatea pulled off his cock just long enough to whine, "Cum for me, Dee," before clamping down again. Dee's eyes rolled over white as he felt the pressure build again. Still bobbing on a weightless, plush cushion, he reached out for purchase against the tub but his hands only met molten gel.
Citrus-perfumed breath tickled the hair curling around his ear and another voice whimpered, "Cum for us, Dee."
Dee unglued his eyes and turned his head. Above him, Galatea keened, vibrating the cock buried in her throat, and shimmied to keep his lips and chin muzzled in her sex. Below him, the lathering gel in the tub had welled up and overflowed the cracked porcelain rim, a soft and silent river of orchids, bearing Dee aloft and slowly spreading its kelly-colored cream across the tiled wall and linoleum floor. Galatea's keening dropped down into an impatient, thrumming growl and she pushed both her upper and nether lips hard against his flesh.
The gel beneath him sighed, shifted and took form. The swell of a heavy bosom pressed into his shoulders and neck. An hourglass waist arched into the small of his back. A pair of perfect jade legs rose and crossed in the air above his thighs, sandwiching his hips to Galatea's head. Delicate hands reached up from below his ears, hefted Galatea's squirming rump a fraction higher, and slid their fingers deep into her pussy. Above him, Galatea mewled and doubled her expert efforts on his dick, head bobbing merrily. Lush lips kissed Dee's ear and Galatea's green twin begged, "Cum for us, Dee."
Dee's third orgasm crested at last. He bowed upward as Galatea drank down another flood of his cum, chuckling and suckling, her rhythm unbroken. The shock of afterglow wracked him for only a second or two before the I-can-do-this-all-night sensation of primed glans returned. Dee pumped against Galatea's lips. Above him, Galatea mewled, shivered, and melted. Searing honey drizzled down from her pussy and spattered his cheek.
"Nay," said the green twin cradling him from below, affecting a brogue. "Nay, boy; don' move. You feel so good we'll burn up and melt away if ye do." Dee almost laughed at the strange, sudden accent, but the sight of the green twin prying and plunging her fingers into Galatea's sopping, steamy sex hovering just a few inches above his eyes sealed his throat with something a little like awe but a lot more like Aw, fuck, yeah. "Don' move, boy," repeated the green twin below him, her fingers working. "Just cum. Come again!" The more she whispered, the more the impish burr in her voice rang true, less Hollywood and more archaic highland. "Sweet love doth now invite thy graces that refrain to do me…" She thrust her fingers knuckle-deep and above him Galatea screamed, bucked and sucked harder than ever. "Due delight," the green twin whispered, her lips tracing a wicked grin against the back of Dee's neck.
This isn't just a sixty-nine, Dee realized. His fourth orgasm edged nearer. I'm in the middle digit of an honest-to-God six hundred nineteen.
"To see," the green twin below him said, and spread the sex quivering above him wide. "To hear." She rocked her thumb on the ridge of the clitoral hood poised to ride Dee's nose and Galatea wailed in mindless delight around his cock. "To touch." The green twin below arched her back, forcing Dee's neck to tip up and his dimpled chin to push between the folds of gel-flesh above him. Galatea above wept and rode his chin. "To kiss." The green twin below pulled down and back just a bit and Galatea's sex closed over Dee's mouth. Mind reeling, Dee kissed as deep as he could. The green twin below let go of Galatea's ass above him. The full weight of Galatea settled over his jaw and she rode his face without mercy.
"To die," the green twin below him cooed. Her hands snaked down Dee's sides and slithered into his crotch. Galatea's hands were already there, pumping madly at his shaft whenever she rose up to loll her tongue against the head of his dick. The green twin left his overworked shaft alone, one hand cupping and squeezing his balls while the other slipped below them to do some dirty work. "To die with thee again," the green twin purred as Dee's fourth orgasm rocketed down Galatea's throat, "in sweetest sympathy."
Yves wrung the sodden mop into the kitchen sink. He paused, blinking, before putting his ear to the gurgling drain. "Ursula?" His voice rang loud in the steel sink. "Either Galatea's gotten into the plumbing or your garbage disposal is reciting John Donne love poetry."
Ursula scooted into the kitchenette. "I get echoes and noises in the kitchen from downstairs all the time. Kay sings in the shower. Never heard anything from Bee's bathroom before, though. Let me listen." Yves pulled back and Ursula leaned in. "Something about 'sweet sympathy.' You sure it's Donne?"
"Yeah, I sang it one year for All State Choir. Yes, I was a closeted choir fag, feel free to yuck it up."
Ursula shrugged. "I was an orchestra dyke myself."
Yves nodded. "Cello."
Ursula squinted at him. "How did you guess?"
"It's mournful and vibrates between your thighs harder than a washing machine."
"Oh, piss off," Ursula dismissed him with a wave, grabbed the mop and wrung it hard. Water expressed into the sink. "You don't know Galatea. She's not the type to recite poetry; she screams 'fuck!' a lot, instead. Maybe something's up."
The afterglow of orgasm lasted a little longer the fourth time in rapid succession. Dee rocked in the body-hugging embrace of the green twin below him while Galatea above giggled and butterfly-kissed his cock back to life. The vibrantly green, gelled cream continued to gush over the lip of the tub, covering the bathroom floor in a rippling, jellied shag carpet and creeping halfway up the tiled wall next to the tub. "Do you have enough nanomek now?" Dee asked
"Ou'pote!" cried Galatea above him, her accent unrecognizable to Dee. She wrapped her arms around Dee's hips in a childlike, possessive gesture, sandwiching his dick between her breasts in the process.
"Never," the green twin below agreed.
"Ou'pote," Galatea above sighed, nodding, chest heaving against Dee's cock. Dee groaned and Galatea hugged her arms to her breasts, squeezed them in a pulsing rhythm, and smirked a smug, "Eureka," as Dee's dick engorged and twitched.
"I mean." Dee's throat closed for a long moment when his glans emerged from Galatea's cloying cleavage and she popped it in her mouth. "I mean may I move now?"
The green twin below him treated Dee to an undulating massage by shrugging her shoulders. "Aye, ye may." She pressed her hands to his ribs. "That is, if ye can."
Dee fluttered his legs and rolled his arms.
The green twin below him gasped "Oh, ye Gods," and Galatea above cried, "Ô sunte'leia," as a roaring cascade of green foam washed them together into a hunkered heap in the foot of the tub, leaving Dee standing tall beneath the showerhead. Melted gel glistened on his skin like oil, making every muscle stand out in gleaming relief. The wall of foam crashed down over the two huddled girls, rolled off their shoulders and dripped through their hair. One green girl, her chin resting in her open hands and daggers of gelled hair drooping over her forehead, gaped up at him and breathed, "Ecce vir." The other green girl untangled herself, trying to smear away the honey gumming her eyelids. Her gaze locked squarely on Dee's crotch, her wide grin slick and shark-toothed. "Ecce virga," she crowed, elbowing her twin in the ribs.
Ursula frowned into the drain of her kitchen sink. "She's switched from Greek to Latin now. 'Ecce vir'. That's like ecce homo, 'behold man,' except—"
"Considering the context," Yves muttered, "I think she just said, 'Check out the stud.' And I can guess what a virga is."
Ursula grinned. "I'm less worried now."
"Why?"
"That's definitely our girl," Ursula explained, shaking her head. "Even when speaking in tongues, she's still a bimbo."
Dee settled into a feral crouch. Vivid green ooze swirled around his haunches and overflowed the tub to join the silent tide insinuating itself over every surface of in the bathroom, swallowing the sink and toilet and stealing up the far wall. "Something's gone wrong."
The two green girls clutched at each other as he drew close, trembling from the stress of his regard. "Something with your re-assimilation," Dee said, the kinky curls of his chestnut hair falling in lustrous ringlets over his eyes. "Or with your re-remembering, maybe, with so little nanomek to start with, maybe even just one."
"Ille mi par esse deo uidetur," one green girl babbled to the other, hiding her face in her twin's hair.
Dee palmed the shy green girl's cheek. "Could you come back from just one nanomek, Galatea, and still be you?" He tipped her face toward his. "The Galatea I know hasn't looked this young since I…well, since I hurt her pretty bad." The shy girl's bottom lip quivered and her eyes brimmed. Dee brushed a fat tear away with his thumb. "And she never spoke Latin. That is Latin, right?"
The shy girl turned to her twin. "Denuone Latine loquebar?"
"Me fallit," her twin shrugged.
They turned their open, wondering faces to Dee. Their brows crinkled in confusion, mirror perfect replicas of one another, and Dee's heart leapt into his throat.
One story above, Ursula cupped her ear to the drain. Her head all but vanished into the deep sink, giving Yves the peculiar impression that the kitchen counter had sprouted massive, Rapunzel-length pigtails. "What's she saying now?" he asked, staring.
"'He seems to me to be equal to a god,'" a hollow voice echoed from the sink. "That sounds familiar, like she's reciting again."
Yves backed away, arms raised. "Jesus, we shouldn't be listening to this…should we?"
"'I dunno.'"
Yves jostled against a copper colander dangling from a hook. "Don't you think this sort of thing should be private?"
"No," said the sink. "I mean that's what Galatea said. 'Was I speaking Latin again? I dunno.' Dee's right; something's wrong."
Dee sat up, drew the shy Galatea into his arms and kissed her hard. The exaggerated, cartoony wrinkles of perplexity on her forehead smoothed, her eyes glazed and heavy-lidded, one green hand slipping around to fondle the back of Dee's neck. She squeaked in happy surprise when he reached down and scooped her into his angled lap, planting her legs square around his, squeezing her close to his cock. "I know there's something wrong," Dee said as he broke the kiss, "but it doesn't matter." He shifted his legs back and forth a bit and the tip of his cock pressed against the outer folds of her sex. He arched an eyebrow. "After all, it's nothing a little more nanomek couldn't fix, isn't it?"
She matched his grin. "Non multa." She hitched her hip and gasped as she slid over him. "Sed multum."
Dee crossed his arms behind shy Galatea's back and rocked forward to kneel on one knee. She cried out and slumped over him, gabbling and riding blind, only to yowl again as he stood up straight, cradled her against him, and bore into her. "O! Aio!" She locked her ankles in the small of his back and buried her head in the crook of his neck. "Plus!"
Her green twin ogled them, mesmerized and slacked-jawed. She paddled forward, her legs little more than curtaining ripples in the green tide still pouring out and about the tub. The rutting lovers took no notice as she swam through Dee's wide-spread legs. She took a long moment between his legs to gape upward and treat herself to an extreme close-up. "By the Gods…this lad will last long." She shook the dreamy expression of her face and snuck past Dee to the tub's water taps. She glanced sidelong behind her.
Shy Galatea, bouncing madly with Dee's every thrust, managed to raise her head and stammer, "Pluvia scaenae—Puh-pluvia suh—scaenae," at her twin.
Her twin gave her a cagey grin. "Shower scene," she sang, spinning the taps and sending stuttering jets of water splashing down from the showerhead. "Finally: shower scene!"
The freezing water shocked Dee's flesh. He yelped. His body seized up. He staggered in a sudden wash of fever. "What's happening?"
Whorls of vapor rose off shy Galatea as she entwined about him. "Pluvia scaenae!" She rode him, savage and exultant, even as steam hissed from her mouth. "Aquae vitae!"
Dee hooked one arm around her waist, raising the other into the freezing spray. "Holy shit." Droplets sizzled against his skin when they struck, boiling away faster than fat on a griddle. No longer shy, Galatea glared, bit her lip, and bounced against him with the eager impatience of a Hell's Angel kick-starting a stubborn motorcycle, looking younger than ever. Dee twisted about, his bewilderment overcoming the desire to fuck the frown of her face. "When did the shower curtain melt? How hot are we?"
"With you," the green twin behind him blew superheated steam into his ear. "'Tis a pleasure to burn."
The young Galatea astride Dee's cock grabbed a fistful of his hair and arched impossibly back, breasts and wild mane bobbling. She kicked a leg sideways to the slime-covered wall running the length of the shower stall and balanced herself with her other arm. She breathed deep. An inrush of boiling vapor poured down her throat and Galatea grew.
Dee felt new pressure and weight push against his hip and spread around his waist in a constricting ring. Galatea's legs bore down upon him, building in strength and taking up new bulk. She locked her knees around his ass, hooked her heels against his shins, breathed deeper. Galatea's milky-green flesh turned opaque as it literally built up steam. The spikes of her hair grew thick and glossy, a forest of jelly dreadlocks. The hand maintaining her Kama Sutra balancing act now pressed against the ceiling. Her shimmering hair brushed against the wall behind her. Her breasts tipped back against her chin. A canary-eating grin vanished from sight behind her expansive cleavage. She giggled and the resulting body-quake took Dee's breath away.
Galatea had gone from slender nymphet to stacked femme fatale in less time than it took Dee to think, Wow. She pushed off the wall, slid her hands across his back, and attacked his face with burning kisses. He stumped a step or two to keep his footing and anchored her in place on his pelvis by taking up handfuls of her meaty rump.
Galatea squealed between kisses. She slapped her free hand over Dee's own and squeezed, encouraging his fingers to sink hard into her flesh. She purred and pitched her hips in tight, jolting circles. Dee tried to match her thrust for thrust but she just picked up the pace, faster and faster, until Dee could not keep up with the punishing rhythm while remaining upright. He squeezed her ass and hung on for dear life, the delicious friction focused on his dick pushing him toward yet another orgasm.
The green twin hugged him hard from behind. "Surely a lad like you can cum five times in a row." Her voice had dropped a full octave since last she spoke, her brogue more smoky and sexy than ever. She leaned in closer and Dee stood sandwiched between febrile green flesh. Galatea broke the sucking assault on his face and tipped her head to the side. The two Galateas kissed, opened mouthed and ungentle, a hairsbreadth away from Dee's ear. The satiny pumping of his prick never let up. "Six times?" wondered the green twin. Dee got another earful of sloppy lips smacking as the two green girls swapped spit again. "Seven?" And again. "Eight?" And again. "Eighteen?"
Dee came hard enough to knock himself off his feet. The green twin let Dee topple back a few inches before propping him up by the armpits. The Galatea straddling Dee swung her legs out and around the legs of the green girl behind him. Their legs merged and surged until they stood like twins joined at the hip and thighs with Dee stuck in the middle, swaddling him in gel from his feet to his belly. The Galatea straddling him ground against his cock, the gel flesh of the green twin behind him jerked and swirled in syncopation. The two green girls gulped and gasped in tandem.
In stereo, Galatea pled, "Eighty?"
Dee stretched his arms high behind his head. The green girls sighed and squished closer still. "Oh," the twin behind him sighed, "how do ye move as…why does thy every move make me…" Dee twined his fingers through her jellified locks of hair and pulled her lips to his. She peeled away from him, uttering a shuddery, "Ye Gods." Her gel flesh withdrew and decoupled from Galatea's, leaving raw, runny green honey where they had fused. Dee bent over backward and dragged her down for another soul kiss. She muttered muffled nonsense into his mouth, pawing against his shoulders.
Galatea nibbled at his neck, then his chest, nipping her way downward, only to discover his dick was already ramrod stiff again. "Vah!" She stared, cross-eyed, as it bobbed before her. She shrugged and sucked it down with a throaty, hungry hum.
The green twin behind him broke away. "Nay, I can't…" She ran shaking fingers over his back. "I…I can't…"
Dee squeezed the back of her neck and their eyes locked. "Don't worry." He smiled. "I can."
The green twin cradled his head between her breasts and lay back, pressing down on his chest to recline him atop her. Galatea followed them down, feasting on his cock. The green twin's eyes closed in alien ecstasy, her face upraised beneath the showerhead. The cascade of water boiled away, flashing into vapor from contact with the superheated air around her. The plastic showerhead cracked into molten shrapnel, leaving a rusty spigot spouting steam.
The ooze flowing from the bathtub completed its circuit of every bathroom surface and all four walls. It raced across the ceiling in a constricting iris. The domed, florescent light at the center of the ceiling crackled and died under the smothering slime and the bathroom became a living cave. Motes of gold light scintillated just beneath the citrine surface of the surrounding gel.
Dee chuckled. "We've really got the nanomek turned on, haven't we?"
Galatea popped his cock out from her throat, a champagne bottle expelling a thick, coarse cork. She panted in maddened need, every inch of her gel flesh dripping and nectarous. She crawled over him, angling her sopping pussy over his dick. She poised above him, eyes roving and confused. Her fevered voice stumbled as she spoke:
Lepton d'autika chro pur upadedromeken,
Oppatessi d'oud'en oremm',
epirrhombeisi d'akouai kad de m'idros kakcheëtai,
Tromos de paisan agrei,
Chlorotera de poias emmi,
Tethnaken d'oiligo 'pideues phainom'em…auta…
Dee waited for her glossolalia to fade before reaching out for her hips. "I love you." For once, the words came easy. Perfect timing, as usual, genius, he thought. "I'm ready." She's worth it. He lowered her over him. "It's time." Isn't it always?
Her mouth fell open in a gummy O. She rocked against him, once, then twice. The pressure, friction and heat overwhelmed Dee and he came before her pelvis completed its second orbit. She stifled her own screaming by raining down sticky kisses hot enough to melt lead. He drank them down, eager for more. Beneath him, her green twin whimpered wordlessly, squeezing him tighter into her full-body bear hug, a crushing velvet vice almost as greedy for every inch of his skin as Galatea, undulating above him, was for his cum.
"Love me," the green girls begged in staggered chorus, their accents thick and strange. "Forever. Fuck me, forever." Another shattering orgasm sizzled through Dee, unleashing a torrent of cum into Galatea's core. Together, the two green girls whined, unsated, "Fill me." The assault on Dee's flesh redoubled. Galatea kissed and cooed, coddled and caressed from below. Her twin clawed and humped, bit and pumped from above. "Fill me, fill me. Forever."
Ursula dipped her head into the sink. "Non multa, sed multum . 'Not many, but much'," she translated. "It's an old Roman proverb. And now…" Her long pigtails rustled as she repositioned her ear over the drain. "Now they're…Well, now they're fucking each other's brains out." She stood up straight, rubbing the back of her neck. "You're right, Yves. We don't need to hear this bit."
Yves frowned at the kitchen floor. "But we've got to go down there."
"Why?"
"There are two Galateas in the bathroom with him, right?"
"Sure sounds like it. She's as amorphous as she is amorous, so I can't be sure." Ursula shrugged. "Don't make me guess, Sherlock. If you've thought of something then spit it out."
Yves pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did any of her nanomek stay with you when she went back to Dee's place?"
"No." Ursula rolled her eyes. "This is like pulling teeth. Be fair, Yves. I've had three hot toddies and I weigh less than a hundred and twenty pounds. I've got a thirty-second attention span."
"Why didn't any of her stay?"
"Fine!" Ursula threw her hands in the air. "I'll play along. Let me think, damn it." She paced the narrow kitchen. "Oh, I remember, she said something about…"
["…there's no way I'm ever going to let myself fuck him again unless I'm there too…"]
Ursula stopped dead. "She said something about hating it when only part of her gets to fuck him." She wheeled around to face Yves. "Okay, so a threesome is a little weird. Maybe we should check in on them."
Yves nodded and matched her gaze. "Before we go, there's something you need to know. Dee's changed. A lot, and not just physically. He's learned a, uh, kind of kiai, and he can't control it."
"Dee's channeling chi with his voice?" Ursula asked. "Oh, don't look so surprised. I'm the neighborhood new age hippy chick, remember? In my neck of the woods we call that a charism." She bounced on the balls of her feet. "What can he do? Can he prophesy? Banish demons? Sway the hearts of men?"
"That's the one. Sort of." Yves toyed with the collar of his shirt.
"Yves, you're blushing. Wait, you can't seriously mean…"
"It works the strongest on women," Yves muttered, his cheeks strawberry red. "And I'm not blushing."
Ursula laughed so hard she gave herself a serious case of hiccups. "Are you telling me that Dee received the gift of the gods and he's using it to score?"
Yves gave her a helpless smile. "Come on, U. You know Dee. This is the guy who thinks a good way to hit on a girl is to sit near her and sigh."
"True." Ursula pushed the flat of her fist into her tummy and failed to stifle her hiccups. "Galatea said something about that too, now that you mention it. Oh! It just so happens I have the classic remedy for that sort of thing in my crafts trunk—straight from Hobby Lobby, no less." Ursula bopped out of the kitchen, pigtails swinging and bouncing against her butt, and disappeared down the little hallway to her bedroom. "A little bit of this and Dee's voice won't bother you anymore," she called over the sounds of furious rummaging.
Yves stamped into the living room. "It doesn't bother me! Whatever you're getting, it's for you, not me." He pulled the fabric of his tight undershirt away from his chest and let it snap back.
Ursula bopped back into the living room carrying something rolled between layers of wax paper and bound with black ribbon like a scroll. Her eyes danced. "Come on. You mean you've never been attracted to Dee?"
Yves shrugged hard enough to strain his shoulder. "Never. Not my type."
"You don’t like them tall, tawny and goofy?"
"It's not that. Dee's just. He's…" Yves reached for the right word. "Dee's impenetrable."
Ursula stared.
Yves blinked and replayed the conversation in his head. "Oh, fuck you. I meant 'impenetrable' as in 'oblivious'."
"Uh huh." Ursula wagged the scroll at him. "Then why are you still blushing?"
"I'm not blushing, damn it." Yves flapped his overshirt. "You're too juiced to notice, but it's getting damn hot in here."
Ursula frowned and walked passed him into the kitchenette. Her head disappeared into the sink for a moment before she yanked it back out again, hissing through her teeth, braids flailing. "Fuck, that's hot. I'd rather stick my ear against a steam pipe."
Yves followed and felt the waves of heat rolling up from the sink with his hand. "Did you hear anything?"
"Yeah. Galatea's quoting again. Sappho this time, in the original Greek, believe it or not. Good old fragment thirty-one."
"You could tell that from listening just for a couple of seconds?"
"Duh. It's Sappho. One of her most famous, too, because it's jumbled and the literal translation is weird so everyone argues over exactly what it…" Ursula's snowy cheeks blanched bone white. "Oh my God."
"What?"
Ursula pulled the work stool away from the counter and sat down hard, head in her hands. "Oh my God."
Yves patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "What?"
Ursula tilted her head toward the ceiling and recited:
Already a subtle fire runs beneath my skin
My eyes see nothing, my ears roar
Sweat pours down me
I am everywhere seized with trembling
Greener than the grass am I
And so near as death
Yves spun, punched the wooden door of the kitchenette pantry, muttering. "Christ, I'm an idiot. No, Dee's an idiot. But I stood there and saw the look on his face and I should have known…"
"'Greener than the grass am I'," Ursula interrupted. Her voice broke into a lamenting whine. "Sappho wasn't a lyric poet. She was just some Greek chick with a thing for goo girls."
"Everyone had a thing for goo girls," Yves snapped. "Keep it together."
"But—"
"Yeah, everything you know is wrong. Welcome to the club. Now shut up." Yves plucked Ursula off the stool and set her on her feet. "We've got work to do. I fucked up big time."
Ursula tucked the scroll into her shirt and kicked off her bunny slippers. "You? How?"
Yves pulled a pair of oven mitts of their hooks and stuffed them into his pants' pockets. "I left Dee alone down there. I even asked him, 'What are you thinking?' And I left without getting an answer." The tips of the mitts flopped around like puppy ears.
"So?" Ursula had jogged over her hall closet and squat on the floor, slipping on a pair of running shoes.
"So he knew this might happen. Dee's still in dumb, straight-guy hero mode."
Ursula ran over to Yves and poked him in the solar plexus. "Stop being a drama queen and tell me what the fuck is going on!"
"Dee's giving Galatea whatever it takes for her to come back," Yves said, pushing her away and massaging his chest. Ursula's frown turned thunderous. Her outstretched finger hovered over Yves' sternum. Yves raised his hands in surrender.
"He's subliming," he said.
Galatea rode Dee's cock, thrust a fist against the ceiling and bore down hard, hips jerking in wide, drawn out ellipses. She mashed her other hand into her mouth but pleas of bottomless need burbled through on every upswing. The slime on the ceiling bowed in around her, bloated with burning motes of green-tinged, silvered light, an aura of a million fireflies, the alchemical glow in their bellies gone critical. Beneath, her green twin stroked and cuddled against Dee's back, hugging flesh crammed into every conceivable crevice to sample the all the flavors of Dee's skin, tugging stronger than a waterlogged blanket bog. Dee's back broke through her surface tension into the quagmire of inner gel. The twin sighed and sobbed in relief, as if some terrible burden had at last been lifted, and push down on Dee's abdomen with both hands. Molten honey inched up his ribs and shoulders.
The green girls fucked and sucked him closer to his seventh orgasm. They dragged him through a cycle of carnal sensation: a touching-tasting-pulling-pushing, sighing-slurping-slipping-screaming, up to a clinging-clenching-tonguing-cresting—cumming-cumming-cumming—and then down to an afterglow of kisses and caresses. The girls' fervor rose anew. Dee lay splayed between them, too dizzy to notice the urgency build in their murmured, wicked words. Soon they were touching-tasting-pulling-pushing and driving through the cycle again, and again, and again, each phase a little longer and stronger than before. Dee lost count of the number of times he gave the green girls what they wanted. Dee lost the ability to count, to care, to think. He only wanted to feel Galatea live again, and she came to life all around him.
Yves wrestled two-handed with the bathroom doorknob. His fingers squeezed the thick oven mitts over the metal knob. Heat prickled through the mitts' spun lace fabric insulation. Thank God Ursula keeps her kitchen high-tech, Yves thought. The doorknob twisted to the right. Damn thing is hotter than a branding iron. Yves braced with his feet and pushed at the door. "Pygmalion!" he shouted. A sliver of green-and-gold light dazzled him. The heat seeping through the oven mitts started to sting. Yves pushed harder. "Pygmalion!" The light blazed around the doorframe. "Pygmalion, you fucking idiot!"
The door thumped shut and Yves sprawled on the floor, arms shielding his head. His face felt raw, pins-and-needles numb. He was flash-burned: an instant sunburn slapped across his skin. Must only be first degree, because I can still see. Yves rolled onto his back, knocking over the pots and pans dotting the floor of Bee's bedroom. He pulled the mitts off his hands by jamming them into his armpits. Sweat dripped into his eyes. "Ursula, it's not working."
Ursula's reply came from the living room down the hallway, somewhere out of sight. "It's got to. It's the only thing I can think of."
Yves pushed himself up onto one shoulder. Shadow and light danced in the bathroom doorframe. "God damn it, Urusla, it's like a scene from Poltergeist. Get your psychic midget ass in here!"
"I can't. The beeswax will melt."
Yves kicked a coffee cup. "Just leave it."
"I can't! I put it in my ears already. Look, you told me to do it, Sherlock...What's that noise?"
"Pygmalion!"
The shouting voice penetrated Dee's delirium. Dee blinked, bleary eyed, and tried to focus. He saw no signs of the bathroom he remembered. The sugar walls of gel surrounding him had grown thick and brilliant with snowflake fire. He was trapped with the two green twins in a luciferous cave, a glowing green grotto.
The shout came again from somewhere outside: "Pygmalion!"
Dee glanced up through a deep valley of green cleavage. Galatea's brow crinkled in confusion at the sound of someone yelling, rattling and thumping beyond the walls of the verdant world-womb she had made for her and Dee, for just her and Dee, for always and forever.
"Pygmalion," cried the distant voice. "Pygmalion, you fucking idiot!"
Galatea shrugged and sunk back down to touch-taste-pull-push…
Something in that shrug, something missing in the little careless smile she gave him and the dimming light of her eyes, jarred Dee out of his sensorial stupor. You had a plan, remember? To snap her out of it before it's too late? She loves it when you second-guess her. Well, it's now or never. Dee rolled his shoulder and pulled one arm free of the embrace of the twin beneath him. His head swam in the strain and effort to lift his hand toward the green girl riding him, pointer finger extended, and furrow a swooping X in the gel above her left breast, its staggered curves evoking a dancer in mid-leap.
The green twin beneath him fell silent and still. Dee had not noticed her constant, rumbling purr of pleasure until it stopped. He tilted his head back, translucent, pale tendrils of gel slithering off his neck and chin. The twin's gaze traced the path the ragged X had cut into the green girl's breast. She bent over and kissed Dee's forehead, her lips chaste and trembling.
"Thou canst die," she whispered in that sexy brogue, kissing him again. "I know to leave this world behind is death." She glanced around them. Firefly-filled columns bulged from the floor to merge with stalactites of shining slime drooping from the ceiling. "But when thou from this world wilt go…" She shook her head, her lime dreadlocks falling heavy in the sultry air. "The whole world vapours with thy breath." She cupped his cheek. "Say it."
Dee let the silence stretch. Galatea rode his cock and narrowed her eyes but her rhythm never skipped a beat. "No," he said.
Galatea's leer was feral and her pace quickened. The twin below him gasped, "Say it. Thou must say it."
Dee shrugged, wobbling as the twin's gel flesh rocked. He tried to imitate her accent. "I canst not." He failed miserably.
She stared, eyes wide. Around them, the world-womb began to collapse, a cave-in coming at them in slow motion. "Then I shall." The green twin leaned in, locking eyes with Galatea, breasts inadvertently rolling over Dee's head. "Pygmalion."
Galatea closed her eyes, squashing her sex over Dee's dick. "Ne."
The green twin sat up, her belly stretching long and pulling Dee's head free of the tit-trap. She slapped Galatea square in the mouth. The twin's voice rang, "Pygmalion!"
Galatea snarled and hunched over Dee's crotch, a school girl caught hiding something naughty. "Nunquam!" The green twin reared to slap again, but the Galatea flinched and fell against Dee's chest. Her eyes wide and imploring, she worked her mouth a while before any words came out. "You won't say it," Galatea said, although her accent was so mangled ("Hew want sigh ate") that at first Dee did not realize she was speaking English.
Dee smiled, nodding. "I won't."
Galatea cackled, rode his dick with newfound passion. The collapsing walls of the slime cave surged inward. The green twin below Dee melted away into the onrushing ooze. It swallowed up Dee's legs and much of his crotch, leaving a bubble of air only a few feet across, just enough room for Galatea to press her head against Dee's chest. The firefly glow flowed into her.
Galatea became nothing more than a protrusion from the surrounding, smothering gel: a inch or two of abdomen, a pair of breasts, shoulders, arms, a sneering face and writhing hair. The tendril tips of her dreadlocks toyed with Dee's nipples. "You want this," she said. ("Hew went tees.") "For me." ("Fear may.") "To be a part of me." ("Tao bay pert ovum eye.") "Always." ("All wise.")
"Yes," Dee said, curling his fingers around her playful hair.
Galatea shuddered, whispering, "Always." ("All wise.")
"I'll do this," Dee said (and she whispered, "All wise.") "I'll lock myself deep in side you…"
Galatea whispered, "All wise."
"I'll lock myself away…"
She whispered, "All wise."
"…And I'll keep cumming and cumming in you…"
She whispered, "All wise."
"…Until there's nothing left of me," Dee finished. Now. His other hand shot out. It has to be now. He scooped up Galatea's head until they were eye to eye. He cocked an eyebrow at her, his face full of false, doe-eyed innocence. "But only if you want me to, because I'm so sensitive and enlightened and stuff."
Galatea gawked. The fireflies inside her burst into blinding light. "You dumb ass!" she cried, yanked back and socked him in the nose.
Her voice rebounded in the bubble, pitch perfect and accent free. Galatea listened to her own echoes. A goofy smile dawned across her cherubic face, and she flew at Dee, delighted laughter peeling until her lips locked over his.
"Welcome back," Dee said when she let him up for air.
She pulled back, seeming to notice their predicament for the first time: she a mere torso slowly dissolving into a wall, he enwombed in some two hundred cubic feet of nuclear powered gelatin. "Oh, shit."
She turned to kiss him again, and this time she left viridian tears streaking his cheeks. The slowly encroaching wall had eaten away at her until only her head, shoulders, and upper curves of her breasts breached its surface. She looked like a busty supermodel posing in a hot tub suspended sideways in the air, the froth from the Jacuzzi jets capping her nipples. "I...I can't stop it." More green tears pattered down. "Dee. Oh, Dee...I'm not me."
Dee brushed a few tears from her eyes. "I've figured out that much. What went wrong?"
"I'm not sure." The wall slurped over her breasts. "I can't get all my nanomek to work together, or even talk to one another. Each one does what it wants, and each one wants you." The wall of goo crawled over her shoulders. "Stop them, Dee, before they do something terrible to you. Stop me." Galatea sank up to her neck and she panicked. "Can you stop me?"
"I can. But it's going to hurt." Galatea's eyes shone with fear and Dee added, "Not me, I mean. It's going to hurt you." He sat up, his hair sticking to the top of the shrinking air bubble, his butt all but gobbled up by the hungry goo. "A lot."
The wall of ooze slipped up over Galatea's chin. "Shut up and stop me," she said before her mouth vanished.
"I love you," Dee said. He coiled, a panther gathering energy for a final pounce. "Ready?"
Galatea's button nose slipped under the wall of ooze, but she still managed to roll her eyes heavenward.
Dee struck.
Yves stared at the juddering door. "I changed my mind." His face fell into shadow. "It is working, and get your ass out of here, Ursula. Now."
"Don't you start with the hero macho bullshit," Ursula said.
"No." Yves stood and backed away, every move slow and exact. "I'm coming too." A minty stain spread out from the doorframe and over the wall. Fissures grew where plaster dissolved or crumbled to the floor. "I am officially..." The paint on the door blistered and peeled. "...utterly and completely..." The stain ate away at the stucco ceiling and the cracked ceiling strut sagged down until its tip bumped against Bee's bed. "...out of my depth." The door snapped inward. "Run!"
Yves barreled through the bedroom door, his ears filled with the sound of splintering wood. Adrenalin surged and he centered himself just as quick. His perceptions entered that zone of distanced, startling clarity he had relished for years as an aikidoka but his geeky friends took for granted as "bullet time" ever since The Matrix debuted. He studied Ursula as she dashed past the hall toward the front door, long braids whipping out behind her. The floorboards beneath Yves feet started to shake as he reached the mouth of the hallway. He rounded the corner into the living room and the air behind him exploded forward, threatening to hurl him into the floor with the force of a giant hand striking him across the back. He rode the concussion instead, spinning away from the mouth of the hallway an instant before it spat a blast of steam, lethal as any dragon. Yves followed Ursula's trailing pigtails out the front door.
Ursula panted in the long hall. Yves held out his hand. She stared at it and then up at him through fogged-over glasses. Her face beaded with perspiration, her tight black pajamas stuck with sweat. Yves realized he must look the same. He could not have felt more drenched if he had walked through a hurricane. Behind them, soupy mist licked through the ruined doorway and the air grew heady and citrus perfumed. Around them, the world fell silent and still. Even the noise of morning rush hour on the nearby expressway vanished.
Ursula's whisper was urgent and awed. "Dee."
Yves reached for her again. "It's just Dee." The words rung hollow and false, even to him, and he withdrew his hand.
Ursula pulled his hand back and held it between her breasts. Yves felt her heart fluttering. "I want it to be Galatea, too," Ursula said, squeezing his hand as hard as she could.
At first, Yves thought someone had turned on a slow, thudding subwoofer, but Ursula whispered, "Dee's coming." She pushed their clasped hands into Yves abdomen. "You're trembling," she said.
"I'm terrified," Yves confessed. The footfalls drew nearer. "What if I'm wrong? What if it's not Dee or Galatea, but something else? There's something you don't know…"
She shushed him and they turned, standing side by side.
Dee strode stark naked across the threshold, each step scorching the floor. Plumes of steam rose from his bare skin. The curls of his hair were slicked and sleek around his face. His every movement was so strong and sure that Yves knew the thrill of standing in the middle of the tracks before an onrushing train.
The green girl clung to Dee's neck, her head buried in his chest. She trembled and turned away from Yves and Ursula, curling in modesty but presenting the hourglass curves of her back and flaring hips. Her skin shone with gem fire, polished and pure as a flawless emerald. Dee held her close. She murmured and shivered and pressed against him. The intimate desire expressed in her embrace was palpable and dizzying. Yves felt as if he somehow partook in it just by watching.
"It is done," Dee said.
The green girl sighed and kissed his neck.
["…If Galatea thinks you’re a god…"]
"I hate being right," Yves said.
|
Love is the temple.
Love the higher law.
You ask me to enter,
But then you make me crawl.
And I can't be holding on
To what you got
When all you got is hurt.
—U2, One |
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